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OPOS
Internationale Zeitschrift
fur Volker- und Sprachenkunde
International Review of
Anthropology and Linguistics
Revue Internationale
d'Ethnologie et de Linguistique
ANTHROPOS INSTITUT 103.2008/1
ANTHROPOS
ANTHROPOS® is published twice a year totalling ca.
700 pages.
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be addressed to: Anthropos-Redaktion, Arnold-Janssen-
Str. 20, D-53754 Sankt Augustin, Germany.
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not included). Address all communication regarding
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the agencies listed below, or any bookseller.
Germany: Otto Harrasowitz
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65174 Wiesbaden
Dokumente Verlag, Postfach 1340,
77654 Offenburg
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Anthropos 103.2005
ANTHROPOS 103.2008/1
Artikel
Jon Abbink; “Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia. An
Exploratory Case Study of Me’en Discourse...........
Hermann Amborn: Dr. Freud Was Not a Kafa. A
Classical Case of Anthropological Overinterpretation
from Ethiopia.......................................
Peter Kneitz: Im Land “dazwischen”. Die Sakalava-
Königreiche von Ambongo und Mailaka (westliches
Madagaskar, 17.-19. Jahrhundert) ...................
Claude Rivière: Le vêtement en Afrique noire et
ailleurs............................................
Paul J. Lane; The Social Production and Symbolism of
Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali..........
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser: A Demolinguistic
Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines or a Successful
Attempt at Linguistic Disenfranchisement ...........
Markel Thylefors: “Modernizing God” in Haitian
Vodou? Reflections on Olowoum and Reafricanization
in Haiti............................................
Hagmar Schweitzer de Palacios: Shamanes, bellezas
Y Copa Mundial. De la selva al campo de fútbol ....
Gunter Senft: The Case: The Trobriand Islanders vs
H. P. Grice. Kilivila and the Gricean Maxims of Quality
and Manner..........................................
Philip Gibbs and Josepha Junnie Wailoni: Sorcery
among the Plains Arapesh............................
Jacqueline Knörr: Indigenisierung versus Re-Ethnisie-
rung. Chinesische Identität in Jakarta..............
Jürgen Jensen: Ethnographische Datenerfassung, Do-
umentation und Beschreibung bei Pietro Della Valle
(1586-1652) (Fortsetzung)...........................
Hans Peter Hahn: Diffusionism, Appropriation, and
Globalization. Some Remarks on Current Debates in
Anthropology ............................
Berichte und Kommentare
John H, Hamer: Natural Objects Transformed into
Symbolic Meaning among the Sidäma of Northeast
Africa..........................................
Alfréd Tóth: The Origin of the Rhaetians........
Marin Trenk: Ein verschollener Vorläufer der Ethnolo-
gie. Der Aufklärer und Sozialutopist Christian Gottlieb
Priber (1697-1745)..............................
Norbert Dannhaeuser: Financial Self-Help Organiza-
tions and Social Security. A Review Article.....
Hans Voges: Kolonialismus und Geschichte. Ein Re-
zensionsartikel ................................
Gerald Roche: Amdo Tibetan Learning Resources. A
Review Article.............
Rezensionen
Arnason, Johann P., Armando Salvatore, and Georg
Stauth (eds.): Islam in Process (Peter Heine)...... 233
Asad, Talal: On Suicide Bombing (Barbara Peveling) 234
Bauer, Kerstin: Kleidung und Kleidungspraktiken im
Norden der Côte d’Ivoire (Ilsemargret Luttmann) . . 235
Baumann, Martin, and Samuel M. Behloul (Hrsg.):
Religiöser Pluralismus (Josef Salmen) .............. . 238
Beer, Bettina: Frauen in der deutschsprachigen Ethno-
logie (Godula Kosack) ................................ 239
Berner, Ulrich, Christoph Bochinger und Rainer
Flasche (Hrsg.): Opfer und Gebet in den Religionen
(Joachim G. Piepke)................................... 240
Bolin, Inge: Growing Up in a Culture of Respect
(Alice Spinnler-Dürr) ................................ 241
Brandes, Stanley: Skulls to the Living, Bread to the
Dead (Ulrich Köhler).................................. 242
Buijs, Kees: Powers of Blessing from the Wilderness
and from Heaven (David Hicks)......................... 243
Carrier, Neil C. M.: Kenyan Khat (T. O. Beidelman) 244
Dünnwald, Stephan: Der pädagogische Griff nach dem
Fremden (Roland Drubig) .............................. 245
Ellen, Roy (ed.): Ethnobiology and the Science of
Humankind (Christine Paulsen) ........................ 247
Engebrigtsen, Ada L: Exploring Gypsiness (David
Z. Scheffel) ......................................... 249
Eriksen, Thomas Hylland: Engaging Anthropology
(Peter Schröder)...................................... 249
Erny, Pierre : L’idée de “réincarnation” en Afrique
Noire (Claude Rivière)................................ 250
Evens, T. M.S., and Don Handelman (eds.): The
Manchester School (Roland Drubig) .................... 251
Pardon, Richard: Lela in Bali (Matthias Gruber) . . 253
Ferro, Katarina, und Margot Wallner (eds.): Migra-
tion Happens (Bettina Beer) .......................... 255
Göltenboth, Natalie: Kunst und Kult in Kuba (Maria
Susana Cipolletti) ................................... 255
Grabner-Haider, Anton (Hrsg.): Kulturgeschichte der
Bibel (Bernhard Lang) ................................ 257
Grinev, Andrei Val’terovich: The Tlingit Indians in
Russian America, 1741-1867 (Darius J. Piwowarczyk) 258
Harison, Marie Aimé Joël: Vier Jahrzehnte Unabhän-
gigkeit Madagaskars (Christine Paulsen) .............. 259
Hawkes, Kristen, and Richard R. Paine (eds.): The
Evolution of Human Life History (Christopher Kuzawa) 260
Hendricks, Alfred (Hrsg.): Prärie- und Plainsindianer
(Dagmar Siebelt) ..................................... 261
Hooper, Steven: Pacific Encounters (Anette Schade) 263
Kahl, Thede, Michael Metzeltin und Mihai-Razvan
Ungureanu (Hrsg.): Rumänien (Hermann Mückler) . 265
Keane, Webb: Christian Modems (Rita Smith Kipp) 266
Keller, Eva: The Road to Clarity (Jennifer Cole) . . 267
Kirsch, Stuart: Reverse Anthropology (Jerry K. Jacka) 268
3
15
33
65
77
99
113
127
139
149
159
179
191
203
210
216
221
225
229
König, Gudrun M. (Hrsg.): Alltagsdinge (Franciszek
M. Rosiriski)......................................
Kuehling, Susanne: Dobu. Ethics of Exchange on a
Massim Island, Papua New Guinea (Ryan Schram)
Kuhnt-Saptodewo, Sri: Getanzte Geschichte (Wolf-
gang Marschall) ...................................
Lindquist, Galina: Conjuring Hope (Katarina Greifeld)
Mandala, Elias C.: The End of Chidyerano (T. O.
Beidelman) ........................................
Mansfeld, Christine: Vom Dogon-Land nach Bamako
(Ilsemargret Luttmann) ............................
Matory, J. Lorand: Black Atlantic Religion (Heike
Drotbohm)..........................................
Palmer, John H.: La buena voluntad Wichi (Rodrigo
M. Montani) .......................................
Pawlik, Jacek Jan; Zaradzic nieszczesciu (Stanislaw
Grodz) ............................................
Pinxten, Rik, and Ellen Preckler (eds.): Racism in
Metropolitan Areas (Ingo W. Schröder)..............
Pourcher, Yves: Politique parade (Claude Rivière)
Raynal, Guillaume-Thomas: A History of the Two
Indies (Wolfgang Marschall)........................
Robben, Antonius C. G. M., and Jeffrey A. Sluka
(eds.); Ethnographic Fieldwork (Hans Fischer) . . . .
Robinson, Rowena: Tremors of Violence (Ron Geaves)
Schneider, Arnd, and Christopher Wright (eds.):
Contemporary Art and Anthropology (Peter Probst) .
Scott, Michael W.: The Severed Snake (Garry W.
Trompf) ............................................. 288
Sercombe, Peter G., and Bernard Sellato (eds.): Be-
yond the Green Myth (Roy Ellen)................... 289
Soothill, Jane E.: Gender, Social Change, and Spiritual
Power (Patrick Claffey) ............................. 290
Stone, Linda, and Paul F. Lurquin: Genes, Culture,
and Human Evolution (Peter K. Smith)................. 291
Trefon, Theodore, et Pierre Petit (dir.) : Expériences
de recherche en RDC (Wyatt MacGaffey) ............... 292
Ubelaker, Douglas H. (ed.): Handbook of North Amer-
ican Indians; vol. 3 (Peter Bolz).................... 292
Ulijaszek, Stanley J. (ed.): Population, Reproduction,
and Fertility in Melanesia (Patricia K. Townsend) . . 293
Vandervort, Bruce: Indian Wars of Mexico, Canada,
and the United States, 1812-1900 (Dagmar Siebelt) . 294
Veur, Paul W, van der: The Lion and the Gadfly
(Holger Wamk) ....................................... 296
Wadley, Reed L. (ed.): Histories of the Borneo Envi-
ronment (Dario Novellino)............................ 297
Whitaker, Marc P.: Learning Politics from Sivaram
(Anthony Good)....................................... 298
Neue Publikationen .............................. 301
Zeitschriftenschau .............................. 313
Mitarbeiter dieses Heftes ....................... 335
270
271
272
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287
Anthropos 103.2008
Anthropos
103.2008: 3-13
“Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia
An Exploratory Case Study of Me’en Discourse
Jon Abbink
Abstract. - This article addresses alleged “cannibalism”
among the Me’en of southwestern Ethiopia. As cannibalist
representations in this area are rare, they represent a puzzle as
to origins and current role. An explanation needs to address
psychosocial representations and the cultural symbolism of
life forces and fear of death, but reference should also be
made to insecurities of descent and group relations among
the Me’en population while expanding and migrating during
the past century, partly absorbing preexisting populations in
the process. This anxiety is reproduced today via conflictuous
relations between descent groups vis-à-vis land and other re-
sources. The discourse of cannibalism being internal to Me’en
society and not directed to outsiders would tend to support this
view. [Ethiopia, Me’en, cannibalism, intergroup rivalry, ethnic
relations, lineage/clan relations, cosmology]
Jon Abbink, PhD (Radboud University, Nijmegen 1985), is
a senior researcher at the African Studies Centre, Leiden,
and professor at the Dept, of Anthropology, VU University,
Amsterdam. His current research is on religious relations and
mhnohistory in Ethiopia as well as on political culture in Africa.
His recent publications include: “Vanguard or Vandals. Youth,
Politics, and Conflict in Africa” (coeditor with I. van Kessel,
Leiden 2005) and “Eritrean Beauty. The Wonderful People of
Eritrea” (with photographer A. Alders, Veenendaal 2005).
Introduction
Cannibalism or anthropophagy - the consumption
°f human body parts by other humans — continues
to be a challenge for anthropological explanation.
In
various parts of the world and over hundreds
°f years this phenomenon has been reported
whether as a collective representation or as an
actual practice. It never fails to evoke intense feel-
ings of revulsion, outrage, and fear. From a human
evolutionary point of view, cannibalism is unusual
and is always contested. As important as the ques-
tion of its occurrence is that of the embeddedness
of its representations in the discourses of social
exclusion and demonization of others. In a recent
overview, S. Lindenbaum (2004) has elaborated on
the discursive representation of “cannibalism” and
inventoried its many forms.1 She emphasized that
the exoticist/primitivist representation of others as
such is quite universal as a feature of colonizing
societies as well as present in modern-industrial
societies that struggle with the inclusion of “oth-
ers” in the form of immigrants, subaltern social
groups, alternative lifestyle adepts, or criminals.
Nevertheless, discussions on cannibalism must
always start with assessing the evidence for man-
eating practices in any instance reported, and then
proceed to assess its representational functions as
a discourse of difference and distance. Recent-
ly, the African sociologist C. Toulabor (2000)
has claimed the continued occurrence of canni-
bal practices among some contemporary political
leaders in Africa. The former warlord and pres-
ident of Liberia, Charles Taylor, has been ac-
cused of it by certain eyewitnesses during the
civil war, as was ex-emperor Jean-Bedel Bokassa
of the Central African Republic (Telegraph 2003;
1 While the “classical” form of cannibalism may be that of
humans consciously eating parts of other (enemy) humans,
Lindenbaum (2004:47-49) mentions the following vari-
eties: survival, psychopathological, medicinal, technologi-
cal, sacrificial, innocent, and auto-cannibalism.
4
Jon Abbink
New York Times 1987). From the Congolese civil
war - a massive conflict raging since the late
1990s - anthropophagy has often been report-
ed, notably of armed militias against the forest-
dwelling “Pygmy” people (e.g., Baka, Mbuti),
whom they despise (Penketh 2004; UN Report
2003). These recent cases may be part of acts of
autocratic elites deranged by their absolute power,
or of war practices not rooted in a history of
anthropophagy - at least not as a regular practice.
But despite many ambiguities, the ethnographic
record from both Africa and other parts of the
world (e.g., Melanesia) has contained many exam-
ples of cannibalism (see also Lindenbaum 2004).
A blanket denial of its existence, as done by some
authors in the recent past (like W. Arens in his mis-
leading and erroneous 1979 book), is clearly off
the mark. Nevertheless, in the ongoing scholarly
debate, the reported cases of cannibalism should be
examined not only as actually occurring instances
of anthropophagy but also, though not exclusive-
ly, as local representations in the specific social
and cognitive environment of the groups con-
cerned.2
In this article I look at one version of a partic-
ular “cannibalist discourse” which is encountered
among several groups in southwestern Ethiopia,
an area on the borderline of Nilo-Saharan- and
Omotic- and Semitic-speaking populations, not
particularly known as a location where (stories
about) cannibalism or witchcraft predominate. For
the interpretation of this intriguing phenomenon,
reference is made to hypotheses offered by an-
thropologist P. R. Sanday’s general work (1986),
emphasizing the psychodynamic aspects of can-
nibalism. Her core idea is that the rituals and
workings of cannibalism should be placed within
the framework of psychological mechanisms re-
lating to people’s need to deal with the “forces
of life and death” (Sanday 1986; xi) and the use
of this understanding to control forces seen as
necessary for the reproduction of society. This
approach does not invalidate other ones, such as
discourse analysis of “primitivist” representations,
2 Instances of cannibalism as an actual practice are wide-
ly known even apart from “survival cannibalism,” which
seems, however, mainly to occur among stranded Western-
ers in emergency situations, such as shipwrecks and plane
disasters. The scholarly debate on the topic has moved
beyond the facile argument of cannibalism as only being an
image of evil activity projected unto others (which is the
untenable thesis of Arens 1979). This argument was refuted
by data presented by many authors (e.g., Brown and Tuzin
1983; Knauft 1985; Whitehead 1984; Abler 1992; cf. also
Brady 1982). For modern transformations of “cannibalism”,
see Comaroff and Comaroff 1999.
etc. that certain groups make of others. But it looks
at the immediate efforts that humans in daily life,
and in precarious circumstances, make to enhance
survival and cognize their wider environment, in-
cluding other, only partly known human groups,
past and present. While it is clear that in such
an approach an analysis of cultural symbolism,
as the accumulated outcome of meaning-creating
acts of people, are very important, it does not pre-
clude that environmental-economic concerns set
the conditions for these representations - reflect-
ing fear of scarcity, loss of survival chances, etc. -
to arise. It would thus be preferable to combine
a psychodynamic approach a la Sanday with a
social-structural analysis that reflects the emerging
tensions in a society, which in addition is “oral”
in nature, putting great weight on the spoken word
and its performance contexts.
Although the search for general features of
the cannibalist representations and practices would
merit encouragement, it seems that the Ethiopi-
an case discussed here probably only covers the
“mortuary cannibalism,” one of the categories dis-
tinguished by Sanday (1986: 25); not, however, the
actually observed practice but only the persistent
fear of it, expressed by local people. The similar-
ities between cannibalism and witchcraft - with
the latter also dominated by metaphors of “eating
others” or the fear thereof, be it here with super-
natural means - point to psychological factors
related to interpersonal rivalry and jealousy and to
the social conditions producing or reinforcing such
feelings, is highly relevant. Indeed, the reason why
cannibalism and debates about it generate such
intense interest may be the universal fear of being
annihilated in the act or threat of being eaten -
reflecting utter helplessness and negation of one’s
personality, one’s humanity.
The two more specific aims of this article are:
a) trying to account for the persistence of the
“apparently irrational belief’ (cf. Sperber 1982)
in cannibals or cannibal-like behaviour among
some southern Ethiopian groups without there
being any demonstrated, actual instances of it;
and b) to work towards an explanation of the
relation of such a collective representation with
social and historical processes, the importance
of which has as yet been difficult to unravel.
Next to similarities, there are also differences
between cannibalist representations and witchcraft
discourse, which we still find typically in central
and southern Africa, making many victims. While
in Ethiopia there is the zar spirit possession cult
and the occurrence of widespread sorcery-like
accusations of buda (evil eye, people “eating”
Anthropos 103.2008
Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia
5
innocent people), witchcraft in the central African
sense (cf. kindoki in Congo, cf. Bockie 1993) does
not occur in Ethiopia.
The case I discuss here in more detail is that of
the Me’en people3 in southwest Ethiopia (living
in the current “Southern Nations, Nationalities
and People’s Regional State”). This is a group
of ca. 80,000 people, of which some 74,000 are
shifting cultivators in highland areas (the Tishana-
Me’en) bordering the Omo and Shorum Rivers,
and another 5 to 6,000 are transhumant agro-
pastoralists east of the Omo River (the Bodi-
Me’en). They speak a Southeast Surmic language
(which is within the large Nilo-Saharan group; cf.
Unseth 1988; Dimmendaal and Last 1998). Other
members of this group (in Ethiopia) are the Mursi,
the Chai, the Tirmaga, and the Kwegu.
First a note on the distribution of cannibal-
ist representations in the area under discussion.
Notions or fears of anthropophagy/cannibalism
are neither widespread among Surmic-speaking
groups nor among other Ethiopian peoples. The
agro-pastoralist Tirmaga and Chai (Suri), living in
the same region as the Me’en, are traditionally
not familiar with any idea of cannibalism, and
neither are the Mursi or Kwegu. Other groups in
the Maji area, like the Omotic-speaking Dizi do
not speak of it either. But some other populations
north and south of the Me’en have ideas on the
existence of man-eating beings, e.g., the pastoralist
Dassanetch (Almagor 1986: 268, n. 28)4 and the
3 Data for this article come from fieldwork in 1988, 1989-
9(f 1993, and 1999 in southern Ethiopia (Maji, Bachuma,
Ch ebera) and from interviews (19 and 23 February 1988)
with Dawit (Lujmut) Abebe, born in the Bodi (Mela)
area, living in Addis Ababa. I am grateful to Abeje
Berhanu (Addis Ababa University), who in 1988 was a
coresearcher in the field, and to the late Mekonnen Yahye,
mY field assistant in 1990-91. I am also grateful to A to
Taddesse Sella, who has kept me regularly up-to-date on
developments in the Me’en area (2003-2006).
4 In a personal communication (1988), Prof. U. Almagor
told me he suspected that there may be two possible
reasons for the acceptance of the existence of (the idea of)
cannibalism” among the Dassanetch (from whom it may
even have spread to other groups in the area). First, the
occasional exposure of human bones from the shallow
Dassanetch graves due to the erosion of land. These bones
are then (presumably by outsiders) rumored to be “evi-
dence” of their “having eaten” the dead. Secondly, the
practice of a small group within Dassanetch society which
secretly grinds human bones and keeps the dust as a charm
for fertility, a practice probably brought from elsewhere. It
is rejected by most Dassanetch, and nothing else is known
about it.
Claiming that the presence of cannibalist ideas among
the Me’en and other groups is the result of diffusion from,
e.g., the Dassanetch, would in itself not explain its long
Anthropos 103.2008
Para-Nilotic-speaking Nyangatom (or Bume)5 -
both of whom have no contacts with the Me’en.
Also the Omotic-speaking Bench people to the
north of the Tishana-Me’en mention it. With the
Bench (formerly known as “Gimira,” now a pejo-
rative name) the Me’en have extensive contacts;
economic relations, intermarriage, consultation of
their local diviner-healers. Substantial cultural in-
teraction and “borrowing” has taken place. Notable
is that the idea of cannibalism is “contagious”: as
intergroup contacts, or at least rumours and stories
about each other, have intensified in the past 15
years, one now finds stories about some people
“perhaps” eating others also among some of the
just mentioned neighbouring groups, e.g., the Dizi
and Tirmaga. If it is historically rare, the question
is why it emerged among these populations. One
reason may be - but this is speculation - the
impact of the representations of buda, people who
are seen to have an “evil eye” and with their
look can blight or “eat” others. This representation
was a feature of northern Ethiopian society, where
most of the (Amhara, Tigrayans) immigrants to the
south since ca. 1898 came from. We see here a dis-
course of rivalry and jealousy, which in northern
Ethiopia was tied to anxieties about claims to and
inheritance of land, and about personal status and
dignity in a hierarchical society.
Explanations of cannibalism have been of sev-
eral kinds. Most traditional (neo-) functionalist
anthropology has stressed the social order aspect:
it is an idiom of accusation and counteraccusation
between members of a relatively undifferentiat-
ed society, living closely together in a kin and
neighbourhood network, whereby some are des-
ignated as witches, magicians, and/or even man-
eaters facilitates the “release” of tensions and psy-
chological anxieties. Symbolic and structural ap-
proaches have paid attention to the metaphoric and
worldview aspects of cannibalist representations,
and emphasized their place in an encompassing
psychological-cultural code, with ontological ref-
erents (Sanday 1986 builds upon this approach).
persistence within Me’en society. A natural phenomenon
which might have stimulated or confirmed the idea of a
human grave being “emptied” (among the Me’en) is the fact
that the surface of a grave may, after burial, slightly drop,
for instance due to rains, and due to earth sinking down in
the layer of stones in the grave. The relatives may notice
this during the three-month mourning and vigil period on
the grave after the burial.
5 Prof. Serge Tomay (Musée de l’Homme, Paris) informed
me in 1988 that also the Nyangatom have a belief in a
certain class of people active as “man-eaters.” There is no
published information on this matter yet. The Nyangatom
notion appears to be fairly similar to that of the Dassanetch.
6
Jon Abbink
Cultural materialists (like Harris 1977 or Hamer
1977) have tried to uncover the logic of canni-
balism through an analysis of the ecological and
dietary conditions of the society (in what is popu-
larly but somewhat unjustly known as the “protein
argument”). This theory claims that certain such
conditions of protein scarcity and/or violent inter-
group conflicts (e.g., in Fiji, or among the Iroquois
Indians) may indirectly or unwittingly stimulate
the adoption of cannibalist practices. They may
also be upheld by a hierarchical sacrificial cult, as
among the Aztecs.
In what follows, I will briefly sketch Me’en
society, make a note on etymology, outline the
belief in cannibals among the Me’en, and then
comment upon the merits of various theoretical ap-
proaches. It will be argued here that the emergence
and persistence of the “cannibalist discourse” can
only be made understandable in view of history
of changing “intertribal” relations in the area. The
term “discourse” is used here in the sense of a his-
torically specific, more or less internally coherent
cultural language in a certain society, containing
implicit and explicit propositions about natural
and/or supernatural phenomena. The cannibalism
discourse might be said to be related to structural
features of the Me’en productive system and to
the ambiguities of increased intergroup contacts,
perhaps evoking cognitive insecurity about the im-
plications and consequences of such contacts.
Exclusively “symbolic” interpretations of such
“irrationalist” beliefs can be highly misleading. In
his well-known work criticizing such approaches,
Sperber (1980, 1982, 1996) rightly doubted the
tendency to relegate to the “symbolic” sphere all
uncomprehended statements of informants at the
expense of more rationalist explanations, grounded
in a proper appraisal of the cognitive functioning
of the human mind in general, seeking pragmatic
knowledge. This point should warn us against
any easy metaphoric-symbolic (and also semiotic)
interpretation. But it remains to be seen what can
sufficiently explain the persistence of the notion
of canibalism, as it is emphatically stated by
informants, despite a clear lack of empirical or
experiential evidence. It seems that some of the
above theories do certainly not explain enough
neither the origin of the notion nor its status and
role in Me’en society today.
“Cannibals” in the Context of Me’en Society
The western or “Tishana”-Me’en are shifting cul-
tivators in the highlands north of the small town
of Maji.6 * They lived in this area for more than
a hundred years. It was formerly densely forest-
ed and lies at an average altitude of ca. 1200-
1600 m. Me’en ethnohistory is complex (cf. Ab-
bink 1992b), revealing a variety of origins of this
population. It is important to note that Me’en-
speakers took gradual possession of the high-
land, incorporating several indigenous groups of
different ethnic origin and mode of subsistence
in the process. As evident from their way of
life, customs, and oral traditions, most Tishana-
Me’en speakers descend from transhumant agro-
pastoralists originating from the valley along the
Omo River. This group was probably very similar
to the present-day Bodi-Me’en, with which the
Tishana still occasionally intermarry and share the
self-name “Me’en.”
The main crops of the western Me’en are maize
and sorghum. Other crops like teff, wheat, beans,
sugar cane, and tobacco are cultivated partly for
subsistence, partly for sale in regional markets.
Additional activities are the garden cultivation of
root crops and vegetables, hunting, and beekeep-
ing. Small amounts of cattle, sheep, and goats
are kept. Cattle is important as a medium for
bridewealth and in ceremonies, burials, and some
other rituals. But there is no comparable “cattle
culture” as existing among the Bodi, Tirmaga, or
Chai, who have a strong practical and symbolic
preoccupation with cattle (in ritual, in marriage
arrangements, in colour terms, in personal naming,
material culture, etc.).
Me’en traditional social organization is based
on a kin-ordered mode of production. The land
is held by exogamous patrilineal “descent groups”
or lineages called du’ut (= seed; an agricultural
metaphor), which ultimately are derived from a
limited number of overarching clans (called in
Me’en, shot ok, kabi, or kahuchoch). The male
members, but also widowed females, have primary
rights to the land possessed by the group. There
was never any real land scarcity in this society -
instead, one could speak of a “scarcity of peo-
ple.” The main purpose of Me’en descent group
sections, it might be said, is to gather as many
people in the homesteads as possible, through mul-
tiple marriage (polygamy) and many children. The
Me’en household groups are patrilocal. Women are
brought into the lineage or clan territory from other
groups (after the transfer of bridewealth in heads
of cattle). But they keep a bond with their own
group for certain ritual purposes and ceremonies.
6 For some information on the history of the Tishana-Me’en,
see Abbink (1992a, 1992b).
Anthropos 103.2008
7
Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia
Villages or hamlets are very small and consist
°f members of extended patrilocal families, of-
ten three-generational. The Me’en traditionally had
ritual chiefs (sg. komorut, cf. Abbink forthcom-
ing), without real coercive powers. They were the
hereditary, “priestly” mediators between the clan
groups and Tuma, the skygod, guardian of rain and
fertility. Elders regulated the affairs of the du’ut
and its members. Men and women have full adult
status only if they are married and have children.
Until a man has earned sufficient bridewealth for
the marriage, he is under the authority of the father.
Deceased persons are buried in the territory of the
du’ut (only by exception are women buried in the
territory of their own du’ut). Burials are important
social occasions, especially when the deceased was
a respected male or female elder. Proper burial is
a vital ceremony for the du’ut. It must ensure the
Passing of the spirit (qalua) of the dead person to
the realm of Tuma, and it must, by placing the dead
in du ’ut territory, ensure the prosperity and growth
°f its surviving members. Nevertheless, the close
relatives of the deceased often leave the place of
death and settle in another part of the clan territory.
Formerly they also could go to an unclaimed area
to set up a household.
Qamtut is the name that Me’en people give to
a category of persons claimed to have a “taste
for human flesh.” Their activity is perceived to
he of two kinds; 1. they are active at night, trying
to get at the corpse of recently buried persons;
2. they “mark” or attack single, preferably young,
people on isolated, unguarded spots, e.g., outside
the village or in the bush.7
The former type approaches a fresh grave at
night and by various magical means attempts to
extract the corpse from it. This is one reason why
the grave is guarded for three months by close
relatives; males (i.e., clan or lineage members) at
night, females in the daytime. After three months,
the corpse in the grave is “no longer attractive”
for the qamtut. There are instances of people
having killed a suspected qamtut when roaming
about at night near a grave. The second type of
qamtut is said to unpredictably appear in daytime
to approach people. They may touch and mark
them, make them ill, kidnap them, cause their
death, and then eat part of the victim. Marking
means that they may touch people in a certain
7 There was also an instance whereby ill people, lying m a
clinic, were threatened by a qamtut - though this may a so,
like the other places mentioned, be said to be outside t e
familiar social context; in a clinic, run by outsiders, and at
some distance from the homestead of the affected.
manner - e.g., “taste” their fingers or bind their
feet8 - and may then at one time come back to
take the victim and consume it.
Both types of qamtut activity are feared by
many Me’en. The qamtut were said by most
informants to originate from one clan (among
the Tishana, from the Djogatch). Their activity is
contagious; a woman or man married to a qamtut
will also become one, often after “having been
served with human flesh” or with a certain powder
in their food without their being aware of it. The
qamtut are now reputed to have “spread among all
du’ut^r However, never has any one instance of
a person eating human flesh been openly observed
or been tried in the local courts. Government
people obviously try to discourage all talk about
qamtut.
The Me’en are often adamant in affirming the
existence of the qamtut, but do not point them
out publicly. In fact, they do not care whether
skeptical observers share or understand the belief;
neither do they intend to find out whether such
suspected qamtut people “really” consume human
flesh or not. They say that they simply have
to reckon with the possibility. We may here, in
terms of Sperber (1982: 169-171), perhaps speak
of a “representational belief of semi-propositional
content”; there is a commitment to the (possible)
existence and characteristics of a category of
persons called qamtut (the belief); but at the same
time no clear or exhaustive interpretation of the
statements and their entailments pertaining to the
qamtut activity is intended (the semi-propositional
content).
It may be seen that we have here an endocan-
nibalist representation: the qamtut - who may ap-
pear to have some of the characteristics of witches
as familiar from the anthropological literature (see
for a classical evocation: Smith Bowen 1964) -
operate within Me’en society, threatening fellow
Me’en.
Etymology
A comparative survey of Surmic linguistic material
shows that, as far as we know, the word qam-
tut (or related variants) exists among the Me’en
only. Published linguistic data on the Me’en lan-
guage are scarce. Conti Rossini (1914:439) gives
a word komtut, but with the meaning “uomo
libero,” and refers to d’Abbadie’s posthumous
8 This is what allegedly happened with the sick persons
visited by qamtut in the clinic (see previous footnote).
Anthropos 103.2008
8
Jon Abbink
book “Géographie de l’Éthiopie” (1890) which
mentions kumtut as meaning a “rich, powerful
man.” But Conti Rossini also mentions (1914: 446)
qamtut, meaning “orco, spauracchio pei ragazzi”
(i.e., ogre). Ricci, in an impressive study of the
“Mekan” (Me’en) language (1974), based on data
gathered by an Italian doctor working among the
Tishana-Me’en in 1939-41, mentions two related
words; 1. camtot = “iettatore,” and relates it to
the verb camiday (to consume, to devour); and
2. camtut = “antropofago.”9 This is the present-
day meaning (probably derived from the verb root
/am-/, “to eat”; 1st person sg. /k-am/. The suffix
/tu/ or /tut/ is unclear. The initial fkJ has become an
explosive /q-/). Will’s dictionary of Me’en (1991)
has k’amt’ut and gives the meaning “some one
eating deceased humans.” But the probably older
meaning of the word (in d’Abbadie 1890, based on
data from the 1840s-50s) as “free, rich, powerful
man” is intriguing, because it points to a dominant
characteristic of witchcraft. The powerful position
of a person in a small-scale, relatively egalitarian
society is often seen as having been reached not by
ordinary means: supernatural or witchcraft power
(“at the expense of others”) must have helped the
person. Whether such an interpretation can hold in
this case remains to be seen.
A Closer Look at the Elements of the Qamtut
Discourse
Before proceeding, a word should be said on
the myth of “Tishana cannibalism” that has been
created by outsiders. The “Tishana”10 were for a
very long time a “security problem,” not being
fully under politico-military control of the central
government. Until the Italian invasion of 1936,
the Me’en offered tenacious armed resistance to
imperial Ethiopian forces and northern Ethiopian
settlers (cf. Abbink 1992a). In the course of this
confrontation, the Tishana gained the reputation
- also among neighbouring peoples - of being
cruel and warlike (Straube 1963: 18), and at the
beginning of this century it was already reported
that the neighbouring “Gimira” (= the Bench peo-
ple) regarded the Me’en as being cannibalistic (cf.
Cerulli 1956: 50). Interesting but rather question-
9 Ricci notes that the linguistic informant of the doctor re-
ferred to a “supernatural monstrous being,” not to an actual
practice of persons in Me’en society.
10 Tishana is a Me’en greeting word under which Me’en-
speaking people became known after their contacts with
immigrating highlanders at the turn of the century.
able are also the remarks of A. Hodson, a British
consul in Maji in the early 1920s. In his fascinating
travel account, he states that the Tishana often
ate parts of their captives, after having tortured
them (1927: 164; 1929: 29). It appears from his
information - even if it were reliable - that any
cannibalist acts were not a regular custom, but
may have been occasional “war brutalities.” But it
is stated by contemporary Me’en informants that
there was certainly no ritual cannibalism and no
exocannibalist “ideology” of eating the enemies in
order to regenerate losses sustained or to imbibe
their strength (as, e.g., among the Huron and
Iroquois Indians, see Sanday 1986: 125 f.).
As in all such cases, it is difficult to say any-
thing about the origins of the qamtut idea. While
it also appears among the Didinga (cf. Cerulli
1956: 80) and the Murle people (Lewis 1972: 142),
two agro-pastoralist Sudanese members of the
Surmic-speaking group and culturally related to
the Me’en, this similarity does not clear up its his-
torical roots. Baxter (1972) has offered some argu-
ments to explain the virtual absence of witchcraft-
cannibalism among pastoralist societies. Although
the Me’en descend from an agro-pastoral society
- and still partly are, i.e., the Bodi - they are
now mostly cultivators, focused not so much on
pastures as on land. The cannibalist representation
must have received its full force during more re-
cent processes of sociocultural change and contact
with other groups. But interestingly, the Bodi, who
are ideologically and economically much more
focussed on cattle and on the transhumant pastoral
way of life, show as strong a fear of the qamtut
as the Tishana-Me’en (cf. Haberland 1959; also
evident from statements by my Bodi informant in
1988 and 1990). One remark of a Tishana-Me’en
elder should also be cited: he emphasized that the
qamtut were in the area before his du’ut settled
there:
Our ancestors did not come with qamtuts. These came
from streams, and from the earth ... In former times,
the qamtut were all persecuted and killed ... But they
will never disappear, especially not now that they have
intermarried with Me’en, in order to survive. They are
hard to recognize.
It can be noticed that in the present form of
the qamtut idea among the Tishana-Me’en, they
have - due to many decades of contact with
the descendants of northern Ethiopians in the
villages - endowed the qamtut more with the
qualities of the buda, the representation of an evil
eye-possessing person, “imported” by Amhara and
Anthropos 103.2008
9
‘Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia
Oromo settlers from the northern highlands (cf.
Ricci 1974; 280).
The characteristics of the qamtut discourse, as
reconstructed from Me’en statements, are as fol-
lows. Qamtut are antisocial, uncontrollable persons
with the evil inclination of preying upon human
flesh, at times dissociating themselves from nor-
mal social life. They roam at night, away from
their home area. Apart from their spear, they often
carry a knife on every hip. They possess secret
knowledge of how to attract or influence human
victims, or how to get a body out of the grave (e.g.,
tapping with a certain stick or reed). Some qamtut
have also the power to cast a curse. If, for instance,
a cow killed at the burial ceremony carries a hard
hall of hair in its stomach, this is seen as the work
°f the qamtut, having cast a mark, and having
preyed upon the deceased. There are no protective
measures against qamtuts, except for the guarding
of the grave (where the corpse — wrapped in a
cowskin — is placed, minimally two, sometimes
four metres deep in the earth, and covered with
layers of wood, sand, and large stones). Suspected
Qamtuts can be slain on the spot. In one case
already mentioned, a man was killed at night while
he moved about unannounced near the grave of
a recently buried old woman. Her son killed this
man. After the deed, he fled from the area, fearing
revenge from the qamtuf s relatives.
The qamtuts can never be publicly accused or
pinned down to any demonstrable misdemeanor.
They are the object of persistent rumours only,
and they continue to live among the non-qamtut
population. Me’en say it is impossible to say who
is or will be a qamtut: any Me’en could be one.
They just live a normal life amidst the other
members of the village.
The earlier-mentioned second type of “canni-
bal, active in broad daylight, is called goro-
S°ro.11 According to descriptions, they have a
silent, intimidating power over individuals when
they meet them on the path; they hypnotize them,
so to speak. The victim becomes nervous, starts
shaking after their touch and may become ill after-
wards. When the victim does not recover but dies,
it is said that the body will certainly be taken by the
qamtut. Here one might liken their role to that of
the classical witch, except for the fact that they can
never be identified, be publicly accused, or called
upon to surrender their victim. This difference
11 Goro means “path,” “road” in Me’en. Gorogoro means
something like “those on the road.” The expression is. ni
koi fatiyinani, gorogoro amanihu (“When I go out a one,
gorogoro will attack me”) and it refers to possible qamtut.
Anthropos 103.2008
leads me to conclude that the qamtut representation
cannot be explained successfully with reference to
the phenomenon of witchcraft. Furthermore (and
similar to other societies with a pastoralist ethos),
the Me’en have no specific or elaborate theory
about misfortune caused by human agents acting
with secret magical means. What they know about
this (cf. the gorogoro), is most probably derived
from general Ethiopian notions about the “evil
eye.” I will, therefore, not pursue the witchcraft
analogy, because it does not appear to help in
explaining the qamtut representation. In fact, this
latter idea seems hardly connected to other ide-
ological representations in Me’en society; neither
to witchcraft nor to traditional healing, and only
marginally to Me’en religious notions.
In sum, the following elements can already be
discerned in the qamtut representation:
- Supernatural power: resorting to unknown mag-
ical means to extract the corpse from the grave
or to cast a spell on people who may become
inexplicably nervous, ill, or may die.
- Antisocial character: they are beings moving
only at night or in deserted places, alone, beyond
normal social control. Thus:
- Outsider status: exposed qamtut are not found
to be members of the du ’ut where they made their
attack.
- Inversion of central Me’en values: the unthink-
able consumption of human flesh instead of animal
meat; the mocking of human death.
- Threatening the continuity of the du’ut by
trying to prevent the burial of a deceased member
in its territory. Thus, the passage of the “soul” of
the deceased to the realm of Turna is prevented.
Especially if the patrilineal qalua spirit is not
“appeased,” it will keep on disturbing the living
members of the lineage. We will come back on
these points in the following sections.
The Cannibalist Discourse in the Light
of Theory
If we follow a classical social-structural approach
- stressing a link with witchcraft - to account for
the cannibal idea among the Me’en, we find that
the evidence is ambiguous. The qamtuts do not
appear to be witches. Is the accusation of being a
qamtut related to Me’en envy of personal success?
Among the Bodi-Me’en indeed, the richest clan
(the Degit) is claimed to be the clan of the qamtuts
(cf. Klausberger 1981:244). This would in some
way support the early etymological evidence (see
above). But my observations, as well as case stud-
10
Jon Abbink
ies of influential, “rich” Me’en and informants’
statements to this effect, would tend to refute this.
There is no significant correlation between being
relatively wealthy and being suspected of being
qamtut. Also in the case cited above (the man
killed at night), it did not hold. The man killed
appeared to be a neighbour of the household of the
dead woman. He was a respected elder, though of
another lineage. No particular enmity was said to
have existed between the two households, though
his fields bordered those of the deceased’s house-
hold, separated by a small stream. There may have
been a potential conflict of interest, but there were
no rumours to that effect. He was not particu-
larly rich nor envied. Some Me’en saw the case
simply as an instance of the “unpredictability” of
qamtuts.
Peggy Sanday (1986) has considered three the-
oretical orientations in the study of cannibalism,
none of them related to witchcraft. The “psy-
chogenic theory” (Sagan) and the cultural mate-
rialist theory (Harris, Hamer) will not be referred
to in detail because (apart from the possibly cogent
criticism of Sanday and others) the Me’en material
is not readily explained by either theory. There was
no real consumption of human flesh as far as we
know, and even if there was, 1. the “aggression
and frustration” (presumed to be at the basis of
the “literal or oral incorporation” or eating of a
lost beloved or an enemy) had other culturally
mediated outlets in other domains of Me’en so-
ciety; 2. ecological conditions did not determine
the adoption of it - there was neither any serious
population pressure nor a sudden decline of protein
supply.
Sunday’s own theory, the most encompassing
one, is a symbolic-interpretive approach which
emphasizes the ontological basis of cannibal prac-
tice. When cannibalism occurs, it is always relat-
ed to fundamental ideas about life- and fertility-
(re)generating forces, notions about the contact of
humans with the divine or spirit world. On the
basis of an analysis of some crucial cases of can-
nibalism, Sanday argues that a full cultural inter-
pretation reveals that cannibalist rituals, fuelled by
“inchoate human desire” (1986: 54), “... expresses
the ontological stmctures for being-in-the world in
terms of which humans understand the forces of
life and death and use this understanding to control
vital forces deemed necessary for the reproduction
of society” (xi). There is a legitimate reason to take
the psychodynamics of cannibalist representations
into account because, as said above, it reflects
direct concerns and anxieties of people. But such
representations and cannibalist practices are not
the direct result of presumably “given” self-evident
ontologies, psychological tensions, and “needs,”
and have to be tied to considerations of the social
(reproduction) process in which these representa-
tions get their form and validation. In Sunday’s
generalizing approach, attention to the logic and
the mechanisms of social tension, to intrasociety
dissent, or to infrastructural changes affecting the
representation, tends to be underestimated. Not in
every case of cannibalist discourse the ontological
basis is always that strong and that autonomous.
From our account we have seen that among the
Me’en, continued fertility is expressed in main-
taining the good relationships of the living with the
spirits of the lineage and du’ut ancestors, which is
in its turn guaranteed by an elaborate burial and
proper passage of the qalua to Tuma. In this sense
only, Me’en cosmology is important. But (the fear
of) cannibal practice itself is not really related to
it; the purported activity of the Me’en qamtut is
hardly rooted in ontology as an encompassing cul-
tural system. It is a discourse activated on certain
occasions, when a latent social tension appears to
come to the surface.
Conclusion
Me’en have a strong and irrational fear of canni-
bals, i.e., in this case “corpse snatchers.” Irrational
because no clear evidence is discussed or taken as
decisive: no one ever actually witnessed an alleged
cannibal eating the flesh of a deceased person
taken from a fresh grave.
We saw that the Me’en discourse on canni-
bals is not directed at alien, outsider groups;
there are no enemy (ethnic) groups categorized
as “man-eaters.” On the contrary, the metaphor of
the qamtut is directed to the Me’en .group itself
and appears to express in a metaphoric way two
things:
1. an attitude or feelings of uncertainty concerning
“origins” and possibly boundaries of lineage or
clan group;
2. a fear of rivalry or competition between fami-
lies or du’uts as (re)productive units.
To begin with the first point, it should be re-
membered that the history of Tishana and of Bodi
ethnogenesis is one of conquest and intermingling
of ethnically heterogeneous groups. Significant is
in this context the Bodi fear of the “Kilingkabur
monster,” related to an ancient population (the
Kilingkabur), overrun by a proto-Me’en group (cf.
Fukui 1988: 791) from which the Mela trace de-
scent. This seems to be an instance of the im-
Anthropos 103.2008
11
Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia
age of a “cannibal monster” that Sanday says
(1986: xiii) can suggest “the projection of inner
fears produced by stressful outer circumstances.
These may in this case have been related to
conquest and tense relations between populations
groups.
The settlement of the Tishana-Me en in the
highlands west of the Omo River is relatively
recent (ca. 110-140 years). It meant increasing
contact with new groups as well as the afore-
mentioned incorporation of several culturally dif-
ferent subgroups, like Bench, Manja, and Kwegu
people. The notion of qamtut may be a reflec-
tion of the ambivalence of this recent process
°f confrontation, taking place in conditions of
leaderless dispersal of descent units (which has
always been characteristic of Me’en settlement
in the highland areas north of Maji). A qamtut
may then be seen as a descendant of a submerged
minority group,12 not a “real Me’en” (Me en c im)
with uncontested rights to the du’ut/clan patrimony
and nganiya identity (i.e., patrilineal consanguinal
relatedness); and the Me’en fear that the qalua
spirit threatened by qamtut will not arrive with
the ancestral spirit’s transfer, thus endangering
du ut integrity, lineality, and territorial base. The
hold of the du’ut on the territory always remains
tenuous. No central order-enforcing mechanism
traditionally regulated the spread and growth of
the du’uts.
This leads us to the second point, which is
related to the idea that the “balance” between
the, in principle, equal du’uts, as more or less
delineated landholding groups in conditions of rel-
atively free access to land, might be upset. This
socially and culturally strong-rooted idea of bai-
lee, reciprocity, and equality might be a relic
of the pastoral era, when descent units similar
to the kabuchoch (the original clans), formed on
the basis of nganiya (patrilineal relatedness), were
the framework of production and exchange, and
also of ceremonial life. This egalitarian pattern
may be disturbed by creeping differences in re-
productive success of groups — some simply have
better land, more children, more livestock, or con-
sistently better harvests — giving rise to more
durable patterns of inequality.13 It is also likely
that the pattern of reciprocity (tachen = exchang-
es) between the clans, and especially between
|2 Compare the cited statement of the elder, see above.
There are now indeed notable differences in wealth between
certain lineage segments and individuals. Some have given
rise to big men” (and not only from the group of hereditary
komumt, i.e., rain mediators).
Anthropos 103.2008
the lineages, e.g., in connection with bridewealth
exchange obligations, is seen as threatened (which
would the Me’en case make somewhat comparable
to that of the New Guinea Melpa, see Sanday
1986:81).
Inchoate social tensions between the constitu-
tive units of the Me’en social formation, in these
particular ecological conditions and at a specific
low level of technological utilization of environ-
mental resources, may thus be responsible for the
persistence of the qamtut idea, whatever its ulti-
mate origins - grafted on notions of reproduc-
tion of people, livestock, and crops in a defined
territory. There was no ontologically grounded,
powerful symbolic metaphor of transmitting hu-
man essence or psychic energy through the can-
nibal act. One could say that “divine hunger” (as
Sanday 1986 called it) was never really a Me’en
affliction. However, the extent of personal agony
and mental insecurity or “tyranny” that the qamtut
idea had on many individuals may have decisive-
ly contributed to the relatively large conversion
movement towards Protestant Christianity among
the northern Me’en in the past decade-and-a-half
(1991-2006). Other factors stimulating this were
the emerging desires for “modernity” and for
alliance with a more powerful translocal religion
brought (initially) by white strangers. The result
was that many of the Me’en adopted a local form
of Evangelical Christianity that seems to rid them
of these fears and place their trust in a protecting
God as well as link them, as they see it, to a wider
community of materially and educationally more
developed people on which cannibal fears would
have no hold.
I am grateful to the Wenner-Gren Foundation (New
York), the Royal Netherlands Academy of Science
(KNAW), and the Michigan State University Muse-
um for generously supporting fieldwork in Southern
Ethiopia (1988-1990, 1993).
A first version of this text was presented at the
Tenth International Conference of Ethiopian Studies,
Paris 1988 (s. Lepage 1994/1:431-440). I am grateful
to the editors for their permission to use this earlier
version.
I would like to dedicate this essay to the memory of
the late Ato Mekonnen Yayye, as a token of my respect
for his assistance and friendship and in remembrance of
his important work on the Me’en language and educa-
tional programs. Mekonnen was a native of Bach’uma
village in the Me’en area, a kind and admirable man
who died in 1994 of a fatal disease which paralysed
him and took a way his speech and finally his life.
12
Jon Abbink
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184
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Anthropos
103.2008: 15-32
Dr. Freud Was Not a Kafa
A Classical Case of Anthropological Overinterpretation from Ethiopia
Hermann Ambom
Abstract. - A significant ceremonial object in s(*L*t^
Ethiopia is a headdress called kalacca. Its associa to
phallus by Westerners has become an unquestioned P •
article shows how prejudiced European ideas ere
ideas - take a foreign object’s external appearance;
interpretation, which is then, due to a lack o se , , ,
“orientalized.” This projection onto the ideas o o^ e
access to indigenous conceptions. Makers of a acca a
entitled to wear them emphasize its sacred meaning, i e
h as a socioreligious mediator able to bun e Pos1/ ,
negative cosmic and spiritual energies. Consi ere wi
broader framework, the kalacca belongs to those sub;sUa
which are capable of creating and representing re ations
the supernatural. [Southern Ethiopia, ritual object, pi eju *
critique of Freudian misinterpretation, reflexive anthropo gyj
Hermann Amborn, professor emeritus of Anthropology Uni
versity of Munich, lectured in Munich, Hamburg, Ben .
Tübingen, and Manhattan (Kansas). He was the spokesman
the working group on Ethics of the German Ant r0P°
Association for several years. — Research areas. 10P >
Kenya, and Indonesia. - His publications are relating o
socioeconomics (agriculture, division of work), sociore igiou
issues, polycephalous societies, action research, ethics, i en i Y>
oral tradition, and conflict solving. See also References i e
The characteristic feature of topoi is their pe
sistence. A shining example is the kallacca,
southern Ethiopian ritual object, worn upng t on
the forehead, always described in anthropo ogica
texts as a phallic headdress. In a general sense, i
mirrors how anthropological knowledge has re
quently been constructed as an European arte act,
and how easily a researcher may be deceived w en
he thinks something is so obvious that there is no
need to look into the possibility of other inter
pretations. The thing that is apparently obvious is
unreflectingly explained and classified in terms of
the anthropologist’s own cultural criteria, and all
too quickly declared as factual knowledge, until,
everyone being in agreement, a tradition grows
up - a classic instance of invented tradition.
Ever since human beings have shown an in-
terest in other human beings outside their own
territory, there to become witnesses of “strange”
customs and phenomena, they have transferred
conceptions (including fantasy) sprung from their
own worldview onto the Other. Such images are
handed down and eventually become stereotypes.
Early descriptions of foreign peoples are full of
topoi that become increasingly fanciful the greater
the distance from the centre of the known world.
As an example we need only mention the many
monstrous human creatures that populated the pe-
riphery of the world (Petermann 2007).
When the anthropological discourse became
more scholarly in the course of the Enlightenment,
these creatures largely disappeared, together with
the topoi associated with them, a development
which, however, in no way prevented the new
discipline of anthropology from producing new
topoi and obsolete conventions and doctrines in
its turn. Until recently, for instance, animism and,
stubbornly defended, totemism (Baumann 1952;
passim) continued to be considered as evolutionary
stages of early religiosity, as well as the notion of
shamanism as the expression of “Arctic hysteria,”
to which we will be returning. Castaneda’s sup-
posedly authentic and true reports of giant birds
16
Hermann Amborn
and other fantastic phenomena fascinated not a
few anthropologists from the end of the 1960s
onwards. Plainly ineradicable - at least outside
anthropology - is the German term “Naturvolk.”
These misinterpretations and topoi have been
recognized for what they are, but it takes a long
time for this knowledge to find acceptance in
neighbouring disciplines; we only need think of
the Australian Aborigines, who, like many another
“tribe,” are believed to be still living in the Stone
Age - i.e., at an earlier stage in terms of our
own knowledge. But there is no doubt that there
are many topoi still hidden in anthropological
writings. In this article I will present the case of
the southern Ethiopian kallacca, which should be
understood as a general warning against topoi.
Through a critical examination of the sources
and of statements by persons who are entitled
to wear the kallacca or who are involved in
its manufacture, we will attempt to establish a
more accurate interpretation of the meaning of
this emblem and its status within a socioreligious
context.
1 Description of the kallacca
Kallacca is an Oromo word which in similar forms
has entered as a loanword into many southern
Ethiopian languages.1 Usually, a kallacca is about
10 centimetres long and consists in its upper part
of a cone that is about 2.5 centimetres long,
with a base of about 3 centimetres in diameter.
Connected to it is a cylinder, about 2 centimetres
in diameter, which generally has a slightly conical
form. Frequently, four small elevations can be seen
around the upper part. In our days, most of the
kallacca are cast in aluminium, while the older
ones are made of nonferrous alloys or silver. The
emblem - which has an eyelet on its underside -
stands on a round baseplate, either a yellow and
white snail-shell (of the genus Conus) with a hole
bored through the middle, or ivory, and is held
upright on the forehead with the aid of a strap
(Fig. 1).
Native smiths produce the emblem by means
of the lost-wax process, but not many of them
know how to manage this complex procedure.2 It
1 Amarro: kaalaca, Burji: kallacci, Konso: xallassa, D’iraas-
sa: hallassa, Dita: kaalaca, Dorze: kaalaca, Dullay: xal-
lasso, Hadiya: kalacca, Hamar: kalasa, Kafa: qaalldaco (for
sources cf. note 9)
2 Cf. Ambom 1990:77. This method is also known as the
cire perdue process.
starts with searching for clean wax and different
sorts of clay for the inner and outer parts of
the mould. The wax is cleaned in boiling water
and then kneaded. When firm, a rough model is
formed by hand, and finished by carving with a
small knife. Finally, the surface is smoothed with a
heated knife-blade. The wax model is coated with
a layer of finely ground, almost liquid clay and
then quickly covered with kneadable clay (Fig. 2).
In order to avoid cracks, the temperature of the
drying process, which takes one to two days,
is carefully controlled by repeatedly moving the
mould to different places in the compound. The
finished mould is taken to the smithy, which is
covered by cloths against looking in, where the
wax is melted out of the mould. The smith melts
small pieces of metal (usually aluminium) on the
forge in a small crucible or metal dipper, and
pours the molten metal into the hollow space left
by the wax. When the whole is cold, he breaks
the mould. If the casting is good, some finishing
work will be needed only at the vent where
the metal was poured in (the foot of the metal
object). Smiths also make the baseplate we have
mentioned.
The kallacca is not a commodity. Anyone who
needs this object goes to the smith and arranges a
suitable date for the casting. There is no discussion
about the price. The client pays whatever the smith
asks for the finished kallacca?
Local variations in shape are common. For in-
stance, the objects observed by Bruce and Russell
in Gondar have only a short shaft with a long, nar-
row cone on it. Haberland documents two shapes
among the Dizi; a slender brass pyramid that is
7.7 cm in length and crowned by a little ball,
and a 7 cm high truncated cone with a round
disc on the top. Both sit on a flat round base-
plate.3 4 According to Bieber, in Kafa the kallacca
were bigger than elsewhere and often made out
of bronzesheet. He also described a cast-bronze
plate with three horns shaped like a kallacca. Even
golden kallacca are said to have existed (Bieber
1920:300, Figs. 128-130). A special shape is
the so-called “Kafa crown” made of silver sheet,
which had three cones juxtaposed on a plate
sitting on a cylinder that was fixed on a conical
3 Information from several smiths from Keera/Konso 1981.
According to Haberland (1993: 171), around 1850/1860
King Zula of Gofa gave 40 slaves for a golden kallacca
from Jimma.
4 Bruce 1790, Atlas: pi. 34, 35; Russell 1833: 158. Dizi:
Haberland 1993: 169-172, Figs. 29 a and b; photos 1-3.
Among the Dizi this headdress is called t’abal.
Anthropos 103.2008
17
2 Phallsification
"riedrich Bieber, an Austrian who saw the kallacca
ln southern Ethiopia, was the first person to write
at length about its possible meaning. He was al-
so the first European to undertake any extensive
research in Kafa. This was in the early years
of the 20th century, only a few years after this
Cushitic kingdom was overthrown by the imperial
Abyssinian army. He was really impressed by their
qallaco, especially the “Kafa crown’ of the former
ruler, who was brought as a prisoner to Addis
Ababa. Bieber’s reminiscences of Kafa were pub-
lished in two volumes in 1920 and 1923, at a time
when Freudian sexual symbolism was the latest
topic of discussion. That an Austrian researcher
interpreted the Kafa qallnco in sub-Freudian terms
—
Fig. 1: Religious dignitary {gannì), Burji, Southwest Ethiopia
(photo: H. Straube).
^Phmos in: Brogini and Lanz2000;44; good drawing m
Dittmer 1964; 69, Fig. 4. In order to prevent the crow
being returned to the Kafa, Emperor Menilek gave i
Swiss adviser Alfred Ilg. Only in the 1940s was i re
to Addis Ababa (but not to Kafa!), where it is now o
in the Museum of the Institute of Ethiopian Studies. ^
For a critical assessment of this object as a '
see Lange (1982; 271), who also points to the fact mat
most important royal insignia was a golden brace et.
6 “Gammachu Magarsa; ‘My grandfather .. ■ had a a ac
■.. After they had become Christians, they have done away
with them. The kallacha consisted of three tubes o iron,
each about ten centimeters long, with some simple esign
on them ... Between these three tubes of iron were t ree
times three big black beads ...”’ (Bartels 1983. 140).
7 For sources cf. notes 9 and 17.
Fig. 2: Forming the wax
(photo: H. Ambom).
model, Konso, Southwest Ethiopia
“*• Freud Was Not a Kafa
hat.5 A triple kallacca was described to Bartels
from memory by a Macca-Oromo.6 Like other
unauthorized persons, Bartels was not allowed to
see any of the still existing kallacca.
The kallacca is found among people living
in an area west of the Ethiopian capital Addis
Ababa and south of it approximately as far as
the equator in Kenya. Among southern Cushitic-
speaking societies it is mostly connected with the
generation-grade system, but it is also known in
societies without this system, such as the Hamar,
Amarro, Hadiya, and within some groups of the
Gamu highland. In the former sacred kingdoms
°f Janjero, Wolayta and the Gonga kingdoms of
Kafa, Hinnario, and Seka, the right to wear the
kallacca was under the control of the central
authority.7 However, it is unknown among most
west Ometic speakers. For the 18th and early 19th
centuries we know of examples from northern
Ethiopia, too (Bruce 1790, Atlas pi. 34, 35; Russell
1833: 158).
Anthropos 103.2008
18
Hermann Amborn
is therefore hardly surprising. He explained in
several places of his two-volume book that it was
“[eine] stilisierte ... Nachbildung eines erigierten
membrum virile” (a stylized reproduction of an
erect membrum virile)} In the ruler’s “crown” he
even saw a triple golden phallus, moving force
of sexual magic (“dreifachen goldenen Phallus,
dem Träger des Geschlechtszaubers”) (1923: 66)
and “das Sinnbild der siegenden Mannheit... und
mächtig machenden potentia virilis oder potentia
coeundr (the symbol of triumphant manhood ...
the power-giving potentia virilis or potentia coe-
undi) (358). By rendering vernacular texts he gave
the impression of authenticity. Even if his claims
are inconsistent, for elsewhere (362) he wrote that
the “Kaffitscho” did not use the qällaco for love
magic or anything else, and in another passage he
translates qällaco as “Kopfstück (headpiece), the
idea of the qällaco as a powerful erect membrum
virile is found throughout his writings.
Thus the phallus on the head was born. From
then until our days it has become an unquestioned
topos among anthropologists that the kallacca is a
“phallic ornament.”9
It was also Bieber who introduced into the
discussion a connection between kallacca, power
of procreation and the killing of male enemies.
According to him, successful warriors who had
killed enemies received from the king the right
to wear this emblem as a badge of merit. In this
way the kallacca became the phallic killer insignia
(1920: 128 ff.; 1923: 361 f.).
Killing enemies or big game is indeed respected
as an honourable action in many Ethiopian so-
cieties, and such a “hero” enjoys an untarnished
8 Bieber 1920:300, cf. among others: 1923:358.
9 Sources that saw a connection between kallacca and phal-
lus:
Oromo and societies with a generation-grading system:
Oromo: Baxter 1978: 167; Haberland 1963: see Index,
s.v. “Phallischer Schmuck”; Hinnant 1978:237 (Guji);
Knutsson 1967: 88 ff. (Macca Oromo); Leus 1995: s.v.
kalaca (Borana).
Konso: Hallpike 1972: 149; Jensen 1936: 198, 347, 389
(Fig. 119); Plowman 1918-19: 115; Tadesse 1992: 20, note
26; Watson 1998:201.
Others; Straube 1963: see Index s.v. “Phallischer Kopf-
schmuck” (Amarro), 224 (Dita), 190 (Dorze); Haberland
1993: 169-172 (Dizi); Jensen 1936: 327 (Gid’eo [Darasa]);
Braukamper 1980:242, 295 (Hadiya); Lydall and Strecker
1979: 59, 74 (Hamar); Jensen 1959: 370 (Tsamakko).
Former “sacred kingdoms”: Bieber 1920: ch. 37; 1923:
chs. 15, 23; Lange 1982: 271 (Kafa); Lange 1982: 39 (Hin-
nario), 129 (Seka); Haberland 1965: 278 (Wolayta); Straube
1963: 337 (Janjero).
Southern Ethiopia (in comparison): Braukämper 2001: 230,
232.
reputation. In the hierarchical societies, the central
authority (“king”) could raise the rank of a person
who has killed, whereas in the more or less egali-
tarian societies of the south, a common possibility
for men to gain merits and authority was by killing
enemies or dangerous big game.10
It is also true that some ethnic groups stuck to
the idea that killing and procreation were linked,
which fostered an ethos of virility culminating in
the decree that a man must have killed or at least
participated in a killing raid before marriage.11 The
custom of cutting off the penis of the dead enemy
as proof of a successful killing is widespread all
over Ethiopia. Now, in some places men known
to have killed enemies are among those entitled
to wear the kallacca, and this gave rise to the
argument that the kallacca was a symbol of this
trophy making, and thus necessarily of a phallic
nature.
Consequently, anthropologists and scholars of
comparative religion have established a link be-
tween these phenomena. This in turn has inspired
some anthropologists to develop fantastic ideas.
It was Hallpike who was not only convinced of
the erect penis symbolized by the Konso xallassa,
but even saw in it a (penetrating) weapon. “In the
symbolism of the hallasha we see another aspect
of the erect penis, in which it is regarded not only
as an instrument of impregnation, but as a weapon”
(Hallpike 1972: 149).12
Although, as Haberland himself writes, the Bo-
rana insistently told him that the kallacca does not
represent a penis, emphasizing that it has nothing
to do with such trivial things but has been creat-
ed by God, he would not accept their views on
10 For a critical view of the “meritorious complex” as a former
focus of research in German anthropology, cf. Braukamper
2001 passim.
11 Killing is locally also seen as a prerequisite for fathering
children. The “classical” source for it is found in Enrico
Cerulli (1933: 125): “Chi non ancora uccise uccida! Chi
non ancora partori partorisca!”
12 Hallpike continues: “In the ritual the hallasha is used
in conjunction with the rhinoceros horn ... The penis
is therefore associated with the penetrating horn of the
rhinoceros, which explains why the hallasha is bound on
the priest’s forehead ... As we know rhinoceros horn is
widely supposed to be an aphrodisiac, in the case of the
hallasha an apposite symbolic process takes place, whereby
the ‘penis’ becomes ‘horn.’” - The speculative association
with the horn of the rhinoceros which is among the insignia
of lineage-priests is not convincing. While there is indeed
a widespread understanding of the rhino’s horn as a means
of ferocity and in some places of procuring general (not so
much individual) fertility, there is no evidence for southern
Ethiopia that it is an aphrodisiac (as in South and East
Asia).
Anthropos 103.2008
19
Dr. Freud Was Not a Kafa
the matter; “Allerdings wollen die Borana eben-
sowenig wie die anderen Stämme etwas davon
wissen, daß der kalaca einen Penis darstelle, son-
dern betonen, daß er mit derartig trivialen Dingen
nichts zu tun habe, sondern ‘von Gott geschaffen
sei’” (Haberland 1963:51). He takes it as given
that the “kalaca” was originally the killer’s in-
signia, representing the phallus of the slain enemy
(209).13
As regards entitlement to wear the kallacca, the
sources known to us agree that within a society it
can only be worn by a select circle of persons, as
a rule men who already have an eminent status in
the society, for instance a specific gada rank, and
this only on special occasions, which are always
related to some religious or spiritual purpose.14 As
a rule, these are persons that are expected to
employ their power of blessing on others. When
Haberland (1963: 51) aptly describes the kallacca
°f the Borana as “vornehmstes Stück aller Ritual-
Gegenstände,” this can without doubt be extended
to the whole of the region concerned.15
The honouring of killers is mentioned in the
sources, but this was the great exception, not the
rule.16 Moreover, even in these cases it remains
unclear whether the person concerned did not al-
ready possess a rank before the act of killing. Usu-
a% killers of men and beasts permanently wear a
bracelet as a sign to be recognized by. Killers I
questioned thought that the idea of wearing the
genital trophy (if only as a model) on the forehead
was repulsive. Indeed, tying it (always including
the scrotum and a flap of skin) to one’s wrist as
ls usual at sacrificial animal killings is a more
frequently found custom.
13 Maybe recent supporters of the phallus theory saw a
confirmation of their interpretation in Bruce and Russell,
who wrote that this decoration (referring to the present-
day object that resembles the kallacca) is put on after a
successful military campaign (Bruce 1790, Atlas pi. 34, 35;
Russell 1833; 158).
D Gada is a cyclical generation-set system with ascend-
ing ranks, in which social and ritual responsibilities are
transmitted.
i5 Knutsson (1967: 88) is of the same opinion: “The kallu
also possesses a kalaca, the most respected of all ritual
objects not only among the Macha but among all Galla.
Galla“ has been replaced today by “Oromo,” because over
1 ^ course time it has become a discriminatory term.
Dittmer (1964; 74) was the first to point out that according
to written evidence killers were decorated with the kallacca
only in exceptional cases and then always together with the
killing insignia. For the most widely spread killing insignia
m southern Ethiopia, see Braukämper (2001: 224). Inciden-
tally, the kallacca does not appear among his examples,
oven though he speaks in another context of the “phallic
symbol (230, 232). For the insignia of killers in Konso, cf.
Nicole Poissonnier (2007).
Anthropos 103.2008
The following may speak for itself: among
the Gawwada and Gollango, neighbours of the
Konso to the west, and also the Macca Oromo, for
instance (Bartels 1983; 239), it is the xallassa to
which an important role is attributed in peace talks.
3 Ethnographic Sources
In what follows, we will first give a survey of the
meanings attributed to the kallacca, as far as they
can be determined from the sources, and this will
help us to define the area in which it is found. For
this purpose, we will make use of the ethnographic
present tense, even if the authors are only able
to describe a limited chronological period. In a
subsequent section (section 7), I will describe more
recent developments, especially those changes that
are due to the influence of the book religions (cf.
Ambom 2007).
For the sake of clarity, the references for inter-
pretations which according to the anthropologists
are attributed to the kallacca by southern Ethiopi-
ans, are indicated by capital letters and listed in
the footnote below.17
17 A: Borana: Haberland 1963: 51; Macca: Bartels 1983: 146.
Among the Guji the kallacca got its power from God
(Hinnant 1978: 235).
B: Haberland 1963: 540.
C: Bartels 1983: 141, 145; Knutsson 1967:89. He also
refers to a myth which has similarities to the story
of Abraham and Isaac: The kallacca came down from
heaven on the back of a lamb (89).
D; Amborn 1990:310 ; Jensen 1936:206.
E; Haberland 1963: 479.
F: Haberland 1963: 359.
G: Southern Gonga: Bieber: 1920:304; 1923:67, 305;
Lange 1982:39, 129, 271; Wolayta: Haberland 1965:
278; Janjero: Straube 1963: 337; Amarro: Straube 1963:
110.
H; Dita: Straube 1963:224; Dizi; Haberland 1993:169;
Dorze: Straube 1963: 190 (for the halaka, two digni-
taries who are elected for a limited period); Gid’eo:
Jensen 1936:327; Hadiya: Braukamper 1980:242;
Macca: Bartels 1983: 140; Knutsson 1967: 88; Oromo;
Haberland 1963:51 (Borana); 285, 359; (Guji); 540
(“Schoa-Galla”); Leus 1995: s.v. kalaca\ Burji-Konso-
Cluster: Ambom 1990: 310, 330; Jensen 1936: 36, 402,
495; 1959: 370; Tadesse 1992: 20; Watson 1998: 201.
I: Baxter 1978:167; Haberland 1963:51 (Borana); 285
(Guji); 456; Kassam 1999: 494.
J: Bartels 1983: 140f. (Macca); Jensen 1936:395 (Guji),
402 (D’iraassa and Kusuma); Knutsson 1967: 89 (Mac-
ca).
K: Kept in the roof of a special ceremonial house (Dullay);
Bartels 1983:140 (Macca); Haberland 1963:306, re-
cently worn by k’allu of the Guji under a wide-brimmed
hat when travelling.
L: Hallpike 1972: 188 (Konso); Hinnant 1978:236 (Guji).
20
Hermann Amborn
All the sources are in agreement that the
kallacca is a ritual object which, as we have said,
is worn or used only on special occasions and
only by certain persons. The first kallacca is of a
supernatural origin: it was given to the Borana and
the Macca by God [A], among the “Shoa Galla”
(Tulama and neighbours) it came from heaven [B],
among some Macca groups it came with the light-
ning [C], while among the Dullay, D’iraassa and
Konso it was created with the clan or lineage
founders [D] and among the Arsi with the first
gadas [E]; the Guji found it in a pool [F].
This mythical origin makes it clear that the
kallacca belongs to the sacred sphere. Thus it is
due in the first place to persons with a high so-
cioreligious function. Among peoples with divine
rulers, it belongs to the insignia of the ruler. This
applies in particular to the southern Gonga (Kafa,
Hinnario, Seka), Wolayta, Janjero and Amarro. In
some cases they were able to transfer the right to
wear the kallacca to other persons [G]. Among
peoples with egalitarian structures, such as the
Dita, Dizi, Dorze, Gid’eo, Hadiya, Macca-Oromo
and other Oromo, and the different ethnic groups
of the Burji-Konso cluster, there are high sociore-
ligious dignitaries (“high-priests,” lineage priests,
etc.) and these are the persons who possess and
use the kallacca [H]. All these people wear it
at their installation and at certain sacrifical cer-
emonies, especially animal sacrifices, at sowing
and rain ceremonies, and frequently at funeral
rites.
The kallacca became widespread among large
parts of the population in groups with generation
group systems (gada). This includes in particular
those Oromo who have not gone over to cen-
tralized institutions. In these cases the kallacca
is worn at rites de passage and other religious
ceremonies by the members of the highest gada
grades, who fulfil important functions within the
ritual life [1]. “[It] is ... worn at the gada culmi-
nation ceremonies ... a primary purpose of gada
is to enable properly qualified elders to ‘put up’
their kalaacha ..(Baxter 1978: 167).
In general, the kallacca is regarded as a carrier
of spiritual power. This can be both a blessing and
a threat. Looking at it can be dangerous and can
even lead to blindness [J]. This is one reason why
it is often kept in a hidden place [K], Malefactors,
M: Ambom 1990:330 (Konso); Hallpike 1972: 188 (Kon-
so), Amborn and Kellner 1999: s.v. guwa (Burji), i.e.,
a special kallacca which is used at oath ceremonies. It
can kill liars. Bartels 1983: 141, 144. (Macca).
N: Bartels 1983: 142, 239 (Macca).
especially those who act against the interests of
the community, can be cursed with its help [L].
It is frequently used to make oaths binding, for it
can kill liars [M]. It plays an ambivalent role in
the settlement of disputes and peace agreements:
it sanctions the agreement and poses a threat to
anyone who breaks it [N]. Its positive effects are
seen especially at sacrificial ceremonies and rites
de passage (see above), where it wards off harmful
magic. It is remarkable that these explanations of
the role of the kallacca were also recorded by those
researchers who refer to it as phallic. A phallus
seems to be capable of an astonishing number of
things.
4 Critique
This is an appropriate place to make some ba-
sic criticisms of the customary interpretation. The
sensual perception of our environment provides
material for our thinking, understanding and imag-
ination. If we perceive something that is unfamil-
iar, we classify it by referring it to what is well-
known and familiar. Within our own lifeworld,
such processes usually cause no greater problems,
especially because we have the familiar linguistic
apparatus at our disposal.
However, if an anthropologist is confronted
with another lifeworld, the search for and creation
of reference points is not quite so smooth. Even
if modem anthropology provides many variant in-
terpretations for comparison, the areas to be asso-
ciated are frequently very far apart. As shown for
instance by Quine (1975), this can begin with real,
material objects (such as a knife), which according
to all appearances have the nature of a universal
fact. There is no reliable intercultural reference
point, even for what is apparently obvious.18 Nev-
ertheless, everyone more or less consciously uses
their own experience as the basis for comparison,
and the perception of the researchers is determined
by their own criteria and categories, which also
influence their subsequent observations. At least
this is true of the initial phase in a foreign en-
vironment. “Thus, every perception is preceded
by an existing classification scheme containing a
certain number of interpretation templates. Laid
over the foreign reality, they reproduce nearly
always identical details of the same sociocultural
stereotypes” (Petermann 2007: 17; my translation).
For our context we could add: as long as they
remain unreflected.
18 Quine (1975) discussed by Hombacher (2005: 70).
Anthropos 103.2008
Dr- Freud Was Not a Kafa
21
Here, I may mention an insight that is largely
accepted in anthropology, that due to the socio-
historical dependence of our own and the foreign
lifeworlds, what is foreign cannot be measured,
but can be interpreted only with our standards; for
this reason indisputable “objectivity” (as demand-
ed in some scientific disciplines) is excluded in
a discipline that deals with living human beings.
However, this does not mean that we must give
up any attempt at understanding. Neither does this
require a metalanguage.19 It does not harm our
understanding if we first make reference to our
°wn conceptions. For no one can lay aside their
dependence on their own lifeworld; but this is
something the researcher must be aware of.
In this connection, Hans-Georg Gadamer has
demanded that the term Vor-Urteil (prejudice) be
rehabilitated. He argues that since the Enlight-
enment it has erroneously been used only in its
negative sense, as something that is opposed to
reason.” A prejudice is not bad or reprehensible
in itself, but only when it has not been sufficiently
considered. In order to reach a judgement, I have
to start by making a prejudice. Gadamer (1990;
ch. II. l) speaks deliberately of prejudice and not
°f pre-knowledge, since due to our dependence
°u history and our position in history, the con-
tents of our consciousness are handed down in the
f°rm of opinions (judgements) and not as firmly
established knowledge. Thus, it is not a matter of
c°nforming with the traditional scientific require-
ment of objective knowledge free of any value
Judgement, but of defining the criteria of one’s
°wn dependence, of consideration, of reflection
on °ue’s own judgements, and of the value status
°iv aca<^ernic research (Ambom 1993; 138). And
this applies incidentally to all academic areas and
not only to the humanities. For anthropology in
Particular it is necessary to separate the attempt to
understand from a positivist representation model,
and to reflect critically on the above-mentioned in-
fluences which affect the thinking of the interpreter
and the act of interpretation. A simple example
0 Positivist representation (and, as we will show,
uncritical transfer) in the anthropological literature
18 the kallacca: for the (post-Freudian) Western
outsider of our times, this object looks like a
P alius, ergo it is a representation of the phallus
Strang (2006 passim), however, opposes the idea that Euro-
American paradigms should dominate in anthropology. She
believes that the categories used in anthropological theories
are cross-cultural and therefore make it possible to create a
metalanguage, a cultural Esperanto, the discipline’s lingua
franca.
Anthropos 103.2008
and its symbolic content is, therefore, connected
with virility, procreation, and fertility. It seemed
like the familiar being mirrored in the strange and
unfamiliar. Thus, the foreign reality appears to be
compatible with Western rationality and Western
ideas.
Conforming to recognized, methodologically
sound academic standards does not, of course,
make anthropologists immune to misinterpreta-
tions. They can never make the whole of the for-
eign lifeworld their own. The knowledge gained in
the course of ethnographic “field” work necessarily
remains fragmentary, complex, and in many ways
ambiguous. Choices and evaluations are always
made and priority given to particular aspects. In
our days this is usually done quite deliberately,
since it is now accepted that even attempts at a
holistic approach only result in a very fragmentary
picture, owed to current circumstances, that is then
presented in a publication. We are, therefore, faced
with the question: who and what determines the
choice?
If we accept that personal and social judge-
ments and different cultural tendencies enter in-
to every research project that follows a particu-
lar goal, this requires reflection on the particular
conditions for its constitution and the related
knowledge-guiding interest {erkenntnisleitendesIn-
téresse) (Habermas) of the researchers and of the
institutions of which they are, as a rule, a part.20 *
The experiences, syntheses and analyses that are
20 “Habermas führt die Bedingungen der Wissenschaft (und
zwar der Natur- und Humanwissenschaften) auf den ‘Le-
benszusammenhang’ zurück, mit dem sie unlösbar ver-
bunden sind. In diesem Kontext nennt er ‘Interessen ...
die Grundorientierungen, die an bestimmten fundamenta-
len Bedingungen der möglichen Reproduktion und Selbst-
konstituierung der Menschengattung, nämlich Arbeit und
Interaktion, haften. Die Grundorientierungen zielen nicht
auf die Befriedigung unmittelbarer empirischer Bedürf-
nisse, sondern auf die Lösung von Systemproblemen über-
haupt’ (Habermas 1991:242). Durch die Interessen und
deren Bedingungen werden die Aspekte ausgewählt und
festgelegt, unter denen wir Realität erfassen können, was
sich nicht linear, sondern im dialektischen Prozeß vollzieht.
Erkenntnis und Interesse wachsen in einem gegenseitig
vermittelten Verhältnis zusammen, womit zugleich eine
Richtung - ein ‘erkenntnisleitendes Interesse’ - bezeichnet
wird.: ‘Die erkenntnisleitenden Interessen (haften) an den
Funktionen eines Ich, das sich in Lernprozessen an seine
externen Lebensbedingungen anpaßt; das sich ... in den
Kommunikationszusammenhang einer sozialen Lebenswelt
einübt; und das im Konflikt zwischen Triebansprüchen und
gesellschaftlichen Zwängen eine Identität aufbaut. Diese
Leistungen gehen wiederum ein in die produktiven Kräfte
die eine Gesellschaft akkumuliert, aus der sich eine Ge-
sellschaft interpretiert; und in (deren) Legitimationen ...’
(Habermas 1968: 162 f.)” (Amborn 1993; 139 f.).
22
Hermann Amborn
guided by different interests necessarily influence
the way in which foreign phenomena are con-
ceived and presented. It must not be overlooked
that the existing power relations have a decisive
influence on the conditions for the constitution
of a research project. In this connection, we may
refer to Foucault, who has discussed in detail the
relationship between knowledge and power (inter
alia: Foucault 1994: passim).
The need to adopt a critical attitude towards
their own research was accepted by many scholars
and reached a provisional climax in the anthro-
pological literary turn (cf. “Writing Culture” as
paradigmatic text collection, Clifford and Marcus
1986). Since in extreme cases this led to excessive
introspection while the foreign cultures were rel-
egated to the shadows, some people were of the
opinion that its advocates had paralyzed their own
research (e.g., Eriksen 2006: 31; Strang 2006: 981)
and that it was now time to return to “proper”
empiricism. However, to stop reflecting critically
on one’s own claim to hegemony of interpreta-
tion, and to again monopolize foreign traditions
of knowledge as objects of one’s own knowledge
would be fatal. Hornbacher (2005) emphasizes the
opportunities for modern anthropology that have
arisen as a result of the postmodern debate:
“Die Aufgabe selbstkritischer Ethnologie nach
Writing Culture läßt sich also im Anschluß an Fou-
caults Kritik ... neu formulieren: Sofern sie das
kulturell Fremde nicht nur als Gegenstand eigenen
Wissens voraussetzt, sondern als dessen Gegen-
über in einem Feld globaler Machtbeziehungen,
modifiziert sich nicht nur das Verfahren, sondern
auch die Zielvorstellung ethnographischer For-
schung ... Die Grunderfahrung der postmodernen
Ethnographie, das Verschwinden oder der Verlust
des klar definierten ethnographischen ‘Objekts,’
erscheint ... nicht mehr als Mangel, sondern als
Chance zu einer differenzierteren Beschreibung
kultureller Differenz ...” (Hornbacher 2005: 150).
If we continue to pursue these ideas, iwe will
find indications that dialogue (rather than mere
description) should take up a more privileged posi-
tion again, particularly in retrospect of postmoder-
nity and its weaknesses. But anyone who wants
to conduct a dialogue that is more than simply a
conversation must be prepared to acknowledge the
Other as an equal and to accept his foreignness.
This involves making a revision of one’s own
conceptions, surrendering one’s own knowledge
and exchanging it for the foreign knowledge.21 But
21 Kurt Wolff (1964: 237) has expressed this aptly as “surren-
der and catch.”
is this virtual participation in a foreign lifeworld
enough, when there is no common Sinnhorizont
(horizon of meaning)? To attain a deeper under-
standing it is necessary to find, as Habermeyer puts
it, “possibilities for action ... which are common
to the anthropologist and the people from other
cultures, ... [in order to] ... transform his virtu-
al participation into a real participation” (Haber-
meyer 2006: 95; my translation). Anthropologists
should try to create fields of action together with
their counterpart which serve the interests of both
parties (cf. Ambom 1993).22 In the collection of
articles, “Reinventing Anthropology,” Bob Scholte
proposed an epistemological insight to traditional
anthropological research, arguing that the neces-
sary conditions for understanding the Other, i.e.,
for anthropological understanding, could be cre-
ated only in the process of being involved, iden-
tification, exchange, and communication (Scholte
1974: esp. p. 436).23 * *
It is hard to accuse the self-taught Bieber of
not having anticipated the critical reflections of
later generations. But it should worry us when
we find ideas such as those formulated by Bieber
being corroborated by later anthropologists and
still being passed on today.
It is therefore advisable to examine the precon-
ceptions which led to the association of kallacca
- phallus - killing - procreation, including the
ideological implications involved. If it is correct
that research is sociopolitically and historically de-
pendent, I believe that we can include in the further
discussion three interconnected thought patterns
which I will call projection (Hineinlegen), mo-
nopolization (Vereinnahmen) and disconcertment
(Befremden).
22 When the Ethiopian Revolution broke out (1974), I saw that
there was necessarily a common need for discussion and
action. Both the indigenous southwestern Ethiopian group
(Dullay) and the anthropologist were directly affected, and
needed to assess the situation in order to develop action
strategies. Questions such as the following had to be
clarified: Is the Revolution more than a quarrel restricted to
the army and the elite in the capital? But above all: What
behaviour is appropriate towards the local police or the
big landowners from northern Ethiopia (i.e., from outside)?
(At that time, many of them wanted to squeeze as much as
possible out of their land, if necessary with violence, before
leaving.) To what extent is the existence of one’s own group
and its value system threatened? The anthropologist was
required to contribute to the discussion his knowledge of
national and global processes and conditions, and himself
learned a great deal about fears, identifications, value
systems and the worldview of his counterparts.
23 “I would even go so far to insist that the possibility of
communicative interaction is the irreducible epistemologi-
cal precondition to any anthropological knowledge whatso-
ever” (Scholte 1974: 440).
Anthropos 103.2008
23
Dr. Freud Was Not a Kafa
I assume that the association of the kallacca
with the phallus is based on the researchers’
first impression, in other words on a spontaneous
judgement (or prejudice, see above), as is not
unusual for an enlightened European in the 20th
century. I refer deliberately to this time period,
f°r it is revealing that around 1800 the English-
man Russell, an observer rooted in the Christian
tradition, made a very different association. The
kallacca he saw in Gondar, the capital of the
empire at that time, reminded him of the horn
°f the righteous” that is mentioned several times
m the Old Testament, and which was also placed
ou sacrificial altars by the Israelites; “The horn
displayed at the forehead will illustrate the allusion
ruade in the Sacred Scripture to the hom of the
righteous” (Russell 1833: 158).
