A Drum is Born - The Ethics
Having found and played the drum, I knew of its power – that deep primal beat that finds the centre of your core. I’ve learned they are more than just a musical instrument when used for healing or in ceremony – it’s a companion, a teacher and a bridge between this world and others.
The very first sound we hear as a child is our mother’s heartbeat, and the drum echoes that sound. For some, playing a drum for the first time can feel like a home coming.
A drum’s voice can carry our prayers, help us hold space and ceremony and invite us into a space of deep connection with ourselves and the world around us.
When I talk about drums, I am mainly focussing on hand held frame drums as these are the drums I use in ceremony, in circle and when healing but the power of the drum can extend to any drum – that underlying power of the drum you hear during a rock song that causes your heart to race, the hint of terror in a horror movie when a slow beat starts up.
When we move into the world of Drum Birthing – bringing your own companion and helper to life by making your own drum – we make sure to honour and acknowledge the gift that the animals whose hide we are using has given us as well as the tree whose wood we are using for the hoop. And because we honour and acknowledge this gift, we need to also remember to consider the ethics of birthing that drum.
In this post I want to explore this idea with honesty. What does it mean to make a drum ethically? Do animals die specifically for drum making? Is there truly such a thing as an “ethical” drum?
What is ethics?
The first area we need to cover is what is ethics. At its core, ethics is the study of principles and concepts that explore what we consider right and wrong. People often speak of it as if it were a fixed set of rules, but in reality, it is far more nuanced, complex, and fluid. What one person sees as ethical, someone else may view very differently – influenced by their cultural background, beliefs, lived experiences, and personal values.
Rather than existing in clear black and white, ethics exist in the grey areas - shaped by the perspective of the observer and the situation. This becomes especially relevant when working with natural materials and traditions such as drum birthing, where questions of life, death, sustainability, and reverence for the spirits of animals and trees naturally arise.
What follows is my own reflection on the ethics of drum birthing, shared as fairly and openly as possible, but inevitably shaped by my own perspective.
Do we kill animals to make drums?
This is probably one of the most common questions that comes up, and the answer (at least in our case – I cannot answer for the world) is no – the hides we use to make our drums at Caer Corhrain are never specifically killed to make drums.
The hides we use come from deer and stag that have been culled as part of wildlife management, or from horses that have reached the natural end of their lives. None of these animals were taken because someone wanted to make a drum. Instead, we are working with what has already happened and making sure that the animals hide is not just thrown away.
When it comes to the wildlife management aspect, it is important to understand the context here. In the UK and across much of Europe, deer populations are not controlled by nature as they once were. Without management, herd numbers can outgrow what the land can support - woodlands are stripped bare, young trees are not able to grow and the ecosystem can collapse. Culling, while it may feel harsh, helps prevent starvation and maintain balance between species.
Similarly, horse hides come from animals who have naturally come to the end of their lives. To use their hides in drum making ensures nothing goes to waste. Instead of being thrown away, their spirit and body are honoured in the new drum that can bring healing and sound to the world.
Seen in this way, drum birthing is not a cause of death but a form of respect. We acknowledge a life has ended but look to honour that life by giving it a voice again.
What about “ethical” drums?
The term “ethical” is one of those words that has such power but can spark very differing viewpoints. To birth a truly “ethical” drum would be to wait for a deer to die of natural causes in front of us. We would than need to work with that deer to prepare their hide for use in a drum. As the hide is being prepared, we would need to then wait for a tree to topple of its own accord without any intervention to provide us for the wood for the hoop. I’m not sure if that has happened for many people?
If we waited for that nexus of events to happen, very few drums would be made. And even then, would they be perfectly ethical? There would still be processes involved that would need tools that may not have been made ethically.
The truth is, there really is no such thing as a truly ethical drum in a black and white sense. And that’s not a failure – it’s a reality check. What matters is how we approach drum birthing within that web of life we live in.
As responsible drum makers, we source our materials with care. We look at who we are sourcing our hides and hoops from to make sure they are sourced as ethically as possible. We honour those materials through ceremony, intention and respect. We acknowledge every drum involves a cost and give respect and honour for that.
Holding the paradox
This is where drum birthing moves from a black-and-white world and into the grey area and living in a world of paradox.
On one side, we know life must end for the drum to exist. An animal has died. A tree was felled. That reality is undeniable.
On the other side, we know that a drum made in this way is not a casual commodity. It is a sacred tool. It carries a spirit. It is used for healing, prayer, ceremony and connection.
To birth a drum is to hold both truths at once – the cost and the gift. The loss and the beauty. The ending and the beginning.
This is not something we should look to resolve. It is something to live with, and this maybe is where the true ethics of drum making live – the ability to sit with the complexity of bringing that drum into the world than chasing simple answers.
Respect like our Ancestors
For our ancestors, the relationship with animals was not one of convenience but of survival and reverence. When an animal was taken for food, it was never a casual act. It meant the difference between life and death during long, harsh winters and so every part of the creature was valued and honoured. A stark contrast to our lives nowadays where we pick up a piece of steak or a chicken breast from the supermarket without a second thought to the animal that gave its life to provide that.
The meat nourished families, the fat was rendered for cooking and light and the skins were worked into clothing, bedding and shelter against the cold. Nothing was wasted, because waste would have been both disrespectful and dangerous to survival.
The bones, antlers and sinew were shaped into tools, needles and bindings, and in many cultures the spirit of the animal would have been honoured through ritual, prayer and offering. These acts carried the profound understanding that a life had been given so life could continue. To our ancestors, this was not just practical resourcefulness but a sacred exchange – a cycle of giving and receiving that kept them in harmony with the land and all its being.
This awareness is something we make sure to carry on in our practices today, such as drum birthing, where the hide of an animal is transformed into an instrument of healing and spirit. By remembering the old ways, we can ensure that the animals life continues to be honoured with every beat of the drum.
A sacred relationship, not a product
Another view to take is to move the language we use. Instead of speaking of drums as a product, a thing, an item to own – we speak of the relationship we have with them.
A drum is not “made” – it is “birthed”. The hide of the animal, the frame of wood – all these elements have spirit. When they are brought together to form the new drum, a new life emerges. Each drum has their own voice. They are their own being, not just an object.
As drum makers and keepers, we are called to honour this relationship and make sure it is not forgotten. To play the drum is to honour the animal and the tree – and honouring both is important. A lot of the time, someone will ask – what hide is your drum – forgetting a tree has also brought their energy to the power of the drum. Bringing a drum into ceremony is to remember that its voice carries not only rhythm, but also a lineage.
In this view, ethics are not only about sourcing the elements to make your drum, but also how we care for and use that drum in its new life. Do we treat it as sacred? Do we respect the spirit within it? Do we play it with intention, or do we take it for granted?
This is the real measure of the ethics of drum making.
With reverence we honour
If we work with reverence, we can find integrity and respect in what we do. To birth a drum is to step into an expanding web of responsibility. It is to honour both the animal and the tree. It is to acknowledge death while celebrating new life. It is to hold both truths in our heart at once. It is using what has ended to bring healing and song into the world.
That, I believe, is the heart of drum ethics. Not purity. Not perfection. But reverence and respect.
Final thoughts
The heartbeat of a drum reminds us that we are part of something much bigger – the cycles and rhythms of life itself. When we birth a drum, we are not creating an object, we are entering into a relationship with the animal and tree that came together to form that drum.
Every strike of the beater on that drum is a prayer of gratitude. Every rhythm we create is a reminder of the spirits that came together within the drum.
So, while no drum made will ever be perfectly ethical, each drum can be deeply sacred – and at the heart of it – that is possibly what truly matters.