In Laos, a legendary half-serpent, half-human water spirit known as a naga is far more than a mythological figure. It is a unifying force in a country of more than 50 diverse ethnic groups, a guardian deity of both animist and Buddhist faiths. While the dragon-like god can be seen everywhere—grinning from temple roofs and forming the grand railings of staircases—its most essential and intimate expression is found in Laotian textiles. Weavers have long incorporated the naga into their intricate designs, a practice so central to the culture that Laos has nominated the tradition for a spot on UNESCO’s Representative List of Intangible Cultural Heritage. This bid is an attempt to give a formal nod to an age-old tradition, one that could be the key to ensuring the naga continues to slither across the fabric of this nation for generations to come.
An Ancestor and a Protector: The Naga in Laotian Life
To understand the immense significance of the naga, one must look to the deep history of Laos itself. The people of this small, landlocked country have been worshiping serpent spirits in one form or another for over 2,000 years. Early communities, who eked out a living from farming and fishing, developed a strong connection to water spirits, which they saw in the form of snakes, dragons, and crocodiles. When Buddhism was introduced in the 14th century, the naga was seamlessly anointed as the religion’s protector, a cultural bridge between ancient animist beliefs and a newer faith. So complete is this integration that when young Lao men are ordained as monks, they are called nak, taking their vows on behalf of the water spirit.
For modern-day Laotians, the naga remains an ever-present force in daily life. As weaver and designer Viengkham Nanthavongdouangsy explains, “Since the day we are born, we have heard stories about the naga as our ancestor and our protector. Every woman owns something with a naga on it.” This spiritual connection is made tangible in the sinhs, or tube skirts, worn by Laotian women, with elaborate naga patterns curling along their hemlines. The serpent god is an inseparable part of their lives, celebrated in festivals, woven into textiles, and a constant presence in a way that unifies the entire country.
A City of Serpents: The Naga’s Architectural Presence
The naga’s influence is not just spiritual; it is also a defining feature of the physical landscape, particularly in the city of Louangphabang (often called Luang Prabang), a UNESCO World Heritage-recognized city. Legends hold that 15 nagas protect Louangphabang, perched at the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khanh rivers. The city’s waterways are said to be used by the nagas to travel between the spirit and human worlds. In this way, the city’s stunning architecture is a reflection of its spiritual beliefs.
The serpent forms grace Buddhist temples from the country’s north to its deep south, appearing as dramatic railings on temple stairs and as nine-headed, golden sculptures that shade a meditating Buddha. In Louangphabang, they snarl at the base of Mount Phousi and brandish their tails on columns at the 15th-century Wat Xieng Thong. Their sinewy contours are even mimicked in the design of the long-tail wooden boats used for transit on the Mekong. These architectural and functional elements, along with an annual Boat Racing Festival where serpent-shaped floats are paraded through town, demonstrate that the Naga is not merely a motif; it is woven into the very fabric of the country’s towns and villages, inseparable from daily life.
The Threat to the Loom: A Story Fading to Silence
The Naga’s enduring presence in Laos is now facing a modern threat. Before the country adopted a written language, textiles were the primary medium for transmitting oral history and folktales. In these woven narratives, the naga was a formidable protagonist, a protagonist capable of bestowing abundance or unleashing calamity. Women used complex motifs to show off their skill and social status, creating intricate works of art that also served as historical documents. However, decades of protracted war and instability in the mid-20th century impacted silk production and access to high-quality weaving.
Today, new challenges have emerged. Younger generations are increasingly migrating to urban areas for work, a trend that means they are less likely to take up the traditional art of weaving. In bazaars and artisan markets, cheap, factory-made sinhs and trinkets are now outselling the intricate, handwoven textiles. As Viengkham Nanthavongdouangsy warns, this decline is more than just the loss of a craft; it is the loss of a culture’s history. “If weaving goes,” she says, “so do the naga stories they tell.” This reality adds a sense of urgency to the push for recognition, as weavers like Kiang Ounphaivong continue to ply their trade, working in silk or cotton on traditional wooden looms to create the snake-like patterns that suggest a snake making tracks across the silk canvas.
A Bid for Immortality: The Promise of UNESCO
The push to get the Naga motifs on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH) list is a direct response to these modern threats. Recognizing that culture is expressed in a myriad of ways—not just through architectural masterpieces like the Great Wall of China or Machu Picchu—UNESCO broadened its parameters in 2003 to include living, or intangible, expressions such as music, dance, festivals, and crafts. The goal of the list is not to preserve an item in a museum but to acknowledge its importance to global diversity and its community. While the recent bid for the Naga motif in weaving did not make the cut, those who worked on the application remain hopeful.
A UNESCO designation could give this age-old tradition the sort of good press and recognition that draws tourism and helps ensure its survival. As Tara Gujadhur, cofounder of the Traditional Arts and Ethnology Centre, explains, “Intangible cultural heritage is the life behind a culture.” Without the actions and beliefs that breathe life into a community, places like Louangphabang would be nothing more than empty shells. For the weavers, however, the distinction between tangible and intangible doesn’t exist. For Kiang Ounphaivong, the river serpent is immutable, a force that wends and spirals across her looms every day. As she says, “Nak mee u jing,” which translates to, “Naga is the real thing. He’s everywhere.” This enduring belief in the serpent god is the true legacy that the UNESCO bid seeks to honor and protect.