Instead of virility and killing, we find here the
idea of a symbolic connection with God (to which
we will be returning). In the case of later observers
and interpreters, however, other components were
Predominant. Which one of them was not familiar
at least discursively with Freud’s ideas? We will
therefore look at this aspect in more detail.
The revolutionary thing about Freud’s theory
Was that, with the aid of the psychoanalytical
methods developed by him, it helped to achieve
a breakthrough in accepting the importance of the
sexual life of human beings, which for him was
the main factor determining their behaviour, expe-
rience, and thinking. However, the way in which
sexual needs are met is channelled by culturally
dependent moral ideas. According to the prevailing
sexual morality of his day, there was only a very
narrow legitimate area for the sexual activity of
respectable citizens: monogamous marriage for the
Purpose of procreation. Anything going beyond
ms was subject to sublimation or suppression,
which did not prevent these processes and fantasies
r°m finding expression in the “subconscious.”24
It appears likely that the imposition of a cultur-
al sexual morality can pose a threat to the individ-
ual s health and ability to cope with life” (vol. IX;
13; my translation).25 Such harmful influences may
ead to neuroses, for instance, the cause of which
can be revealed by analysis. This works by
a me-
24 References to Freud in this article are to t e u ,
gabe” (textbook edition). We depart from t e usua
of quotation in that we give only the volume
the “Studienausgabe;” the reason for this is t a ai
umes include many additions made by Freu °ver ‘ . e
decades. Mentioning just one year would, there o
a:-*- •
25 I
?1VlnS a distorted view.
i am grateful to Gert Sonntag for drawing my attention to
this article by Freud.
Anthropos 103.2008
thodical decoding of suppressed information, that
is information that cannot be expressed freely and
consciously, but which is manifested in symbolic
ways.
It is this conception of symbols and their mean-
ings, as represented by Freud and the “Freudians”
in the first third of the 20th century, which is
of interest in our context, for it was obviously
this conception on which interpretations of the
meaning of the kallacca were based.26
According to Freud, the encoded symbolic lan-
guage refers mainly to the sexual sphere. The
symbols of the waking state continue in dreams
as symbols of genitality. Yet, because they do not
directly correspond to the thing symbolized, such
symbols have the effect of disguising the sexual
content. This has to be uncovered. Freud and other
psychologists at the time found in particular many
symbols of the penis. These range from things
that have a similar long and upright shape, to
sharp penetrating objects such as knives, or things
which are capable of becoming longer, or from
which water gushes, or which defy gravity, to long
animals such as reptiles and fishes and especially
snakes.27
Since Freud believed that dreams work with the
same symbols that already exist in the subcon-
scious (vol. II: 344), this was for him sufficient
justification to accept dream analysis. In his writ-
ings on this subject, he developed an interpretation
of symbols to which he constantly made additions,
removals and corrections (vol. I and vol. II);28 * a
reason for this was doubtless his insight that the
meaning of these symbols can usually only be re-
vealed in the course of a dialogue between the nar-
rator of the dream and the analyst (vol. I: 160). One
problem that remains is how the symbols, whose
26 There is, therefore, no need to discuss other théories of
symbols here.
27 “Der auffälligere und beiden Geschlechtern interessantere
Bestandteil des Genitales, das männliche Glied, findet
symbolischen Ersatz erstens durch Dinge, die ihm in der
Form ähnlich, also lang und hochragend sind, wie: Stöcke,
Schirme, Stangen, Bäume und dgl. Ferner durch Gegenstän-
de ... des In-den-Körper-Eindringens ... also spitzige Waf-
fen jeder Art, Messer, Dolche, Lanzen, Säbel, aber ebenso
Schießwaffen: ... und den durch seine Form so sehr dazu
tauglichen Revolver ... Gegenstände, aus denen Wasser
fließt ... Objekte, die einer Verlängerung fähig sind ...
Die merkwürdige Eigenschaft des Gliedes, sich gegen die
Schwerkraft aufrichten zu können ... führt zur Symboldar-
stellung durch Luftballone ... [Ferner] gewisse Reptilien ...
vor allem das berühmte Symbol der Schlange” (vol. 1:164 f.).
More examples in vol. II: esp. p. 348. See also Index, s.v.:
Penis.
28 Hamburger (1995:78) pointed out the complexity of this
topic and the many révisions which Freud carried out.
24
Hermann Ambom
meaning is usually not understood by the dreamer,
get out of the subconscious and into the dream.
Freud offers various, often contradictory, theories
to explain this. At first he assumes that there is a
stock of symbols with fixed meanings “that are
available” (without the dreamer being aware of
this). On the basis of the linguistic research of
his time, he thought that there must have been a
first language that emerged from mating calls, and
which we subconsciously faintly remember (vol. I:
175 f.). It was the time when Freud, under the
influence of Stekel’s theory of symbols of 1911,
saw parallels with genitals and coitus in almost
all dream symbols, however far-fetched these as-
sociations might be. On another (later?) occasion,
however, he pointed out the ambiguity of the sym-
bols (vol. II: 348). As possible sources he mentions
myths, tales, jokes, folksongs, etc. (vol. I: 168), in
other words sources that are culture-bound. Very
cautiously he expresses the view that symbolic
languages may go beyond the limits of language,
but admits that he cannot prove this (vol. I: 172).
We should, therefore, not attribute to Freud the
idea that symbols are universally valid. Univer-
sality would also contradict his ideas concerning
the development history of the sexual drive and
his emphasis on the cultural dependence of sexual
morality;29 which in turn is responsible for repres-
sion processes and the need for symbols to disguise
certain truths. For him, the censoring of dreams
through the use of symbols is not just an individual
process; it is also and equally a culture-specific
interpsychical process.
Here, therefore, Freud was much more differen-
tiated than those cultural scientists who essential-
ized his sexual symbolism and interpreted and used
it as universalistic, by transferring it to foreign life
forms.
We should not assume that the significance of
the penis in the symbolism of the southern Ethiopi-
ans is the same as in the Western world. Since
in southern Ethiopia men - but not women! -
went about naked until recent times (and even
today occasionally go about naked in their own
compound and when working in their fields in the
plains), the ideas associated with the constantly
visible penis are certainly different.
With the direct association of the kallacca with
the phallus, European researchers thought they
had understood what this object symbolized. The
familiar seemed to be mirrored in the foreign. The
29 Vol. IX: 20. Even when he argues in a correspondingly
evolutionist manner in respect of cultural differences in his
time.
outer appearance of the kallacca, and its supposed
identification with the genital trophy, seemed to
confirm its interpretation as a sign of procreation
and killing.
Such an interpretation allowed the researchers
to fit a foreign phenomenon into their own thought
pattern. Although there was obviously a certain
fascination, and the researchers were not without
some understanding, nevertheless it is clear that
they were rather disconcerted by this different way
of thinking, supposedly rooted in the instinctive
(see above Haberland; Hallpike). But to assume
a directly associative symbolization process is to
suggest a primitive equation, which implies unre-
flected thinking in other people.30 * Thus an episte-
mological and in the final analysis ontological line
of distinction is drawn between the enlightened
Western scholar and the southern Ethiopian.
The unwillingness of Western observers to see
the symbolism of the kallacca in the broader
context of the social and religious world of the
southern Ethiopians led to alienation in the sense
of creating otherness.
A judgement is made from the point of view
of the observer, but not from the point of view
of those who are entitled to wear the kallacca.
Yet anthropology sees itself as a discipline which
tries to understand other people from the point
of view of their own cultural reason. Bieber did
make some effort to do this, and included many
vernacular texts in his report; and Haberland also
quoted the Borana. Only, the former translated
the indigenous texts in accordance with his own
preconceived ideas, and Haberland assumed that
the Borana were ignorant. But at least Bieber’s
texts can be checked today, which makes criticism
possible.
The only critic to have examined the ques-
tion of interpretation of the kallacca in detail is
Kunz Dittmer (1964) in the Festschrift for A. E.
Jensen. He emphasized contradictions in Bieber’s
explanations and translations. Dittmer also tried to
refute Bieber’s arguments on the basis of formal
criteria (comparing the kallacca with headdresses
and crowns in the Sudan and West Africa), but he
was not always fortunate with his examples. In the
meantime, however, that is in the years between
1930 and 1960, the superficially plausible sym-
bolism had been generally accepted, and Dittmer
remained unheard - particularly, because he had
fallen out of grace with some of his more influen-
tial German colleagues. And outside Germany, in
30 In Hallpike’s opinion the Konso have no capacity for ab-
straction (2002: 7-11).
Anthropos 103.2008
25
°r. Freud Was Not a Kafa
the realm of Anglo-Saxon anthropology, German
culture historians did not receive much attention
ln these years anyway.
Bartels is also gently critical of Haberland’s and
Baxter’s statements: “E. Haberland speaks without
a shadow of doubt always of a phallic ornament
• • • Baxter ... assured me personally that the Arsi
Ororno gave him only a phallic interpretation. The
^trm of this kallacha is, indeed, evidently phallic.
For the
rest, a symbol can have many associations”
(Bartels 1983: 146 note 27).31
The interpretative sciences are in no way free of
toPoi. Another example may be mentioned here. It
is of interest because it shows some structural par-
cels, too. Psychology also influenced and shaped
the scholarly perspective in the following example:
the
connection that had been assumed between
shamanism and the so-called Arctic hysteria^
shamanism in the Artie and Subarctic reg. .
ecstasy is one of many characteristics. e
has the power to send his soul into t e
and make contact with helper-spirits. unn§
seances shamans enter a state of emg
exceeds the life functions of other people,
she may stiffen or speak in an incomprehensible
language. Now, psychologists have o serve
analyzed a disease virulent in the Arc ic r g
which leads in the sick person to hysterical attacKs
with hectic movements or trembling, g osso »
echololia, etc. (Faust 2007). Indeed, some of the
phenomena resemble on the surface s amam
phenomena. Since shamans are frequent y
sitive or psychologically instable, it seeme o
vious to see the origin of shamanism m
neurosis. But there is an essential difference; t
illness comes on suddenly and unwilling y, w i
shamans fall into a trance willingly at a prede-
termined time and can control their ecstasy,
consequence they must leam their techniques, s
vajda (1964; 268) has pointed out, shamanism is
a cultural phenomena. “Wesentlich ist ür uns,
daß die ekstatischen Szenen .. • feste ^tan
teile der Gesamtkultur von bestimmten ° ern
sind ...: wir finden sie eingebaut in den nach . • •
Regeln ablaufenden Ritus und bezogen aut den
jeweils gültigen, das Weltbild prägenden Mythos
(271).
31 In her article on rites de passage among the Borana,
(1999; 494) offers the following version; 1
put on their sacred ornaments, the phalhc-s ap
ornament (kallacca) ... Kallacca designates e
rimmed base of certain flowers, like that o e ,
vine ... The ornament thus symbolically connec
human and vegetal reproductive cycles.
Anlhropos 103.2008
5 Whose knowledge?
To put straight some of the unquestioned concep-
tions, it seems important to me that the persons
concerned should be heard and taken seriously.
As mentioned, Bieber noted down vernacular texts
and Haberland documented the Borana statements
relating to the kallacca, but the former used his
own existing terminology (membrum virile) for the
translation in a way that is clearly wrong, and the
latter refused to accept the Borana views on the
matter.
Other anthropologists have also documented
various meanings of the kallacca, but it seems as
though they hear but not do not listen. The topos
they had in their mind was too strong.
I want to order the statements of southern
Ethiopians about the kallacca into those made by,
firstly, wearers, secondly, producers, and thirdly,
knowing traditionalists. The group of those entitled
to wear it consists of persons of a high sociore-
ligious status. Primarily, these are sacred digni-
taries connected with the society’s ancestors, such
as lineage or clan elders who trace their descent
directly to the mythical birth of their primal ances-
tor; furthermore, this category includes important
dignitaries of the generation-grading systems who
carry out religious duties.32
It is worth paying attention to the statements of
the kalla, one of the two most important religious
leaders of the Konso.33 For the kalla the xallassa is
a sacred object inherited from the ancestors, used
only in rituals. The heritage factor primarily refers
to the spiritual power connected with the xallassa,
whereas the material object itself is of minor im-
portance. So much so that it may be reproduced
if it gets shabby. In such a case his counsellors
select a smith of an impeccable way of life, who
must not be a killer. The new xallassa is conse-
crated in a sacrificial rite with sheep’s blood.
When the kalla wears it on his forehead, a di-
rect connection between him and the supernatural
world, meaning the ancestors and waaqa (“God”),
is established. What he then said was, in his own
words: “Nothing is above me, nothing [i.e., no
living being] is between me and waaqa.” This
is why he can pronounce blessings with the help
of the xallassa, but also curse those who have
done wrong. Losing a xallassa charged with power
32 In some societies, killers of enemies or big game, as I have
already mentioned, may be entitled to wear the kallacca.
33 Interviews carried out in December 2000 and January 2003.
Dawit Jiraso, whose name as a poqalla was kalla, died in
2004.
26
Hermann Ambom
would mean the loss of all of his spiritual potential
and would be tantamount to his death.34
Indeed, back in 1980 I met a ritual leader
in Dihina (Dullay region) whose insignia had
been destroyed by the zemacha shortly after the
Revolution.35 He explained his nervous and odd
behaviour to me as the result of losing his mind
on account of that awful act.36 37
The kalla of Konso vehemently rejected the
conception of the xallassa as a phallic symbol.
Then he laughed about such a foolish idea, stating
that “formerly the men went about naked, so what
sense would it have made to have another penis
and [of all places] wear it on the head. To have
two penises might be a dream of the farenji.”
That somebody would conceive of tying something
representing a male genital trophy to his forehead,
was for him a mistaken idea. In view of the
openness with which male sexuality is discussed,
it would be difficult to interpret this statement as
an expression of coy prudishness.
Among the D’iraassa, too, it is the connection
a ritual leader is able to establish between the
human sphere and the other world by means of
the xallassa that matters. When a d’aama dies
he is laid in a large open basket-like coffin and
“crowned” with a xallassa. When he is brought
for interment, the sun (which is associated with
the supreme being) emits a pencil of rays which
are reflected by the xallassa?1 These rays turn into
(real) bolts of lightning which strike nearby. Thus,
only people with extraordinary spiritual power
will dare to go near a dead d’aama (Ambom
1990: 330).
Of the Amarro, who recognize a sky-god (won-
to) as deus otiosus, Straube reports that in excep-
tional events wonto, via the kaalaca, can constitute
a numinous unit with the kaati (“king”) (Straube
1963: 106).38 * *
34 Haberland (1963: 306) reports a similar explanation by the
Guji.
35 In the zemacha (National Development Campaign) of
1974-75, students were sent to the countryside to “teach”
the idea of the Revolution and the uselessness of religion.
In the south many indigenous shrines and holy places were
destroyed but as far as I know no churches.
36 Since that time he suffered - as he said - from “sleeping
sickness” (probably sudden fainting fits). He also goes out
of mind totally for several days.
37 It is possible that this has its origin in a natural phenomenon
which I observed several times: on the hillside between the
compound of the d’aama and his place of burial, St. Elmo’s
Fire is occasionally seen during the rainy season, as well as
bolts of lightning stretching from the ground to the clouds.
38 In respect of the connection between kallacca and the
supreme being, see also the note below on the initiands
among the Daasanec.
I also visited the “impeccable” smiths. After
some time I wanted to hear from them what they,
as artisans who produced the insignia, associated
the kallacca with. I waited in vain for the “answer”
a phallus. When I suggested it, all I got was
laughter. The smiths of Keera opined: “Only stupid
people believe that, Amhara or Farenji, who have
no idea of anything.” Then, turning serious, they
explained that the kallacca was a strong and
dangerous thing, and those who deliberately told a
lie (like equating it with the phallus) when looking
at its tip would die shortly afterwards.
The very production process is conceived of
as a ritual, ensuring the transmission of an ances-
tral kallacca’s power to a newly made one, with
the artisans acting as mediators. During this time,
the smiths cover their workshop with large cotton
blankets so that no unauthorized person may ob-
serve or disturb what is going on inside (Ambom
1990: 324). Something comparable applies to all
smiths of the Burji-Konso cluster who, by the way,
also provide the Borana and other ethnic groups
with kallacca?9 From the production of wax for
the casting mould to the finishing touches, they
live in a kind of seclusion, refraining strictly from
eating and drinking with others.
Now, these statements on the sacred character
of the kallacca and the rejection of a phallus inter-
pretation agree fully with those made by the third
group, that is, persons who know about ritual life.
These are many, especially in those ethnic
groups which practise the gada system. They have
the biggest number, since every man is entitled to
it when he reaches a certain gada grade. Here, even
the younger ones know about its meaning, which
they learn from their fathers or grandfathers.
They all see it as a powerful, sacred instrument
which ultimately originates from and has its source
of power in the supernatural. We should mention
that, according to Bartels (1983: 146), for the
Macca Oromo the kallacca is a gift of God and
“a help to maintain social order.”
6 Contra phallum
I do not deny that the meaning of the kallacca
may have varied in time and place and that other
39 When Hallpike (1972: 149) writes that the Konso get their
xallacca from the Borana, this shows that he only made a
very superficial study of the matter. The pastoralist Borana
do not have any smiths of their own. I was told by Borana
that they had a symbiotic relationship with the Konso in
respect of ritual objects.
Anthropos 103.2008
Dr- Freud Was Not a Kafa
27
meanings are possible. But, since we do not know
much about the dynamics involved in the transfor-
mation of symbols along with their socioreligious
context, resulting in new meanings, it seems to me
equally important to acknowledge that in recent
times no southern Ethiopian man of knowledge
has associated the kallacca with the phallus. I am
concerned here exclusively with the current situa-
tion, for this is what the interpreters are referring
to.
The statements of southern Ethiopians and crit-
ical study of the sources should give rise to serious
doubts as regards the phallus association. But the
topos has been very persistent. Some anthropol-
ogists, when referring to the kallacca, seem to
have used the expression “phallic symbol as an
academically established term without examining
its value. Those, however, who took a closer look
at the matter, ultimately contented themselves with
external observation. They wanted to understand
as well, but they obviously found it difficult to
share the indigenous mind’s view of reality. As a
consequence, they kept projecting their own mod-
eis of thought into the others' thinking. Of course,
an indigenous explanation or interpretation is not
Fccessarily correct, but it would have been worth-
while to reflect upon it.40 Referring to the con-
text of killing and fathering (which exists among
some ethnic groups), they came close to the sacred
meaning of the kallacca, but the phallus they had
ln mind blocked their view of more far-reaching
considerations.
To use the terms of representation theory, we
can say critically of the phallus interpretation that
t c kallacca is not pure imitatio of a human organ,
m mimesis in the sense of a reflective and abstract
creation {poiesis). We will return to this idea again,
^ first we will look at the changes that have
afected the worldview of those people for whom
me kallacca was “the most respected of all ritual
obiertc ”
7 Modernity versus Tradition
Up to now we have not mentioned changes. The
most drastic change in recent times was roug
about without doubt by the conquest of present-
day southern Ethiopia and its integration into t
40 In this respect the present study can also be regarded (in
the widest sense) as part of an pmWntir Fr,r
ui ail enuc/euc aiscussion.ror
one of the latest articles on this subject, see Strang ’
where the relation between anthropological concep s
indigenous knowled
ge is discussed.
Anth
northern Ethiopian empire at the end of the 19th
century. As the external political, economic, and
demographic factors that had an impact on these
peoples during that time are well-documented, I
will not discuss them here.41 Among the various
effects of conquest by a strongly hierarchical
Christian society on the social structure, let us
mention just two; the introduction of a forced
labour system (gabbar), which ruined not only the
economy but also the social order, and the fact
that the sacred rulers lost their political power.
The most serious case was Kafa, which put up a
successful military resistance for many years. The
king later died as a prisoner, bringing about the
end of the kingdom there.42 However, many other
earlier rulers were integrated into the imperial
order in accordance with the system of indirect
rule (cf. Donham 2002b).
It is in the past fifteen years that dramat-
ic changes have occurred in the socioreligious
sphere. Of course, there were changes before, but
both in imperial times and under the Italian occu-
pation, and even under the rule of the Derg, many
societies in the south successfully resisted attempts
to influence their worldview from the outside.
Thus, for example, western missions in Konso
up to 1990 had only relatively little success.
After this date the situation changed rapidly.
Even the Orthodox Church has recently carried out
mission work.43 Today the majority of the Konso,
at least in the younger generation, are Christians.44
In the 1990s, under the new federal order,
indigenous officials were appointed at the local
centres of power. In principle, this was a good
thing. But these “educated people” were trained in
modem institutions. Many of them have learned
to look down on their own “backward” culture
with shame and disdain. The effect of this change
in relations between people and state authorities
is that criticism and pressure against deep-rooted
cultural conceptions and values now no longer
come from outside alone but from inside the
society (Ambom 2002: 93).
41 E.g. Ambom 1988; passim (concerning the Burji-Konso-
cluster); Braukamper 1980: ch. 3.6-3.8; Donham 2002a:
passim; Haberland 1963:27.
42 Bieber’s informants talked about this event as belonging to
the recent past.
43 Whereas earlier the Orthodox Church did no mission work
at all in most of the southern regions, apart from occasional,
purely formal, if coercive, proselytizing.
44 Watson 1998: ch. Ill, 8, 3. Shako Otto (2004: passim)
extensively states his indigenous view on the influence
of Protestant missionary work in Konso. He divides their
activities into three historical phases and gives his particular
attention to their negative attitude towards Konso culture.
'ropos 103.2008
28
Hermann Ambom
In other parts of southern Ethiopia, like Burji
or Hadiya, the Islamic influence has been pre-
dominant. According to Braukamper (2002: 175),
in Hadiya the old belief system of the Fandaano
religion no longer exists.
Consequently, with such drastic changes in reli-
gious beliefs, the kallacca has lost its significance
for large parts of the society. When people turned
to book religions, traditional certainties were erod-
ed. Without its socioreligious context, the kallacca
is no longer an item charged with spiritual power
and is reduced to a mere object.
Occasionally among the proselytes one can still
observe respect for the religious values of the old
people, for example, in the statement of a Macca
Oromo speaking to Lambert Bartels: “Our fathers
had the kallacha, we have the cross” (1983: 253).
But for many Ethiopians the kallacca has be-
come a mere material thing and, even worse,
meets with disapproval. Christian or Muslim fun-
damentalists consider it simply devil’s work, to be
trodden on. In 2003, I saw boys playing football
with a kallacca in the Konso administrative town
(.katama) of Karatti.45 A sense of shame regarding
their forefathers’ values has by now turned into
the shameless handling of things that were sa-
cred. When your own life design is being exposed
and seen as valueless, what should prevent you
from selling such an old-fashioned symbol, and the
more effective you are with it, the more successful
you become in transforming the once-respected
values into the symbolism of the world the po-
tential customer lives in. So it happened that the
natives who learned English also learned of books
in which they could read about themselves - how
they had been in the old days.
Many an educated Konso who is not very
knowledgeable about his own people’s traditions,
has read Hallpike’s monograph.46 Thus, anthro-
pological “facts” have trickled through in a way
that can be conjectured but is hard to recon-
struct.47 Since tourists find their way to south-
ern Ethiopia, some “anthropological standards”
have found their way into tourist guides. Thus,
an interpretation which is nothing more than a
meagrely substantiated speculation has attained
wide distribution and succeeded in dissolving the
boundary between religious emblem and phallic
45 It must be noted here that this is the administrative centre of
Konso. Village boys would not have done this at that time.
46 This is also true of many Oromo who get their information
from Haberland’s “Galla Süd-Äthiopiens.”
47 These days, anthropological terms like “culture,” “clan,”
and many others are part of the vocabulary of educated
southern Ethiopians.
symbol, with the unexpected result that, in an act
of reversal, tradition has been newly invented by
the anthropological reading: finally, the kallacca
has become what Europeans always said it had
been. The story has come full circle. In Konso,
native tourist guides wishing to lead tourists to
waaka (memorial statue) sites attract them with
the promise of showing them the “totems with a
penis on the head.” Also the mini-waaka which
are now produced for the tourist market show the
kallacca unmistakably as a penis, as can be seen
from the explicit addition of the ostium urethrae
externum. The myth of the phallic headdress is
wonderfully suited to satisfying tourist wishes for
exotic souvenirs.
But the inherited belief system is not yet com-
pletely dead. There are exceptions and people have
also found ways to combine their tradition and
modernity. For example, when Burji from different
diasporas come together for the all-Burji meet-
ings, the first prayers of the opening ceremony are
performed by their respected, hereditary religious
dignitaries in the traditional form, notwithstanding
that they may be Christians or Muslims. After
that, priests from the other religious communities
join in.48
Nor has the kallacca as a sacred object disap-
peared everywhere. In spring 2007, when the Guji
performed their gada transition ceremony, every
man who had a kallacca and who was entitled to
wear it, wore it proudly (personal communication
Tadesse Berisso). This also applies to the instal-
lation of a lineage elder. It can be seen even at
official political events in the Ethiopian capital:
The abba gada of the Borana always wears his
kallacca when blessing the attendants at the open-
ing ceremony of the Oromiya parliament in Ad-
dis Ababa (Godana Biyo Tufa, M.P. and Lemmu
Megerssa, M.P., personal communication October
2007).49
The following was observed by Yvan Hout-
teman in 1996 among the Daasanec. During the
dimi, the main rite de passage for girls before
marriage, they wear on their forehead an emblem
which is called kallatc and which consists of a
funnel-like object like the bottom of a flashlight
battery or the narrow neck of a plastic bottle. This
emblem, Daasanec say, refers to the connection
of the candidates with waag (the supreme being).
48 Audio tape by Woche Guyo in Marsabit, Kenya.
49 Oromiya is a “regional state” within the Federal Democratic
Republic of Ethiopia. The abba gada is the designated
leader with ritual obligations for an eight-year period of
the gada (generation-grading set).
Anthropos 103.2008
^r- Freud Was Not a Kafa
29
Obviously the battery and the narrow neck of
a bottle are derivations of the metallic kallacca
(personal communication).
In some other places, the dignitaries keep the
kallacca out of the public eye, which, as we
have mentioned, is not contradictory to tradition
nt all. Where connections to the traditional context
have not yet been totally severed, the conduct of
People towards this mystical object and the value
concepts associated with it are at least ambivalent
and depend on the actual situation. Even when
common people only have a dim reminiscence of
the kallacca, in situations of grave crisis, such as
a drought, it may become important again.
^ Noema
There is no doubt that some parts °ftheso ^ ^
Ethiopian population today see the ^ it
materialized representation of the pha ^ 1(J
can confidently be assumed that sniri-
who have become alienated from t eir
tual roots. Of interest in this case is . m
that is attributed to the kallacca by t ose
it is, as Knutsson writes, “the most respected of all
ritual objects” (see above); only from
expect insights into a foreign way of thi 8-
. With their reference to fertility, the phallus^
interpreters touched on the religious sp ’
in doing so they restricted their view to o , j
that was strongly oriented towar s i
The importance of this aspect canno e ’
for the fertility of man, animals, an croP . •
important topic among the people. Howe >
aspect is not isolated but is part of a r§§
of reference. Let us take a brief look at this.
There is no uniform conception o 0
area concerned. Conceptions also differ
of the varying degrees of Christian an
influence over the centuries, the new i cas
linked to indigenous ideas of a creator o •
even where these influences were strong, t e
still has features of a supreme solar deus ol°s
who created the world but left his uncomp e
creation largely in the hands of humankin
in many other parts of Africa, this deity as| n
particular cult of his own. Among many e ni
groups even up to recent times, direct persona
relationships with the deity were rare or were
restricted to a few religious dignitaries, an even
then only during communal ceremonies (Am om
2001:43).
The idea of the soul offers a key to understan
ing the conception of man (Ambom 2001: passim).
Anthropos 103.2008
According to this model, the human soul consists
of several parts which are integrated to different
degrees in the present and in the flow of past and
future generations. When death occurs, the breath
soul leaves the body, but the state after cessation
of breathing is understood as a slow sliding away.
In the final funeral rites (often a long time after
the burial), the excursion soul (which may take
the form of a spider among the Dullay; Amborn
2001:48) is transformed into an ancestral soul.
During this tense time, the kallacca is worn.
The conception of the soul is closely connected
with the clan/lineage concept. The lineage in the
ideal sense is a corporate unit which in addition
to the living also includes the ancestors and the
unborn. The lineage elders are considered to be
the direct descendants of the first people, whom
they represent paradigmatically.50 They symbolize
the unbroken sequence from the beginning to the
future. In a spiritual sense, each individual is a
part of a socially unified body in which the not-
yet-bora, the living, and the ancestors are united
(Amborn 2002: 86).
The generation-grading system (gada) virtually
summated the genealogical lines of descent, since
membership was defined through the fathers and
grandfathers. The gada system was set up by
the ancestors, and so they come to the sacred
grounds on the occasion of big ceremonies which
concern the whole of the people and the whole
land (Amborn 2001: 51).51
Rituals are the interfaces where people have
contact with the spiritual sphere, and it is also here
that the kallacca appears.
By comparing the statements about their in-
signia made by the dignitaries in Konso, D’iraassa,
and Amarro, and by the initiands among the
Daasanec, we can assume that this emblem is to
be attributed to that area of symbolic action and
thought which concern man’s relationships with
the supernatural. Specific mediators such as the
kallacca function as agents that are able to create
such relationships. It is as if it becomes a medium
of communication. The longing for such a con-
nection is expressed reciprocally in the widespread
complex of myths that tells how heaven and earth
were separated in primeval times. The overcoming
of this separation is very clearly expressed in the
idea of an iron world-pillar set up by God on a
50 In societies in which one lineage has asserted itself success-
fully over the others, this role is attributed to the central
authority (“king”).
51 In particular Baxter (1978) has pointed out the importance
of the gada system as a ritual system, finding many succes-
sors.
30
Hermann Ambom
hill among the Janjero (Yem), which once formed
a connection between heaven and earth. Until re-
cently, the high priest carried out sacrifices annu-
ally at the stump of the fallen pillar.52 The spider
as a thread-spinning soul carrier also belongs to
this context.53
The desire to be close to heaven is also reflected
by the siting of sacrificial grounds on mountains,
for instance, or by the compounds of the most im-
portant priestly dignitaries (poqalla) which among
the Konso are on mountain tops, isolated from the
other settlements (Demeulenaere 2005: ch. VI.9).
In the light of these facts, Russell’s association
of the Old Testament horn with the kallacca two
hundred years ago came closer to its meaning than
its interpretation as a phallus, for the horns on the
comers of the Israelite altars obviously symbolized
a link with God.
Of course the material communication media
are not isolated, but elements among others which,
in interdependence with other partial areas, form
a complex system (cf. Gladigow 1990: 226). In
our context this means the public performances
of rituals, whether initiations, rites to celebrate be-
coming an ancestor, first sowing rites or sacrifices,
which are always carried out by priestly dignitaries
“in the presence” of their insignia. These digni-
taries may wear the kallacca on their foreheads
or carry it hidden on their bodies, or they may
have anointed it in the ceremonial house in their
compound. It is also a part of the system that all
those present are actively involved, for instance by
eating the sacrificial meal or being smeared with
the blood of the sacrificial animal; or on special
occasions there is an answer from the supernatural
communication partner, expressed through natural
phenomena such as earthquakes, or, as in the ex-
ample from D’iraassa, through bolts of lightning
that proceed from the kallacca just at the moment
when the components of the soul leave the body
of the d’aama and seek connection with the solar
deity. The discharging of lightning is a sign that
the free components of the soul have successfully
made contact.
Regarding a new interpretation the following
can be said: instead of being a symbol of virility,
the kallacca might be described as a spiritual
communicative mediator which is able to bundle
52 According to tradition, the pillar was knocked down after
too many people fell from it in the attempt to climb up
to heaven. This sacred site was destroyed by the northern
Ethiopian occupants (Straube 1963: 258). - The “ladder to
heaven” is a frequent motive in African mythology, e.g.,
Baumann (1936: 149).
53 See for instance Baumann (1936: esp. 140 note 1).
positive and negative “cosmic” (for want of a
better word) energies. It is therefore dangerous,
and only qualified persons may have contact with
it. The kallacca symbolizes a link between the
human and the extrahuman, supernatural world;
its function is to open up this connection between
different spheres.
The ideas which I have discussed in this article
are intended to do away once and for all with
an old established topos in research on Ethiopia.
But beyond this, I hope they will serve as an
encouragement to examine and reflect upon more
closely even those facts which appear to be quite
clear. In conclusion I would like to mention again
two pitfalls which easily beset anthropologists: the
first is the danger of transferring one’s own, sup-
posedly universal convictions to other societies,
and the other is that of resting in the shadow of the
definitional power of the West. These are traps into
which researchers have often fallen, as in the case
of Arctic hysteria. Disproving a topos does not
necessarily require new fieldwork; frequently it is
enough to re-read the sources critically, and above
all self-critically, “against the grain” as it were, in
order to free the described phenomena concerned
from their narrow interpretation, and to find where
emic voices might be hidden which alone can give
us an extended view of the phenomena within their
particular frame of reference.
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Anthropos 103.2008
Anthropos
103.2008: 33-63
Im Land “dazwischen”
Die Sakalava-Königreiche von Ambongo und Mailaka
(westliches Madagaskar, 17.-19. Jahrhundert)
Peter Kneitz
Abstract. - Ambongo and Mailaka, two major regional umts
at the west coast of Madagascar, are divided since the 18th
century in an important number of smaller and hardly known
Sakalava kingdoms. The synthesis of widely dispersed sources
reveals their embeddedness in a general context of “in between
the leading Sakalava states of Boeny and Menabe. The impor-
tance of Ambongo-Mailaka as an option for less successful
^embers of the dynasty, the important position as a center
tor independent Sakalava during the 19th century, and the
Particularities of these relatively isolated kingdoms are relevant
elements for the understanding of the historical development
the Sakalava. [Madagascar, Sakalava, Ambongo, Mailaka,
klngdom]
Peter Kneitz, Dr. phil. (Köln 2003), M.A. (Köln 1997), Leiter
es DFG-projekts -In der 0bhut königlicher Ahnen; Unter-
wegs zur Entwicklung der Sakalava-Königreiche und ihrer
finale im Westen Madagaskars” am Institut für Ethnologie der
a.tin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg. - Feldforschung
m Madagaskar von 1999-2000 mit anschließender Dissertation
ttauptschrein der Sakalava, dem Doany Miarinarivo in
ahajanga, sowie dem zugehörigen Besessenheitskult Tromba.
der die Aufmerksamkeit von Ethnologen und Eth-
nohistorikern auf sich gezogen, so dass sie heute
als eine der am besten untersuchten ethnischen
Gruppen der Insel gelten muss.1 Den Hintergrund
für diese Attraktivität bildet sicherlich die ge-
schichtliche Bedeutung der ehemaligen Sakalava-
Königreiche, welche zwischen dem 17. und An-
fang des 19. Jhs. die dominanten Staatsgebilde
Madagaskars darstellten. Durch die exponierte
Küstenlage und die damit verbundenen häufigen
Kontakte mit Seefahrern ganz unterschiedlicher
Herkunft liegt eine dichte und noch keineswegs
ausgeschöpfte Quellenlage2 zu diesen Königrei-
chen vor, welche die seltene Gelegenheit zu ei-
ner vergleichsweise umfassenden Analyse der Ent-
wicklung einer präkolonialen Gesellschaft erlaubt.
Hauptursache der rezenten Anziehungskraft dürf-
te jedoch vor allem die ungebrochene und durch
einen ausgeprägten Besessenheitskult zugleich
Between these two large kingdoms [of Boeny
and Menabe], the fiefs of the Ambongo, situated
in rather barren country, displayed a certain
measure of independence (Deschamps 1976:
1 Einleitung
Die Gesellschaft der Sakalava im Weste^^L
gaskars hat in den letzten Jahrzehnten im
1 Einige wichtige Monographien der letzten Jahre: Bare 1980;
Lombard 1988; Chazan-Gillig 1989; Feeley-Hamik 1991;
Sharp 1993; Goedefroit 1998; Lambek 2002.
2 Immer wieder wird auf die noch ausstehende Erkundung
von Primärquellen und die Vernachlässigung der Archive
in vielen Ländern und für viele Epochen hingewiesen (z. B.
Kent 1968a; 526, Anm. 46; 1968b: 181; 1970: 178, Anm. 71;
Gray 1975:638; Belrose-Huyghues 1983-84:165; Arm-
strong 1983-84:212; Fauroux 2002:91). Diese Situation
hat sich trotz der vereinzelten Aufarbeitung neuer Quellen
in einigen historisch orientierten Arbeiten (z. B. Ratsivalaka
1995, Ballarin 2000, Belrose-Huyghues 2000) in den letzten
Jahren nicht grundlegend geändert.
34
Peter Kneitz
Anthropos 103.2008
35
Im Land “dazwischen”
sehr auffällige Persistenz von älteren Strukturen
her Königreiche in der Gegenwart sein, womit
die Sakalava-Gesellschaft in markanter Weise auf
sich aufmerksam macht. In Zeiten, in denen das
Nachdenken über die Rekonstruktion von Traditi-
0IL Erinnerung und kulturellem Gedächtnis zu den
zentralen Richtungen der Ethnologie gehört, bieten
sich hier eine Vielzahl geeigneter Anknüpfungs-
punkte, wie Lambek (1998, 2002) jüngst in beson-
hers eindringlicher Weise ausgearbeitet hat.
Trotz der neuerlichen Zuwendung zur Sakalava-
Gesellschaft haben es eine Reihe von Faktoren mit
sich gebracht, dass große Regionen oder längere
Zeitabschnitte fast vollständig vernachlässigt wür-
ben. So sind u. a. die schiere Größe des Sakalava-
Gebietes, der Zeitrahmen von mehr als 400 sehr
bewegten Jahren, die Zufälligkeiten der Themen-
^uhl oder die außerordentliche Komplexität der
hisparaten und vielfältigen Quellenlage nur eini-
ge der Ursachen, welche in ihrer Funktion als
Einzelfaktoren wie auch in ihrer Kombination für
einen oftmals sehr ungleichmäßigen Wissensstand
verantwörtlich zu machen sind. Eine vergleichen-
he und übergreifende Beurteilung der Sakalava-
Gesellschaften ist deshalb bislang nicht möglich.
Im Rahmen der noch zu leistenden Grundlagen-
urbeit möchte ich mich in diesem Artikel einem
her größten und dennoch am wenigsten bekannten
Sakalava-Gebiete überhaupt zuwenden, einem für
madagassische Verhältnisse umfangreichen Terri-
torium von mehr als 300 km Luftlinie zwischen
den früheren zentralen Sakalava-Königreichen Me-
nabe und Boeny (Karte 1). Zunächst an der poli-
tischen Peripherie gelegen, entwickelte es sich im
Eaufe des 19. Jhs. zu einem ethnischen - wenn-
§ioich nicht rituell-ideologischen — Kernland der
m den übrigen Gebieten vielfach neuen Ein-
hüssen ausgesetzten Sakalava-Gesellschaft. Trotz
ieser besonderen Stellung für die Sakalava und
äkalava-Forschung ist sie kaum jemals beachtet
worden.
Für das hier zu behandelnde Gebiet hat sich
6lne einheitliche Benennung herausgebildet, u. a.
^oil es durch die lange Zeit der politischen Auf-
teilung zwischen den Königreichen Menabe und
oeny geprägt war. Vielmehr traten im Laufe
6r Zeit immer andere Teilräume als politische
°her geographische Einheiten hervor, was zu ei-
insgesamt uneinheitlichen und oft nur vagen
orwendung einer ganzen Reihe von Regionenna-
111611 führte. Die Bezeichnungen Ambongo3 (d. h.
3 ffrstmab durch Mayeur 1774 (1912-13: 64) als Entembong
Ur die Bewohner des Ambongo) dokumentiert und 1838
erstmals auf einer europäischen Karte bei Ellis zu fin-
Anthropos 103.2008
“Berg”4; für die Region südlich des Boeny, z. T.
auch für das ganze Territorium zwischen Mena-
be und Boeny) und Mailaka5 (d. h. “Land der
Latanier-Palme” [Grandidier et Grandidier 1908:
222]; für das Gebiet nördlich des Menabe) als
Namen für die zwei größten geographischen Kom-
partimente sind heute am gebräuchlichsten.
Trotz der unterschiedlichen politischen Zuge-
hörigkeit und mancher Sonderentwicklungen bie-
tet es sich an, Ambongo und Mailaka als eine
kulturelle und historische Einheit und damit ge-
meinsam zu betrachten: Die politische Situation
zwischen zwei größeren politischen Blöcken von
Menabe und Boeny legte der Region vor allem das
bis heute fortwirkende gemeinsame Schicksal ei-
ner politischen und wirtschaftlichen Peripherie auf,
mit den Folgen einer vergleichsweise großen Isola-
tion, einer gezielten wirtschaftlichen Vernachlässi-
gung und der politischen Zweitrangigkeit. Lange
Zeit blieb sie sekundären Linien der im Mena-
be oder Boeny herrschenden Sakalava-Dynastien
Vorbehalten, die hier eine Vielzahl von kleinen,
halbautonomen und vielfach durch Heirat und an-
dere Allianzen miteinander verbundene Königrei-
che6 * gründeten. Später, mit der um 1820 ein-
setzenden Eroberung der Sakalava-Machtzentren
Menabe und Boeny durch die Ethnie der Merina
den. Andere frühe Formen: 1792 Antanbongou (Du Maine
1810: 31), vor 1845 Ambohibengui (Guillain 1845: 271; In-
formanten haben mir die nahezu identischen Bezeichnungen
Ambohibengy sowie Ambohitrosy als heutigen Namen für
den zentralen Berg des Ambongo mitgeteilt).
4 Bezugspunkt ist ein einzelner und in der ansonsten flachen
Landschaft sehr auffallender Berg (Guillain 1845; 271); s. a.
die Reisebeschreibung von Voeltzkow (1893: 150).
5 Erstmals als Maylack (durch Samat um 1850 in Boudou
1932: 64). Weitere Formen; Mailaka (Martineau 1894: 220),
Mailaka (Grandidier et Grandidier 1908: 222), Antehmaila-
ka (Deschamps 1960: 98), Mahilaka (Grandidier in Vérin
1975:176; Rusillon 1933:77; Vérin 1975:176; Esoave-
lomandroso 1983-84:375), Mailake (Birkeli 1926:32),
Mailaka (Schlemmer 1983: 7). Die administrative Bezeich-
nung der Region ist heute Melaky. - Noch Guillain iden-
tifizierte dieses Gebiet als den Königreichen Mavouhazou
und Voäi zugehörend und erwähnt Mailaka nicht, so dass
man davon ausgehen kann, dass sich der Begriff als neues
Toponym erst ab etwa Mitte des 19. Jhs. durchzusetzen
begann.
6 Die Verwendung von “Königreich” (fanjakana) und ver-
wandter Begriffe wie “König” (mpanjaka) ist problema-
tisch, da sie bei den Sakalava sehr viel breiter verwendet
werden können als ihre deutschen Pendants (s. a. Grandidier
et Grandidier 1908: 225). So gelten etwa untergeordnete
Herrschaftsbereiche ebenfalls als fanjakana und es können
alle Mitglieder der Königsfamilie als mpanjaka bezeichnet
werden. Da bislang keine besseren begrifflichen Lösungen
ausgearbeitet worden sind, werden in diesem Artikel gleich-
wohl die Begrifflichkeiten “König” bzw. “Königreich” ver-
wendet.
36
Peter Kneitz
aus dem Inselinneren, wurde das Gebiet zu einem
gemeinsamen Refugium autonom verbliebener Sa-
kalava. Damit kehrte sich die frühere Situation
des Ambongo-Mailaka-Gebietes auf einmal in ihr
Gegenteil um: Nun wird sie für einen Zeitraum von
mehreren Jahrzehnten zum Zentrum der politisch
unabhängigen Sakalava, welche von der Isolati-
on des Gebietes profitieren, während die meisten
anderen ihrer Gebiete jetzt von externen Mächten
dominiert werden. Daraus ist dann die heutige
Situation als Rückzugszentrum einer Sakalava-
Gesellschaft hervorgegangen, die in den leichter
erreichbaren Gebieten des Boeny und Menabe seit
langem vielfältigen Irritationen und Umformun-
gen ausgesetzt ist. Die Lage zwischen den großen
politischen Reichen war also der entscheidende
Faktor für eine gemeinsame Entwicklung, während
sich die anfängliche politische Zweiteilung und
auch gelegentliche regionale Sonderentwicklungen
nicht zu Bedingungen der Trennung aus wachsen
konnten.
Während die politischen Zentren Menabe und
Boeny in den Darstellungen zur Sakalava-Gesell-
schaft meist die ganze Aufmerksamkeit auf sich
zogen, blieben die Regionen Ambongo und Maila-
ka im Schatten. Wenn sie betrachtet wurden, dann
in kurzen Beschreibungen, in denen die Lage
“zwischen” den politisch so klar konturierten Rei-
chen im Süden und Norden als charakteristisches
Merkmal hervortritt (s. Eingangszitat). In einer
Reihe von Publikationen mit sehr unterschiedli-
chen Perspektiven7 - insbesondere Reisebeschrei-
bungen und historische Abhandlungen - liegen
gleichwohl zahlreiche Einzelinformationen zu die-
ser “Zwischenregion” vor, oft jedoch nebenbei und
im Rahmen größerer Fragestellungen. Sie sind bis-
lang nicht in einer kohärenten Weise aufgearbeitet
worden, so dass es sehr schwierig ist, sich einen
Eindruck von der speziellen Entwicklung dieser
7 Die zentrale Quelle für dieses Gebiet bis Mitte des 19. Jhs.
ist weiterhin Guillain (1845: insbesondere 18 f., 24-26,
27, 39, 88 f., 110, 233-313, 322). Hinzu kommen, oft mit
nur beiläufigen Anmerkungen: Du Maine (1810: 31), Elfis
(1838: 78 f., 343-358), Noël (1843-44:278-280), Jouen
(1855, 1861a, b), Anonymus (1872), Hildebrandt (1880), La
Vaissière (1884: 198-229), Voeltzkow (1893, 1896), Mar-
tineau (1894:212-224), Galliéni (1900:260-276; 1905:
46-49, 55 f., 61-64), Firinga (1901), Grandidier et Gran-
didier (1908:222-224, 355), Mayeur (1912-13:64), Ru-
sillon (1922-23), Boudou (1932), Poirier (1939), Fage-
reng (1971:55 f.), Meinken (1975), Vérin (1975:175-
439; 1986:333-362), Esoavelomandroso (1983-84; die-
ser hat schwieriger zugängliche Quellen aus dem Anfang
der französischen Kolonialzeit ausgewertet, u. a. Gautier
(1898), Ratsivalaka (1995: 876-892), Ballarin (2000: 150,
194-196, 227-231), Kneitz (2003: 107-117, 365-382).
Sakalava-Region zu verschaffen. Ziel des Artikels
ist es, diese Lücke zu schließen und erstmals eine
zusammenhängende ethnohistorische Skizze der
Sakalava-Königreiche von Ambongo und Mailaka
vorzulegen. Zugleich soll das Ambongo-Mailaka-
Gebiet im Kontext der Sakalava-Gesellschaft be-
trachtet werden, um damit auch ihre Bedeutung
im Rahmen der weiteren Forschung zur Westküste
Madagaskars genauer abzustecken.
Der Schwerpunkt liegt dabei entsprechend der
verfügbaren Quellenlage auf der Entwicklung seit
Ende des 17. Jhs. bis in die ersten Jahre der
französischen Kolonisation (ab 1896), welche für
die Sakalava-Reiche das Ende der politischen Un-
abhängigkeit und die Einbindung der ehemals poli-
tischen Strukturen in den Rahmen eines nun domi-
nierenden Besessenheitskultes königlicher Ahnen
mit sich brachte (Kneitz 2003: 276 ff.). Die Ge-
schichte der “Zwischenkönigreiche” von Ambon-
go und Mailaka ist zwar nach 1896 keineswegs
beendet, doch bezeichnenderweise für die Beach-
tung, welche diese Region auch in den letzten
Jahrzehnten gefunden hat, liegen über ihre rezente
Entwicklung nahezu keinerlei Informationen vor.8 *
2 Die Konstruktion einer Region
“dazwischen” (um 1700)
Die Lage zwischen den zwei Königreichen von
Menabe und Boeny bestimmte die Ambongo-
Mailaka-Region seit Ende des 17. Jhs. Erst die re-
lativ rezente Entstehung der Sakalava-Gesellschaft
im Zusammenhang mit der Gründung des Menabe-
Reiches zwischen 1600 und 1650 sowie die nach-
folgende Expansion der Sakalava in den Norden
führte zu einer völligen Umgestaltung der politi-
schen Situation an der Westküste und schuf die
8 Nur fünf sehr rudimentäre Quellen belegen dies konkret: Fi-
ringa (1901: Genealogien), Rusillon (1922-23: Genealogi-
en), Poirier (1939: 32 f.), Ballarin (2000: Fptos von Hébert),
Kneitz (2003:111-115). Da in allen Sakalava-Gebieten
die anhaltende Bedeutung eines Besessenheitskultes könig-
licher Ahnen vorauszusetzen ist (z. B. Estrade 1985), liegt
auch ohne weitere direkte Hinweise eine Kontinuität von
“Königreichen” im Ambongo/Mailaka-Gebiet nahe. - Im
Rahmen meines aktuellen Forschungsprojektes sollen erst-
mals Tempel und andere Elemente königlicher Traditio-
nen zwischen Menabe und Boeny dokumentiert werden.
Ein erster Aufenthalt (Juli - August 2006) offenbarte die
Präsenz zahlreicher Reliquienschreine im Rahmen einer
dichten Abfolge zumeist unbekannter “Königreiche” ganz
unterschiedlicher historischer Tiefe und Kontinuität, wo-
durch die lokalen Akteure eindrücklich auf die anhaltende
Bedeutung des Bezugs auf Königreiche und Rituale für die
Konstruktion einer Sakalava-Identität hinweisen.
Anthropos 103.2008
^ar|d “dazwischen’
37
speziellen Bedingungen, welche die Ambongo-
Mailaka-Region seitdem prägen. Bevor diese Ent-
wicklung genauer betrachtet werden soll, ist es
notwendig, zunächst einen Blick auf die Aus-
gangssituation zu werfen. Dadurch kann gezeigt
werden, in welcher Weise die neuen politischen
Bedingungen der Sakalava die Region tatsächlich
veränderten. Außerdem ist eine Reihe von älteren
Gruppen in die spätere Sakalava-Gesellschaft inte-
griert worden, welche einen — wenn auch schwer
ini Detail zu bestimmenden - Anteil an der re-
gionalen Ausprägung der zukünftigen Königreiche
und Gesellschaft gehabt haben.
Fasst man die verfügbaren und zumeist auf
Portugiesische Quellen zurückgehenden Informa-
tionen zur Bevölkerungssituation des hier disku-
tierten Küstenabschnitts im Westen Madagaskars
für das 16. und 17. Jh. zusammen, so sind vier
Gruppen recht deutlich voneinander zu unterschei-
den;
lebten die Buques9 genannten
den Portugiesen als originäre
..-itet wurden, und die sich von
z- T. neu eingetroffenen Immigrantengruppen an
dor Küste (die im Folgenden genannten Antalaotra
Ur*d Cafres) mit eigener Sprache und Kultur deut-
lich absetzten.
2. Vereinzelt trafen die Portugiesen entlang der
Küste kleine Handelsfilialen von Antalaotra, sua-
Feli sprechende Händler arabisch-islamischer Her-
unft, an. Diese standen in der Tradition des alten
Handelsnetzwerkes, welches ab dem 1. Jahrtau-
send n. Chr. den ganzen Indischen Ozean zwischen
C!n heutigen Indonesien und der ostafrikanischen
Küste verband. Solche Antalaotra-Gruppen von
0 1 recht unterschiedlicher Herkunft waren seit
wie hr er en Jahrhunderten bereits im Nordwesten
Madagaskars aktiv und hatten dort bedeutendere
andelskolonien gegründet (Vérin 1975, 1986;
Kantoandro 1983-84). Nur Masailly (Boeny) und
. aly’ die südwestlichsten dieser Kolonien, gehören
ln ^en hier zu behandelnden regionalen Rahmen,
wobei die Antalaotra aber Handelsbeziehungen
entlang der ganzen Westküste unterhielten.10
1. Im Hinterland
Menschen, die von
Madegassen betrach
9 Diese Bezeichnung scheint seit langem ^Gebiet
als Buki (Chittick 1977) im afrikanischenSu h
geläufig zu sein. Hildebrandt notierte >
kung): “Den Namen Madagaskara [sic!] kcnncn'i
va [Merina im Inneren der Insel] ... Die Swah.U-Sch.tter
nennen die Insel Bukini.” Portugiesen 1003- 99
Name für Madagaskar Ubuque genannt (COACM 1 • ’
in Kent 1970; 179). - COACM = Collection de
ges anciens concernant Madagascar, eine von
Guillaume Grandidier herausgegebene Schn tenrei
Madagaskar.
Anthr
3. Entlang des Littorals bis weit in den Süden
waren weiterhin zumeist bantu sprechende Grup-
pen anzutreffen, welche die Portugiesen in Ent-
sprechung zu weitgehend identischen Ethnien an
der ostafrikanischen Küste Cafres nannten. Diese
Bantusprecher waren bereits vor der Ankunft der
Portugiesen in einer bedeutenden Fluchtbewegung
von Ostafrika nach Madagaskar geraten, um der
Sklaverei in den Städten “Melindi, Mombaz und
Mogdicho”11 zu entgehen. Wahrscheinlich weil ei-
ne Ansiedlung im Nord westen Madagaskars sie
den Antalaotra-Händlem gefährlich nahe gebracht
hätte, besiedelten sie vor allem das Küstengebiet
südlich der Bucht Baly, die so genannte Bambala-
oder Bambalo-Küste.12 Bezeichnenderweise wurde
das Kap westlich der Bucht Baly, das den Beginn
der Bambala-Küste markierte, lange Zeit Maroka-
firi genannt, d. h. “viele Ungläubige” (Hildebrandt
1880: 95; s. Vérin 1972: 211). Die Cafres lebten in
zahlreichen kleinen Klanen und Königreichen, von
denen das bedeutendste das von dem portugiesi-
schen Missionar Luis Mariano geschilderte König-
reich Sadia am Manombolo-Fluss war (COACM
1904: 206-262). Wesentliche kulturelle Elemente
der späteren Sakalava, wie insbesondere ein inten-
siver Reliquien- und Besessenheitskult finden sich
bereits bei diesen Bantusprechern, so dass sie als
wichtiger Ausgangspunkt zur Genese der späteren
Sakalava-Gesellschaft anzusehen sind.13
10 Der Missionar Luis Mariano übergibt beispielsweise 1617
einen Brief an einen “Mauren” aus Boeny, den “der Zu-
fall nach Sadia” an der Westküste geführt hat (COACM
1904: 224). Ähnliche Hinweise auf die Präsenz der An-
talaotra entlang der Westküste finden sich immer wieder
in alten Quellen.
11 Kent (1970: 178, eigene Übersetzung) zitiert Albuquerque
in COACM (1903: 22). Die Aussage wurde von Bantuspre-
chern im Nordwesten Madagaskars im Jahr 1506 getroffen.
12 Luis Mariano (COACM 1904:315) in Kent (1970: 181).
Variation in COACAM (1904: 326) zitiert durch Vérin
(1975; 211). Vérin versucht das Wort Bambala mit “Leute
von Baly” zu übersetzen (1975: 211). Baly (bei den Portu-
giesen als Balo) hat Vérin (1975:210) zufolge Kisuaheli-
Wurzeln und bedeutet “weit” (bezogen auf die Weite der
Bucht).
13 Kent betrachtet sogar eine Gruppe des Königreiches Sa-
dia, die Suculambes, als Ursprung der Sakalava: “There
is also no doubt that the Suculambes ... are the Saka-
lava” (1970: 189). Diese Aussage ist angesichts der Lage
von Sadia am Fluss Manombolo und damit weit nördlich
des Menabe bzw. des Ursprungsgebietes der Sakalava am
Mangoky-Fluss nicht nachvollziehbar. Auch die mündli-
chen Überlieferungen, welche ohne Ausnahme eine Her-
kunft der Sakalava-Dynastie aus dem Süden und Südwesten
postulieren, unterstützen das Argument Kents nicht. Eher
scheint eine Integration der später eventuell von der Gruppe
der Vazimba vertriebenen Suculambes in den weiter im
Süden expandierenden Sakalava-Staat Menabe denkbar.
■°P°S 103.2008
38
Peter Kneitz
Anthropos 103.2008
im Land “dazwischen’
39
4. Während die drei bisher genannten Gruppen
bereits vor dem 16. Jh. in der späteren Ambongo-
Mailaka-Region zu finden sind, treten die Vazimba
erst nach der Portugiesenzeit hinzu. Die heute
nicht mehr existierenden Vazimba unterschieden
sieh durch eine eigene Sprache und Lebensweise
deutlich von den übrigen Ethnien Madagaskars
(den genannten Buques) und werden als die äl-
teste erkennbare Bevölkerungsschicht der Insel
eingeschätzt (z. B. Deschamps 1960; Chazan-
Gillig 1989:310). Bestimmte Vazimba-Gruppen
scheinen etwa Mitte des 17. Jhs. aus dem Zentrum
der Insel ausgewandert oder - eher — vertrieben
Worden zu sein und gelangten in den mittle-
ren Westen Madagaskars, das spätere Zwischen-
gebiet von Menabe und Boeny (Kent 1970: 186;
Hébert 1971). Sie setzten sich insbesondere im
Gebiet nördlich des Flusses Tsiribihina fest, wo
sie der Engländer Drury noch Anfang des 18.
Jhs. beschreibt (s. Karte 2).14 Das plötzliche Ver-
schwinden der vielen kleinen unabhängigen Ban-
tu-Gruppen an der Westküste, wie sie von den
Portugiesischen Missionaren noch zwischen 1613
Und 1617 beschrieben werden, scheint im Zusam-
menhang mit der Ankunft dieser Vazimba zu
stehen.
Aus dem Gesagten ergibt sich zunächst das Bild
eiuer eher vielfältigen und kleinräumig strukturier-
ten Westküste vor der Entstehung der Sakalava-
Gesellschaft.15 Eine Vielzahl von unabhängigen
Einzelgruppen lebte nebeneinander, sicher vielfach
durch Allianz- und Handelsbeziehungen verbun-
den, doch ohne Lenkung durch eine übergeordnete
Politische Macht. Die spätere Ambongo-Mailaka-
Eegion ist zu diesem historischen Zeitpunkt ei-
uerseits durch die noch relativ neue Präsenz der
Gafres-Immigranten geprägt, andererseits durch
den Kontrast zum Nordwesten mit seinen isla-
mtischen Antalaotra-Händlem. Durch die Ankunft
Grandidier et Grandidier (1908: 223) haben demgegenüber
sechs Gruppen im Ambongo als ursprünglich ansässig vor
Ankunft der Sakalava aufgezählt: “les Antanandro ... les
Behosy ... Vazimba, Kazemby ou Sandangoatsy ... les
Wzo (s. a. Kent 1970: 187). Diese lassen sich aber auf die
°ben skizzierten Ordnungen zurückführen: Da die Antanan-
Uro mit den Betsileo, Bewohner aus dem Inneren der Insel,
assoziiert werden (Grandidier et Grandidier 1908; Lombard
D88:26; Birkeli 1936:45), sind sie demnach als Buques
2u qualifizieren. Die Behozy sind nach Birkeli (1936: 21 ff.)
eine weitere Variante der Vazimba. Die Kazemby oder
Kajemby (Vérin 1975: 63, 222; s. a. Kneitz 2003: 367 f.)
werden in der oralen Tradition den Sandangoatsy zugeord-
neL welche wiederum deutlich von afrikanischen Einflüssen
geprägt sind (Guillain 1845: 362; Vérin 1986: 196). Diese
waren daher mit den Cafres zu assoziieren, ebenso wie die
an das Meer gebundenen Vezo (Astuti 1995).
Anth
der Vazimba aus dem Landesinneren ergaben sich
zweifellos große Verschiebungen in diesem regio-
nalen Rahmen, doch ohne dass dies Auswirkungen
auf die “Kleinstaaterei” gehabt hätte.
Dies alles sollte sich durch die rasche Expan-
sion der neuartigen Sakalava-Gesellschaft ändern:
Ende des 16. Jhs. trafen Vertreter einer neuen Dy-
nastie an der Südwestküste ein, die ein politisches
Wissen mit sich trugen, welches insbesondere die
Integration unterschiedlicher und nicht verwand-
ter Gruppen zu einer neuen politischen Einheit
ermöglichte. Es handelte sich um Mitglieder ei-
ner im Süden Madagaskars vielfältig verzweigten
Familie, die als das Resultat der Akkulturation
arabischer Einwanderer an der Ostküste angese-
hen werden kann. Die Kombination eines - ge-
messen an den neuen Möglichkeiten - politisch
“leeren” Raumes und das Fehlen einer Struktur,
welche den in der Nachfolgeregelung nicht zum
Zuge kommenden dynastischen Mitgliedern einen
angemessenen Platz zur Verfügung stellen konn-
te, führte zu einer expansiven Dynamik. Immer
wieder brachen Mitglieder der Dynastie auf und
gründeten eigene, neue und meist sehr beschei-
dene Königreiche, wobei sie sich in der Regel
durch Heiratsbeziehungen mit den bereits ansässi-
gen Klanen verbündeten. Aus einem solchen Nu-
kleus heraus - der als nordwestlichste Variante
einer ganzen Kette von ähnlichen Königreichen
aufzufassen ist - entstand in der Mitte des 17. Jhs.
das Königreich Menabe unter König Andrianiha-
ninarivo (Andriandahifotsy)16 und der Prototyp der
späteren Sakalava-Gesellschaft.17 * Nun begann eine
Expansion, die in kaum mehr als fünf Jahrzehn-
ten zu einer zumindest nominalen Kontrolle über
16 Die Könige besitzen immer mindestens zwei Namen, einen
zu Lebzeiten (oft in der Variante mit der Vorsilbe ra-,
z. B. Ramiakala für Miakala) und einen zweiten posthumen
Namen (fitahina), welcher obligatorisch mit andria- (Kenn-
zeichen adeliger Abstammung) beginnt und mit -arivo
(’’Tausend” in der Bedeutung “mächtig, viel”) endet (oft
verkürzt als ndr- ausgesprochen und geschrieben). In der
Literatur hat sich keine einheitliche Regel durchgesetzt,
welcher Name zur Kennzeichnung verwendet wird (je nach
König z. T. der Lebendname, z. T. der posthume Name
und dies oft in verschiedenen Varianten). Entsprechend der
Sakalava-Tradition, in welcher alleine der posthume Name
verwendet wird, verwende ich bevorzugt diesen. In Fällen,
in denen sich in der Literatur der Name zu Lebzeiten
eingebürgert hat, wird dieser in Klammem hinzugesetzt.
17 Das Ethnonym “Sakalava” erscheint erstmals klar erkennt-
lich 1686 in einem niederländischen Logbuch (Armstrong
1983-84: 215), bezeichnet aber zu dieser Zeit aus der Sicht
der Antalaotra-Händler verschiedene, mit dem Sklavenhan-
del in Verbindung stehende Ethnien (Kneitz 2008). Die
Sakalava selbst benannten sich zumindest im 17. Jh. nach
ihrem König Andriandahifotsy als “Lahy Foty” (Karte in
Flacourt 1995).
,roPos 103.2008
40
Peter Kneitz
fast die gesamte Westküste durch die Mitglieder
der sich rasch umfangreich ausdehnenden Dynastie
führte.
Vereinfacht ist diese Dynamik häufig als Aus-
bildung einer Kette von Königreichen dargestellt
worden (Lombard 1988: 12; Ballarin 2000; 36).
Dabei wird suggeriert, dass sie kontinuierlich und
Glied um Glied in südnördlicher Richtung entlang
der Westküste entstanden waren, so dass sich die
Grenzen der Sakalava-Gesellschaft quasi in linea-
rer Weise Stück um Stück in den Norden ver-
schoben hätten. Bei genauerer Betrachtung ergibt
sich jedoch eher eine Dynamik des “Springens”
oder “Hüpfens”, indem sich die Sakalava-Fürsten
zunächst auf die Regionen mit den besten poli-
tischen und wirtschaftlichen Aussichten konzen-
trierten, bevor spätere Generationen die noch ver-
bliebenen Regionen in Besitz nahmen und damit
die noch vorhandenen Lücken füllten (Karte 1).
Der bekannteste und jedenfalls wichtigste derartige
“Sprung” wurde vom späteren König Andriaman-
disoarivo unternommen. Er verließ das Menabe
um 1683 oder 1684,18 nachdem sein älterer Bruder
Andriamandresy den Thron bestiegen hatte. Be-
gleitet von einem Trupp von etwa 800 ergebenen
Kriegern durchkreuzte er rasch und offenkundig
zielstrebig über mehrere hundert Kilometer das
dünn besiedelte Land nördlich des Menabe-König-
reiches, also die späteren Regionen von Mailaka
und Ambongo, um die Nordwestküste zu errei-
chen. Es war ihm sicher wohlbekannt, dass er
dort die Möglichkeit hatte, eine der durch die An-
talaotra-Händler wirtschaftlich prosperierendsten
Zonen Madagaskars jener Zeit zu unterwerfen.
Auf seiner Reise wurde er mit den verschiedenen
und oben bereits charakterisierten Bewohnern die-
ses weiten Territoriums konfrontiert:
Lorsque ce prince partit du Ménabé à la tête des hordes
sakalaves, il traversa le pays limitrophe, alors habité par
des groupes de Vazim’bahs [Vazimbas], qui s’enfuirent
effrayés à son approche, puis le pays presque inhabité
... sous l’autorité d’un chef vazim’bah [Vazimbal,
nommé Boulacily, qui se soumit sans combattre, et se
joignit avec une partie de son monde à l’armée du
conquérant.
Andriamandissou-Arivou [Andriamandisoarivo] en-
vahit ensuite le pays des Tsiahondikis et des Djéribohitsis
... Le chef des Tsiahondikis ... fut tué ...
Andriamandissou [Andriamandisoarivo] passa la ri-
vière Bâli [Baly], et fit irruption à travers le territoire
des Sandangouatsis [Sandangoatsy] ... Les Mananga-
18 Sein Vater, der König Andrianihaninarivo (Andriandahi-
fotsy), starb zwischen August 1682 und Dezember 1683
(Armstrong 1983-84:220).
dabos ne purent résister aux hordes aguerries du prince
sakalave, et Razoalhao, le chef qui gouvernait le pays,
se retira à Anghalavouri, où il mourut... Les Sakalaves
ont, dit-on, toujours respecté le lieu de sa sépulture ...
(Guillain 1845: 18 f.)
Aus dieser Beschreibung, die eine Kapitän Guil-
lain mitgeteilte Erinnerung über 150 Jahre nach
den Ereignissen wiedergibt, lassen sich wichtige
Anhaltspunkte entnehmen. Zum einen wird über
die Aufteilung des Raumes unter verschiedenen
Gruppen informiert: Im Süden (nördlich des Mena-
be) siedelten zunächst die Vazimba, die, wie oben
mitgeteilt, sich wohl erst seit wenigen Jahrzehnten
hier aufhielten. Weiter nördlich und damit im Be-
reich des Ambongo traf Andriamandisoarivo auf
zwei ansonsten fast unbekannt gebliebene Grup-
pen, die Tsiahondiki und die Djéribohitsi. Noch
weiter im Norden, jenseits des Flusses Baly [Ano-
mavo?], traf er schließlich auf die Klane Sandan-
goatsy und Manangadabo.
Bereits aus dem Text lässt sich schließen, dass
es sich bei den vier letztgenannten Gruppen nicht
um Vazimba handeln kann, da diese klar als sol-
che gekennzeichnet werden. Andriamandisoarivo
stand hier also Nachfahren der oben erwähnten
Bantusprecher (Cafres) und Madagassen (Buques)
gegenüber. Anhand weiterer Informationen lässt
sich das Bild noch erhellen. Guillain (1845:272)
erläutert an einer anderen Stelle die Aufteilung des
Ambongo genauer und kennzeichnet die Gruppen
zusätzlich. Demnach wären das Litoral und die
Flussufer des Ambongo ebenfalls von Vazimba
besiedelt gewesen. Die nomadischen Djéribohitsi
würden den darauf folgenden Raum weiter land-
einwärts einnehmen. Die Tsiahondiki schließlich,
die bedeutendste Gruppe, hätten den Hauptteil des
Ambongo besetzt. Entsprechend der weiter oben
skizzierten Gliederung der Gruppen dieses Ge-
bietes vor Ankunft der Sakalava und ihres Sied-
lungsmuster müssten die Djéribohitsi eher von
den litoralen Bantusprechem (Cafres) geprägt sein,
wozu auch die Kennzeichnung als “nomadisch”
passt.19 Die Tsiahondiki hingegen wären demnach
eher als Buques (Madagassen) anzusehen.20 *
19 Die nomadische Gruppe der Vezo (Astuti 1995), entlang der
Westküste siedelnd und deutlich von afrikanischen Elemen-
ten geprägt, dürfte auf die Immigration von Bantusprecher
zurückgehen.
20 Eine andere Darstellung gibt der z. T. weniger genau infor-
mierte Noël (1843-44: 278): “Ce pays [Ambongo] était oc-
cupé avant l’arrivée des Sakkalava par les Anti-angandron
[vermutl. Antanandro], fraction de la tribu des Hova [Me-
rina], les Draka-vonavou, les Tsabendia, les Draka-ankadia
et les Tsiahondiki.” Die Anwesenheit von Merina assozi-
Anthropos 103.2008
Land “dazwischen’
41
Wendet man sich nun den beiden nördliche-
ren Gruppen Sandangoatsy und Manangadabo zu,
So scheint zumindest erstere klar auf die afri-
kanischen Einwanderer zurückzugehen, also den
v°n den Portugiesen als Cafres gekennzeichneten
Bantusprechem. Zwar charakterisiert sie Guillain
(1845: 245, fn. 1) nach “den Aussagen der Alten”
als “Ureinwohner”, doch scheint dies eine relative
Aussage im Vergleich zur Ankunft der Sakalava
zu sein. Später teilt er nämlich mit, dass “die ehe-
maligen Bewohner” des “Landes zwischen [den
Flüssen Mahavavy] und Bäli” laut der “Tradition”
^0n der afrikanischen Küste gekommen sind (Guil-
lain 1845: 362). Sowohl Sandangoatsy und Manan-
gadabo sind in die Sakalava-Gesellschaft integriert
worden und existieren als Klane mit bestimmten
^tuellen Aufgaben noch heute (Kneitz 2003: 208,
Aus dem oben wiedergegebenen Zitat über den
Nriegszug des Königs Andriamandisoarivo lassen
Slch aber über die Zahl und Aufteilung der ver-
schiedenen Gruppen hinaus auch Angaben über ih-
re Neuorganisation entnehmen. Die Vazimba sind
entweder geflohen oder haben sich dem König
^geschlossen. Von den Gruppen des Ambongo
naben offenbar nur die (laut der vorgelegten Inter-
pretation) eher Buques dominierten und besonders
zahlreichen Tsiahondiki größeren Widerstand ge-
eistet. Die zugehörige Gesellschaft ist denn auch
yölüg zerschlagen worden.21 Die anderen Klane
naben sich hingegen kaum gewehrt und konnten
aadurch ihre Existenz als Teil der neu formier-
en Sakalava-Gesellschaft retten. Andererseits ist
cstzuhalten, dass die Ambongo-Mailaka-Region
ürch den kurzen Durchzug von Andriamandi-
soarivo noch keineswegs zu einem regulären und
Kontrollierten Bestandteil der Sakalava geworden
War. Vielmehr blieb dieses Gebiet die folgenden
lerten Gruppen (z. T. in der Literatur Manendy genannt)
lrn Ambongo ist allerdings nur in den östlichen Randgebie-
ten wahrscheinlich (Ratsivalaka 1995; 876-892; 1t. Guil-
lain [1845: 272] wären die Manendy jedoch ebenfalls eine
Wzimba-Gruppe). - Die drei von Noël genannten Grup-
Pen Draka-vonavou, Tsabendia und Draka-ankadia wurden
y°n den Informanten Guillains (in der Form Nacavouavou,
Ichabendia und Ndakaouendia) als Namen von Befehlsha-
bern der Tsiahondiki übermittelt. Da der Name einer Person
äuch als Synonym für eine Gruppe benutzt werden kann,
^°nnte es sich auch um untergeordnete Gruppen der Tsia-
Pondiki oder, wie Guillain vermutet, der Djéribohitsi han-
deln (Guillain 1845: 18). - Vérin (1975; 207) hat westlich
v°n Baly Grabstätten dokumentiert, welche seiner Meinung
2l paC^ ^en Tsiahondiki zugeordnet werden könnten.
Wes der späteren Sakalava-Königreiche im Ambongo
^urde, wie noch berichtet wird, von einer Gruppe mit den
amen Tsitampiki geführt. Dies lässt an die Möglichkeit
einer Verbindung mit den ehemaligen Tsiahondiki denken.
Anth
Jahrzehnte sich noch weitgehend selbst überlassen,
bis das zukünftige Königreich von Boeny festere
Formen angenommen hatte und neue dynastische
Konflikte im Süden und Norden aufgetreten waren.
Die Anwesenheit von Andriamandisoarivo im
Nordwesten Madagaskars wird durch eine Rei-
he von Augenzeugen bestätigt. Bereits 1686 wird
von Niederländern berichtet, dass die Handelsko-
lonie Langany (durch Europäer meist als Mage-
lagie, Mazalagem, Massailli und ähnliche Vari-
anten bezeichnet), ein lange etabliertes Zentrum
arabisch-islamischer Händler in der Mahajamba-
Bucht nördlich der heutigen Hafenstadt Mahajanga
(Vérin 1975: 525), zerstört worden sei.
In August 1686 the VOC [die niederländische ost-
indische Handelsorganisation] ship Jamby ... reported
Magelagie was bumed and deserted, having been at war
with the mainland, i.e., with the Sacalave ... (Armstrong
1983-84: 215).22
Und nur wenige Jahre darauf, um 1700, unterstütz-
ten die Kapitäne zweier amerikanischer Sklaven-
schiffe die Kriegszüge des noch jungen Königrei-
ches während mehrerer Jahre und halfen damit An-
driamandisoarivo bei der Errichtung seiner Herr-
schaft zwischen der Bucht Boeny und Mahajamba
(COACM 1905:617-622).
Innerhalb einer nur kurzen Zeit nach dem Aus-
zug aus dem Menabe hatte Andriamandisoarivo
damit die Grundlage für ein neues und imposantes
Königreich geschaffen. Zum einen war das Anta-
laotra-Handelszentrum besiegt worden, so dass die
Sakalava die Handelsbeziehungen gegenüber den
Europäern und Arabern bzw. Partnern der Suaheli-
Küste kontrollieren konnten, welche sich zuneh-
mend auf Sklaven23 und Waffen konzentrierten.
Sie verdrängten damit die Antalaotra und Gruppen
des Inselzentrums (u. a. Merina) aus der Schlüssel-
position für den madagassischen Handel, welchen
diese lange Zeit innegehabt hatten (z. B. Vérin
1986: 106 ff.). Dazu ist zu bemerken, dass die Ver-
handlungen mit den Europäern direkt von den Sa-
kalava-Königen bzw. deren Unterhändlern geführt
wurden, während die Kontinuität des Handels mit
22 Armstrong interpretiert Magelagie fälschlicherweise als die
weiter südlich gelegene Handelskolonie Boeny, welche eine
von Magelagie ausgehende, spätere Neugründung gleichen
Namens darstellt (oft unterschieden als Neu- bzw. Alt-
Magelagie, s. Vérin 1975:529 und Armstrong 1983-84:
213). Die Zuordnung kann insbesondere durch die von
Guillain (1845: 18 f., 20, 359) übermittelten Berichte klar
rekonstruiert werden.
23 Eine Übersicht über den madagassischen Sklavenhandel
bietet Campbell (2000).
lroPos 103.2008
42
Peter Kneitz
Anthropos 103.2008
43
bn Land
‘dazwischen’
en Arabern oder Suaheli in den Händen der ver-
hebenen Antalaotra lag. Diese waren nicht ver-
hieben worden, da man sehr wohl wusste, dass man
s°nst einen Bruch der lang etablierten Geschäfts-
verbindungen zur ostafrikanischen Küste riskiert
natte. Zum zweiten hatten die Sakalava die ver-
schiedenen Gruppen im Binnenland besiegt und
entweder in ihr eigenes Gesellschaftsgefüge inte-
§riert oder ihre Organisation zerstört, so dass die
Verbliebenen Mitglieder in der neuen Gesellschaft
^gegangen waren. Durch das neu geschaffene
Königreich Boeny,24 das zweite Sakalava-Reich
nach dem von Menabe, war die Dominanz der
nkalava entlang der gesamten Westküste bereits
csiegelt, da nach der Beseitigung der Antalaotra-
jaerrschaft im Nordwesten keine andere politische
M'aft von Bedeutung mehr existierte.
Von nun an dominierten also zwei Sakalava-
Königreiche die Westküste, Menabe und Boeny,
fcCführt durch zwei Brüder und den zugehörigen
ynastielinien (die Maroseraña im Süden und
16 Zafimbolamena im Norden), isoliert voneinan-
er durch ein mehrere hundert Kilometer weites,
aurn besiedeltes Land. Fast von alleine ergab
Slch aus dieser besonderen politischen und dy-
nhstischen Situation heraus für die neu entstande-
ne Zwischenregion” die Bestimmung als weniger
Interessanter Nebenschauplatz, als Peripherie und
. Kerzone zweier durch familiäre Bande eng mit-
eteander verbundener Staaten. Dieser für mehr als
e!n Jahrhundert gültige Status wurde bereits we-
tege Jahre nach der Reichsgründung von Boeny
^rch eine Art Freundschaftsvertrag in formaler
eise besiegelt, wobei zunächst der Fluss Ounara
eute Ranobe],25 der ziemlich genau die Mitte
techen Menabe und Boeny kennzeichnet, als
Leidepunkt der jeweiligen Interessenssphären
es|gelegt wurde (Guillain 1845: 20; s. Karte 2).
h le ^r°ße des Territoriums zwischen Menabe
Boeny veränderte sich immer wieder entspre-
end der politischen Entwicklungen. In den ersten
a rzehnten, also ab Anfang des 18. Jhs., war das
Lehe Limit und damit die Grenze zum Menabe-
er Name Boeny geht auf die Bucht Boeny zurück, an der
16 zu jener Zeit wirtschaftlich herausragende Antalaotra-
olonie (Neu-)Magelagie lag und in deren Nähe die Re-
enz Tongai der neuen Herrscher errichtet wurde. - In
r modernen Literatur wird häufig auch die Schreibweise
°ina gebraucht (z. B. Belrose-Huyghues 1983-84, Lom-
óte 1988, Bailarín 2000). Da die heutigen Vertreter der
alava-Könige von Mahajanga sich ausdrücklich Ampan-
2fln en>ny ®оепУ (Großfürsten von Boeny) nennen (Kneitz
236), habe ich mich für die Variante Boeny entschie-
te eckigen Klammern stehen die heutigen geographischen
n mimischen Bezeichnungen.
Anthr°Pos 103.2008
Königreich im engeren Sinne der Fluss Sizou-
bounghi (oft auch Manih genannt) [Tsiribihina],
während die nördliche Grenze in etwa der Fluss
Baly [Anomavo?] an der gleichnamigen Bucht
darstellte (Guillain 1845: 13, 18; Karte 2). Da die
östlichen Gebiete fast unbewohnt waren, und die
nächsten Nachbarn hier die weit entfernten Hova
[Merina] im Zentrum der Insel waren, gab es wohl
keine besondere Notwendigkeit, den Grenzverlauf
auf der Binnenseite klar zu definieren. Im Laufe
des 18. Jhs. dehnte sich der Zentralbereich des Me-
nabe-Königreiches im Norden bis zum Fluss Doko
[Demoka?] aus, so dass das Ambongo-Mailaka-
Zwischengebiet in entsprechender Weise verengt
wurde (Guillain 1845: 314; Karte 3). Eine weitere
Veränderung ergab sich durch das Ende des po-
litisch unabhängigen Boeny 1824, als es Teil des
rasch wachsenden Merina-Reiches im Inselinneren
wurde. Die schwer zugängliche und wirtschaftlich
weniger interessante Region westlich des Flusses
Betsiboka bis zum Fluss Mandzarai [Mahavavy],
ehemals das Zentralland von Boeny, wurde zu
dieser Zeit ein weitgehend autonomes Gebiet un-
abhängig gebliebener Sakalava und damit Teil der
aus der Perspektive dieses Artikels interessanten
Region. Schließlich sind für Ende des 18. Jhs.
auch Änderungen in der Zugehörigkeit bestimmter
Gebiete zur Interessenssphäre von Menabe oder
Boeny zu vermerken (s. Karten 2 und 3).
Mit der Errichtung des Königreiches Boeny
bekam das Gebiet der ehemaligen Bambala-Küste
jedenfalls die ihm eigentümliche Lage zwischen
den beiden dominanten Sakalava-Reichen, welche
die Geschicke des Gebietes letztlich bis heute
bestimmt. Noch für annähernd drei Jahrzehnte
jedoch blieb das Gebiet, nun bereits auf geteilt
zwischen Menabe und Boeny, weitgehend von ei-
ner direkten Einflussnahme der Sakalava-Dynastie
verschont, da es keinen Anlass für die Herr-
scher gab, sich weiter um ein vergleichsweise we-
nig attraktives Gebiet - ohne wichtige Handels-
orte - zu kümmern, aus dem zugleich keinerlei
Gefahr drohte. Erst die andauernden Streitigkei-
ten innerhalb der Sakalava-Dynastie gaben Anlass
für die Gründung kleiner Königreiche und damit
die endgültige Umgestaltung der zugehörigen Ge-
biete.
3 Die Entwicklung der Königreiche von
Ambongo und Mailaka im 18. Jahrhundert
Im 18. Jh. waren die Königreiche von Menabe
und Boeny auf dem Höhepunkt ihrer Entwicklung
angekommen. Sie stellten die beiden größten poli-
44
Peter Kneitz
tischen Einheiten Madagaskars jener Zeit dar und
ihre Könige konnten weitgehend unangefochten
von äußeren Feinden regieren. Der Handel mit
Europäern und Arabern, die entscheidende Grund-
lage ihrer Machtposition, wurde an der Westküste
auf die Umgebung der beiden Residenzen in
der Nähe von Mahabo (Menabe) und Marovoay
(Boeny) konzentriert. Ein zentrales inneres Pro-
blem in beiden Staaten war jedoch - in Fortset-
zung der früheren Dynamik der kleinen Königrei-
che im Süden und Südosten Madagaskars - das
Fehlen einer geordneten Herrschemachfolge, was
häufig zu Konfrontationen zwischen den verschie-
denen Dynastielinien und potentiellen Thronan-
wärtem führte. Als eine einvernehmlichere Form
der Problemlösung etablierte sich die Zueignung
von Teilgebieten an die unterlegenen Kontrahenten
an der Peripherie der Königreiche - und hier bot
sich das weite Gebiet zwischen Menabe und Boeny
in besonderer Weise an.
Im Königreich Boeny scheint diese Entwick-
lung zuerst begonnen zu haben. Nach dem Tod
des Gründerkönigs Andriamandisoarivo um 171026
ging die Macht zunächst problemlos auf den äl-
testen Sohn Andrianamboniarivo über. Als dieser
etwa ein Jahrzehnt später starb (zwischen 1719
und 172527; s. Guillain 1845: 22), war die Konkur-
renz unter seinen zahlreichen Nachkommen groß.
Hier setzte sich schließlich Andriamahatindriarivo
(ca. 1725 - vor 175028) durch. Der erstgeborene
Sohn des verstorbenen Königs floh nach der Über-
lieferung an die Ostküste Madagaskars, während
drei weitere sich an der westlichen Peripherie des
Boeny-Königreiches niederließen (Abb. 1):
Trois autres, désignés après leur mort par les noms
d’Andrianilahé-n’-Arivou [Andrianilahenarivol, Andria-
nomba-n’-Arivou [Andrianombanarivo] et Andriantsi-
foué-n’-Arivou [Andriantsifoenarivo], allèrent s’établir
dans le pays d’Ambohibengui [eine ältere Bezeichnung
für Ambongo] avec leurs familles et leurs serviteurs et
partisans. Ils s’y partagèrent l’autorité, en reconnais-
sant corne suzerain le roi de Bouéni [Boeny], et les
groupes qui les y avaient suivis donnèrent naissance à
trois tribus distinctes: les Tsitampikis, les Mivavis et les
26 Die letzte zeitgenössische Dokumentation erfolgte 1708
(durch de la Merveille in CO ACM 1905: 620) und die erste
Dokumentation des Nachfolgers ca. 1714 (durch Drury in
Oliver 1969: 267). In der Literatur wird meist 1710 genannt.
27 Die letzte zeitgenössische Dokumentation datiert um 1719
(durch Drury in Oliver 1969: 311).
28 Laut Guillain (1845: 26). Der König ist diesem Autor zu-
folge durch verschiedene Quellen u. a. 1726, 1732, 1741
und 1742 dokumentiert (Guillain 1845: 366 f.; s. a. O. Hemy
in CO ACM 1913: 110), was jedoch nicht unumstritten ist
(s. z. B. Rusillon 1922-23, Fagereng 1971:43).
Antimarahs, qui occupent encore aujord’hui une partie
du pays d’Ambongou [Ambongo] (Guillain 1845:24,
s. a. 272).29
Die drei Könige werden später als von sekundä-
rer Herkunft (bâtards) gekennzeichnet, d. h. ihre
Mütter waren nicht als Ehefrauen des verstorbenen
Andriamboniarivo legitimiert (Guillain 1845:25,
272), so dass ihren Kindern in der Nachfolgefrage
ein sekundärer Rang zukam. Die drei neu entstan-
denen kleinen Königreiche lagen in einer Kette
entlang der Küste des spätestens ab jetzt Ambongo
genannten Gebietes (Karte 2). Dem Königreich
Boeny am nächsten lag Baly30 (unter Andrianila-
henarivo), westlich der Bucht gleichen Namens.
Die Bewohner nannten sich Tsitampikis (heute
unbekannt). Das zweite Königreich wurde Mi-
lanja31 genannt (unter Andrianombanarivo), unter
Führung der ebenfalls erstmals genannten Gruppe
der Miavi, und umfasste das Gebiet des Kaps
St. André. Schließlich ist die Gründung des König-
reiches Maraha32 (unter Andriantsifoenarivo) fest-
zuhalten, welches weiter südwestlich lag und das
verbleibende Gebiet bis zur Scheidelinie zwischen
Boeny und Menabe am Fluss Ounara33 [Ranobe]
einnahm, mit der Gruppe der Antimaraha.34 Die
Fage westlich der Bucht von Baly ist in gewisser
Weise auch eine Fortsetzung der alten und oben
skizzierten historischen Trennung zwischen dem
29 In den Genealogien von Rusillon (1922-23) wird zusätz-
lich noch ein Andriamamonjiarivo, Bmder des ersten Kö-
nigs von Boeny (Andriamandisoarivo), angegeben.
30 Andere Schreibweisen u. a. Bäh (Guillain 1845: 273), Bally
(Samat in Boudou 1932: 61), Balÿ (Grandidier et Gran-
didier 1908: 224), heute zumeist Baly (z. B. Hildebrandt
1880: 93, Martineau 1894: 220, Vérin 1975: 176). Die Be-
nennung der beiden Buchten Baly und Boeny westlich der
Stadt Mahajanga geht auf islamisch geprägte Händler vor
der Ankunft der Europäer im 16. Jh. zurück.
31 Andere Schreibweisen u. a. Milan’za (Guillain 1845:273),
Antimilanjä (Grandidier et Grandidier 1908: 223), Milanza
(Martineau 1894:220); heute zumeist Milanja (Rusillon
1933: 77; Vérin 1975: 176). Die Bedeutung ist unbekannt.
32 “Schwieriges Land” (“pays scabreux” nach Grandidier et
Grandidier 1908: 222). Laut Birkeli (1936: 8) bedeutet ma-
ra “schneidend, scharf’ (tranchant). Andere Schreibweisen
sind u. a. Marah (Guillain 1845: 273), Antimaraha (Grandi-
dier et Grandidier 1908: 222), Mara (Martineau 1894: 220;
Samat in Boudou 1932; 63), Mahara (Rusillon 1933: 77),
Maraha (Vérin 1975: 176). Zu dem Territorium dieser Grup-
pe gehört eine heute Bemaraha genannte Karstlandschaft
und ist seit 1990 ein UNESCO-Denkmal.
33 Deschamps (1960; 103) schreibt Honara und bestätigt, dass
es sich um den heute Ranobe genannten Fluss handelt.
34 Die Vorsilbe anti- bedeutet in etwa “Land, Gebiet”. Anti-
maraha heißt demnach so viel wie Land des Maraha. Land-
und Gruppenname sind auf Madagaskar häufig gleich-
lautend.
Anthropos 103.2008
,r°pos 103.2008
A Andriandahifotsy
(um 1640—1683)
[Men abe] Böen y
A Andrianamboniarivo (Toakaf)
(urn 1710-urn 1720)
A Andriamahatindriarivo
(urn 1720-urn 1750)
j
i
O Andriamameloarivo (Ravahiny)
(urn 1785-1811/12)
Baly
Ambongo-Königreiche
Milanja
Maraha
i I
A Andriamañavakarivo (Andriantsoly)
(1822-1836) !
Miari/Marambitsy
(Die Merina erobern Boeny)
\ \ 1
O Velo '
(um 1842)
O Rarhboatofa
(nach 1860)
j
i
A Anarena O Bareravony
(um 1896)
A Tsimetra
(urn 1898)
A Andrianilahenarivo
(nach 1720)
j
1
A Tsitolora
(um 1792)
j
j
i
A Tsambo
(um 1825 - nach 1842)
Baly 2
A Raboki
(vor 1842-1860)
I
O Otsinjo (f.)
(I860-?)
O Safy Tamo, O Fatoma,
O SafyAmbala
(nach 1860)
A Andrianombanarivo
(nach 1720)
A Andriantsivoa
(um 1792)
A Andriandahe
(um 1825)
A Andriantsifoenarivo
(nach 1720)
j
i
i ?
i
[um 1790 zu Menabe, Mavohazo]
Namoroka
i
A Lavasikindah A Monita
(um 1825 - nach 1842) (um 1824 - nach 1842)
A Andrianah
(nach 1825 -nach 1842)
A Ambary
(um 1898)
Legende:
Baly = Königreich
A Tsitolora = Herrscher (Regierungszeit)
O Fatoma = Königin (Regierungszeit)
Abb. 1: Rekonstruktion der Herrscherabfolge von Königreichen in der Region Ambongo (Guillain 1845: 24 f„ 233 f.; s. a. Firinga 1901; Rusillon 1922 23; Ballann 2000: 194 f.).
111 Land “dazwischen’
46
Peter Kneitz
arabisch-islamisch geprägten Norden und der be-
reits historischen Bambala-Küste im Süden. Die
Könige von Boeny suchten die wirtschaftlich
interessanten Regionen mit ihren angestammten
Handelsbeziehungen selbst zu kontrollieren und
gaben nur die weniger wichtigen Gebiete an ihre
Vasallen ab.
Die drei königlichen Brüder befanden sich da-
mit in einer wirtschaftlich schwierigen Situation,
da aller Handel auf das Zentralgebiet von Boeny
konzentriert war. Zudem waren alle Antalaotra-
Händler, welche durch ihre Kontakte unerlässliche
Mittelsmänner zur arabischen Welt darstellten und
lange Zeit auch in Baly eine wichtige Niederlas-
sung betrieben, im Zuge der Sakalava-Eroberung
aus diesem Gebiet nach Boeny geflohen. Für die
neu gegründeten Königreiche bestand kaum eine
Möglichkeit wichtige Handelswaren, wie insbe-
sondere Waffen, zu erhalten. Mit anderen Worten:
Sie waren dazu verurteilt in einem Zustand der
Abhängigkeit zum König von Boeny zu verblei-
ben. Insbesondere der König von Baly, Andria-
nilahenarivo, die führende Gestalt unter den drei
Brüdern, versuchte diese Situation energisch zu
ändern. Überliefert ist sein Versuch, die ehemals
in Baly ansässigen Antalaotra zur Rückkehr zu
bewegen und damit doch Anteil am einträglichen
wie strategisch wichtigen Handel zu gewinnen.
Von seinem Halbbruder, dem König von Boeny,
ist dies jedoch zunächst erfolgreich vereitelt wor-
den;
Andriamahatindi [Andrimahatindriarivo, der König von
Boeny], avisé de ce dessein et des intrigues auxquelles
on se livrait pour le réaliser, envoya faire des re-
présentations à ses frères, les engageant à se tenir
tranquilles. Ceux-ci feignirent de renoncer à leur pro-
jet ; mais, quelques temps après, à la suite d’une pe-
tite expédition dirigée par Andrianbahatsi, fils de l’un
d’eux, plusieurs Antalaots’ [Antalaotra] furent enlevés
de Bouéni [Boeny] et conduits à Bâli [Baly] (Guillain
1845:25).
Die wie eine Entführung der Antalaotra und damit
geradezu verzweifelt anmutende Aktion zeigt, wie
schwierig die wirtschaftliche Situation der kleinen
Königreiche und zugleich wie bedeutsam die Po-
sition der Antalaotra mit ihrem besonderen Wis-
sen damals für die Sakalava gewesen sein muss.
Der nun drohende Krieg zwischen dem König
von Boeny und den aufsässigen Mitgliedern seiner
Familie kam auf Betreiben der weiter im Boeny
lebenden Antalaotra, die ihre verschleppten Ver-
wandten schonen wollten, nicht zur Ausführung.
Durch geeignete Gegenmaßnahmen - insbeson-
dere die Verstärkung der Kontrolle über die An-
talaotra durch ihre Ansiedlung in der weiter nörd-
lich neu gegründeten Stadt Moudzangaïe [Maha-
janga] - konnten die Könige von Boeny aber
erfolgreich verhindern, dass ihnen im südlichen
Bereich ihres Einflussgebietes eine Konkurrenz er-
wuchs.
Angesichts dieser Lage und der wesentlichen
Quelle bedeutender wirtschaftlicher Einkünfte be-
raubt, ist es wenig erstaunlich, dass die Herrscher
des Ambongo auf das letzte ihnen zur Verfügung
stehende Mittel verfielen: Die Plünderung der be-
nachbarten Regionen, wozu ihnen die Unzugäng-
lichkeit ihres Gebietes beste Voraussetzungen bot.
Daraus erwuchs bald eine prägende Lebensart,
wie sie auch im ersten zeitgenössischen Doku-
ment über das Ambongo anklingt, das auf den
im Auftrag des ungarischen Barons Benyowski
ausgesandten französischen Händler Mayeur 1774
zurückgeht:
Le 1er juillet, nous apprîmes par les gens du village
que les Entembongs [die Bewohner des Ambongo]
s’étaient assemblés au nombre de trois mille hommes
pour marcher contre les Séclaves [Sakalava]. Ces gens
sont une peuplade sortie de la même souche que la
famille actuellement régnante à Bombétoc [Bombetoka,
die Flussmündung des Betsiboka und zugleich Name
für eine Siedlung an dessen Rand, in deren Nähe auch
die königiche Residenz lag], dont elle est l’implacable
ennemie depuis que son chef, dans les temps anciens
ambitionna le titre de roi des Séclaves [Sakalava] qui ne
lui appartenait pas. Mécontant de la préférence donnée à
son frère sur lui, il se retira avec les siens dans les déserts
qui séparent le royaume de Bombétoc [Bombetoka ;
d. h. hier das Königreich Boeny] de la province des
Antaimenabais [Menabe], faisant des courses sur les
terres de ses voisins, volant, pillant de tous côtés et
massacrant impitoyablement quiconque refusait de se
joindre à lui.... Ils n’ont point d’habitations fixes, errent
de plaine en plaine, toujours en maraude, toujours prêts à
fondre sur les voyageurs et sur les villages sans défense
qu’ils pillent et dévastent. Ils se battent en gens de cœur ;
leur bravoure, leur célérité, leurs ruses leur ont fait un
nom redoutable dans les contrées voisines dont ils sont
l’effroi. Ce sont les Bédouins de Madagascar (Mayeur
1912-13 ; 64 ; s. a. Meinken 1975).
Ellis (1838: 78 f.) hat ein halbes Jahrhundert spä-
ter, die Bevölkerung des Ambongo in ähnlicher
Weise als “barbarous” charakterisiert (siehe Kap. 4).
Dabei gilt es festzuhalten, dass Mayeur diese
Aussagen offenbar nicht nach eigenem Erleben
getroffen hat, sondern aufgrund von Sakalava-In-
formanten aus Boeny, welche die Bewohner des
Ambongo hauptsächlich als Plünderer erlebten.
Die formulierte Unterscheidung von “Entembongs”
und “Séclaves” weist trotz des klar formulierten
Anthropos 103.2008
47
ta Land “dazwischen”
Verwandtschaftsverhältnisses indirekt darauf hin,
J
dass
im zeitgenössischen Verständnis die Bevöl-
kerung des Ambongo als eigenständige Einheit
^trachtet wurde.
Mehr als 20 Jahre später, 1792, beschrieb ein
anderer Zeitzeuge, der Händler Du Maine, eine
ganz ähnliche Konfliktsituation:
Quelle que soit l’autorité de la reine [gemeint ist
*e damalige Sakalava-Königin Ravahiny, ca. 1785 —
HJ, elle n’empêche point les propres parens [sic!]
e cette princesse de lui susciter des querelles ; ils
Partagent les pouvoirs de la force publique avec elle
tar le droit de transmission acquis de leurs ancêtres.
0rsque j’étois [sic !] à Mouzangaye [Mahajanga], la
tane faisait des préparatifs hostiles contre eux pour se
funger de quelques enlèvemens [sic !] de troupeaux et
r esclaves- Ils occupent la rive de la rivière de Pombétoc
ornbetoka], étant un peu enfoncés dans les terres. Ils
*0nt désignés et connus sous le nom d'Antanbongous
cute des Ambongo] (Du Maine 1810 : 30 f.).
edere Informationen zeigen den Hintergrund die-
Ses neuerlichen Konfliktes. Laut Guillain war der
entscheidende Anlass für die Auseinandersetzung
plne Änderung der Nachfolgeregelung, welche ab
nde des 18. Jhs. auch Frauen die Möglichkeit
ZUr Thronbesteigung gab. Damit sicherte sich die
regterende Familie die Macht, nachdem der letzte
^erkannte männliche Nachkomme der Sakalava-
ynastie von Boeny ohne direkte Nachkommen
§estorben war. Zugleich wurde anderen Dynastie-
^gmenten damit jede Möglichkeit genommen, die
Herrschaft zu übernehmen. Ein namentlich nicht
§enannter Vertreter einer dieser Dynastiesegmente
fnf naC^ ^u^ain (1845:31) soweit, die könig-
. chen Reliquien von Boeny, Insignien der Macht,
den Jahren nach dem Regierungsantritt der
Jphgin Ravahiny (um 1785-1811)35 zu rauben,
d mit ihnen in das Ambongo zu fliehen - of-
Pbar, weil die dortigen Sakalava-Vertreter in ei-
r schon traditionellen oppositionellen Haltung
Pden und der Herausforderer der regierenden
k^kalava-Könige sich dort Unterstützung erhoffen
Der von Du Maine erwähnte Kriegszug führte
kQnn allerdings nur zu einer Vertreibung der Am-
ngo-Fürsten in den Süden, in das Königreich
enabe. Der Aufstand war gescheitert. Durch Ver-
^ dflung des damaligen Menabe-Königs Miakala
j^r“en die damaligen Könige von Baly (Tsito-
e°ra) und Milanja (König Andriantsivoa) - die
en Namen dieser Dynastiesegmente seit der
35 Re
37§lerungszeit nach Hébert (1983-84) und Guillain (1845;
tath
Entstehung der Königreiche - später wieder ihre
Besitzungen übernehmen. Das Gebiet des König-
reiches Maraha36 * * hingegen wurde nach Ansicht
von Guillain (1845: 32, 272 f.) zu dieser Zeit als
Dank für die Vermittlung an die Menabe-Könige
abgetreten, was eine Verschiebung der Ende des
17. Jhs. etablierten Interessenssphären zwischen
Menabe und Boeny nach Norden mit sich brachte.
Seitdem wäre laut Guillain der Fluss Sambaho
[Sambao] die Grenzlinie gewesen.
Insgesamt lässt sich über die ersten hundert
Jahre der drei kleinen Sakalava-Königtümer im
Ambongo Folgendes feststellen:
Die spärlichen Informationen über die frühe
Entwicklung der Sakalava im Ambongo stehen
ausschließlich im Zusammenhang mit zwei Kon-
flikten gegenüber dem dominanten Reich Boeny.
Als erste Quelle der dokumentierten Auseinan-
dersetzungen kann zunächst der definitive Verlust
des Anspruchs auf den Thron gesehen werden
und, damit eng verbunden, die klare wirtschaft-
liche Benachteiligung in den vom Handel weit-
gehend isolierten Regionen. Indem die Machthaber
von Boeny den Handel mit allen Mitteln in ihren
Händen zu konzentrieren suchten, blieb den - ge-
zwungenermaßen - “armen Verwandten” kaum
eine Möglichkeit, größere Reichtümer zu erwerben
oder gar ihre Machtbasis durch neue Waffen aus-
zubauen. Der zweite Konfliktfall, über ein halbes
Jahrhundert später, zeigt die Herrscher des Am-
bongo als gewissermaßen natürliche Verbündete
einer Opposition im Boeny-Reich zur neu, und im
Rahmen einer als Bruch angesehenen Neuinterpre-
tation der Nachfolgeregeln, eingesetzten Königin.
Hier zeigt sich, dass der ursprüngliche Konflikt
nicht ausgeräumt worden war, sondern dieser sich
zu einer grundsätzlichen Konfrontationslage zwi-
schen Boeny und Ambongo verfestigt hatte, die
von den europäischen Zeitzeugen als “typisch”
festgehalten wurde.
Uber die interne Entwicklung der Ambongo-
Reiche hingegen liegen keinerlei Informationen
vor. In welcher Weise beispielsweise war die Re-
organisation der älteren Vazimba-, Cafres-, und
Buques-Gruppen unter den neuen Dynastien von-
statten gegangen? Inwieweit hatte man sich an das
bewährte Modell politischer und gesellschaftlicher
Organisation gehalten, wie es aus dem Menabe
und Boeny bekannt ist, und in welcher Weise
wurden Sonderwege eingeschlagen? So ist bei-
spielsweise nichts über einen frühen aber auf-
lroPos 103.2008
36 Firinga (1901) hat als einziger eine Genealogie der Maraha-
Herrscher vorgelegt, welche allerdings nur wenige Dynastie-
mitglieder aus dem Ende des 19. Jhs. zu umfassen scheint.
48
Peter Kneitz
gmnd mehrerer Hinweise (s. u.) anzunehmenden
Kult königlicher Reliquien bekannt, der sonst eine
so zentrale Position in der Sakalava-Gesellschaft
einnimmt. Die bislang einzigen Meldungen für den
Reliquienkult im Ambongo-Gebiet sind die Photos
von Hébert aus Besalampy, also der Region des
Maraha (Hébert nach Ballarin 2000; 139 ff., 150
und Fotos), aus den 50er Jahren des 20. Jhs. Sie
verweisen auf einen Reliquienkult, der bis in die
vorkoloniale Zeit zurückreichen dürfte, ohne dass
genauere Details bekannt geworden sind.37 Immer-
hin ergeben sich aus den verfügbaren Informatio-
nen Hinweise für die spezifische Ausprägung des
damaligen Ambongo-Gebietes als ideale Flucht-
region. Die Kombination der lange gewachsenen
Opposition zum Boeny-Reich im Norden, das Feh-
len einer ordnenden Zentralmacht und die natürli-
che Isolation führten dazu, dass all jene, welche
nach Unabhängigkeit strebten, hier ihre Zukunft
suchten.38 Die im Grunde nachteiligen Rahmenbe-
dingungen der Region konnten sich also auch zum
Vorteil kehren, ein Aspekt, der dann spätestens mit
der Eroberung der zentralen Reiche Menabe und
Boeny durch die Merina ab 1820 in den Vorder-
grund trat und die Unabhängigkeit eines Teils der
Sakalava-Gesellschaft sicherte.
Bevor auf diesen gänzlich neuen geschicht-
lichen Abschnitt eingegangen wird, muss aber
zunächst noch ein Blick auf die Mailaka-Region
südlich des Ambongo geworfen werden, die dem
Königreich Menabe zugeordnet war. Auch dort
entwickelten sich in einer ganz ähnlichen Dyna-
mik wie im Boeny eine Reihe kleinerer und halb
unabhängiger Königreiche. Wieder ist es Guil-
lain, dem die genauesten Informationen zu ver-
danken sind, da er während seiner Fahrt entlang
der Westküste 1842 persönlich mit einer Rei-
he von Königen sprechen und wohl informierte
Einheimische konsultieren konnte.39 Ihm zufolge
37 Während meines Aufenthaltes im Umfeld von Besalampy
(Juli 2006), in den Königreichen Milanja und Maraha,
konnte ich eine Fülle von Reliquienschreinen, oft neueren
Ursprungs nachweisen.
38 Der Bericht des Kommandanten Gouhot in Guillain (1845:
271 f.) lässt beispielsweise auf eine zweite Fluchtbewe-
gung von Vazimba-Gruppen Ende des 19. Jhs. aus dem
Land der Merina in das Ambongo schließen. Ratsivalaka
(1995: 880 ff.) hat den “Flüchtlingsaspekf ’ in der Ambongo-
Geschichte am stärksten hervorgehoben.
39 Weitere rudimentäre Hinweise zur frühen Geschichte des
Mailaka finden sich darüber hinaus nur bei vier Autoren:
Firinga (1901) und Rusillon (1922-23) haben Stammbäu-
me vorgelegt, die in einigen wesentlichen Punkten Guillain
bestätigen, sich aber vielfach widersprechen oder zusam-
menhanglos bleiben. Den Darstellungen von Grandidier
(unpubliziertes “Carnet de voyage” von 1862, zitiert in
ist es in der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jhs. zwischen
den Brüdern Miakala und Tsimvalo zu Ausein-
andersetzungen um den neu zu besetzenden Thron
des Menabe gekommen (Guillain 1845:297 f.,
s. a. Chazan-Gillig 1983: 460). Nachdem der äl-
tere Miakala (posthum: Andriantsoanarivo) sich
als neuer König des Menabe durchgesetzt hat-
te, bekam Tsimvalo mit seinen Getreuen schließ-
lich ein weit entferntes Gebiet nördlich des Me-
nabe zugewiesen, Mavohazo (Mavouhazou bei
Guillain 1845:298), für das sich offenbar erst
in der zweiten Hälfte des 19. Jhs. der bis heu-
te gängige Name Mailaka40 einbürgerte (Abb. 2,
Karte 3).41 Die Sakalava dieses Gebietes wur-
den im 19. Jh. auch Antsansas genannt (Guillain
1845: 296), vielleicht ein Hinweis auf ältere Grup-
pen der Region.42 Vérin (1975: 183) hat als zentra-
le Grabanlage dieser Region einen Ort in der Nähe
von Manomba, nördlich des heutigen Maintirano,
bezeichnet.
Nach dem Tod Tsimvalos (posthum; Andria-
manovotsiarivo), der als Gründerfigur der klei-
nen Königreiche nördlich des Menabe anzusehen
Vérin 1975: 176) und Birkeli (1926:32) sind kaum mehr
als die Existenz unabhängiger Königreiche im Mailaka zu
entnehmen.
40 Der sonst so gut informierte Guillain erwähnte Mahilaka
kein einziges Mal, obwohl er das vom damaligen König
Tsimvalo beherrschte Gebiet genau beschreibt (Guillain
1845:297).
41 Nach den Informanten von Firinga (1901), Rusillon (1922—
23; Stammbaum Mahailaka) und Birkeli (1926: 32) soll das
erste Sakalava-Königreich im Mailaka bereits viel früher,
Anfang des 18. Jhs. (durch Nachkommen des um 1700
regierenden Menabe-Königs Andriamanetriarivo) oder gar
um 1600 entstanden (durch Nachkommen des Sakalava-
Stammvaters Andriamandazoala) sein. Auch wenn dies als
grundsätzliche Möglichkeit zu betrachten ist, erscheinen
diese Darstellungen doch von der typischen Logik ora-
ler Überlieferungen getragen. Man gibt zunächst chrono-
logisch alle bekannten Herrscher an, und “springt” dann
unter Auslassung der verloren gegangenen (bzw. verges-
senen) Namen zum Stammhalter der Dynastie. Für diese
Interpretation spricht, dass als Nachfolger der genannten
frühen Könige Herrscher genannt werden, welche klar dem
Beginn des 19. Jhs. zugeordnet werden können. Die Dar-
stellung von Guillain, der den ersten Mailaka-Fürsten An-
driamanovotsiarivo (Tsimvalo) eindeutig als Bruder des um
1800 regierenden Menabe-Königs Miakala (Andriantsoana-
rivo) ausweist, ist vorläufig also die gewichtigste Quelle.
42 Bei Rusillon (1922-23: Genealogien) heißt es demgegen-
über “petit royaume de Mahailaka, ancien Antsatrana”, so
dass diesem Autor zufolge Antsatrana der ältere Name
des Gebietes wäre, und nicht Mavohazo. Nach Grandidier
et Grandidier (1908: 222) wiederum wäre “Mavohazo” ein
Teilraum der Region “Antantsantsä”, welche Ende des
17. Jhs. die Gebiete des späteren Mailaka und Maraha
umfasste. Die genaue Zuordnung der verschiedenen histo-
rischen Bezeichnungen und Gebiete ist vorläufig nicht
möglich.
Anthropos 103.2008
■opos 103.2008
MAILAKA
Königreich Mavohazo
> MENABE
&
£f
A ? O
r
A Andriantsoanarivo
(Miakala, ? - vor 1810)
A Andriamanovotsiarivo3
(Tsimvalo; um 1800)
O
A Andriamijotsoarivob
(Raiko, Rahika; um 1820)
O
?
Weitere Teilgebiete von Mavohazo mit den Königreichen:
Voaï
O Tsimfondrah
(um 1814)
Maraha
A Andriamindraokarivo0 A Andriamifefiarivod O Agnisora
(Tsifalagny, um 1840)
A Monita
(bis ca. 1840) (um 1825 -
nach 1842)
A Andriamahatindriarivo zu Mavohazo
(Andrisa)
Teilprovinz ancien pays
des Marendrahs“
O Andriamagninarivo
(Rabola, vor 1840)
A Raboki
(um 1842)
O Fatoma O Bibiasa
(um 1896 in Maintirano)
A Andriamanovotsiarivo = Herrscher (Regierungszeiten)
O Fatoma = Königin (Regierungszeiten)
a Andere Namensformen: Andriamahavouts’ -Arivou (Guillain 1845: 297), Andriamagnovotso bzw. Tsimivalo (Firinga 1901), Ndramahovotsiarivo (Informanten August 2006, in Bereketa)
b Andriamanzoutou-Arivou (Guillain 1845; 297), Andriamijotsoarivo (Firinga 1901, Rusillon 1922-23)
c Andriandraokarivo und Tsifalany (Rusillon 1922-23), Tsifalagna (Firinga 1901)
d Andrianifefiarivo (Rusillon 1922-23)
Abb. 2: Rekonstruktion der Herrscherfolge sekundärer Sakalava-Dynastien in der Region Mailaka (Ende 18. Jh. - 1896) (Guillain 1845: 296 f.; Firinga 1901; Rusillon 1922-23; Poirier
1939; 31 f.).
SO
50
Peter Kneitz
ist,43 entstand ein Reliquienkult um die neue Dy-
nastie der Region Mailaka, die Poirier erstmals
im ersten Drittel des 20. Jhs. vorgefunden hat
(1939; 31 f.) und der bis heute für diese Regi-
on zentral ist.44 Die Verehrung von königlichen
Reliquien ist eine Praxis, die für die Sakalava-
Gesellschaft ein zentrales Element darstellt und
noch heute sowohl im Menabe wie auch Boe-
ny eine große Rolle spielt.45 Das bislang so gut
wie nicht beachtete Entstehen eines Reliquienkul-
tes im Mailaka und, wie schon erwähnt, in der
nördlicheren Gegend des Ambongo, könnte ein
Hinweis auf den Versuch sein, Eigenständigkeit
und Unabhängigkeit gegenüber den zentralen und
prinzipiell dominanten Königtümern zu dokumen-
tieren.
Nördlich von Mavohazo existierte wohl spä-
testens seit Ende des 18. Jhs. ein zweites klei-
nes Königtum, Voaï (Vouai bei Guillain) genannt,
geführt von einer Königin namens Tsimfondrah,
welche laut Guillain ebenfalls zu einem Zweig
der Menabe-Dynastie gehörte (Karte 3). Es bleibt
offen, wann und aus welchen Gründen dieses ei-
gene Herrschaftsgebiet entstand, wie überhaupt,
abgesehen von einigen Angaben zur zentralen Dy-
nastie von Mavohazo, die raren Angaben über
andere Herrscher des Mailaka kaum innerhalb der
Sakalava-Dynastie eingeordnet werden können. In
dem verbleibenden Raum zwischen Voaï bis zur
ursprünglichen Grenze von Menabe und Boeny, al-
so dem Fluss Ounara [Ranobe?], existierte schließ-
lich noch ein weiteres kleines Reich, von Guillain
(1845:296; eigene Übersetzung) als “ehemaliges
Land der Marendrahs”46 bezeichnet. Dieses wurde
spätestens im ersten Drittel des 19. Jhs. dem bereits
genannten kleinen Königtum Maraha zugeordnet,
welches, wie berichtet, ehemals zum Boeny-Reich
und vermutlich ab 1790 zum Menabe gehörte.
Die genannten drei Gebiete wurden spätestens im
43 Guillain (1845), die Genealogien von Firinga (1901) und
der Bericht von Poirier (1939) stimmen in dieser Aus-
sage überein. In den Genealogien von Rusillon (1922-
23) hingegen wird er ausgelassen und als erster König
Andriamijotsoarivo genannt, der jedoch sonst als Sohn von
Andriamañovotsiarivo (Tsimvalo) gilt.
44 Die Reliquien werden zur Zeit in Bereketa (wenige Kilo-
meter nordwestlich von Maintirano) aufbewahrt, in einer zu
den Angaben von Poirier identischen Konstellation (Aufent-
halt in Bereketa am 4. August 2006). Viele weitere, bislang
unbekannte Reliquienschreine existieren in der Region.
45 Siehe z. B. Bailarín 2000 für einen Überblick; Chazan-
Gillig 1983, 1989 für das Menabe, Lambek 2002 und Kneitz
2003 für das Boeny.
46 Nach der oben skizzierten Bevölkerungsentwicklung des
Gebietes müssten die Marendrahs Mitglieder einer ehema-
ligen Vazimba-Gruppe sein.
ersten Drittel des 19. Jhs. Teil des Königreichs Ma-
vohazo, jetzt unter die Oberhoheit von Tsifalagny
(posthum: Andriamindraokarivo), eines Nachkom-
mens von Tsimvalo, den Guillain 1842 persönlich
getroffen hat. Somit war im Menabe im Laufe
eines knappen Jahrhunderts ein in mehreren Hier-
archieebenen angeordnetes und recht komplexes
politisches Gebilde entstanden.47
Für die Gebiete nördlich des Menabe ergibt
sich also eine prinzipiell ganz ähnliche Entwick-
lung wie im Boeny: Der Ursprung für die Er-
richtung kleiner, halb unabhängiger Königtümer
lag auch im Mailaka essentiell im Konflikt um
die Herrschernachfolge, hier allerdings um eini-
ge Jahrzehnte versetzt. Lag der Grund für die
raschere Gründung neuer Königtümer im Süden
des Boeny auf der weniger starken Festigung die-
ses Sakalava-Reiches im Vergleich zum etablierten
Gefüge im Menabe, und der Hoffnung von Dynas-
tiemitgliedern, an den besonderen wirtschaftlichen
Möglichkeiten des Nordwestens zu partizipieren?
Dies kann im Detail vorläufig nicht entschieden
werden. Im Unterschied zum Ambongo belegen
die Überlieferungen und Quellen zum Mailaka-
Gebiet jedoch keine grundsätzliche und lang an-
dauernde Konfliktsituation mit dem Zentralgebiet
Menabe, sondern zeigen eine sehr viel engere Ver-
flechtung auf. Außerdem scheinen die Konflikte
und Allianzen zwischen den lokalen Herrschern
im Vordergrund gestanden zu haben, wohl auch
als Resultat der größeren Abgeschiedenheit zum
aufstrebenden Merina-Reich, während das Am-
bongo stärker in die damit zusammenhängenden
Entwicklungen eingebunden war, wie etwa durch
den Zustrom von Flüchtlingen.48
47 Samat (in Boudou 1932:64) nennt als weiteres Gebiet
um 1850 die Stadt Manambao, regiert durch einen König
Mahinti.
48 Lombard, ein ausgewiesener Kenner des Menabe, hat dem-
gegenüber die angebliche Einheit des Menabe-Reiches der
Zersplitterung des Boeny in mehrere Teilbereiche als ent-
scheidenden Unterschied der beiden Sakalava-Reiche ge-
genübergestellt: “Au contraire des communautés lignagères
du Menabe qui, à contribuer à l’édification du pouvoir des
rois sakalava ont totalement perdu leur autonomie politique,
les chefferies du Nord, mieux structurées, vont conserver
leur originalité. Dans le Menabe, le roi est mpanito et
règne sans partage sur l’ensemble du territoire puisqu’aucun
groupe ne peut lui disputer sa légitimité ... Dans le Boeny,
le roi est mpanjakabe et règne sur un certain nombre de
fiefs gouvernés par des mpanjaka, cadets de la dynastie”
(Lombard 1988: 34). Dabei erwähnt er allerdings mit kei-
nem Wort die sekundären Königreiche im Menabe auf der
einen, den durch Zeitzeugen wie Du Maine und Mayeur
klar bezeugten autoritären Führungsstil im Boeny auf der
anderen Seite.
Anthropos 103.2008
ta Land “dazwischen’
51
Als Gemeinsamkeit der Gebiete Ambongo und
Mailaka in der beschriebenen ersten Phase zwi-
schen ca. 1720 bis 1820, gekennzeichnet durch
die Dominanz von Menabe im Süden und Boeny
im Norden, ist die periphere geographische, wirt-
schaftliche und politische Lage herauszustellen. In
diesen Gebieten siedelten sich nach und nach se-
kundäre Mitglieder der jeweiligen Königsdynastie
aus Boeny (die Zafimbolamena) bzw. Menabe (die
Maroserana) an, welche in den Machtkämpfen, wie
sie beim Ableben eines Königs sehr häufig ausbra-
chen, unterlegen waren und sich ein eigenes Terri-
torium aneigneten. Der Ambongo-Mailaka-Region
kam auf diese Weise eine Entlastungsfunktion für
das dynastieinteme Spannungsverhältnis zu. Die
§copolitisch gemeinsame Lage zwischen den bei-
den Blöcken war, zusammen mit dem Bewusstsein
der Verwandtschaft und der peripheren Bedeutung,
w°hl ausschlaggebend dafür, dass die formale po-
litische Zweiteilung langfristig weniger stark ins
Gewicht fiel als die Betrachtung einer Einheit von
geringer Bedeutung. Einigen Hinweisen bei Guil-
lain (1845:273, 296 f.) ist zudem zu entnehmen,
dass die Dynastien von Ambongo und Mailaka
mcht nur untereinander eng miteinander verfloch-
toft waren, sondern dass dies auch zwischen den
beiden Regionen der Fall war, wodurch eine kla-
re Politische Trennung noch weniger ins Gewicht
fiel.49 wie es die Europäer seit jeher für
Madagaskar berichteten, waren auch die kleinen
Ambongo- und Mailaka-Königreiche in einer Dy-
namik unaufhörlicher und beständig wechselnder
Mhanzen (oft durch Heiraten) und Konflikte ge-
längen, verbunden mit Neugründungen auf der
einen und der Auflösung kleiner Herrschaftsberei-
che auf der anderen Seite.
Die so beschriebene charakteristische periphere
kage der “Zwischenkönigreiche” Ambongo und
Mailaka im Kontext der Sakalava-Reiche Menabe
LlI1d Boeny wurde durch die politischen Umwäl-
ZUngen des 19. Jhs. dann in überraschender Weise
neu definiert. Indem die Kernbereiche der Sakala-
Va um die Handelsorte Morondava und Mahajan-
§a jetzt in die Hände der expandierenden Merina
elen, wurde das Gebiet zwischen Menabe und
°eny plötzlich zum Rückzugsgebiet der Sakala-
Va- Die Ambongo-Mailaka-Region ist damit für
49 Guillain (1845:296-299) berichtet beispielsweise, dass
Agnisoura, die Königin von Voai um 1800, eine Zeitlang
Tsifalagny, dem König von Mavohazo, verheiratet war.
gemeinsame Tochter wiederum ehelichte den König
v°n Milanja (welches formal Teil des Boeny war). Als sich
^guisoura mit den Merina verbündete, wurde sie von einer
°alition der Königreiche Mavohazo und Maraha gejagt
uud schließlich getötet.
den verbleibenden Zeitraum bis in die ersten Jahre
der Kolonisation hinein zum Zentrum der unab-
hängigen Sakalava geworden, ohne dass dies al-
lerdings von einer Aufwertung zum zeremoniellen
Mittelpunkt begleitet war.
4 Der Kampf um Unabhängigkeit: 1824-1904
Bis Anfang des 19. Jhs. war im Ambongo-Mai-
laka-Gebiet die insgesamt noch recht einfach über-
schaubare Zahl von kleinen Königtümern entstan-
den, wie sie skizziert wurden. In den nächsten
Jahrzehnten nahm die Zahl dieser “Zwischen-
königreiche” im Zusammenhang eines dramati-
schen politischen Umschwungs rasch zu. Im Zuge
einer immer schärferen Konfrontation mit dem
expandierenden Merina-Königreich aus dem Zen-
trum Madagaskars gerieten die bislang dominanten
Zentralgebiete der Sakalava nach und nach un-
ter die Kontrolle neuer Herrscher. Die vergleichs-
weise isolierten, schwer zugänglichen und - nicht
zuletzt - aus ökonomischen Gründen wenig at-
traktiven Regionen zwischen Menabe und Boeny
wurden hingegen zu Zufluchtsstätten der unab-
hängigen Sakalava, vieler mit ihnen verbunde-
ner Antalaotra-Händler und von Flüchtlingen aus
dem Merina-Land (Guillain 1845:43 f., Ratsiva-
laka 1995: 876 f.). Die ehemalige Lage zwischen
den Königreichen Menabe und Boeny veränderte
sich hin zu einem Zentrum der Sakalava zwischen
Merina-besetzten Gebieten.
Wichtige Faktoren der für die Sakalava so nach-
teiligen Entwicklung wurden indirekt durch die
europäische Präsenz und Konkurrenz im Südwes-
ten des Indischen Ozeans beigesteuert (Übersicht
in Brown 2000: 111 ff.; Diskussion in Ratsivala-
ka 1999). Die Engländer, im Zuge ihrer Rivalität
gegenüber den Franzosen, begannen Anfang des
19. Jhs. von Mauritius aus auf der Suche nach
einem geeigneten Verbündeten auf Madagaskar die
aufstrebenden Merina-Könige zu umwerben. Die
vielfältige Unterstützung des Königs Radama I
(1810-1828) durch Großbritannien im Gegenzug
eines Verbots des Sklavenhandels, welcher u. a.
die auf Arbeiter angewiesenen französischen Be-
sitzungen auf La Réunion treffen sollte (Campbell
2000: 92), wirkte sich in doppelter Hinsicht gegen
die Sakalava aus. Einerseits stärkte es ihre wich-
tigsten Feinde, andererseits nahm es ihnen in zu-
nehmenden Maße die Gelegenheit, durch Handel
ihr eigenes Waffenarsenal zu erhalten, zu erneuern
und auszubauen.
Aus zwei Äußerungen von Sakalava lässt sich
ablesen, wie bedeutsam der Handel mit Europä-
Anth
lfopos 103.2008
52
Peter Kneitz
ern und wie dramatisch die zunehmende Flaute
der Wirtschaftsbeziehungen für die Sakalava war.
Der als Sklave gehaltene Engländer Drury,50 * * ein
Schiffbrüchiger, floh ca. 1714 von einem Saka-
lava-Fürsten zu dem ältesten Sohn des Menabe-
Flerrschers Andriamanetriarivo im Tsiribihina-Ge-
biet. Dieser übergab ihm seine Batterie von über
100 Gewehren zur Betreuung und verteidigte ihn
später gegenüber den Ansprüchen seines ehemali-
gen Flerrn mit Vorhaltungen über die Bedeutung
der Europäer für die Sakalava:
Is it not by the white men, and particularly by his
countrymen, the English, that we are become rich? We,
who used to be insulted heretofore by the Amboerlambo
people [hier vermutlich alte Bezeichnung für Betsileo-
Gruppen im südlichen Inselzentrum] and other neigh-
bouring nations, are by these Englishmen’s guns made
too strong for them, and by the beads, looking-glasses,
& c., which they bring in abundance, our late enemies
are become petitioners to us to trade with them (Oliver
1969: 285).
Im Gmndtenor ganz ähnlich, jedoch in einer sich
dramatisch zum Nachteil veränderten Situation, re-
flektierte ein Sakalava weit über 100 Jahre später
über die Bedeutung der Europäer. Als Kapitän
Guillain 1842 im Königreich Mavohazo [Mailaka]
eintraf, hatten die Merina bereits die Kontrolle
über die wichtigsten Sakalava-Gebiete übernom-
men und der Handel mit den Europäern war weit-
gehend zum Erliegen gekommen. Guillain wur-
de Zeuge eines Gebetes an die königlichen Vor-
fahren, das in ausdrucksvoller Weise den Verlust
der Handelsbeziehungen mit den Europäern be-
schwor:
Ecoute nos remercîments et nos vœux, ô Andrianzanahar
[Gott] ! Et vous, Andriamandazouala, Anrianihanin’gha
[es folgt eine Aufzählung der königlichen Ahnen] ... !
Nous étions malheureux, nous étions depuis long-
temps abandonnés des blancs !
Mais, voilà que les Français viennent à nous, en
amis: Voilà que l’ampandzaka-bé [König; hier: Gou-
verneur] de Bourbon [Insel Réunion] envoie son com-
mandant, M. Guillain, pour nous donner de bons
conseils ! Grâces leur soient rendues, car en faisant du
commerce avec eux, nous pourrons nous procurer ce
dont nous manquions, et redevenir heureux et puissants !
50 Die lange Diskussion über die Echtheit von Drurys Mit-
teilungen ist mittlerweile zu seinen Gunsten entschieden.
Seine Reisebeschreibung ist zwar mit großer Wahrschein-
lichkeit durch Daniel Defoe redigiert und in manchen Tei-
len auch ergänzt worden. Die Originalität seiner Aussagen
steht jedoch außer Frage (zum aktuellen Stand; s. Molet-
Sauvaget in Daniel Defoe 1992, Parker Pearson 1996, Par-
ker Pearson and Godden 2002).
Envoie-les souvent chez nous, ô Andrianzanhar
[Gott] ! envoie leurs bâtiments sur nos côtes ! (Guillain
1845 :310).
Den Sakalava war nur zu gewiss, dass sie durch
den weitgehenden Abbruch des Handels einen
wesentlichen Pfeiler ihrer Stärke verloren hatten.
Die Hoffungen, die sie auf Guillain richteten,
konnte dieser allerdings nicht erfüllen.
Die Konfrontation mit den Merina setzte mit
einem ersten Kriegszug gegen 1807 (Ratsivalaka
1999:70 f.) ein, der noch vom großen Einiger
des Merina-Reiches, Andrianampoinimerina (um
1785-1810) gegen die Peripherie des Menabe-
Königreiches gerichtet war, allerdings noch keinen
Erfolg brachte. Von 1820 bis 1823 wurden jedoch
unter seinem Nachfolger Radama I (1810-1828)
jährlich große Feldzüge gegen das Menabe durch-
geführt, welche zunächst in einem Unentschieden
endeten, bevor dann ab 1834 das Zentrum des
Menabe endgültig durch die Merina besetzt wur-
de. Das Königreich Boeny hingegen ist bereits
1824 erobert worden, wenngleich sich die Kämp-
fe gegen den unterlegenen König Andriantsoly
(posthum: Andriamanavakarivo), den letzten un-
abhängigen Sakalava-König von Boeny, noch bis
in das Jahr 1832 hinzogen. Im Zuge dieser Ent-
wicklung wurden die Gebiete der kleinen König-
reiche zwischen Menabe und Boeny zu zentralen
Rückzugsregionen der verbliebenen freien Saka-
lava, darunter viele Abkömmlinge der Sakalava-
Dynastie und der mit ihnen eng, oft durch Heirat,
verbundenen Antalaotra-Händler. Aus der zeitge-
nössischen Charakterisierung des Missionars Ellis,
der sich vor allem im Zentrum des Landes aufhielt,
lässt sich erahnen, was über das Ambongo nach
außen drang;
North of the Sakalava country [Menabe] is, sixteenth,
Ambongo having a considerable extent of sea-coast, and
being for the most part, a level and woody district.
The country resembles that of the Sakalavas, but its
inhabitants are less civilized; the may, perhaps, be
termed barbarous. In more than one instance, cruelty has
been shown to foreigners who have been unfortunately
shipwrecked on this part of the coast. ... Ambongo
is the only province in Madagascar, whose inhabitants
did not, more or less, acknowledge the sovereignity of
Radama [König der Merina] ... (Ellis 1838: 78 f.).
Aus dieser Sicht wird die Ambongo-Region nicht
als Teil des Sakalava-Landes angesehen, vermut-
lich weil die historischen und familiären Zusam-
menhänge nicht bekannt waren, und als zentrales
Kennzeichen wird erneut, wie in der in Kap. 3
Anthropos 103.2008
53
Land “dazwischen”
zitierten Bemerkung von Mayeur, eine vergleichs-
weise “Wildheit” konstatiert, hier als “less civiliz-
ed ’ und “barbarous” formuliert, welche im Grunde
Ausfluss der lang etablierten Funktion als Rück-
zugsgebiet ohne Möglichkeit einer politischen Bi-
egung ist.
Tatsächlich hatte die Eroberung von Boeny
und Menabe vergleichsweise positive ökonomi-
sche Folgen für die so lange vernachlässigte Regi-
°n, da die unabhängig gebliebenen Sakalava nach
dem Wegfall der ehemaligen Handelszentren Mo-
r°ndava und Mahajanga gezwungen waren, auf
neue Örtlichkeiten auszuweichen. Erstmals seit
der Integration in die Sakalava-Königreiche seit
Anfang des 17. Jh. prosperierte damit das Ge-
riet zwischen Menabe und Boeny wieder (Vérin
1975; 175 ff.; Campbell 2000: 94 f.). Hervorzuhe-
ben sind insbesondere die Stadt Kivinja (Vorläufer
der heutigen Stadt Maintirano), Tambohorano und
die Bucht Baly,51 auch wenn die einzelnen Orte
uud auch die gesamte Region in keiner Weise
an die Bedeutung der ehemaligen Handelszen-
T£n bei Morondava (Menabe) bzw. im Betsiboka-
L^elta (Boeny) heranreichen konnten.52 Ermöglicht
Wurde diese wirtschaftliche Dynamik vor allem
durch einen weiterhin vorhandenen, wenn auch
zunehmend schwieriger werdenden Sklavenhandel
jui Westen Madagaskars, da nach dem offiziel-
en Bann der Merina-Regierung und der Europäer
ab 1820 die Sakalava als zentrale Akteure die-
^es Geschäftes verblieben waren. Eine zentrale
°de als Zwischenhändler nahmen die Antalaotra
wobei viele der führenden Sakalava dieser
eb zum Islam übergetreten und damit Teil die-
Ser arabisch-islamischen Händlergruppe geworden
Waren (s. z. B. Samat in Boudou 1932: 61 f., 68).
Später kamen Händler indischer Abstammung hin-
zu, welche nach und nach von großer Bedeutung
.Ur gesamte Westküste werden sollten (Douliot
jn Vérin 1975; 201; s. weiter unten). Die folgende
Schreibung eines französischen Händlers gibt
einen lebhaften Eindruck der Situation um 1850
ln der Bucht Baly wieder.
Wrin 1975; 195 f., 212 f.; Grandidier et Grandidier 1908:
224; Gautier in Grandidier et Grandidier 1908; 222, Unter-
fußnote a zu Fußnote 3.
Andere, weniger bedeutsame Handelsorte wurden in den
Jahrzehnten nach der Merina-Expansion Tsimandrafozana
(an der Tsiribihina-Mündung) und in der Nähe des Kap
St- André die Insel Nosy Voalavo sowie Vilamatsa (Vérin
1975; 191 f.). Campbell (2000: 94) nennt außerdem Ma-
ajambo, vermutlich in der Nähe von Baly. Südlich von
aintirano waren die politischen Bedingungen zu unstabil
üt geordnetere wirtschaftliche Unternehmungen (Campbell
2000:95).
Anthi
ir°pos 103.2008
Des boutres arabes arrivent continuellement avec des
esclaves on plus ou moins grande quantité. On les vend
de préférence en espèces 10, 15 et 30 piastres. Ces
esclaves, dis-je, on les achète et on les envoie dans
l’intérieur aux propriétaires de bœufs, et il vous donnent
immédiatement 3, 4 et 5 bœufs (Samat in Boudou
1932:59).
Noch einmal konnten die Sakalava eine Lebens-
weise praktizieren, die über 200 Jahre fest mit
ihnen verbunden war und ihre Gesellschaft domi-
niert hatte. Der Handel jedoch war komplexer ge-
worden. Früher stand der Verkauf madagassischer
Sklaven an Europäer und Araber im Mittelpunkt
des Geschäftes. Im Gebiet nördlich des Flusses
Manombolo, d. h. der Ambongo-Mailaka-Region,
wurden jetzt vorwiegend von arabischen Händlern
(teilweise alliiert mit den zunehmend aus Ostafrika
ankommenden Karany, Händlern indischer Her-
kunft; s. Vérin 1975: 171 f.) Sklaven aus ostafri-
kanischen Gebieten für den Wiederverkauf ange-
landet. Ein Teil blieb auf Madagaskar und gelangte
über Mittelsmänner sogar bis zu den verfeindeten
Merina, während eine erhebliche Anzahl von den
Franzosen angeworben wurde, welche u. a. durch
ihre Plantagen auf Réunion einen großen Arbei-
terbedarf hatten. Weiter südlich hingegen wur-
den weiterhin madagassische Sklaven, vorwiegend
kriegsgefangene Merina, exportiert, “notably to
Réunion via the Seychelles” (Campbell 2000: 94).
In den letzten drei Jahrzehnten vor der Kolo-
nisierung, auf dem Höhepunkt der Entwicklung,
wurden alleine in Maintirano mehr als 30 % aller
ostafrikanischen Sklavenexporte nach Madagaskar
abgewickelt, während die übrigen Handelszentren
weiter nördlich einschließlich Baly für weitere
35 % (ca. 4000 Sklaven jährlich) verantwortlich
waren (Campbell 2000: 94).53 * *
Umgekehrt bildeten verständlicherweise Waf-
fen und Schießpulver die zentralen Güter, die
von den Sakalava nachgefragt wurden, unter den
neuen politischen Bedingungen aber zunehmend
schwieriger beschafft werden konnten. Abgesehen
von einzelnen europäischen Handelshäusern waren
es hier vor allem indische Händler, welche diese
Lücke nutzten und in dieser Zeit von Boeny aus
ein komplexes Handelsnetzwerk entlang der ge-
samten Westküste aufbauten, welches bis in die
entlegendsten Dörfer Niederlassungen besaß und
bis heute Bestand hat (Schlemmer 1983: 31 f.).
53 Die Einschätzung von Schlemmer, dass der Sklavenhandel
eine “marginale Aktivität” (1983: 31, Fußnote 28; s. a. 26,
Fußnote 14) geworden sei, kann damit nicht nachvollzogen
werden.
54
Peter Kneitz
Die Waffen - oft nur ältere Steinschlossgeweh-
re - wurden zu “exorbitanten Preisen” (acht bis
zehn Rinder) verkauft (Kapitän Rey in Schlem-
mer 1983: 32; s. a. Bousserand zitiert in Fagereng
1971:33).
Der ständige Konflikt mit den Merina und die
im Vergleich zu den vergangenen zwei Jahrhun-
derten leidlich positive ökonomische Entwicklung
führten jedoch nicht zur Entstehung einer gemein-
samen Front der kleinen Königreiche. Vielmehr ist
eine allmähliche Zersplitterung in immer kleinere
Teilgebiete zu beobachten, eine Dynamik, wel-
che kurz vor der Kolonialisierung noch einmal
an Rasanz zunahm. Eine auffallende Begleiter-
scheinung der fehlenden politischen Zentralgewalt
war die Alltäglichkeit von Plünderungen, “traditio-
nellem” Zeburaub und Überfällen, welche - wie
oben geschildert - für Außenstehende schon im-
mer ein Charakteristikum der Ambongo-Mailaka-
Region gewesen war.54 Diese Entwicklung soll
jetzt im Einzelnen verfolgt werden.
Für das Jahr 1825 verzeichnete Guillain die
Existenz von vier kleinen Königreichen im Am-
bongo (Karte 3, Abb. 1). Abgesehen von den schon
bekannten drei Einheiten Baly, Milanja und Mara-
ha ist nun noch das Gebiet Namoroka (Namou-
rouka bei Guillain) neu hinzugekommen, im Ge-
gensatz zu den littoral orientierten älteren König-
reichen mehr im Binnenbereich gelegen. Ob die
nach 1955 dokumentierte Existenz eines Reliqui-
enkultes in diesem Gebiet (im Ort Vilanandro) bis
auf die Gründungszeit dieses Königreiches in der
ersten Hälfte des 19. Jhs. zurückgeht und damit das
Streben nach Unabhängigkeit der dortigen Fürsten
anzeigt, konnte bislang nicht geklärt werden (ein-
ziger Hinweis in Ballarin 2000: Fotos von Hébert).
Bis 1842, dem Zeitpunkt der Reise von Guillain
entlang der Westküste, war dann bereits ein wei-
teres fünftes und sehr kleines Gebiet hinzugekom-
men, welches offenbar eine Abspaltung des älteren
Gebietes von Baly darstellte (Guillain 1845; 273).
Da es in der Literatur keinen besonderen Namen
trägt, soll es zur Unterscheidung hier als Baly 2
bezeichnet werden.55 Anhand des damaligen Chefs
54 Bis heute sind in weiten Gebieten zwischen der Westküste
und dem Zentrum der Insel die so genannten fahavelo
(Banditen) aktiv, die einen florierenden Zeburaub betreiben
und Dörfer überfallen. Als “rote Zonen” (zones rouges)
durch die Behörden gekennzeichnet, sind diese Regionen
nur schwer zugänglich. Die traditionelle Unsicherheit dieser
westlichen Gebiete hat in den letzten Jahrzehnten zur Cha-
rakterisierung als “Wilder Westen Madagaskars” geführt.
55 Eventuell ist das frühere Baly im neuen Königreich Namo-
roka aufgegangen. So spricht der Missionar Jouen nicht von
einem zweiten Königreich Baly (Jouen 1855, 1861a, b).
von Baly 2, Raboki,56 kann erneut auf die en-
ge verwandtschaftliche Verflechtung zwischen den
kleinen Königtümern aufmerksam gemacht wer-
den, wie sie auch in anderen Berichten anklingt
(Voeltzkow 1893, 1896; Rusillon 1922-23).
Rabouki est fils d’Andriamagnétak’-Arivou [Andriama-
gnetakarivo], grand-père d’Andrianah [des damaligen
Königs von Milanja] ... il est oncle de Tsambou [des
Königs von Bali], et par conséquent allié à celle des
chefs tsitampikis; enfin il se dit parent de Tafikandre
[des Königs von Miari bzw. Marambitsy, s. u.], parce
que les deux familles précédentes et celle de ce dernier
ont une souche commune dans Andrianambouni-Arivou
[Andriamboniarivo], deuxième roi de Bouéni [Boeny]
(Guillain 1845:273).
Ein weiteres sechstes Territorium, das laut Guil-
lain Königreich Miari (oder Mandzaraï [heute der
Fluss Mahavavy]) genannt wurde, hat sich um
1832 nördlich des eigentlichen Ambongo heraus-
gebildet. Dieses Gebiet war bis zum Einmarsch
der Merina in das Königreich Boeny 1824 eigent-
lich Teil des Kernlandes gewesen. Hier befand
sich mit Tongai die erste Residenz der Boeny-
Könige und bis heute sind hier, in der Grabstätte
Bezavo, auch die Gründungskönige von Boeny
bestattet. Indem sich die Merina aber vorrangig
um die Kontrolle der Hafenstadt Mahajanga an
der Mündung des Flusses Betsiboka sowie der
ehemaligen königlichen Residenz in Marovoay
kümmerten, wurde das Gebiet Miari westseitig des
Betsiboka zu einem unabhängigen Gebiet, ähnlich
das der anderen zwischen Menabe und Boeny.
Tafikandre, der Führer dieses Gebietes seit 1832,
Abkömmling einer direkten Linie der ehemali-
gen Boeny-Königin Ravahiny (posthum: Andria-
mameloarivo; ca. 1785-1812) und Vetter des letz-
ten unabhängigen Königs Andriantsoly (posthum;
Andriamanavakarivo; Guillain 1845: 100; Samat
in Boudou 1932: 58), war für seinen besonders
hartnäckigen Widerstand gegen die Merina be-
kannt geworden.57 *
56 Über Raboki liegt die erste Beschreibung eines Fürsten
aus dem Ambongo vor; “Rabouki était un homme d’une
très-haute taille et d’une corpulence proportionnée, âgé
de soixante-cinq à soixante-huit ans, mais paraissant jouir
encore de toute la vigueur de l’âge mûr. Sa physionomie
était empreinte de finesse et de gaieté. Ses manières avec
moi furent tout d’abord aisées et confiantes.” (Guillain
1845:275).
57 Laut Noël (1843-44: 278) war Tafiki-Androu (Tafikandre)
sogar Herrscher des Ambongo, was Guillain (1845; 243)
jedoch mit wohl guten Argumenten bestreitet; “Les chefs
de ce pays [Ambongo], qui furent toujours vassaux du roi
de Bouéni, le [Tafikandre] considèrent comme un chef plus
élevé qu’eux ... mais, dans leur pensée, ce n’est, de lui à
Anthropos 103.2008
55
Land “dazwischen”
Die Situation in all diesen Gebieten ist 1842
in den Beschreibungen von Guillain von einem
akuten Konflikt- bzw. Kriegszustand gekennzeich-
neL Den Hintergrund dazu bildeten zum einen
die unablässigen Auseinandersetzungen und Al-
lianzbildungen zwischen den Sakalava-Königen,
die jedoch weniger eine Zeiterscheinung, als ganz
Episch für das in zahllose kleine Königtümer
zersplitterte Madagaskar waren. Schon Flacourt
(!995) hat Mitte des 17. Jhs. ausführlich über die-
Ses Phänomen im Südosten Madagaskars aus eige-
ner Anschauung heraus berichtet, während Drury
(in Oliver 1969) ganz ähnliche Erfahrungen aus
dem Süden und Südwesten Anfang des 18. Jhs.
darlegte. Das Hauptthema der Konflikte war, wie
zn vermuten, das traditionelle Konkurrenzdenken
Innerhalb der Dynastien, ausgedrückt allerdings
'n eigenen Formen der Argumentation und der
Empfindlichkeiten, wie beispielhaft am Schicksal
des schon bekannten Königs Raboki, König von
^aly 2, gezeigt werden kann. Ihm wurde zunächst
Vorgeworfen, seinen Bruder Andrianah, Chef des
Gebietes Milanja, vergiftet zu haben, so dass er vor
dem drohenden Angriff fliehen musste. Später ge-
riet er in einen Konflikt mit König Tafikandre aus
dem Gebiet Miari, als er einen Antalaotra-Händ-
er aufnahm, der von letzterem verfolgt wurde
(Guillain 1845: 274). Ein erneuter Konflikt bahnte
sich während der Anwesenheit von Guillain 1842
aiL als dieser Abgesandte des Königs von Baly
d'af- Sie hatten den Auftrag eine Allianz mit Tafi-
kandre gegen den unliebsamen Raboki zu schmie-
^en (Guillain 1845:270), welche jedoch ohne
Urchschlagenden Erfolg blieb.38
Zum zweiten sind die schon erwähnten Aus-
einandersetzungen zwischen den Sakalava-Köni-
§eu und den neuen Machthabern von Menabe und
^°eny, den Merina, für die Lage permanenter krie-
gerischer Auseinandersetzungen verantwortlich zu
Aachen. Aus der Perspektive der früheren Aus-
einandersetzungen zwischen dem Ambongo und
em Königreich Boeny war auch dies nichts fun-
amental Neues. Anstatt wie früher in einem
kt der Unbotmäßigkeit die Gebiete der eigent-
lch hierarchisch dominierenden Boeny-Könige
Zu plündern, überfiel man jetzt mit sicherlich noch
58
eux, qu’une supériorité de rang, une prééminence politique,
tendis que tous reconnaîtraient Andriansouli [Andriantsoly,
den letzten, geflüchteten Boeny-König] pour leur souver-
a'n • Ausschlag für die Legitimität der Macht ist bei den
Sakalava immer der Besitz der Reliquien.
Raboki, als Freund der Weißen von Samat gekennzeichnet
ün Boudou 1932), starb 1859 und über 80-jährig eines
Natürlichen Todes, wie die zu dieser Zeit in der Bucht von
aly lebenden Missionare berichteten (Jouen 1861b; 262).
^nthropos 103.2008
größerer Leichtigkeit die von den Merina besetz-
ten Territorien, “d’où ils reviennent presque tou-
jours victorieux” (Samat in La Vaissière 1884:
202 ; s. Boudou 1932). Andererseits erschienen
die Merina mit geradezu pünktlicher jährlicher
Regelmäßigkeit während der Trockenzeit in den
unabhängig gebliebenen Sakalava-Regionen und
suchten so viel Verwüstungen wie möglich anzu-
richten bzw. Beute zu machen, während sich die
Sakalava meistens in einer Art Guerillataktik zu-
rückzogen, ihre Dörfer verließen und nur punktuell
Widerstand leisteten:
[Les hostilités] consistaient de la part des Sakalaves à
hasarder quelques expéditions de pillage sur le territoire
soumis aux Hôvas [Merina] ... Quant aux Hôvas [Me-
rina], ils faisaient chaque année, ... une incursion dont
le résultat était ordinairement la destruction des villages
qui se trouvaient sur leur route, et la capture de quelques
individus et d’un peu de bétail (Guillain 1845 : 122).
Die verfügbaren Berichte zeigen einen quasi an-
dauernden Kriegszustand an. So hielt beispielswei-
se der Missionar Jouen über seine Ankunft in der
Bucht von Baly 1853 fest:
Aussitôt que le navire fut mouillé, je descendis à terre
pour voir le roi de Baly et l’instruire du but de mon
arrivée ... Tout y était à la guerre ; on ne rencontrait
que des guerriers armés de fusils et de sagaies ; plusieurs
portaient un arc et des flèches : c’étaient des esclaves
mozambiques ...
... un envoyé de Rabouky vint nous prier d’entrer,
en nous annonçant que le roi nous attendait ...
Il y avait quelque chose d’imposant dans cette espèce
de salle du Trône où siégeait le vieux roi : il était
entouré d’une centaine d’hommes qui formaient comme
sa garde, et étaient armés jusqu’aux dents. Toutes ces
figures sauvages, sur lesquelles venait se refléter la pâle
lueur d’une lampe à demi-étainte, donnaient à cette
scène un air farouche, capable de glacer d’épouvante :
on eût dit, au premier aspect, une réunion de bandits
tenant conseil dans leur antre (Jouen 1855 : 123-125).
Die Besonderheit dieser Zeit war sicherlich nicht
der Kriegszustand an sich, der in den Sakalava-
Gebieten seit je her latent vorhanden war. Immer
wieder betonten Beobachter, dass jeder Sakalava-
Mann ständig bewaffnet sei.59 Nicht zuletzt weist
bereits die Fülle von Wörtern, welche die Saka-
lava für ihre Waffen hatten - ein französischer
Kolonialsoldat trug 1902 15 Begriffe alleine für
unterschiedliche Typen von Steinschlossgewehren
zusammen (Fauroux 2002: 90) - in die gleiche
59 Z. B. Drury in Olivier 1969; Guillain 1845:320, Anmer-
kung 1; Voelzkow 1896: 179.
56
Peter Kneitz
Richtung. Neu hingegen war die Hartnäckigkeit,
der die straff organisierten Merina über viele
Jahre hinweg zumindest die ihnen näher gele-
genen Sakalava-Gebiete mit großer Regelmäßig-
keit heimsuchten und die dortigen Bewohner emp-
findlich beeinträchtigen konnten, auch wenn die-
se zumeist in dem unübersichtlichen Gelände gu-
ten Schutz fanden. Die Besetzung der wertvolls-
ten Handelszentren im Menabe und Boeny durch
die Merina engte zudem das Gebiet der unabhän-
gigen Sakalava in erheblichen Umfang ein. Guil-
lain (1845: 321 f.) bemerkte, dass zu seiner Zeit
zentrale Bereiche des Boeny fast menschenleer
gewesen seien, während das schwer zugängliche
Ambongo einen Bevölkerungszuwachs erfahren
habe.60
Zeitweise haben bestimmte Herrscher der klei-
nen Königreiche sogar mit den Merina kooperiert,
insbesondere Monita, der König von Maraha (Abb.
2), aber auch andere.61 Gleichwohl ist festzuhalten,
dass die Taktik der Sakalava, weniger eine direkte
Konfrontation zu suchen als auf die natürlichen
Barrieren zu vertrauen, zweifellos von Erfolg ge-
krönt war. Noch mehr als 40 Jahre später, bei
der Eroberung Madagaskars durch Frankreich, war
der wichtigste Teil der Region zwischen Boeny
und Menabe weiterhin in der Hand von Sakalava-
Königen, und all die Bemühungen der Merina,
die Kontrolle zu erringen, hatte sich letztlich als
fruchtlos erwiesen.
Die militärische Haltung der Sakalava war Ka-
pitän Guillain im Jahre 1842, der unter dem Ein-
druck der akuten Angriffe der Merina stand und
einen Kampf um “echte Unabhängigkeit” (Guillain
1845: 259) erwartete, insgesamt recht unverständ-
lich. Als Guillain 1842 erfuhr, dass König Tafi-
kandre im Gebiet Miari bzw. Mandzaräi ein An-
griff der Merina bevorstand, entschloss er sich,
gerade auch im Sinne des ihm auferlegten Auf-
trages, Vertrauen zwischen Franzosen und Saka-
lava zu stiften, diesen zu warnen. Sein - für ihn
höchst enttäuschend verlaufender - Versuch, die
Sakalava zu warnen und zu retten, gibt die seltene
Gelegenheit eines direkten Einblickes in die da-
malige Lebenssituation der Sakalava in der nörd-
lichen Ambongo-Region und soll kurz skizziert
werden. Zunächst begab sich Guillain in großer
60 Das gesamte Gebiet zwischen Menabe und Boeny wur-
de um 1842 nach der Schätzung von Guillain von ca.
120.000 Menschen bewohnt (nach Guillain 1845:322).
Um 1900 schätzten A. und G. Grandidier (1908: 394) die
Sakalava-Bevölkerung inklusive Menabe auf nur ca. 75.000
Personen.
61 Guillain 1845: 291 f., 298 f.; Samat in Boudou 1932:63;
Vérin 1975: 177.
Hast von Mahajanga zur Residenz von Tafikand-
re nächstgelegenen Bucht Cagembi [Marambitsy],
denn
... je considérai donc comme un devoir d’humanité de
me rendre en toute hâte auprès du chef sakalave pour lui
annoncer l’approche de ses ennemis, et l’aider ainsi à
conjurer le danger qui le menaçait (Guillain 1845 : 234).
Die geplante, und durch Guillain schließlich gera-
dezu aufgedrängte Hilfestellung erwies sich jedoch
als wenig willkommen. Es ist davon auszugehen,
dass die Sakalava längst darüber informiert sein
mussten und das ungewöhnliche Erscheinen eines
Europäers sie nur misstrauisch stimmen konnte.
Bereits mit dem Chef des Dorfes Kiakombi in der
Bucht Cagembi [Marambitsy], mit dem Guillain
zunächst Kontakt aufgenommen hatte, kam es zu
ersten Missverständnissen. Guillain entschied sich
schließlich dafür, selbst Tafikandre in seiner etwa
einen Tagesmarsch entfernten Residenz Komibiki-
bou aufzusuchen. Als er dort eintraf, wurde er ohne
besondere Zuvorkommenheit aufgenommen und
auf seine Erklärungen wurde nicht weiter einge-
gangen. Die größte Enttäuschung für Guillain war
jedoch Tafikandre selbst, den er sich als kühnen
Krieger vorgestellt hatte;
... on me montra, à une petite distance, un superbe
tamarinier au pied duquel étaient assis environ deux
cents Sakalaves ... j’aperçus, assis sur une chaise, et
un peu moins nu que les autres, un homme d’environs
cinquante ans, à l’air profondément stupide ; ses yeux
injectés, son regard fixe, sa physionomie renfrognée,
me présageaient en lui un hôte peu gracieux. Était-ce
donc là ce chef contre l’énergie duquel était venue
échouer la puissance des Hôvas, le chef dont le courage
avait jusqu’alors maintenu, sur une partie du royaume
de Bouéni, le drapeau de l’indépendance? Depuis mon
arrivée dans le pays, j’avais marché de déception en
déception, et celle que j’éprouvai à la vue de Tafikandre
ne fut pas la moindre (Guillain 1845 ; 255 f.).
Später, als Guillain den versprochenen Arrak aus-
teilte, kam die nächste Enttäuschung. Niemand
kümmerte sich um ihn, niemand war neugierig auf
etwaige militärische Einzelheiten.
Ils [les buveurs] savaient pourtant que je venais de Ma-
junga ... Des gens tant soit peu intelligents m’auraient
donc accablé de questions sur la force de la ville hôva,
sur celle du corps d’armée marchant vers Cagembi ...
Mais non, pas une de ces pauvres brutes n’y songea ...
(Guillain 1845 :258).
Der Kapitän musste schließlich, resigniert, feststel-
len;
Anthropos 103.2008
57
hn Land “dazwischen”
Ces hommes ne s’occupèrent pas plus de ma présence
4ue si je n’eusse pas été là: j’avais trouvé dans mon
arack un concurrent plus heureux que moi (Guillan
1845:259).
j?*e Sakalava kannten ihre Lage und waren sich of-
enbar ihrer Sache sicher. Ein heldenhafter Kampf
mit dem Ziel einer völligen Vertreibung der Meri-
na, wie ihn sich Guillain offenbar vorgestellt hatte,
War aus ihrer Sicht weder notwendig noch sinn-
v°ll. Noch in der gleichen Nacht, nach dem wenig
erfreulichen Zusammentreffen zwischen Guillain
aud Tafikandre, erreichten die Merina die Nähe
Qes Dorfes. Während ein kleiner Trupp Sakalava
^ln zu rasches Vordringen der Angreifer verhin-
uerte, flüchteten die anderen Dorfbewohner in ge-
ahnter Weise und hinterließen den Merina damit
nur das leere Dorf mit wenig Aussichten auf Beu-
Die folgenden Jahrzehnte gaben ihrer Art der
T^egsführung Recht. Die Episode illustriert je-
denfalls eindrücklich sowohl die stete Gefährdung
4er unabhängig verbliebenen Gebiete und ihrer Be-
wohner wie auch die daraus resultierende unstete
Lebensweise.
Leiter im Süden, in den ehemals dem König-
lich Menabe zugeordneten Gebieten des Maila-
ca verlief die Entwicklung insgesamt ruhiger.
,le kleinen Königreiche, wie bereits erwähnt in
eiuern komplexen hierarchischen Verbund ange-
°rdnet, standen um 1840 alle unter dem Kom-
mando des etwa fünfzigjährigen Tsifalagny, Re-
§ent des wichtigsten Gebietes Mavohazo (Guillain
845: 307). Um 1850 soll er seine Residenz etwa
rei Tagesmärsche entfernt von Maintirano gehabt
aben (Fagereng 1971:33). Die Merina versuch-
en auch hier in regelmäßigen Abständen einzu-
ringen, doch mussten sie dazu so große Entfer-
nungen überwinden, ohne auf stabilen Nachschub
oder Rückzugsbasen vertrauen zu können, dass
ple eine weniger immanente Gefahr darstellten.
^ Guillains Bericht spielen jedenfalls die übli-
ben internen Konflikte zwischen verschiedenen
önigreichen eine zentrale Rolle und nicht die
Aus
Re
einandersetzung mit den Merina.
Für die Entwicklung der Ambongo-Mailaka-
e§ion, während der annähernd fünf Jahrzehnte
W zur Eroberung der Insel durch die Franzosen ab
°96, stehen nur recht wenige Informationen zur
mfügung. Fest steht, dass die Sakalava-Gebiete
2Wachen den Flüssen Manombolo und Betsiboka
re Unabhängigkeit von den Merina bewahren
p°nnten, was einerseits auf die wirtschaftlichen
• r°üte durch den Sklavenhandel zurückzuführen
'3 andererseits und vor allem auf die mangelnde
ürchschlagkraft der Merina-Truppen. Auffällig
Anth
ist weiterhin ein endgültiger Zerfall größerer po-
litischer Einheiten der Sakalava kurz vor dem
Beginn der Eroberung Madagaskars durch Frank-
reich. Noch 1880 zählten A. und G. Grandidier nur
sechs Königreiche für das “Zwischengebiet” auf,
unter denen nur eines der beiden Baly-Königreiche
sowie Namoroka fehlten.62 1895 hingegen wur-
den alleine in dem Menabe zugehörigen Gebiet,
welches nun endgültig Mailaka hieß, 17 Könige
vorgefunden (Grandidier et Grandidier 1908: 222,
Anm. 3; und 355). Ballarin listet knapp 20 Einhei-
ten für das gesamte Gebiet in den Jahren 1897 bis
1900 auf (Ballarin 2000: 227 f.), wobei eine ge-
naue Zuordnung der vielen Namen zu bestimmten
Territorien und die Einordnung in einen präzise-
ren dynastischen Zusammenhang vorläufig nicht
möglich ist.
Bekannt geworden für das Gebiet Mailaka sind
nach den meisten Autoren die vier bis fünf Köni-
ge, welche in der Nähe der prosperierenden Stadt
Maintirano residierten, darunter insbesondere die
Königin Bibiasa, welche zu einer Seitenlinie der
Dynastie des um 1840 zentralen Königs Tsifalagny
gehörte (Abb. 2). Andere häufig genannte Na-
men für diese Region sind Fatoma,63 Rethe, Va-
zou,64 Marouse65 und Tsisatray, ohne dass aus
den Quellen geschlossen werden kann, ob und
in welchem Umfang die jeweiligen Personen als
Herrscher auftraten.66 Wichtig ist, dass - soweit
bekannt und im Gegensatz zu einem bedeutenden
Teil des Ambongo (s. u.) - für das Gebiet Mai-
laka eine Kontinuität der etablierten sekundären
Königslinien festzustellen ist, die auf den Herr-
scher Andriamanovotsiarivo (Tsimvalo) zurück-
gehen.
Auch im Ambongo entwickelten sich jetzt neue
Königtümer.67 So hat Voeltzkow (1893) in sei-
ner Reise 1891 das Gebiet vom Fluss Betsiboka
bis zur Bucht Bali durchlaufen und dabei allei-
ne insgesamt vier Königreiche durchkreuzt; Zu-
nächst, von Ost nach West, das binnenseits gelege-
62 Hildebrandt (1880: 99) erwähnt in seiner Reisebeschreibung
entlang des Flusses Ranobe im Gebiet des ehemaligen
Maraha zwar die Existenz mehrerer “Häuptlinge”, nennt
jedoch nur den Namen Saud.
63 Die Wächterin von Reliquien nach Ballarin (2000: 231).
64 Vazaha bei Rusillon (1922-23), Vazo nach Curzon in Vérin
(1975:195), Vazoho bei Ballarin (2000: 231).
65 Morozoy bei Rusillon (1922-23).
66 Siehe Martineau 1894: 221; Firinga 1901; Gautier in Gran-
didier et Grandidier 1908: 222; Rusillon 1922-23 mit vie-
len weiteren Namen; Fagereng 1971:33; Curzon in Vérin
1975: 195; Ballarin 2000; 228.
67 Voeltzkow 1893; Martineau 1894: 219 f.; Esoaveloman-
droso 1983-84; Ballarin 2000: 194-197, 227f.
Topos 103.2008
58
Peter Kneitz
ne und bis dato unbekannte Stampitsi,68 dann ein
offenbar kleineres Gebiet mit dem Mittelpunkt
Behena, hierauf Andranomavo, welches wohl mit
dem schon bekannten kleinen Königtum Namoro-
ka identisch ist, und schließlich ein noch östlicher
gelegenes Gebiet unter dem König Mpingo, viel-
leicht dem Königreich Milanja zugehörend. In den
von Firinga (1901) und Rusillon (1922-23) vorge-
legten Stammbäumen werden erstmals Mitglieder
von Dynastien und Königreichen im Gebiet zwi-
schen Milanja und Maraha genannt, also im frühe-
ren Grenzgebiet von Menabe und Boeny. Dies
sind Manonga und Tambohorano (bei Besalam-
py) sowie die Klane Marotsiratsy, Marofotsy und
Maromany, welche teils als Nachkommen von An-
driamandisoarivo zum Boeny gezählt werden, teils
aber auch Mitglieder der Maroserana-Dynastie des
Menabe sein sollen. Da über die Vorläufer die-
ser Regionen und Dynastien in älteren Quellen
nicht berichtet wird, können die Darstellungen als
weitere Indikatoren für eine Vervielfältigung von
kleinen Herrschaftsbereichen Ende des 19. Jhs.
gelesen werden.
In der Literatur (Esoavelomandroso 1983-84,
Ballarin 2000) werden am häufigsten die Herr-
scher für die Region zwischen Baly und Maha-
janga bzw. dem Fluss Betsiboka genannt. Dies
sind vor der Kolonialzeit insbesondere die Köni-
gin Fatoma, welche mit Mitsinjo und dem (nicht
lokalisierbaren Ort) Karamanja über zwei Regio-
nen herrscht (Bare 1980; 61),69 Safy Ambala als
Regentin in Soalala (am Rande der Bucht Baly)
und Bareravony als mpanjaka (Königin) des Ma-
rambitsy.70 Als wichtige Kontrahenten gegenüber
den Franzosen erscheinen nach 1896 die Könige
Marify und Tsimetra (ein Sohn der Königin Ba-
reravony) im Bereich Marambitsy sowie Ambary
im Territorium von Milanja (Gallieni 1905:61;
Esoavelomandroso 1983-84: 381) in der Literatur.
Gleichwohl ist im Vergleich mit der Entwick-
lung im Menabe insoweit eine wichtige Verschie-
bung festzustellen, als die genannten Herrscher
des nördlichen Ambongo (also insbesondere um
Baly und das damalige Königreich Miari) al-
68 Heute Sitampiky genannt. Die sehr ähnliche Wortbildung
der Gruppe Tsitampiki des älteren Königreiches Baly und
des Königreiches Sitampiky lässt an eine Verbindung zwi-
schen beiden Einheiten denken.
69 Ballarin (2000: 161) bezeichnet sie als mpanjaka von Taran-
ta und Herrscherin der Zone “Soalala, Marotia und Maram-
bitsy”, was in etwa dem von Baré genannten Territorium
entspricht.
70 Marambitsy ist heute die Region um die Stadt Mitsinjo.
Sie ist wohl erstmals bei Samat (in Boudou 1932: 58) als
Marombich erwähnt worden.
les Nachkommen des ehemaligen Königs Andria-
manavakarivo (Andriantsoly) sind und nicht mehr
der seit dem 18. Jh. etablierten sekundären Dy-
nastiezweige (s. Baré 1980: 59, 61; Ballarin 2000;
194-197, 227 f.). Eine wichtige Neuorganisation
des nördlichen Ambongo hatte stattgefunden, die
bislang nicht eigens in der Literatur aufgegriffen
wurde. Wie kam es dazu? Nachdem der letzte
Regent von Boeny um 1847 auf Mayotte gestorben
war, hatten die Verantwortlichen der königlichen
Familie in Mahajanga sich dafür ausgesprochen,
dass die zwei ältesten Kinder des Königs (Fato-
ma71 und Mohamady) Gebiet im Ambongo erhal-
ten sollten. Durch die Präsenz der Nachkommen
von Andriantsoly sollte offenbar eine Kontinuität
der Herrscherlinie zum Ausdruck gebracht wer-
den. Fatoma erhielt dann tatsächlich das für das
ehemalige Königreich Boeny höchst bedeutsame
historische Kemterritorium mit dem Grab Bezavo
(ehemals Tongai; um 1840 Königreich Miari ge-
nannt) und dem Ort Mitsinjo als neuer Residenz,
wobei sie sich formal dem Merina-Gouvemeur
in Mahajanga unterstellte (Baré 1980: 61). Dies
ist der Ausgangspunkt des bis heute existieren-
den Königreiches von Mitsinjo mit seinem be-
deutenden Reliquienkult (aktuelle Herrscherin:
mpanjaka Amina. S. Ballarin 2000: Foto teil;
Kneitz 2003: 111 f.). Während Mohamady schließ-
lich - aus unbekannten Gründen - dann doch
nicht regierte (Baré 1980; 61), wurden mit den
bereits genannten Königinnen Safy Ambala und
Bareravony noch eine weitere Tochter bzw. En-
kelin von Andriamanavakarivo (Andriantsoly) als
Herrscher im nördlichen Ambongo eingesetzt,
während noch andere Geschwister Territorien wei-
ter im Nordosten für sich beanspruchten. Zu-
sammenfassend kann festgestellt werden; “Vers
1861 la (sic!) descendence d’Andriantsoly [An-
driamanavakarivo] est majoritaire dans la région
[de l’Ambongo]” (Ballarin 2000: 194).
Über die Nachkommen der ehemaligen Herr-
scher, der hier seit ca. 1720 herrschenden se-
kundären Linie, wird hingegen kein Wort ver-
loren, so dass ihr Schicksal völlig im Dunkeln
liegt. Sie scheinen jedenfalls verdrängt worden
zu sein. Bezeichnenderweise etablieren sich mit
diesem Wechsel der Führungsschicht jetzt neue
regionale Bezeichnungen wie Marambitsy oder die
Stadt Soalala in der Bucht Baly. Die Vorrang-
stellung der Boeny-Herrscherlinie hat sich noch
einmal als durchsetzungskräftig erwiesen, indem
71 Tochter einer Makoa-Frau (d. h. sie stammte von ostafri-
kanischen Sklaven ab) und damit von sekundärer Herkunft
(Ballarin 2000: 196).
Anthropos 103.2008
59
Irn Land
‘dazwischen’'
^'e immerhin bereits mehr als 200 Jahre etablierten
Sekundären Sakalava-Dynastien des Ambongo sich
ZUrückziehen oder unterwerfen mussten.
Mit der Ankunft der Franzosen 1896 begann
Ur die kleinen Sakalava-Königtümer im Westen
Madagaskars der letzte Abschnitt ihrer Geschich-
te- Während in den langen Jahrzehnten der Aus-
einandersetzung mit den Sakalava-Königen von
°eny oder später den Merina die relative Isolati-
on des Gebietes immer ein nahezu unschlagbarer
aktor für die Unabhängigkeit der Gebiete war,
spielten diese topographischen Faktoren angesichts
. er technisch-militärischen und organisatorischen
Verlegenheit der europäischen Kolonisatoren nun
eine bedeutende Rolle mehr. Gleichwohl leisteten
le Sakalava, welche sich zunächst in den neu-
en Lauf der politischen Entwicklung zu ergeben
Schienen, einen teilweise regional koordinierten
^nd über mehrere Monate hinweg andauernden
yiderstand. Eine wesentliche Ursache dazu war
16 überfallähnliche Bombardierung der Residenz-
stadt Ambiky durch französische Kolonialtruppen
unter Führung des Kommandanten Gérard, ein
s “Vorfall von Ambiky” umschriebenes Ereig-
nis- Unter den zahlreichen Toten72 befand sich
auch der damalige Menabe-König Toera (post-
üm: Andriamilaiikarivo), der sich eigentlich den
tnonialtruppen hatte ergeben wollen (Schlemmer
S3: 52). Die aus diesem “Vorfall” resultierenden
Verstände waren besonders langandauemd in
er Region Mailaka rund um die Stadt Maintirano,
?*e Ende 1897 zu den letzten größeren Gebieten
a<aagaskars gehörte, welche noch nicht befriedet
^aren (Galliéni 1905). Im Mittelpunkt des Auf-
I andes stand Alidi, ein islamisch geprägter Saka-
ava. Gleichwohl gelang bis 1899 die Unterwer-
ks fast des gesamten Gebietes um Maintirano.
u dieser Zeit ergab sich auch Ambary, Chef des
0rdlicheren Gebietes Milanja. Im Ambongo und
n angrenzenden Regionen hingegen brach erst
Lnde------
M
le 1898 ein Aufstand mit den beiden Führern
anfy und Tsimetra aus. Die systematische Beset-
Ung zentraler Orte durch die französischen Trup-
a und die anschließende Entwaffnung führten
uheßlich zur Aufgabe des bewaffneten Kampfes
S/i \ *n dieser Region (Esoavelomandroso 1983-
84),
Wenngleich von einer endgültigen Befriedung
^er Regionen erst 1904 die Rede sein konnte.
esentlich dazu beigetragen hatte eine neue kolo-
e Politik, welche - auf der Grundlage inten-
ach offiziellen Zahlen gab es 60 Tote, nach dem Parla-
mentarier Vigne d’Octon bis zu 5.000 Tote (Schlemmer
, , ' 52; diesem Autor zufolge sind beide Angaben zu
•mUsieren).
Anth
roPos 103.2008
siver ethnographischer Dokumentationen - eine
gezielte Instrumentalisierung der Sakalava-Dynas-
tien und des zugehörigen Reliquienkultes betrieben
hatte (Schlemmer 1983; 65 f.). Mit dem Sieg der
Franzosen war aber nicht nur die politische Ei-
genständigkeit der Sakalava-Königreiche entlang
der Westküste Geschichte geworden. Die erst-
malige politische Einheit Madagaskars beendete
auch den Zustand eines mehr als zweihundert-
jährigen “dazwischen”, welcher das Schicksal der
Ambongo-Mailaka-Region und ihrer Menschen für
lange Zeit geprägt hatte.
5 Schlussfolgerungen
Erstmals sind Berichte und Quellen zur lange
vernachlässigten Ambongo-Mailaka-Region an der
Westküste Madagaskars zusammengeführt wor-
den. Sie gestatten in dem hier vorgelegten ers-
ten Schritt der Annäherung die überblicksartige
Darstellung seiner politischen Entwicklung. Dabei
lassen sich drei Phasen seit der Eingliederung
dieser Gebiete in den Sakalava-Herrschaftsbereich
seit Ende des 17. Jhs. erkennen:
1. In den ersten, knapp 150 Jahren (Ende des
17. Jhs. - Anfang des 19. Jhs.) war die Lage zwi-
schen den zwei großen politischen Blöcken des
Menabe- und Boeny-Reiches entscheidend. Die
Region war dabei in zwei Interessensphären aufge-
teilt, was jedoch angesichts der peripheren politi-
schen und wirtschaftlichen Lage zu keiner tatsäch-
lichen Spaltung des Gebietes führte. Entscheidend
war vielmehr die gemeinsame Erfahrung der “Zwi-
schenlage”, welche die Ambongo-Mailaka-Region
als wenig attraktives Herrschaftsland kennzeich-
nete. Ab dem Beginn des 18. Jhs. entstanden je-
weils von den Kernländern Boeny und Menabe
aus eine Reihe sekundärer Königreiche, regiert
von Seitenlinien der zentralen Dynastien Zafimbo-
lamena und Maroserana. Im Laufe der Zeit eta-
blierte sich ein dichtes Geflecht von Allianzen,
Heiratsbeziehungen und auch Konflikten zwischen
diesen kleinen Königtümem, wobei die formale
Grenzziehung zwischen Boeny und Menabe keine
besondere Rolle zu spielen schien.
2. Die periphere “Zwischenlage” der Ambon-
go-Mailaka-Region im Rahmen mächtiger Sakala-
va-Reiche im Süden und Norden kehrte sich mit
Beginn des 19. Jhs. für einige Jahrzehnte in sein
Gegenteil um. Während das Gebiet vorher ein
Nebenschauplatz innerhalb der Sakalava-Reiche
war, wurde es nun zum Zentrum der unabhängi-
gen Sakalava, welche sich nicht der Dominanz
der Merina beugen wollten, die nach und nach
60
Peter Kneitz
die Kembereiche von Menabe und Boeny besetz-
ten. Somit ergab sich eine völlig neu definierte
“Zwischenlage”, als Zentrum der freien Sakalava,
welches von Merina-kontrollierten Gebieten völlig
umgeben war. Eine Folge dieser Entwicklung war
der vorübergehende (relative) ökonomische Auf-
schwung dieser Region. Die politisch zentrale La-
ge von Ambongo und Mailaka ersetzte allerdings
nicht die rituelle Bedeutung der zentralen Königs-
reliquien von Menabe und Boeny, welche durch
die Merina in ihr politisch-religiöses System ein-
gebunden und instrumentalisiert wurden. Ende des
19. Jhs. kam es dann durch die unaufhörlichen
Kriegszüge der Merina und den Rückzug der Eu-
ropäer aus dem Handel zu einer dramatischen Zer-
splitterung in kleine und kleinste “Königtümer”.
3. Die Kolonialisierung und nachfolgende Ein-
führung eines demokratisch-republikanischen Sys-
tems bedeuteten die erstmalige politische Einigung
Madagaskars, und führten dazu, dass die Relevanz
der früheren ethnischen Grenzen in den Hinter-
grund gedrängt wurde. Die über zwei Jahrhunderte
lang charakteristische politische “Zwischenlage”
der Ambongo-Mailaka-Region verblasste seitdem,
ohne aber völlig abhanden gekommen zu sein.
Die Kontinuität der rituellen Sakalava-Zentren im
Süden (mit Belo-sur-Tsiribihina als gegenwärti-
ger Standort der Menabe-Reliquien und dem in
fünfjährigem Abstand durchgeführten fitampoha
[Bad der Reliquien]; Chazan-Gillig und Haidaraly
2006) und im Norden (mit dem Doany Miarinarivo
bei Mahajanga als Reliquienort des Boeny und
dem jährlichen fanompoabe, dem dortigen Bad der
Reliquien; Kneitz 2003, Ballarin 2006) führt da-
zu, dass die historisch gewachsene Zwischenlage
zumindest im Rahmen der Sakalava-Gesellschaft
weiter wirksam ist. Auch die im 19. Jh. erwachse-
ne Bedeutung als Rückzugszentrum der Sakalava
ist angesichts einer starken Binnenmigration ganz
unterschiedlicher Gruppen selbst in entlegene Ge-
biete des Westens hinein73 heute nur von einge-
schränkter Gültigkeit.
Die eingangs festgestellte, außerordentlich ge-
ringe Beachtung, welche die Ambongo-Mailaka-
Region in der Forschung bislang gefunden hat,
ist durch die historischen Entwicklungen und die
Isolierung der Region einfach zu erklären. Die
Königreiche Menabe und Boeny, zunächst poli-
tische und bis heute die religiös-rituellen Zentren
der Sakalava, zogen die Aufmerksamkeit natürli-
cherweise auf sich, während die formal unterstell-
73 Goedefroit et al. 2002, Chazan-Gillig et Haidaraly 2006, ei-
gene Beobachtungen zwischen Besalampy und Maintirano
2006.
ten sekundären Königreiche der “Zwischenregion”
als Nebenschauplatz weniger interessant schienen.
Dabei ist überdies festzuhalten, dass bis Ende
des 20. Jhs. der etablierte - über Publikationen
zugängliche - Kenntnisstand über die Sakalava-
Königreiche so dürftig war, dass eine Konzentra-
tion auf Menabe und Boeny als vordringlich er-
scheinen musste und andere Gebiete erst gar nicht
in das Blickfeld gerieten. Darüber hinaus hat sicher
auch die lang etablierte und eng mit der histori-
schen Entwicklung des Westens von Madagaskar
verbundene Isolation der hier vorgestellten Region
dazu beigetragen, dass sie als Forschungsfeld nicht
in die engere Wahl gezogen wurde, im Gegensatz
zu den relativ rezent entstandenen Königreichen
bei Nosy Be (Bare 1980) und Analalava (Feeley-
Harnik 1991).
Aus dem vorgelegten Überblick lassen sich
jetzt jedoch eine Reihe von Gründen ableiten,
die für die Bedeutung und damit eine nähere
Auseinandersetzung mit dem Ambongo-Mailaka-
Gebiet sprechen:
• Die Region hat im Rahmen der steten dynas-
tischen Auseinandersetzungen um die Thron-
folge offenbar eine wichtige und bislang kaum
wahrgenommene Entlastungsfunktion für die
beiden zentralen Königreiche Boeny und Mena-
be gehabt, indem es Konkurrenten um die Herr-
scherposition aufnahm.
• Im Laufe des 19. Jhs. war nur die Ambongo-
Mailaka-Region als politisch unabhängiges Sa-
kalava-Land geblieben und stand damit im Zen-
trum der freien Sakalava, während alle anderen
Gebiete durch die Merina unterworfen und nach
und nach in erheblicher Weise umgeformt wor-
den waren.
• Als politischer Nebenschauplatz und vielfach
isoliert haben die Sakalava-Königreiche von
Ambongo und Mailaka eine Entwicklung erlebt,
die im Vergleich am wenigsten von den äußeren
Veränderungen und Verwerfungen geprägt war,
wie sie für Menabe und Boeny zu verzeichnen
waren.
Aus den beiden ersten Punkten ergeben sich Hin-
weise, die im Rahmen einer übergreifenden histo-
rischen Betrachtung der Sakalava-Gesellschaft und
ihrer Entwicklung aufzunehmen und näher auszu-
arbeiten sind. Der dritte Punkt, mit dem Bezug
auf die relativ ungestörte und langfristige Dynamik
der kleinen Herrschaftsgebiete in der “Zwischen-
region”, legt nahe, dass sich hier einerseits Son-
derformen der Sakalava-Gesellschaft ausgebildet,
andererseits auch vergleichsweise ursprüngliche
Elemente erhalten haben könnten. Aktuelle Beob-
achtungen des Autors (Feldaufenthalt Juli-August
Anthropos 103.2008
61
hn Land “dazwischen”
2006) zur Existenz einer Vielzahl von teilweise
unbekannten “Königreichen” und einer komplexen
topographie von Reliquienschreinen in der Regi-
°n weisen in eine ähnliche Richtung. Durch eine
zukünftige Vertiefung des Kenntnisstandes können
Wertvolle neue Einsichten in die Eigendynamik
aer Sakalava-Königreiche und die historische Ent-
wicklung ihrer Institutionen gewonnen werden.
J?er Artikel beruht auf Forschungsarbeiten, welche durch
as DFG-Projekt KN 768/1 -1 ermöglicht wurden.
Ziti
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Anth
,r°pos 103.2008
Collectanea Series
of the Anthropos Institute
The Collectanea series of
the Anthropos Institute
was started in 1967 by
W. Saake. The purpose of
this series was to collect
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and linguistic materials.
Recently the purpose
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expanded to include the
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which can often be
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ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 65-75
Le vêtement en Afrique noire et ailleurs
Claude Rivière
stract. - From the scanty apron barely covering the female
bl r ’ Stld shocking to the missionary, to the voluminous
to k’ w^ich the Victorians condemned Eros to wear, up
eie^ e fashionably tailored and stylishly worn covering of
from
Sant city ladies, fashion changes have always run the gamut
ext SlrnPfr protection to aesthetics, from the useful to the
avagant, thus expressing both one’s distinctive individual
% and one’s collective, social position as well. This is
the rnf>^s^e<f in a variety of ways, by the type of material used,
sPecific colours chosen, the cut, the use of embroidery, the
ner of wearing a garment, and the size of the wardrobe,
and 6 adow the observer to measure the social standing
j №eahh of the person so remarkably dressed. It is also
P riant to pay attention to the prestige of the major cities,
as a are renowned for their high standards of African fashion,
is as to fr16 dandies, who frequent the discotheques. It
tai.esPecially necessary to pay attention to the ways in which
he business Pe°ple> local stars, and journalists tend to be
setters in matters of fashion. [Africa, clothes or clothing,
aes,h«ics, symbol, fashion]
Cl
^*v'ere’ est professeur émérite d’anthropologie à la
So . °nne - Université de Paris V. Après avoir enseigné la
dev°^°^e a l’Université catholique d’Angers (1960-64), il
68flerit d°yen de la Faculté des Lettres en Guinée (1964-
Ge ^ ^ordonne à partir de 1968, il travaille auprès de
(jg °rges Balandier, va fonder et diriger au Togo (1976-80) le
de rrternent de philosophie et sciences sociales de l’Université
j5tü^°mc, puis tout en étant professeur à Paris V, il dirige les
Ver • ' afrlcaines et le Laboratoire d’ethnologie de son uni-
I’ e- Ses derniers ouvrages développant une “Introduction à
^opologie” (parjs 1995), s’intitulent “Socio-anthropologie
2000)li§i°nS” <‘b>ar's 1^97) et “Anthropologie politique” (Paris
fait que le chien-chien à sa mémère porte
Parfois un vêtement est un indice psychologique
c°ncernant la mémère, non le chien. Pour 1 homme,
0ri peut se demander si son habit, en tant qu appa-
refrce externe, reflète ou l’environnement social ou
le for intérieur. Peut-être les deux selon le cas.
L’uniforme de circonstance énonce l’identité d’un
groupe, non les caractères profonds du porteur, et
le mannequin singulier du défilé de mode apparaît
surtout comme porte-manteau ou “griffe sortie”.
Pourtant nul ne conteste que l’habit soit signe
de distinction, de raffinement ou de vulgarité.
Même dans les sociétés fondées sur la tradition,
des codes vestimentaires stables font autorité, tout
en affirmant par des signes les hiérarchies de la
notoriété. Néanmoins il y aurait erreur à surestimer
l’ancienneté de certaines tenues vestimentaires,
aussi bien chez nous où beaucoup de costumes
dits traditionnels et provinciaux datent seulement
du développement du textile au XIXe siècle, qu’en
Afrique victime du surplus au cache-sexe imposé
par la pudeur des missionnaires, par l’imitation
de l’Europe colonisatrice, puis par le challenge
à l’élégance dans les zones urbanisées. Dans la
société moderne, l’être et le paraître ont tendance
à se confondre. Qu’est-ce qu’un général en slip ?
La reconnaissance sociale est tributaire de l’image
offerte.
Quelle est l’imagerie fournie par les photo-
graphes d’il y a un siècle ? Et quelles fonctions
particulières sont celles du vêtement dans ses va-
riétés contemporaines comparées en Afrique et en
Europe ? De l’analyse des modes et de ses change-
ments, et de l’examen d’une partie de la littérature
anthropologique à ce propos, nous dégagerons
différents terrains encore mal explorés qui pour-
ront solliciter l’attention des chercheurs. Mais il
ne sera question ici ni de l’artisanat traditionnel,
ni des motifs de pagnes imprimés, ni des modalités
de confection des boubous et tuniques, ni des ca-
66
Claude Rivière
lendriers religieux et vestimentaires, ni du marché
des tissus, seulement du choix, de l’usage et du
port du vêtement sous les angles fonctionnel et
symbolique.
De la brousse à la housse
Toute étude de l’apparence vestimentaire en Afrique
réclame des mises au point préliminaires concer-
nant l’imaginaire nudité des habitants du continent
africain autrefois, le rôle de la parure lorsque les
parties couvertes sont réduites, le développement
récent d’un artisanat et l’amélioration des tech-
niques de filage, tissage, teinture, confection.
Il serait erroné de penser que l’Africain pra-
tiquait avant la colonisation le nu intégral et
permanent. Pour le XIIe siècle, l’historien arabe
Al Bakri signale les cotonnades portées par les
riches dans le Ghana d’alors (sans correspon-
dance géographique avec celui d’aujourd’hui) et
les historiens de la colonisation indiquent la nu-
dité quasi totale (avec quelques parures) pour les
paléonégritiques tels Kabyé du Togo, Kirdi du
Nigéria et du Cameroun, Lobi du Burkina ...
et pour les peuples du Haut Nil : Nuer, Shilluk,
Dinka ... Mais ceux-là ont des voisins survêtus
portant, comme les chefs peul ou kanouri, un
sarwal recouvrant un ou deux caleçons ainsi que
quatre ou cinq boubous superposés, sans parler du
turban et du voile qui recouvre le bas du visage.
Ailleurs que dans les zones touchées par l’islam,
la nudité temporaire et fonctionnelle est habituelle
pour dormir, se baigner, jouer lorsqu’on est enfant,
participer à des initiations en forêt sacrée.
La parure du cache-sexe est souvent un montre-
sexe ornant les parties fécondes et protégeant
contre les dangers surnaturels : l’étui pénien proté-
geait le Somba du Dahomey contre les génies
de brousse (cf. Mercier 1968). Les Lobi nouaient
à leur prépuce une ficelle qu’ils attachaient à la
ceinture végétale de leur taille. Les femmes ka-
byé restaient nues pour se laisser pénétrer par les
influences fécondantes de la terre, tandis que les
femmes fali du Tchad s’obstruaient le vagin avec
un bouchon simulant le pénis. Un souci analogue
explique le port d’une ceinture de perles autour
des reins chez beaucoup de femmes d’Afrique
occidentale, encore que cette ceinture puisse par
son cliquetis et ses couleurs exciter la concupis-
cence masculine et jouer le même rôle que le slip
transparent des européennes.
Parure aussi que le séant de cuir, le bouquet
de feuilles couvrant les fesses, le tablier végétal
différent de l’adipeux, le bandeau d’écorce bat-
tue ou d’étoffe passant entre les jambes, ce der-
nier d’usage commun pour la pêche, la chasse,
le ménage ou le travail. Longtemps ce type de
vêtement a été l’art principal de la vêture africaine.
D’une société et d’une époque à l’autre varie la
définition des parties du corps à cacher (usage
récent du monokini en Europe, genoux impudiques
des années 1920). En Afrique, c’est l’influence
des religions chrétiennes et islamiques qui a pro-
fondément modifié la notion de décence et pénalisé
des nudités non érotiques pour les gens du cru.
Dans les sociétés africaines vêtues, les enfants
restaient nus jusqu’au début de la puberté. En-
suite la vulve devait être dissimulée. S’y ajou-
tait fréquemment l’épilation pubienne. Les seins
n’avaient pas à être cachés, sauf parfois pour les
femmes de sang royal. Le colonisateur, par habi-
tude et tradition occidentale, par pudeur religieuse
et par intérêt économique dans la vente de coton-
nades, a modifié les mœurs notamment entre 1890
et 1925.
La nudité africaine gênait bien sûr les mis-
sionnaires français. Ils estimaient que l’espoir de
conversion augmentait en Côte-d’Ivoire parce que
les gens y marchaient vêtus, comme le raconte
Philippe Laburthe-Tolra qui note que, dès février
1922, le chef beti catholique du Cameroun, Charles
Atangana, prend la décision suivante :
Désormais, les hommes ne porteront plus Vobom (pagne
d’écorce battue) et ne se teindront plus avec le baa (fard
de padouk) ; que tout homme porte des vêtements de
tissu. Les femmes ne mettront plus Vebui ni Vekuba
(parures traditionnelles) ; que finissent les anciennes
tresses koe meso, bevuvulu (tresses complexes imbibées
d’huile) ; toute femme ne doit porter que des mintog
et des bilat (petites tresses simples sans huile). Aucune
femme ne se teindra plus avec le baa ; que toutes portent
des robes, bien que l’argent soit difficile (Laburthe-Tolra
1999:282).
“Comme les autres dépendants, esclaves œt ser-
viteurs, qui y voyaient l’occasion d’une promotion,
les femmes ont tout de suite saisi l’intérêt d’une
religion qui les libérait des interdits alimentaires et
qui rendait obligatoire la coquetterie de se vêtir”
(Laburthe-Tolra 1999:248). La nudité est “signe
de pauvreté et de chasteté, tenue des esclaves,
des impubères ou des adultes consacrés, tandis
que le vêtement et la parure sont au contraire
appels à la sensualité. Les femmes de Minlaba
le répètent à l’envi : puisqu’on ne pouvait entrer
à l’église qu’avec un foulard de tête et une robe
jusqu’à par terre, toutes souhaitaient se convertir
au moins par coquetterie; elles savaient qu’ainsi
vêtues elles allaient attirer le regard des hommes.
Anthropos 103.2008
67
Le vêtement en Afrique noire et ailleurs
Ra messe où l’on s’habille, où l’on se voit, où
°n se bouscule, remplit ainsi malgré elle une
onction mondaine, voire licencieuse comme dans
Rabelais” (Laburthe-Tolra 1999 : 395).
Lorsque l’Afrique est devenue indépendante,
es gouvernants ont contraint leurs ressortissants à
Se vêtir “décemment” en intériorisant le stéréotype
colonial : évolué vêtu versus sauvage nu. Un
j,0lgt d’islamisme de plus et l’on voit en 1966
interdiction formelle par le président guinéen
eKou Touré (trousseur de jupons) du port de la
mini-jupe.
J évoquerais le troc d’une civilisation de la
rousse contre une civilisation de la housse. Lévi-
trauss pourrait broder sur la convertibilité des
c°des culinaire et vestimentaire “cru-nu” pour
reconnaître que le cuit des Blancs au soleil d’Adam
aussi ses codes, règlements, valeurs, décors,
sinon température.
. désormais, comme le vêtement est généralisé,
Je vais couvrir de mon propos seulement ce qui se
bstitue au nu : le vêtement cousu en Afrique sou-
mise, le pagne drapé, genre toge, dans l’Afrique
guinéenne et forestière (et pour les femmes en
rique soudanaise).
Rus grands pagnes drapés varient considérable-
ment d’une région à l’autre, par le matériau, la
couleur, le dessin et le port. A côté des “couver-
res ’ en écorce de ficus ou en rabane teinte en
uge du Congo, on trouve, déjà plus élaborés, les
Plaids
Poil
ls soudanais faits de bandes de coton ou de
f, 1 cousues ensemble, et dont le dessin indique
^Appartenance sociale du porteur, puis les toges
la très répandues du Nigéria occidental à
a Côte-d’Ivoire, en lamé (Yoruba, Akan) ou en
°urs de coton (Nupé) de fabrication locale, ou
g me en soie tissue d’or, tissée sur place (Ghana,
^As-Xogo, Bénin, Nigeria) avec des fils importés.
^ Pagnes ont longtemps eu une importance so-
e ut rituelle considérable. Leur accumulation
Us StltuaR un mocle de thésaurisation prestigieux,
entraient dans la composition des dots et sur-
’ °n en enterrait et détruisait en grand nombre
I9^r ^es funérailles des notables (cf. Balandier
Oïlctionnalité du vêtement
1 °n a abandonné le nu, c’est qu’était prise en
Cel ^te.et valorisée la fonctionnalité du vêtement.
le Ul.'ci révèle, selon les sociétés et selon l’époque,
ré^?1^8 suPérieur de l’une ou l’autre de ses utilités
la fi 68 °U dctives’ notamment dans le passage de
nalité de protection à la finalité esthétique, plus
Anthropos 103.2008
ou moins lié au passage d’une économie de rareté à
une économie somptuaire. Si dominent des obliga-
tions et interdits magico-religieux régissant les ap-
parences (symboles, matériaux, couleurs, tout cela
serait à définir par des études de cas), il se peut que
la symbolique identitaire s’affirme fort différente
par l’accès à une consommation, sinon de masse,
du moins plus aisée. La sémantique s’enrichit
lorsque les jeunes, les femmes, les fonctionnaires,
les Miss Cameroun, Miss Ghana ou Miss Afrique
se constituent ou en “tribu” ou en mannequins
séducteurs. Ma démarche prendra quelque perti-
nence par une comparaison Europe-Afrique.
Distinguons, après bien d’autres, les fonctions
protectrice, économique, identitaire, symbolique,
esthétique. Découpage banal et suggestif mais
fallacieux en ce qu’un esprit trop classificateur
aurait tendance à ne pas suffisamment percevoir
les coexistences et les interrelations fonctionnelles
par exemple entre l’utilitaire, l’esthétique et le
sémiotique. Je crains que bien des doctorants ne
valorisent, sans preuve et sans comparaison avec
des cas différents, ce qui leur semble être une
évidence. On dira par exemple que la fonction du
vêtement est d’informer de l’identité humaine avec
ses différences d’âge, de sexe, de position sociale,
d’activité (travail au champ, cuisine, pêche), de
culture (aller au spectacle ou à des funérailles), de
lieu et de moment (saison et période de la journée),
d’état sanitaire, de position politique, idéologique
ou religieuse. Tout cela est trop général et banal
lorsqu’on ne l’a pas prouvé par des faits et surtout
pondéré en fonction de réactions différentielles des
sociétés à l’égard de telle parure et de tel vêtement.
En Afrique par exemple, il n’est point de
bronzage estival, ni d’exhibition par les jeunes
de telle marque Nike ou Reebok (sauf dans les
capitales), ni de cérémonie du petit coucher du
roi ..., mais on sait prendre le cas échéant un
bleu de travail, une tenue sport, un costume de
ville, un habit traditionnel et particulièrement tel
pagne, accroché de telle manière à la ceinture ou
jeté sur l’épaule pour accomplir telle cérémonie
ancestrale. S’habiller, on le verra, peut être une
liturgie transfigurée par des valeurs religieuses.
Colette Piault a spécifié les journées pagne et
les journées tergal dans le pèlerinage à Bregbo
en Côte-d’Ivoire où habitait le prophète harriste
Albert Atcho.
La “Fête”, c’est surtout pour le prophète le moment de
manifester aux yeux de tous l’étendue de son pouvoir.
C’est pourquoi il est indispensable que les délégations
soient nombreuses et viennent de loin ... La journée
du 1er novembre, que nous pourrions appeler “tergal”
68
Claude Rivière
en fonction des vêtements portés par l’assistance, est
une journée officielle où sont conviés les délégués du
gouvernement, les personnalités politiques, les amis du
prophète dont de nombreux européens. Les parades avec
motocyclistes, le banquet, les discours et la remise de
décorations formeront le programme de cette journée au
cours de laquelle Bregbo se situe dans la Côte-d’Ivoire
moderne. La deuxième journée, le 2 novembre, est un
jour de repos, de détente où l’on dort le matin et danse
l’après-midi. C’est la journée villageoise que nous pour-
rions appeler “pagne” dans la mesure où les vêtements
européens ont été échangés contre les pagnes tradition-
nels - les délégations se regroupent par village pour
danser -, Bregbo apparaît alors comme un carrefour
de traditions. La troisième journée, le 3 novembre, que
l’on pourrait appeler “percale” voit apparaître la religion
harriste - grande procession regroupant tous les évêques
et prêtres harristes, sermons et prières, bénédictions de
tous les fidèles par l’eau du prophète, formeront la
trame de cette journée. Bregbo est alors un haut lieu
du harrisme (Piault 1975 : 46).
Que Protée et Prométhée soient de même
souche, voilà ce qu’on découvre par l’histoire
de la distinction vestimentaire dans les ordres
politique, religieux, professionnel, coutumier. En
France, les médecins et magistrats ont émergé au
XVIIe siècle comme gens de robe, les militaires
comme gens d’épée ou gens d’armes après que
leurs ancêtres en service d’ost aient chevauché
avec armure aux marches des seigneuries. Sous
le règne de Louis-Philippe, le costume mascu-
lin est révolutionné par l’abandon des couleurs
claires et des vêtements ajustés au profit des lai-
nages foncés et de la redingote austère. Lorsque
la discrétion et la sobriété se posent en canon de
l’élégance masculine, l’image de frivolité semble
alors s’accorder davantage à la féminité, et selon
une logique de l’inconstance, de la disqualification
du passé, de la variété somptuaire et de la dis-
tinction, les modes surtout féminines, accélèrent la
consommation vestimentaire (que Fernand Braudel
[1985] nous montre à l’origine du commerce, de
l’artisanat et de l’industrie) au moment où prend
essor la révolution industrielle.
Protection
Selon un raisonnement qui relèverait de l’évidence,
on croit première la fonction de protection contre
les intempéries (chaleur, froid, vent, précipitations),
contre les végétaux et les animaux. Pourtant il
n’est pas prouvé que cette fonction soit statisti-
quement la plus importante ni historiquement la
première. Les mythes nous évoquent le costume
d’Adam sans feuille de vigne ; Victor Hugo (1859)
dit Caïn “vêtu de peaux de bêtes” et Anne Chap-
man (2002) voit les Indiens Selknam de la Terre de
Feu (parmi les terres les plus froides de l’Amérique
du Sud) aussi nus que les Tupi d’Amazonie. Af-
faire de degré culturel de sensibilité au milieu chez
les Inuit, comparés aux Bédouins ! Affaire aussi
de ressources naturelles ; fibre de lin, coton, laine,
poil, écorce, etc., et de maîtrise de ces ressources
par des techniques plus ou moins sophistiquées de
rouissage, cardage, filage, tissage ! Affaire enfin de
conception de la pudeur et des interdits sexuels va-
riables selon les sociétés. On peut aussi concevoir
un tablier ou un vêtement de travail, comme pro-
tection du vêtement de dessous contre les taches
salissantes. Protecteur, le vêtement l’est aussi de la
curiosité d’autrui et du mépris en ce qu’il dissimule
défauts et faiblesses : bosse, embonpoint, épaules
étroites, jambes trop courtes, piqûre de seringue,
hernie ombilicale ...
Signification sociologique
En dissimulant, le vêtement peut aussi montrer,
affirmer une appartenance ; port masculin de la
braguette dans l’Italie du XVe siècle, port féminin
de la coiffe de Pont-Aven depuis le XIXe siècle.
Porteur de signe, il est moyen d’expression et de
communication, transmetteur d’informations qui
permettent au spectateur ou à l’interlocuteur de
régler sa conduite.
Je me souviens être venu interviewer le chef de
canton Pébi IV à Agou-Nyogbo, en 1978. Tout
en attendant sur la terrasse de sa maison avec
mon cadeau d’une bouteille de schnaps pour les
ancêtres (dans un pays de première colonisation
allemande), je l’entraperçois revenir des champs
avec sa houe sur l’épaule et rentrer par une porte
latérale. Vingt minutes après, il me reçoit en kenté
cérémoniel relevé sur le bras droit, avèc à sa
droite le Asafohéné (sous-chef autrefois “chef de
guerre”) et à sa gauche le Tchami, qu’on pourrait
traduire par “secrétaire”, pas nécessairement lettré
mais qui est son porte-parole et un peu de la
mémoire du canton, le second acolyte étant vêtu
plus modestement que le premier (cf. Rivière
1981).
L’habit extériorise le grade, la fonction et l’état
(sous l’ancien régime : clergé, noblesse, tiers-état),
ailleurs gens de robe, fidèles d’un vodu, El Hadj
vêtu d’un boubou blanc sacralisateur et la tête
couverte d’un voile blanc qui le spécifie comme
purifié par son voyage à la Mecque. Pour une
photo de famille, chacun se fige de face en ses
Anthropos 103.2008
69
Le vêtement en Afrique noire et ailleurs
Plus beaux atours. Ces atours ont toujours été re-
connus comme signes d’appartenance sociale, soit
e classe : cols blancs, cols bleus, cols roulés, faux
c°ls, collets montés, etc., soit de groupe : vêtement
arnple et bouffant à couleur vive des hippies, blou-
p?n no*r des rockeurs à rouflaquettes. En cela,
„ manifeste un consensus de groupe tout en
®tant un instrument de cette cohésion. Il délivre
es Messages : chemise Lacoste du tennisman, mi-
mes du conducteur automobile, après-skis du
Montagnard d’un jour, chasuble de prêtre, veste
r°uge de Georges Marchais, tunique de chanvre
J aune-safran du brahmane. Chaque équipe spor-
e porte sa tenue spécifique. Dans les arts mar-
Ux’ le grade est symbolisé par la couleur de la
ceinture.
Mol
au
En bref, l’information véhiculée porte sur l’état
ogique (sexe, âge), sur la situation de l’individu
^ sein de la communauté africaine (célibataire,
Mme ou femme mariée, pénitente adultère au
ane rasé), sur le statut et la richesse (selon le
pateriau, la coupe, la broderie, les décorations).
r divers indices vestimentaires sont communi-
es 1 état de deuil ou de grossesse pour la femme,
• sfatut de chef pour tel homme. Les parties
unifiantes d’un costume sont le plus souvent
l . stltuées par des éléments matériels (ornemen-
°n, couleur, coupe, matériau), également par la
niere p0rter tepe pièce (le châle brodé pour
Y !r Un soir), encore qu’existent des inversions
inventaires pour se protéger du mauvais œil,
jet/ Pmtéger le vêtement contre l’usure ou la sa-
e (mise à l’envers) sans parler des cache-misère
MjMlaba, boubou).
diff'anS Une m®me population, des costumes
riants expriment des degrés de deuil ou de
Sa esse- Leur nombre signifie généralement l’ai-
ditCe ^U en est-ü de l’effet de superposition ? On
qu-^Ue |es paysannes hongroises portaient jusqu’à
arri'Ze juPes superposées les jours de fête, nos
res grand-mères un peu moins. S’agissait-il
rich^°Mrer l’abondance des vêtements et donc la
Se Sse’ de cacher les parties érotiques de la dan-
nne 6 evant la jambe, de gonfler à partir de la taille
Serv.artlEcielle crinoline, d’isoler les odeurs, de
d’a/r ^e.systome de chauffage aux sans-culottes
'Pq . refois ? Protection ou esthétique, qui le sait ?
Utilis°UrS est-d qu’en Afrique la jupe ample est
fète ee Pour les tâches ménagères. Les jours de
sür j?U de marché, les belles se serrent le pagne
crjtèrarrière~train en s’obligeant à des petits pas,
Ijaut^s de l’élégance chez les mannequins de
Mann ^°uture PMs connus par le public que les
d’art e<^Ulns d’exposition en plâtre des musées
et traditions populaires.
Anth
r°pos 103.2008
Comme dans le théâtre japonais, la tribu des
teenagers se reconnaît à ses masques. Après la-
minage du dimorphisme sexuel par le rock’n’roll
américain, le jean signifiant la constitution des
jeunes en nation cosmopolite, la mode contem-
poraine informe avant tout sur l’âge. Néanmoins
le Black ado typique mâle se reconnaît à sa cas-
quette visière en arrière, à ses baskets à languette,
à son pantalon surdimensionné tombant en ac-
cordéon et à sa démarche déhanchée de danseur
hip hop, torse bombé. A chacun ses uniformes !
Sauf pour l’élection de Miss Afrique ? Et encore.
Les conventions uniformes tempèrent la crainte
des débordements de féminité expressive : maillot
restreint, corps surcosmétisé, pose convenue, sou-
rire aussi vide que figé. Il faut chercher ailleurs
les valeurs qui guident tacitement le choix du
jury : mensurations idéales, proportions, sveltesse,
charme, jeunesse. Au total, d’autres critères que
ceux qui président à la cure de lait chez les femmes
massa du Cameroun décrites par Igor de Garine
(1975).
Symbolique
Comme élément de l’identification joue le sym-
bole. Celui-ci étant ambigu, la fonction symbo-
lique se rapproche parfois de la fonction magique
du vêtement parce qu’on joue sur différents ni-
veaux de signification religieux ou politiques.
Dans la Genèse, la conscience de la nudité
est liée à la conscience morale de soi dans ce
qui est appelé le péché originel. Dans la vision
qu’a le prophète Daniel de l’Ancien Testament
siégeant sur un trône céleste vêtu de blanc couleur
de lumière, l’habit est censé révéler le caractère
profond de celui qui le porte. Vêtement de jus-
tice, manteau du salut, ces termes conviennent à
la nature d’une personne transcendante. Dans la
transfiguration de Jésus, ses vêtements deviennent
resplendissants, d’une blancheur céleste et divine.
Le vêtement blanc, ou vêtement de gloire, du
monde angélique est symbole de pureté. Dans
la gnose, le vêtement symbolise l’être même de
l’homme. Dans le christianisme inspiré de saint
Paul, on dit que le chrétien a revêtu Jésus-Christ.
Les femmes à l’église en signe de soumission à
Dieu devaient se couvrir la tête comme les juifs de
la kipa. Lors du baptême, le néophyte est revêtu
d’une robe blanche.
Certes “l’habit ne fait pas le moine”, mais
il y contribue. Chaque congrégation religieuse
(bénédictins, dominicains, capucins, carmélites ...)
et chaque Église nouvelle en Afrique se différencie
70
Claude Rivière
par son habit. Dans les monastères de l’Église
d’Orient, la prise d’habit constituait un second
baptême. L’habit des moines bouddhistes évoque
le détachement du monde. L’investiture du patriar-
cat zen se fait par la transmission de la robe, de la
kâsaya. Le maître soufi donne son manteau à celui
qu’il admet dans sa communauté. Les franges du
vêtement sacerdotal hébreu symbolisent la pluie de
la grâce. L’entrée dans une société secrète chinoise
suppose qu’on revête une robe blanche. En Chine,
le vêtement impérial est rond en haut au col et
carré en bas, symbolisant le ciel et la terre. Il
est fait de douze bandes comme l’année de douze
mois (harmonie) ; les manches sont rondes (grâce
du mouvement) ; la couture dorsale est droite (rec-
titude) ; le bord inférieur horizontal (paix du cœur).
Reflet des croyances aussi que la tiare pontificale
imitée de la babylonienne qui indiquait la souverai-
neté du prince sur les mondes du ciel, de la terre et
des enfers ! Dans la tenue des prêtres pour l’office
religieux catholique, l’amict, l’aube, la ceinture,
la chasuble, le brassard, la chape étaient endossés
en récitant la prière adéquate rappelant leur si-
gnification. Pour les Toungouzes, le vêtement est
une armure. Pour les femmes évé en grossesse,
V efuka est la ceinture magique fabriquée à partir
d’herbes, de plumes et d’écorces, à vertu protec-
trice, qui doit leur éviter une fausse couche. Serrée
autour des reins, directement sur la peau, en bas du
ventre, elle doit être descendue par les pieds une
semaine environ avant l’accouchement comme rite
présageant une heureuse délivrance.
On peut se demander si le goût actuel des
prêtres et officiers pour des vêtements civils et
laïcs ne va pas dans le sens d’une désacralisation
et d’une perte du sens du symbole. Evitement d’un
repérage à risque ? Sans doute ! Reniement d’une
appartenance ? Pas tout-à-fait !
En Afrique occidentale, observons les fidèles
d’un vaudou. Dans un couvent initiatique chez les
Evé du Togo adeptes de Mami Wata, les femmes
déjà initiées, aux seins nus, au ventre couvert
de volants bariolés et superposés formant jupe
gonflée comme un champignon juste au-dessous
de la poitrine, portent un foulard blanc sur la tête
(signe de pureté et de sacralisation), les hommes
leur costume de tous les jours. La prêtresse guide
une fille, couverte seulement d’un cache-sexe dont
deux bandes retombent par devant (retour à la
tradition) ; les fesses sont nues avec des ceintures
de perles sur les hanches. Elle a des rubans aux
poignets et aux chevilles, trois colliers de cauris,
la tête tondue, le visage et la poitrine peints
de signes magiques au kaolin. La jeune fille est
sur le point de tomber en transe. Le prêtre ou
féticheur en retrait et nu-pied n’a qu’un court
pagne blanc de la ceinture au mollet. Un autre
prêtre en attirail semblable prend pose avec un
inoffensif python royal enroulé autour du cou. Il
est sous la protection du dieu serpent Dan (cf.
Chesi 1982).
Parmi les symboles divers du vêtement, celui
des couleurs s’ajoute à ceux de la matière et de
la forme. Pour qui a fait vœu de pauvreté en
Occident, convient une robe de bure, c’est-à-dire
de laine brune grossière pour les franciscains.
Le blanc sied à l’ordre dominicain, le noir aux
bénédictins. Pourquoi la robe gris-bleu des Filles
de la Charité de Saint Vincent de Paul ? Parce
que le pastel n’était pas à l’époque une teinture
coûteuse, comme plus tard l’indigo permettant
de teindre les bleus de travail et les costumes
militaires. Au XIXe siècle, le pantalon des soldats
français sera rouge pour encourager la culture
de la garance. La pourpre cardinalice comme les
manteaux princiers s’élaboraient par contre avec
un rouge coûteux. En Afrique du golfe de Guinée,
le rouge est associé à la santé et à la vitalité,
au Congo central à la puissance royale. Pour
cette raison, les fidèles du prophète André Matswa
au Congo Brazzaville couvraient l’autel où ils
célébraient leur culte d’une nappe rouge évoquant
le Dieu Tout-Puissant.
En France, le noir a été mis en vogue par
Philippe le Bon, duc de Bourgogne et Charles
Quint au XVIe siècle en tant que fond adéquat
pour mettre en valeur les bijoux. En Afrique
ressortent bien sur une peau noire les costumes
masculins clairs. Tandis que le blanc était la
couleur traditionnelle des ancêtres et du deuil, c’est
désormais le foncé, le bleu-nuit ou le violet qui
dominent (non pas le noir uni) comme signe de
deuil sous l’influence de l’Europe.
Fonction économique
La christianisation, la colonisation, l’économie
de marché ont évidemment touché à l’économie
du vêtement en accroissant son importance dans
le budget familial à partir même des préludes
au mariage. Le prétendant généreux doit trouver
de multiples occasions d’offrir des foulards à sa
fiancée. Au nombre et à la beauté des pagnes
dans le trousseau de la mariée, on jugera de
l’aisance des familles. Beaux et coûteux seront
les costumes de fête et de bal des dames, “qui
épuisaient son budget” me disait mon collègue
et ami le professeur Djibril Tamsir Niane, auteur
de “Soundjata ou l’épopée mandingue” (I960)-
Anthropos 103.2008
71
Le vêtement en Afrique noire et ailleurs
Au Nigéria, la valeur de la garde-robe excède
celle de tous les autres biens possédés y compris
l’habitation. L’estimation en est faite souvent par
efluivalence en têtes de bétail.
L’importance économique du vêtement est évi-
demment liée à son prix, à sa valeur mythifiée, aux
Mouvements de la publicité et du commerce dans
une Afrique accédant depuis peu à la fabrication du
textile. La commercialisation des pagnes de coton
luiprimé, étudiée par Rita Cordonnier (1987) sur
L marché de Lomé, ne s’explique pas seulement
Pur le désir féminin de se vêtir et de se distinguer
Ae qui existe partout), ni même par l’existence
de classes aisées sur cette partie de la Côte des
esclaves, mais surtout par les liens de la côte
togolaise et ghanéenne dès les années vingt avec
1 import-export britannique de textiles provenant
Notamment de Manchester, par la situation des
femmes évé et mina sur la côte qui participent fai-
blement aux travaux agricoles et ont le droit de dis-
poser d’une partie des biens gérés au nom du mari.
esprit d’entreprise et de profit gagne du terrain
l
dans les années cinquante à Lomé et Aného, chez
es hommes comme chez les femmes qui prennent
en main la revente de tissus de la Côte-d’Ivoire
JUsqu’au Gabon. Elles obtiennent l’exclusivité de
Certains imprimés achetés directement au produc-
eur et revendus en gros ou demi-gros à des asso-
rtions de revendeuses qui négocient leur patente
avec le gouvernement en jouant comme groupe
de
Pression. Des “Nanas-Benz”, c’est-à-dire des
teumies fortunées qui roulent en Mercédès-Benz,
dit qu’elles ont troqué leur pouvoir génésique
' oaucoup à leur âge sont ménopausées) contre
e Pouvoir de faire de l’argent. A leur rente en
Mvail obtenu par l’économie informelle et par la
tehle rémunération des manutentionnaires du tissu
aJoute une rente de situation due au marché cen-
rah à la présence en ville d’équipements banquiers
e crédit et des maisons d’import-export. Stimulé
Par la demande, la commerçante pousse à l’achat,
Ce flui fait vivre aussi toutes les petites couturières
de la ville.
fonction esthétique et la mode
|^a fonction esthétique du vêtement relève en fait
des
systèmes de valeurs en cours dans une société
une certaine époque. Elle est autant liée à une
Psychosociologie du goût dans ses variétés et
Mtés qu’à une socio-anthropologie de la mode
^am ses variations. Si la mode répond à un désir
mfluencer, elle montre aussi comment l’individu
influençable par la collectivité. Il est vrai que la
ônth
roPos 103.2008
communion s’effectue mieux par la conformité de
la vêture et qu’ajouté aux civilités, le vêtement est
pièce d’identité pour l’entrée dans un groupe. Voilà
pourquoi on suit la mode, domaine de l’éphémère
séducteur et de la différenciation marginale.
La revue Femme d’Afrique donne le “la” et
les couturières de Lomé, de Ouagadougou, de
Kinshasa et de Cotonou, de tenter d’imiter tel
modèle, et les clientes de requérir tel “patron” de
robe en papier découpé pour séduire leur patron
à elles. Une étude des médias africains (radio,
télé, presse) indiquerait les circuits de diffusion
sociale rapide, à partir de quoi on pourrait saisir
par confrontation avec des observations de terrain,
les temps de vie plus ou moins courts de telle
façon de se vêtir. Il faudrait aussi préciser quelles
minorités (couturiers, commerçants, stars locales)
impulsent ces diverses modes ; comment joue le
prestige de telle ou telle ville (Abidjan, Dakar,
Brazzaville) ou le statut social du porteur, dans
l’effet d’imitation. Je pense au boubou, au calot
de feutre et au mouchoir blanc de Sékou Touré
de 1954 à 1984, au costume à col dit Mao,
veste boutonnée bord à bord, du président Mobutu
du Zaïre dont l’inspiration est plus indienne que
chinoise en réalité. L’imitation du modèle par des
gradés du Parti avait valeur d’identification.
Quoique stigmatisée parfois comme frivolité, la
mode n’en demeure pas moins un sujet prestigieux
lié à l’activité de l’imaginaire, au fétichisme et à
la magie de l’apparence, même si le regard scien-
tifique semble désacralisateur sous prétexte qu’il
y a un hyperculte de la mode et une mort rapide
dans le démodé. Il s’agit moins là de la soumission
à un désir indéterminé et débridé que du jeu de
passage ludique auxquels se livrent les créateurs
vestimentaires et les élégantes. Les thèmes de jeu-
nesse, de vacances, de disponibilité du corps, de
sérieux du travail, ont incomparablement moins
d’importance dans le théâtre africain de la mode
que sur la scène européenne, mais ici comme là, la
mode est bien l’esprit de la modernité, le lieu où se
nouent la volonté d’individualité dans la différence
et l’incorporation à la bande des semblables de
même époque.
Psychologiquement la mode est importante
pour qui s’y implique et affirme sa modernité,
son appartenance un moment à une génération
(même du troisième âge) pour ne se sentir ni exclus
ni différent. Historiquement, elle ne se manifeste
que dans les classes élevées au XIVe siècle et à
partir de l’Italie. Elle ne se développera qu’avec
l’industrie du textile au XIXe siècle, même s’il
existe des vogues passagères comme celle du ca-
chemire à la fin du XVIIIe siècle, présente dans
72
Claude Rivière
les châles en laine de chèvre imprimée avec mo-
tifs de palmettes. Comme du temps du Bourgeois
gentilhomme de Molière, l’imitation du costume
et sa propagation s’opèrent à partir de la classe la
plus favorisée et comme dans l’Ancien Régime,
où elle était représentative de la cour princière de
France dont le prestige s’imposait à l’Europe, la
mode reste en rapport étroit avec la hiérarchie du
pouvoir.
En Afrique, où les gens la captent-ils ? Bien
sûr, aux réceptions de la classe supérieure, mais
encore aux aéroports, aux défilés politiques, au
marché où s’exhibent quelques élégantes, aux
sorties d’églises, etc. Lieu plus précis encore : la
poitrine ou l’arrière-train d’Africaines enjolivées
par l’effigie d’un chef d’État en médaillon, le
pagne étant sorti d’usine en vue du prochain
meeting politique.
Quoi qu’on dise du retour régulier du chan-
gement de mode et de la mode du changement,
la mode ne réussit que si elle exprime les aspi-
rations majoritaires d’un groupe social : rêve et
mystère pour la romantique française début de
siècle, force et rock pour les jeunes habillés de
Cacharel ou Hechter à partir de 1964. L’Afrique
connaît, bien sûr, les griffes prestigieuses du
prêt-à-porter comme l’a admirablement montré le
congolais Julien Gandoulou, fin observateur de la
SAPE (Société des Ambianceurs et des Personnes
Elégantes) à Bacongo (1984). Les sapeurs sont
assidus au voyage initiatique à Paris pour y capter
des marques.
Yves Delaporte résume ainsi les recherches de
Gandoulou :
Ces jeunes gens originaires de milieux très modestes,
souvent paysans, au niveau scolaire rudimentaire, axent
la totalité de leur existence sur le luxe vestimentaire et
l’art de paraître. Le voyage initiatique à Paris, où ils
deviennent Aventuriers, est accompli dans le but de se
procurer des vêtements griffés par les grands couturiers.
Vivant dans des conditions précaires, souvent dans la
clandestinité, dormant dans des taudis, se privant du
nécessaire, ne mangeant à leur faim qu’au hasard de
petits larcins, ils ont une obsession : se procurer la
“gamme”, c’est-à-dire la panoplie vestimentaire consti-
tuée de complets en gabardine, en lin, en cuir (9 000 F),
en daim, de chaussures en peau de crocodile (5 200 F),
etc., dont la valeur totale atteint plusieurs dizaines de
milliers de francs. C’est seulement alors qu’ils pourront
envisager le retour au pays, où un public de jeunes
fans les jugeront dès leur descente d’avion, les moquant
impitoyablement au moindre manquement. En cas de
réussite, ils deviendront Parisiens à Brazzaville après
avoir été Aventuriers à Paris. Mimant les membres de
la classe dominante jusque dans leur apparence physique
(embonpoint soigneusement entretenu par un gavage à
la semoule de blé dur, coupe de cheveux imitant une cal-
vitie), ils se réunissent alors dans des clubs dont l’entrée
se fait sur présentation d’un ticket de métro parisien, et
où l’on exécute la “danse des griffes” : sur un rythme de
rumba, chacun exhibe ses différentes griffes, ouvrant sa
veste, remontant son pantalon pour laisser apparaître la
griffe des chaussettes ou des chaussures (“Cette griffe,
c’est Torrente/Cette griffe, c’est Valentino-Uomo/Cette
griffe, c’est Daniel Hechter/Cette griffe, pour ce qui est
des chaussures, c’est J.-M. Weston”, etc.) ... (Delaporte
1990: 1019 s.).
Le domaine de la mode ne s’étend pas qu’aux
vêtements “dernier cri” mais à la parure, aux
mondanités, à la consommation ostentatoire. Si
le dandy vit pour s’habiller et si son existence
consiste en le port d’un vêtement, tout en tirant
de sa revente le profit d’un autre voyage à Paris,
la mode joue sur de nombreux paramètres : tissu,
coupe, forme, couleur ... Mais Protée n’est pas
destiné à ceux qui manquent de protéines.
Quant au goût, du domaine de l’appréciation
communautaire et des valeurs, on sait qu’il va-
rie beaucoup d’un pays à l’autre. Plus d’échelle
partagée de l’élégance, ni de souverains comme
référents du goût, mais le goût (hors saveur)
continue de s’attacher au vêtement et à la parure
plus qu’à la nourriture. Chaque peuple considère
beaux ses vêtements et laids ou curieux ceux qui
n’obéissent pas aux mêmes canons. Le critère
du beau est ici de sobriété des coloris, de sim-
plicité des formes, là d’éclat des couleurs ou
d’exubérance dans l’ornementation, mais partout
le goût esthétique reste associé au prestige so-
cial, à la richesse et à ce qu’on exhibe dans les
réjouissances collectives.
Le dandy vit pour s’habiller. Son existence
consiste en le port du vêtement. Il sait bien que
la subtilité, l’élégance, la brillance sont facteurs
d’agrégation. Cependant la communion s’effectue
mieux par la conformité de la vêture. Et ajouté
aux civilités, le vêtement est pièce d’identité pour
l’entrée dans un groupe, a fortiori dans le groupe
de la Haute Couture. Ce qui est en jeu dans
la Haute Couture, c’est la rareté du producteur-
créateur, lequel, par le procédé de la griffe, constL
tue des objets rares et change leur valeur sans
en modifier la nature matérielle. De l’importance
de l’innovation en Abidjan et de la luxuriance
des pagnes coupés cousus, Anne Grosfilley donne
un aperçu saisissant dans la dernière partie de sa
recherche sur “le paysage textile ouest-africain”
(2001).
Anthropos 103.2008
Le vêtement en Afrique noire et ailleurs
Le costume et le reste
n se focalisant sur le pagne africain, le chercheur
Prend le risque parfois de négliger les accessoires
e 1 armure textile, qui ont pourtant leur impor-
ance dans je tjssu socjai comme le note Paul
°nnet évoquant le déplacement du besoin de
Se vêtir sur les détails et accessoires. “S’habiller
®st le propre de l’homme. Supprimez le voile et
invente des lunettes de soleil, qui permettent
paiement de voir sans être vu. Supprimez le gant,
. Se vernit les ongles. Supprimez les poches et il
jnvente le sac. Supprimez le chapeau et il se teint
s cheveux, se les frise. Supprimez le corset et il
Se muscle” (Yonnet 1985 : 307).
L y a cinquante ans, les élégantes d’Europe,
yeuves ou non, rabattaient de leur chapeau à
°rd une voilette de gaze mouchetée. Quant au
uiard de tête africain, il se porte de différentes
panières, notamment à la “mon mari est capable”
^ventuellement sur une coiffure de jolies tresses
coupant le cerveau des belles. Les Afghanes de
ere talibane étaient condamnées, elles, à regarder
Par le judas de leur tchadri. Les voiles de Lamu
anent aux belles kenyanes une silhouette un
arabe qui les valorise. Le Sénégalais avec
s babouches et le Touareg avec ses semelles
liantes fixées au pied par des lanières de
lr Prennent leur pied à se chausser de beaux
accessoires.
Concurrents du vêtement comme parure sont le
fimllage et je bijou ; bijou qui peut être fibule
^ belle Indienne Nez-percé ou d’une Mont-
-p mraine trouée de partout, labret d’une Sara du
. ad, ceinture d’or d’une soudanaise ; maquillage
1 ^eut ®tre peinture corporelle d’un Peul bororo
(j, rï une adepte évé de Mami Wata, peau ambrée
£ Uae allogène de Saint-Trop, tatouage facial d’une
flotrbere ou dorsal d’un barbare de Palavas-les-
s- Autant d’ornements distinctifs et de formes
esthéti
lc[ues, éventuellement à but de protection
vgte * - Mais l’ornement peut faire partie du
logique.
-ment et participer aux mêmes fonctions.
c ^ enveloppe, sinon l’emballage, joue dans la
du rtlUn^cation humaine tout autant que la couleur
Plumage ou du pelage, la roue du paon ou la
séci • P^eon dans l’érotique ritualisée de la
UneUc'i°n animale. Se faire prendre le foulard ou
juv - C^aUSSUre entre dans les jeux de la sexualité
mie tout comme les oscillations fessières du
cin ne accentuent les cambrures séduisantes. Fas-
tüfi^s pour la vie étemelle sont les chefs sta-
au SUr ^eur tombe dans cimetière de Davié
le °r^ route Lomé-Tsévié. Avec réalisme
Sculpteur-peintre local a représenté le défunt
Anth
73
comme vivant avec sa passementerie, son om-
brelle, ses lunettes, sa montre-bracelet, son chasse-
mouche, etc., autant de signes de son grade et de
sa modernité.
Changements
Sur le vivant, ou plutôt la vivante actuelle, la
pamre et le vêtement changent à un rythme soute-
nu : la robe monte ou descend des chevilles au
genou selon l’année, la ceinture se porte large
une saison, étroite une autre. Dans le long temps
de la progression de la société industrielle mo-
derne s’observent de profonds bouleversements
dans l’habillement. Plus vite que n’a regressée la
haute coiffure de dentelle bretonne ou des Sables
d’Olonne balayée par le vent, en Afrique, le pagne
a lui-même balayé les bandes de coton cousues
avec quelques réserves pour passer la tête et les
bras. Les tergal, toile de jean, lycra, nylon fin ou
popeline ajourée de broderie anglaise ont remplacé
avantageusement les écorces, peaux et cotonnades
grossières. L’homme initié porte des pantalons
cousus et coupés dans des tissus de pagne tandis
que le pré-initié, le bilakow du manding, porte la
culotte courte trouée hors des bancs de l’école.
Le changement affecte aussi le recyclage, car
des morceaux de pagne usagés servent de serviette
hygiénique, de linceul, de doublure ou de torchons.
Le marché de la fripe est en efflorescence comme
dans tous les milieux populaires. Changement
encore que le passage la même journée de la
jupe ample utilisée pour les tâches ménagères,
au pagne serré pour se montrer au marché ou
un jour de fête. Changement de provenance des
tissus : java hollandais préféré par certaines au wax
anglais et au fancy des industries africaines aux
fibres de coton plus courtes et aux teintures moins
résistantes au lavage satisfaisant les budgets un
peu serrés. Changements enfin dans la sémantique,
par folklorisation, dans la mesure où les provinces
et associations tendent aussi à se manifester pour
les fêtes dans leurs parures et habits originaux,
encore que les spécificités ne soient pas issues d’un
lointain passé.
Conclusion
Ces observations rapides montrent combien des
recherches sont ouvertes sur de nombreux objets
textiles : techniques et décors des batiks, pan-
neaux sénoufo avec tracés noirs à l’encre de Chine
sur toile écrue d’animaux et de masques stylisés,
lr°pos 103.2008
74
Claude Rivière
patchworks dahoméens symbolisant des devises
royales, tissus ajourés et brodés (style hongrois)
de Madagascar et des Comores (robes enfantines,
collerettes, nappes, napperons, chemins de table)
qui font le bonheur des touristes et des fonction-
naires locaux.
Comme les lavoirs, buanderies et blanchis-
seuses ont été étudiées en France par Yvonne Ver-
dier (1979) notamment, il serait utile d’examiner
en Afrique la lessive chez soi et au marigot,
l’usage du savon noir et des cendres potassées,
le séchage, les manières de repasser à la massue
de bois, à la plaque de fonte, au fer à braise.
Qu’en est-il du trousseau de la mariée ? Comment
se constitue-t-il ? Quels sont les lieux et le mobilier
de rangement (selon la classe sociale) du linge
de maison, du linge de corps, des vêtements ?
Selon quelles précautions et interdits ? De quelle
manière et avec quels tissus porte-t-on l’enfant
sur le dos ou sur la hanche ? Quels sont les
vêtements de la petite enfance selon le sexe et
l’âge? Dans quels endroits s’habille-t-on? Outre
les modes de confection et les usages du pagne
et d’autres vêtements féminins et masculins, on
spécifiera l’effet produit et l’allure, dont cet aspect
glissé de la démarche, buste droit de l’Africaine
habituée à porter sur la tête des bassines d’eau et
sur le dos son demier-né, ou la manière qu’ont
les élégantes de parader. Quelle est l’étape finale
de l’utilisation d’un vêtement? Par quelles voies
et à quels rythmes s’opèrent la transmission des
modes de la ville à la campagne ? Les emprunts
vont-ils du groupe majoritaire vers les groupes
minoritaires ?
La lecture de revues africanistes, de magazines
de mode africaine et de divers ouvrages permettrait
de rédiger plusieurs centaines de pages à ce pro-
pos. La lecture d’André Leroi-Gourhan suggérera
aussi des indices de classement des vêtements. Le
premier qu’il propose dans “Milieu et techniques”
(1945) est le point d’appui du vêtement sur la
partie qu’il couvre : tête, cou, épaules, coudes,
mains, poitrine, taille, hanches, haut des cuisses,
genoux, pieds ... Le point d’appui principal se
double d’appuis secondaires. Ainsi le sari indien
prend appui à la taille, aux épaules et parfois sur
la tête. Tel cône de long raphia des pénitents évé
(alaga) s’enfile sur la tête comme un masque. Pour
les hommes, le kenté akan couvre l’épaule gauche,
chez les femmes, il handicape le geste de la main
droite.
La lecture d’un dictionnaire des locutions mon-
trerait pour les francophones, même d’Afrique,
le pittoresque de l’ancien attirail vestimentaire :
tourner casaque (si la doublure du manteau sur
l’armure avait la couleur de l’ennemi au XVIe
siècle), emplir son pourpoint (c’est-à-dire s’en
mettre plein la panse), triste comme un bonnet
de nuit (qui en porte désormais ?), faire suer le
burnous (employer la main-d’oeuvre maghrébine).
Ce monsieur, s’il n’était vieux comme Hérode, il
serait vieux comme mes robes ! On conseille de ne
pas se fier aux apparences, pourtant Erving Goff-
man (1973) souligne que l’attitude habituelle est
de sauvegarder les apparences. Tandis que l’enfant
s’accroche aux basques de sa mère, le naïf a un
bandeau sur les yeux, l’oublieux fait un nœud à
son mouchoir, le violent, lui, saute sur le pale-
tot, certains sont de la jaquette flottante, l’homme
peureux fait dans son froc et la femme porte la
culotte. Si tel homme politique retournait sa veste,
il risquerait de ramasser une veste aux élections,
mais chacun entrera dans sa redingote de sapin au
cimetière.
Références citées
Balandier, Georges, et al.
1968 Dictionnaire des civilisations africaines. Paris : Fernand
Hazan.
Braudel, Fernand
1985 La dynamique du capitalisme. Paris : Arthaud.
Chapman, Anne MacKaye
2002 El fin de un mundo. Los selk’nam de Tierra del
Fuego. Santiago de Chile ; Taller Experimental Cuerpos
Pintados.
Chesi, Gert
1982 Vaudou. Paris : Fournier Diffusion. [lère éd. allemande,
1979]
Cordonnier, Rita
1987 Femmes africaines et commerce. Les revendeuses de
tissu de la ville de Lomé (Togo). Paris : Éditions
L’Harmattan.
Delaporte, Yves
1990 Le vêtement dans les sociétés traditionelles. In : J. Poi-
rier (éd.), Histoire des mœurs. Tome 1 : Les coordon-
nées de l’homme et la culture matérielle; pp. 961^
1031. Paris : Éditions Gallimard.
Gandoulou, Justin-Daniel
1984 Entre Paris et Bacongo. Paris : Centre Georges Pompi-
dou.
Garine, Igor de
1975 Les Massa du Cameroun. Vie économique et sociale-
Paris : PUF. [1964]
Goffman, Erving
1973 La mise en scène de la vie quotidienne. Tome 1 ; La
présentation de soi. Paris : Éditions de Minuit. [lère éd-
américaine: 1971]
Anthropos 103.2008
vêtement en Afrique noire et ailleurs
^rosfilley, Anne
1 Entre artisanat et industrie. L’aventure post-coloniale
du paysage textile ouest africain. Montpellier. [Thèse
de Doctorat, Université P. Valéry, Montpellier III]
|*u8<>, Victor
" La légende des siècles. Paris : M. Lévy.
l99QUrthe'Tolra’ PhiliPPe
Vers la lumière ? ou le désir d’Ariel. À propos des Beti
du Cameroun. Paris ; Éditions Karthala.
^¡■Gourhan, André
Milieu et techniques. Paris : Éditions Albin Michel.
Ml
ercier> Paul
1968
Tradition, changement, histoire. Les “Somba” du Daho-
mey septentrional. Paris : Éditions Anthropos.
75
Niane, Djibril Tamsir
1960 Soundjata ou l’épopée mandingue. Paris : Présence
africaine.
Piault, Colette
1975 Albert Atcho et son monde. In : C. Piault et al. (dir.),
Prophétisme et thérapeutique. Albert Atcho et la com-
munauté de Bregbo ; pp. 27-85. Paris : Hermann.
Rivière, Claude
1981 Anthropologie religieuse des Évé du Togo. Lomé:
Nouvelles éditions africaines.
Verdier, Yvonne
1979 Façons de dire, façons de faire. Paris : Gallimard.
Yonnet, Paul
1985 Jeux, modes et masses. La société française et le
moderne, 1945-1985. Paris: Gallimard.
*nthi
roP°s 103.2008
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Anthropos
103.2008: 77-98
The Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing
among the Dogon of Mali
Paul J. Lane
stfaet. _ This article provides a detailed account of the
culture and techniques associated with the local man-
Ab,
Serial
thgC^Ure °f cloth and clothing among a Dogon community in
an an"a region of Mali in the early 1980s. It also provides
gavaeCC0Unt of some of the key symbolic associations Dogon
asso ,to cl°th, male and female clothing styles, and the tasks
art- with cloth manufacture over this same period. The
the
concludes with a discussion of the broader relevance of
°gy s^udy to understanding the nature and meaning of technol-
signifi ^'Hhustrial societies, and offers suggestions as to the
and Cance of observations concerning the tasks of spinning
otherWeaving among the Dogon made by Marcel Griaule and
the ^,f'Tlernhers of his research team in the early decades of
cloth CenturY- [Mali, Dogon, technology, spinning, weaving,
tymbolism, discard practices]
To be naked is to be speechless (Ogotemmêli
in Griaule 1965 [1949]: 82).
To construct a technology is not merely to
deploy materials and techniques; it is also to
construct social and economic alliances, to
invent new legal principles for social rela-
tions, and to provide powerful new vehicles
for culturally-provided myths (Pfaffenberger
1988: 249).
Introduction
Lane, archaeologist based at the Dept, of Archaeology,
diversity of York - He was a lecturer in archaeology at the
^versity of Dar es Salaam (1989-91) and the University
^ Botswana (1992-97). Prior to moving to York he was
2(!rector of the British Institute in Eastern Africa from 1998—
~ He conducted ethnoarchaeological fieldwork among
jg ^°§on on their organisation of residential space during the
0s as part of his PhD research at Cambridge University,
Cq has carried out similar studies among Zigua and Bonde
th ^unities in Tanzania. His current research interests include
ec °'ocene archaeology of the Lake Victoria basin, historical
of T°8y ^ast African landscapes, the historical archaeology
ha ] SW/aria anh Luo communities, and the archaeology of slave
lri8 in Southern Sudan. — His publications include Ditswa
an^'Un§- The Archaeology of Botswana” (coedited with A. Reid
a. , A- Segobye, Gaborone 1998) and “African Historical
Well ae(h°8'es” (coedited with A. Reid, New York 2004), as
alo !S 0ver forty articles in journals and edited books. - See
1S0Ref- Cited.
Among the Dogon peoples of east-central Mali,
cloth and clothing, as well as having practical
utility, form an important focus of symbolic and
sociological concerns. In the recent past, for ex-
ample, several different styles of clothing existed,
each with its distinct name, circumstances of use,
and association with a particular age and gender
grouping (G. Griaule 1951). The Dogon still ob-
serve a variety of dress codes, and the wearing of
clothes, from everyday use to ceremonial attire, is
governed by a clear, if more or less implicit, eti-
quette. Although some of the distinctions noted by
anthropologists in the 1930s-1950s have become
blurred during the course of the last fifty years,
certain basic contrasts between different social cat-
egories continued to be signalled through styles
of dress at the time of my fieldwork in the early
1980s. Nevertheless, it needs to be noted at the
78
Paul J. Lane
outset that since the colonial period Western cloth-
ing has taken on increasing importance, especially
among young men, as symbols of “modernity” and
social advancement (Dougnon 2003), which has
resulted in a shift in both formal styles and their
social and symbolic referents. Recent research by
Douny (2007) has highlighted other aspects to the
social symbolism of cloth and clothing among the
Dogon in the 21st century. She notes in partic-
ular that whereas young men and women now
commonly purchase a diverse range of imported
clothing products from local markets and typically
wear “the latest fashion” while out working in the
fields, older people tend to wear the same clothes
day in day out. For these older people, Douny
argues, wearing the same clothes on a daily basis is
symbolic of the accumulative nature of their labour
and the passage of time, which are both revealed
by the smell of sweat and the dust that adheres to
their work clothes and the tiny rents in the fabric.
By putting on their “better” clothes and changing
their apparel for participation in other activities
such as attending ceremonies or going to market,
these individuals are able to “distance themselves
corporally from daily routine” and exhibit a “re-
newal of the self in public” (Douny 2007:244),
and so signal their ability to overcome the rigours
of daily life.
Spinning and weaving, the two crafts most
closely associated with cloth production are sim-
ilarly of more than utilitarian importance. Dogon
funeral poetry and eulogies make frequent refer-
ence to these tasks and to their respective products.
Some of the tools used for these crafts are even
deposited at the edge of the cemeteries at the time
of burial. Weaving skills, in particular, are highly
regarded, and mythical accounts of the discovery
of the technique are said to form a prominent part
of Dogon cosmology (e.g., Griaule 1948, 1949,
1952; Griaule and Dieterlen 1965). Weaving is
also likened metaphorically to speaking (Calame-
Griaule 1965), and in several Dogon dialects the
two words share the same root. On a more prosaic
level, the spinning and weaving of locally grown
cotton are important household activities, and the
production of clothing and other textiles involves
all segments of Dogon society.
The area the Dogon occupy also has a long
history of textile use (and possibly production),
and is the source of the largest collection of textiles
recovered from archaeological contexts anywhere
in sub-Saharan Africa (Bedaux et Bolland 1980;
Bolland 1991). Numbering roughly five hundred
pieces, these were recovered from a series of caves
high up in the cliff-face of the Bandiagara escarp-
ment. The caves were used as ossuaries between
the A.D. 11th and 18th centuries, and the textile
remains come from various items of clothing and
coverings which were deposited with the dead
along with a range of other grave goods made
from clay, wood, leather, and iron.1 Similar caves
are still used for the disposal of the dead by the
Dogon communities who currently live along the
line of the escarpment. More importantly, perhaps,
the weaving techniques and the methods of making
individual garments used in the distant past close-
ly resemble those employed today, which could
indicate that at least some of the archaeological
textiles were locally made. Given that there is
widespread linguistic, archaeological and skeletal
evidence to suggest that there have been a num-
ber of significant cultural and biological changes
among the populations living along the Bandiagara
escarpment over the last one thousand years,2 this
continuity in textile technology is even more strik-
ing especially as the linguistic evidence suggests
that the Dogon adopted their weaving techniques
from the Peul, Soninké, and/or Manding (Boser-
Sarivaxévanis 1991).
Most previous studies of different aspects of
this technology have picked up on the importance
of cloth, its producers, and uses in Dogon thought
and society. By and large, however, these have
tended to focus either on the claimed cosmological
significance of the craft and its products,3 or on the
purely technical details of production.4 * More re-
cent studies have begun to consider elements of the
social and historical importance of cloth (Dougnon
2003; Gardi 2003). None of these studies, how-
ever, have sought to link these with the rela-
tions and organisation of production. Certain syrn-
bolic connotations of the crafts and the objects
used in cloth production have also been over-
1 The finds were recovered from seven separate caves and
comprised a mix of mostly complete pieces and fragments
of cotton textiles, plus a handful made from either wool or a
combination of wool and cotton. Tunics, caps, and blankets
were by far the commonest types of textile, although other
examples included pieces of trousers, chin straps, wrappers»
bags, and girdles (Bolland 1991: 52 f.). In terms of their
method of fabrication, most were in either plain or weft'
faced plain weaves. A few examples of warp-faced plai11
weave, however, were also found. Dyed threads, particular-
ly indigo blue but also brown, were widely used to mak6
stripes of different colours with a variety of simple motifs-
2 See Bedaux 1988; Gallay et al. 1995; Mayor et al. 2005-
3 Griaule 1965:69-74; N’Diaye 1971; Brett-Smith 1990-
91; Boser-Sarivaxevanis 1972.
4 G. Griaule 1951; Bolland 1991, 1992; Boser-Sarivaxevanis
1991.
Anthropos 103.2008
79
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
looked.5 The aim of this article, therefore, is to
Provide a fuller and more rounded account of the
s°cial context and symbolism of cloth production
and clothing styles alongside a detailed ethno-
§raphic account of the crafts and associated equip-
ment of spinning and weaving.
^°gon Social Organisation
The Dogon of the Sanga region are a patrilineal
s°ciety divided according to principles of lineage
Segmentation into a number of agnatic descent
§r°ups. In cliff-line villages, where most of the
research reported here was carried out,6 by far
ne most important of these is the minor lineage
m ginna (Paulme 1940; Tait 1950). Each minor
meage is composed of between three and four
generations of agnatic kin and their affinal depen-
ents. The head of this group is always the eldest
1Vlng male agnate. Known as the ginu bar/a, he
as his own compound (ginu na, or more simply,
which he shares with his wife or wives,
mrriage is polygynous, and a man may take up
0 three wives; most, however, restrict themselves
two. Each married man lives in a separate com-
P°tmd, and as part of the marriage contract he must
Pmvide each of his wives with her own house,
an<^ often her own granary for storing personal
Possessions and any secondary crops she produces,
tthough a man may have to build all or some of
bel
structures in his compound, the space itself
°ngs to his lineage, and following a change in
^tUs that requires a change in residence, or his
ath, the compound can be allocated to another
ltieage member (Lane 1994).
Alongside lineage and clan (binu) affiliation,
. 0 and gender provide the main axes of so-
1 °rganisation. Men have ultimate control over
st lineage resources, and are responsible for all
oiton {Gossypium sp.) has been grown and woven into
°th in West Africa for at least a thousand years. Many
archaeological sites, especially in the Inland Niger Delta
an<t the Middle Senegal River areas, contain spindle whorls,
, ah the earliest known examples dated to the A.D. 10th-
th century (Chavane 1985; McIntosh and McIntosh 1988:
4)- Gossypium pollen has also been recovered from at
st one of these sites, and more recently cotton seeds
TvVe been found at Dia, mostly from Horizons III and
V’ AMS-dated to cal. A.D. 1283-1397 and 1403-1469,
respectively (Arazi 2005: 281 f.; Murray 2005: 390 f.). Even
far ^nC*S ^rom tae Bandiagara escarpment remain by
r the most dramatic archaeological evidence from West
6 p- r.'Ca ^or me use of cotton.
16 Uwork was conducted over two trips for a total of 16
°nths between 1980-83.
Anth]
:roPos 103.2008
overt political decision-making. Women, however,
have considerable practical control over their own
households, and as they become more senior also
over the labour of their sons’ wives and children.
Since lineages are exogamous and postmarital res-
idence is patrilocal, adult women spend much of
their life in their husband’s village among affines.
This can be a source of tension, and, by and large,
married women never feel completely secure. Di-
vorce, however, is relatively easy, and there is a
constant pressure on married men to keep in favour
with their wives.
Older members of society, of either sex, are
treated with considerable respect; their decisions
carry greatest weight and will be the ones that
are generally accepted. As with gender relations,
however, tensions exist between the generations,
especially between younger men and lineage el-
ders. The latter, because of their ultimate authority
over the disposal of lineage resources, which in the
patrilineal settlement includes dwelling space, are
in a strong position to control the course of their
dependents’ lives, and especially the pace of their
transition from adolescent to fully adult status.
Since at least the start of the colonial era, one
strategy to get round this problem has been for
young men to leave the area temporarily and to
work as migrant labourers either in one of the large
towns in Mali or further afield in Ghana (especially
during the colonial era) and the Ivory Coast. The
establishment of neolocal farms and settlements
in the neighbouring Gondo-Séno Plain is a re-
lated strategy aimed at reducing intergenerational
tensions and providing young adult males with
some semblance of autonomy. It is particularly
suited to individuals who, because they are not
the senior son, have little prospect of becoming
the lineage head (see Lane 1986, for details).
Paradoxically, although these strategies are de-
signed to reduce conflicts, because they lead to a
spatial separation of lineage members and allow
for the establishment of semi-independent house-
holds, they can have the opposite effect of en-
couraging fission. In an effort to contain these
and similar potentials, Dogon elders place frequent
emphasis on the mutual interdependence of lineage
members and on the importance of a complemen-
tary division of labour between the sexes. This ide-
ology of lineage commensality finds expression in
a range of different contexts and through a variety
of media, which include ritual prayers, benedic-
tions, and praise songs; folktales and proverbs; and
material symbols of the lineage ideal.
A common feature of all of these is the stress
they put on specific age and gender roles, which
80
Paul J. Lane
Fig. 1 : Two Dogon co-wives
spinning (Tasego, Seno-Gondo
Plain, February 1983). The gin-
ning stone and bar lies near the
feet of the spinner on the right,
and her ball of ash is in the small
calabash just behind her leather-
spinning mat. The woman on the
left is holding her distaff in her
left hand, and there is a pair of
cards beside her on the right.
The small tadu basket in the
foreground contains unspun cot-
ton waiting to be carded (Photo:
P. Lane).
in turn have a powerful effect on the construction
of individual social identities. In short, it is against
these prescribed roles that individual achievements
are gauged, and through which individuals attempt
to negotiate their own sense of self-identity. Mate-
rial culture, as a major vehicle for the expression
and construction of identity, is not immune to these
forces, and the lineage ideology has important
consequences for a variety of spatial patterning,
ranging from the organisation and maintenance of
dwelling space to the form and content of house-
hold inventories (Lane 1986, 2005). The tools and
products of spinning and weaving are similarly ar-
ticulated with this ideological framework, and any
attempt to understand the social organisation and
dynamics of this technology must allow for this.
Cotton, Spinning, and Weaving
Like most other crafts among the Dogon, tex-
tile production is organised along household lines,
and is not the responsibility of a specialised craft
caste as is the case in some other parts of West
Africa, such the Tukolor and Fulani (Dilley 1987;
Tamari 1991). However, unlike the other house-
hold crafts which are performed by either men
(e.g., woodworking) or women (e.g., potting), both
sexes participate in textile production. Members
of the two craft castes (namely, blacksmiths and
leatherworkers) also make important contributions
to the technology. In many ways, therefore, the
organisation of this technology can be seen as a
microcosm of Dogon society, and their tools and
the products of their labour as potent symbols of
these alliances and divisions.
As has already been noted, the area the Dogon
occupy has a long history of textile production, and
as far as one can tell from oral traditions, cotton
and cloth were important products during the late
precolonial era. Desplagnes, the first European to
visit the Dogon in the early years of the 20th
century, for instance, mentions that each “family”
had its own loom (1907: 369), which would imply
fairly widespread production. There was also a
craft caste of specialist dyers and embroiderers
called yeroun,7 who had exclusive responsibility
for the long-distance trade in indigo-dyed cloth
(Brett-Smith 1990-91: 165). Under colonial rule
cotton assumed additional importance after it was
developed into a cash crop, and most lineages
came to rely upon it for payment of the various
taxes imposed by the Frênch administration.8 * Cot-
ton (jiàmu) continues to be grown in the Dogon
region today, although it is no longer a cash crop
of any significance. Instead, most cotton is noW
grown for domestic (i.e., lineage) consumption»
and is generally planted as a secondary crop io
lineage-owned millet fields. Any surplus can be
sold in one of the local markets.
7 Or possibly yéleü - a caste of dyers found in the Gondoh
region (Calame-Griaule 1968: 307).
8 There are no published figures on the monetary valu6
of different cotton products during this period. However.
Paulme notes that raw cotton sold at the market in Sang3
for 80 cowries per “petit tas” (1940: 311), whereas woven
cloth sold for the same amount by “la coudée” [typically
one half-metre] (1940: 312).
Anthropos 103.2008
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
81
Fig. 3: Carding cotton (Tasego, Seno-Gondo Plain, February
1983; Photo: P. Lane).
. Sowing typically takes place at the end of the
ratny season (July-October), and the crop is nor-
ready for harvesting some 100 days later
U'e-’ around February-March), well after other
have been gathered in (Paulme 1940: 177).
her harvesting the bolls are stored until ready
r ginning. Since women are responsible for all
ages of preparing cotton thread, from ginning and
rdjng to spinning, they normally keep the raw
• don in one of the rooms of their house, or else
their personal granary.9 Typically, an old pot,
such
as a disused toroi or buno, is used for this
UrP°se although a wide variety of other contain-
s’ deluding calabashes, baskets, and metal bowls
ay be employed.
The manufacture of cotton thread involves three
ln tasks - “ginning” so as to remove the seeds
°m the harvested bolls; “carding” so as to comb
According to Paulme, in the 1930s a woman had to put
aside sufficient cotton to allow her husband to weave for
himself a shirt or pair of breeches” before she could spin
0r herself (1940: 177, my translation).
Anthj
r°pos 103.2008
out the tangled fibres; and finally “spinning.” All
three tasks are typically carried out in one go, and
the entire process is very much part and parcel of
a woman’s daily routine during the months when
there is minimal farming activity, and especially
in the dry season. Spinning cotton is also a very
sociable activity, and it is common for co-wives
and/or close friends to sit an afternoon in the
shade, and chat while preparing cotton thread
(Fig. 1). During ginning, a small, flat stone10 11 * (lege
tibu) is used (Fig. 2). Cotton bolls are placed on
this, a few at a time, and an iron bar (lege i)n is
rolled over them so as to squeeze out the seeds,
which are retained for replanting. Before starting,
women often tap the stone with their ginning iron,
10 According to informants, it is women who look for suitable
stones and if necessary may prepare them by grinding or
limited dressing with a hammer prior to use.
11 Some informants stated that male children who touch the
ginning iron may become sterile, and care must be taken
to prevent this from happening. Ogotemmêli stated that the
ginning iron is “a symbol of the celestial granary” (Griaule
1965:71).
82
Paul J. Lane
Fig. 4: Transferring spun cotton to a larger spindle for storage
(Tasego, Seno-Gondo Plain, February 1983; Photo: P. Lane).
while at the same time asking for success in their
craft from one of the many Dogon spirits.12 After
ginning, the cotton fibres need to be untangled
prior to spinning. Nowadays, a pair of imported
wooden cards (nàmu wadyi) with short wire teeth
are used (Fig. 3). In the past, this was apparently
done using a carding stick (Griaule 1965: 71).
Next, the carded cotton is wrapped onto a cane
distaff (keri ko), and a thin strand is drawn from
this onto the end of a wooden spindle {gène gala).
Holding the distaff in her left hand, the spinner
twirls the spindle while simultaneously controlling
the twist and drawing the cotton down with the
fingers of her right hand to produce a z-spun
thread. These can be of two thicknesses, which
the Dogon categorise simply as either “thick”
(turn pànu) or “thin” thread {turn gedé). During
spinning the weighted end of the spindle rests
12 This is not just restricted to spinning, as both women and
men will frequently ask for a blessing when beginning a
craft such as potting, weaving, ironworking, and basket-
making.
on a piece of leather (or piece of plastic with
a similar texture), placed on the ground beside
the spinner. Each spinner also places beside her
a small calabash containing a ball of ash {koru).
Made from carbonised bone mixed into a thick
paste with water and then dried in the sun, this is
rubbed onto the spinner’s fingers to prevent them
from sticking to the thread. Once the spindle has
been filled, the thread is transferred to longer and
rather thicker canes (Fig. 4) for storage. These
will be kept together in one of the rooms of the
spinner’s house, or possibly her personal granary,
until the cotton thread is needed for weaving.
Weaving among the Dogon is a male activity
and can be practiced by any man willing to learn.
However, whereas spinning is a generalised female
task and practiced by virtually all adult women,
only a handful of men in any settlement are
practicing weavers (sing, soy tiene). Out of these,
the greater majority produce only simple cotton
strips in plain weave. A smaller number of men
have a much more sophisticated knowledge of
the techniques, and are especially skilled in the
use of coloured wefts and shed sticks to create
cotton strips with various weft-float designs. These
are later sown together into blankets, the most
culturally important of which is the type known
as homo gama, which is used by all lineages as
a burial shroud. With the exception of the indigo-
dyed wrappers (soy dyibe) worn by women, these
various types of blankets are the only finished
items that are regularly produced for local market
sale. Both raw cotton and bolts of single strips
of cloth, on the other hand, can regularly be seen
for sale at local markets. Blankets and wrappers
are also traded outside of the Dogon region,
including in the markets of Bamako and other
major towns, where the deep blue-black colour of
these wrappers is highly valued by other ethnic
groups (Brett-Smith 1990-91: 164, n. 3).
Most weaving is organised at a household level
for domestic consumption, and the cloth reserved
for making everyday clothing for members of the
weaver’s minimal lineage (ginna). Occasionally?
a nonweaver may have commissioned their work-
In such cases, the person commissioning the work
often supplies the weaver with the required amount
of spun cotton from his own household. Payment
for this type of work can either be in kind (i.e., a
portion of the finished product), or in cash. In all
cases, cloth is woven in strips approximately 20"
24 cm wide, using a type of double-heddle,13 * hor-
13 These consist of two horizontal sticks with a series ot
leashes (loops of thread) spanning between them. Each
Anthropos 103.2008
83
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
izontal loom (soi ti). Although variations in loom
dimensions, seating arrangements, angle of warp
threads, and size of strip produced exist, the basic
design is widespread throughout West Africa, and
ls often referred to as a narrow strip or belt loom
(Picton and Mack 1989:93-96). As Picton and
point out, the latter terms are somewhat
Misleading, since what links all of these versions
18 their reliance on a similar set of mechanical
Pnnciples rather than their end products. Thus in
all of these looms the shedding device is a pair of
heddles connected by way of a pulley suspended
h°m above, the warp being mounted more or less
horizontally, and attached below to a pair of pedals
treadles operated by the weaver’s feet. This
eaves his hands free to manipulate the weft, in
Contrast to the single-heddle loom” (Picton and
^dack 1989: 93).
Dogon looms consist of a fairly simple and
h§htweight framework built of roughly hewn
ranches, lashed together with strips of twine pre-
Phred from baobab bark, or some similar material
hig- 5).14 A simple roof made from bundles of
h^Uet straw may be added to this to provide shade.
Weavers either build their own loom within their
c°mpound, or else make use of one that belongs to
^hher a relative or close male friend. Aside from
ne distribution of weaving knowledge, the main
c°nstraint on the location of looms is the availabil-
of sufficient level and unimpeded ground for
^etching the warp threads. In the tightly packed
boulder-strewn villages built along the foot of
y e Pandiagara escarpment, such open spaces are
Muted, and in contrast to Desplagnes’s observa-
,l0n *bat at the turn of the 20th century each family
a<4 a loom, by the 1980s, very few compounds
C°ntained looms.
before weaving can begin, the warp (bumo)
loUst be laid. This can be several tens of metres
.^ng, and the most convenient place for doing this
ln the village or ward “square” (tai go), a large
P£n space mostly used for various masked dances
fie 0t^er c°Uective ceremonies and so relatively
t .e °f obstructions. To lay the warp, the weaver
es one of the large storage spindles of cotton
,°°P “interlinks with its opposite partner so that an eye
ls formed through which one or more warp elements may
Pass (Picton and Mack 1989: 95). Holland, however, calls
ese “shafts” and the type of loom a “double shaft loom,”
as to distinguish this device from a heddle, which strictly
^Peaking consists of only a single rod attached to leashes
'4
enice and Alastair Lamb’s classification, Dogon looms
°ng to their “General Sudanic” type of general frame
°°m (Lamb and Lamb 1980).
Fig. 5: Dogon weaving shuttle in use (Banani Kokoro, 1981;
Photo: P. Lane).
thread and attaches one end to a post or peg pushed
into the ground. At the other end of the square are
two further stakes, which serve as crossing posts.
At various intervals between these, the weaver
places half a dozen large stones. The yarn is then
run back and forth between the two sets of pegs
and round each of the large stones in turn, until
the desired number of warp threads have been laid.
Once this stage has been completed, the warp is
carefully folded into a skein, and left to soak in
water overnight and then left to dry. This is done
so as to make the cotton threads supple and less
prone to break when under tension.
To set up his loom, the weaver begins by
placing a wooden dragstone sledge (soi ti кого)
some metres from the loom. This sledge is used to
carry the warp threads. Next, the weaver attaches
the heddles (liru/livu), beater (or reed) (kolu or
bor/ono kolu), and pulley15 (so; keru) to a support
15 Most pulleys are either undecorated or are marked with
incised lines to create simple hatched designs. Some, how-
ever, have more ornately carved designs similar to much
Dogon wooden sculpture; for an interpretation of the iconol-
^-nth
lroPos 103.2008
84
Paul J. Lane
Fig. 6: Using a shed stick to create weft-float designs in black
(Tasego, Seno-Gondo Plain, February 1983; Photo: P. Lane).
(■waguru) set at right angles to the two main
crossbars on the loom (see Fig. 5). The pedals
{tam-tam) are then attached to the shafts. Next,
the breast (or cloth) beam (me baga) is attached
to the two rear uprights. One end of the breast
beam is perforated, so that a peg (videmo) can be
pushed through this so as to maintain the tension
of the warp threads and to prevent the cloth from
unrolling. Having attached these various moving
elements of the loom, the warp threads can now be
leashed through the shafts and beater. The heddles
are threaded first, in such a way that alternating
warp elements are passed through the eyes of one
or other of the heddle shafts. Next, the individual
warp elements are threaded through the vertical
canes on the beater.16 17 This end of the warp is then
ogy of these, based on Griaule and Dieterlen’s exegesis of
Dogon mythology, see N’Diaye 1971.
16 Dogon beaters resemble those found among other West
African groups who use double shaft looms (see Picton and
Mack 1989: 93-95) and essentially consist of two rounded
blocks of wood attached to two thinner, vertical rods to
attached to the breast beam by tying off the warp
elements onto a heading rod, which in turn is tied
onto the breast beam. The warp elements are then
passed over the top of the warp beam (waguru
baga) and placed on the sledge, to which they are
tied and weighted down with a dragstone. Finally,
a double pattern stick (edenu baga)11 is inserted
between alternating warp elements between the
heddles and the warp beam, and weaving can now
commence.
To operate the loom, the weaver sits on a stone
seat facing the beater and heddles, immediately
behind the chest beam. He will normally place
a small basket (typically of the tomo rather than
the tadu variety) beside him, containing a dozen
or more cane bobbins (peme) onto which cotton
thread to be used as the weft has been wound.
By changing the colour of this thread, different
designs can be created, especially when shed sticks
are used (Fig. 6). The heddles are operated by
a pair of foot pedals, which the weaver clasps
between his toes while resting his foot on a flat
stone (tibu tam-tam). By depressing one foot, one
heddle is pulled down and the other is raised,
creating a space or shed between the two sets of
warp elements. As the shed is created, the weaver
casts his shuttle (kolu or borjono kolu)18 between
the two sets of warp threads, catching it in his
other hand (Fig. 7). Immediately afterwards, he
pulls the beater towards him so as to beat in the
pick, and then repeats the process by depress-
ing the other foot pedal so as to raise one set
of warp elements and lower the other set, and
then casting his shuttle from the opposite direc-
tion. Gradually, a narrow strip of cloth is formed
immediately in front of the beater. Once this is
long enough, it is wound onto the chest beam
by giving the beam a single turn, which also has
effect of dragging the sledge carrying the skein of
warp elements towards the weaver. This process
form a rectangular frame. Set within this frame there are a
series of fine slats (made from cane or bamboo), through
which the warp threads are passed. After each pass of the
shuttle, the weaver pulls the beater towards him so as to
beat in each successive pick of the weft.
17 This consists of two thin rods attached together at either end
by a short length of twisted cord, and is placed horizontally
between alternating warp elements, such that if an element
goes over the top of one rod, it goes below the other, and
vice versa.
18 This consists of a smooth, boat-shaped piece of wood,
which has a free-spinning bobbin and an eyelet on one side
through which the weft is threaded. N’Diaye (1971:363)
states that both shuttles and beaters are made, on order, by
blacksmiths.
Anthropos 103.2008
The Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
85
^*8- 7: Double-heddle loom (Ba-
¡Jani Kokoro, 1981): the breast
eam, with its peg on the right
and side is in the foreground,
/^mediately in front of it are the
nater and heddles, and beyond
tais is a double pattern stick (Pho-
t0: F*. Lane).
c°ntinues until all of the warp has been used, or
weaver has sufficient cloth for household needs
and commonly also for market trade.
Nothing Types and Cloth Products
^•°inpleted strips of cloth are used to make a
Vafiety of different garments for both men and
^ornen, and a rather narrower range of blankets.
he methods of fabrication are in all cases fairly
^raightforward. A number of strips appropriate
the width of the finished item are cut to the
Required length, and then sewn together selvedge
selvedge. From this basic template, different
garments can be created by folding, cutting, and
Aching the cloth into different shapes (see G. Gri-
e 1951 for details). Blankets are made more
yiy by sewing together equal lengths of cloth,
j. ng care that the weft-float patterns on each strip
lne up together.
1 /hhe preferred colours are indigo and white,
hough a russet coloured cloth is also made.19
nereas the wrappers worn by women are always
19 —
bailed discussion of symbolism of different colours
arn°ng the Dogon falls outside the scope of this article. The
rn°st extensive analysis of the meaning of different colours
n different contexts, including on clothing and blankets
Provided by Calame-Griaule (1965, especially pp. 516-
T This, and related accounts given by Griaule and his
^Workers, as van Beek has argued, is likely to be a product
th OVerclifferentiation on the part of both the researchers and
neir informants (1991: 154).
Anthr°Pos 103.2008
dyed indigo, locally made Dogon clothing worn by
men may be left undyed, or dyed indigo or russet
brown. Younger men mostly wear undyed cloth,
except during the sigi ceremony (which is held
only every sixty years, the last one being in 1957)
when they wear special indigo-dyed trousers, that
are of the same type as those worn by masked
dancers (Griaule 1938). Dogon elders, on the
other hand, frequently wear indigo-dyed garments,
including calf-length tunics (argoy sulo) and long,
baggy breeches (tubo). Russet coloured cloth, on
the other hand, tends to be associated with certain
male occupations, particularly hunters, although in
the 1980s it was common to find shirts in this
colour being made for sale to tourists.
The indigo blue and russet colours are created
by using natural dyes, and dyeing is normally
carried out after the whole garment has been
made. Indigo dyeing in the Sanga region and
in Seno Mango is undertaken exclusively by the
wives of leatherworkers (jau),20 one of the two
specialist craft castes found in Dogon society; this
20 It is interesting to note, however, that Griaule recorded
a special song apparently used exclusively for the wives
of leatherworkers, which includes the following lines: dà
larani pini gono lavatogu boy, ye gunno widyu tanan tunyo
boy. “Salut! Jeune femme du tisserand[,] Ton père a tissé les
vêtements” Griaule 1938: 559 f.; “Salute! Young woman of
weavers, your father has woven your garments” (English
translation DeMott 1982: 174). This could imply that the
leatherworkers were at one time also the only members of
Dogon society responsible for weaving cotton; at the time of
his fieldwork Griaule noted that “cordonniers sont souvent
tisserands” (1938: 559, fn. 2).
86
Paul J. Lane
is not the case in other parts of Dogon country
(Gardi 2003: 180). Women collect wild indigo
leaves (Indig of era tinctorial Dogon: gala21 galala
[Dieterlen 1952: 147]), which are then pulverized,
dried, mixed with commercial dye and fermented
with potash for several days in large vats -
typically one or other of the two types of pot
(dadema, dey) normally used for brewing and
fermenting millet beer. The resultant dye is then
gently heated over a fire and cloth is dipped into
this several times. A wider range of materials
are used for dyeing cloth brown, including the
seeds of Lannea acida and the leaves of the herb
known in Dogon as gegerela (Fr. Papilionacee -
Dieterlen 1952: 147). The same general processes
used for making the dye and colouring the cloth as
employed in indigo dyeing are involved, including
the use of potash as a mordant.
Different white geometric patterns such as
zigzags, V-shapes, and straight lines can be creat-
ed by tie-dyeing or stitching. According to Brett-
Smith (1990-91), these different designs have dif-
ferent names and symbolic meanings that often
provide a commentary on social relations between
married men and women and also between co-
wives. She also says that only women of child-
bearing age wear indigo wrappers cut with tie-dyed
white motifs (1990-91: 171), whereas unmarried
women and those who have passed menopause
only wear wrappers in plain indigo. For at least
forty years, and probably longer,22 Dogon women
have also taken to embroidering their indigo-dyed
wrappers, using brightly coloured cotton thread
or wool of industrial manufacture (Gardi 2003:
181).
In addition to finished pieces of clothing, the
Dogon also produce cloth strips for sale in local
and regional markets, and at a regional level, there
is a long history of the use of cloth as a type
of currency (Johnson 1980). From Desplagnes’s
account of his tour through Dogon country (1907),
it is clear that bolts of cloth were being produced
for market sale at the turn of the 20th century, and
also during the colonial era (Paulme 1940). During
my fieldwork in 1980-83, it was still common
to see large “wheels” of undyed cloth for sale in
Sanga market and in most of the others located
along the foot of the Bandiagara escarpment, and
this practice continues to this day (John Mack,
pers. comm. Dec. 2005).
21 Or gara, and according to Gardi (2003: 179 f.) the technique
may have been derived from the Soninké.
22 Personal field notes 1980-83, Banani Kokoro interviews.
Clothing and Identity
Aside from its utilitarian value, clothing is also
an important vehicle of symbolic communication
for the Dogon. This is exhibited at a very general
level by the day-to-day observation of a variety
of dress codes. Thus, for instance, a distinction
can be made between the emphasis placed on
acceptable styles of dress for visiting another
village, going to market, or attending a ceremony,
and the more casual attitudes adopted towards
the type of clothing worn (or discarded) when
engaged in farmwork or some similar activity.
This etiquette is further reinforced through the
use of stylistic variations in clothing to express
an individual’s age and gender positions within
society.
During the first half of the 20th century, a great
many different styles of clothing were worn by
the Dogon. These included several types of tunics,
breeches, and culottes that were worn by men, and
indigo-dyed wrappers used by women and adoles-
cent girls (G. Griaule 1951). An interesting feature
of Dogon clothing styles at this time is that there
were a number of distinct clothing styles for males,
which correlated with the social age of the wearer
(Table 1). The loincloths and overshirts worn by
prepubescent boys were tight-fitting, as suggest-
ed by the name ponnu numo torn which means,
literally, “breeches of one band (of cloth).” These,
and the clothes of youths (sagada:rau) contrasted
sharply with the long flowing tunics and generous
breeches of older men, which required several
metres of cloth to make. In other words, as in-
dividuals aged, more and more cloth was used for
their clothes. Since cloth has long been a symbol
of wealth, and even locally woven cloth remains
comparatively expensive to buy, these clothing
styles did not simply signify age differences but
also, more referentially, an individual’s increasing
command over resources.23 In contrast, the system
for marking age categories among females was far
simpler. Young girls, up to the age of about 12 or
13 (i.e., up to the moment at which menstruation
begins), wore a short, wrap-around indigo-dyed
skirt, while adolescent and older women wore a
similar garment that was longer and reached to
their calves. Blouses or some other covering of
their upper torso were not normally worn, although
at festivals and other public occasions adult worn'
23 This increasing command over resources experienced hy
males as they get older is exhibited in a number of other
ways, including their abilities to modify dwelling space and
control its allocation to others (Lane 1986, 1994).
Anthropos 103.2008
87
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
en sometimes wore cotton shawls (soy dali), and
some also wore narrow strips of cloth as headbands
(ku dommo) (G. Griaule 1951: 162).24
Table 1; Age-Related Categories of Dogon Clothing in
the Early 20th Century (after G. Griaule 1951).
ex Age Clothing Style
Male 0-4 Nude
4 - circum- Loincloth (gere), culottes or
cision breeches (ponnu numo turn),
(c. 10-12) sleeveless overshirt (argoy tete)
up to 40
40 plus
50 plus
Pemale
0-4
Thigh length breeches (ponnu
semu), small shirt (argoy)
Baggy breeches (tubo), sleeved
overshirt (argoy numo)
Baggy breeches, calf-length tu-
nic (argoy sulo), bonnet (gdrd),
or coif (kelegu)
Nude
4 - early Short wrap-around skirt (numo
adolescence turn)
(c. 12-13)
adulthood Long wrap-around skirt (soy
dyibe)
Nearly all of these styles are still produced and
e 0rn’ and as recently as the 1980s the style of
eryday dress for women was identical to that
fomented in the 1930s. However, the wardrobes
of
diost Dogon men, women, and children are
wadays supplemented by other items of clothing
ade from machine-spun cloth, either in a tradi-
tional
style or to a more Western design. Thus,
^stance, shawls were far less in evidence,
m my own research area were mostly kept
for
and
äs • .
0£ Prized possessions by elderly women, most
whorn claimed that they had been given their
hu^ as Part op i'^ie bridewealth paid by their
^band’s family (see also Brett-Smith 1990-91).
Women wore blouses made from imported
^cording to Calame-Griaule, the short wraps were made
ront a single band of cotton, while the longer versions worn
y adult women were made from four bands (G. Griaule
l95h 162). In the 1980s, most of the wrap-around skirts
w°m by adult women were made from seven strips of cloth,
Sewn together along their selvedge, while those worn by
Young girls averaged around four strips. It is possible that
| e width of strips being produced in the 1930s was greater
than those made in the 1980s, although there is no strong
evidence for this.
Anth
roPos 103.2008
machine-spun cloth when visiting markets, neigh-
bouring villages or attending ceremonies. This
does not seem to have been the tradition in the
past, and even in the 1980s there were no social
pressures on women to wear blouses while going
about their daily chores. Moreover, despite adop-
tion of Western-style clothing by some Dogon, the
more fundamental differences between men and
women and between different age cohorts could
still be discerned and were most clearly expressed
during ceremonial occasions, when Dogon seemed
to prefer to wear indigenous styles rather than
clothes of foreign design.
The main exception to this was during the an-
nual bulu (or buru), or sowing festival, normally
held at the end of April or in early May. At the
start of the festival, young men dress in their finest
clothes and with their age-mates, they set out to
visit their relatives in their own village and adja-
cent ones. Going from compound to compound,
they greet the women of the household and the
male lineage elders and offer them their respects.
At each household they are offered millet beer
and frequently also a meal of meat and rice. It
is common for men who are currently engaged in
wage labour outside the Dogon region in places
such as Mopti, Bamako, and Abidjan to return
to their natal village especially so as to partici-
pate in the bulu festival. Since at least the 1920s,
these returning migrants have typically dressed in
either European-style clothing25 or, more recent-
ly, Africanised variants of these (Dougnon 2003;
see also Lifszyc et Paulme 1936). In the colonial
period, labour-migration, European clothing, and
speaking English were all regarded as means for
social advancement, and, as Kumasi and Accra
were the preferred destinations at the time, re-
turning young men came to be known as “Ghana
boys.” A local saying “he who has not been to
Kumasi will not go to paradise” even developed
in the early part of the 20th century (Dougnon
2003; 56). As Dougnon remarks, European cloth-
ing was appreciated for two qualities - its colour
and its fineness/finish - and because Europeans
were not thought to possess the skills to make
these textiles, but instead obtained them through
a silent trade with the water spirits (yinrin), these
imported clothes came to be known by the generic
term yinrin soy, i.e., “clothes made by the water
spirits” (2003: 56).
25 One of Dougnon’s elderly informants even said that young
men went to Ghana specifically so as to be able to
acquire clothes for the bulu/buro and the dama ceremonies
(2003: 56).
88
Paul J. Lane
Then, as now, returning migrants would make a
point of conspicuously displaying their new found
possessions as part of broader strategies for either
acquiring a wife or maintaining good marital rela-
tions (see Lane 1986: chap. 7, for details).26 How-
ever, according to Dougnon the participation of
young men in labour migration was also regarded
as a form of initiation, during which these “ini-
tiates” underwent the classic stages of separation,
liminality, and reintegration into society. The re-
turning migrants were regarded both symbolically
and literally as “new men,” whose bodies were
fortified and strengthened during their absence,
and the fine new clothes they wore were held to
represent the attainment of a level of perfection
normally only achieved by bush or water spirits.
This new status, however, was relatively short-
lived, typically lasting no more than a couple of
years when the next group of returning migrants
would arrive (2003: 57 f.).
In summary, at least until the mid-1980s a basic
distinction could be drawn between the traditional
male and female styles, such that as men aged their
changing social status was given outward, visible
recognition through the clothes they wore. For
women, on the other hand, even though their roles
within the family, lineage, and village community
also changed in line with their changing age and
marital status, these changes in their social position
were not signalled as overtly through clothing
styles. A further consequence of this male:female
distinction was that it served to emphasize the
differences between men in public but suppresses
those which existed between women.27 A similar
concern also seems to have been evident in the
symbolism attached to cloth and the technology
of cloth production during funeral ceremonies, at
least for the period from c. 1930-1985.
26 Cf. the comment made to Griaule by his research assistant
Koguem that “young people ... go off to the Gold Coast or
Bamako or elsewhere ... mainly for clothes [because these]
... help them to get married. The more clothes a man has,
the more elegant he is, and the more women go after him”
(Griaule 1965: 82).
27 Gardi’s observation that since the 1960s (and probably
beforehand) women have been embroidering their wrappers
with brightly coloured wool and cotton (2003: 181) would
appear to reinforce this assessment since the changes they
introduce are subtle ones that reflect personal taste and
aspirations, as opposed to the more obvious, and apparently
socially-sanctioned, changes in style and amounts of cloth
being used that were associated with the different age-
related categories of male clothing.
Death, Burial, and the Symbolism of Cloth
Cotton, cloth, and cloth production provide some
of the most recurrent imagery associated with the
burial rites. Reference to both the tasks and rele-
vant artefacts are made in both the funeral poet-
ry28 and the acts of ritual. Most of these take place
at the time of burial, and one important conse-
quence of this specific symbolism is the formation
of two specialised deposits of material culture, that
are comprised of, respectively, spindles (plus a few
other selected items) and weaving shuttles. Other
ritual acts include the display of bolts of cotton
at the funeral ceremonies held for men, and the
display of blankets and other prized pieces of cloth
during funerals held for women. In their discus-
sion of some of these acts, Griaule and Dieterlen
argue that to “wear a particular cloth, to possess a
certain blanket, is ... to display a symbol which,
in practice, corresponds to the physical or moral
condition of the wearer,” and hence “men are
reluctant to display the family heritage of cloths,
for this would reveal to the common gaze both
the supreme expression of wealth and symbols
of cosmic knowledge” (1954: 107). In contrast, I
argue that the display of cloth and cotton blankets
were an intricate component of Dogon burial and
funeral rites in the 1980s and were closely linked
to strategies aimed at creating both public and
private personae.
When an adult Dogon dies, the corpse is washed
and the head shaved. The hair is placed in a gourd,
which is later taken with the body to the cemetery-
According to my informants, adult males are
dressed in a pair of dark blue trousers, a blue shirt,
and sandals or shoes. Adult women are dressed in
an indigo wrap-around skirt and blouse.29 * * Once
dressed, the body is wrapped first in the deceased’s
sleeping blanket or blankets, and then in a blue and
white checked blanket, decorated with weft-float
designs. This style of blanket is known as a homo
gama. Each lineage owns one such blanket, and
this is used as a kind of burial shroud for all lineage
agnates. It is removed once the corpse has been
placed within the cemetery. Only when the blanket
28 As in the tige given here, and also in some haga bundo and
warsirgiri recitations (see Griaule 1938), among others.
29 The only exceptions to this are women who die during
pregnancy or in childbirth. Known as ya:pilu, they
buried in white rather than indigo clothing (see Dieterlen
1941: 199 f.; also Bedaux et Lane 2003). According t0
Calame-Griaule (1965), white is the colour of death and
separation, but can also have more positive connotations,
such as truth, cleanliness, and sincerity.
Anthropos 103.2008
89
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
has become worn and literally quite threadbare will
a lineage replace its homo gama.
After these preparations have been completed,
the body is placed on a wooden bier, made from
r°ughJy trimmed branches, and taken in a pro-
Cession composed of members of the deceased’s
lrnmediate family and other mourners to the ceme-
tery.30 Among the mourners there is one, often
a sibling or child of the deceased, who carries
he gourd containing the deceased’s hair. If the
leased was female, then one of her close female
Mn carries her clay pot (sa tonyo) for keeping
0cty oil. On arrival at the cemetery, village elders
^elcome the procession. The senior male present
hen begins a prayer of thanks (tige) addressed to
he deceased, during which the latter’s qualities as
^ representative of his or her gender are praised.
an example of this, part of the text of one such
Ration, known as ya: yium tige, for a woman who
ah lived in the Seno-Gondo Plain for over forty
years, and given at her burial in December 1982
ln ^anani Kokoro can be cited;
^elconie, welcome from the road, men of Sorou,31
eicorne to all who have accompanied her.
ank you for your respect,
^ank you for caring for her during life.
, e Hogon has sent his greetings,
£ laie has sent his greetings,
^ asema has sent his greetings,
p, e fourth oldest32 has sent his greetings.
They Save her water, They gave her food,
She^ ^aVe care^ f°r f*er UP to this moment,
p e has taken the rope so that she can ascend
Let ^6r '"ho roPe has become short.
G HG0d ^ve y°u a l°ng roPe’
An ^tve that to them,
p, lhe people of Sanga,
A]|et?e0ple of Bongo,
he elder brothers,
Fig. 8: Burial-related ritual deposits consisting of weaving
shuttles (upper level) and .va-oil pots, spindles, and calabash
ladles (lower level) deposited at the foot of the Bandiagara
cliff, close to Banani Kokoro cemetery (1981; Photo: P. Lane).
All the younger brothers,
All the elder sisters,
The younger sisters of Banani.
Let God place a long rope
Between them and the woman who is dead.
3rmally, a married woman is buried in the cemetery of
r natal village, which, because of the rule of postmarital
local residence, may lie several kilometres away from
e settlement where she died. Men are also buried at their
aPpaternal village, but since the majority also reside here
r°ughout their lives (or return there in the middle age after
Pending time elsewhere), their bodies are rarely carried
y distance and there is less of a conceptual notion of
3i o Clr Corpse being “brought back for burial.”
32
18 a village in the plains where the deceased had
s«rou
lived.
^ bie time of this ceremony, the Hogon for all four villages
anani was an individual from Banani Kokoro. As such,
Was also the eldest male in Banani Kokoro. The men
and h' ^t*me anc* Babasema were, respectively, the second
the C^est ma*e villagers, while the fourth eldest was
hims*an giving reciting the tige, and so he did not name
Anthropos 103.2008
You left the village of your father and
You have returned to your father’s village.
That is the heritage of the world;
It is not just you, you are not the first,
You are not the last,
Death is a Dogon custom.
She took some cotton,
One day she spun thick thread,
One day she spun thin thread.
The spindle danced in her hand.
She cultivated well.
Thank you for your meals,
Thank you for your water,
Thank you for all your kind words.
90
Paul J. Lane
Fig. 9a: Detail of items of “fe-
male” material culture deposited
close to the Banani Kokoro ceme-
tery (1981; Photo; P. Lane).
Fig. 9b: Detail of items of “male’
material culture deposited close
to the Banani Kokoro cemetery
(1981; Photo: P. Lane).
At the end of this particular oration, the senior
men present formed a group around the corpse,
and holding in their right hands, at shoulder height,
a clump of cotton bolls they shouted sabe, sabe,
sabe, which in translation approximates as “thank
you,” shook their walking staffs at the body and
then threw the cotton on the ground. A small
portion of this cotton was left with the oil pot,
spindle, and gourd containing the deceased’s hair.
The same sequence was observed a few weeks
later at another woman’s funeral.
Once these benedictions and prayers have been
completed, the corpse of the deceased, still wrapped
in blankets, is hauled up to the burial cave in
the cliff face, where it is placed in an extended
position. The wooden bier meanwhile is thrown
down on top of a pile of older ones, and the gourd
containing the hair of the deceased is placed with
others at the foot of the cliff. Depending on the seX
of the deceased a number of other items can be de-
posited (Fig. 8). If female, the sa tonyo is put close
to the gourds, by one of the deceased’s sisters,
normally with a hole punched through the base of
the pot. Sometimes the small calabash-ladle used
for extracting the oil from this pot is also left there-
As a rule, a spindle, complete with spindle whorl
Anthropos 103.2008
91
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
and a small length of spun thread, which belonged
to the deceased, is carried there usually by the de-
ceased’s youngest daughter33 (Fig. 9a). According
to Griaule, the sa tonyo pot represents the foetus
(1965: 39), and its deposition and puncturing could
represent, metaphorically, the loss of the reproduc-
hve capacity of the deceased. While the placing
°f the deceased’s oil pot, spindle, and calabash
ladle is always a feature of female burials, this is
a°t the case for males. Only if they happened to
have been weavers, are artefacts, namely weaving
buttles with a short length of thread, deposited at
|he edge of the cemetery, slightly apart from the
ehiale associated pieces (Fig. 9b). As these objects
are being put in place by various individuals, the
°mo gama34 blanket is taken off the corpse, and
retumed to the lineage head of the deceased to be
Put back in his granary, where it will be kept until
Reeded again when another member of the lineage
les- Once these rites have been completed, the
burners disperse.
discussion
^°tton, cloth, and cloth production provide the
U0minn«* __ i_____^ ai______i _______a :_______
du
rninant or at least the most recurrent imagery
ring burial ceremonies for Dogon women. Ref-
ehce to both the tasks and relevant material cul-
re are made in both the funeral poetry and the
s °f ritual. In the former, the following motif is
a( turn pana,
turn geda,
ene gala ejugereleru.
^ne day she spun thick thread,
ae day she spun thin thread,
e spindle danced in her hand.
it is a
Ce d metaphor for the roles assumed by the de-
spfsed during her life. Although the ginning and
ties nin^ cotton are generalised female activi-
ty ’ tileY are most closely associated with older
the' 6n’ W^° ^ave fewer work commitments than
hoy ^°Un§er counterparts and often spend many
Spi s. simply sitting alone or with an age-mate,
t0 i and talking. The reference, in the oration,
dist' an<^ thin threads (the only categories
ln§uished by the Dogon), simply implies quali-
S^iTh
js ^ ner mother’s body is being prepared for burial, it
UsinVaer who spins the thread to be left on the spindle,
34 Qr , , er kft hand instead of her right as is normal practice.
°n° kdma (Calame-Griaule 1968: 40).
Anthr°P°s 103.2008
ties of prowess. The epithet “the spindle danced in
her hand” has a similar connotation. Taken to-
gether the phrases indicate an evaluation of the
deceased fulfilling a particular role, during her
life, with a degree of aptitude. In short, they are
“statements of praise,” as befits their use in a tige
or praise song.
Explanations of the use of cotton in other burial
rites that were given to me by my informants all
emphasised the historical importance of cotton,
which prior to and during the colonial period
was grown more widely than it was in the early
1980s. Even so, it remained a sign of wealth and
bolts of cloth were commonly displayed during the
funeral ceremonies of prominent men. According
to my informants, the act of holding bolls of cotton
aloft when the corpse is greeted on arrival at the
cemetery with the repetition of the word sabe, was
similarly performed as a mark of respect and held
to signify the prosperity of the deceased. However,
an important point about these latter acts, as
with the motifs employed in the burial oration, is
that they were highly standardised and formalised
procedures. Thus, while the age of the deceased
might vary from burial to burial, the actual method
of evaluating the deceased remained the same,
irrespective of her/his personal biography. The tige
given at another woman’s burial a few weeks later
was almost identical to the one cited above, and
the example quoted by de Ganay in her study
of Dogon praise songs (1941: 71 f.) is strikingly
similar to both of these.
The same process of standardisation is at work
with the deposition of spindles and the other asso-
ciated items at the foot of the cliff when the corpse
is being interred. As the metaphorical references
to spinning in the funeral poetry suggest, at one
level these acts of deposition can be read as a
sign of respect to the deceased and symbolising
the achievements of the deceased. Also, accord-
ing to Griaule (1965:73, 78-83), when linked
with weaving, spindles and looms can be seen
as symbols of love and of reproduction. But, as
in the funeral poetry, the individual’s identity in
these highly standardised orations is simultaneous-
ly obscured in the process of praising her, and
her achievements become those of womankind in
general rather than those of her own life. This
may relate to a more general loss of individuality
associated with the category change to ancestor-
hood, although it should be noted that lineage
genealogies typically preserve the names of female
ancestors going back at least two to three genera-
tions. Beyond that, details of the female members
of the agnatic group tend not to be recalled.
92
Paul J. Lane
Superficially, the burial rites for Dogon men
also point to a suppression of individual identity
in favour of gender roles and lineage affiliation.
As noted above, if a deceased male was a weaver
during his lifetime, then his shuttle is deposited
at the edge of the cemetery, often close to where
the spindles, ladles, and oil pots that belonged to
women are deposited. The placing of a shuttle is
thus both a mark of respect toward the deceased
and a symbolic recognition of his prowess in the
craft. At this level, the two sets of depositional
acts, one for women and the other for men, appear
to have similar meanings and to simply reflect the
sexual division of labour within the cloth produc-
tion process. However, unlike spinning, weaving
is a specialised rather than a generalised activity.
Although theoretically open to all men, only a
minority of the adult male population are actu-
al practitioners. In this regard then, the recogni-
tion of the deceased’s special abilities amounts
to more than gender stereotyping. It is, instead,
an overt acknowledgement of his individuality. It
is significant that other male specialists, such as
herdsmen, hunters, and soldiers, all have their own
distinct funeral rites35 (see Griaule 1938) whereas
the burial rites for women are always the same.
Similarly, although references are made to cotton
and textile production in various songs at male
burial funeral rites - such as the bago bundo and
warsi‘giri36 - these typically stress the use of
cotton as a trade item and convey an image of
men as being simultaneously the main providers
for their families and the intermediaries between
the domestic sphere and the world beyond. This
is shown in the following examples provided by
Griaule:
He has put cotton in a sack and returned to the village
He gave it to the women and young girls
The young girls rapidly turned the cotton threads
The bands have been woven
They gave them to the man
The man went in great haste to carry them to market
{bago bundo oration, Griaule 1938: 317 f.; English
translation DeMott 1982: 161)
On the cultivator of cotton
The woman took the cotton in her hand
The woman spun on the spindle
The woman gave (the thread) to her husband
The man wove the cloth
He took the road and went to market
Being in the market, he earned cowries in (the sale)
(Recitation for the deceased on warsirgiri, Griaule
1938; 370; English translation DeMott 1982: 166)
It is perhaps no coincidence, therefore, that it is
large bolts, or “wheels”, of cotton cloth that are
displayed in public at male burial ceremonies,
especially since these were a widely recognised
medium of exchange and form of money through-
out the region, up to the early 20th century (see
e.g., Johnson 1980). In other words, although there
are opportunities for women to become especially
skilled potters, brewers of millet beer, or market
traders, unlike men, individual achievements such
as these are not given formal recognition at burials
and funerals in the way comparable achievements
by men are publicly acknowledged.
The repetitive use of a particular style of blan-
ket for members of the same lineage, irrespec-
tive of their sex, also requires comment. These
blankets have a series of fairly standardised weft-
float motifs in white set against a blue ground,
formed by the use of indigo-dyed strips. Only
a few particularly skilled weavers know how to
produce these patterns. Griaule describes these
blankets as being made up of 80 squares (40 white
and 40 “black,” i.e., indigo) created by sowing
together parallel strips of chequered cloth. He also
claimed the checked pattern symbolised the layout
of Dogon fields37 and was “a symbol of life and
resurrection” (Griaule 1965: 73, 79) that served as
a mnemonic for Dogon origin myths. In addition,
Calame-Griaule (1986: 643) states that of all the
different types of blanket the burial shroud was
the one which carried greatest bad speech (no:nU,
i.e., unhappiness). Gardi (2003: 176), on the other
hand, is adamant that the type of blanket described
by Griaule has never existed, and that in any case
the dimensions he gave for this blanket do not
and,
35 But, note, they do not have their own burial rites.
36 These are, respectively, the expulsion rites performed by
the Awa, or society of masks, on the second day after
burial, and rites associated with the day of the first entry of
masked dancers at the start of the damn. The latter serve the
dual purpose of establishing the temporary authority of the
supernatural bush spirits over the village, and to mark the
departure of the deceased’s spirit from the village (Griaule
1938; DeMott 1982: 81).
37 Checkerboard imagery features in many of the descriptions
and interpretations of Dogon arts and crafts discussed by
Griaule and his coworkers, and in their rendition of Dogon
mythology the chequered layout of burial shrouds, Dog
fields, the facades of ginu na houses, and the painted
designs on the binu ginu shrines, among others, represent
an intermeshing of the two creative, cosmic processes
one vertical and tripartite, the other horizontal and font'
directional - articulated in Dogon mythology (see e.g-’
Griaule and Dieterlen 1954, 1965; Dieterlen 1999; f°r
further summaries see DeMott 1982: 34-36).
Anthropos 103.2008
93
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
c°mpute given the standard width of cloth strips
woven on a Dogon loom. Instead, Gardi found
that the Dogon typically use as burial shrouds
a type of blanket composed of nine (not eight)
strips that are made in three villages, of which
thnia is the largest, in the western part of Dogon
territory, although other types are also used. As
^ell as being made of nine strips, these blankets
are decorated with nine recurrent motifs that are
I(ientical to those found on the 1 Ith-century Tellem
textiles from the Bandiagara escarpment. Even
rfiore significantly, in Pinia all of the motifs are
w°ven using three supplementary shafts, and be-
Cause of the sequence in which these are operated,
a weaver makes a mistake, these get repeated
Urther up the strip. Exactly the same mistakes
as seen on blankets woven in Pinia can be ob-
s®rved on some of the Tellem blankets. For Gardi,
. 18 suggests that the use of supplementary shafts
ls Very probably an indigenous Dogon invention
(2°03: 178 f.).
Irrespective of its origin, the use of the homo
8ama type of blanket as a covering for a corpse
ls Particularly pertinent in terms of the more gen-
eral symbolic and social significance of cloth and
leaving reviewed here, since it draws together the
other themes relating to cloth production. Specif-
Jfally, the division of tasks between the sexes for
e Production of cloth is held to epitomise the mu-
a* interdependence of men and women, and the
rafts of spinning and weaving (which separately
yrnbolise the roles of women and men respective-
y), when viewed collectively serve as a micro-
sm for Dogon society. This is reinforced by the
ct that not only are both the sexes involved in the
Induction process, but so also are members of the
0 craft castes within Dogon society. Specifically,
^ndles are made exclusively by the wives of
•^smiths who represent one of the castes, while
jeQl§o-dyeing is the responsibility of the wives of
^ atherworkers, who make up the other caste. The
anket-cum-shroud as the end product of several
to ^eS cooPeration, therefore, is a logical choice
v ^mbolise notions concerning unity through di-
s% and complementarity, which are two of the
theSt recurrent themes of lineage ideology among
e D°gon (for other examples, see Lane 1994).
t he use of this blanket in burial rites is further
y, lvated by a desire to suppress individuality.
Pha
^entity of the deceased which is being em-
^ SlSed publicly by this item is that of lineage
rttbership, since the body is cocooned in an item
of lia
ls leage property which has a long uselife, and
Su ^teguarded by the lineage head. Only when
blankets are literally threadbare, will they
Anthj
,r°Pos 103.2008
be replaced. In other words, an object that can
only be produced by the mutual cooperation of the
sexes is used to represent the ideal consequences
of marriage ties, since the life of a lineage mem-
ber can only come into being through the mu-
tual cooperation between wife-takers (male) and
wife-givers (female). Similarly, the possession and
guardianship by the lineage head of an ancient ob-
ject expresses metaphorically his responsibilities to
preserve and prolong the life of other individuals.
Here, as in other contexts, the senior male of the
lineage is portrayed as the catalyst for life, and his
personal strategies legitimated under the guise of
lineage prosperity and perpetuity.
Conclusion - Making Sense of Ogotemmeli?
Spinning, weaving, looms, and other tools asso-
ciated with the production of clothing, such as
the ginning iron and spindle, feature widely in
accounts of Dogon cosmology and their mythology
associated with the creation of the world (e.g., Gri-
aule 1965: 41 f., 69-74, 78-80; Calame-Griaule
1965: 82 f., 516-523). In particular, both speech
and the craft of weaving, it is claimed, were in-
vented on the “third day of Creation.” The words
for “cloth” or “clothing” (s5y), and “to speak” or
“word” (55;) are also lexically similar (Calame-
Griaule 1968: 254 f.), at least in the tow so dialect
of the Sanga area.38 Because the Dogon, like many
other societies, create symbolic correspondences
between different elements of their natural and so-
cial worlds, weaving and speaking as well as being
likened to one another metaphorically are also said
to be likened to other crafts such as basketry, and
to musical expression, both in terms of their over-
all creative outcomes and the formal resemblances
between the different components of the human
mouth, horizontal loom and the harp-lute (Griaule
and Dieterlen 1954; Calame-Griaule 1965; 516 f.).
As explained by Calame-Griaule, if “speech is
weaving” in the sense that different parts of the
mouth “weave” the sound emitted from the larynx,
giving it colour and form, so “weaving is speech,”
because it is created by human activity, and more
narrowly “the threads intertwine like elements of
language, animated by the regular creaking of the
pulley and the sound of the tensors and shuttle”
(Calame-Griaule 1986: 642). In this sense, Dogon
consider speech to be “inside the cloth.” It is also
argued that in Dogon numerology cloth is associ-
38 According to Calame-Griaule, Dogon interpret the word for
cloth, soy as sb:-i:, meaning “this is speech” (1968: 254 f.).
94
Paul J. Lane
ated with the number seven, and carries many of
the same symbolic and mythological connotations
linked with this number, and in particular the no-
tion of unity through the opposition of the sexes.39
According to Griaule and Dieterlen, in Dogon
mythology weaving is also “held to be one of the
original crafts, and innumerable symbolic images
are associated with it. It is said that ‘cloth is the
centre of the world,’ that it expresses everything,
since the originating signs of all things were traced
in it.” As discussed above, they also state that to
“wear a particular cloth, to possess a certain blan-
ket, is ... to display a symbol which, in practice,
corresponds to the physical or moral condition of
the wearer” (Griaule and Dieterlen 1954: 106 f.).
However, they also claim that to “exhibit cloths
at a funerary ceremony is evidence that death has
‘gathered up’ the whole universe under the form of
the symbols which also constitute wealth” (107).
Elsewhere, Griaule argued that for the Dogon, the
“co-operation of man and woman, in storing the
seeds, sowing and growing the cotton, has the
same meaning [as symbols of love] as spinning
and weaving,” and that the Dogon consider the
latter tasks to be “exactly the same as a man and
a woman entering the house to sleep together and
produce children” (1965: 73). Griaule also argued
that the loom could be likened to a house, with its
four upright poles simultaneously representing the
bedroom and the four male mythical Dogon ances-
tors, while the four horizontal crossbars stood for
the roof and the four female ancestors (72). Con-
tinuing in this vein, his informant, Ogotemmeli,
reportedly told Griaule that the “weaver, represent-
ing a dead man, is also the male who opens and
closes the womb of the woman, represented by the
heddle. The stretched threads represent the act of
procreation. The cotton threads of the weavers and
the numerous men in the world are all one. The
making of the cloth symbolizes the multiplication
of mankind” (73).
Thus, according to these accounts, as well
as apparently having multiple symbolic referents,
several of the tools associated with the manufac-
ture of cloth and the product itself can stand as
material metaphors for central aspects of Dogon
cultural norms and society. In the case of the
loom, this can represent either the human mouth
and hence the creative power of speech in social
reproduction, or the bedroom within a woman’s
39 In Dogon numerology, and more generally in the region,
three and four are said to symbolise respectively, among
other things, male and female, hence as 3 + 4 = 7, the
number seven represents unity of the sexes (Griaule 1949).
house and the creative power of love in biological
reproduction. A loom’s constituent parts are also
said to be analogous to the harp-lute, both in terms
of their relative position to each other and their
symbolic referents.
The intricacies of Dogon mythology and corre-
lations between different symbols and their mul-
tiple meanings, as rendered by Griaule, Dieterlen,
and Calame-Griaule, however, can often appear
baffling and potentially contradictory. Several
scholars have commented on this in the past. Mary
Douglas, for example, in noting a number of con-
tradictions within and between different accounts,
expressed a more general concern regarding the
failure by Griaule and his associates “to relate
informants’ statements to practice” (1968: 23) at-
tributing this largely to differences between French
and Anglo-Saxon academic traditions.40 By far the
most comprehensive reappraisal of Griaule’s work,
however, is that by van Beek (1991), as it is based
on the results of a restudy of the Dogon that was
aimed at assessing aspects of the earlier anthropo-
logical accounts. Commenting on this experience,
van Beek states that the “ideas with which Griaule
and his informants worked surfaced only as allu-
sions, fragments of ritual expression” (1991: 144)-
Of more specific relevance to this article, vaU
Beek states that during his research he found no
evidence to suggest that the Dogon in the Sangn
region have a “proper creation myth” (1991: 148),
and certainly not one that resembled the versions
provided by Griaule following his conversations
with Ogotemmêli, or that elaborated subsequently
in “Le renard pâle” (Griaule and Dieterlen 1965)
- which, incidentally, differs significantly from
that outlined in “Dieu d’eau” (Griaule 1948 "
English translation 1965). He also found Dogon
symbolism to be “restricted and fragmented” rathef
than coherent and cross-referencing as implied by
the Griaule and Dieterlen studies, and that these
symbolic notions are “carried by ideas and objects
sometimes quite different from the ones mentioned
in Griaule’s writings” (van Beek 1991: 148). Thus,
for instance, he found no evidence that loom8
carried the type of symbolic load described above,
although he does note in passing but without elab-
oration that some symbolic value adheres to cotton
and clothing, especially men’s trousers (van Beek
1991; 151). In attempting to explain these discrep'
ancies between his own research results and those
reported by Griaule and his associates, van Beek
argued that much of Griaule’s post-WW II writing5
40 See also Douglas 1967; for other assessments see, e.g”
Balandier 1960; Sarevskaja 1964; Clifford 1983.
Anthropos 103.20°^
95
The
Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon of Mali
°n the Dogon “cannot be taken at face value ... [as
they were] the product of a complex interaction”
between researchers and informants, the specific
c°lonial situation of their interaction, indigenous
cultural emphases on courtesy and respect, and
Eternal influences on local tradition and belief
(1991; 157). In short, the myths and the interpre-
tative texts in which these are embedded are the
consequence of a particular process of “bricolage.”
Reactions to van Beek’s restudy have been
varied, ranging from general acceptance of his as-
sessments, through more moderated critiques (e.g.,
^pter 2005) to outward criticism (e.g., Calame-
^riuale 1991; de Heusch 1991). Having conducted
aeldwork in the Sanga region around the time van
eek was working on his restudy, albeit with re-
Search interests in the social, temporal, spatial, and
symbolic dimensions of Dogon material culture
architecture rather than in their mythology,
Certainly found “the Dogon” as described by
Tan Beek more recognisable than that presented by
riaule and Dieterlen in their post-WW II writings
jbane 1991). Like van Beek, I found much in
°§on cultural activity even in the early 1980s
at resembled their way of life, material culture,
and principles of social, political, and economic
°r§anisation described in the earlier, pre-WW II
^.biographies produced by Griaule and his asso-
^ bi his original concluding remarks, van Beek
bribed Griaule’s later texts as works of “inter-
.bltural fiction” (1991: 158), later describing them
^ response to some of his own critics as “science
^bon” or “intercultural art” (van Beek 1992: 216).
j^°st recently, in a retrospective commentary on
r °Wn work among the Dogon and academic
ctions to his critique, he describes Griaule’s
*s as works, not of ethnography but as “eth-
_action, a fitting tribute to the joint creativity
a aathropologist and informants” (2004: 65). In
b yiag such labels, it must be stressed, he has
^ays been at pains to point out that this does
aiean that either he or the rest of the academic
^ aariunity should dismiss them - and in fact, van
\u- * clearly regards Griaule’s later texts as some-
^lbg to be celebrated - merely that they need to
^ad differently from the earlier ethnographies.
t0 VVlthout wishing to challenge this view, I want
q Su8gest that another reading of some of the data
\y . ule and colleagues presented, and particular-
an(jb this context that relating to cloth, clothing,
^tte C^0t^ Prodliction is possible. Firstly, in their
hi^Pt8 to explain Dogon society and belief to
ele ’ ^riuule’s informants seem to have been using
ents of their material world, including cloth,
weaving, and other associated elements of this
craft, as key metaphors. Metaphors, as is widely
recognised, arise because of “inherent problems in
the precise relationship between a world of words
and a world of things, events and actions” (Tilley
1999: 6). They are, in other words, an essential
rather than merely a contingent feature of language
and the way in which people interpret their world.
Moreover, as demonstrated here, textile produc-
tion more than any of the other Dogon crafts is
eminently suited to serve as a key metaphor pre-
cisely because it encompasses all (with the notable
exception of children) constituent parts of Dogon
society - men, women, and members of the two
craft castes. Male clothing styles, at least dur-
ing the Colonial era, emphasised the importance
placed on age in this gerontocratic society and by
employing greater and greater quantities of cloth
in the manufacture of clothing associated with
successive age groups helped create and recreate
an association between age, wealth, and increasing
control over the use of resources. Although at
the level of practice women, even in the 1980s,
clearly gained greater control over resources and
the labour of their juniors as they aged, this was
not given such overt expression through the styles
of clothing they wore. Similarly, the deposition of
spindles and other possessions belonging to de-
ceased women as part of their burial rites, and the
praise songs and poetry recited during these cere-
monies, at one level honour the deceased for their
accomplishments during life. However, these roles
are highly idealised and are sufficiently identical
for all adult women that they suppress any overt
recognition of individual achievements - such as a
woman’s skill as a potter, producer of millet beer,
or market trader, all of which can be topics of
debate among both men and women in everyday
discourse. To a certain extent, male roles are also
idealised in these contexts. However, unlike the
rites and oratory associated with women, a degree
of rhetorical space is allowed for the expression
and emphasis of the specialised achievements and
skills of individual males - hunter, weaver, war-
rior, and so forth.
More generally, it is conceivable that Griaule
and his associates in listening to Ogotemmeli and
their other informants, not only mistook the use
of metaphors for the type of literal exegesis of
Dogon symbolism and mythology that they were
interested in recording, but also held a completely
different ontological view of the relationship be-
tween humans and the material world. Specifically,
as products of an industrialised Western society
Griaule’s team may well have regarded the man-
Anth
,r°Pos 103.2008
96
Paul J. Lane
ufacture of artefacts as the self-evident outcome
of neutral actions that are separate from the social
context in which they occur - a position Pfaf-
fenberger (1988) has described as “technological
somnambulism.”41 In contrast, it would appear that
Dogon, like many other non-Western (or perhaps,
more strictly speaking preindustrial) societies, con-
ceive technology of any kind as “a total social
phenomenon in the sense used by Mauss” and as
“a form of humanised nature, that unifies virtually
every aspect of human endeavour” (Pfaffenberger
1988: 249, emphasis in the original). In this regard,
it is also worth recalling Ingold’s observation that
the English “word ‘loom’ comes from Middle En-
glish lome, which originally referred to a tool or
utensil of any kind,” and that this origin may well
imply that among a preindustrial European society,
just as among various contemporary non-Western
societies, weaving somehow epitomises “techni-
cal processes in general” (2000: 346). Elaborating
on this point, Ingold cites the example of ideas
about basketry (which involves rather similar bod-
ily skills as weaving, as the Dogon also recognise)
held by the Yekuana of Venezuela, for whom a
master of this craft is not simply someone skilled
in the particular techniques of basketry but al-
so someone who, possessing exceptional wisdom,
weaves “the world” in everything he (sic) does
(Guss 1989: 170, cited in Ingold 2000: 347). Bas-
ketry, and for that matter all other techniques of
manufacturing artefacts, for the Yakuana, in other
words, is nothing less than a matter of “making
culture.” Such a view also resonates with the no-
tion of technology as articulated within theories of
practice and particularly with the idea that at “the
level of actual practice, technologies are always
organized through (and as) techniques of the body;
and so the ‘form,’ ‘use’ and ‘function’ of a tech-
nology cannot be separated from the practices with
which it is bundled” (Sterne 2003: 385). One might
add that these ideas seem to be embedded, also,
in the French term for a loom, “metier,” which
can also mean more broadly any “craft,” “trade,”
“calling,” or “profession” and as used in colloquial
English similarly implies a field or calling in which
someone has special ability or skill.
41 Pfaffenberger opposes this with an equally common notion
in Western thought, that of “technical determinism”; how-
ever, there is little evidence that either Griaule or any of his
associates ascribed to such ideas with respect to the Dogon.
For fuller discussions of concepts of technology associated
with Western industrial society and by implication also
within anthropology for much of its history as a formal
discipline, see, e.g., Rapp 1981; Pfaffenberger 1988, 1992;
Ingold 1990, 2000: 323-338.
Viewed from this perspective then, Ogotem-
meli’s comments that weaving - the crafting of
cloth - was like the act of sexual reproduction and
that in its structure the Dogon loom resembles the
human mouth, could certainly be taken as implying
an understanding of technology as something that
is socially embedded and an embodied part of
lived practice. Little wonder then, given the social
and symbolic connotations of cloth and cloth
production among the Dogon discussed above,
that he also remarked that “To be naked is to be
speechless”!
The field research on which this article is based was
carried out with the permission of the Government of
the Republic of Mali (Permit nos. 0626/DNERS &
1596/DNERS). It was funded by the former UK De-
partment of Education and Science, with additional sup-
port from the Crowther-Beynon Fund, Allen Scholarship
Fund, Worts Travel Fund, and St John’s College (all
University of Cambridge), and the Tweedie Exploration
Fund, University of Edinburgh. A small collection of
artefacts associated with cloth production and a selection
of textiles assembled during 1983 as part of this study»
with support from the Crowther-Beynon Fund, has since
been deposited with the Museum of Archaeology and
Anthropology, University of Cambridge. As ever, I owe
a great debt to all the Dogon who assisted with this
research, particularly my research assistants Ana Dolo
and Misidou Dolo. Thanks are also due to Ian Hodden
Rogier Bedaux, and Keith Ray for their comments and
encouragement over the years, and to Terry Childs who
started me thinking about the socially embedded nature
of technology. Thanks are also due to Henrietta Moore
and John Mack for their helpful comments on an earlief
draft of this article. Any remaining shortcomings are of
my own making.
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Anthropos 103.200'"’
Anthropos
103.2008: 99-112
A Demolinguistic Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines
or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic Disenfranchisement
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser
theS*raC*’ ~ address the demolinguistic dynamics between
Yj ^rawak and Carib Indians and succeeding settlers in St.
be|*Cent and the Grenadines (SVG). The language blending
of ft660 indigen°us varieties subsisted well beyond the arrival
^ e Europeans. The chance arrival of African slaves to SVG
the i,a COnsiderable impact on the demographic reality and
0f . ln§uistic canvas. We show that the absence of a variety
tliR r and Carib today is a direct result of the extirpation of
by" afifuna population, of the linguistic rupture occasioned
trnn eir deportation, and of the colonial assimilation policies
CQr(-d with a view to fostering national development. [Island
’ Garifuna, Arawak, language loss, colonisation]
f>arisa Erescod. PhD (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle
spei?. 2^04), provided the first linguistic description and
Cre0|'ng system of Vincentian language, an English-lexified
as p' addition to her duties as an EFL trainer (English
creoj °re'8n language), her current research covers aspects of
e Phonology and morphosyntax.
Afi j
is j^an Eraser, PhD (University of Western Ontario, 1986),
Indle Sldent Tutor and Director of the University of the West
histQ8’ Sch°o1 of Continuing Studies in St. Vincent. He is a
hist0 an ^ Gaining and his publications concern social and
rical themes of the Caribbean.
The loss of a language is like the loss of
a cherished museum or library. A language
bears, in its lexical and semantic features, in
its ways of saying things, a significant measure
of the civilisation of its speakers (Hale 2000).
1 Production
was
llleratu
commonly believed and stated in the old
re on St. Vincent that the island was “dis-
covered” by Christopher Columbus on January 22,
1498. Putting aside the fact that the word “discov-
ery,” as used here, is a loaded Eurocentric term,
Christopher Columbus was actually in Spain on
that date and no evidence is currently available to
indicate that any of his crew had actually landed
on or been near St. Vincent at that time. Further-
more, despite the name “Point Espagnol” (Spanish
Point) at the northern tip of the island, there is
even some doubt that the Spaniards had landed
here at any time. Even the name St. Vincent is
clouded in mystery as it is tied in with the issue of
discovery on January 22, 1498, making reference
to the patron saint celebrated on that day. Over
the centuries, the early history of the islands re-
mained scantily documented. The first mention of
the name Saint Vincent as “San Vicente” appeared
to have been in 1512 (Sauer 1966: 193; Gullick
1985: 43). Apart from the fact that the early Euro-
peans decided to focus their attention further north
in the Greater Antilles and in Central America, the
presence of the Caribs1 who fiercely defended their
country and the myths,2 which had surfaced about
1 Throughout this article, we will use the designation “Carib”
as a cover term to refer to both the Island Caribs and the
Garifuna or Black Caribs.
2 The issue of cannibalism among the Caribs is an issue that is
still very much debated. Some researchers who accepted the
view of cannibalism have attributed it to ritualistic rather
than gastronomic reasons (cf. Petersen 1997: 129). Even
Labat, writing in 1722/III: 238 f.) had raised question about
this common view, stating that it was an error to believe that
they were anthropophagi. Labat (238 f.) observed that as a
100
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser
their supposed cannibalistic behaviour, deterred
European presence and colonisation. This can be
seen even with later English attempts to establish
themselves in St. Vincent. (Hulme and Whitehead
1992:57, 64, 177-179).
Given the minimal contact with St. Vincent
and the Grenadines (SVG), much of what is said
about the country and people was often engulfed
in stereotypes, myths, and legends and these had
seeped into the general literature throughout the
centuries. Early English settlers reinforced a lot of
this in their efforts to steer their home government
toward adopting a policy geared to driving the
indigenous inhabitants into exile in a bid to secure
prized sugar lands. Even Shephard who lived
in St. Vincent in the early decades of the 19th
century and served in different positions within the
administration could write: “the early history of the
lesser colonies in the West Indies is so obscure, and
of such little importance in the present age that it
is hardly worthy of any research.” Shephard’s so-
called history of St. Vincent is described by Goveia
(1956; 98) as an “exercise in ex-parte history.”
Shephard, however, recognised the shortcomings
of some of the early writings. He noted: “there
are few records to be found in any writings of
those who first visited them, which are not either
enveloped in fiction, or distorted by ignorance or
prejudice” (Shephard 1997: 19).
St. Vincent was one of the last strongholds
of indigenous resistance and consequently a late
victim of European colonisation. By the time, seri-
ous efforts were made with regard to colonisation,
more so by the English than by the French, the in-
digenous Indian population had integrated people
of African descent into their fold. It is believed that
the intermarriage of these peoples had produced
a population called Black Caribs (Garifuna) who
were fierce defenders of the country until their
defeat and exile in 1797.
This article seeks to address the demolinguistic
dynamics of the contact period between the Indians
and succeeding settlers on Saint Vincent and the
Grenadines. We will outline the degree of inter-
course between the clandestine European settlers
(Russell 1778/1: 102; Martin 1837: 212) and Island
Caribs, Garifuna, and Africans. To that end, we
will begin by attempting to retrace the origins of
the first attested settlers. * *
sign of victory and merit, they smoke dried body parts of
their enemies. Fabel (2000: 154), quoting the 17th-century
writer John Scott, supported the view of this ritualistic
practice and gave some detail of it.
2 Origins of the Island Caribs and Garifuna
In the literature, one reads that during the early
arrivals of Europeans to the Caribbean, groups of
Indians had already established themselves in the
islands. It is generally accepted that Arawakan-
speaking groups had settled on SVG prior to the
arrival of the group that was later identified as
the “Caribe.” Juan Lopez de Velasco used Arawak
(from aruaca or arouage) as an ethnic name in
his geographical treatise of 1574 (1971). It was
considered a revolting term designating those who
ate manioc, with reference to the Indians who
lived between the Corentyn and Pomeroon rivers
in Guiana. This group of Indians called themselves
locono or lukkunu meaning human beings (cf-
Brinton 1871; Gillin 1948: 802).
On the other hand, Carib (from calina or galibi)
is a term of self-ascription. Some early accounts
point in this direction. Sieur de La Borde’s (1674)
account in Hulme and Whitehead (1992: 139)
states: “I will not try to uncover the origins
and descent of the Caraïbes, island savages of
America; they themselves know nothing of it .. •
Old Savages have told me that they derive from
Galibis from the mainland, neighbours of their
enemies the Alouagues; because their language,
the customs, & the religion have a lot of confor-
mity with their own, & because they have entirely
destroyed a nation of these isles, except for the
women whom they took for themselves, & this is
the reason that the language of the men does not
resemble that of the women, in several particn-
lars.”
Today, the term Island Carib would suggest
the need to underscore the difference between the
mainland Galibis and those who migrated to the is'
lands and came in contact with the Arawaks. Early
writers would have it that the Island Carib mett
were a defiant force and soon caused the assimila-
tion of the Arawakan-speaking Indians. However,
according to Allaire (1980b), there is no archae-
ological proof that confirms that the Arawakan-
speaking groups were conquered. Allaire contends
that the exact opposite scenario may have occurred
following the arrival of the Europeans in the Lesser
Antilles.
It must be noted that most of the early writers
who attempted to explicate the linguistic habits ot
these first settlers identified similarities between
the languages spoken by the different groups
(Labat 1722/III: 241). While the mainland origin m
the Island Caribs seems to be undisputed, there Is
a lot more speculation as to the origin of the Black
Caribs who, according to all reports, were cultural'
Anthropos 103.200^
^ Dernolinguistic Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic Disenfranchisement 101
assimilated to the Island Caribs.3 The origin of
this group is somewhat controversial. It is general-
ly agreed that they were the descendants of unions
between Carib women and Negro men. Even the
Provenance of the Blacks is a source of contention
between historians and ethnologists alike, particu-
larly since Van Sertima’s contention that they came
before Columbus. The early chroniclers (planters
abd administrators, but also explorers, seamen, and
^rssionaries) have largely focussed on a shipwreck
°r which different dates are given as the means
y which Africans first came to St. Vincent and
r°m whom the Black Caribs descended. The early
^tlers chose to emphasise this in order to support
beir view that the Black Caribs were usurpers.
We will briefly review some theories put forward
0 account for their presence on SVG.
, The most widespread theory supposes that the
indigenous population, through integration with
African escapees of a shipwreck off Barbados, had
Pr°duced a population called Black Caribs (Gar-
una), fierce defenders of the country until their
eteat and exile in 1797. No figures have been
Su§gested to indicate the number of Africans that
JM^bt have survived the shipwreck and neither is
ere anything to indicate whether Europeans were
rbong them. It is even thought that there may not
Ve been a single shipwreck. According to Mo-
sjSu (1988; 156, 186) as early as 1611, a French
k aVer carrying 200 Negroes to Martinique and 400
e Ween St. Vincent and Grenada ran aground.
astide (1971:77) cited in Ellis (1991: 176) re-
j 13:8 that in 1635, two Spanish vessels transport-
Blacks from Efik and Ibo tribes of the Niger
® ta sank off St. Vincent (cf. also La Borde’s
^ 4 account in Hulme and Whitehead 1992: 150).
a matter of fact, shipwrecks were constantly
^P0rted until at least 1675.4 To give one last
ai*Ple, in 1672, an English slaver is reported
likhave sunk off St. Vincent (Ellis 1991:176). The
*y dates are 1672 and even an earlier date of
as given the deposition of Major John Scott
ported by Hulme and Whitehead (1992: 171).
rejeat is uncontested though is that the Caribs
^ ntlessly came to the rescue of shipwrecked
lhat;lCanS destined f°r West Indian plantations and
slav ^Ulan§ B16 17th and 18th centuries runaway
0rj es °f Yoruba, Eon, Fanti-Ashanti, and Congo
U1 Jln Continued to augment the St. Vincent pop-
latl°n (Ellis 1991:176).
^ 6 7 Nation that remains open to debate is from which
ko'h ana ^ '■be Indians arrive: North (Labat 1722/III: 242;
4 aY t4ort 1665) or South (Pelleprat 1655a; La Borde 1674).
erson 1800: 45; Shephard 1997: 22; Duncan 1955: 2.
Anthr.
°P°s 103.2008
The claim that the ex-African slaves found
themselves among the Indian settlers becomes
even more compelling considering the geographic
mobility of the Island Caribs. The Caribs trav-
elled long distances in their pirogues and reached
surrounding islands almost effortlessly. For in-
stance, a night’s journey would put Martinique
within reach (Craton 1997:121). It is, therefore,
quite likely that the Caribs fished out Africans
once they were offshore from Barbados (Labat
1722/III: 296) and Martinique (Report of Inten-
dant Robert5 [1700], in Hulme and Whitehead
1992: 173).
Another line of reasoning, advanced by the Rev.
Fr. Le Breton (1998), is that the Black Caribs are
descendants of “Ethiopians,” whose ship had been
wrecked during a storm off the northern part of
the island. According to Le Breton, this group of
“Ethiopians”6 were the only survivors from the
wreckage of this Spanish vessel. Interestingly, the
Rev. Fr. Le Breton did mention that intermixing
of the Caribs and the “Ethiopians” produced off-
spring that allowed them to equal the Carib race
without overtaking it. One is left to speculate on
whether this changed during the course of history.
However, Moreau de Tonnes, a French soldier who
wrote about his experience of fighting alongside
the Island Caribs and the Garifuna (referred to by
him as Red Caribs and Black Caribs respectively),
seemed to give no currency to the intermarriage
line of reasoning. Moreau de Tonnes (1895: 127)
refuted the idea that the group of people referred to
as the Black Caribs were offspring of Negro slaves.
Nonetheless, he likened1 them to the Ethiopi-
ans,8 given their physical traits. They had smooth,
long, black hair, similar to that of a horse’s mane.
They had a straight nose and thin lips that in no
way resembled those of the Negroes.
A more recent argument has arisen, that Ne-
groid elements were present in the region in
pre-Columbian times. According to Van Sertima
(1977; 14), the Spanish sighted, but either sup-
pressed or ignored, African settlements and arte-
5 Archives Nationales de Paris: Colonies C8-a, 12, 1700.
6 The mere fact that quotation marks appear around Ethiopian
may be an indication that this was hearsay rather than
proven fact.
7 Moreau de Jonnes had the opportunity to observe and relate
closely with the Caribs. Although he did call into question
the claim that the Black Caribs were the result of a mixture
of Red Caribs and Negroes, he did not advance any theory
about their origins. He stated that “they had the traits of
Abyssinians” (our translation).
8 Moreau de Jonnes used the term “Abyssinians”: Abyssinia
being the former name for Ethiopia.
102
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser
facts along the South American coasts. This view
by Van Sertima has not been widely accepted
and in fact a group of social scientists from
Central America have severely challenged Van
Sertima’s arguments (Haslip-Viera et al. 1997).
If we were to accept Van Sertima’s arguments,
then we would need to reexamine the dynamics
of the pre-European society. At what point did
these Blacks arrive and how did they fit in with the
commonly held stories about the interplay between
Caribs and Arawaks? The very early accounts of
visits to St. Vincent make no reference to Blacks
but later accounts in the 17th century began to
highlight their presence.
Surely, the Indians already had Blacks among
them before the Europeans established slavery in
SVG. This is no mystery since Blacks arrived
before the formal establishment of slavery. Judg-
ing from the letter of M. de Beaumont in Hulme
and Whitehead (1992: 176), prior to the arrival of
the Africans who had survived the shipwreck of
the 1670s, there were some 3,000 Blacks on St.
Vincent. Moreau (1991: 109) recounts that Luisa
Navarette observed 40 Blacks along with 30 Span-
ish captives to the Dominican Indians in 1587.
Gullick (1985: 144) also reports that the Caribs
had Negro slaves among them before 1649. It is
known that the Caribs had captured slaves from
plantations in the northern Caribbean before the
establishment of any European presence in the
Lesser Antilles. The Black Carib population was
also increased by the presence of escaped slaves
from Barbados (Labat 1722/III: 296) and Mar-
tinique, who, having been aware of the enmity
between the Caribs and Europeans, saw St. Vincent
as a place of refuge. Long after this initial maroon-
ing, which brought runaway slaves to seek refuge
in St. Vincent among the Caribs, Mrs. Carmichael
(1833/11:46) related that the slaves considered
“[justly] the Charaib country of St. Vincent as the
land of milk and honey.” This obviously had to
do with the fact that the Caribs still offered slaves
refuge from plantation oppression.
Whether the intermarriage between the Negroes
and Indians is in fact the origin of the Garifuna
race is open to discussion and much speculation.
By their cultural practices, the Garifuna could be
considered descendants of the Galibis, or at least
of their lineage. Of course, William Young and
his fellow British planters viewed the fact that
the Garifuna considered themselves as Caribs as a
usurpation of Indian customs by African Negroes
(Shephard 1997: appendix xli). In the next section,
we will examine the linguistic habits of the earlier
settlers of St. Vincent. We will also explore the
role men, women, and children may have actively
played in shaping the linguistic landscape of the
Carib civilisation.
3 Linguistic Profile of the Indian Populations
3.1 Island Carib as a bona fide Contact Language
We know very little about the nature of lan-
guage contact existing between the Caribs and
the Arawaks on St. Vincent. Breton, a Dominican
priest who had spent a little less than 19 years
on Guadeloupe from 1635 on, gives evidence in
favour of linguistic duality (Hulme and Whitehead
1992: 107; Ralston 1985; 21). In Breton’s view the
women used a language, different from that of the
men. Later another missionary, Father Labat, who
arrived in 1693, also reported the same linguistic
state of affairs but went further to state that there
were three sorts of languages, the first being one
that everyone spoke, but which was typical of the
men’s speech. The second, specific to the women,
was understood by the men but, not used by them,
and neither dared the women to address the men
in this language. The women used this language
only among themselves. The older men of the
community used what appeared to have been a
war jargon when they met during the war councils
and which neither the women nor the young Carib
men understood (Labat 1722/III: 241 f.).
Farr (1993) as quoted by Cooper (1997; 194 f-)
suggests that before the Europeans came, women
and men took part in trade and spoke Island Carib
as a trade jargon. However, in their efforts to
defend themselves from European aggression they
became increasingly militarised and witnessed
the transformation of trading and warfare into male
dominated activities, a shift which reflected a11
increased distinction between women and men s
language. Farr further contends that the Island
Carib language was not restricted to men. Givefl
our ignorance of pre-Columbian Carib society, 11
is difficult to dismiss Farr’s position. What
can assert is that the language spoken by the
Indians in the Caribbean by the 17th century boN
all the marks of a bona fide contact language
The sociocultural and linguistic context which
we are focussing on was far from being a static
one.
An anonymous pirate, dubbed “Tanonyme de
Carpentras” by Moreau (1990: 117) and who had
had the privilege of observing the Indians on tbe
French islands for 11 months between 1619—162^,
i.e., some 15 years before Father Breton, cod1'
103.2008
Anthropos
A Dernolinguistic Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic Disenfranchisement 103
Rented on the differences between the language of
the men and that of the women, provided below
in (1).
(1) Women’s Language
cati
mabiorgnom hi
acquietios
Men’s Language
nouna
maboiqua immouro
accabou ou ou
Gloss
“the moon”
“good day my son”
“come here”
Gloss
“the moon”
“good day my son”
“come here”
n the literature, the lexical elements record-
^ varied according to the observers. Pelleprat
tt655b: 17) recorded mourou “son” (Galibis), and
n°tino “the moon” (1655b: 15). Breton himself al-
s° Provided mdbouica “good day,” imoulou “my
s°n/’ and niraheu “my son.” More evidence of
Ration can be seen in Breton’s (1665-66) die-
tary entries for hake or haaketeke “come” and
Qccdbo “come.” Hdc im “come here, son” and tie
^te “come here” were also recorded by Breton.
^egrettably, Breton provided no explanatory notes
0jndicate who used these lexical entries nor under
h!ch circumstances.
The issue of linguistic duality that is general-
accepted has spawned some debate about the
"sri§in, even when the gender differentiation issue
considered. This has reinforced the view started
Columbus that the Galibis (Carib or Karina-
tj eaking) men coming from their Amazonian set-
racnts to trade eventually conquered the Igneri
rawakan-speaking) groups. From this also arose
e commonly held view that the Caribs ate the
f n and usurped possession of the female folk
^ Breton 1666; Pelleprat 1655a: 68).9 The latter
^ reported to have kept their language.
lhis is an interesting phenomenon, which calls
some remarks. Twentieth-century linguists have
£ chained that the language spoken by the Island
loa^s was in reality an Arawakan language. Tay-
the • ^7* 27 f., 98), for instance, has shown that at
hrne Breton compiled his French Carib dictio-
dicri anc* §rammar Island Carib men were in fact
* Ossie or partially bilexical but not bilingual,
ifit !• e concePt of a conquered people and the
that 1Cat*0ns arising thereof are accepted, it means
°Wn^e *an§uage °f the Arawakan women held its
h h arnon§ speakers of 17th-century Island Carib.
s often been stated that a conquering group
9 Th
tyfi t|1SSUe cannibalism evidently arose from this,
ofe bave shown in section 1, the question of Carib cc
be Arawaks has not been fully resolved.
Anth
lroPos 103.2008
of people does not typically adopt the language
of those they conquered unless the conquerors
arrived in small numbers, as was the case of the
Normans who invaded England and who ended up
speaking English. The counter example is that of
the Anglo-Saxons, who, although they arrived in
relatively small numbers in the 7th century, did
not adopt Celtic languages (Crystal 2005: 29).
Technically speaking, the Island Caribs spoke a
language containing many Karina or true Carib af-
fixes. Their speech clearly showed that grammati-
cal morphemes came from the Arawakan family of
languages whereas lexemes were borrowed from
the Karina language family (cf. Taylor 1977; 98,
fn 4). Some examples follow in (2):
(2) a. Nembouidtina tibdnam “I came to her”
(Breton 1667: 18)
(i) The stem nemboui- from Cariban means
“come”
(ii) The stem -ibdnam from Cariban means
“to”
b. chiledtina tone “I came to her” (Breton
1667: 18)
(i) The stem chile- from Arawakan means
“come”
(ii) The stem -one from Arawakan means “to”
The common grammatical affixes -d-ti-na (perfec-
tive aspect), (1st sg.), and -ti (3rd sg. feminine) are
Arawakan.
In addition to the syntactic mixing, there was
some morphological mixing (Taylor 1977:27).
Thus, where affixes from the men’s language
were used for (3a) to (3c), affixes belonging to
the females’ speech were used elsewhere in the
paradigm (4a) and (4b):
(3) a. ichdnum “my mother”
b. achdnum “your mother”
c. kichdnum “our mother”
(4) a. lichdnum “his mother”
b. tichdnum “her mother”
According to Taylor, these same affixes could also
be used for all persons and even with stems of
Karina origin. The Karina stem glossed “belly” in
(5 a) was combined with the Arawakan affix and
inflected as in (5b) and (5c).
(5) a. uhuembou “belly”
b. nuhembou “my belly”
c. buhuembou “your belly”
Alleyne (2004) eloquently articulated that there
have been discrepancies as per the genetic and/or
typological relationships of the indigenous lan-
104
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser
guages of the Caribbean.10 Nevertheless, Alleyne
(13) has argued for a state of language mixing,
granted that speakers of Island Carib went fur-
ther than merely adopting lexical morphemes from
Carib to incorporate functional grammatical mor-
phemes as well.
There is enough evidence to show that the
Caribs on the islands understood the Galibis lan-
guage of the mainland (cf. La Horde’s [1674]
quote in Hulme and Whitehead [1992: 139] cited
in section 2). Pelleprat (1655a: 89) observed that
the language of the Galibis was as universal on
the mainland as Latin was in Europe. In fact,
Pelleprat took advantage of the status of Galibis to
evangelise among the different mainland nations
in order to touch a maximum number of souls,
noting that despite the diversity of nations only the
Comangotes did not understand but that all others,
including the Caribs who came from the islands to
visit their friends, understood his messages. This
would suggest that the language was widely under-
stood, having the status of a lingua franca in the
classic sense of the term (Schuchardt 1979: 29);
no doubt, competence in this language would have
promoted trade and commerce in the area. Fabel
(2000:136) suggests that one might consider the
concepts of migration and amalgamation as more
possible reasons rather than the matter of invasion
and displacement to explain the presence of so
many Arawakan words in the language of the
Caribs. This leads us to explore the idea that there
may have been more gradual circumstances that
favoured transmission.
3.2 The Role of Women
It appears to be generally accepted that the men
used “a widespread trading language in South Amer-
ica” (Allaire 1980a: 181; Taylor and Hoff 1980).
Taylor also noted that the Island Carib contained
Arawakan and Karina words common to both
sexes. Earlier, he had stated that the first record
of Carib language even of the men was basically
Arawak as was Taino, with no more than a Carib
overlay of mainly lexical character (1951: 24-27).
It would appear that the Island Carib men saw
preserving a Karina variety as essential once trade
continued with those on the mainland. Further-
more, Taylor (1977:98) stresses that the Karina
variety was “nurtured through a sort of machismo
10 The keynote address given by Alleyne marked the open-
ing of the 14th Biennial Conference of the Society for
Caribbean Linguistics in 2002.
as the language of a more prestigious nation.”
Yet, the idea that men from “a more prestigious
nation” operated a significant number of structural
transfers into Karina does bring a rather perti-
nent question to the surface. How did the Arawa-
kan women succeed in imposing their language?
Firstly, we have every reason to believe that
the women played a pillar role in the defence of
the Carib nation. Although it has been made to
appear that the Carib women were totally excluded
from men’s affairs, it must be stressed that at
least one report points to the total involvement
of women and girls in military affairs. According
to Moreau de Jonnes, women and children were
taught to bear arms and did it successfully in
the defence of their land. He wrote about two
young Carib girls, descendants of the mother of
the chief of the Black Caribs, that these little
Carib girls equalled the warriors’ strength and
intrepidity despite their tender age (1895: 130)-
Later on, Moreau de Jonnes (177) made mention of
the general firearm training of girls. The women’s
places in the society were well defined, but be that
as it may, they were so omnipresent in the life of
the men that it is difficult to believe reports that
depicted them as entirely servile creatures. The
men would take along one woman with them on
expeditions. When the men went to the mountains
in search of manioc or fruit, they took along their
women and children as well (Moreau 1990: 117)-
Unless it can be proven that the men forbid theif
wives to participate verbally in these undertakings*
then there is nothing to reveal that the women’s
presence among the Carib men was a purely
passive one. As we see it, their mere presence
would have presented as many opportunities to
pass on their language as there could have existed-
Secondly, the women were practically sole-
ly responsible for educating not only the girl8
but also male children, at least until the age of
5 years. Rochefort (1665: 395) reported that boys
would follow their fathers and brothers from the
age of 5 to 6 years. By this time, according to
Rochefort (395) they could understand the speech
of their mothers and sisters. A likely consequence
of this is that the children born in these mixed
unions began a new kind of linguistic hybrid!'
sation, incorporating structures and lexical item8
from both their father’s and mother’s tongues.
The issue then might not have been about the
Arawakan women imposing their language bid
of maintaining elements of proto-Arawakan and
passing them on to successive generations given
their marked presence in community affairs. 1°
any event, although it has been made to appeaI
Anthropos 103.2008
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105
that the Carib women were totally excluded from
then’s affairs, this might not have been totally true
throughout their period of history. In an attempt to
Preserve their nation the involvement of women
|n civil and military affairs must have become
inevitable.
Quite often affairs about and observations of
the Caribs are treated as though they existed in
static rather than dynamic conditions. By the 17th
Century the world of the Caribs had been subjected
to a variety of influences including some even from
those Europeans who did not settle in St. Vincent
and of course from the Africans. True enough the
dribs’ linguistic diversity has been attributed to
their geographic mobility. They would manoeuvre
Ptrogues throughout the waters of the Americas
^us the importance of being able to communicate
. lth potential trading partners. Rochefort (1665,
ln Hulme and Whitehead 1992: 118) made refer-
erice to a “bastard speech intermixt with several
^°rds taken out of foreign languages” which the
T'Uribs have framed for the purpose of commerce.
pAvever, Cooper (1997; 194) assumes that the
ltailguage of the Kalinago people11 was largely
a dynamic communication system that reflected
he sociocultural flexibility needed for adaptation
0 Maritime travel, trade, warfare, and natural di-
eter, especially after the encounter with Euro-
heuns.” He argues, too, about the possibility that
he Kalinago’s language was derived from a South
I merican Carib language that was related to Is-
^hd Arawak. While as time went by the language
ecame separate and unintelligible to the South
hierican parent variety, the Kalinago through re-
heated trade with their South American relatives
hopted a language used for trade and warfare
hooper 1997: 194).
ft is difficult to ascertain just how many years
^ c°ntact there were between the Arawakan- and
j arma-speaking groups at the time Breton’s sem-
£ ^ dictionary was compiled and ultimately, be-
re the advent of the Blacks who, clearly, rep-
^Sented diverse languages (Pelleprat 1655a: 52).
^ ls also an almost impossible task to establish
many generations of Garifuna people were
j Cessary to acquire Island Carib beyond the
^ ^language state. In the next subsection we will
Hn US °n influence hhe Europeans had on the
§Uistic profile of the Garifuna who shared many
tfiral aspects with the Island Caribs.12
Cooper uses the designation “Kalinago” to refer to the
\2 lSland Caribs (1997: 186).
“reton 1665; Labat 1722; Le Breton 1998; Pelleprat 1655a;
TVlor and Hoff 1980.
A:
nthr
3.3 The European Languages Influence
In the literature, the Garifuna are conveniently
referred to as Black Caribs, given their darker skin
pigmentation. González’ research has shown that
there was no justification for distinguishing the
Island Caribs and the Garifuna on racial grounds,
for, by the middle of the eighteenth century, the
Black Caribs of SVG were culturally and biolog-
ically indistinguishable from the “Yellow Caribs.”
González posits that the British insisted on the
racial component as a means of preserving the dis-
tinction (1997; 200). In any case, given the events
that ensued, the portrayal added legitimacy to
William Young’s and the rest of the plantocracy’s
call to dispossess them of their lands (Shephard
1997: appendix xli).
There is reason to believe that, besides shar-
ing varieties of Karina-influenced Arawakan, the
Garifuna, like the Island Caribs, showed an undis-
guised preference for French when communicat-
ing with Europeans. The account of John Braith-
waite, a British captain (in Hulme and White-
head 1992: 178), provides some elements which
could give us an idea of the Caribs’ linguistic
competence in French, the language which they
were more often called upon to use, since French
planters had clandestinely settled on the island:
“Our people had not been long returned, but their
General sent a canoa, with two Chief Indians, who
spoke very good French ...”
Subsequently, Braithwaite was to meet the
brother of the Black chief with an army of 500
Blacks. He reported: “The Negroe Chief spoke ex-
cellent French, and gave answers with the French
complements.” Moreau de Jonnés, who fought
alongside the Caribs and the Garifuna in 1795,
reported that they understood French very well
and even spoke it with ease (1895; 128). It is not
difficult to understand why this is so. The Caribs
had an understanding of the geopolitics of the
region and in particular the enmity between the
French and the English. The English appeared the
more aggressive in their desire to acquire Carib
lands. Being conscious of this, the Caribs forged
alliances with the French and actually allowed a
limited number of them to settle in St. Vincent.
The French, in fact, assisted the Caribs in their
struggles with the English in 1763 and 1795-96
and remained their trading partners throughout.
The French and English in their desire to settle
and control these islands tried to play off the
Island Caribs and Garifuna against each other. The
Caribs despite their more amicable relationship
with the French made it clear, however, that they
'°pos 103.2008
106
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser
were not prepared to surrender their independence
to anyone. In 1700, French Commissariat Officer
Robert touched on this issue in a report to his
headquarters. He wrote: “What is certain and
what makes me believe that these Caraibes will
never consent to allow the French to land on
their part of the leeward coast and to give them
passage to penetrate to the windward side, is that
all their greatest consideration is given to not
letting anyone set foot on their island, neither
the French nor any other kind of person; it is
a very steadfast sentiment that they prefer to
see 2,000 Negroes settled in their island than to
see embarking here only fifty armed Frenchmen”
(Hulme and Whitehead 1992: 173 f., quoted in
Fraser 2002: 14 f.).
In 1768, seven years after the conquest of
St. Vincent by the British, the Abbé Valladares
who the Caribs had used as their public agent
in 1762 to advise them and negotiate for them,
had to be sent to the Carib country to explain
the conditions of the settlers’ land policy (Young
1795; 38). Nine years after Britain’s control of St.
Vincent that was provided by the Treaty of Paris
of 1763 the Caribs were still not easily conversant
with English. More crucially, the treaty that ended
the 1772 war was neither available in the Carib
language nor in French, and it was later alleged
that there was some uncertainty by the Carib chiefs
over precisely what they had signed, claiming to
have signed a lease concerning a few acres of land
and not to have authorised their sale (cf. Townsend
1772: 5). Certainly as contact developed with the
English in the period after 1773, the Caribs and
English would have been able to communicate,
largely in English or at least in a version of
it. Sir William Young, for instance, refers to his
relationship with the Black Carib Chief Chatoyer.
Methodist missionaries trying to preach among the
Caribs would also have been able to establish some
form of communication.
Children later on acquired a mixture of the vari-
eties present in the community. Moreau de Tonnes
(1895: 132) wrote of Oualou-Couma (Morning
Star) and Illehue-Arahou (Flower of the Wood)
speaking French quite imperfectly though intelli-
gently for, when they did not know a word, they
would replace it by an English or Carib one. This
would suggest that members of the Carib commu-
nity had recourse to some code switching. Howev-
er, whether or not this tendency to mix codes went
beyond lexical borrowing to mixing functional
grammatical morphemes from the three languages
is open to speculation unless some solid linguis-
tic data should become available for analysis.
The evangelisation efforts made by Roman
Catholic and Methodist missionaries also impact-
ed on the linguistic habits of the Island Caribs
and Garifuna. Both seminal works compiled by
Breton viz. French-Carib dictionaries and “Gram-
maire caraibe,” were done with the sole aim
of “retirer les peuples anthropophages de leurs
ténèbres”13 (Breton 1667). With specific refer-
ence to SVG, the French missionaries reported
little success in converting the Caribs and had
to abandon the mission in 1708, as the natives
only seemed to pay lip service to the Christian
religion (Rouse 1948:548). The Methodists were
also forced to abandon their mission in St. Vincent
as the Caribs viewed their move to evangelise them
in English with suspicion (Young 1993; 31).
As the White and Black slave populations in-
creased massively after 1763, a new linguistic situ-
ation was created even though the contact between
the slave and Carib populations was likely to have
been limited as stipulated by one of the terms of
the 1773 Treaty (Shephard 1997: 32). Moreover,
we can assume that the Whites who settled on
SVG added a few touches to the linguistic picture
(Prescod 2004: 15). Mrs. A. C. Carmichael, the
spouse of a British planter who boasted about the
privilege of having close ties with her domestic
and field slaves, wrote the following as a comment
to an expression used by one of her slaves: “. • ■
she used to say to me ‘no tease me, misses, me
one very good nigger; let me be.’ Let me be is
a frequent expression among Negroes, and they
probably learnt this and other decided Scotticism8
from the number of Scotch managers and over-
seers” (Carmichael 1833/1:303).
In 1795, before the Carib defeat, the islands of
SVG were shared with French planters who were
prepared to accept the conditions laid down by
the British for remaining in the territory, and with
those who were commonly referred to as petits
blancs14 (cf. Hulme 2000). On account of the
Caribs’ relationship with the French in Martinique
through trade and the supplying of arms, апУ
relationship between the French population and
the Caribs was always viewed with some degree
of suspicion. The Garifuna, we have been told, U1
order to distinguish themselves from slaves opted
to adopt the traditions of the Island Caribs, which
probably included the language. This might als°
have applied to Maroons and others who wanted t°
13 “taking the anthropophagus people out of their darkness
(our translation).
14 The petits blancs were “small Whites” comprising 11121
chants and property owners.
103.2008
Anthropos
107
^ Demolinguistic Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic Disenfranchisement
Set themselves apart from the slaves. Many aspects
°f the Caribs’ culture and traditions were perceived
as exotic to the slaves (Young 1993: 40). It is puz-
that by the time Ober arrived among the
Carib descendants, they were practically assimilat-
ed by the British. Ober found that many of them
sPoke a creolised variety of English, noting, how-
ler, that some of them could boast “an uncon-
tarninated line of descent from cannibal ancestry”
(Ober 1904: 379). One can sense a tinge of regret
when he related the linguistic state of affairs with
Aspect to those Caribs who had never been able
speak native tongue (Ober 1880: 113). Fenger
0^17), who lamented that they were a dying race,
echoed this sentiment.
3.4 Preserving the Island Carib Language
Subsequent to the deportation and just about
around the period Ober visited the Caribs, we leam
that on St. Vincent, only 3 senior females among
the Caribs at Point Espagnol spoke the “natal lan-
guage” (Fenger 1917). There is little doubt that this
natal language he elicited from an elderly Carib
lady was a mixture of both Karina and Luku. In
Table 1 we provide a comparison between some
words that were recorded by Fenger and those
found in other word lists.
As the table shows, many of these words are of
Karina origin and it is noteworthy that they were
solicited from a female member of the community.
Table 1: Comparative “Carib” Word List.
p
enger’s His comments as per Derived from Gloss Other linguistic sources cited by researchers
Section the natal language (cf. Fenger)
merely softened vehu sun we:yu, Karina/True Carib (Taylor 1977: 143)
hueyu (Breton 1666; 365)
hueiou (Pelleprat 1655b; 15)
ah-tuh merely softened what-hò fire udtu from CAIC* Karina (Taylor 1977: 140);
waxto, Karina/True Carib (144)
^ oiiato (Pelleprat 1655b: 15)
°°du changed slightly otò fish üdu(rao), CAIC (Taylor 1977: 138), from wo:to, Karina/True Carib (142) oüôtto (Pelleprat 1655b: 16)
d°°nah changed slightly tona water duna, CAIC (Taylor 1977: 139) from tu:na, Karina/True Carib toüna (Pelleprat 1655b: 16)
hQat häti changed completely mòné moon nu:no, True Carib /Karina (Taylor 1977: 143) kathi, Arawakan (Taylor 1977:27), but monha is glossed “land”(compare Breton 1666: 378) noüno (Pelleprat 1655b: 13)
**h-Wey common practice of onomatopoeic words in many savage languages tree uéue, CAIC (Taylor 1977: 138) from we:we, Karina/True Carib (142)
^ey pronounced with soft breath suggesting the noise of the snake snake (h)éue, CAIC (Taylor 1977: 140), compare oko.yu. True Carib/Karina (144) and ori, Arawak (133)
^'Wgah in the dry grass OCCÔÏOU (Pelleprat 1655b: 16)
to chop dcuga, CAIC (Taylor 1977:48) “to chop or fell wood.” Compare dcuagua “to chop up in lengths.”
Taylor uses CAIC for Central American Island Carib.
108
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser
We may recall that the women were said to be
of Arawakan origin and that they had preserved
the Arawakan language. Although this slim corpus
bars us from drawing any conclusions, we note
here that words of Karina origin constitute part of
the repertoire of a female’s language 250 years
after the first “Carib” dictionary was compiled.
This would mean that the Carib men’s language
impacted on the women’s speech. This is not in the
least an absurd idea, as Labat (1722/III: 241) had
pointed out that the women addressed their peer
males in the language of the latter (see also Taylor
1977). We do not know under what conditions this
linguistic investigation was carried out, but this is
nonetheless an interesting finding. What is intrigu-
ing, too, is that Fenger did not seem to succeed in
eliciting the Karina word for “moon.” His female
informant produced the Arawak lexeme haat, hdti
which led Fenger to surmise that the Karina equiv-
alent for “moon” had completely changed from
mdne to haat/hdti. Interestingly, Taylor recorded
haati as an Arawakan word (compare with kdthi in
Taylor 1977; 132). Even so, we ought to emphasise
that the language recorded by the missionaries and
travellers was not a written one. The Caribs and
Arawaks had an oral tradition so the differences
identified in accounts from the various observers
is impressionistic, based on phonological criteria
rather than on the graphic representation of the
sounds. It matters little whether one wrote kdthi
or casi, since the background and native language
of the observer would have greatly influenced the
way the words were transcribed.
What precedes clearly allows us to conclude
that by the turn of the twentieth century the Caribs
had to operate a linguistic shift to a variety of
English. In the remainder of this article, we will
outline some of the factors that facilitated and or
motivated this shift.
4 Imposing British Supremacy and Ensuring
Extensive Assimilation
The Treaty of 1773 that ended the war of 1772 with
the British stipulated “no undue intercourse with
the French Islands shall be allowed” (Shephard
1997: 32). It also declared “no strangers or white
person are to be permitted to settle among the
Caribs, without permission obtained in writing
from the Governor” (Shephard 1997:34). The
Caribs were to “bear true allegiance to His Majesty
George III” and to acknowledge the King as
“rightful lord and Sovereign of all the Island
of Saint Vincent, and that the lands held by us
the Caribs, are granted through His Majesty’s
clemency” (Shephard 1997:35). Of course, in a
society where the Carib population was considered
a threat and obstacle to the development of British
plantations the settlers considered the separation
of slaves and Caribs as absolutely necessary. In
fact they argued for the removal of the Caribs
particularly after the war of 1772.
Duncan misses the point in noting that prior to
the apprenticeship era: “Slaves [were] compelled
to speak English. - Of course, broken English at
the beginning; but it was a blessing in disguise,
for St. Vincent and the rest of the West Indies
could not have progressed as rapidly as has been
the case, if the people spoke a number of different
languages” (1955: 35). What was at stake was not
the development of a nation but the provision
for the establishment of plantations and sugar for
the benefit of English settlers who never at this
stage really considered St. Vincent a home. Dun-
can particularly viewed the Caribs as enemies and
for him the English language would have been
necessary for the development of civilisation as
he saw it. The issue of power would have come
into play here. The British saw the imposition of
their culture, language, and institutions as being
vital. Not knowing the language of the Caribs and
Africans would have put them at a disadvantage
in not knowing when there might be talk of revolt-
As subjects, even inferior ones, it was necessary
for the Caribs and Africans to adopt the English
language to make communication possible. As the
“superior race” the British were not going to at-
tempt even to learn the language of the colonised
people. The dynamics of colonial rule also ensured
that the indigenous languages would have disap'
peared. As a result of colonial brainwashing, to be
educated was to learn the language of the masters
and adopt their culture.'
The linguistic implications of the terms under
which the Caribs were to be settled were faT'
reaching. The issue of the Caribs passing on theh
language would have been tied in with the power
relationships within the society. Once they were
relegated to a state of marginalisation this would
have impacted on their language and cultural
influence. It also meant that there was no need
for anyone outside this community to leam Island
Carib, as they were not inclined to have any mead'
ingful dealings with them. Laws affecting the fiveS
of the Caribs were not made available to thefd
in the language they could understand. This, in a
nutshell, is tantamount to language stifling, or d1
political and economic terms, language disenfrad'
chisement.
103.2008
Anthropos
^ Dernolinguistic Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic Disenfranchisement 109
The concept of language disenfranchisement
18 discussed in Ginsburgh and Weber (2005) to
account for the problems resulting from public
Policy that restricts the linguistic rights of a lan-
§Uage community. According to Ginsburgh and
weber, the move towards restricting the number
of languages used in official documents within the
European Community results in relative numbers
°f citizens losing the ability to understand and
c°mmunicate. Admittedly, present-day Europe is
n°t comparable, politically, culturally nor econom-
icaljy with the Carib period we are focussing on in
Jfis article and it would be ludicrous to pretend that
. oth situations are parallel. Nonetheless, as we see
T the Carib situation was one where people of a
Pafiicular ethnic and linguistic background were
UePrived of their linguistic rights and explicitly
^eluded from the political affairs of the territo-
ry where they were legitimate citizens. This was
Achieved chiefly by not making matters concerning
e Political and social process of nation building
aVailable to the Caribs in the language they could
nderstand. In denying access to the sociopolitical
ip °cess, they were denied rights and recognition.
ais had implications for the Carib language and
aure given the limited opportunities to interact
lta others. Any interaction with the British was
^ Pec ted necessarily to be in the English language
s°me version of it.
The British relationship with the Caribs, partic-
t, arly after 1763, was one not of coexistence but in
ti 6 nature of a “cold war.” The Caribs might not at
s stage been seen as cannibals, but although they
jjjJe not enslaved they might have been regarded,
fiif6 t*le s^aves’ as a f°rm °f property. Indeed a
. Ure relationship was not a serious consideration
f e the main concern was to have them removed
aj^\ the colony. This course of action continued
ra- lritensified beyond 1797. Despite occasional
WerS Caribs who had escaped exile, the Caribs
j. e no longer a major obstacle to the develop-
1 °f British society and economy. Even so
tfiai ^ t^lere were strong pressures against the
no ntenance of traditional practices and there was
Se rec°rd, equal to the mine of documentation
leaUre<f by the French, of the British attempt to
for^ °r document Island Carib. The Caribs, there-
in ’ Were muted and by extension, so was their
the' • e' a result» they were unable to preserve
Ws ^n£u*st*c heritage beyond the 19th century,
of ^ became so particularly with the expulsion
efii
lr rnain culture bearers in 1797. After the
l^10* of the volcano soufrière Saint Vincent in
¡0 ^ toany of them had to be removed from areas
north because of the effects of this volcanic
Atlth;
r°P°s 103.2008
eruption. They became dispersed, some of them
even being forced to migrate to Trinidad then. In
situations where the community remained intact in
the period after emancipation they began to include
freed Blacks. By this time much of the language
had disappeared although Ober reported that in
the 1880s a handful of the older men and women
remembered the original language (1880: 100).
Admittedly, nations do not preserve languages,
speakers do. For one thing, the deportation of the
Garifuna people was not in the least tantamount to
language attrition per se since varieties of Garifuna
language are still spoken by descendants in the
Garifuna diaspora outside SVG. Neither does ex-
tirpation rime with linguistic disenfranchisement.
Furthermore, the condition sine qua non for the
continued existence of a language is not only the
survival of its speakers but also, and more crucial-
ly, the freedom to use it. Manifestly, this was not
the case for the defeated Caribs. Not only were
they assimilated; the British administrators did not
encourage ethnic mixing or linguistic diversity. To
avoid being characterised as “other,” the Caribs
had to fit into the mould of linguistic imperialism
that also sought to create a homogeneous culture.
The only alternative for the subdued group of
people would have been to operate a language
shift from their own to the dominant one. Myers-
Scotton (2002: 183) underlines that speakers may
shift languages for two reasons.
1. They shift due to a shift in the balance of the
instrumental and sentimental values associated
with languages.
2. They may just drop the composite (matrix)
language and shift to the dominant one.
Myers-Scotton (2002; 180) also stresses that
the factors promoting language attrition among
individual speakers or community shift are of a
social and psychological nature. Furthermore, it
can be assumed, along the lines developed by
Myers-Scotton (180) that speakers of Island Carib
would have been even more obliged to shift to a
variety of the dominant language as they saw their
own as less useful and less valued in and out of
the community. The language shift became even
more important as the native was made to feel that
social mobility and ascendancy were equated with
the ability to conform. There might have been little
effort to resist assimilation since the stereotypes
about the Caribs continued and increasingly the
view that their future depended on their ability to
operate a language shift and adapt the linguistic
and cultural customs of the colonisers. As Hale
(1998; 215) forcefully expounds, the propaganda
encourages the belief that the choice is not viable
110
Paula Prescod and Adrian Fraser
since it is perceived as being incompatible with
the “proper vision” of the future.
Once the majority of the Caribs were sent in
exile this was bound to signal the end of their
language use on St. Vincent, and to a great extent
their customs. Numerically, the Carib population
had become quite an insignificant one and they
lived at first in the remote parts of St. Vincent even
after their “pardon” in 1805. González (1988: 17)
conjectures that given the figures for captives
from 1795-96 and those of battle mortality, there
may have been between 7,000 and 8,000 Caribs
before their exile. Some 4,338 (21) were estimated
to have been captured and taken to Balliceaux.
It is difficult to estimate the number of Caribs
remaining on St. Vincent. By 1833, Alexander
(1833:279) suggested a total of 1,000 Caribs.
Because of their skills at sea they were employed
particularly on the windward side in getting the
sugar out to the boats that had to stay some
distance away from the shore owing to the rough
seas on the windward side. In this situation they
would be forced to communicate with the English
in the latter’s language. They were cut off from
the rest of the residents as outlined in the Treaty,
since any outsider to the Carib territory had to
have written permission from the British Governor
(Shephard 1997:34). As we know, the British
displayed greater political and military presence
than the French (Young 1993: 24) to ensure that
the rest of the Negro population did not entertain
ties with the Caribs. Needless to say, given the
fact that the Caribs freshly represented a force to
be reckoned with, there was no way they were
going to be allowed to regain strength and valour.
Furthermore, the Caribs were victims of a
number of myths and thus highly stigmatised.
These can be seen even in textbooks published
after 1838. The Caribs even began to internalise
and believe much of what was said about them,
including the issue of gratuitous cannibalism. They
developed a sort of inferiority complex and in
many cases even denied that they were Caribs.
After the volcanic eruptions of 1812 and 1902
they were forced out of the Carib country areas
although later the majority returned. Some of them,
however, stayed away and integrated themselves
into other communities. The Caribs in the Carib
country lived very outcast lives and were victims
of a lot of scorn, the women even regarded as
sex slaves or easy sex pickings. This type of
situation continued until the “quincentenary” in
1992 when a whole new consciousness, part of
a wider American consciousness, began to impact
on them.
5 Conclusions
We can ask ourselves a number of questions. If
there were no deportation of the Island Carib
speakers, what would the language have become?
How would it have changed? What role would it
have played in present-day SVG?
Answers to these questions may seem only
speculative but much of this would have depended
on the power situation and the relationship of
the population to the rest of the society. In fact,
the Dominican situation will be instructive in this
exercise. The Dominican Caribs were not sent into
exile but were put on reservations. The powef
situation would have been a critical one in such a
context. To examine the linguistic outcome of the
Dominican experience will draw us away from the
goals we have set out to achieve in this article-
Suffice it to say, however, that the Dominican
Caribs situation is equally as complex, though in
a much different way, as that of SVG. The Carib
language is not spoken by a wide cross section of
the Carib community there. They too were maf'
ginalised until their chief was vested with special
status and granted the right to participate in the iifl'
plementation and benefits of development policies
on behalf of the community towards 1975.
In relation to the rest of the community, hoW'
ever minimally, the Caribs on St. Vincent may
have lost their language, or they might even have
retained some of it as their exiled brothers and
sisters did. One of the features of migration is that
migrant groups tend to stick together and preserve
their culture and accustomed ways of doing thing8’
but it all depends on the different influences that
are brought to bear on them. The Garifuna wh°
were sent into exile met a different environment-
not one dominated by the English. They entered
at a period of conflict between the British ann
Spanish. There were a lot of other forces at play’
and not many years after the issue of the wars
independence arose. With respect to the situatio^
on St. Vincent, Island Carib might have continue^
to exist and intermingle with subsequent varieties
spoken there. But then again, some variety b
Island Carib might have survived and with it a
significant measure of the civilisation of its speak'
ers” (Hale 2000).
A version of this article was presented at the 16th Biel1
niai Meeting of the Society for Caribbean LinguisticS’
held in Roseau, Commonwealth of Dominica, from 2 t0
6 August 2006. The authors thank the participants ottri
meeting for useful comments and suggestions.
Anthropos 103
,2008
A Demolinguistic Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic Disenfranchisement 111
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Foundation. (Viking Fund Publications in Anthropol0'
gy. IV)
1977 Languages of the West Indies. Baltimore: John Hopkim
University Press.
Taylor, Douglas R., and Berend J. Hoff
1980 The Linguistic Repertory of the Island-Carib in the
Seventeenth Century. The Men’s Language - a Cad
Pidgin? International Journal of American Linguist^
46:301-312.
Townsend, Thomas
1772 Two Points against an Expedition against the BUC
Caribs on St. Vincent. Ann Arbor: University of Mi^1
gan. [William L. Clements Library: Sydney Fam1^
Papers]
Van Sertima, Ivan
1977 They Came before Columbus. New York; Randolil
House.
Wilson, Samuel M. (ed.)
1997 The Indigenous People of the Caribbean. Gainesvine'
University Press of Florida.
Young, Virginia Heyer
1993 Becoming West Indian. Culture, Self, and Nation 1
St. Vincent. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Pf6sS
Young, William f
1795 An Account of the Black Charaibs in the Island 0
St. Vincent’s. London: J. Sewell.
Anthropos 103.20^
Anthropos
103.2008: 113-125
“Modernizing God” in Haitian Vodou?
Reflections on Olowoum and Reafricanization in Haiti
Markel Thylefors
- This article explores processes of religious change
tjo ,Jn Haitian Vodou from the perspective of “reafricaniza-
to • and "desyncretism.” As a case in point serve attempts
■ Produce Olowoum as the Vodou Godhead, thus replac-
Christian Bondye, or Lord. While the introduction of
With e.'ernents’ such as Olowoum, into Vodou seems fraught
said 0PP0shion from practitioners, the same can not be
as r, re8arding attempts to exclude religious elements (such
that athollc saints) from Vodou. A guiding reflection is also
as reafricanization and desyncretization are best understood
of a°.nternP°rary expressions of Vodou’s long-standing tradition
tgious adaptability. [Haitian Vodou, Olowoum, reafrican-
l°n< desyncretization, anti-syncretism]
a? Thylefors, PhD in Social Anthropology, is a researcher
carrie School of Global Studies, Goteborg University. He has
2QQ-yed out fieldwork in Haiti in periods between 1996 and
rej; .’ " His current research project investigates social and
§l0us change of the Haitian Vodou religion.
Afring the twentieth century, practitioners of
ter,0'American religions such as Candomblé, San-
ex v anc* Haitian Vodou have become increasingly
.1Clt regarding the need to revitalize an African
re^ltage through representing and reshaping their
harfl0nS *n accordance with an ideal “African”
hr l^0n (cf- Lamur 2001). On the basis of Afro-
***** material, Capone (2007: 220ff.) makes a
cret‘nCt-°n between the two movements “desyn-
htoy2^011 an<^ reafricanization.” Even if both
P^nts share the ambition to reject “Afro-
(jes °hc syncretism,” there is a difference. The
lhJtncretic movement strives to recover the au-
eçjjv l?. 'African” religion preserved but suppos-
mluted by extrinsic influences in Brazil. The
reafricanization movement, on the other hand,
promotes the incorporation of religious principles
brought more directly from Africa - predominant-
ly represented by the Yoruba culture of Nigeria
(Capone 2005, 2007; Pares 2004). This quest for
“ritual purity” and knowledge of African religion
may involve, e.g., traveling as well as the study
of relevant literature on the religious traditions of
Africa (Capone 2007).
This article explores the phenomena of “reafri-
canization” and “desyncretization” in relation to
Haitian Vodou. Capone’s (2007) distinction is
good-to-think also when approaching the Haitian
case, although desyncretization and reafricaniza-
tion appear as two discernible tendencies rather
than distinct movements. As elsewhere in the re-
gion, such agendas of change are mainly intro-
duced by a minority of influential priests and
leaders of religious, or Vodou, organizations. This
article largely departs from the example of the
appearance of the West African Yoruba Godhead
Olorun in Haiti, in the late 80s or early 90s.
The case of Olorun - renamed Olowoum by
Vodouisants - has both desyncretic and reafrican-
izing aspects. As will be discussed below, at least
those who first introduced the Yoruba Godhead
did so with the intention to replace the Christian
Bondye, Lord, with Olowoum. Some comparisons
will also be made with more specifically desyncret-
ic attempts to eliminate Catholic elements, such as
saints, from Vodou. The inclusion of new elements,
such as Olowoum, is acceptable to many Vodou
practitioners. On the other hand, the desyncretic
114
Markei Thylefors
exclusion of Catholic elements - such as Catholic
saints - from Vodou, appears to find less support
in the popular setting. This article investigates
some possible reasons underlying this situation,
which also indicates Vodou’s “additive” ability
and syncretic potential. As well, it is suggested
that contemporary attempts to make Vodou “more
African” represents a continuation rather than the
demise of Vodou’s tradition of religious adaptation
and dynamism.
“Reafricanization” is a current term in scholarly
discourse on the Afro-Americas, especially regard-
ing the Brazilian context.1 The fact that the term
gained its prominence in a particular ideological
context entails both disadvantages and advantages.
On the one hand, the concept is problematic in that
it presupposes that Afro-American religion has lost
some of its African essence - an assumption that
would be rejected by some practitioners. More-
over, it can be debated whether reafricanization
actually renders a religion more “African” - in
any case from an etic or “objective” perspective.
On the other hand, the term reafricanization, with
its connotations to a particular debate, also signals
the same problematic aspects. This can not be said
about the related term “africanization” which has
more often, though not always (Houk 1995), been
used while referring to changes of demographic
patterns (see, e.g., Webster 1893 or Stoller 2002).
I will also use Shaw and Stewart’s (1994) term
“anti-syncretism,” interchangeably with “desyn-
cretization” used by Capone (2007). With the latter
two terms I denote the exclusion of Catholic ele-
ments from the Afro-American religions. I have
not encountered any of the above terms among
Vodou practitioners in Haiti.
Judging from literature and field visits in Haiti,
both anti-syncretism and reafricanization in the
New World are advocated by a relatively lim-
ited number of religious leaders and their close
followers. Looking to the majority of practition-
ers in Brazil, Cuba, or Haiti, my guess is that
most are familiar with these ideas, but also that
comparatively few apply, e.g., anti-syncretism, in
1 See, e.g., Greenfield (2001), Wafer (1991), Âlvarez Lopez
(2004), Parés (2004), or Sansone (1999), for examples.
Shujaa (2003) and Nah (1998) attribute the concept of
“reafricanization” to Amilcar Cabral who used it in the early
1970s. The concept “is defined as a process of reclamation
that African people colonized by Europeans (Portuguese,
in this case) of necessity must undergo to appreciate their
cultural heritage” (Nah 1998: 536). The term has also been
used in various contexts before and after that (see as
examples, e.g., Touré (1959) regarding Africa, and Cannon
(1977), as well as Wilde (1995), regarding the U.S. setting).
their own day-to-day religious practice (cf. Palrni6
1995; Wafer 1991).
Endeavors towards a revitalization of an African
heritage are found in all branches of Afro-American
religion, but there are differences depending on
the national contexts. Not least, Brazil stands on1
in this regard and Matory (2005: 172) writes that:
the institutional solidity of Candomblé and the Quêtol
Nagô nation’s relationship with the Brazilian state have
made Brazil an anchor, an exemplar, and a growing
exporter of materials and ideas to Black cultural nation-
alists worldwide. Bahia has become a major destination
for Black North American and Afrophile nuyorican pil'
grims and heritage tourists.
Practitioners of Haitian Vodou, until recently, have
been “lagging behind” with regard to collective
efforts of organizing Vodou and articulating poli'
cies for religious expression. For example, 111
Brazil, the Union of the Afro-Brazilian Sects of
Bahia was founded as early as 1937. The of'
ganization “intended to guarantee the fidelity of
Candomblé priests to African-centered traditions
(Matory 2005: 162), as well as protecting practi'
doners from police harassment.2 * The first forint
Vodou organization in Haiti, Zantray, was formed
in 1986, and forwarded an agenda of some reseiU'
blance to that of its Brazilian predecessor (Blot
n.d.; Hurbon 2001). The reasons behind Vodou’8
“late awakening” in the official and international
setting is probably a context of poverty, dictator'
ship, and, perhaps, language barriers.
However, the last decades, and reflecting a
shifting political context, Vodou and other expreS'
sions of popular culture have come to take up
a more prominent role in the public and official
spheres of Haitian society. The strongest man1'
festation of this process was probably in 2003’
when Vodou became officially recognized as a N'
ligion through a decree by president Jean-Bertrand
Aristide. Today there are also many formal Vod^a
organizations, although of differing degree of c°'
hesion and level of activity. Moreover, Vodou ha8
also attained some forms of official représentât!011
of limited, or humble, importance - nevertheless
these feats are remarkable in the light of the histou
of strained relations between Vodou and the State-
It can also be mentioned that the main coU'
cern of Haitian Vodou organizations, and man)
practitioners, today is to “structure” their
gion and establish common institutions. Desplt6
several Vodou leaders’ sympathetic attitude 10
2 Cf. Matory (2005: 161 f.); Landes (1940: 268); Carneir°
(1940: 278).
Anthropos 103.2008
lernizing God” in Haitian Vodou?
115
‘Mod
^nti-syncretic measures, or to make Vodou more
African,” other concerns appear more urgent. I al-
So doubt that Vodou practitioners in general regard
lhe issue of Olowoum per se as very important.
The question of African heritage in national culture
and Vodou, however, is a topic of great, not to say
enormous, interest to many Haitians regardless of
their religious affiliation.
^°dou and Catholicism: Syncretism
^hen approaching desyncretization and reafrican-
1?lng measures, such as Olowoum, a brief overview
^ Vodou conceptions of God as well as Afro-
h-Mholic syncretism is called for. Most Vodou
Petitioners also follow Roman Catholicism -
P religion introduced by the Spanish and French
P°nial powers - and Catholicism has influenced
Lilian Vodou (Métraux 1972).3
О •
dice it’s pure ginen, “Vodou tradition,” you make this
u sign of the cross]. You announce Bondye, God,
before
trad;
_re you do the work you’re about to do. Ginen, the
Prayers
Vc
Clonal spirits, do not come down on you without
(Vodouisant).
odou has co-opted Christianity’s Creator God,
ually referred to as Bondye4 by Vodouisants
; b ‘‘uniquely Christians” alike. Prayers to, and
°cations of, the Holy Trinity saturate Vodou
actice. Several authors, however, claim that even
0 °dou practitioners nominally serve the Bondye,
O' of Christianity, their conceptions of that
. °d differ from Christian notions. For example,
(1Ugrb°n (1987), Brown (1991), and Desmangles
o y2) show that Vodou practitioners tend to see
a as more distant - a deus otiosus. Some opine
jyr. SUch notions are survivals of African religions.
“thetraux (1972: 83) also points out that in Vodou
e Jdea of God seems to get mixed up with the
t0 °f a vague and impersonal power, superior
bat of the loa [i.e., spirits] ... something like
sf Pderstand in present-day usage, by the word
e °r ‘nature’.”5
^S WeH, the practices connected to “serving the Iwa”
Ve> in turn, left their imprints on the vivid folk Catholic
Edition.
<“rec4e language of Haiti, Vodouisants use ‘Bondye’
fro 6S^nate ihe Christian and Vodou Godhead. It derives
m the French ‘Bon Dieu,’ meaning ‘Good Lord’” (Des-
^ angles 1992: 191, chap. 1: fn. 2).
niparisons between Christian and Vodou views of God
nouU ^ also take account of the difficulties to find a homoge-
y0 .S Christian perspective. Moreover, the practice of both
he °u an(l Christianity either parallelly or in mixed form
s Uie question if a person really changes his worldview
Authr,
°P°s 103.2008
Beauvoir and Dominique (2003: 74 ff.) under-
line heterogeneity regarding Vodou conceptions of
God. They mention that individual Vodou practi-
tioners may variously conceive of God as male,
female, or genderless; that there are several gods;
or that God is constituted by the sum of the nu-
merous Iwa, or Vodou spirits. They also mention
the fact that Vodou practitioners rarely talk about
the details of God.
One local model, which I have encountered in
slightly different versions, is one with two dye
(gods); one remote Godhead, and one slightly less-
er God that deals with the physical world of the
humans. In some cases, the this-worldly God is
equaled with Lucifer. The view of Lucifer as a
particularly strong Iwa spirit is also widespread. It
should be pointed out that in the Vodou context,
Lucifer is not the uniquely evil spirit of West-
ern mainstream Christianity, but rather a powerful
spirit being connected with “hot” magical capabil-
ities (cf. Kelly 2006).
My view is, however, that alternative models
of God do not usually exclude Afro-Catholic syn-
cretic elements from religious practice. Also those
Vodou priests who advance models including two
gods, tend to rely on Vodou’s syncretized “stan-
dard repertoire” of prayers, litanies, and images
of a Catholic origin. One Vodou priest - who
served both Lucifer and Bondye and believed in
the existence of Olowoum - mildly admonished
me, while also entering the politics of religion;
You yourself, you may not believe in Jesus Christ
because there are a lot of Whites who do not believe in
Jesus Christ. But, if you believe in magic, you should
believe in Jesus Christ. It’s not the Americans who
invented Jesus Christ.
The Vodou worldview is also open-ended and flex-
ible - not least when approaching less experience
near and more abstract issues, such as the nature
of God. Assumedly, humans are simply unable
to know all the details of the spirit dimension.
Elsewhere, I have suggested that, metaphorically
speaking, a “subjunctive mood” characterizes a
good deal of Haitian discourses on spirit-related
matters (Thylefors 2002). Thus, even if informants
may recapitulate alternative versions regarding the
nature of God(s), I believe it calls for caution not
depending on the setting. Stating that Haitians (Vodouisants,
or uniquely Christians) perceive of God in other ways than
that of established “Western” Christianity is, of course, eth-
ically problematic when the informants themselves define
their religious practice and belief as in accordance with the
established churches.
116
Markel Thylefors
to reify local statements that perhaps are intend-
ed foremost as hypostatization making part of an
ongoing ontological “debate” about the world (cf.
Kirsch 2004).
The Catholic saints, moreover, are used by
Vodouisants to represent various Iwa spirits.
Whether the identities of Iwa, and saints, have
really amalgamated or if the names and chro-
molithographs of the latter are mere symbols of
Iwa of an essentially African nature, has been
a matter of debate (Desmangles 1992). From a
Brazilian horizon, Greenfield makes a facile but
important observation regarding the “mixing or
syncretism” between saints and drîsà spirits in
Candomblé (2001: 122):
Whether the former slaves and their descendants kept
them separate, relating each to its own pantheon and
cosmological scheme, or merged them would be some-
thing that only could be determined empirically for each
participant at a given time and place.
Albeit the fact that saints have been part of Vodou
tradition since centuries, it is also conceivable that
over time some saints have been added, while oth-
ers have sunk into oblivion (Rey 2002b: 530 ff.).
As I will mention below, those practitioners who
wish to “reafricanize” Vodou may also contest the
presence of Catholic saints in Vodou.
Vodou and Catholicism: Ambivalence and
Antagonism
Generally speaking, Roman Catholicism has a
high social status among the majority of Vodou
practitioners. A Church wedding has more cultural
capital than a common law marriage as does a
Church baptism compared to a folk baptism. Even
devout Vodou practitioners may recount with pride
if their children have received communion or
married at the Catholic Church. Catholic clergy,
as a category, are respected not least because
of their education and high degree of literacy.
Some also point out that clergymen have a lot of
supernatural knowledge which they can employ
in magic such as sending saints to kill people.
Still, many Vodou practitioners harbor ambivalent
attitudes towards the Catholic Church. People
remember the Christian anti-Vodou campaigns of
the last century. Known Vodou practitioners are
not allowed to become members of the Catholic
Church. Church membership, in turn, is also a
requirement for extremely important undertakings
such as having an “honorable” Church funeral,
or sending children to Catholic schools which are
usually among the better ones. Reportedly, being
able to show a Catholic baptismal record is of
great help when applying for an identity card,
visa, or some job positions. Consequently, several
Vodou practitioners hide their Vodou practice from
representatives of the Church.6 Several times I
have heard Vodouisants claiming that the Catholic
Church “humiliates” Vodou practitioners, through,
e.g., refusing them access to Catholic services.
More politically conscious Vodou practitioners
may also verbalize that Catholicism is the oppres-
sors’ and colonialists’ religion. Such Vodou prac-
titioners endorse a separation from Catholicism
and may view positively on the Catholic exclusion
of Vodou practitioners. The Catholic Church as
an organization was by many Vodou practitioners
perceived as working against the sake of Vodou "
e.g., that Vodou clergy should receive legal licens-
es entitling them to perform civil ceremonies such
as marriages.7 That was the case of the interviewee
cited below and who explicitly linked Catholicism
to slavery. Noteworthy in the following quotation
is also that he emphasizes a past rupture with
African culture when he asks for the identity of
“the God of the Haitians”:
How is a religion bom? As an ethnologist, you already
know. A religion is bom in a country following its
customs, its mores, and the gods. It chooses the god in
the name of the father of independence of the country
... it knows that the spirit of that man, who bring8
independence of the country, communicates with the
grand architect (“God”). For example, the god of China
is called Buddha. Buddha is the liberator of China, right'
Well, the religions are bom like this! Who is our god’
to us, the Haitians?
MT: ... Granmet, God [lit. Grand Master]?
Hehehe ...
MT; There’s Olowoura.
Olowoum. But Olowoum, we know who Olowotih1
is. Its after that we traveled to Africa. ...
One woman who worked for a development school projeC
recounted that during the application process all chil<drer1
stated that they were Catholic or Protestant. Nevertheless
this woman recognized several of her pupils when attend!11»
Vodou ceremonies. An anthropologist, who worked as al1
interpreter for the immigration services in the United States
told that, despite years of professional experience, she ha
only met refugees and immigrants claiming to be Protesta
or Catholic - never Vodouisant. .
According to one Catholic priest, the Catholic Church
Haiti has no unified policy regarding Vodou, and Vod
is not on the curriculum of the training of priests. I ^
two Catholic priests who were positive about the idea 0
Vodou Church - not least, they argued, Vodou practitiofl
then would lose interest in Catholic Church funerals arl
other rituals.
Anthropos 103.2^
117
Modernizing God” in Haitian Vodou?
fr°ni “Inclusive Africanization” to Reafrican-
^ation
Reafricanization and anti-syncretism of the radical
kind advocated by the Haitian Vodou organiza-
kons Zantray and Legliz Vodou dAyiti, or the
Tomba Movement in the United States and the
Readers of Brazilian Candomblé, is relatively new
111 Haiti. Yet, there are other forms of attempting
|° make Vodou more “African” and which go far
°ack in time. One example recurs at the level of
emphasizing African traits while representing or
scribing Vodou. Several researchers as well as
early Afro-centric noirist writers have sought to
show that Vodou’s essence is in fact African, while
European influences are perceived as superficial
Captations to the colonial slaveholding regimes
Cd their successors.8
There is also what I think of as a kind of im-
Phcit “inclusive africanization” which comprises
0 redefine phenomena as “African.” Both writers
See> e-g-, Holly 1919, or Rigaud 1953) and several
1 my informants have pointed out that Christian
. ements are not extrinsic to Vodou, as Christianity
£ a religion which derives from Africa and ancient
T^ypt. The ethnologist Milo Rigaud, whose works
.C influence Vodou, writes that “Moses is as
fiQSe to Voudoo as he is to Roman Catholicism”
89). Fifty years later, in a memorandum
°m the registered organization Bureau National
h Vodou Haïtien (BNVH) one can read that “since
^ e culture of the black people, that is the Vodou,
ecame oral, Jehovah due to his intelligence in his
JCity of God, sent Israel to Africa for motiva-
^ hal and civilisational training lasting for over
■C years” (BNVH 2005).
f here is also the strong tendency that some in-
d ^hants - normally the poor and less schooled -
,.ne “clearly” Western (alongside, e.g., Amer-
Q.lan) phenomena as ginen. Ginen, or Lafrik
ancl^’ re^ers t0 h°th a mythical land of the spirits
jj . .Ihe Africa where the ancestors of today’s
laris lived. As well, ginen can denote the tra-
aisl°nal Vodou spirits themselves. The word can
0r° he valorized and express the “traditional,”
He I^0ral-9 Images of saints, white spirits with
lzed Western manners, books on magic, and
Pri
2004 MarS 1928; Duvalier 1968; Herskovits 1971; cf. Duck
y 4<Q *
lnen ■.. Guinea; West Africa; ancestral homeland of the
aihan people; dwelling place of the Voodoo spirits; proper
2on tUal ar|d moral living; faraway place(s)” (Freeman
^' 339). “L/v Ginen book supposedly coming from
2oQ^a^and intelligible only to Voodoo priest(ess)” (Freeman
Whr°Pos 103.2008
perfumes are things that can be ginen. At the
grassroots level, one also finds this “inclusive
Africanization” on a day-to-day basis when prac-
titioners argue for the purity, or authenticity of
their rites and their accordance with the ginen
tradition - e.g., that some spirits should be served
with contredanse (fr.), fiddle, and accordion, but
not drums. The phenomenon of “inclusive African-
ization” thus becomes a cornerstone of what is
normally labeled syncretism - at least from the
etic, or “objectivist,” perspective mentioned by
Droogers and Greenfield (2001; 31).
Contemporary advocates of reafricanization of
Vodou contest the eclectic and inclusive uses of
the ginen concept. Instead they want to make the
ginen concept more congruous with conceptions
of the “real” Africa and/or, so to speak, the Africa
described by ethnographers. Capone writes that
“the African tradition changes, therefore, from an
apparently irrational practice to a real scientif-
ic attitude” and that “one of the characteristics
of the processes of reafricanization ...” becomes
“the attribution of a scientific quality to religious
practices” (2007: 229; cf. 2005: 327 f.). Of course,
despite scientific ambitions reafricanization entails
a number of problems - at least from the “ob-
jectivist” perspective - such as: which African
religious traits to include, from what historical
period, and how to relate them to the social and
cultural settings of the New World?
Attempts of actually making Vodou practice
more similar to “real” African practices - e.g., by
excluding the Catholic saints - are probably rare
and more scarcely documented. The temple of the
famous Vodou priest and leader, Max Beauvoir, is,
however, described by Cosentino (1995: 43):
A more accessible, cosmopolitan version of “African”
Vodou is practiced at Peristyle Mariani on the road to
Leogane. Before fear of AIDS and overt political vio-
lence ended tourism, buses from Port-au-Prince lined up
at Mariani for ceremonies presided over by Max Beau-
voir, an oungan with national influence and an interna-
tional clientele. Stripped of all “syncretic excrescences,”
... No ecstatic madonnas. No retrofited whiskey bottles.
No feathered crucifixes ...
In place of colonial elaborations, Vodou at Mariani or
Souvenance has been reshaped by images of Africa
recovered through the romantic historicism of Negri-
tude. Or, for those oungans influenced by Milo Rigaud’s
immensely popular Secrets of Voodoo (1953), an Africa
accessible through the cabalistic imagery of Theosophy
or Rosicrucianism ...
I also suggest that the contemporary “objectivist”
strive among some Vodou practitioners toward
118
Markel Thylefors
“African authenticity” is a continuation rather
than the cessation of the dynamic and adaptive
potential of Vodou. Has not Vodou practice always
been about, through different means, recreating
and accessing the African ginen in colonial and
postcolonial Haiti?
Introducing Olorun
Most West African religions have a high god who is also
a sky god. But he is often a withdrawn high god, a deus
otiosus ... He is said to be at the origin of all things,
often as a creator; he is all-knowing and all-powerful;
he introduces order into the chaos of universe; he is the
final arbiter of right and wrong. The other gods are under
him and share in his power, though how they do so is
not always well defined. But in spite of these attributes
the high god is not usually directly worshipped; he has
no priests and no shrines are dedicated to him; people
may make a token offering to him in every sacrifice
but hardly ever do they offer a sacrifice directly to him
(O’Connell 1962: 67).
Olorun, or Oludomare, is the High God of the
traditional religion of the Yoruba-speaking people
who live in today’s Nigeria. In Brazilian Can-
domblé, Cuban Santería, and Trinidadian Orisha
religion with origins in Yoruba beliefs Olorun and
Oludomare are the accepted names for the God-
head. Similarly, Olorun is found in Afro-Ameri-
can religions practiced in the United States due
to the influx of Yoruba beliefs from other parts
of the Black Americas and/or Nigeria.10 Haiti
never received the same concentrations of Yoruba
slaves - or maintained postslavery contacts with
Nigeria - as did Brazil and Cuba (Matory 2005).
Moreover, in Haitian Vodou the names for the
Creator God have been derived from French, not
African languages.11
Olorun is a “remote god and takes little interest
in human affairs” (Wedel 2004: 82). These traits,
as we saw above, also characterize Bondye or
Granmèt, the Vodou/Catholic High God in Haiti
(Murphy 1994; Desmangles 1992).
Haitian Vodou practitioners altered the name
Olorun to “Olowoum,” which is more in accor-
10 Brandon 1993; Matory 2005; Houk 1995.
11 Some researchers (e.g., Thornton 1998) suggest that Yomba
notions of a Godhead have been influenced by early Muslim
and Christian mission (see also Meyer 2004: 60-66, re-
garding the case of Ewe in Ghana). The lack of African
names for the Creator God in Haiti seems to support this
argument. The slave trade to Haiti ended in the 1790s but
went on for a considerably longer time to other regions of
the Americas, notably Cuba and Brazil.
dance with Haitian Creole orthography and pro-
nunciation. The organization Legliz Vodou dAyiti
also uses the version “Olohoum.” I have not found
very much data exactly on how, or by whom,
Olowoum was first brought into contact with a
larger group of people in Haiti. Two of my key
informants, however, attributed the introduction
of the name Olowoum to the Vodou organiza-
tion Zantray and its now deceased and legendary
founder, Hérard Simon. Both of these intervie-
wees had been involved with Zantray - one as
a regional leader - and other Vodou organiza-
tions. One of these interlocutors also claimed that
Hérard Simon had learnt of Olowoum through
his research, as well as contacts with Benin. The
preface to “Le livre sacré du vodou” (CONAVO
n.d.) also specifies that it was Hérard Simon who
“taught” the Vodou practitioners about Olowoum
or Olohoum:
They have understood that their God is called OLO-
HOUM, they have remembered that Hérard Simon
taught them that, the oral tradition had failed to bring
that revelation, and the Vodouisants had almost forgo1
that the supreme energy had communicated an extremely
important message to them: learn to see him through
their own glasses. OLOHOUM made his name emerg6
from the entrails [of the earth]12 * *, decided to create
ZANTRAY in order to tell people of the Caribbean and
the entire world, of all races, that he is OLOHOUM, the
master of the masters, he who is all, ... [he who makes
everything], the light which clears on those who believe-
OLOHOUM has emerged from the entrails [of the earth]
all that which forces Vodouisants to take charge
their own destiny regardless of all those prejudiced, the
wickedness which hampers the hearts of all those wh°
have not received the message.
Zantray is an abbreviation of “Zanfan Tradisyo11
Ayisyen” (Children of the Haitian tradition). The
word zantray also means “entrails” or, metaphor'
ically, “essence.” The organization was created m
the Gonaives area, as a reaction to the ongoing
persecutions of Vodou practitioners in the wake
of Duvalier’s exile in 1986 (Hurbon 2001). The
organization Zantray also emphasizes the Africa11
legacy of Haitian Vodou and advocates that Vodoh
should be recognized as Haiti’s “national culture-
Reportedly or ideally Zantray “is not into Bandy6,
God, at all,” but only Olowoum. The organization
12 “Le livre sacré du vodou” is bilingual in French and Haiti
Creole - square brackets are insertions from the Hah1
Creole version of the preface and which facilitates
understanding.
103.2008
Anthropos
119
Modernizing God” in Haitian Vodou?
has also issued the “Zantray prayer”13 out of which
°ne section follows:
J-owoum pa pouvwa-l
anm responsabilité pou mwen
Wennen
^esPekte ak jwi tout sa mwen ka wè
^k tout sa mwen pa ka wè sou latè-a
°u kontwdl ou menm Olowoum
mèt tè
*nèt dlo
net dife
Ki net van
^°Woum by his14 power
ives me responsibility
that I
2espect and enjoy all that I can see
s well as all that I can not see on earth
^nder your control Olowoum
is the master of earth
vJ40 is the master of water
o° is the master of fire
a° is the master of the wind
^though Vodou’s terminology is vast and proper
names exist in large numbers of variations, I have
!!ever read about the name Olorun being used in
aiti before the usage advocated by Zantray (see
?,s° Zantray n.d). Some informants corroborated
hat Olowoum/Olohoum has gained terrain rela-
U
Ven se Ayisyen/ Nèg ki soti nan zantray lafrik Ginen/
3,0 kwote vin nan peyi d’Ayiti/Mwen mele san mwen
^ endijèn / Ki te premye mèt tè-a/ Mwen mele san mwen ak
^an/ Kite vinfè nou tout esklav / Mwen se Ayisyen/ Moun
ifèt avèk kà/ Ki fèt avèk nanm/ Ki fèt avèk bon zan’y/
^°Woum pa pouvwa-l/ Banni responsabilité pou mwen
ennen / Respekte ak jwi tout sa mwen ka wè / Ak tout sa
f^enpa ka wè sou latè-a/Sou kontwdl ou menm Olowoum/
net tè / Ki mèt dlo, Ki mèt dife / Ki mèt van / Se gras a nou
nenm moun/ Nou gen pouvwa pa nou sou late-a/ E se sa
*enrn ki lavi-a/Pa pouvwa Atibon Legba/ Toutfàs Kosmik
Ak ^Utre nan nouA Eklere je nou/Pou nou bay Zantray/
ç,. ^°dou-a/ Fds, pouvwa, Liny on/ Pou nou fè travay/
( ?en'an nan lapé ak kè kontan/ Abobo! Abobo! Ayibobo!
aP ;//w ww. zantray. h t/l apriyezantray. html >; 2007-10-05,
ave replaced the original paragraph breaks with slashes).
I have also received a similar prayer, called the “Priye
0u>” (several passages are identical) from the Vodou
Ration CONAVO, as well as assisted meetings with
0rganization FNVA where a reminiscent version of the
^er was read.
tr e Haitian pronoun li, or /, covers he, she, and it. The
dat S atl0n °f l as “his” is thus mine - I have not received
on if Olowoum is regarded in gendered or anthropo-
0rphic terms by Zantray. CONAVO (nd.), however, as
Aient;
1Qned below, refers to Olohoum as “father.’
Anth;
r°Pos 103.2008
lively recently, but also claimed that “Olowoum”
had been around in Haiti for a longer time, but
discreetly so. One interviewee claimed that in the
past, the name Olowoum was merveilleuse (fr.),
which in this context translates as enchanted in a
supernatural and enigmatic sense.
CONAVO (Commision National de structura-
tion du Vodou) and its church branch Legliz Vodou
dAyiti also makes thorough usage of the name
Olowoum (spelled Olohoum). A follower of Legliz
Vodou dAyiti is called Olohoumit and Olohoum
permeates the pages in “Le livre sacre du vodou”
by Wesner Morency, the founder of Legliz Vodou
dAyiti.15 The organization Federasyon Nasyonal
Vodouyizan Ayisyen (FNVA) also refers to Olo-
woum in the funerary chanting they have devel-
oped. The FNVA-interviewee, a regional leader,
however, meant that Olowoum should mainly be
addressed in the funerary context and that it is
not Vodou practice in general.16 Based on several
particular cases, my impression is that the leaders
of the Vodou organizations - at national as well
as at local levels - often have been involved in
several organizations. This situation facilitates the
dispersion of ideas between specific organizations
as well as in society at large.
Hurbon (2001), to my knowledge, is the on-
ly scholar who mentions Olowoum in Haiti. He
writes that excerpts of Fon and Yoruba mythology
were read at the services of Legliz Vodou dAyiti
in the capital of Port-au-Prince (2001:259). To
my knowledge, however, Olowoum has not been
accompanied by attempts to introduce any com-
prehensive Yoruba cosmology in which to situate
Olowoum.17 Hurbon also writes that Vodou “has
it supreme God, which is hereupon called Olohum
and which is distinguished from the God of the
15 “Le livre sacré du vodou” specifies no author on the
cover, though the preface is signed CONAVO (Commision
National de structuration du Vodou). All asked, however,
attribute this work to Wesner Morency, the founder of
CONAVO and its subsection Legliz Vodou dAyiti. One
person said that Morency edited the statements of several
knowledgeable Vodou priests, Hérard Simon included. The
book is an attempt to create a common desyncretized Vodou
doctrine and ethics (cf. Hurbon 2001:259). Interviewees,
who worked close with Morency, say that the present
version is not final, but that a more comprehensive version
is on its way. In the past, Morency studied to become
a Catholic priest. Ironically, some criticize Legliz Vodou
dAyiti with its preaching, written doctrine, and church
services for being too similar to Western churches.
16 Olowoum, however, was mentioned also in the communal
prayers and chanting ending some FNVA-meetings that I
assisted.
17 In fact, only one informant mentioned that Olohoum is a
name of Yoruba origin.
120
Markel Thylefors
Christians which is a foreign god” (2001:259).
Representatives from Legliz Vodou dAyiti as well
as some other interviewees explained to me that
Olohoum was only one of several names of God,
and that each people must chose a name which
is appropriate within their cultural system - “to
see him through their own glasses,” as put in the
CONAVO citation above. Names such as Jehovah,
Buddha, Allah, and Olowoum, I was told, all re-
fer to the same Supreme Being, called Bondye
in Christianity. This perspective implies that be-
sides the name there is little difference between
Olowoum and Bondye regarding essence.
“Le livre sacré du vodou,” a text which I be-
lieve is representative regarding the discourse of
those who introduced Olowoum, reinforces this
impression. It mentions that Olowoum is almighty
and “the father and the creator of the world,”
and that a Vodouisant’s belief “leads to a true
monotheism” while recognizing the “spirits as in-
tercessors” (CONAVO n.d.: 2-4, 93 f.). Thus, from
this perspective, the Olowoum name seems fore-
most to have been incorporated as an alternative to
the Bondye name with its Christian connotations.
Even if it is simply a change of names, it is an
operation which prepares the route for the exclu-
sion of other Catholic elements from Vodou, as
well as lessening the dependency of the Catholic
Church as an institution. However, names per se
are significant in Afro-Haitian religion and, as
we will see below, some have assigned Olowoum
other places than that of the Godhead in their folk
models.
Even if the active proponents of the Olowoum
name are comparatively few, the name seems
relatively widely distributed by word of mouth
and Vodou emissions on radio where Olowoum
is mentioned, e.g., in chants. As an example I
can also mention that I participated in an emission
on national television which included a version of
the “Zantray prayer.” The emission was seen by
several Vodou practitioners that I met eventually.
Adding and Interpreting Olowoum
at a Grassroots Level
What happens, then, when Olowoum enters such
an open-ended worldview as that of Haitian
Vodou? Below, I will recapitulate how some local-
level Vodou practitioners related to my asking of
Olowoum. I knew most of my interlocutors since
some years and - except one - all of them live in
the vicinities of the southeastern town of Jacmel,
and they know one another, at least by name.
First, I will mention the instances of two
“big,” or influential, Vodou priests who both
had been members in organizations using the
name Olowoum. The first priest revealed ambiva-
lence regarding the issue of Olowoum and other
reafricanizing measures. He did not oppose his
organization’s use of the name Olowoum, and his
dream was to go to Benin and learn the “true piin-
ciples” of serving the Iwa spirits. African clothes
were common at his temple. Haitian Vodou, he
opined, was an “impure” mix of Amerindian and
European magic as well as African religion. Nev-
ertheless, he made extensive and virtuoso use of
Catholic prayers, litanies, and the name Bondye
- never Olowoum - in his own priestly duties
which I have followed extensively.18 He also ex-
plained that the Catholic saints were adaptations
to colonial oppression but defended their place in
Vodou. A partial explanation of this man’s ambiva-
lent attitudes might be that he could not abandon
his own religious and syncretized expertise f°f
professional reasons - despite being influenced by
“reafricanizing” discourse.
The other priest regretted the use of the name
Olowoum altogether. On the one hand, he though*
it complicated things for his nonschooled followers
who “did not understand such things.” Further'
more, reminding of a contemporary anthropologist»
he saw Vodou as a fundamentally syncretistic,
“Creole,” religion and thought it a pity to exclude
some of its (Christian) sources. He used the para'
ble of “it’s all the different spices which give the
okra its taste.” He discarded those who went to
Africa and brought home religious elements as
these would be “out of their system” in Haiti. This
priest had previously been involved with a large
Vodou organization but now dismissed the Vodo11
organizations with the invective boulchit.
Yet, another, less influential, priest distinguish^11
between Dieu tout puissant, God Almighty, 01
Bondye, and Dieu puissant, Mighty God. God
Almighty had “created the world.” The second»
Mighty God, according to this priest, was Lucife*
or Olowoum.
Two other priests revealed uncertainty regard'
ing the exact nature of Olowoum. The first pries*
18 This priest - previously a Freemason - also opined tlia
there are two gods; one god who rules this world, but
also reports to the Être suprême, or Supreme Being, V*10
is the highest God. He added that all spirits except №
Supreme Being could incarnate through spirit possessi011.
This priest regarded the name of the secondary god as seer ^
and did not tell it to me. This priest had also perform2
many baptisms following the liturgy established by a f arge
Vodou organization which uses the name Olowoum.
103.20°8
Anthropos
121
“Modi
emizing God” in Haitian Vodou?
distinguished the “true” and Almighty God who
lived
m the air in the mond espirityèl, spiritual
w°rld. There was also the god of the earth, or mond
teryel, material world - “God Lucifer,” Dye
lSlfe. Even if this priest seemed unsure of how to
^Megorize Olowoum, he nonetheless claimed that
lowoum and Lucifer were connected as “broth-
He also perceived of Olowoum as “God
nich lives in the material world.” The other priest
ared this view of Lucifer as a most powerful
sPnitual being - though he did not call Lucifer
§od. He was not sure regarding the nature of
°Woum, though he opined that Olowoum was
Hod of Vodou.” He also thought that both
°ndye” and “Olowoum” should be invoked ritu-
y and concluded that “we should respect all that
We
did
can not see.” In a similarly eclectic way, he
^ not dare to enter into the business of God and
kifer _ as the evangelicals - but recognized
the
value of both of them.
One last priest simply explained that Olowoum
yas another name for Bondye. An experienced
^dou drummer said that he did not know much
°°ut Olowoum. He had heard about Olowoum
*0]
'del
'r the first time in the funerary chanting of a
p egation of Vodou priests” from the capital of
s0lt-au-Prince. Still, he meant that “when a person
, y§ Olowoum, he addresses every single one of
s e nations [of Vodou spirits].19 When a person
r ^S’ 'In the name of Olowoum,’ it means that he
f Ceives all the nations in the prayer he is going
to
Make.’
s- An informant friend in the capital revealed a
tho ^ bebe^ *n tbe spiritual potentials of names,
^.r^gh his conclusion in the case of Olowoum
ered. He was well aware of Olowoum and
ar^rriented that y’ap modenize Bondye, or “they
Modernizing God.” He was skeptic of the
°Woum name’s ritual efficiency and meant
u ?it was primarily something “for people to
^ ~ i.e., a superficial move with little content.
Was convinced that also those Vodou priests
the° Publicly advocated the Olowoum name used
pre b°ndye appellation in their private religious
q atlCe- All magic had to include homage to
jp °r Bondye20 - and if one does not call
111 by his correct name, my friend continued,
—
e yodou spirits are thought to belong to different “na-
wns which often reflect specific ethnic origins (e.g., Ibo,
20 j^an§°f Dawome, Nago, Kongo, Mondongue).
^agical works normally include prayers or consecrations
° God. However, according to some, for truly evil magical
°rks God is not invoked. Several Vodouisants seem to
to h ^at ^esP'le tlie 1?act tliat God gives humans the power
0 evil, he does not approve.
Anth]
,roPos 103.2008
he will not hear and the magic will fail. It would
be as futile as “calling Jean if you need to see
Paul.”
Judging from the above statements - and my
own periods of direct observation in the field over
a number of years - it appears that Olowoum
has not influenced local-level religious practice
considerably. One aspect is that Vodou is, after
all, focused on serving the Iwa spirits and not
the Creator God, or Godhead. For those in more
specific need of the Lord, or Jesus, there are always
the Christian churches which specialize ritually
on that. Also noteworthy is that few individuals
seemed to discard or oppose the introduction of
Olowoum. Rather, Olowoum appears to have been
added, perhaps quite uninterestedly so, to the local
pantheon.
Before concluding, we will take a brief look at
attempts of eliminating the Catholic saints from
Vodou. The Catholic saints are used to repre-
sent Vodou spirits. Vodou practitioners also name
saints in prayers and chants, undertake pilgrim-
age to saintly abodes as well as receive saint-
ly revelations. Possibly, saints originally served
simply as “white masks” of African spirits (cf.
Bastide 1971:156; cf. Rey 2002a: 269). Today,
however, saints make part of the Vodou tradi-
tion and, depending on the believer, may take
the form of a deeply entrenched aspect of Iwa
spirits.
The Elimination of Saints: A Comparative
Example
An anti- or desyncretic measure advocated by
some members and leaders of Vodou organisms
(e.g., Fondation Vodou Sans Frontières, Legliz
Vodou dAyiti) is to exclude the Catholic saints
from Vodou practice. Arguments for excluding
saints are that the saints, along with other Catholic
elements, are extrinsic to the Vodou tradition.
I have also met a few Vodouisants as well as
Catholics, who have argued that if Vodou is to
be recognized as a “serious religion” it cannot
be dependent on Catholicism and Catholic ele-
ments.
Besides curbing the cult of saints in the form
of prayers, church visits, and pilgrimages, the anti-
syncretic approach involves the physical removal
of the images of saints from altars and Vodou
temples - thus changing their appearance quite
dramatically. Some are of the opinion that im-
ages of the different Iwa’s vèvè (ceremonial draw-
ings) might be used as a pictorial replacement in-
122
Markel Thylefbrs
stead.21 Here it can be added that, of course, many
Haitians think that neither the representations of
Iwa nor of saints can be established as they are
spirits. Some Protestants remark with reference as
much to Vodouisants as to Catholics that there
were no cameras during biblical times and that
the images of saints are made by humans.
I asked three advocates of the exclusion of
Catholic elements if they did not think, it would
be difficult to convince Vodou practitioners in
general to dispose of the saints. They agreed and
meant it should be a very slow process and that
it would probably be impossible to persuade old
people. One person opined that as soon as the
Vodou sector arrives creating an attractive Vodou
Church (including Olowoum), Vodouisants would
lose interest in Catholicism and its saints.
I have met comparatively few Vodouisants who
say that they do not use saints in their religious
practice, and I have encountered no case where I
can confirm a completely desyncretized religious
practice through direct observation. The following
two examples illustrate that the saints might be
excluded from some domains of magico-religious
practice while retained in others. One example was
that of a “big” and most respected Vodou priest
outside Jacmel. When he showed me around his
temple, there were no saints, neither in the form
of murals nor in the form of paper lithographs in
the spirit houses. This elderly priest explained that
he thought that the saints do not belong to Vodou.
However, in the same breath he continued that
occasionally he used images of saints in (magical)
“works.”22 Another example was when I visited
the office of a large Vodou organization. The high
functionary of the organization who received me
was very concerned about eliminating all Christian
influences from Vodou. After our conversation he
invited me to see the organization’s spirit room
next to the office and where they also received
clients in need of magic and healing. To my
surprise, on the altar, I saw an ongoing magical
work before the Iwa spirit Ezili Dantor, involving
21 These ceremonial drawings are probably influenced by
freemasonry (cf. Cosentino 1995). Obviously, freemasonry
and Vodou have exchanged some ideas in Haiti. The
ceremonial drawings used today are largely based on
the collections made by the ethnographer Milo Rigaud.
Some informants say that older ceremonial drawings were
simpler, and/or less symmetric (pers. comm, with Rachel
Beauvoir, 2006-11-17).
22 At least once, he also adhered to the common practice
of closing one step of the initiation ceremonies with a
folk Catholic baptism (I godfathered one of his neophyte
Vodou priests). Possibly, initiates demanded such a baptism,
despite the priest’s personal reluctance.
the image of the dark-skinned “Our Lady of
Czestochowa,” a burning oil lamp, a dagger, and
a handwritten note. I commented “Oh, there’s an
image”; an embarrassed silence followed and we
left the room. The two examples show that, at least
to some practitioners, the elimination of saintly
forms or aspects of Vodou spirits are motivated
by ideological reasons rather than the belief that
the “saints” are ineffective when working with the
spirits.
Anti-syncretic tentative and/or knowledge there-
of, as mentioned, is more often found among
“big” or influential Vodou priests and those of the
better-off strata. Lower-income informants with
less schooling sometimes had difficulties compre-
hending a clear division between folk Catholie
elements such as saints or Christian prayers and
other Vodou practice. One of my economically
poor informants, for example, meant that the saints
and the Iwa simply were the same. As an argument
he explained that the Iwa which visited him in fib
dreams looked just like the saints on the images
(this is a common appearance of Iwa in dreams)-
The mere thought of a strict division between
saints and Iwa seemed unsettling and provocation
to him. Another, unusual, example was that of on6
illiterate person, who I know very well, and wh°
was unaware that the picture used to represent the
Iwa spirit Ezili Dantor also represented a Cathofic
saint with a different name.
When I commented that I, for example, had met
people in Port-au-Prince who wanted to exclude
the saints, some people even got angry and shouted
things like “then they do not understand Vodo11
very well,” or that “it’s the same people who brih£
folklore and gays into Vodou!” One interview^
commented in the following way on those wh°
“put the saints at the outside”:
There are priests who don’t use them [images of saints]’
but they are ignorant. Because, the image of the saint |s
important, you have a patron saint. You may say ”1*S
Sacré Coeur who’s my patron saint” ... It’s normal10
use her image at your house. Every saint accompanied
a Iwa spirit. If you serve, you have to use its phot0,
image, in a normal fashion ...
MT; Do you now if they put all things Catholic a
the outside? c
Look, they should. If they don’t have images
saints at their house - they are supposed to. WheIJ
they do a bunch of things at their house they should0^
salute, Notre Père, Our Father. Because when you rea
Our Father - with whom are you speaking? It’s V1
the saints. When you say ”Je vous salue Marie, plel
de grâces, le Seigneur est avec vous.” But where
your Mary image at your house? You put it at 1
Anthropos 103.200
lemizing God” in Haitian Vodou?
123
“Mod
°utside. According to me, [then] you’re working in
ae emptiness, you lack vision, you don’t have a true
°bjective.
Concluding Reflections
Generally speaking, Vodou practitioners appear
a l°t more confident and inspired when talking
ab°ut the characteristics of particular spirits than
ontological nature of God. In the light of the
lscussion on Olowoum above, it is noteworthy
bat the issue of excluding the saints provided more
, bailed answers. Interlocutors gave personal opin-
l0hs and motivated them with ethnographic detail
0ri attributes of, and correspondences between,
Saints and Iwa. Extremely few Vodouisants appear
0 bave excluded the saints from their practice. My
^Pression also is that the saints, alongside other
atholic elements, will subsist for a long time to
in the beliefs and practice of the majority of
V°douisants.
Vodouisants seem to accommodate the novelty
Glowoum - either as a separate God or as an al-
frative name for Bondye - with relative ease. In
. y experience, Olowoum did not evoke any par-
ularly strong feelings or opinions among Vodou
s acfitioners. Outside the nucleus of organizations
^ ch as Legliz Vodou dAyiti, Olowoum appears to
^aVe been adding to, rather than replacing, more
athofic interpretations of Bondye or God. In a
the ^ Wa^’ rec°gnizin§ Lucifer as a “God of
Material world,” does not eliminate Vodou’s
assic" Catholic prayers to God or litanies to the
Samts.
^ Tbe saints are closer to the practice and ex-
y>e of people than God and/or Olowoum.
q °u L primarily about serving the spirits, not
pj^Consequently, abandoning Catholic-derived
tic
eri°mena such as the saints would have dras-
Aj .^Plications f°r everyday religious practice.
[ar lri§ Olowoum, on the other hand, in the popu-
as Ketting’ may involve non-demanding acts such
dk nefly mentioning him in prayers or esoteric
de assions with friends. In sum, the “movement of
0pl yncretization” - which involves the exclusion
becra<Lti°nai practices - will have problems with
rtle °^1ing successful. The “reafricanizing move-
s' °f bringing in new influences, in contrast,
“jp1*18 fraught with little opposition. Thus, the
SomVement of reafricanization” as formulated by
e religious leaders and organizations in Haiti,
or Seems to have been reformulated at the local
typh assr°ots level so that it can coexist peacefully
^fro-Catholic syncretic elements.
Anth
r°pos 103.2008
In sum, the case of Olowoum also suggests the
openness of Vodou cosmology which in turn is
a cornerstone of its syncretic capacities whether
regarding the incorporation of Western or, as in
the case of Olowoum, African elements. Some
writers have claimed that reafricanization, or oth-
er attempts to revitalize ethnic and cultural her-
itages, may actually lead to a break with long-
standing traditions (see e.g., Wafer 1991: 56-58).
I, however, propose that in one sense, ideas such
as reafricanization or desyncretism, in fact, are
quite “traditional” or “authentic” in that they re-
produce the dynamism and adaptability which so
often have been pointed out as characteristic of
African-American religions (cf. Houk 1995). In
that way, reafricanization also appears as a con-
tinuation rather than a rupture of Haitian Vodou
practitioners’ tradition of evolving the means for
communing with the spirits from the ancestral
Lafrik Ginen.
I am grateful for comments as well as input and advice
provided by Kaj Arhem, Rachel Beauvoir, Jean-Yves
Blot, Anders Burman, Stefania Capone, Jean Alix Paul,
and Nicholas Waller. However, the entire responsibility
for the views, opinions, and interpretations expressed
in the article rests with me alone. This article was also
made possible through financial assistance in the form
of a research grant from the Department for Research
Cooperation (SAREC) at the Swedish International De-
velopment Cooperation Agency (SIDA).
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°Pos 103.2008
Studia Series
of the Anthropos Institute
Ethnological research has
changed dramatically in
recent years. The unremit-
ting spread of Western
industrial civilization has
lead to a devaluation of
regional and local cultures.
As a result, the Anthropos
Institute has taken on the
task of promoting the
preservation of surviving
cultures and languages,
in order to accentuate the
diversity of creation and to
recognize the basic right
of mankind to cultural
self-determination.
The Studia series would
like to foster and contrib-
ute to the investigation
and preservation of cul-
tures. Works published
in this series are mono-
graphs of ethnological
and religious-ethnologi-
cal character, be they
dissertations or other
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Anthropos
103.2008: 127-138
Shamanes, bellezas y Copa Mundial
De la selva al campo de fútbol
Dagmar Schweitzer de Palacios
Abstract
their ~ The popul^8^011 °f shamanistic rituals and
p0|lt. Pr°tagonists in Ecuador is a result of complex social,
of • 1Cat national, and international processes. In the context
in t. crea8ing globalisation, this development has culminated
°f Presence of a Shuar shaman at the Football World Cup
The • 'n Germany, which caused strong polemic reactions.
°n ^Slniultaneous presentation of Ecuador’s beauty queen,
A.gai 6 °ther hand, did not receive any particular attention.
threenSt ^'s background, the article explores relations among
f°0H ftitutions - namely, shamanism, beauty contests, and
elenJ ■ More specifically, it addresses the way in which exotic
rn0re ts are being integrated into the context of football. At a
of sha 6nera^ level, the article makes a contribution to the study
an*SIri in terms of ritual and globalisation. [Ecuador,
niSfn, globalisation, football, beauty contests]
200] ar Schweitzer de Palacios, Dr. (Berlín 1994). 2000-
Irivest ' 2004-2006 Asistente científica en el Instituto de
en la pfacÍ0nes Comparables de las Culturas - Antropología
científi 1 bpps Universidad de Marburgo. Actualmente Asistente
del jyj Ca en el Museo de las Culturas del Mundo Francfort
el pCuen°- - Trabajo de campo 1990-1992 y 2000-2001 en
interc„ 0r sobre la medicina tradicional y las relaciones de
mbio en el shamanismo.
fj
i^es del mes de mayo del año 2006 y al
Por ° ^ Campeonato Mundial de Fútbol, circuló
shUa*a Prensa alemana la imagen de un shamán
y Ü¿SÜ vestimenta era un traje de piel de jaguar
rtxás a Clnta de plumas naturales multicolor, a
chom 6 Una cadena de dientes y una lanza de
el (véase foto). Junto a la Miss Ecuador 2006
Minist*an hie el personal acompañante de la
varjas ra Ecuatoriana de Turismo en su gira por
Cludades alemanas. Bajo la lema “Shaman
on Tour”, la delegación quiso incentivar el turismo
a favor del Ecuador.1
Mientras se realizaba la visita y se inspeccio-
naban los estadios previstos para el mundial del
equipo ecuatoriano de fútbol, el shamán se dedicó
a “soplar” a los campos deportivos, para cargarlos,
supuestamente, con “la energía positiva”. Ante esta
actitud, los periodistas alemanes se quedaron con
la inquietud de una conexión entre el fútbol y
el shamanismo, cuestión que la Ministra tampoco
pudo aclarar, negando la existencia en tal sentido.2
La respuesta de la Ministra resultó inexacta,
ya que a lo largo del Campeonato las presenta-
ciones del shamán causaron una polémica en la
prensa sensacionalista, pretendiendo asegurar que
el shamán embrujaba las arenas (Bild, 19.06.2006).
Durante la Copa Mundial, esta noticia significó
un llamado de guerra y la prensa inventó, por su
lado, la existencia de un contrahechizo. A final
de cuentas, cuando el equipo alemán venció al
ecuatoriano, los mismos medios lo comentaron con
cierta malicia “Pese a pluma mágica 3:0” (Bild,
21.06.2006).
Con estos antecedentes, me puse a reflexionar
sobre una eventual relación del shamanismo y el
fútbol, y sobre la causa de la polémica por la pre-
sencia del shamán. Para encontrar las respuestas,
creo importante hacer referencia a los temas si-
1 <http://www.vivecuador.com/html2/esp/boletin_Prensa
Alemana(9-05-2006).htm> [07.06.2006].
2 Rueda de Prensa 26.04.2006 en la Embajada del Ecuador
en Berlín.
128
Dagmar Schweitzer de Palacios
Fig.l : El shamán shuar en ej
Campeonato Mundial de Fútb°
2006, Berlín (foto: Walter TrU'
jiUo).
guíenles: primeramente, a los rituales shamánicos
en el Ecuador, bajo consideraciones del actual
desarrollo político y los procesos de globalización
que influyeron sobre ellos; en segundo lugar, al
tema de la magia en el fútbol y la historia del
fútbol ecuatoriano; y, en tercer lugar, un enfoque
hacia el tema de la belleza en el fútbol y los
concursos de belleza en el Ecuador, a proposito
de que en este Campeonato Mundial se realizó
el primer concurso de “Miss Copa Mundial.”
Concluyo con un esbozo sobre la relación de las
tres instituciones en discusión, fútbol, concursos
de belleza y shamanismo y, por supuesto, sobre la
polémica, sin establecer comentarios sobre el tema
de loterías y concursos de comercio futbolístico.
El presente artículo tiene como objetivo, por un
lado, demostrar los elementos exóticos del fútbol
y, por otro lado, observar el tema shamanismo bajo
los aspectos del ritual y de la globalización.
Shamanismo en el Ecuador
Quien viaja como turista o como antropólogo al
Ecuador encuentra a cada paso los anuncios de
invitación a participar en una “limpia”, un ritual
indígena de limpieza. En las regiones andinas o
selváticas los curanderos tradicionales ofrecen sus
servicios mediante múltiples afiches en idioma
español e inglés. Dentro de paquetes de viajes
turísticos, las sesiones shamánicas se venden como
evento único e inolvidable.
A parte de la presencia individual en 1°5
rituales, las organizaciones indígenas llaman a
la celebración común de Inti Raymi (fiesta
sol). La atracción principal constituyen las “li#1'
pias” rituales en los pucuy (fuentes sagradas), Ia5
cuales realizan shamanes para el público interesé
do a cambio de un pago de dinero (compárense
Schweitzer de Palacios 2003).
Los rituales presentados corresponden en sU
forma y sus elementos a los rituales tradicional^5
curativos, que siguen vigentes, hasta la presen*0
fecha, en las comunidades indígenas dentro &
contextos shamánicos y etnomédicos. Los ritual^5
muestran grandes diferencias regionales, resultad0
de las distintas cosmologías prevalecientes y süS
escuelas shamánicas correspondientes. Ademad
están influenciados en distintos grados por
mentos internos y externos, por que justamente Ia5
relaciones de intercambio, dentro del shamanistn0,
son una tradición que tiene sus raíces en tiemp°s
prehispánicos en toda la región andina (véase \°s
artículos en Schweitzer de Palacios und WÓtf
2003)- , . 0
A los participantes en los rituales y al púbh ,
en las presentaciones no les importa que los rl
tuales se lleven a cabo fuera de su contexto cnl*u
ral; para unos es la búsqueda a la experiefl0
individual y el autoreconocimiento, especialmeíl
en relación a la toma de drogas alucinógenas (Ba°
mann 2003; Mader 2004); para otros es un eletf^0
to folklórico del país visitado. Aún así, la popü1
rización de los rituales y de sus protagonistas
Anthropos 103-2°
lrnanes, bellezas y Copa Mundial
129
Sha
e]
resultado de los complejos procesos sociales y
Políticos, nacionales e internacionales que llevaron
a la homogenización del término “shamán” y que
aurnentaron en él una figura simbólica múltiple,
C°mo lo demuestro a continuación.
^®1 brujo al shamán
^esde el inicio de la conquista española, los misio-
neros católicos consideraron a las personalidades
^Ue se relacionaron con las fuerzas sobrenaturales
^eJecutaron prácticas mágicas como elementos
^ persecución y castigo. Según los documentos
Juicios y pleitos de la época colonial, se ini-
ció
^Ue
jería'
una destrucción legal de la “obra del diablo’
en las fuentes está denominada como “bru-
. ;a • Sus actores fueron “brujos”, evidentemente.
n así, la actitud de los españoles, frente a esas
rs°nas, fue ambigua, porque también se sirvie-
úe sus capacidades mágicas con la esperanza
1 (Legrar ventajas sociales y políticas (Salomón
5). Por la política de los españoles, especial-
nte en parte an¿inai el control de la ad-
miración española y de la Iglesia fue mucho
s Practicable que en la impenetrable selva, las
la C,tlCas maSicas fueron escondidas y pasaron a
Undestinidad. Oficialmente fueron prohibidas,
Sü; no se las pudo controlar ni se las pudo
h ^°r 0tro lado, l°s shamanes de la selva lograron
c Iíla P°r ser líderes en los movimientos indígenas
cit [a c°lonización española. Muchas veces se
jo i a suf>íevación de los quijos en el año 1578 ba-
'Jüe ^eraz§° de sus shamanes o pendes, ejemplo
ColoP.asó como tema principal durante el tiempo
del nia^ y convirtió justamente la figura perseguida
re s^amán en un símbolo de la resistencia (Mo-
2 ^úñez y Figueroa 1992: 15ss.).
det °n estos antecedentes se han desarrollado
s^aerrtl^nadas tradiciones sobre la recepción de los
n,cmanes y del shamanismo dentro de la sociedad
es l0nal del Ecuador que continúan y encuentran
las Cl°S en actual movimiento indígena y en
pai naodas populares espirituales (Schweitzer de
aci°s 2003).
?ac¡iraC'as a ^a ProPÍa política de las organi-
slrtthneS ^ndígenas, los shamanes constituyen el
sham° ° ^or antonomasia de la indianidad: un
püeb|Un es la figura que acaudilla públicamente al
la£o ° ln^§ena en las manifestaciones, es pro-
dten ISta ^as testas indígenas, como en la ya
Para f0nac*a fiesta Inti Raymi, y realiza rituales
Sermonarios indígenas al inicio de sus oficios,
el discurso de las organizaciones se trata
Anthr°Pos 103.2008
del redescubrimiento, de la revitalización de las
tradiciones antiguas, las cuales se fundan en las
relaciones de cronistas o en las memorias de héroes
legendarios de la época colonial. Por esa invented
tradition se construyen contextos que están rela-
cionados a los distintos espacios en un nivel local,
regional y nacional y son ocupados política y/o
culturalmente.
Sin duda que las organizaciones indígenas se
sirven también de las cualidades que están adscri-
tas a los shamanes en la parte internacional. Un
ejemplo son los proyectos de turismo ecológico
y comunitario programados por las organizaciones
indígenas, en las cuales los shamanes tienen un
papel protagónico principal. En el mismo sen-
tido integran a los shamanes como expertos de
la medicina tradicional en proyectos políticos de
desarrollo.3 Esta idea fue descubierta por las or-
ganizaciones ambientales y de derechos humanos,
quienes reconocieron en los shamanes como “los
protectores de la selva”.
De hecho, estos procesos conllevan a una ho-
mogenización lingüística. Un término general para
todos los “shamanes” no existía en los distintos
grupos indígenas del Ecuador. Las personalidades
en referencia tenían y tienen varias tareas distintas
dentro de su etnia correspondiente. Cada etnia
utilizaba y utiliza por ende sus propias denomi-
naciones que indican especializaciones o categori-
zaciones jerárquicas.
En la literatura etnológica también se utilizaron
y se utilizan nombres propios; en la región de
Sudamérica a los expertos médico-religiosos se
los denominaron más como Medizinmann (hombre
médico) que shamán. El término shamán se esta-
bleció con las monografías ya clásicas sobre las
etnias de la selva, sobre todo con la investigación
de Harner sobre los jíbaros. Los rituales que se
basan en la ingestión de drogas alucinógenas se
3 El auge de la etnomedicina y de los conocimientos y
prácticas shamánicos se debe a las modas del new age, del
neo-shamanismo y al movimiento indígena, pero también a
las organizaciones internacionales de desarrollo. Mientras
el “Código de la Salud” del año 1990 prohíbe el ejercicio
de prácticas médicas y paramédicas sin los exámenes y
licencias estatales correspondientes, y los policías y fun-
cionarios del Ministerio de Salud confiscan los instrumen-
tos de los expertos médicos tradicionales (Schweitzer de
Palacios 1994: 218ss.), estos mismos son empleados por las
organizaciones internacionales dentro de programas para la
atención primaria de la salud ya desde los años 70/80 del
último siglo. Reforzado por su reconocimiento, los expertos
empezaron a organizarse en asociaciones locales. Con la
afiliación a una de las asociaciones un curandero recibe
una legitimación oficial.
130
Dagmar Schweitzer de Palacios
los compararon y se los reconocieron con los viajes
extáticos de los shamanes norasiáticos.4
En cambio, los ritualistas de la sierra andina se
describió dentro de contextos etnomédicos (véase
Mader 1995: 178), y se denominaron con la pala-
bra española curandero o con la palabra quichua
yachac. Hay varias razones para estas clasifica-
ciones. La razón más importante, supuestamente,
es de que no existe un éxtasis shamánico en los
rituales curativos de la sierra, como tampoco existe
una función religiosa y sociopolítica de los curan-
deros dentro de su comunidad. Este razonamiento
no toma en cuenta si ese éxtasis realmente no
existía o si las caracterizaciones se han perdido
por la rápida sumisión de la parte andina, o mera-
mente las investigaciones se concentraron en otros
aspectos.
Otra razón consiste en que el quichua es el
único idioma indígena generalizado en toda la
sierra y el término yachac fue la palabra común,
mientras en la selva siguien existiendo varios
idiomas indígenas, con varias interpretaciones del
mismo.
En los discursos científicos y populares se es-
tableció el término shamán. Para los primeros la
división en las distintas clases siempre ha sido una
categorización artificial (Wórrle 2002: 15), por lo
que también los grupos quichuas de la selva uti-
lizan la palabra yachac para sus expertos mágico-
religiosos, es decir, no distinguen nominalmente
entre esas personalidades de sierra y selva. Para
los otros ni existe una problemática en cuanto
a la definición, tomando en cuenta de que las
organizaciones indígenas por sí mismo empeza-
ron a servirse del término del discurso público
y denominarles a sus expertos curativos como
shamán.
A lo largo de los procesos de la globalización
se encuentran aún varias generalizaciones de otra
índole, lo que trataremos en el siguiente tema.
Shamanes y globalización
Las relaciones tradicionales interculturales en las
que los shamanes tomaron el papel de “interme-
diarios culturales” (Whitten 1985: 14-122) favo-
recieron la actitud abierta por parte de algunos
de ellos frente a la globalización. Sus relaciones
se ampliaron por clientela y público y alcanzaron
4 Por eso, a los curanderos mestizos del norte del Perú
también se les llamaron shamanes, ya que utilizan el San
Pedro, un cactus para droga visionaria.
otra calidad. Los shamanes siguen actuando corno
expertos etnomédicos para su clientela y en parte
demuestran sus rituales al público como “perfor-
manee”. Se adoptan a las necesidades de su oficio
o de sus empleadores respectivamente.5 Su campo
de acción pasa las fronteras nacionales: realizan
viajes individuales a los Estados Unidos, donde
tratan en función de curandero a migrantes suda-
mericanos, participan en función de representantes
de las organizaciones indígenas en las asambleas
de la ONU, o se los utilizan en función de una
atracción público en ferias nacionales, internado-
nales y exposiciones mundiales.6
En definitiva, la figura del shamán alcanzó nn
status de un símbolo nacional, una figura que re'
presenta la herencia cultural del Estado multiétnic0
y pluricultural del Ecuador intemacionalmente, 1
que se comercializa en unión a la herencia natural
de las Islas Galápagos y la reina de belleza. No son
las cualidades shamánicas que determinan la elec-
ción del shamán como representante del país,7 sin°
los atributos indígenas y la capacidad de represen-
tarlos.8 El protagonista de este artículo, el shamán
viajero, cumple la exigencia de una performance
perfecta: su vestimenta corresponde a ideas gene-
ralizadas de estereotipos sobre la apariencia de nn
shamán. El análisis de su vestimenta, en cambio»
muestra que los diversos elementos, aunque son
de la región de los shuar, no tienen papel dentro
de la tradición shamánica. La corona de plumaS
como también las lanzas son parte de contexto5
festivos de muchas etnias selváticas, más bien-
Las lanzas, por otra parte, tienen una significación
importante en la tradición shamánica de la sierU
donde sirven para el apoyo de los shamanes y/°
defensa de espíritus malignos. Además muestran»
al igual que plumas y cadenas importadas de Ia
selva, que el shamán andino había viajado duran*6
5 Según Worrle también los “verdaderos” rituales curativ°s’
por ejemplo de los yachac de Ilumán, se basan en un aCt°
de “performance” (Worrle 2002: 337ss.).
6 Por ejemplo en la Bolsa de Turismo 2006 en Berlín y erl
la Exposición Mundial 2000 en Hannover.
7 Una vez detectado el potencial económico de estos event°s
por parte de los indígenas, aumentó el número de personé
que pretenden ser shamanes, aunque según los criten
tradicionales no lo son.
8 También en caso del shamán shuar han sido estos aspee*
que llevaron a elegirle como representante. Dentro de
país el shamán es visto sospechosamente. Por su colabo1^
ción en una producción de película sobre los shuar 2003 s
les designó con el premio Andrés Bello. Por otra
la organización Tierra Sagrada le acusa de mal maneJ^
de dinero y estafa (<http://terresacree.org/shuarsdeyaWii1
arnaqueespagnol.htm> [20.09.2007]).
1O3.2008
Anthropos
131
Chamanes, bellezas y Copa Mundial
su aprendizaje a la selva y “aprendió” de los sha-
^anes selváticos.9
. Volviendo al simar, tampoco su atuendo del
Jaguar corresponde a la vestimenta típica que hoy
día consiste más bien de vaqueros y camisetas.
u temo, sus cadenas y pulseras son productos
^Ue se pueden comprar en cualquier tienda de
S°üvenirs latinoamericana.
La reducción del shamán a un patrón de compo-
ntes uniformes válido universalmente encuentra
^ra expresión en la pluma, supuestamente escon-
da en el estadio. Según mis conocimientos, esta
Practica mágica no se lleva a cabo en el pueblo
üar.10 soplo, por otra parte, es un elemento
^ rtiún del shamanismo tanto de la sierra como de
selva. Soplar con humo de tabaco, con trago
Perfumes o mezclas de diversos extractos de
^ antas sirve para la limpieza y la suerte.
Para el público internacional, la actuación y el
uendo del shuar son emblemas de su autenticidad
’ P°r ende, de sus capacidades. Shamanismo, en
f n, SenLd0, es considerado como un elemento
ej *d°rico. Cortado de sus contextos shamánicos,
sharnán subyace como expresión de una cultura
a* y nacional en contextos globales, entre los
p a|es el megaevento de la Copa Mundial de
^°1 no podía ser más global,
ero aún así, su performance toca contextos
glc°s, como veremos en el siguiente capítulo.
^tbol
y magia
No
Se necesitan pasar las fronteras alemanas para
en °ntrarse con prácticas y costumbres ritualizadas
Pe ^ ^Lol, que son tratados bajo el lema “su-
deiones”. Hasta el público poco aficionado al
rop ° Conoce ^as mascotas de los clubes que entra-
par en 'a cudura del marketing en forma de felpa
(Ta/a venta; el cebra (MSV Duisburg), el león
Ser i ^^0 München), el diablo rojo (1. FC Kai-
Co S autem), el cocodrilo (VfB Stuttgart) y, el más
(He°C^°’ en ^orma vlva’ ehivo (1. FC Kóln)
O5 2002; 26). Antes de un partido se pre-
para n Públicamente los amuletos y los talismanes
a suerte; en espacios privados se ponen velas
—
j^rnpái-ense Worrle (2003: 34). Worrle pone en dudas que
V lye ac*0nes c*e intercambio entre los shamanes de la sierra
Se Selva han sido relaciones de aprendizaje. Según él,
jUStifi a Un ^scurso los shamanes hacia sus clientes
Con , Cando sus propios poderes; estos poderes lo demuestra
10 según s °hjetos encontrados en sus viajes a la selva.
n 'a cosmología tradicional de los shuar, los ataques
la 0s se los realizan por flechas mágicas, que llevan a
erniedad y a la mala suerte (véase Hamer 1972).
Anth
roP°s 103.2008
delante de las fotografías de los jugadores, a estos
se les somete a abstinencias, reglas alimentarias
y a las charlas ritualizadas por parte del entre-
nador. Durante los desplazamientos a juegos en
otros lugares, supuestamente no se debe transitar
por pasos a desnivel y, si es posible, se ponen
los zapatos con los cuales ya se han ganado ante-
riormente. Un carácter ritual en el fútbol europeo
tienen además las canciones de lucha, las danzas,
las pinturas en el cuerpo, las tablas con nombre de
entrenadores y ex-jugadores y, por supuesto, las
apuestas (Pornschlegel 2002: 104).
Referido al individuo o a todo el equipo, esos
objetos y estas acciones sirven para aumentar la
fuerza de los jugadores y la suerte durante el par-
tido, y no poner en peligro la victoria respectiva.
El origen de estas costumbres se deduce desde el
punto de vista de la historia cultural a los inicios
del fútbol, cuando los juegos, como por ejemplo el
fútbol popular británico, se encontraron dentro de
un contexto del culto y fueron determinados por
prácticas mágico-religiosas, cuyas huellas ahora
se reencuentran en la actitud de los aficionados
(Bausenwein 1995: 142). Se las considera como
“arcaísmos” y como “regresiones civilizatorias”
(Pornschlegel 2002: 104).
En regiones fuera de Europa es mucho más fácil
calificar las costumbres parecidas en el contexto
del fútbol como magia, ya que se quiere manipular
las fuerzas sobrenaturales explícitamente. Estas
actitudes mágicas son fenómenos de la cultura
local que el fútbol en el camino alrededor del globo
ha adoptado a este nivel.11 Así por ejemplo, se
encuentra un caso de prácticas mágicas entre los
zulúes urbanos de Sudáfrica (Scotch 1979: 273ss.)
que empiezan con la matanza de una cabra al inicio
de los campeonatos y al final del mismo, continúan
con una ceremonia en la víspera de un partido, en
la que un inyanga (médico zulú) del equipo provee
a cada jugador “medicinas” para la potencia y
incisiones en la piel. Estas prácticas se interpretan
de tal modo que la creencia tradicional en la
brujería no solamente sigue existiendo durante
los procesos de aculturización, sino se aumenta
y cambia aún para satisfacer las necesidades a las
nuevas condiciones de vida.12
El Brasil es otro país con ejemplos de prácticas
mágicas en el fútbol. Según se ha dicho, el asesor
del equipo nacional, Américo, llevó a los bra-
11 Esto se refiere al sentido, a la secuencia igual que a las
acciones alrededor de los juegos.
12 Véase Gluckmann 1982; véase también ejemplos de Ca-
merún: Tom Schimmeck, Ein Volk spielt gegen den Ab-
stieg. (Geo 2.1991; 50ss.; en Bausenwein 1995: 135ss.).
132
Dagmar Schweitzer de Palacios
sileños a ser campeones mundiales en tres oca-
siones por ser un iniciado en la macumba (Bausen-
wein 1995: 136), una de las religiones brasileñas
de origen africano que se relaciona especialmente
a las prácticas de la magia negra.
También los llamados “saladeros” del Perú, su-
puestamente, se sirven de magia. Estos curanderos,
que vienen de los sectores mestizos urbanos, dicen
que manipulan una arena de fútbol contaminándola
con sal, de manera que su apariencia en un parti-
do causa inquietudes en el público hasta provoca
tumultos al perder el equipo local.13
Un ejemplo de la sierra andina del Perú muestra
la existencia de prácticas shamánicas propiamente
dicha. En el pueblo de Churubamba, provincia
de Andahuaylillas, Opto. Cuzco, se realizan desde
hace 18 años partidos de fútbol de mujeres entre
distintas comunidades.14 Estas mujeres llevan a ca-
bo, antes de cada partido, una ceremonia en honor
a las deidades andinas y buscan al curandero de su
comunidad para predecir los resultados del partido
a través del oráculo con hojas de coca. Además
entierran algunos remedios ayudantes (hojas de
coca y dedos de ajo) en la cercanía de la arena
para asegurarse la victoria.
Las actitudes descritas muestran que el espacio
de la magia en el fútbol puede ser ocupado de
distinta forma sin pertenecer inevitablemente al
juego. Se evidencia que se utiliza el fútbol para
inventar tradiciones locales que no se dejan trans-
mitir al espacio global, ya que están relacionadas
a contextos de una cosmología determinada o a
elementos de creencias populares.
No todas las prácticas causan polémica. Acti-
tudes supersticiosas en nuestro ámbito se emplean
pero irónicamente. Se considera leve y legítimo
el representar a su equipo de esta manera hacia
afuera. Las actitudes constitudinarias a las que
pertenece la reacción del público son dirigidos por
patrones conocidos que también se convierten en
tradición.
Lo mismo se puede decir de las prácticas
mágicas y shamánicas en lejanos ámbitos que tie-
nen su significado en el correspondiente contexto
local. Las ideas cosmológicas permiten o necesi-
tan diversas actitudes en el fútbol que se aceptan
en forma sútil. Al contrario de las actitudes de
superstición, las prácticas mágicas tienen efectos
13 En los países andinos se recurre muchas veces a los
santos cristianos para emplear embrujamientos, que se
atribuyen poderes ambiguos. Sería interesante investigar en
que medida tienen un papel dentro del fútbol.
14 Las jugadoras fueron protagonistas en una película de
Carmen Butta. Véase <http://www.alberdi.de/andiner_
fussball.html> [01.11.2006].
que son interpretados como positivos o negativos,
puesto que están involucrados equipos contrarios
como se ha demostrado en el ejemplo de los sa-
laderos del Perú, donde según las ideas populares
comunes éstos son equiparados con practicantes de
magia negra y su presencia pública es interpretada
como una amenaza para el juego limpio.
Justamente el carácter del fútbol ofrece espacio
para la ambivalencia de la magia. Fútbol siempre
constituye una oposición entre dos equipos y sigue
las leyes del conflicto. Fútbol tiene lugar entre dos
equipos contrarios con los que se identifican gru-
pos pequeños o grandes de aficionados hasta llegar
a nivel de nación. La creación de una identidad
del grupo hacia adentro significa al mismo tiemp0
una barrera hacia afuera. La identificación con el
equipo se transmite también al lugar del encuentro,
aunque se diga que la arena, oficialmente, sea uu
campo neutral.
En estos ejemplos ya se hacen evidente para-
lelas a la polémica que causó la presencia del
shamán shuar en el Campeonato Mundial, pero
con una diferiencia esencial. En cuanto a los sala'
deros, se trata de una tradición local, de concepto8
mágicos que son aceptados localmente. Siguiendo
esta línea de argumentación, el shuar en Alemania
se tendría que haber puesto en el patrón común do
superstición y tendría que haber sido aceptado sil1
polémica.
Por ende, para aclarar esta polémica hay que
incluir otros aspectos. Veamos, en el siguiente
capítulo, en qué sentido en el fútbol ecuatoriano se
demuestran prácticas shamánicas en cuya tradición
se podría integrar al shamán, y cuál debería ser ol
papel del shamán en el Mundial de Fútbol.
Fútbol en el Ecuador
En cuanto al Ecuador,-no se pueden evidencié
acciones shamánicas en el contexto del fútbol, 1°
que no sigifica que no las hay. Una mirada a
la historia del fútbol ecuatoriano muestra que efl
su inicio se trataba de un deporte de la élite 1
de residentes extranjeros. Esta historia empieza
según relato, en el año 1899, cuando los herman°s
Juan Alfredo y Roberto Wright regresaron con 1111
fútbol en su equipaje, después de haber pasad0
una visita en Inglaterra.15 * La pelota se la puS°
en un club deportivo de Guayaquil, donde servU
a los miembros del club para aprender el nuev°
15 <http://2002.fifaworldcup.yahoo.eom/02/es/t/t/h/ecu.htnJ'’ ^
[29.07.2006]; la historia suena igual que la entrada
fútbol al Brasil (Caldas 1997: 172).
103.2008
Anthropos
133
Chamanes, bellezas y Copa Mundial
peP°rte. De ahí se desprendía la moda en el país.
0r lo tanto, el fútbol ecuatoriano es una deri-
yación de origen inglés, como en muchos otros
Paises latinoamericanos.16 El primer partido oficial
ea el Ecuador tuvo lugar en el año 1900; dos
an°s después se fundó el primer club deportivo
el Ecuador. Este club fue la semilla del fútbol
naci°nal, puesto que los directivos del club inicia-
*.°n Ia organización de campeonatos entre equipos
lshntos. Los primeros clubes locales se formaron
°re todo en las provincias de Guayas y Pichin-
aa> sus jugadores fueron amateurs; los equipos
instituían con miembros de clubes de equipos
eP°rtivos exclusivos o de clubes de empleados,
trabajadores, negociantes, etc. (Asociación de
. rópleados), o de los estudiantes universitarios
Deportiva Universitaria).
^ En el año de 1925 se fundó la Federación
ePortiva Nacional del Ecuador. Un año después
CUador se afilió a la FIFA (Fédération Internatio-
e de Football Association), lo que fomentó la
^ndación de otros clubes futbolísticos. Algunos de
a s clubes actuales de la primera liga se remontan
jaes°s tiempos.17 En los años 1950 se establece
Profesionalizaron del fútbol, primeramente en
jaUayas (1951), después en Pichincha (1953). En
p finalidad pertenecen cerca de diez clubes a la
eración Ecuatoriana de Fútbol,18 que es com-
P^abl
Cuyos
e a la Primera Bundesliga en Alemania, y
mejores jugadores forman parte del equi-
e naci°nal. Existe una Segunda Liga y una red
ensa de clubes regionales y locales, equipos
°lares, etc. El fútbol en el Ecuador se convirtió,
p m° en otros paises, en un deporte de masas
Pulpes y el fútbol de los clubes profesionales
los l0na^es no tiene nada que ver con el fútbol de
do Sectores populares. La mayoría de los juga-
ricres Psl equipo nacional son de origen afroame-
p0 .c5’. lo que indica que el fútbol les ofrece la
ei p aEdad de subir su estrato social, igual que en
rasil.19 Los equipos de los clubes de la Liga se
Inglaterra se fundó la primera asociación del fútbol en
del300 y se laboró el primer manual de las reglas
JUego, que ciudadanos ingleses trasmitieron a todo el
17 (Bausenwein 1995: 87ss.; Eisenberg 1997).
De°S S°n Por ejemplo Barcelona (Guayaquil) 1925, Liga
18 pu^*?rt^Va Universitaria (Quito), Emelec (Guayaquil) 1929.
res*1 a<^° en el abo 1978 o 1985. Las informaciones al
^htf6010 n° concueróan.
[20 Qq2WW-ecuarótbol.org/institucion/historia.aspx>
190^^02.fifaworldcup.yahoo.com/02/es/t/t/h/ecu.html>
19 g9e07-20°6].
Uri eÍernPl° más famoso es Agustín Delgado, que viene de
qe| pobre y en la actualidad ha fundado una escuela
X)l.
Afith
f0p0s 103.2008
constituyen también en su mayoría por mestizos y
negros. Uno de los equipos más populares lleva el
nombre y el emblema de un auca, término para
los guerreros indios de la selva, sobre todo los
huaorani, pero faltan jugadores indígenas.
La presencia indígena se puede observar más
bien alrededor de los juegos, donde los comer-
ciantes ambulantes ofrecen sus productos en los
estadios y encuentran a la población urbana de
todos los estratos.
En las comunidades rurales e indígenas, el
fútbol se estableció al igual que el voleibol. El
fútbol está dentro de las programaciones de otras
festividades y dentro de contextos locales es-
pecíficos, por ejemplo, puede ser parte de la fiesta
en honor a los santos patrones. Este hecho se
pudo observar en San Juan (Cantón Gualaceo,
provincia de Azuay) durante la fiesta del Señor
de los Milagros, aunque los juegos no pertenecían
oficialmente al programa de la fiesta (Schmidt
1998: 302). Antes de los juegos en San Juan, se
realizan concursos de belleza para elegir una rei-
na entre las representantes de los ocho equipos.
Obviamente, los dos elementos - fútbol y rei-
na - constituyen elementos de una escenificación
moderna de la fiesta introducidos por antiguos
pobladores que ahora están radicados en Guaya-
quil. Por ende, se trata de tradiciones extemas de
sectores urbanos de la Costa, así que una relación
shamánica se hace improbable.
Durante los partidos de tipo amistoso, las reglas
del fútbol siguen su propio reglamento. El resul-
tado del partido no es manipulado por shamanes,
sino más bien por maniobras informales y tal vez
sucias. De Lumbisí, una comunidad indígena en las
afueras de Quito, se relata una historia al respecto.
El dirigente de la comuna comunicó a los juga-
dores del equipo contrario que ya iba ganando el
partido y que después les espera una rica comida,
bajo la condición de perder el partido (la comida
era más importante que la victoria y el partido
terminó por tres a dos a favor de Lumbisí).20 Otras
anécdotas indican trueques parecidos, por ejemplo
el capitán de un equipo de la ciudad del Puyo,
provincia de Pastaza, insistió en que los jugadores
mestizos del equipo contrario juegen descalzos
como es costumbre entre los indígenas.21
Entre tanto, el fútbol forma parte de proyectos
políticos de desarrollo y es incluido en algunos de
20 Comunicación personal: Manolo Palacios (Setiembre 2006;
el juego tuvo lugar a mediados de los años 70.
21 Comunicación personal: Manolo Palacios. El resultado del
juego ya no lo recuerda, pero se acuerda de que el equipo
mestizo perdió; el equipo indígena era acostumbrado a jugar
sin zapatos.
134
Dagmar Schweitzer de Palacios
los programas de las organizaciones indígenas para
la educación de los jóvenes22 y la formación de
entrenadores.23 Se organizan copas indígenas que
alcanzan niveles locales, regionales y nacionales y
que llega por la migración hasta a los paises en
Europa.24
En las comunidades, los partidos dominicales
sirven como un encuentro comunal. Al igual que
en las fiestas no es el juego en sí, sino más bien el
florecimiento de negocios alrededor de los estadios
de fútbol, donde se centra la atracción: intercambio
y venta de comidas y bebidas, venta de artesanías,
intercambio de chismes, etc.. Ahí es donde se
puede encontrar uno u otro curandero que ofrece
sus servicios curativos a los espectadores, pero
aquellos no se encuentran en ninguna relación al
partido de fútbol.
Como se demostró al principio, son justamente
las organizaciones indígenas que construyen una
serie de contextos en los cuales los shamanes
forman parte públicamente, pero hasta el momento
en las comunidades indígenas del Ecuador el
shamán no tiene que ver con el fútbol, aunque el
fútbol se encuentra dentro de fiestas o adopta las
características de la cultura festiva.
Si no se demuestran tradiciones shamánicas, la
presencia del shamán durante la Copa Mundial de
Fútbol significa ser un fenómeno nuevo, al igual
que es una estrategia ultimativa de la tradición ya
establecida del marketing del shamanismo. Esto se
hace visible más claro aún, si se toma en cuenta
a la acompañante del shamán, la Miss Ecuador,
y a los concursos de belleza, ya que durante
la Copa 2006 existió otro fenómeno nuevo: la
elección de la Miss Copa Mundial que desarrollaré
a continuación.
Miss Copa Mundial: belleza y fútbol
El primero de junio del año 2006, treinta y dos
participantes a reinas se reunieron para empren-
22 La introducción del fútbol en las escuelas británicas también
fueron por ideales de educación; ejercicios prácticos y en-
trenamiento del comportamiento social (Prosser 2002: 271).
23 Los datos al respecto les obtuvo durante mi trabajo de
investigación sobre el shamanismo en el Ecuador (2000-
2001) y por documentos de las organizaciones indígenas.
Compárense también Herzog (2002: 18s.). Herzog informa
sobre la política cultural alemana, a que pertenece tam-
bién enviar entrenadores alemanes al extranjero dentro de
programas de promoción deportiva en el tercer mundo,
apoyado por la Sociedad Alemana de Colaboración Técnica
(GTZ).
24 <http://www.maximanet.iespana.es/indeximigraci0n.html>
[06.2006].
der la etapa final del título Miss Copa Mundial
(Miss WM), en el parque Europeo de Rust. An-
ticipadamente fueron elegidas entre más de 1.500
solicitantes de 32 naciones de fútbol. El título de
la Miss Copa Mundial fue concedido por primera
vez. El organizador, Miss Germany Corporation,
se había asegurado los derechos en el Ministerio
Europeo de Marcas.25 En el programa del con-
curso se solicitó la presentación de las candí-
datas en traje de baño y en ropa de gala, adema5
de una presentación en un traje nacional de su
equipo de fútbol. El jurado internacional estuvo
integrado por ex-futbolistas y entrenadores. Con
la ganancia del título se ofreció un premio 0°
dinero, un auto cabrio y un vestido de modelo-
Como vencedora fue elegida la candidata de Togo»
España obtuvo el segundo puesto y Ecuador d
tercero.
La elección de la Miss Copa Mundial, al igual
que antes de eso la presencia de la Miss EcuadoL
se perdió en el regocijo del fútbol, a pesar
las amplias campañas de publicidad, la donación
de Ecuador de dos mil rosas para el evento y Ia
presencia de un conocido moderador de la tele'
visión alemana, Jörg Wontorra, que fue el encaf'
gado de llevar adelante el programa. El tema bel'
leza y especialmente belleza femenina, por ende,
aunque no pertenecía a la cultura tradicional del
fútbol, ya se ha encontrado desde tiempos atms
su puesto fijo en el fútbol, más allá de las tfa'
diciones locales específicas mencionadas anterior'
mente.26
El interés por la belleza y por los concurso5
de belleza tiene su origen en la cultura de mat'
keting y sus inteligentes estrategias de propaga11'
da y venta, actitudes que son mal vistos entfe
los verdaderos aficionados del fútbol (compárense
Lauser 2004). Entre el carácter de los concursos dß
belleza y los eventos deportivos se puede trazaf
paralelas. Desde el inicio de su popularidad, e°
las primeras décadas del siglo 20 en el ámblt0
euro-estadouniense, la elección de una reina tiefl°
lugar generalmente como espectáculo público 0
igual que los eventos deportivos es comercializad0
por los medios (Banet-Weiser 1999: 2s.). Tras Ia
25 Los concursos de belleza como parte de programas dep°r
tivos locales fueron anteriores. Las informaciones a cef
de la Miss Copia Mundial se obtuvo por la página ^
<http://www.miss-wm.de> [20.09.2007].
26 La “cultura tradicional del fútbol” se refiere en este conte^
al juego y reglamento del fútbol de origen inglés, sigl°
En eso, el juego por sí es lo que cuenta. “Tradiciones 1°ca
específicas” se refieren a las observaciones de Schit11
(1998). En el ejemplo de Schmidt, los juegos forman Par
de contextos festivos.
Anthropos 103.2°°
‘manes, bellezas y Copa Mundial
135
Sha
0rganización de ambos tipos de eventos se encuen-
tran los promotores que pueden ser involucrados
a°n los propios medios y promocionan este tipo
e concursos por medio de propaganda propia. Así
s°larnente falta un paso más para comercializar los
c°ncursos de belleza como programa adjunto a los
c°ncursos deportivos.
Este proceso que tiene su auge en la elección
e una Miss Copa Mundial se vió reforzado por
s llamadas gmupies, aficionadas femeninas que
Concentraron su mirada al jugador, y, a lo largo de
|QS rePortajes y las comercializaciones mediales
0 hicieron estrella y convirtieron el juego en un
ciento. Por la idealización del jugador se inició
a contemplación de voyeur de las características
lcas, en un principio dirigiéndose a la belleza
asculina de los jugadores.27
Pero mientras las gmupies, por su actitud de
nsumo, abrieron nuevos mercados de venta y el
ale t0 ^s*co У v^a Privada de los jugadores
anzaron cada vez más atención, se introdujeron
las ^n fem*nidad y la belleza femenina hacia
un arenas- Ea propaganda se ha acostumbrado a
I 1Zar el potencial de las esposas atractivas de los
^adores, al mismo tiempo que los organizadores
д Un Partido de fútbol invitan a las bellezas como
‘uas de honor para el simbólico puntapié inicial,
la к Un senrido de comercialización se explota
de ц eza’ У en £1 mismo sentido los concursos
belleza pueden ser parte del programa acom-
a^cante no oficial, aunque sean rechazados por los
n ,l0nad°s verdaderos, por el hecho de no tener
a que ver con el deporte.
aUo °S concursos de belleza alcanzaron ya en los
losS Ia tribuna global cuando se daba vida a
^ concursos internacionales, Miss World y Miss
res ersum’ en Gran Bretaña y Estados Unidos,
hab' 'Vamente' Antes de estos certámenes ya
Inte аП eventos pura la elección de la Miss América
Cert' ac^onal‘ E°r su carácter de evento, los dos
dial enes’fútbo1 y concurso de Miss Copa Mun-
§loh ^ геигаегоп Para £1 Campeonato 2006 a nivel
rjana ' Aquí se reunieron también la reina ecuato-
paísa be belleza y el shamán, encuentro que en el
lo ey 6 Ecuador jamás se podría imaginar, como
Pilcaré a continuación.
°Ucu
la
rsos de belleza y Miss Ecuador
esté^SCen^cación de los roles de sexo y de la
1Ca slrve para la elección de una personalidad
f0¿la Constelación usual de la mirada masculina hacía las
as femeninas se rompió (Selmer und Sülzle 2006: 132).
Ar>lh:
TOpos 103.2008
femenina que representa su sociedad hacia afuera y
participa en concursos de belleza más globales. Se
puede trazar una relación entre estos concursos y
los movimientos político-sociales contemporáneos
(Cohén and Wilk 1996; Banet-Weiser 1999). Una
Miss elegida representa la imagen ideal de la femi-
nidad de su sociedad y su tiempo correspondiente
a la cual pertenece, así como los aspectos estético-
físicos, criterios morales, raciales y conocimientos
individuales de la candidata sobre la cultura y
sociedad que representa (Cohén and Wilk 1996: 2).
El programa consiste, por ende, en la performance
de belleza como también de entrevistas y/o tareas
que dan constancia sobre conocimientos, talento
e inteligencia (Banet-Weiser 1999: 4s.). A nivel
nacional, los sectores o clases que se encuentran en
la cumbre de la pirámide socioeconómica-política
de la sociedad deciden sobre cuáles son las cua-
lidades positivas o negativas en la valorización
de las aspirantes (Cohén and Wilk 1996: 2). La
selección recae sobre la candidata que cabe mejor
en el programa político de los organizadores por
sus atributos internos y externos.
En el Ecuador, la primera elección de la Miss
Señorita Ecuador tuvo lugar bajo el auspicio del
diario El Telégrafo de Guayaquil. En el año 1930,
ella fue la representante ecuatoriana en el concurso
internacional de la “Miss America International”.
En este concurso se hizo necesaria la presentación
de las candidatas en traje de baño, lo que causó un
escándalo público en el país. Por consiguiente, sólo
25 años después, se envió a otra belleza nacional
en función de participar en un concurso a nivel
internacional.28 Entre tanto, en el Ecuador se esta-
blecieron dos concursos, la elección de la “Miss
Ecuador”, que participa en la elección de Miss
Universo, y la elección de la “Miss Mundo Ecua-
dor”, candidata para el concurso de Miss Mun-
do.29 La elección siempre ha sido de una candidata
de origen mestiza, con la que se identifica la clase
política predominante. Una mujer afro-americana
28 Por falta de otras fuentes o de acceso a ellas respectiva-
mente, las informaciones a cerca de las reinas de belleza
del Ecuador se basan a las páginas web. Véase
<http://www. eluniverso.com/especiales/2004/missuniverso
2004/exmissecuador_1950.asp> [20.09.2007];
<http://www.bellezasecuatorianas.com/histor/histO.html>
[20.08.2006];
<http://www.missecuador.net/exreinas/90.htm>
[20.09.2007];
<http://www.missmundo.com/historia.html> [20.09.2007].
En algunos años no hubo representantes internacionales,
mientras en otros una representante participó en ambos
eventos internacionales.
29 Miss Mundo Ecuador 2006 ha sido la acompañante del
shamán a la Copa Mundial.
136
o indígena, como representante de la nación, no
correspondía nunca a los ideales de la sociedad
establecida.
La posición racista se muestra de igual manera
en los concursos a nivel local y regional. En la
provincia de Esmeraldas, que es una de las re-
giones del país con mayor número de población
negra, recién en el año de 1997 se eligió por
primera vez una Miss Esmeraldas de color (Rahier
1998, 1999). Candidatas indígenas eran excluidas
completamente de estos concursos, hasta que en
los últimos años las organizaciones indígenas en-
contraron remedio en crear sus propios concursos
de belleza.30
Según lo dicho, es improbable que en el suelo
ecuatoriano se hubieran presentado la Miss Ecua-
dor junto al shamán shuar. En el evento de la Copa
Mundial de Fútbol, se requería, por tanto, una re-
presentación nacional que integrara varios aspectos
del país. Existe una triple representación en la que
se compensan los aspectos racistas: primeramente
las capacidades deportivas, siendo el equipo na-
cional compuesto sobre todo por afro-americanos;
por otro lado, la belleza que corresponde a los
ideales establecidos de la élite mestiza; y, en tercer
lugar, la cultura que recurre a la herencia “india”
en forma de shamán. Al mismo tiempo, se reúnen
las tres instituciones, fútbol, concursos de belleza
y shamanismo, aunque con distinta percepción,
como lo desarrollaré en el último capítulo.
Conclusiones: del shamán al brujo
Las bellezas y los concursos de belleza no forman
parte del fútbol por sí, sino son parte del evento
fútbol. Con esto cocuerde la presencia del shamán
en el Campeonato Mundial. Los dos ejemplos,
la Miss Copa Mundial y el shamán, demuestran
de la manera contundente la integración de ele-
mentos ajenos, exóticos al contexto del fútbol,
para aprovecharse de la Copa Mundial económica-
mente.31
Los dos ejemplos tienen muchas relaciones a
las estrategias del marketing, pero mientras la
comercialización de la belleza en el fútbol ya se
había establecido años atrás, eso no fue el caso del
shamanismo, si bien pueden existir supersticiones,
magias y rituales alrededor del fútbol. La distinta
30 Por ejemplo Rogers 1998. En estos concursos no sólo los
aspectos estéticos sino también los conocimientos sobre la
cultura indígena son decisivos.
31 Existen otros tantos, que dentro de este artículo no pueden
ser tratados.
Dagmar Schweitzer de Palacios
recepción se debe al carácter distinto de ambas
instituciones.
La Miss Copa Mundial y la Miss Ecuador in-
corporan un papel determinado que sigue formas
globalmente disponibles de acciones simbólicas
(Schróder 2002: 188). Este papel consiste en pri'
mer lugar en la obligación de presentarse en es-
cenarios públicos, lo cual por su comprensibih'
dad global no es cuestionado. Por lo demás los
concursos de belleza vienen conquistando el espa-
cio global desde los años 1950, solamente 20 años
después del fútbol, una reina de belleza no causa
mayor atención en el público.
Al contrario, el shamán se encuentra en el cen-
tro de atracción, ya que su presencia en el fútbol
es novedosa y su apariencia con su atuendo de Ia
selva es exótica. La prensa alemana no puede acep'
tarle como otro elemento acompañante, porque en
múltiples ocasiones los shamanes se han presen-
tado intemacionalmente en contextos globales. N°
se los puede reducir a una función representativa
su papel no es pasivo.
El shamán y el ritual durante la Copa Mundial
en Alemania son asociados con el equipo ecuatO'
riano que ganó los primeros partidos de clasifica'
ción. El miedo delante del partido contra este eqni'
po ganadora, hasta ahora subestimado, despieza
las ideas de clisé que asocian a los shamanes cof
poderes mágicos.
El ritual shamánico logra otro significado: po0e
en peligro el juego limpio en contra del propi0
equipo y no puede ser puesto en una categoría
superstición. Debido al papel dudoso del shamaíl
se agrava la situación, ya que éste actúa en la aren3
de los anfitriones con los que se identifica con oc3'
sión de la Copa Mundial toda la nación alemán3,
pese a los intentos de la FIFA de desnacionalizó
los estadios dándoles otro nombre.
Además el shamán comete una infracción el1
contra del orden mundial, ya que el Ecuador, n°
solamente en el fútbol juega un papel insigni^'
cante. La polémica por parte de la prensa puc^e
ser interpretada, en ese sentido, como una recup6'
ración de las relaciones de poder establecidas. $e
forma una imagen de enemigo concreto en funci011
de debilitar la eficacia de la magia.
El fútbol es un juego con resultados incierto5,
un juego que, como hemos visto, alrededor oe
globo se pretende manipular en distintas formaS
positiva- o negativamente. Por lo tanto, aún eIJ
el ámbito de la Europa Occidental, donde
fútbol, en su contexto cultural, no tiene ningu°a
relación al shamán, la actitud del shaman
interpretada como una manipulación del juego 0’
respectivamente, de la arena.
Anthropos 103
,2008
137
Jamanes, bellezas y Copa Mundial
La polémica, por ende, se basa por una parte en
carácter exótico del shamán y las asociaciones
^agicas que produce, evitando colocarle en la tra-
cción de superstición; por otra parte en el carácter
ei fútbol, determinado por la existencia de dos
Quipos contrarios. Esa situación de tener contrin-
cantes es propicia para la invención de prácticas
^gicas, aunque sean solamente imaginadas por la
Prensa. Por último, la polémica es la articulación
e* orden mundial en el fútbol y sirve de instru-
mento para romper el poder del shamán.
El shamán tuvo enorme éxito por sus repre-
Sentaciones y sus múltiples otras estrategias del
Carketing. Pero, aún así, en su presencia en la
.Pa. Mundial se observa una regresión: pasaron
Pumientos años hasta que los shamanes en el
cuador lograron su reconocimiento oficial y se
^nvirtieron en personajes de símbolo, unidos a
°s Procesos nacionales e internacionales de desar-
rollo; en el fútbol, a pesar de todos las herencias,
shamán vuelve a ser “brujo.”
palero agradecer a varias personas, sin la ayuda de las
alcs no se hubiera haber escrito este artículo: Almut
p, . le, Instituto de Antropología Europea, Universidad
úipps de Marburgo, consejera del tema del fútbol y
^ tsión del texto; Walter Trujillo, grabaciones de ruedas
. Prensa y foto en Berlín; Manolo Palacios, informa-
°nes de prensa del Ecuador y del fútbol ecuatoriano y
a reyisión del texto.
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103.2008
Anthropos
ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 139-147
The Case: The Trobriand Islanders vs H. P. Grice
Kilivila and the Gricean Maxims of Quality and Manner
Gunter Senft
c stract. - The Gricean maxim of Quality “Try to make your
potion one that is true” and his maxim of Manner “Be
lan ^1CU0US” are not observed in Kilivila, the Austronesian
^ §uage of the Trobriand Islanders of Papua New Guinea,
of tL^ers °f Kilivila metalinguistically differentiate registers
eir language. One of these varieties is called biga sopa.
ls label can be glossed as “joking or lying speech, indirect
cn> speech which is not vouched for.” The biga sopa
art'SfltUtes t*ie default register of Trobriand discourse. This
e describes the concept of sopa, presents its features, and
SOcCUsses and illustrates its functions and use within Trobriand
^ iety. The article ends with a discussion of the relevance of
in |5an maxims for the research of everyday verbal interaction
ly ^ 11 yila and a general criticism of these maxims, especial-
ly 0rn an anthropological linguistic perspective. [Trobriand
Clnderst Gricean maxims, varieties of Kilivila, Kilivila sopa,
^¡n speaking]
Senft, Dr. phil (1982), senior research fellow at the
for pUa§e and Cognition Group of the Max-Planck-Institute
gen ^sVcholinguistics, Nijmegen, extraordinary professor for
reseeral linguistics at the University of Cologne. - Since 1981
rch °n the language and culture of the Trobriand Islanders,
f°re u Klew Guinea, including 40 months of field research. Be-
aCq.. y^l research and publications on the unguided language
Pr0(1 Sltl0n of foreign workers in Germany and on the language
Ct*0n °f German workers. - Publications see Ref. Cit. and
P-^Www. mpi.nl /Members / GunterSenft / Publications:».
^troduction
acknowledgements of his impressive mono-
pit “Presumptive Meanings. The Theory of
pe^eralized Conversational Implicature” Stephen
Grj ln,Son (2000: xxi) notes that he “found Paul
s ideas about the derivative nature of con-
ventional meaning quite revolutionary.” He was
not the only one who had this impression: For
many linguists interested in pragmatics, semantics,
and the philosophy of language Grice’s publica-
tions, especially his William James lecture deliv-
ered at Harvard University in 1967 on “Logic
and Conversation” (Grice 1967; 1975), provided
new insights that were taken up and adopted by
them quite enthusiastically. I remember that in my
early days as a PhD student in 1978 the “Gricean
Maxims” had already acquired a kind of “cult”
status; and I confess that I was (and still am)
also very much intrigued by the idea that “what
is conversationally implicated is not coded but
rather inferred on the basis of some basic assump-
tions about the rational nature of conversational
activity, as stated in the Cooperative Principle and
its constituent maxims of conversation” (Levinson
2000: 14). However, I also remember that some
linguists strongly argued against Grice’s conver-
sational maxims. Ferenc Kiefer (1979: 57), for ex-
ample, noted that
[in] recent linguistic literature we encounter ample
reference to conversational maxims as an alleged basis
on which nonliteral meaning of utterances can be figured
out. These conversational maxims are often used quite
uncritically, i.e., without paying much attention to their
theoretical value ... In his famous paper Grice puts
forward a set of conversational maxims which are
conceived of as general rules of conversation. These
conversational maxims are, however, extremely vague
so “that almost anything can be worked out on the basis
of almost any meaning” (Sadock 1978: 285). This means
140
Gunter Senft
that the theory is unfalsifiable, vacuous and therefore of
no explanatory value.
After I had finished my PhD, I started my re-
search project on “Ritual Communication on the
Trobriand Islands,” left Europe, and did my first
15 months of field research on the Trobriands in
Papua New Guinea. Having managed to master
Kilivila, the Austronesian language of the Tro-
brianders, I realized that - generally speaking -
the Gricean conversational maxims of Quality and
of Manner, which Grice “presented as universal in
application” (Keenan 1976: 67), were more or less
irrelevant for the speakers of this language. In what
follows I will first describe why this is so. Then I
discuss - on the basis of the arguments presented
- the relevance of the Gricean maxims of Quality
and Manner for the research of everyday verbal
interaction in Kilivila and provide a general criti-
cism of the Gricean maxims from a basically an-
thropological linguistic perspective that is not only
interested in plain referential speech but also in
what Haiman (1998: 190 f.) has called “un-plain”
speaking.
2 Situational-Intentional Varieties in Kilivila
and the Concept of biga sopa
The Trobriand Islanders distinguish not only local
varieties - or dialects - of Kilivila1 (see Senft
1986: 6 ff.), but also varieties that I have called
“situational-intentional varieties.” As I have point-
ed out elsewhere (Senft 1986: 124 ff.; 1991b) I
refer with this label to registers or varieties of
Kilivila that are used in a given special situation
and produced to pursue (a) certain intention(s). To
my knowledge, Kilivila native speakers differen-
tiate and metalinguistically label eight of these
varieties, two general and six specific ones. In
what follows I will briefly present these registers
or varieties and mention the genres that constitute
them.
Biga bwena - “good language” - is the general
name for a language variety a speaker produces,
adequately matching both in style and lexicon
the respective speech situation in which the inter-
actants with their individual status are involved.
With the exception to its antagonistic variety biga
gaga - “bad language” - it applies to all other
Kilivila speech varieties. The basically aesthetic
label biga bwena is used to qualify speakers’
1 Kilivila words and phrases are printed in bold-italic type.
utterances with respect to a given standard norifl
of appropriate speech behavior. Someone who
is famous for using biga bwena enjoys a good
reputation and much social prestige.
Biga gaga - “bad language” - is just the
opposite of the biga bwena variety. With the e*'
ception of its antagonistic variety biga bwena, ho1
also with the exception of (almost all aspects and
constitutive genres of) the biga sopa variety (see
below), this second general situational-intention^*
variety applies to all other Kilivila speech vah'
eties, emphasizing the inadequate use of languag6
in a given communicative context. The basically
aesthetic label is also used to qualify speakers
utterances with respect to a given standard non11
of speech behavior. The use of this variety genet'
ally implies the distancing of speakers from theh
addressees. It is aggressive and insulting. Its usg
is - at least officially - not approved by the
speech community and quite often sanctions afe
imposed against someone who produces such “bad
speech.” This second kind of superordinate registef
is also coconstituted by the specific genre mat
which subsumes all kinds of - seriously meant and
produced - insults, swearwords, obscene speed1»
and the verbal breaking of taboos.
Biga tommwaya / biga baloma - “old people s
language / language of the spirits of the dead” "
is an archaic language variety that is very rarely
used in everyday discourse and conversation. ™
words or phrases that are characteristic for this reg'
ister are used in everyday interaction, they serve
the function of sociolinguistic variables, indicat'
ing high status of the speaker. This situational'
intentional variety is used in highly ritualized cot1'
texts. The register is constituted by specific songs
sung during the harvest festivals and during a
certain period of mourning; these songs are sum'
marized under the specific genre label wosi tn№
mala - “songs of the harvest rituals.” The majority
of these songs describe the carefree “life” of t*1^
spirits of the dead in their “underworld paradise
on Tuma Island.
Biga megwa - “language of magic” - is ^
variety that is very similar to the biga tommwaya'
biga baloma variety. However, the variety n°
only encompasses archaic Kilivila words, syntn^
tic constructions, and shades of meaning but a
so so-called magical words and loanwords fr0l\
other Austronesian languages (see MalinoWS^
1935/11; Senft 1997). This variety is highly sh11
ation-dependent, of course, and very onomatop0
etic and metaphoric. Trobrianders differentiate
tween various forms of magic, all of which ha ^
specific names. However, they are all subsuiuc
Anthropos 103
.2008
141
Case: The Trobriand Islanders vs H. P. Grice
Under the genre label megwa. And it is this genre
uut constitutes the biga megwa variety.
The Trobrianders use the label biga tapwaroro
language of the church” - to refer to the variety
^presented in Christian rituals and texts that are
associated with the church service. Two genres are
u°nstitutive for this register: tapwaroro refers to all
urrns of speech produced during various forms of
nurch services, and wosi tapwaroro - “church
song” _ js the ^hel for the genre “Christian
uynins.”
The label biga taloi - “greeting and parting
sPeech” - refers to the variety that encompasses
u Kilivila forms of greeting and parting as well
as to the formulae for politely opening and closing
Public speeches. These relatively few forms and
0rmulae are subsumed under the genre label taloi,
^ this genre constitutes the biga taloi register.
The biga pe’ula / biga mokwita - the “heavy
sPeech / hard words / true (direct) speech” -
Vadety is rather rarely used; but when it is used in
conversation or in public speeches, the directness
the speakers indicate that they are completely
a^are of the fact that they have to take all risks
Gripping away ambiguity and vagueness with
Uich speakers normally can disguise their own
°Ughts - a feature characteristic for the biga
Pa variety (see below) - and that they can
and to argue publicly in terms of the heavy
ula) dimension of truth {mokwita). Thus, the
e of this variety implies an important personal
^ . social impact of what is said! If listeners may
je lr*sulted by what speakers say while speaking
, the biga mokwita variety, they may even kill
^ e respective speaker, for example, by hiring a
7xagau , an expert on black magic who will poison
sr bewitch and thus kill this speaker. Therefore,
Jokers must explicitly mark their use of the biga
wita, declaring that what they are going to say
'"ok
0r what they have said is not sopa but biga
^ or biga mokwita (see also Weiner 1983).
c e speakers’ commitment in the marked sense
f us its expressions in ritualized formulae, like,
r example,
b esatata balivala biga mokwita!
ba-livala biga mokwita
t( l.Fut-speak language true2
°W I win speak true language!”
Th
following abbreviations are used:
^ = Classificatory particle, classifier
em = Demonstrative
P^Ph = Emphasis
ut = Future
^eduP = Reduplication.
Ai2thr,
°Pos 103.2008
The following four genres coconstitute this reg-
ister: yakala - “litigations,” kalava - “counting
baskets full of yams (during the harvest festival),”
kasolukuva - “mourning formulae,” and liliu -
“myths.” It is culturally presupposed that the biga
mokwita is used in utterances that constitute these
four genres.3
The biga sopa - the “joking or lying speech /
indirect speech” - variety is absolutely character-
istic for the Trobriand way of speaking - it con-
stitutes the default register of Trobriand discourse
and communication, so to speak. It is based on the
fact that Kilivila, like any other natural language,
is marked by features that include “vagueness”
and “ambiguity.” Both these features are used by
its speakers as stylistic means to avoid possible
distress, confrontation, or too much and - for a
Trobriand Islander at least - too aggressive direct-
ness of certain speech situations. If hearers signal
that they may be insulted by a certain speech act,
speakers can always recede from what they have
said by labeling it as sopa, as something they did
not really mean to say. The biga sopa variety is
constituted by the following genres: sopa - “joke,
lie, trick,” kukwanebu sopa - “story, joke in form
of a story,” kasilam - “gossip,” wosi - “songs,”
with a number of separately named subvarieties,
butula - “personal mocking songs,” vinavina -
“ditties,” with a number of named subvarieties, and
sawili - “harvest shouts.”
The concept of biga sopa plays an important
part in everyday social life on the Trobriand
Islands, and in what follows I will discuss it in
some more detail, because it is obviously crucial
for the argument of the present article.
I have just pointed out that the biga sopa
• is the default speech variety for the Trobriand
Islanders,
• plays with the features “vagueness” and “ambi-
guity” inherent to all natural languages,
• can be understood as representing the speak-
er’s “unmarked non-commitment to truth” (Bill
Hanks, pers. comm.) and thus characterizes
speech which is not vouched for.
Speakers of Kilivila use the biga sopa variety
strategically in everyday discourse and conversa-
tion, in gossip, in small talk, in flirtation, in public
debates, in admonitory speeches, and in songs
3 People who do not tell the truth in litigations will lose their
case, and it is impossible to cheat in counting basketfuls of
yams because of ubiquitous social control on the Trobriand
Islands. People who feign mourning are believed to be
punished by the kosi spirit of the deceased, and traditional
myths are believed to be true.
142
Gunter Senf(
and stories as a means of rhetoric not only to
relax the atmosphere of the speech situation but
also to avoid or de-escalate situations of possible
confrontation and conflict. As mentioned above,
speakers can always recede from what they have
said by labeling it as sopa, as something they
did not really mean to say, if their addressees
signal that they may be insulted by a specific
utterance. And Trobriand etiquette then prescribes
that addressees must not be offended at all by utter-
ances labeled as sopa - otherwise they lose their
“face.”
Therefore, speakers can also use the biga sopa
variety to put forward and test out possibly risky
arguments, the variety allows speakers to disguise
their thoughts and to disagree with interactants in
a playful way without the danger of too much
personal exposure,4 and it can be (and often is)
used for mocking people. Moreover, as a means of
irony and parody it can be used to criticize certain
forms of sociologically deviant behavior, relatively
mildly asking for immediate correction. Finally,
the biga sopa variety offers the only license for
the verbal breaking of almost all taboos and thus
for the licensed use of biga gaga (including some
- but not the worst - insults and swearwords) -
not only for adults but also for children.
Thus, one can argue that the biga sopa also
serves the function of what human ethologists have
called a “safety valve custom” (Eibl-Eibesfeldt
1984: 492 ff.). Let me briefly explain this ethologi-
cal concept: Every society puts some of its realms,
domains, and spheres under certain specific taboos.
However, the stricter the society is in regard to its
observance of these taboos, the more these taboos
are ignored. But a society can secure its members’
observance of certain taboos, especially of taboos
that are important for its social construction of
reality, by allowing the discussion of its taboos
- especially of the sociologically less important
ones - as topics of discourse. It may even allow
its members to imagine the ignorance of taboos -
in a fictitious way, of course. And this is exactly
how and why “safety valve customs” develop.
Genres of the biga sopa - even if they clearly
show features of biga gaga - are first of all clas-
sified as sopa - as a (verbal) game, as something
fictitious in Trobriand society. The biga sopa thus
generates a forum where the breaking of taboos is
allowed if it is done verbally! This forum permits
a specially marked way of communication about
something “one does not talk about” otherwise.
4 How this is done is illustrated in Senft (1987a, 1991a).
In sum, the biga sopa variety channels em°'
tions, keeps aggression under control, and it keep8
possibilities of contact open. This concept with 4s
tension-releasing functions secures harmony in the
Trobriand society and contributes to maintaining
the Trobriand Islanders’ “social construction of re'
ality” (Berger and Luckmann 1966; see also Senft
1991b: 237 ff.).5
3 Biga Sopa and the Gricean Maxims
of Quality and Manner
The concept of biga sopa described above lS
obviously in diametrical opposition not only t0
the Gricean maxim of Quality “Try to make yo^
contribution one that is true,, but also to his maxinj
of Manner “Be perspicuous,” specifically “Avow
obscurity of expression” and “Avoid ambiguity .
If the culturally defined and conventionalize
default way of speaking is understood to be non'
committed to truth, to have the quality of joking
and even lying, then speakers simply do not cnfe
whether their and their interactants’ contribution8
to a conversation are true or not. Of course the8^
contributions may be true (and most probably tft6^
are true in the majority of the cases), but they nee^
not be, because for the Trobriand Islanders “truth
is in general an irrelevant quality or feature of al1
utterance in everyday conversation and discourt.
However, if Trobriand Islanders want to ^
out whether an utterance produced in a conversé'
tion is true or not, they can strategically play
the dynamics of face-to-face interactions to reuc11
this aim, they can try to find evidence to verify °r
falsify a speaker’s utterance from third parties,
they simply can challenge the speaker by explicit^
qualifying his utterance as sopa - with the rerna^
Sopa! - “A joke, a lie” or Tosasopa -
Similar varieties can also be found in other cultures
Papua New Guinea and probably all over Melanes
see, e.g., Merlan and Rumsey (1991: 88 f.); Parkin (198
Strathern (1975); Watson-Gegeo (1986). Eric Vent4^
(pers. comm.) points out that Sansom (1980) describes ^
same phenomenon for the Aboriginal English of Aborigdfg
fringe dwellers in Darwin; the expression they use for
in this
variety is gammon ; the Tiwi use gammon m .g6
too. Louise Baird (pers. comm.) also reports the praC^e
of “tinaak” in Klon, a Papuan language spoken 111 ^
Alor Archipelago in southeast Indonesia. “Tinaak” carl^ge
translated as “to lie, to trick” - and this language
is also characterized by the fact that speakers kno'SWc
and willingly tell someone something that does not re ^
social or physical reality. See also Haiman (1998: 83 f-) a ^
Brown (2002); for more general remarks see also Arndt a
Janney (1987: 201).
Anthropos 103
2008
143
Case: The Trobriand Islanders vs H. P. Grice
trickster” or with the phrase Kusasopal - “You
are joking, you are lying, you are not serious.” The
lnteractant thus challenged may either not react
0r just laugh - this is taken as a confirmation
°f the challenge -, or negate the challenge with
a simple Gala! or Galawala! - “No! / Not at
a.tri,” or explicitly state that what he said is true,
for example, Mokwita! / (Mokwita) o maiala
yuubada! - “(This is) true! / (This is) true by
god!”6
Moreover, if Kilivila native speakers really
Want to obey the maxim of Quality they must
exPlicitly mark their intention to speak in the biga
kwita variety with the standardized utterance
'nibating formulaic expression Besatuta balivala
mokwita! - “Now I will talk true language!”
as mentioned above, this is something that -
°r good reasons - rather rarely occurs.
To sum up, in everyday Kilivila conversations
ae Gricean maxim of Quality is irrelevant. How-
eVefi if the Trobriand Islanders want to obey this
^im they have to fall back upon the marked biga
^wita variety. With respect to present trends in
ae Gricean-based philosophy of language, espe-
rially with respect to the theory of general con-
national implicature (GCI) this might be an
Nervation that is only of secondary importance,
(lecause, as Levinson (2000: 74) points out, the
^axim of Quality ... plays only a background
°^e in the generation of GCI.”
, Let us turn now to the maxim of Manner and
relevance for Kilivila conversations. Again the
. ncept of the biga sopa variety is just the antithe-
„s °f this maxim. Speakers who have learned and
Used to play - sometimes very artistically -
au ambiguity and vagueness in everyday interac-
n Will neither be “perspicuous” nor “avoid ob-
s unty and ambiguity of expression.” They are not
specific, not because they are not in a position to be
Tecific (see Levinson 2000: 17), but because this
something they just have learned and want to
to to iu general and often even need to avoid
be in specific contexts of speech. And they even
^ *h to enjoy being ambiguous, making playful
it)se °f the linguists’ and the language philosophers’
^ght that “the simplest sentences tend towards
t^aLipie ambiguities” (Levinson 2000; 135). Note
^at ^e Trobriand Islanders’ convention to regard
e hga sopa variety that is based on the features
e gueness” and “ambiguity” as the default vari-
». Mr everyday verbal interaction has its culture
sPe
Clhc functions, as pointed out in detail above.
L the appendix I exemplarily illustrate such challenges with
esPect to the truth of utterances.
Hr
And obviously these functions somehow override
or at least modify what Levinson describes as the
Gricean perspective on communication: He states
that from “a Gricean perspective, communication
involves the inferential recovery of speakers’ in-
tentions” (Levinson 2000: 29) and elaborates that
“it is the recognition by the addressee of the
speaker’s intention to get the addressee to think
such-and-such that essentially constitutes commu-
nication.” With respect to the Trobriand Islanders
one could say that from their perspective com-
munication allows for the inferential recovery of
speakers’ intentions, but - if not explicitly marked
otherwise - speakers can always controvert the
degree of truth of the addressees’ inferences with
respect to their intentions - and addressees make
their inferences with respect to the speakers’ in-
tentions with this cultural communicative conven-
tion in mind. Thus it is the assumptions by the
addressee of the speaker’s intention to get the
addressee to suppose such-and-such that essentially
constitutes communication on the Trobriand Is-
lands. This kind of communication is not commit-
ted to whatever degree of truth of the utterances;
however, if commitment to truth becomes a serious
issue in communication, it can be addressed and
topicalized in the speaker-addressee-interaction.
Knowledge of this specific Trobriand perspective
on communication is essential for the appropriate
and adequate use of Kilivila in everyday interac-
tion - and it goes without saying that the acquisi-
tion of this knowledge about Kilivila pragmatics
by every nonnative speaker goes hand in hand with
a lot of misunderstandings, miscommunications,
and misconceptions (see Senft 1995). And here the
anthropological linguist and the philosopher of lan-
guage interested in Grice and the “Theory of Gen-
eral Conversational Implicature” suddenly seem
to meet again, because, as Levinson (2000:371)
points out,
GCI theory does suppose that there is a body of knowl-
edge and practice concerned with the use of language.
This knowledge crucially involves metalinguistic knowl-
edge about the structure of the lexicon - specifically,
knowledge about the structuring of semantic fields, the
availability of alternate expressions, subjective assess-
ments of frequency and markedness of specific expres-
sions, knowledge about the stereotypical associations
of linguistic concepts in the speech community, mutual
assumptions of principles for resolving conflicts between
inferences, and so on.
However, if GCI theoreticians would concede
that this “body of knowledge and practice con-
cerned with the use of language” may vary across
:oPos 103.2008
144
Gunter Sen#
languages - as demonstrated with the Kilivila case
presented here -, then they need to modify or
reformulate the strong universalist claim that the
proclaimed “major pragmatic principles ... ap-
ply crosslinguistically across the board” (Levinson
2000: 365).7
4 The Case: The Trobriand Islanders - and
Others - versus H. Paul Grice
In his monograph “Talk Is Cheap” John Haiman
also puts aside the questions of truth and false-
hood with respect to language, emphasizing “the
insincerity and the inconsequentiality of language”
(1998: 7). Basing his arguments mainly on exam-
ples from everyday verbal interaction in America,
he shows that what is said is frequently quite
different from what is meant, and he examines the
mechanisms speakers use to distance themselves
from their social roles and from what they or others
say or have said before. He emphasizes that forms
of “veiled speech” like hints and especially ritual
language with its formulaic utterances conceal or
submerge the speaker’s “true core self in order
to speak the culture” (1998: 87). And referring to
Wheelock (1982) he points out that the Gricean
maxims “clearly do not apply to ritual language”
(1998: 99).
The question of ritual language and ritual com-
munication was a central aspect, which I pursued
during my first five-year period of research on
Kilivila. Among other things I tried to find out why
the Trobriand Islanders differentiate between the
eight situational-intentional varieties of Kilivila. In
what follows I would like to briefly repeat once
more my argument with respect to the general
function of these varieties that are obviously so
important for the Kilivila speech community (see
Senft 1987b; 1991b: 245 f.; also Eibl-Eibesfeldt
und Senft 1987).
This argument starts with the following general
observations; All speakers of a natural language
must learn the rules of the nonverbal and the verbal
7 Obviously GCI theoreticians are aware of this problem.
Thus, Levinson tries to refute Ochs’s criticism (Keenan
1976) with respect to the universality of conversational
postulates in a footnote (!) as follows: “... exceptional
practices will be found in specific discourse genres. In these
cases, Gricean principles are not even in limited suspension
- the practices take their semiotic value from the departures
from Gricean expectations!” (Levinson 2000:423, fn 96).
To me this argument is not very convincing, and I cannot
see at all that this argument (or any argument along the
same lines) can deal with the biga sopa concept and its
relation to the Gricean principles of Quality and Manner.
communicative behavior that are valid for th°jr
speech community. In the course of this learning
process one of the most important objectives b
to understand and to duplicate the construction oi
the speech community’s common social reality-
During this learning process, verbal and nonverbal
patterns and modes of behavior must be coordinai'
ed and harmonized, too.
The thus duplicated social construction of f6'
ality must be safeguarded and secured especially
with respect to possible sites of fracture like coop'
eration, conflict, and competition within the coni'
munity. The safeguarding of the duplicated socia*
construction of reality is warranted by the ritual'
ization of verbal and nonverbal communication-
The ritualization of communication relieves the
tension in critical social situations and regulate8
social differences and dissensions
• by increasing the harmonizing functions 01
speech,
• by the creation and stabilization of social rela'
tions, and
• by the distancing of emotions, impulses, ana
intentions.
Thus, the ritualization of communication lir
creases the predictability of human behavi°r’
moreover, it also opens up room and space wh01"6
behavior can be tried out - playfully - with0*1
any fear of possible social sanctions.
Therefore, we can define “ritual communi^'
tion” as a type of strategic action, that serve8
the functions of social bonding and of blockh^
aggression, and that can ban elements of dangef
which may affect the community’s social harm011"
within the verbal domain just by verbalizing th°s^
elements of danger and by bringing them up *0
discussion.
The situational-intentional varieties of Kilivl
- and first and foremost the biga sopa variety
clearly serve the functions expressed in this c° <
cept of ritual communication. If we agree
Haiman (1998: 99) and Wheelock (1982) that tn
Gricean maxims do not apply to ritual languag6’
then this is additional evidence for the fact that t
Gricean maxims are irrelevant for the Trobriand t5
landers’ concept of biga sopa - the default spe°
variety used in everyday communication!
cb
f
However, there are still two other points
criticism that strengthen the Trobriand Island0
case against Grice. First, Haiman points out t
for many linguists and certainly for philosoph
of language inspired by Grice the “bedrock of c°
versation is plain referential speaking” (1998: ”
However, in the postscript of his book Ham1^
(1998: 190) justifies his choice for dealing vVl
103.20°8
Anthropos
Case: The Trobriand Islanders vs H. P. Grice
145
j^-plain speaking and summarizes the arguments
put forward as follows:
* c°ncluded with the claim that the ritualization or eman-
ClPation process, which transforms sincere spontaneous
acts and utterances into autonomous and meaningless
0rmal codes, not only is responsible for apparent ex-
Crescences such as sarcasm, formal politeness, phatic
c°rnrnunion, ritual speech, and affectation but also is
a significant part of human nature and therefore the
Very essence of culture itself and may have played a
J^cessarily undocumented role in the origin of human
anguage.
implies that Gricean maxims are based on a
rather unidimensional understanding of language
ar>d conversation. Of course, there is plain con-
Versation, but how do Gricean maxims deal with
^ the cases of “un-plain speaking” that - as
finían claims - may be much more important
.°r both linguists and philosophers of language
ln their search for finding “the essence of lan-
§Uage” (1998; 191)? If the Gricean maxims can
Either cope with forms of ritual communication
n°r with “un-plain” forms of speech and commu-
tation, they neglect an incredibly broad spec-
1(rUrn of language use. And if they only refer to
Plain referential speaking,” then they have to cope
j lth criticism in the vein of Kiefer (see section
above) that challenges them because of their
^'dimensionality, their vagueness, and their un-
lability.
Another point of criticism was made by Ochs
^eenan 1976: 79). She pointed out that “Grice
the ethnographer with the possibility of
^talizes
Z1 etic grid for conversation ... The conversational
l axims are not presented as working hypotheses
1 as social facts.” All anthropological linguists
6ree that every etic approach to an ethnolinguistic
j °blern is sooner or later doomed to fail grasp-
§ the essential facts in the researched language
0 ^ culture. Therefore, an etic grid, such as the
e provided by the Gricean maxims, can only
°f secondary importance for linguistic anthro-
. iogists.8 Nevertheless, Ochs sketched a way in
a lch the Gricean framework could be used for
l( bropological linguistic research: She states that
Jc can ... take any one maxim and note when
a°es and does not hold. The motivation for its
Use and understand the term “anthropological linguistics”
as synonymous with the terms “ethnolinguistics” and “lin-
§uistic anthropology.” It goes without saying, however, that
’Pese terms can be used to signal different starting points for
aPproaching the interdiscipline and for indexing the status
both disciplines within the interdisciplinary enterprise.
ee Foley (1997) and Durand (1997).
Hr,
■°Pos 103.2008
use or abuse may reveal values and orientations
that separate one society from another and that
separate social groups ... within a single society”
and she evaluates Grice’s proposals as providing
“a point of departure for ethnographers who wish
to integrate their observations, and to propose
stronger hypotheses related to general principles
of conversation” (Keenan 1976: 79).
In this article I have tried to take up the relative-
ly old discussion with respect to the universality of
the Gricean maxims. I have tried to show that the
Gricean maxims of Quality and Manner do not
hold for Kilivila, the language of the Trobriand
Islanders, and I tried to explain why this is so.
This explanation resulted in a specific and in a
more general criticism of the maxims especially
with respect to their use and validity for anthropo-
logical linguistics. Ochs’s proposal - made almost
30 years ago now - may indeed lead to a better
understanding of the principles of conversation and
their crosslinguistic and cross-cultural generality.
However, I am afraid that so far we have not even
started to properly follow this proposal.
Appendix
The following excerpt - from a conversation of
young boys (6-9 years of age) who fought a
ritualized fight at the beach (out of sight of
their parents!) and then talked about this fight -
illustrates challenges with respect to the truth of
utterances (the challenges are underlined):
Galabagula:
Dauya aseki bey a wa(la) ivavagi ivalam.
Dauya aseki wa(la) i-va-vagi i-valam
Dauya l.-give only 3.-Redup-start 3.-cry
“To Dauya I just gave (it and) he started to cry.”
Dauja:
Ka beya aseki beyaka, ivalam, sala avalam.
ka beya aseki beya-ka i-valam gala a-valam
Well here l.-give here-Emph 3.-cry not l.-cry
“Well, here I gave (it to him) here indeed (and) he
cried, I did not cry.”
Towesei:
Beya Towesei aseki wa(la) yakai inagu gidageda.
beya Towesei aseki wa(la) yakai ina-gu gidageda
here Towesei l.-give only ouch mother-my pain
“It is me, Towesei, I just gave it (to him) ouch,
mother, it hurts.”
146
Gunter Senf1
Tosuelebu:
Kauveyova beaka aveya ivalam.
Kauveyova bea-ka a-veya i-valam
Kauveyova here-Emph l.-hit 3.-cry
“Kauveyova here indeed I hit (him and) he cried.”
Towesei:
Mtona isasopa bey a ka ake! Bivokwa atovila
aseki Kauveyova ivalam.
m-to-na i-sa-sopa beya ka ake
Dem-CP.male-Dem 3.-Redup-lie here well right
bi-vokwa a-tovila aseki Kauveyova i-valam
3.Put-finished l.turn.round l.-give Kauveyova 3.-cry
“This guy is lying here, well, right! (After this)
will be finished I turn around and give (it to)
Kauveyova (and) he (will) cry.”
Tosuelebu:
Galawala kusoya!
Galawala ku-sasopa
Not.at.all 2.-lie
“Not at all, you lie!”
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°P°s 103.2008
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Anthropos
103.2008: 149-158
Sorcery among the Plains Arapesh
Philip Gibbs and Josepha Junnie Wailoni
^bstract. - The article describes Plains Arapesh sorcery as it
~*lsts today and in doing so critiques and supplements insights
Margaret Mead, particularly her comments on sorcery
Practices by the Plains Arapesh. It draws upon fieldwork
c®nducted by the writers in 2006 and 2007 in villages West
. Mingoru in the East Sepik Province of Papua New Guinea.
, ner describing different forms of sorcery, the elements, and
0vv they are used in sorcery practice, it is noted that sorcery
• °ntinues today because it is a way of expressing anger and
. al°usy, a way of gaining wealth, and an explanation for
^ fortune and death. [Papua New Guinea, East Sepik, Plains
aPesh, Margaret Mead, sorcery, contagious magic, conflict]
Philip
°bt;
Gibbs, a member of the Society of the Divine Word,
Q ained his postgraduate diploma in anthropology from the
thniversity of Sydney (1975) and his doctorate in theology from
Gregorian University, Rome (1995). He has done parish
jj rh in Papua New Guinea, taught at the seminary in Bomana,
ann keen on the faculty of the Melanesian Institute in Goroka,
p at present he is research advisor for Caritas Australia in
aPua New Guinea.
tj^SePha Junnie Wailoni is from Belegel (Yangoru District) in
^ast Sepik Province. She is a secondary school teacher and
Sc^arried with three children. She has a diploma in secondary
rej.°°l teaching from Goroka Campus (1992), a diploma in
(2nn'°US studies from the Divine Word University, Madang
of n ’ and a bachelor degree in education from the University
Goroka.
Production
^oa was a mountaintop village comprising some
st ^Guses when Margaret Mead and Reo Fortune
v^e<f f°r eight months in 1931-32.1 On
jyj ltlng the location seventy-five years later in
Pecf we f°und few houses and only two
°ple visiting from the coastal lowlands. The
place that we were told had been the site of
Mead’s house is overgrown and marked by the
collapsed remains of a corrugated iron dispensary
(see Fig. 1). The Japanese occupation and Allied
bombardment during World War II, and more
recently the attraction of places more accessible
to modem services means that Alitoa is now a
site for gardens, tended by visitors from coastal
villages such as Woginara.2 Times have changed.
Does it mean that the belief in and practice of
sorcery have changed also?
This article will describe Plains Arapesh sor-
cery as it exists today. In doing so, we will cri-
tique and supplement insights of Margaret Mead,
particularly her comments on sorcery practices by
the Plains Arapesh. Our fieldwork was conducted
in villages West of Yangoru situated in the foothills
of the Prince Alexander Mountains.3 Alitoa, where
1 Mead and Fortune had not intended to stay in Alitoa. Mead
reveals in her autobiography how, “Our carriers left us
stranded with all our gear in a village on a mountaintop
with no one to move our six months’ supplies in either
direction - into the interior or back to the coast. So we
had no means of reaching the people we had intended to
study and no choice but to settle down, build a house, and
work with the simple, impoverished Mountain Arapesh,
who had little ritual and less art, among whom we now
found ourselves” (Mead 1972: 194).
2 Roscoe tells how in the late 1940s and early 1950s the
people of Alitoa moved down to Woginara village a few
miles inland from Dagua, from where a number migrated
to oil palm blocks at Cape Hoskins near Kimbe in West
New Britain (2002: xxvii f.).
3 The writers stayed for a week on two occasions, in 2006
and 2007, based in Belegel village (home of coresearcher
Mrs. Wailoni’s mother), visiting other nearby Plains Ara-
pesh villages including Karim, Dunigi, and Bonahitam.
150
Philip Gibbs and Josepha Junnie Wailoi11
Fig. 1 : The present-day view
the site of M. Mead’s dwells
during her research in Alitoa.
Mead was based is a day’s walk from our principal
field site.4 * There are minor cultural differences be-
tween the Plains and Mountain Arapesh, for exam-
ple, variation in interior house design, recognisable
differences in songs and dances, differences in the
way bride-price is given and compensation paid.
Mountain Arapesh still engage in more hunting
than Plains Arapesh. Pronunciation differs, for ex-
ample, the word Arapesh (meaning “men” [pi.])
sounds more like “Elpech” when spoken by people
from the Plains.
Mead (1935, 2002) and Fortune (1939, 1942)
divided the Mountain Arapesh into three separate
subgroups according to cultural differences, which,
for the most part, corresponded to their geograph-
ical setting. These groups were: Plains, Beach,
and Mountain Arapesh. There was an econom-
ic interdependency among all three groups based
upon the trading skills of the Beach people, the
We walked through Wihun village (Mountain Arapesh) to
Alitoa - some 6 hours from Belegel. We wish to acknowl-
edge and thank the many people who offered us hospitality
and shared their knowledge and their stories with us. The
Melanesian Institute helped with logistics and funding for
the research. Br. Maurice McCallum helped with translation.
4 Both Plains Arapesh (Kariru village) and Mountain Arapesh
(Wihun village) people tell how Margaret Mead (remem-
bered as “Margareta”) had visited the Tambaran House at
Kariru village (Plains Arapesh), near Belegel - a day’s
journey from Alitoa. Mead records that she did not leave
Alitoa village. However, Reo Fortune did journey to other
villages seeking to document (and buy) art works.
carriage skills of the Mountain people, and up011
ring-making and the knowledge of sorcery by th6 * * * *
Plainsmen.
Not everyone agrees with Mead’s view of tbe
Arapesh. Fortune, her husband at the time of
stay among the Arapesh, criticised her analyslS
of Arapesh aggression. In his article on “Arapc^
Warfare,” referring to Mead’s theory that Arapc^
social culture has selected a “maternal” temped'
ment, placid and domestic in its implications, boh1
for men and women, he writes, “The theory
been applied to the cultural analysis of ArapeS
warfare, and has led to conclusions that ‘Warfare
is practically unknown among the Arapesh -
feeling towards a murderer and that towards a mari
who kills in battle are not essentially different "
abductions of women are not unfriendly acts on the
part of the next community.’ These conclusion^
we, of course, must reject on the basis of 0
preceding evidence” (Fortune 1939: 36). Forth11
does not comment on her view of Arapesh s°^
eery. However, the above comment is relevant
our work since both warfare and sorcery may D
considered acts of aggression. ^
The greatest act of aggression an Arapesh con
perform was “to open the door to death, by sen<4lA)
a portion of his neighbor’s personality to *
sorcerers” (Mead 2002: 242). This was becans
they attributed the cause of all deaths to
magical spells conducted by sorcerers, except
the cases of young children and for the aged (Mea
,200s
Anthropos
103
151
So
rcery among the Plains Arapesh
^aP: Arapesh and Boiken lan-
guage division, with site of field-
w°rk in Arapesh villages.
02; 244 f.). Such aggression, according to Mead
U02; 241), was outside the Arapesh maternal
^Perament that ideally “outlaw[ed] aggression
u sexuality and replace [d] them with an asexual
Parental attitude.” They were able to rationalise
’s apparent inconsistency because they them-
ves did not perform the sorcery but hired Plains
^rcerers to do the job on their behalf. All deaths,
y believed, were caused by the hands of a
^ anger. This was Mead’s view from the Moun-
s ln Arapesh village of Alitoa.5 We will look at
eery from the perspective of present-day Plains
nraPesh.
0There appears to be little missionary writing
SVr eSt Yangoru sorcery. Fr. Eberhard Limbrock
u and Fr. Franz Kirschbaum patrolled near
jg1. research area in October 1912 (Limbrock
te . h but did not cross into Arapesh-speaking
After the First World War, Fr. Andreas
the (Puff 1926) writes of a 1926 patrol to
hr P^ace °f the “ring grinders” (Ringschleifer).
the y nc*reas Gerstner reported on an expedition in
hinterland of But in 1933, naming the villages
“Bai^e Pisited (“Aritoa’” “vihun ” “Dimigi” and
lagal”). He mentions the cult of spirits and
iVlng been carried to Alitoa in a string hammock slung
a P°te “for all the world like a pig” (Mead 1977: 103),
the^ ^er weak ankle remained at Alitoa village for
SQrcentlre eight months. Hence her knowledge of Plains
vvh()6ry must have been based on reports from Reo Fortune
the° ^ range more widely, the visits of Plains people as
the Wa^ect through Alitoa on their way to the coast, and
. °Pmions on their Plains neighbours of the Mountain
AraPesh themselves.
Vh,
:r°Pos 103.2008
magic, but does not go into the matter in any
depth. On their visit to Alitoa, one of the elders
told the missionary: “The missionaries just lie ...
Which of you has seen the fires of Hell that you’re
always telling us about? My village has no further
use for this old fairy tale. The Whitemen told us
this recently” (in Roscoe 2002: xxii). No doubt the
elder was referring to Mead and Fortune. Gerstner
comments, “Aritoa will be stony ground for the
mission” (Gerstner 1934: 236).6 An excellent later
paper by Gerstner concentrates more on the sangu-
ma form of sorcery in the hinterland of Boiken
rather than the Arapesh territory further west
(Gerstner 1937; cf. 1963).
Sorcery, Poison, Witchcraft, and Sanguma
Applying general terms in any cultural complex
is problematic. This applies to terms such as
“sorcery,” “poison,” witchcraft,” and the more
specialist term - “sanguma.” Sorcery is the use of
6 Comments indicate a less than positive relationship between
missionaries and ethnologists at the time. Mead writes
that “the next tribe on one side is badly missionized”
(1977: 123). Maybe she had not read Gerstner’s 1934 article
when she sees the function of the Tambaran House sacred
flutes as scaring women away so that men could secretly
consume meat, and comments “Who knows the Catholic
fathers ask, what the flutes really mean?” (Mead 1977: 110).
Fr. Gerstner had come to the same conclusion as herself
about scaring women and children away so that men alone
could sit behind the walls of the spirit house for a delicious
meal (Gerstner 1934; 259).
152
Philip Gibbs and Josepha Junnie Wailonl
magical power to influence events. The Papua New
Guinea Sorcery Act (1976) distinguishes between
“white” (good) and “black” (bad) magic - sor-
cery falling into the latter category. In common
parlance sorcery is thought to bring about misfor-
tune. However, as we will see below, among the
Arapesh, good fortune may be sought also.
Researchers often distinguish between sorcery
involving contagious magic and assault sorcery;
the former utilizing malevolent actions on the
“leavings” of a person, the latter involving direct
physical harm to the person. Finer distinctions
may be made by using terms from the local
language.
The term “poison” also can have several mean-
ings. One, closer to the Standard English use of
the term refers to a toxic substance which, if
ingested, will cause sickness or death. At other
times the term posin is used as a Melanesian
pidgin expression for sorcery. In pidgin usage in
the Sepik today, the term posin most often refers
to the “leavings” or “specimen” (what Margaret
Mead terms “exuviae”) of a person, bound up in a
packet of leaves, which will be used in the practice
of sorcery (see Fig. 2).
Fig. 2: Posin - the magical bundle used for sorcery.
Sanguma is a form of assault sorcery in which
the sanguma person may become invisible and
force a harmful object or inject a harmful sub-
stance into the victim so that they get sick and/or
die. In some places the sanguma is thought to
take animal form. Mead mentions it under the
title of “introduced magic.” Sanguma may pos-
sibly be classed under the category of witchcraft
in the sense that it employs harm-dealing pow-
ers using human agency. In some parts of Papua
New Guinea, particularly the Highlands, sanguma
is seen as a form of witchcraft, using psychic
or occult power to harm, rather than employing
physical objects or substances.
The above discussion shows how meanings
of these terms may overlap. The Plains Arapesh
employ forms of sorcery (which they call posin)
involving contagious magic on the leavings of a
person. They claim that witchcraft and sanguma
are used by their neighbours, not by themselves.
The Death of a Young Woman and Her Uncle
The death of a young woman and her uncle help8
illustrate the complexity of sorcery beliefs among
the Plains Arapesh. L, a young woman without
children, developed sores in her mouth and could
not eat. After some days she became so weak that
she could hardly move. Her relatives carried her
to the nearest health centre where she died three
days later. She was buried back in the village-
People questioned how the sores had come about-
They suspected her uncle O, a reputed sorcerer?
and someone remembered him giving her betel
nut with mustard and lime a few days before the
sores appeared. Her brothers suspected O, so they
seized him and questioned him about the death
of their sister. O admitted giving L the betel nut,
mustard, and lime, but denied that he had meant
to harm her. She was his own niece after all, ^
being the daughter of his own sister. The young
men stripped him, tied him to a post, and starts
beating him with sticks. His sister tried to stop the
beating by shielding O’s body with hers, but they
flung her away and continued beating him to death-
Most people believed that L had died because she
was “poisoned” by the sorcerer O, the sores
her mouth being evidence of this. But why shouH
he want to harm his niece? Was he doing it f°f
someone else because they had a grudge again8*
her? It was not as simple as that. People now say
that both L and O were victims of sorcery. L ^
“poisoned” in a way that her fatal illness woul
lead to O being killed as well. Some people 8ge
the fact that O, a strong man, was not able &
defend himself as a sign that he was a victim 0
sorcery. People reason that those responsible f°f
the sorcery were jealous and angry with O
was trying to be a village leader, and upset wi
L’s mother because of the way she was taking
lead in customary obligations. O’s family belief
that those responsible for the sorcery knew m
he was protecting his family from sorcerers an
wanted him killed so he would not be around to
their guardian any more. The common conclusi
was that other people “poisoned” both of
with the intention that both O and his niece
would die.
Was O a sorcerer? His wife does not befle ^
so. She says that he would use his reputation
a sorcerer to make money. He tricked people
give him money so that he would come and p°is
.2008
Anthropos
103
153
o
°rcery among the Plains Arapesh
lheir enemies, but she claims that in reality he
didn’t have a clue. It was a way of making money
that he could buy necessities for the family
interview with Matarina Oanim, Almatalibel at
°unigi village, 5 June 2006).
From Alitoa, Mead noted how persons, whom
?he calls man-o-bush from the Plains, would march
jnt° the village “as bold as brass” demanding
°°d from the women and hinting that if they
^uld not get it, someone later would die (Mead
^77: 126). She had little sympathy for the “threat-
en,ng sorcerers of the plains who blackmailed
°Ur mild-mannered mountain people by promis-
es temporarily not to sorcerize their relatives,
Providing they were given food and an adequate
SuPply of trade goods” (Mead 1972: 202). Similar
Inferences are common today. Karen Prison, who
/d research with the nearby Kwanga people of
e Sepik Plains, points out how gossip and rumour
central to shaping and shifting power relations.
Wanga community leaders build reputations by
ntmg that they are the confidants of sorcerers
ie to kill those who challenge the authority of
ale cult initiates. Such talk creates the impression
£ at these individuals are very powerful and to be
ared. Ambitious individuals may try to define sit-
u°ns in such a way as to further their own goals
a enhance their reputations, but they cannot fully
|, ntr°l the impact of their own words. Ultimate-
7’ the same men who build reputations through
. ssip and innuendo find themselves victimized
by malicious gossip (Prison 1992: 244 f.).
as this what happened to O?
°rcery Today
lc Elements in Plains Arapesh Sorcery
p0Sorcery still practiced in West Yangoru today?
he H°e ^rosecutor Justin Rame in Yangoru says that
Vea e^S ah>out 30 cases of sorcery as posin a
cq ’.anc* ^at in the year 2005 five sorcerers were
fee pCtec* an<^ sent t0 serve prison terms. During
^aPua New Guinea national elections in 2007,
of re Was much talk in the East Sepik Province
Updates employing sorcerers to disadvantage
fav 0PP°nents and to influence people in their
^Ur during the voting period.
Joes Sorcery is so common, even today, then how
fel 11 Work? There are many forms of harm-
fer tTla^^ca* practices among the Arapesh, like,
<&.lea,ving, a person’s “specimen” in a
(tyae bought to be inhabited by malevolent spirits
am) or in the stem of a wild taro where it
Anth:
roPos 103.2008
will rot and make the person represented by
the specimen unwell. Margaret Mead includes
such harmful practices as forms of sorcery (2002:
330 f.). However, for Plains Arapesh, practices
such as these are not strictly sorcery. One rea-
son to exclude such magic is that there are no
taboos to be observed when applying the spell.
The true sorcerer must observe certain taboos for
several weeks if his work is to be effective (such
taboos are called sakrifais in Melanesian Pidgin).
He must not bathe or drink water. He doesn’t eat
food cooked by young unmarried women without
children. He also keeps well away from menstru-
ating women and what they cook. If taboos are not
observed, the person will become cold (lose pow-
er) and the collected specimen will become moist
and lose its power. Such taboos are important in
the practice of sorcery, but are not necessary for
“magic.”
There are four basic elements in Plains Arapesh
sorcery, or posin: 1. a bundled “specimen” {posin
in Pidgin, ouluh in Arapesh); 2. a process of
capturing a person’s life force, or soul {michin
in Arapesh); 3. a red-coloured lime called ahih
in Arapesh, composed principally of ashes from
the bones of a dead ancestor; 4. sorcery processes
called wichain and atiglineige. The first three
elements are essential to sorcery. The processes in
the fourth point are optional, facilitating requests
for desired articles or events.
1. Specimens may include the remains of food,
articles of clothing, or fluids such as genital fluids.
The latter are considered more powerful, but food
remains are the most likely items used. Woman’s
menstrual blood is not used because it is clas-
sified as “cold” and can destroy the specimen.
Another effective specimen for sorcery is the eggs
(iduglinih) from a butterfly that deposits them in
a bush vine. The vine is cut and the iduglinih
extracted. This is then squeezed, and the juice is
collected and put in the soup or a yam dish. The
victim is then given this to eat and the eggshells
are kept for sorcery. Another example given to us
was where somebody brought cooked fish to the
victim - fish to which liquid from a certain spider,
had been added. He was given the fish to eat and
his enemies kept the actual spider which they used
as a specimen in sorcery and that was how they
are believed to have killed him. In still another
case the specimen came from earth where someone
had urinated. So, specimens or leavings may come
from various sources, all employing some form of
contagious magic.
2. To use a specimen for sorcery, it is wrapped
in nettle and wagun leaves and bound into a small
154
Philip Gibbs and Josepha Junnie Wail°nl
parcel using amab vines. It is now called ouh
(sing.), ouluh (pi.) and in Pidgin posin. Tradition-
ally it was kept in the Tambaran House or the
men’s house. Today, any place away from women
and children will suffice. It must be kept in a very
dry place, away from water and away from men-
struating women, and plants such as wamibel and
nahlibenoh that would make the specimen “cold.”
Previously the parcel (ouh) would be heated over
a fire, but today any means of heat production may
be used - such as the exhaust pipes of generators,
on solar panels, or placed on a metal roof on a hot
day.
There are several ways to test if the michin
is really captured. The visit of a firefly is an
assurance that the specimen has the potential to be
used for sorcery. Another indication is the injury
of the potential victim in a dispute - for instance,
when in a domestic argument one is cut with a
knife. This will indicate to the sorcerer that the
ouh belongs to him and it contains the person’s
spirit. Another way is to address the specimen and
ask if it was that person whose remains were col-
lected. If it is, the specimen will move or produce
some kind of noise indicating that the specimen
is ready to be used in the actual sorcery. The
sorcerer may then swing the specimen around to
see if the victim will experience dizziness and
fainting spells. When that happens and the sorcerer
hears about it, he will know that the specimen
is “hot” and has power. Heavy rain and thun-
der accompanied by lightning when the specimen
is tested are also signs of the “hotness” of this
specimen.
Aside from collecting specimens as objects
used by the victim, there are other ways also to
capture the “soul” (michin) for use in sorcery. One
such way is through the process of sorcery called
atiglineige. A wild taro stalk or the red coconut
tree root manyiben is used. This will be placed on
a narrow path, and the sorcerer hides in the bushes
and waits for the victim to step over it. As soon as
the victim does that and is out of sight, the person
hiding will come and collect that piece of taro
stalk or coconut tree root, and close the end with
breadfruit sap or another tree with sap (mabloh),
thus trapping the michin. As the end is tied, the
sorcerer recites a spell in which the victim’s name
and his or her clan name are mentioned. The stalk
or root, now containing the victim’s “soul,” is then
put into a bamboo tube and nettle leaves are tied
over the opening. It will be stored until needed.
This process is not sorcery at this stage but is
used to capture the spirit of a person to be used in
sorcery rituals.
Another way to use atiglineige is to hide the
enchanted taro stalk or coconut root under the step8
leading into a house. The victim is called outside
thus stepping over the atiglineige. After the person
has gone back into the house, the atiglineige P
removed and taken away to be used in sorcery-
People are warned to be careful about coming on1
of the house if called during the night. We
refer again to atiglineige in section 4 below.
3. Another important ingredient - ahih - lS
lime made from burning the leg bones of a po^"
erful man such as a warrior. The ahih is made
by specialists, mostly from Nimbihi
villages. It takes on a red colour from
with sap from a bush vine (ubianih).
herbs, such as red nettle leaves (nihigeh) and vine8,
are also added. The latter, along with lemon, help
make the lime “hot.” When it has dried, a rea
residue is left, and this is mixed together with tde
ashes as lime. The ahih, kept in bamboo tubes (se6
Fig. 3), is regarded as powerful and dangerous-
These days red paint can be bought from the shops
to substitute for colouring from the vines.
i Kragarm^
being mixea
Other busb
Fig. 3: Ahih - the powder obtained from the burned leg k°n
of a powerful man.
ье
The ahih is made by specialists and has to
paid for. A little boy is brought to carry it a*
it is purchased. A boy, presumably has not b6 ^
contaminated by sexual contact with women aI\j
also, if there is a river to cross, the little boy
be carried on the shoulders of an older man
1O3.20«8
Anthropos
155
°rcery among the Plains Arapesh
lhat the cooling effect of the river will not make
the ahih “cold.”
4. Wichain derives its name from a type of
§rass (sometimes called nyubut) that is used with
sPells to bring about desired effects. At one stage
. e specimen is heated in a pot, and the wichain
ls swung over the pot in a circular motion and
requests made. The sorcerer(s) call(s) a person’s
Carrie while willing something happen to them. For
^stance, if there is a land dispute, a request may
e made for one party to leave the village for good.
ae person’s name or clan name is referred to in
spell as the wichain is swung over the pot and
ae request made for him to leave.
,AtigUneige is a process that uses the captured
^chin in a taro stalk or red coconut tree root to
ring about misfortune. Wichain can have both
Positive and negative effects, but atiglineige is
^ays negative, usually resulting in tragedy or
Qeath.
Pin
An
Margaret Mead had heard of these ingredients
°ugh informants who were familiar with Plains
aPesh sorcery practice, and she describes this in
short section in “The Mountain Arapesh” (Mead
^ ^2: 333 f.).7 However, she seems not to have
eeiUold about atiglineige. Moreover she does not
a °Vlde a detailed description of the ingredients or
systematic account of their use. Her overall con-
cern
p. appears to be more for the network of paths
s,ains sorcerers used in the trade of “exuviae” for
the“8’ Sea water’ anc* other valuables, and the way
net of sorcery fear” such sorcerers produced
p °ng the Mountain people, influenced their lives,
^ticularly their parental roles (Mead 2002: 184).
of Use °f wichain, for example, is seen as a form
^black magic” operating at the level of social
aitiCtUre’ through relationships between commu-
0r and the close tie between a person and his
h her “exuviae” (Mead 2002: 245). We found,
to keVer’ that the use of wichain today is thought
the ^ ah°ut both bad and good fortune, and that
the . w^h “exuviae” and the person impacted by
^^^hain can be so distant both geographically
cal] °therwise as to make the relationships practi-
ce d lrrelevant. Their world is no longer merely
eXa ains? Mountains, and Beach. People gave us
Cau^Ptes in which they believed wichain could
to ^ a Person in Port Moresby to win money or
successful in national elections.
as d notes however, “These should be regarded, I believe,
the p,a°n ^ountain culture, not as reliable evidence about
Gains’’ (2002: 333, fn. 8).
Anthn
°p°s 103.2008
Sorcery Practice
How are the elements described above used
to practice sorcery? Mead’s brief description of
Plains Arapesh sorcery practice corresponds sub-
stantially with our recent findings (Mead 2002:
333 f.). However we will expand on Mead’s short
description. Sorcery is usually performed in a hid-
den location such as a cave or a small hut built
in the bush for that purpose. During the practice
of sorcery sago thorns are dipped into the ahih
powder and inserted into the ouluh packet. (Today
a sewing needle or a sharp piece of coconut broom
may be used.) The mixing of ahih with the ouluh
is likened to connecting a battery to a car. As a
battery supplies the power to start a car, likewise,
once the ahih is introduced to the ouluh, the spec-
imen is empowered. The sorcerer will take a piece
of strong wood (bulwiteh), lay the tied specimen
on another piece of timber, and hit it repeatedly.
As he hammers the specimen, he will call the clan
name and the masalai name of the victim.8 The
specimen is hammered and thrown into a pot. A
wild taro leaf is used to cover the specimen(s)
in the pot. This is removed after two days or so
to see if the released michin will reappear in the
form of an animal somewhere in the vicinity of
the fireplace. The number of animals that appear
should equal the number of specimens in the pot. If
the sorcerer wants the victims dead, these animals
will then be killed and thrown also into the pot.
The victim’s spirit represented by an animal,
such as a snake or lizard (ubabel), is attracted to
the place of the specimen. Sorcerers will call the
name of the victim and ask this snake or lizard if it
is this person and place a bamboo tube nearby for
it to creep into. If they name the victim correctly,
the creature is said to enter the conveniently placed
bamboo tube without hesitation. Thus the michin
becomes trapped in the bamboo tube. When the
michin is trapped and “killed” (beaten or cut), the
victim will die.9 If the sorcerer decides not to kill
the person, then the michin in the form of the
creature may be released from the bamboo and
8 Each person has a masalai or secret name associated with
his/her life force or michin. It is called a masalai name
because it would be used when people are in the forest
so that when they return to the village and their “normal”
name is used, the masalai spirits will not recognise the
person and so not harm them.
9 One informant said that the person dies when the taro leaf
over the saucepan is pierced so as to release the steam from
inside, symbolising the breath escaping from the victim
(interview with Christopher Baniani at Karim, 3 January
2007).
156
let go. The ouluh may then be put in a cold place
such as a stream of water so that it no longer has
power over the person’s spirit. It seems that the
first time the michin is caught in the specimen is
symbolic, and a real animal has to be enticed the
second time so that it can be physically killed to
demonstrate the actual death.10
Once the ouluh is heated and sorcery per-
formed, word can be spread to others to come
and put in their “requests.” While the michin is
captured and is alive, those who have grievances
against the victim would also come to pay for
him or her to be killed. The captured michin can
entertain any request. Everybody who is involved
may ask for the sorcery to affect others and they
will observe possible victims for some signs of
illness or misfortune. If anyone of them falls sick,
then it is the confirmation that the power of the
specimen is producing some effect. Word will be
sent out to others especially the elderly men or
leaders who are responsible for the process. That
evening or the next, they will come together and
discuss what they would want to be done.
When the wichain grass is rotated over the pot,
it is powered by the specimen that is being heated
in it. The wichain will respond to the spoken words
and use the power emanating from the specimen
to fulfil the requests. The main power from the
specimen is actually coming from the ahih lime
made from bones of dead ancestors.
At this point the atiglineige process may be
applied. People who wish misfortune to befall
someone will bring along a captured michin and
this is added to the pot containing the specimen(s).
The atiglineige process may occur with or without
the wichain.
The same specimen that is meant to be “killed”
may be used at the same time to achieve good
fortune. While the specimen is heated and the
victim has fallen ill, the same specimen is used
with different words to achieve other results. Many
other requests both good and bad can be made
at this time. For example, if someone wants to
attract a young woman, he can put some money
and request for this at this time. He has to pay
first, then the woman’s name will be included in
a spell and it is presumed that she will come.
Sorcery is suspected when a sick person is
taken to hospital, and the medical personnel are
unable to diagnose any recognisable illness, or if
the sick person does not respond to medication.
Philip Gibbs and Josepha Junnie Wail°nl
Back in the village, a traditional way to find out if
a sick person is victim of sorcery (while they &e
alive) is to collect red and black ants (karakul)
and to mix them together with red yams, yelled
taro, and pawpaw. The mixture is put into leave8 *
and tied into separate bundles representing each
family of possible sorcerers. Each family’s pared
is identified with their name and these are thd1
put into the ground oven pit. Once baked, each
parcel is opened and checked. The parcels with
cooked food or those that are completely bum1
are blameless. The parcel with the uncooked fo°°
and live ants shows that the sorcerer is from that
particular family. If the sorcerer can be identified’
the sorcerised specimen (ouluh) can be neutralised
and the sick person becomes well again. We
told that this form of discernment is not comm011
nowadays. People tend to take a short cut by “juSt
blaming each other.”
Mead says how at a funeral any suspect may
give food to the widow and mourning child1®.0
and if they vomit, he is guilty and that this lS
symbolic of a complete break in relationship
(2002/1: 242). We found Plains Arapesh belief afl
practice to be quite different. It has nothing to
with a suspect giving food. Rather, if a suspeC
visits a sick person, they might hiccup or vom1
in the sorcerer’s presence. Thus vomiting is not a
sign of rejection but rather points to the suspect s°
that counteraction may be taken. Sorcerers usually
try to stay away from a funeral or mourning slt6
lest a firefly or some other sign indicate that tb^y
are responsible.
Mead mentions precautions against sorcCy
(such as not provoking anger), but gives fi11
indication of ways to counter it once it is in f°ryf’
The most common antidotes are leaves from
tb®
wamileb (plural form of wamibel) tree, which ha^
the power to make sorcery “cold.” Branches of 10
wamileb can be burnt to produce smoke around 1
place where it is believed that the sorcery prach <
is taking place. At times, wamileb leaves are boil
and betel nut or mustard is dipped in the jul(y
and given to the suspected sorcerer(s) to cheW-
is believed that once this gets into the sorcerer
system, he will lose his power over the specim ^
After everything is over the sorcerer must b
through a purification ritual to remove the spit11
of the person killed by the sorcery. This invol ^
going through a clump of bamboo (,mahlagas)
the spirits or ghosts will not follow the PerSm
because they fear the bamboo barbs and so
stay on the other side and so a person is ^reLf
After that a person enters a river and dives uu ^
water. One can also go around a Ficus tree (u
10 Cyndi Banks, however, says that the captured animal
symbolises the victim’s soul and “without his soul, the
victim would fall ill and die” (1993: 92).
103-
Anthropos
157
o
0rcery among the Plains Arapesh
0r wild palm trees {waboh). The Ficus tree is
a place associated with the dwelling place of
171asalai, so the spirits will remain there if one
§oes around it. The waboh is a heavier palm, and
the ghosts and spirits will be weighted down
going around it and will stay in that place. The
sorcerer will then take samples of the above vines
°r trees, put them on his head, and swim into the
Over. As he swims these things become loose and
are swallowed by the river and taken away. Only
after this will the sorcerer relax the taboos and start
l° eat and relate normally.
n
continuance of Sorcery
has not always been easy for West Yangoru
s°tcerers. In 1993 John Jaminan, the member of
^lament for Yangoru Sausia, procured a police
Vehicle and had the police go from village to
^llage to find out who the sorcerers were. As a
^sequence many sorcerers were brought to the
Police for questioning. Subsequently many of them
ere also beaten and items of sorcery, such as
^Pocirnen bundles, lime, ginger, and other items,
ete surrendered. He brought the police mobile
/piad to Belegel because he was fed up with what
e Saw, namely, people dying from sorcery. About
ehty men were called forward as suspects, and
y had to present suspicious implements in their
tty
the
Pos;
t SSession. In addition to that, they were
,, P°ld ud the imolements and nublich
that
also told
up the implements and publicly declare
they were sorcerers in front of the women,
^Pdren, and other spectators. People from other
£ ai*s villages came as witnesses to this event.
^ch suspected sorcerer identified himself by name
vfilage and announced that he would not in-
s^§e in the practice anymore. They were also
caPPed, hit, and ridiculed by the police. The in-
~ ent was demeaning because the village leaders
a °ther elders were insulted. Jaminan saw it as
SorWaY of protecting the lives of people against
j^Cery (interview with J. Jaminan at Nimbihu
tjj a§umun, 3 May 2007). Jaminan does not believe
ele* ^is action led to his losing in the next (1997)
the^10118, but many people do, and they say that
a „ P°^ce have not returned because wichain put
StoP to it.il
0 ert Dunna who was the driver for John Jaminan at that
e (1993) claims that Jaminan also told the policemen to
jt Menstrual blood and wamileb leaves with tea and gave
Dni° sorcerers to drink. The men were scared of the
t^JCe hitting them and so drank the tea. They didn’t know
Menstrual blood was also used to make them kol.
Athhr,
°P°s 103.2008
Belief in sorcery continues today. During an
interview in 2007, Jaminan said,
Last year, fifteen bundles of posin were collected from
the village just down the road. Fifteen people were going
to be killed. When I heard about it, I complained to the
police at Yangoru. The village magistrate from here went
to get the auxiliary police at Yangoru to get these men.
The Yangoru police then sent some auxiliary policemen
to round up these men. They escaped, otherwise they
could have been jailed for fifteen or twenty years.
Fifteen lives were saved. Later we forced them to speak
out and they admitted that they were paid to do that.
Most of the intended victims were from here and some
were from the coast. This is an act of the devil and now
that it is election time, some will have the money to do
it (interview with J. Jaminan at Nimbihu Kragumun, 3
May 2007).
Most people say that though sorcery is declining,
it is still practiced. There are various reasons for
this. Firstly, there is little to take its place. Warfare
and open violence are actively discouraged by law
enforcement agencies, so sorcery can be an “un-
derground” way of solving conflict (interview with
Christopher Baniani at Karim Village, 3 January
2007). If one holds a knife or spear in public,
then everybody knows and one can be taken to
court, but sorcery, which is performed in secret,
is hard to prove. Christianity discourages sorcery,
but this has only a limited effect. One commu-
nity leader expressed his experience as follows:
I believe that there is a God but there is also a god of
these things. When I was a committed Christian, I did not
really believe in it but now I am back to the old way of
life and I do believe that there is another powerful force.
I have witnessed sorcery being practised and things have
happened. Timo and I were together in one instance. I
was scared and wondered who was going to die that
afternoon. At the same time we requested for some of
our worries to be solved. I was to observe the sky to
see if it would turn red that afternoon. If it did, then it
was a good sign. I did see that and I believed (interview
with Andrew Dunna at Karim village, 3 January 2007).
Other factors encourage the continuance of sor-
cery. It is a way of expressing anger and jealousy.
It is also a way of gaining wealth because posin
men can make large amounts of money for their
services. The threat of sorcery is said to help
maintain law and order, though not so effectively
these days considering the crimes that some people
get away with. Sorcery also continues to be an
explanation for misfortune and death. In the case
of the young woman and her uncle given above,
people explain the tragedy in terms of sorcery.
158
One of our interviewees spoke about both
good and bad effects of sorcery (interview at
Belegel, 30 May 2006). He said that he favours the
good effects when it helps to bring about gutpela
sindaun (peace and prosperity). Other interviewees
said that sorcery is desirable because it was and
still is a means of income. If someone contributed
a specimen, they would be paid and an important
person’s specimen is worth a good deal. The
money would then be distributed according to the
roles performed. Sorcery was and is still a means
of earning money, especially for those who don’t
have sisters because otherwise they would have no
way of getting money from bride-price payments.
Sorcery may also be used when buying pigs. The
michin of a victim is invoked to help determine
the price of the pig, especially to convince the
owner of the pig to accept a cheap offer and
sell it willingly. Thus, sorcery is not for killing
only. It serves other purposes as well such as
winning court cases or cancelling them. It is also
used in bride-price collection whereby through
the power of the michin, people can come and
contribute willingly so that bride-price can be paid
(interview with Lucas Yakumum at Bonahitam,
29 May 2006).
It is debatable how much sorcery comes from
within or without. Mead was writing from a
Mountain Arapesh perspective where specimens
for sorcery were traded rather than used in sorcery.
Sorcery was blamed on the Plains people. Plains
people have a proverb: Paia bilong yu yet bai
kukim yu sapos yu no lukaut - i no paia bilong
narapela man. (“It is your own fire which will
bum you if you are not careful and not somebody
else’s fire.”) The Plains person who is angry with
a family member may give his/her specimen to
known sorcerers within the Plains. Sorcery is a
group event and if some people of the group are
related to the victim, they will give permission
to kill their own people by sorcery. In the case
given above, both uncle and niece would surely
have been sorcerised by rivals from within the
community. The story of their death helps illustrate
the complexity of Arapesh sorcery.
Margaret Mead, from her Mountain Arapesh
experience says (2002: 334) that with the Arapesh
“all social relationships are best described in indi-
vidual terms” so that sorcery may best be described
as vulnerability of the individual rather than a
sanction used by the community. What does she
mean by this? From the Plains perspective, this
would mean that sorcery is a sanction used by
individuals in the community who take it upon
themselves to right the wrong for the good of the
Philip Gibbs and Josepha Junnie Wail0111
whole community. Despite what Mead says about
the Arapesh maternal temperament, Arapesh meI1
and women do quarrel and become violent, but
they try to resolve the problem quickly so as not
to open the door to sorcery. Sorcerers within th6
community take it as their duty to apply sanction5
if conflicts are not resolved. The action taken
results from the decision of a network of sorcerers-
Afterwards the wider community may agree anu
say that the person deserved to be sorcerised.
References Cited
Banks, Cyndi ^
1993 Women in Transition. Canberra: Australian Institute 0
Criminology.
Brison, Karen J.
1992 Just Talk; Gossip, Meetings, and Power in a Papua
New Guinea Village. Berkeley: University of Calif°rtll£1
Press.
Fortune, Reo F.
1939 Arapesh Warfare. American Anthropologist 41: 22"^
1942 Arapesh. New York: J. J. Augustin Publisher. (Publk3
tions of the American Ethnological Society, 19)
Gerstner, Andreas
1934 Auf Reisen ins Missionsneuland. Steyler Missionsb°te
61:235-237,258-260,286-288.
1937 Zauberei bei den But-Leuten an der Nordkiiste NeU
guineas. Anthropos 32: 967-973.
1963 Der magische Meuchelmord in Wewák-Boikin-Geb1
(Nordost-Neuguinea). Anthropos 58: 719-736.
Limbrock, Eberhard
1913 Buschreise ins Hinterland von Beukin. Steyler Missi°nS
bote 40:126-127, 142-143.
Mead, Margaret
1935 Sex and Temperament in Three Primitive SocieUe
New York: W. Morrow. ^
1972 Blackberry Winter: My Earlier Years. New 'f°r
W. Morrow. f
1977 Letters from the Field, 1925-1975. New York: Harp
and Row. (World Perspectives, 52) , у
2002 The Mountain Arapesh (with a new introduction ^
Paul B. Roscoe). Yol. 1. New Brunswick: Transad1^
Publishers. [Original: I. An Importing Culture (Ant'1 ^
pological Papers of the American Museum of ^atlf
History 36.1938/3) and II. Supematuralism (Anílt'у
pological Papers of the American Museum of
History 37.1940/3)]
Puff, Andreas ^0.
1926 Zu den Ringschleifem. Steyler Missionsbote 54; 89"
106-108.
Roscoe, Paul B.
2002 Introduction to the Transaction Edition. In: M.
pp. xv-xxxi.
Anthropos 103.2°°
Anthropos
103.2008: 159-177
Indigenisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung
Chinesische Identität in Jakarta
Jacqueline Knörr
erai. racl- - The Chinese in Jakarta - and in Indonesia gen-
dUr-' " have suffered considerable discrimination particulary
con^a era Suharto’s rule (1967-1998) when they were
c0tlf ereh a foreign threat that needed to be kept under state
of ' Since the end of Suharto’s regime and as a result
Chin era}^sasU demokratisasi, and desentralisasi a revival of
courSe 6 identlty has taken off in Jakarta, initiating a public dis-
This ,,0n lhe compatibility of Chinese and Indonesian identity.
are 1Sc°urse refers to different categories of identity, which
'Iiten°?neCted whh specific conceptualizations concerning the
Redness of indigeneity, ethnicity, and nationalism in In-
doi
in ar|d Jakarta in particular. [Indonesia, Jakarta, Chinese
Beknia>jta’ Chinese in Indonesia, Chinese identity, Peranakan,
l994Ue^ne Knörr, M. A. (Köln 1989), Dr, phil. (Bayreuth
Sorin'*’ ^ahh. (Halle/Saale 2005), außerordentliche Profes-
infj Unh Forschungsgruppenleiterin “Integration und Konflikt
ethnofer.^u^nea Coast/Westafrika” am Max-Planck-Institut für
Ethnni°^1Sche Forschung sowie Privatdozentin am Seminar für
Sie fü.°gie her Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg. -
sien rie umfangreiche Feldforschung in Westafrika, Indone-
punktnd Deutschland durch. Forschungs- und Arbeitsschwer-
Kreol^'. Kollektive Identitätsbildung, Identität/Differenzierung,
Hatior ]erung/Kreolität und kreolische Gruppen, ethnische und
ti°n 1 e Identitäten in postkolonialen Gesellschaften, Integra-
den t,. Konflikt, Migration, Exilanten- und Diasporagemein-
Migrat.ndheh’ Gender. - Publikationen u. a.: “Childhood and
2005\.1On' Krom Experience to Agency” ([Hrsg.] Bielefeld
’ Slehe auch zitierte Literatur.
ïïileit
ung
Di
a][ge ^|nesen in Jakarta - und in Indonesien
g[er ein ~ waren insbesondere während der Re-
krij^j11?826^ Suhartos (1967-1998) massiver Dis-
nierung ausgesetzt. Sie wurden nicht als
gleichberechtigte indonesische Staatsbürger aner-
kannt, sondern als fremde Bedrohung wahrgenom-
men, die es seitens des Staates mittels einer Viel-
zahl restriktiver Maßnahmen unter Kontrolle zu
halten galt. Seit dem Ende dieser Ära und im
Zuge von liberalisasi, demokratisasi und desentra-
lisasi hat in Jakarta ein Revival des Chinesischen
eingesetzt, das in Verbindung steht mit einem
öffentlichen Diskurs über das Verhältnis und die
Vereinbarkeit chinesischer und indonesischer Iden-
tität.1 Dieser Diskurs nimmt Bezug auf verschie-
dene identitäre Kategorien, die im Spannungsfeld
indigener und exogener Zuordnungen chinesischer
Identität situiert sind und mit spezifischen Bedeu-
tungen assoziiert werden.
Differenzierung indigener und exogener Varianten
chinesischer Identität
Hinsichtlich der Chinesen in Jakarta wird zwi-
schen den Peranakan2 und den so genannten “To-
1 Eine der ersten Arbeiten, in der die Problematik der Distanz
zwischen Chinesen und Indonesiern explizit behandelt wird,
ist die von Skinner 1963; zur aktuellen Debatte s. Purdey
2003; Turner 2003; vgl. Bertrand 2004.
2 Peranakan = (hier) gebürtig, einheimisch (geworden); hier:
in Indonesien geborener Chinese, indonesischer Chinese.
Die Bezeichnung wird gelegentlich auch verwandt, um
allgemein indigenisierte Personen und Gruppen exogener
Herkunft (z. B. Araber, Inder) von nichtindigenisierten
Personen und Gruppen exogener Herkunft zu unterschei-
den.
160
tok”3 ein kategorischer Unterschied gemacht -
zwischen den “indonesischen” bzw. “indigenen”
Chinesen einerseits und den “chinesischen” bzw.
“exogenen” Chinesen andererseits.4 Wenngleich
diese kategorische Unterscheidung als wichtig er-
achtet wird, ist in der Alltagssprache meist nur
von “Chinesen” die Rede. Es geht aus dem jewei-
ligen Kontext hervor, wer gemeint ist oder es wird
mittels entsprechender Ergänzungen und Spezifi-
zierungen verdeutlicht.
Bis ins 19. Jh. wurden Peranakan alle Chinesen
auf Java genannt, die zum Islam konvertiert waren
(Lohanda 2001:7). Dies weist auch auf die her-
ausragende Bedeutung hin, welche die Konversion
zum Islam als Kriterium der Indigenisierung in
Indonesien besaß.5 Die Bezeichnung wurde später
auf alle in Indonesien geborenen Chinesen und
die Nachkommen aus indochinesischen Verbin-
dungen ausgeweitet; “The Chinese [men] on their
arrival generally marry a Javan woman, or pur-
chase a slave from the other islands. The proginy
from this connexion, or what may be termed the
cross breed between the Chinese and Javans are
called in the Dutch accounts Peranakans” (Raffles
1817/1:74). Die Bezeichnung “Peranakan” diente
also der Unterscheidung der indigenisierten Chi-
nesen und ihrer indochinesischen Nachkommen
von den aus China gebürtigen und nichtindigeni-
sierten Chinesen. Letztere ließen sich meist nicht
dauerhaft in Indonesien nieder, ehelichten keine
Einheimischen und wurden (deshalb) als “Totok”
bezeichnet - was soviel heißt wie “rein” und
“unvermischt”.6 Insbesondere letztere werden um-
gangssprachlich auch “non-Pribumi” - “Nichtein-
heimische” - genannt (Dhofier 1976: 10).7
3 Wenngleich die Bezeichnung üblich ist, gilt sie vielen - im
Gegensatz zur Bezeichnung Peranakan - als problematisch
und politisch inkorrekt. Ich setze die Bezeichnung deshalb
in Anführungszeichen.
4 Der offizielle Sprachgebrauch kennt keine derartigen Diffe-
renzierungen. Indonesische Staatsbürger chinesischer Her-
kunft werden dort heute als “Warga Negara Indonesia
Keturunan Tionghoa”, kurz “WNI” oder “Turunan” bzw.
als “(Orang) Tionghoa” - als “Chinesen” - bezeichnet.
5 Zum Zusammenhang chinesischer Indigenisierung in Indo-
nesien und Islam sowie zur Rolle der Chinesen in der Isla-
misierung Indonesiens s. Taylor 2005; s. a. Ricklefs 1979
und 1984.
6 Die Differenzierung zwischen schon in der Siedlergesell-
schaft gebürtigen Menschen exogener Herkunft und sol-
chen, die noch in der ursprünglichen Heimat geboren
wurden, findet sich in vielen Siedler- und Kolonialgesell-
schaften. Häufig wurden erstere als Kreolen bezeichnet
(s. Stewart 2007; Knörr 2007).
7 Gelegentlich werden auch andere Ausländer als non-Pri-
bumi bezeichnet.
Jacqueline Knöd
In der Literatur werden mit Peranakan häufig
alle in Indonesien geborenen Chinesen bezeichnet
wohingegen seitens der Chinesen in Indonesien
wie auch seitens der meisten Indonesier allgerneü1
- Kultur und Identität als Kriterien herangezoge11
werden, wenn es darum geht, Peranakan und “T°'
tok” voneinander zu unterscheiden.
... the Indonesian Chinese themselves, consider that
to be born in Indonesia does not automatically maU
a Chinese a “Peranakan” ... It is true that generally
Peranakan Chinese were Indonesia-bom, but not al
Indonesia-born Chinese are Peranakans. A Chinese, wh°
is bom in Indonesia, is still a Totok, if he or sh6
is Chinese-speaking and China-oriented (Suryadinata
1992: 2).
Im Rahmen der hier behandelten Thematik geht &
vorrangig um die Peranakan unter den Chinese11
und - sofern nicht anders vermerkt - sind sie
gemeint, wenn von Chinesen die Rede ist.
Weiteren wird hier die Differenzierung von Sü'
ryadinata (1992: 2) übernommen, die mit Blick aU?
die Chinesen in Indonesien zwischen “Indonesia11
und “Chinese” im Sinne ethnischer, nicht natioUa'
ler Zuordnung unterscheidet. ,
Neben der Unterscheidung von Peranakan uU
“Totok” wird im Kontext der Differenzierung
chinesischer Identität zudem ein - weniger kate'
gorischer - Unterschied gemacht zwischen vef
schiedenen Varianten von Peranakan - von lir
donesischen Chinesen also - und verschieden^11
Varianten von Betawi - von jener Kategorie vo11
Menschen, die als indigene Bevölkerung - a .
orang asli - Jakartas angesehen wird. Die Beta^1
sind in ihren historischen Ursprüngen heterog^
und sind während der Kolonialzeit über Krem
sierungsprozesse entstanden (Knörr 2007; Shaha
1994). Sie haben u. a. auch chinesische Wurzel1!'
Viele Chinesen wurden während der Kolonial^
im Verlauf weniger Generationen Betawi, ande
entwickelten eine distinkte Identität als Peranakal1'
die aufgrund der zunehmenden Vermischung Uj
Einheimischen zwar am indonesischen Lebens5
orientiert war, daneben aber einen Bezug zLV
chinesischen Herkunftsanteil der Männer bewah
(vgl. Blusse 1986).
Historischer Hintergrund: Chinesen zwischen
Privilegierung und Unterdrückung
Schon lange vor seiner Einnahme durch die &
länder lebten am Ostufer des Ciliwung-Flu8^
Chinesen, die Reis anbauten und arak (AP" a
Reisschnaps) herstellten. Sie waren Muslime u
Anthropos
161
Ndigenisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung
|Tlu einheimischen Frauen verheiratet. 1611 errich-
Pten die Holländer an der Mündung des Ciliwung-
g Usses eine kleine Fabrik und einige Jahre später
enteng, das erste holländische Fort am Ostufer
es Flusses, wo auch besagte Chinesen siedelten.
eüher werden sie Cina B enteng genannt und gel-
als die ersten Peranakan Jakartas (Lohanda
AKH; vgl Ricklefs 1984)
Nachdem 1619 das alte Jayakarta durch General
°en, den Generalgouvemeur der holländischen
s ^delsgesellschaft VOC (Vereenigte Oostindi-
116 Compagnie) zerstört und als Batavia wieder
utgebaut worden war, kamen immer mehr Chi-
besen in die Stadt. Coen hielt die Chinesen für
^esonders geeignet, durch ihre Handelsaktivitäten
atavia zum Erblühen zu bringen - “Daer is geen
So *.. ons beter dan Chineesen dienen”8 - und
überzeugte er viele Chinesen in den benachbar-
n Küstenregionen, sich in Batavia niederzulas-
Bald kamen auch Chinesen aus Hokkien und
anton nach Batavia. Sie waren meist Händler,
aber
auch im Reisanbau, in der Fischereiindustrie,
8 Künstler und Handwerker in und um Batavia
*
IfS^ ^er Chinesen nahm so zwischen
400y0und 1739 von einigen Hundert auf circa
Ü
innerhalb Batavias und auf circa 10.000 im
^üiland zu (Blusse 1986: 83). Auch jene Chinesen,
na i^krcnd der holländischen Kolonialherrschaft
sch Batavia kamen, heirateten meist einheimi-
Sk}6 Brauen’ anfänglich vor allem (balinesische)
avmnen, die als Hindus keinen Restriktionen
Seitlich des Verzehrs und der Zubereitung von
^einefleisch unterlagen.9
es Neben der großen Gruppe der Sklaven gab
, Jn Batavia verschiedene Gruppen von vrij-
Hes - r (freien Bürgern) zu denen auch die Chi-
de
>en gehörten.10 Mitte des 17. Jhs. kam es zu
di-- ersten Protesten nichtchinesischer vrijburgher,
fühlSlC^ §e§enüber den Chinesen benachteiligt
he en- Seitens der VOC wurden nur letzteren
nuere Privilegien hinsichtlich ihrer Handels-
Zitaten eingeräumt, während alle anderen der
n°P°listischen Handelspraxis der VOC unter-
io
ersetzung: “Es gibt kein Volk, das uns besser als die
kaclf8611 dient”’ zlüert *n Haan 1935:10.
ndern die Sklaverei abgeschafft worden war und viele
lfiesen und Balinesen zum Islam oder - sofern der
2üi^ alit zu den holländischen Kolonialherren eng war -
u Christentum konvertiert waren, spielte die ethnische
Unft bei der Partnerwahl keine entscheidende Rolle
^ehr
bi
und ^ühuder unterschieden verschiedene einheimische
hen ,rerncle Bevölkerungsgruppen voneinander und versa-
hier 'eSe mh spezifischen Rechten und Pflichten. Näheres
Zu bei Lohanda 2001; vgl. Stockdale 1995; 110.
AlUhj
,roPos 103.2008
worfen waren. Die Chinesen waren allerdings auch
die einzigen, die der VOC seit 1620 eine “Kopf-
steuer” (hoofdgeld) für ihre Anwesenheit in Ba-
tavia zahlen mussten. Es war ihnen im Gegen-
zug gestattet, ihre Netzwerke zu Handelszwecken
innerhalb des gesamten indonesischen Archipels
und darüber hinaus zu nutzen (Blusse 1986: 95).
Die Interessen der Holländer und der Chine-
sen ergänzten sich innerhalb Batavias also weit-
gehend.
Anders war dies in der Umgebung Batavias, in
den sogenannten Ommelanden. Die Chinesen, die
ab Ende des 17. Jhs. dorthin strömten, waren meist
Arbeiter auf Zuckerplantagen, die sich in chinesi-
schem Besitz befanden (Lohanda 2001: 13 f.). Als
Mitte des 18. Jhs. die Zuckerpreise drastisch san-
ken, Zuckermühlen geschlossen und chinesische
Arbeiter entlassen wurden, nahmen illegale und
kriminelle Aktivitäten zu, mit denen sich viele der
arbeitslos gewordenen Chinesen nun über Was-
ser hielten. Die VOC verfügte daraufhin die De-
portation aller illegal anwesenden Chinesen nach
Ceylon. Als sich das Gerücht verbreitete, auf der
Schiffspassage dorthin würden die Deportierten
über Bord geworfen, bewaffneten sich die Chi-
nesen in den Ommelanden und griffen Batavia
an. Im Verlauf der folgenden Kämpfe verloren
circa 10.000 Chinesen ihr Leben und das Vertrau-
en zwischen Holländern und Chinesen war vor-
erst zerstört. Die verbliebenen Chinesen wurden
nach Diestpoort (das heutige Chinesenviertel Glo-
dok im Nordwesten Jakartas; Abb. 1) umgesiedelt
und durften nicht mehr innerhalb der Stadtmauern
Batavias wohnen. Die ökonomischen Nachteile,
die sich daraus ergaben, waren jedoch erheblich,
so dass schon 1741 die Ansiedlung neuer Chine-
sen zugelassen wurde, um den Handel zu reakti-
vieren.
Die Holländer verlagerten Anfang des 19. Jhs.
die Kolonialverwaltung und ihre Residenzen ins
südlich von Batavia gelegene Weltevreden.11 In
der Folge zogen viele Chinesen und andere Bevöl-
kerungsgruppen unterschiedlicher Herkunft in jene
Gebiete, die zuvor von den Holländern besiedelt
waren. Die interethnisehen Kontakte zwischen den
Chinesen und den anderen Bewohnern der Stadt,
die durch die Verbannung der Chinesen ins Chine-
senviertel an Intensität eingebüßt hatten, nahmen
daraufhin wieder zu. Der Kontakt zwischen Euro-
11 Weltevreden (aus dem Holländischen) = sehr zufrieden. Die-
se Bezeichnung verdankte die Siedlung ihrer im Vergleich
zu nördlicheren Gegenden größeren Sauberkeit, dünneren
Besiedlung und geringeren Belastung durch Überflutungen
und - aus Sicht der Kolonialherren - Einheimische.
162
Jacqueline Knöh
Abb. 1: Chinesenviertel Glod°
Ende des 19.Jhs. (Gemälde v°n
J. C. Rappard “Het Kamerlid vafl
Berkenstein in Nederlansch-Ind'2'
Leiden 1888-1889”, in Jayapal
1993: Kap. 3, Abb. 10).
päern auf der einen und allen anderen Bevölke-
rungsgruppen auf der anderen Seite nahm hin-
gegen als Folge der räumlichen Separierung ab
(Lohanda 2001; 11 f.).12
Mit Aufkommen der Unabhängigkeitsbewe-
gung richtete sich der Unmut der Bevölkerung auf
die Holländer immer wieder gegen die Chinesen,
die als deren Verbündete angesehen wurden, aber
angreifbarer und verwundbarer waren als die Ko-
lonialherren selbst. Bis 1965 kam es jedoch zu
keinen größeren Ausschreitungen gegen die chine-
sischen Einwohner Jakartas und die Kontakte zwi-
schen Chinesen und anderen Bevölkerungsgruppen
waren vielfältig. Man feierte das chinesische Im-
lek (Mondneujahr) und das chinesische Neujahr
gemeinsam mit allen Bewohnern der Stadt und
Feuerwerke, Barongsai-(Löwentanz) sowie chine-
sische Kampfkunst- und Zirkusvorführungen fan-
den ein großes und ethnisch gemischtes Publikum.
In the 1950s, everybody in town - Chinese families,
Betawi people, members of the Arabic and Indian
communities - would flock to Glodok and Harmony in
downtown Jakarta to attend this merry event, especially
during Cap Go Meh, the celebration 15 days after the
new year ... For the young, it was a time for affairs of
the heart. A Javanese boy might meet and fall in love
with a Chinese girl. It was very common at that time
(Widiadan 2000).13
12 Eine vergleichsweise zeitnahe Schilderung chinesischen Le-
bens in Batavia um 1900 aus europäischer Sicht findet sich
bei Ponder 1988.
13 Auszug aus einem Interview mit einem älteren Chinesen.
Die Chinesen nahmen ihrerseits an den Feierlich'
keiten anlässlich Idul Fitri, dem Ende des
madan, teil. Soziale und familiäre Verbindung611
zwischen Chinesen und anderen Gruppen war611
also weitgehend normal.
Dies änderte sich 1965 mit dem versucht611
Coup gegen Sukarno. Suharto, zu diesem Z6lt'
punkt General und bald darauf Nachfolger Sh'
karnos, hielt das kommunistische China für m1*-'
verantwortlich für den missglückten Staatsstreich
und brandmarkte die Chinesen im Land als tU'
patriotisch.14 Es wurden zahlreiche Maßnahm611
ergriffen, um fortan jeglichen chinesischen EU'
fluss zu unterbinden und die Chinesen im Lat1
für ihre angebliche Unterstützung staatsgefährdet1
der Umtriebe zu bestrafen. Insbesondere zwisch611
1965 und 1968 unterlagen sie massiver Disk1”1
minierung und Willkür (Turner 2003: 341—343)-
Chinesische Schulen wurden geschlossen, chin6&1
sehe Zeitschriften und Radiosendungen verbot611’
das Lehren von Mandarin weitgehend untersag
und die chinesischen Schriftzeichen aus dem 0
fentlichen Leben verbannt. Schulen und UnN61
sitäten durften eine bestimmte “chinesische Qu°
te” nicht überschreiten, die Einfuhr chinesisch
Druckerzeugnisse wurde - entsprechend der EU
fuhr von Pornographie, Waffen und Drogen
in
14 Das Verhältnis von Chinesischem und Indonesische^
verschiedenen Bereichen der Kunst schildert Blusse t
S. a. Tan 1991, der sich in diesem Zusammenhang
der Problematik der Bezeichnung “ethnic Chinese” aus
andersetzt.
Anthropos 103-20
163
^digenisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung
streng verboten (Heryanto 1998: 101). Chinesen
^hielten Personalausweise mit speziellen Num-
merrh die auf ihre chinesische Herkunft verwie-
Sen- Chinesen, die einen Pass beantragen wollten,
Müssten neben Geburtsurkunde und Personalaus-
J*eis eine Bestätigung ihrer Staatsbürgerschaft vor-
gcn und belegen, dass sie einen indonesischen
amen angenommen hatten. Ende der 1970er Jah-
ie Wurden konfuzianische Hochzeiten und öffent-
Zeremonien für illegal erklärt. Ziel all dieser
aßnahmen war die vollständige Assimilierung
er Chinesen: “... pribumi Indonesian leaders con-
Slder Indonesian identity as a complete abandon-
J^erit of ethnic Chinese identity or ‘Chinese cul-
ra' elements’ and adoption of what they perceive
, an indigenous Indonesian identity” (Suryadinata
. 4). Chinesen galten aus Sicht des Staates
s° so lange nicht als integriert, solange sie chi-
esische Kultur praktizierten:
\ye
can no longer tolerate the existence of Chinese tem-
s n°r can we tolerate petilasan-petilasan[15] which
eh Chinese. We will restore everthing to asli. Do
v CePt our measures ... Celebration of Chinese New
tear
who
Di
need not to be continued, except by those Chinese
are aliens (Major-General Sumitro).16
Qle Rechte der als indigen geltenden ethnischen
JuPPen wurden den Chinesen verwehrt: “Plu-
je lsm has been applied by pribumi Indonesian
aders to their fellow pribumis, but not to the
jj *nese minority” (Suryadinata 1992: 4). Ledig-
. die “fremden” Chinesen - die ohne indone-
te^c'len Pass - durften weiterhin und im priva-
Qf ^re^s chinesisches Neujahrsfest begehen.
s .lnesen mit indonesischem Pass mussten einer-
s ihre Loyalität gegenüber Indonesien in be-
len ^erS nachdrücklicher Weise unter Beweis stel-
e ’ andererseits wurden ihnen eben jene Rechte
htai ^Gn’ mR ^eser Staatsbürgerschaft nor-
üt-^ise verbunden sind. Auch aus dem po-
. *Schen Leben wurden die Chinesen verbannt
^ 2003: 341 f.). Während der Suharto-Ära
n es - anders als zuvor - unter den Ministem,
q* cralen und höheren Beamten keine Chinesen
^anto 1998: 101; vgl. Anderson 1990; 115).
Wf
hin
e§en ihrer erheblichen ökonomischen Bedeu-
derf WllrPen die besonders Einflussreichen unter
Chinesen jedoch gelegentlich öffentlich ihrer
5 ^erT~~~
1g ^asan-petilasan\ Rituale, Aufführungen, Bräuche.
2e lert ln Suryadinata 1992: 42. Zitat Sumitros in der Tages-
in-rv8 ^erPa Antom, 5.1.1967. Sumitro war “Commander-
the n f ®rawdaya Division and later Chief of Staff of
and ~Perational Command for the Restoration of Security
Order”
Mhn
°P°s 103.2008
nationalen Zugehörigkeit versichert. Bei derartigen
Inszenierungen der Inkorporation der non-Pribumi
ging es vor allem dämm, sicherzustellen, dass das
chinesische Kapital im Lande blieb. So hieß es
anlässlich einer oft als “historisch” eingestuften
Veranstaltung zur staatlichen Pancasila17-Ideologie
im Jahr 1980:
... most of the participants belonged to the predom-
inant ethnic group in the nations’s economic life, the
non-Pribumi... The atmosphere ... reflected the strong
determination of all participants to dismantle the “histor-
ical burden” of ethnic differentiation, only a year after
the nation had been rocked by serious ethnic issues as
the result of a major presidential decision to give various
economic advantages to Pribumi (Simbolon 1991: 24).
Die indonesische Zeitschrift Informasi berichtete
folgendermaßen über das Ereignis:
Spontaneous resounding handclapping was the expres-
sion of their deep sense of relief every time a speaker
greeted them as the equally natural children of this
motherland. Every time it was uttered “dear compa-
triots,” they felt as if they were refreshed with the
“magic water” of our Nusantara [Heimat, Vaterland].
On the fully programmed Sunday, they were spiritually
invigorated by their solemn recognition as brothers and
sisters, made by the government’s high officials of the
Indonesian Republic.18
Derartige Inszenierungen dienten der Demonstra-
tion der (erfolgreichen) Inkorporation der Chine-
sen mittels indonesisasi und demonstrierten die
Verbannung des Chinesischen als indonesische Er-
folgsstory.
Die Verbannung und Diskriminierung des Chi-
nesischen führte dazu, dass Chinesen 32 Jahre ge-
zwungen waren, ihre chinesische Identität - bzw.
ihren chinesischen Identitätsanteil - zu verbergen.
Die Eindrücke seiner Jugend und die Erfahrungen
seiner Eltern schildernd, meinte ein Chinese zu
mir: “Am besten war dran, wer nicht als Chine-
se erkannt wurde, also versuchte jeder, der nicht
allzu chinesisch aussah, seine chinesische Her-
kunft zu verbergen und sich als etwas anderes
auszugeben.”
17 Die Pancasila (fünf Prinzipien) sind die Grundpfeiler der
indonesischen Staatsdoktrin. Sie wurden bereits 1945 in
die Präambel der Verfassung aufgenommen und 1985 zum
obersten Glaubensprinzip aller Massenorganisationen und
Parteien erklärt. Die fünf Prinzipien lauten: 1) Glaube
an den einen allmächtigen Gott (Monotheismus), 2) eine
gerechte und zivilisierte Menschheit, 3) die Einheit Indone-
siens, 4) Demokratie, basierend auf der indonesischen Dorf-
demokratie, 5) soziale Gerechtigkeit für alle Indonesier.
18 Informasi, 1.4.1980: 12, zitiert in Simbolon 1991:24.
■
-
164
Jacqueline Knörf
Zum besonderen Verhältnis von Chinesen
und Betawi
Die Beziehungen zwischen Betawi und Peranakan
sind bis heute besonders eng und es existieren auf-
grund der historisch gewachsenen Verbindungen
auch viele kulturelle Gemeinsamkeiten - entschei-
dende Gründe dafür, dass zwischen Betawi und
Peranakan nicht nur differenziert wird, sondern
dass es auch Überschneidungen der identitären Zu-
ordnungen gibt. Da Indigenität innerhalb Jakartas
nicht nur mit indonesischer Identität, sondern auch
mit den Betawi assoziiert wird, wird der Diskurs
um die Indigenität bzw. Exogenität des Chinesi-
schen dort auch mit Blick auf sein Verhältnis zur
Betawi-Kultur und -Identität geführt (vgl. Knörr
2007).
Die massive Unterdrückung und weitreichen-
de Verbannung des Chinesischen während der
Suharto-Ära fiel zeitlich zusammen mit der staatli-
chen Förderung und dem Aufschwung der Betawi,
der indigenen Bevölkerung Jakartas.
Die Betawi - ca. 2,5 von insgesamt 11 Milli-
onen Menschen, die in Jakarta leben - sind Er-
gebnis interethnischer Prozesse, die während der
Kolonialzeit stattfanden, als Jakarta Batavia bzw.
auf Indonesisch Betawi hieß. Ein erheblicher An-
teil dieser Menschen wurde seit dem 17. Jh. von
verschiedenen süd- und südostasiatischen Regio-
nen aus nach Batavia gebracht, Regionen, welche
die Holländer von den Portugiesen erobert hatten
(Abeyasekere 1983, 1989). Später wurden viele
von Bali und anderen Inseln des indonesischen
Archipels aus nach Batavia verschifft, wo sie als
Sklaven, Bedienstete und Soldaten den holländi-
schen Kolonialherren und anderen einflussreichen
Bevölkerungsgruppen (wie den Chinesen) dienten
(Taylor 1983; Haan 1935). Die Holländer zo-
gen diese importierten Arbeitskräfte den einheimi-
schen vor, da letztere zu Rebellionen neigten. Die
Holländer versuchten anfangs auch die Bevölke-
rung Batavias nach ethnischen Gesichtspunkten
anzusiedeln, gaben diesen (vergeblichen) Versuch
jedoch bereits 1828 wieder auf. Dies hatte zum
einen eine allgemeine Zunahme interethnischen
Kontaktes und interethnischer Vermischung zur
Folge. Zum anderen intensivierte sich dadurch
auch jener spezifische Kreolisierungsprozess, der
unter der im Ursprung fremden und heteroge-
nen Bevölkerung Batavias und der Ommelanden
unter Einbeziehung Einheimischer stattfand und
die Entstehung der Gruppe der Betawi zur Folge
hatte. Die Betawi hatten als Sklaven und meist
niedrigrangige Bedienstete lange kaum Zugang zu
moderner Bildung. Sie waren bis auf kleine Min-
derheiten Muslime und blieben ihren Traditionei1
stärker verhaftet als jene Menschen, die in enge'
rem Kontakt zur kolonialen Elite und deren BÜ'
dungseinrichtungen standen. Entsprechend waren
es nicht die Betawi, die nach Erlangung der Un-
abhängigkeit 1949 die indonesische Elite im post'
kolonialen Jakarta bildeten, sondern hauptsächlich
Personen javanischer Herkunft und Personen aus
entlegeneren Regionen (Castles 1967). Auch in der
frühen postkolonialen Zeit waren die Betawi sozial
benachteiligt. Der junge indonesische Staat mied
die Auseinandersetzung mit der jüngsten kolonU'
len Vergangenheit und dieses Vermeiden betrat
auch die Betawi, die als ehemalige Sklaven eine
unangenehme und unerwünschte Erinnerung an d|6
Kolonialzeit darstellten und die als rückständig
und modernisierungsunwillig verrufen waren.
Die Einstellung gegenüber den Betawi begaU1
sich jedoch Mitte der 1960er Jahre zu wandeln-
Ihnen widerfuhr zunehmende Aufmerksamkeit un11
bald auch staatliche Förderung. Eine Vielzahl v°n
Forschungsprojekten zur Betawi-Kultur wurde i*1'
itiiert und der Versuch unternommen, speziell
Wohngebiete für Betawi zu reservieren, um die B6'
Währung ihrer Traditionen zu gewährleisten. Ül6
Präsentation von Betawi-Kultur in Form von Tan2,
Theater und Musik gehört seither zum Standard'
Programm der meisten öffentlichen Veranstalte111'
gen in Jakarta.19
Warum nun dieser Sinneswandel gegenüber de11
Betawi? Wesentliche Gründe sind ihr kreolisch^
Entstehungskontext, ihre heterogenen Ursprüng^;
Diese bedingen, dass Betawi-Kultur und -Identfta
heute sowohl ethnische als auch transethnisc^
Identifikationen erlauben, ein Umstand wiedef
um, der im ethnisch extrem heterogenen Jaka1"
ta der Gegenwart zunehmende Bedeutung erhat •
Während der Prozesse der Kreolisierung wurde11
Merkmale der verschiedenen lokalen Kulturen
sowohl fremder als auch indigener Herkunft
in die entstehende Kultur der Betawi inkoift11
riert. Das macht es auch Personen, die sich mc
als (ethnische) Angehörige der Betawi begreif61*’
leicht, sich (partiell) mit der Betawi-Kultur
identifizieren, da diese Merkmale ihrer jeweilig
eigenen (ethnischen) Kultur enthält und man 4
von ausgehen kann, dass es auch den einen 0 ^
anderen gemeinsamen Vorfahren gibt (vgl. Kn
1995, 2007). üf
Ein weiterer, politisch gewichtiger Grund
die Attraktivität der Betawi ist die Tatsache, da^
sie aufgrund ihres heterogenen Ursprungs 2
19 Siehe Wijaya 1976; Shahab 1994; Knörr 2007.
103
.2008
Anthropos
165
Indigenisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung
emen ethnische Vielfalt repräsentieren, zum an-
dren aber auch die Fähigkeit, im gesellschaftli-
chen Kontext ethnischer Diversität eine neue und
gemeinsame Gruppenidentität zu kreieren. Die-
doppelte Repräsentation entspricht in beson-
derer Weise dem nationalen Motto der “Einheit
111 Vielfalt” (Bhinneka Tunggal Ika), das im Zen-
trum der indonesischen Staatsideologie der Pan-
cdsila steht und mittels dessen ethnische und kul-
jdmlle Diversität als Wurzel der (indonesischen)
Nation konzeptualisiert, kommuniziert und insze-
niert wird.20 Die Betawi demonstrieren demzu-
p §e, dass ethnische Diversität im Ursprung die
ntwicklung gemeinsamer Identität nicht behin-
em muss. Im Gegenteil: die Betawi eignen sich
yS hervorragendes Beispiel dafür, dass “Einheit in
lelfalt” tatsächlich funktionieren kann. In dersel-
en Art und Weise, wie die Betawi die verschiede-
nen kulturellen Merkmale ihrer diversen Herkünfte
^tegrierten und zu Betawi wurden, so lautet die
^°tschaft, so sollen die verschiedenen ethnischen
ruPpen Indonesiens zu “Orang Indonesia” wer-
zu einer Nation, welche die verschiedenen
hnischen Identitäten ihrer Angehörigen als Wur-
m begreift und sie in friedvoller und fruchtbarer
** und Weise integriert. Die Betawi fungieren
als Gegenbild zur Erfahrung und zum medial
^rbreiteten Bild der ethnischen und religiösen
v°nflikthaftigkeit Indonesiens und als Hoffnungs-
^ ger gegen die Gefahr nationaler Desintegration,
^ass die Betawi zudem in Jakarta beheimatet sind,
£ r indonesischen Hauptstadt, die das nationale
yitibol schlechthin sowohl der ethnischen Diver-
i at als auch der nationalen Einheit Indonesiens
rü,lst aus dieser - politischen - Sicht sicher als
^ksfall zu betrachten.
u f"Urück zum speziellen Verhältnis von Chinesen
s Betawi. Wie eingangs erwähnt, haben sich
c^. Beginn der holländischen Kolonialherrschaft
Se nesische und Betawi-Kultur in besonderer Wei-
p pgenseitig beeinflusst. Merkmale chinesischer
d tUr sind in die Kultur der Betawi, Merkmale
¡¿Kultur der Betawi in die Kultur der Chinesen
^ §rmrt worden. Gemeinsamkeiten finden sich
pr ' Hochzeitszeremonien, Sprache, religiöser
a*18’ Tanz, Musik und Kleidung.21
2l
^ "
,1^ 'ndonesischen Nationalismus und zum Verhältnis von
s niScher Diversität und nationaler Identität in Indonesien
^ bspw ßertrand 2004; Drake 1989; Hubinger 1992; Knörr
Sf*7; Moosmüller 1999; Wandelt 1989.
Se lusse 1991; Grijns 1976; vgl. Tan 1991, der sich in die-
<« , Zusammenhang mit der Problematik der Bezeichnung
nic Chinese” auseinandersetzt.
At>th,
r°Pos 103.2008
Auch im identitären Bezugsfeld von Betawi und
Peranakan entstanden Mischformen, die Perana-
kan und Betawi miteinander verbinden. So gibt es
Gruppen, die als “Hitachi” bezeichnet werden -
ein Akronym von hitam tapi Cina, “schwarz aber
Chinesisch”. Die so Bezeichneten werden also als
“schwarz” angesehen, was soviel heißt, dass sie
wie Indonesier bzw. Betawi aussehen, aber “ei-
gentlich” Chinesen sind.22 Es handelt sich dabei
um Nachkommen alteingesessener Peranakan, die
in den Randgebieten Jakartas und in angrenzenden
Städten leben. Aufgrund ihrer Lebensweise, ihres
sozialen Status und ihres Aussehens passen sie
einerseits am ehesten zu den Betawi, werden aber
andererseits aufgrund ihrer buddhistischen bzw.
konfuzianischen Religionszugehörigkeit als Chi-
nesen angesehen. Auch “Betawi Tionghoa” und
“Cina Betawi” sind übliche Bezeichnungen in die-
sem identitären Zwischenfeld, in dem die Gren-
zen fließend sind und es oft der Kontext, die Si-
tuation oder persönliche Einschätzungen sind, die
darüber entscheiden, welche identitäre Zuordnung
als passend empfunden wird. Dieselben Personen
und Gruppen werden mal als Cina Betawi, mal
als Peranakan, mal als Hitachi bezeichnet. Mittels
der Bezeichnung Peranakan wird allgemein die
(vergleichsweise) Indigenität der so Bezeichneten
hervorgehoben, die Indigenität, die sie von den
“Totok” unterscheidet. Mittels der spezifischeren
Bezeichnungen Cina Betawi, Hitachi etc. werden
sowohl die Zugehörigkeit zu den Betawi durch
den chinesischen Identitätsanteil relativiert bzw.
differenziert als auch umgekehrt die Zugehörig-
keit zu den Chinesen durch den Betawi-Anteil der
Identität.
Die Ambivalenz in der Zuordnung der Hitachi
bzw. Cina Betawi als (eher) Betawi oder Chinesen
findet sich auch in der Literatur zum Thema. So
ordnet Allen (2003: 393) die Hitachi als Betawi
ein, indem sie schreibt: “Many Betawi (indigenous
Jakartans) are known as ‘Hitachi,’ which Stands
for ‘Hitam tapi Cina’ (brown-skinned Chinese).”23 *
Lohanda (2001:31) hingegen erklärt die Cina-
Betawi zu Peranakan: “Among the peranakan Chi-
nese living in Java are the so-called Cina-Betawi.”
Shahab scheint sich nicht ganz entscheiden zu
können, inwieweit die Cina Betawi nun (richtige)
Betawi sind oder lediglich “nah dran” sind. Sie
22 Im Vergleich zu Chinesen gelten Indonesier als dunkel, als
hitam (schwarz).
23 Die Übersetzung ist hier ungenau und missverständlich -
tapi ist die Abkürzung von tetapi, was “aber”/“jedoch”
bedeutet. Das Sichtbare (die dunkle Hautfarbe) ist also das
Indonesische, das Eigentliche aber das Chinesische.
166
hält den religiösen Unterschied für entscheidend
(1994:146):
Thus the Cina kampung[24] are closer to the indigenous
people than to other Chinese and it is difficult sometimes
for outsiders to differentiate physically between Cina
kampung and indigenous people ... The most obvious
difference between the Cina Betawi, either those who
are in Jakarta or those who are in Tanggerang, and the
other Betawi in general is in their religion. Most of the
Cina Betawi are either Buddhist or Confucianists.
Jacqueline KnÖft
nesisch sie sein mochten, so blieben sie doch kub
turelle Repräsentationen der Betawi. Eine älter0
Frau, die sich als Peranakan bezeichnete, mein'
te: “Ich weiß, dass die Betawi viele chinesische
Bräuche haben oder Bräuche, die auch chinesische
Spuren haben. Aber sie sind trotzdem Betawi, weil
sie von den Betawi sind, sie gehören den BetaWi-
Deshalb kann ich zwar das Chinesische sehen, abef
ich kann es nicht fühlen, weil ich keine BetaWi
bin.”
Es gibt auf dem Hintergrund der - am eigenen
Leib - erlebten Gemeinsamkeiten und Unterschie-
de häufig auch däs Bedürfnis bzw. die Überzeu-
gung, einfach beides zu sein, Chinese und Betawi.
Eine junge Frau erklärte: “Wir sind Betawi, weil
unsere Kultur mehr Betawi ist und wir Bahasa
Betawi sprechen. Aber wir sind auch Chinesen, Pe-
ranakan, weil wir konfuzianischen Glaubens sind
und chinesische Vorfahren haben. Wir sind bei-
des.”
Es gibt in besagtem identitärem “Zwischenfeld”
auch Gruppen, die Muslime sind, deren religiöse
Praxis jedoch von buddhistischen Ritualen geprägt
ist, so dass sie häufig auch als “Betawi Buddha”
bezeichnet werden. Die islamische Religionszu-
gehörigkeit verstärkt hier zwar die Identität als
Betawi, die buddhistischen Einflüsse führen jedoch
dazu, dass ihre Akzeptanz seitens “nichtbuddhis-
tischer” Betawi (und anderer Muslime) dennoch
eingeschränkt ist.
Während das Chinesische “an sich” nun unter
Suharto unterdrückt und aus dem öffentlichen Le-
ben verbannt wurde, so wurde es im Zusammen-
hang der “Entdeckung” der Betawi als Bestandteil
deren Kultur (gleichzeitig) aufgewertet und - so-
zusagen versehentlich - mitgefördert. Chinesische
Kultur konnte so als Teil der Betawi-Kultur (auch
öffentlich) weiter bestehen, während ihre Praxis
in “Reinkultur” verboten war. Der in seinen Ur-
sprüngen heterogene Kultur- und Identitätskom-
plex “Betawi” beinhaltete während dieser Zeit also
eine gewisse Asylfunktion für das Chinesische. In
Betawi-“Verkleidung” konnte chinesische Kultur
- in kreolisierter Gestalt - als indigène Kultur
weiterbestehen, da sie so nicht als chinesisch und
in Folge nicht als antinational und subversiv ange-
sehen wurde.
Jedoch boten die chinesischen Anteile der
Betawi-Kultur vielen Chinesen keinen hinreichen-
den identitären Ersatz für das verbannte und ver-
botene Chinesische. Egal wie sichtbar (auch) chi-
24 Der Zusatz kampung verweist hier auf die dörfliche Umge-
bung, in der sie leben.
“Free the Dragon”: Das chinesische Revival
Die Chinesen waren von den politischen Unruhe11
1998, die schließlich zur Entmachtung Suhart°s
führten, besonders betroffen. Viele ihrer Häus#
und Geschäfte wurden von Randalierern in Braim
gesetzt und zerstört. Chinesen - und solche, №
man dafür hielt - wurden misshandelt und vefge'
waltigt. In Folge der Entmachtung Suhartos und U
Folge von reformasi, liberalisasi, demokratisasl
und desentralisasi setzte Abdurrahman Wahid "
der Nachfolger Suhartos und Habibies25 - 200u
das präsidentielle Dekret Nummer 14/1967 außer
Kraft, welches die Diskriminierung der Chib6'
sen legalisiert hatte.26 Diese Aufhebung staatlich^
Herabwürdigung sollte auch dazu beitragen, erneLl'
te Ausschreitungen gegen die Chinesen zu vef'
hindern. ,
Seitdem die Diskriminierung der Chinesen o11
die Verbannung des Chinesischen offiziell abg6'
schafft wurden, findet eine Revitalisierung chi^e
sischer Traditionen (auch) im öffentlichen Rafl^
statt (Abb. 2). Diese Prozesse der Wiederbe^
bung und Hervorhebung chinesischer Kultur 1111
Identität - die parallel zu den mittlerweile reC.
“etablierten” Prozessen des Revivals von BetaV1
Kultur und -Identität stattfinden - haben einßIJ
Diskurs entfacht, der sich mit der Beziehung ^
Kategorien “Peranakan” und “Betawi” zueinafld
auseinandersetzt, dies insbesondere, wo es def
Bedeutung für das Verhältnis ethnischer, lokal
und nationaler Identität betrifft.
25 Bachamddin Jusuf Habibie wurde 1998 Vizepräsident v
nach Suhartos Rücktritt dritter Präsident von Indonesien ^
der Unabhängigkeit. Er verzichtete 1999 auf eine ern ^
te Kandidatur. Als sein Nachfolger wurde Abdurrah
Wahid gewählt. Zum Zusammenhang der antichinesis6 ^
Ausschreitung 1998 und den daraufhin unternommen61*
und allgemein als halbherzig eingeschätzten - Ref°r
mühungen Habibies s. Purdey 2005; Lindsey 2005.
26 Die neuen politischen und rechtlichen Entwicklung6*1
staatlichen Umgang mit den Chinesen erörtert Fre®
2003.
103.2°°8
Anthropos
167
*n(Jigenisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung
b|att , ' ^ree the Dragon” (Titel-
Nov 6r ^e'tschrift Jakarta Kini,
°Ventber 2000).
Plus: Jiffest guide • The World's best photos • Dan Kwan
fcbb-3:P
’^stivai ~°^rarnmdesPeranakan-
Vember 2ooo) {Jakarta Kini' No_
Peranakan Festival
What’s On
The Chinese Indonesian Peranakan Festival kicks
off with a series of seminars on 31 Oct-2 November at
LIPI Building, Jl Gatot Subroto, covering a huge range
of topics based around the influence of the Chinese in
Indonesia - from the role of Chinese women to feng
shui. There will also be a dinner and cultural show.
For more information, or registration (public fee
rp300,000), contact the Mitra Museum Secretariat at
Menara Batavia 11/F, Jl KH Mas Mansyur, tel 574 7569-
70, fax 574 7569,
end of January 2001
Performance; Wayang Orang by Peranakan Chinese
Artists
Gedung Kesenian, 380 8283,
end of January 2001
Exhibition: Chinese nuance in Indonesian Fine Arts
Museum Seni Rupa and Keramik, Kota. 690 7062,
end of January 2001 •
Exhibition: Peranakan Chinese Cultural Fieritage
Museum Sejarah, Kota. 692 9101. ,
•
end of January 2001 •
Exhibition: Maritime Trading Between China and *
Indonesia •
Museum Bahari, Pasar Ikan 669 3406. •
•
end of January 2001
Exhibition: Peranakan Chinese Art in textiles and «
accessories (includes decorative and ceremonial cloth •
and a fashion show) •
Museum Tekstil, Pusat. 560 6613. *
•
end of January 2001 •
Exhibition: Puppets and show of wayang potehi
Museum Wayang. 692 9560. *
•
plus.... •
Performance: Peranakan Chinese Traditional Music and •
Dances (Museum Sejarah, Museum Tekstil, LIPI *
Auditorium, Teluk Naga Tangerang); Food Festival; as •
part of the exibitions and TV talk show. •
Vh
lr°Pos 103.2008
168
Jacqueline KnöU
Suku Bangsa Indonesia
Trotz der Liberalisierung des politischen und ge-
sellschaftlichen Lebens ziehen es die meisten Chi-
nesen bislang vor, ihre chinesische Identität nicht
allzu sehr zu betonen. Zum einen vermag man
noch nicht so recht daran zu glauben, dass Chine-
sen dauerhaft von Diskrimierung und Bedrohung
verschont bleiben. Zum anderen befürchten vie-
le Chinesen, dass ein öffentliches Betonen und
Bekennen chinesischer Identität als Beeinträchti-
gung ihrer indonesischen Staatsbürgerschaft wahr-
genommen würde. Jene Chinesen, die nun ihre
chinesischen Traditionen aufleben lassen und die
das Revival chinesischer Kultur und Identität be-
grüßen bzw. betreiben, betonen oft und eindrück-
lich, dass sie dies als Indonesier tun (Abb. 3). Ein
junger Chinese erklärte mir in diesem Zusammen-
hang:
Chinesen, die in Indonesien geboren und aufgewachsen
sind, fühlen sich ganz klar als indonesische Staatsbürger,
nicht als chinesische. Sie fühlen sich genauso indone-
sisch wie Sundanesen oder Javaner, weil das ihr Land
ist. Wenn wir also jetzt wieder unser Neujahr traditionell
begehen, dann tun wir das so, wie andere ethnische
Gruppen ihr Brauchtum pflegen. Das macht uns nicht
weniger indonesisch.
Das Revival des Chinesischen wird also nicht etwa
in erster Linie von den chinesischsten unter den
Chinesen betrieben, sondern eher von den indo-
nesischsten unter ihnen. Häufig wird in diesem
Zusammenhang auch betont, dass man Peranakan
sei und gemischt - “wie die meisten chinesischen
Indonesier.”
Die öffentliche Revitalisierung des Chinesi-
schen wird also seitens der Chinesen genutzt, um
sich als (ethnische) Gruppe innerhalb der indone-
sischen Nation - als suku bangsa Indonesia - zu
präsentieren. Jene Chinesen, die weitgehend unter
sich bleiben, sind nicht ausgestorben; sie sind aber
nur selten am öffentlichen Revival chinesischer
Traditionen beteiligt. Das öffentliche Revival des
Chinesischen wird von jenen betrieben, die gerade
nicht unter sich bleiben wollen, sondern die sich
im Gegenteil auf der Bühne des öffentlichen Le-
bens zurückmelden wollen, indem sie den chine-
sischen Anteil an indonesischer und jakartanischer
Kultur und Identität zum Ausdruck bringen. Ein
älterer chinesischer Aktivist erklärte hierzu:
Die Chinesen, die das machen, wollen wieder - wie
früher - durch ihre Feste Kontakte zu allen Menschen
in Jakarta herstellen. Wir machen das nicht für Chinesen,
sondern für alle Menschen in Jakarta. Wir freuen uns,
wenn alle mitmachen. Man kann chinesische Traditione11
gut und interessant finden, auch wenn man kein Chinese
ist. Wir sind Teil Jakartas, Teil Indonesiens.
Es geht also darum, die chinesische Identität in
ihrer Peranakan-Variante als eine der ethnische!1
Identitäten zu behaupten, die in Indonesien zü
Hause sind und ihr im Rahmen der staatliche11
Doktrin der Bhinneka Tunggal Ika einen mit ah'
deren ethnischen Identitäten gleichwertigen su№
bangsa-Status zu verleihen (vgl. hierzu Unidjaja
and Gunawan 2004).
Impressionen: Der verhaltene Einzug des Drachens
Im Folgenden werden einige Eindrücke wieder
gegeben, die schon einige Zeit zurückliegen un6
Auskunft geben über identitäre Prozesse kurz nad1
dem Ende der Suharto-Ära.
Das chinesische Neujahrsfest im Februar 200°
läutete das Jahr des Drachens ein, der im chines1'
sehen Tierkreiszeichen am ranghöchsten ist. Dlß
Feierlichkeiten wurden in Glodok, dem größt611
Chinesenviertel der Stadt, und in vielen andere11
Stadtteilen begangen. Im Vergleich zu den 16°'
haften Schilderungen chinesischer Festivitäten №
1950er/1960er Jahre wirkte der Großteil der
den Straßen stattfindenden Feierlichkeiten, die ^
in der Sylvesternacht und am Neujahrstag verfolg
te, eher verhalten und ausgelassen ging es seit011
zu. Man hatte im Jahr 2000 noch kein großßS
Vertrauen in die neue Freiheit und insbesofid6'
re die Chinesen wagten es nicht, sich allzu üüs'
drucksstark an chinesischer Kultur zu erfreu611'
Ein (nichtchinesischer) Zuschauer, mit dem ichlllS
Gespräch kam, sagte: “Ich weiß nicht, ob das hl6f
gut ist. Irgendwie hätte ich als Chinese doch Angsl’
dass wieder was passiert.”
An weniger öffentlichen Orten ging es hihße
gen etwas ungezwungener zu. In besagter N6Ü
jahrsnacht befand ich mich in einer kleinen B .
in Kebon Sirih, in der eine chinesische serem°
angekündigt worden war. Da ich hier bereits 61
Art Stammgast war, war mir ein Großteil des Pu
blikums und Personals bekannt und ich wusste v°
den meisten unter ihnen auch, welcher ethnisch
Gruppe sie sich zugehörig fühlten. Die sere
ni begann mit dem Einzug der Katze (Zeich ^
des Jahres 1999), die sodann von dem ihr a
den Fersen befindlichen Drachen vertrieben wuf .
Dieses Spektakel wurde vor allem von den Beta
im Publikum ausgelassen verfolgt, während
meisten anderen - einschließlich der Chinesen
vergleichsweise unbeteiligt wirkten. Nachdem
Anthropos 103-20°
169
digenisierung
versus Re-Ethnisiemng
, rache die Lokalität verlassen hatte, führten einige
Junge Frauen und Männer einen Topeng Betawi
jenen Tanz, der besonders in seiner Verwen-
tuig von Masken stark von chinesischen Tradi-
’°nen beeinflusst ist, aber primär als kulturelle
^Präsentation der Betawi gilt. Im Anschluss san-
§en einige junge Frauen aktuelle und besonders
P°Puläre Dangdut27 Betawi-Songs, die allgemein
§roßen Beifall fanden. Viele der anwesenden Be-
tanzten und wurden von den anderen Anwe-
Senden angefeuert und zunehmend auch tanzend
^terstützt.28 Dangdut ist die populärste Musik in
akarta. “Dangdut Betawi” ist nicht etwa Ausdruck
^°n Betawi-Identität ethnischer Referenz, wie der
arne vermuten lässt, sondern Ausdruck jakartani-
scher (Jugend-)Kultur allgemein und gilt unter sei-
aen Anhängern als besonders keras, also als heftig,
erb und laut, was im gegebenen Fall durchaus
P°sitiv gemeint ist. So wie der Betawi-Dialekt in
Sein «
nier modernen” bzw. urbanen Variante sprachli-
•ner Ausdruck urbaner und jugendlicher Lebensart
^ ’ so ist Dangdut Betawi ihr musikalischer Aus-
Die Abfolge der Repräsentationen bei diesem
ütesischen Neujahrsfest in einem multiethni-
J^en Umfeld im Zentrum Jakartas begann also
^ * Radierten chinesischen Repräsentationen, wur-
ßefolgt von chinesisch geprägten Betawi-Re-
asentationen und endete in transethnischen Re-
, asentationen jakartanischer Jugendkultur und
oanität. Der Topeng Betawi wurde aufgeführt
fn? ^etawh wobei auch zwei Leute an der Auf-
. arung teilnahmen, die - als einzige Betawi unter
t . lnesen - zuvor an der chinesischen Formation
^ genommen hatten. Eine Tänzerin des Topeng
^etawi wiederum sang später in einem Dangdut-
mit. Das ethnisch heterogene Publikum nahm
aHen Vorführungen rege Anteil und beteiligte
an
er Name ist onomatopoetisch zu verstehen - bezieht sich
So auf den Grundlaut der Musik: dang-dut. Es gibt eine
§r°ße Bandbreite von Musik, die als Dangdut bezeichnet
Es handelt sich um eine Mischung aus malayischer
0rkes melayü) und indischer Musik, die mit westlichen und
arabischen Rock- und Popelementen angereichert ist. Es
° 1 auch verschiedene “Ethnoversionen”, innerhalb derer
Plüsche ethnische Merkmale integriert werden, dies
eist in sprachlicher Form, aber auch durch das Einbringen
28 Jüdischer ethnischer Musikstile.
p le Schon häufig zuvor fiel mir auf, dass zwei jener
^ers°nen, die mir als Javaner bekannt waren, das ganze
Pcktakel zwar mäßig amüsiert, aber vergleichsweise di-
g nziert betrachteten. Besonders unter den Javanern gelten
¡^^''Gebräuche als derb und grob und sie kommentieren
e diesbezügliche Einstellung häufig mit terlalu keras!,
8 soviel heißt wie “zu laut”, “zu grob”, “zu ungestüm”.
0 auch in diesem Fall.
Anthr<
°Pos 103.2008
sich zunehmend an den Tanz- und Gesangsein-
lagen.
Am Neujahrstag geriet ich in einer kleinen Sei-
tenstraße in Kebon Sirih in ein Fest zum chine-
sischen Neujahr. Auch hier waren viele Betawi
und (weniger) Chinesen beteiligt. Die Betawi, die
hier leben, gehören zu jenen, die schon seit vielen
Generationen dort ansässig und - im Gegensatz zu
vielen anderen innerstädtischen Betawi - nicht in
die Randgebiete der Stadt umgesiedelt (worden)
sind.29 Auch einige Chinesen, vor allem solche
der Mittelschicht, leben dort oder arbeiten in den
Büros in der näheren Umgebung. Während der
Drache durch die Straßen zog, standen viele Leute
zuschauend am Straßenrand oder begleiteten ihn
auf seinem Umzug. Auf meine Frage, ob dies nicht
eher eine chinesische Tradition sei, meinte eine
junge Frau: “Ja, aber das macht uns auch Spaß.
Außerdem ist das so ein bisschen wie die ondel-
ondel-Umzüge der Betawi”, - wie jene Umzüge
also, die aus kostümierten und maskierten Tänzern
bestehen und die besonders anlässlich des “Ge-
burtstags” Jakartas stattfinden. Eine andere, ältere
Frau meinte: “Ich finde es gut, dass es das wieder
gibt und deswegen schaue ich zu. Es ist gut, wenn
alle ihre Kultur leben dürfen.”
Da sich in der Betawi-Kultur viele chinesische
Elemente und in der chinesischen Kultur viele
Betawi-Elemente wiederfinden, wird das jeweils
(relativ) Eigene in den jeweils (relativ) anderen
Repräsentationen erkannt, was dazu beiträgt, das
die Repräsentationen in ihrer Gesamtheit von bei-
den Seiten leicht aufgegriffen und gewissermaßen
“mit-repräsentiert” werden können. Das Revival
des Chinesischen macht jedoch umgekehrt auch
bewusster, dass es einen Unterschied gibt zwi-
schen (Indo-)Chinesischem “an sich” und Chine-
sischem als Teil der Betawi-Kultur. Durch deren
Neben- und Miteinander werden gleichzeitig Ge-
meinsamkeiten (besser) erkennbar und Differen-
zierungen (wieder) möglich.
Viele Menschen in Jakarta begrüßen es, dass
auch Chinesen ihre Traditionen wieder öffentlich
pflegen und bewerten das gegenwärtige Revival
des Chinesischen dahingehend meist positiv. Dies
gilt jedoch primär für jenen Bereich kultureller
Traditionen, der als unpolitisch angesehen wird,
der “bunt” ist und an dem sich alle beteiligen
können.
29 Die Muster innerstädtischer Migration in Jakarta sowie
ihre sozialen Hintergründe erläutert Somantri 1995a, 1995b;
vgl. Dorleans (2002) zu den Spekulationen mit städtischem
Land in Jakarta.
170
Wider die Exklusion des Chinesischen
Ganz anders sieht es aus, wenn das Chinesische
sich exklusiv gibt. So wird es äußerst skeptisch
beurteilt, dass es wieder chinesische Fernseh- und
Radiosender gibt, die ihre Sendungen in chine-
sischer Sprache ausstrahlen. Die neuerliche Be-
schilderung mit chinesischen Schriftzeichen und
chinesischer Sprachunterricht für Kinder stoßen
auf Misstrauen und werden als Ab- und Aus-
grenzung, als chinesischen Sonderweg, kritisiert.
Einige Stimmen hierzu;
Warum machen die das? Die können doch alle Indone-
sisch. Das macht doch nur skeptisch. Als wollten sie
etwas vor uns verbergen.
Als wären sie etwas Besseres. Als wäre ihnen Indone-
sisch nicht gut genug. Als wollten sie nicht, dass wir sie
verstehen. Ich finde das verrückt!
Das ist sehr unklug, dass mit dem chinesischen Sender.
Da wird ihnen endlich mehr Freiheit erlaubt und dann
machen die so was. Das bestätigt doch Vorurteile -
dass die Chinesen sich für etwas Besseres halten, dass
sie untereinander bleiben wollen, dass sie keine loyalen
Bürger Indonesiens sind.
Eine Separierung des Chinesischen wird auch
als (potenziell) konspirativ betrachtet, dies nicht
wie früher im Sinne einer kommunistischen Ver-
schwörung, sondern als Verschwörung ökonomi-
scher Art, die chinesische Interessen unter Aus-
schluss aller Nichtchinesen miteinander vernetzt.
Dabei spielt eine Rolle, dass die Diskrepanz zwi-
schen dem imaginierten und dem tatsächlichen
“Reichtum” der Chinesen weiterhin existiert und
ein paar chinesische Monopolisten das Bild vom
Chinesen allgemein bestimmen, wenngleich die
Mehrheit der Chinesen einfache Kaufleute, Händ-
ler und Angestellte sind. Viele Chinesen halten es
deshalb auch für wichtig, bezüglich des revival-
bezogenen finanziellen Aufwandes Maß zu halten.
So meinte ein Mann zu mir;
Ich finde es gut, dass wir wieder unser chinesisches Neu-
jahr feiern können. Aber wir sollten das nicht zu pompös
gestalten, sondern eher im kleinen Rahmen. Aber vor
allem in diesen ökonomisch schwierigen Zeiten müssen
wir aufpassen, nicht etwa Reichtum zur Schau zu stellen.
Schließlich leiden viele unserer Landsleute.
Auch Kritik an Indonesien seitens seiner chinesi-
schen Bürger wird - selbst wo sie sich auf die ei-
gens erfahrene Diskriminierung bezieht - vielfach
als mangelnde Loyalität gegenüber Indonesien und
als selbstexkludierendes Verhalten bewertet. Ent-
sprechend fällt auf, dass im Rahmen des Revivals
Jacqueline
des Chinesischen auch in der Literatur und in den
Medien zwar häufig gegen die Diskriminierung b#
Chinesen Stellung bezogen wird, gleichzeitig ab#
auch immer die enge Verbindung der Chinesen
zu Indonesien zum Ausdruck gebracht wird. Me#
Eindruck bestätigt hier den von Turner (2003) and
Allen (2003).
Indigenisierung statt Re-Ethnisierung
Die Furcht vor der Separierung und ExkludieruüS
der Chinesen weist darauf hin, dass chinesisch6
Identität auch heute nicht in derselben Weise ab
eine der ethnischen Identitäten innerhalb Indon6'
siens betrachtet wird, wie dies bei den verschieb6'
nen anderen ethnischen Identitäten indonesische1
Provenienz der Fall ist. Chinesische Identität S^{
- insbesondere in ihrer “Totok”-Variante - im#6f
noch (auch) als nationale Identität - und inn#'
halb Indonesiens als anders-nationale Identität,
Nation in der Nation, die als solche teils im1^6!
noch gefürchtet wird. Chinesische Identität wh
deshalb bislang nicht in derselben Weise wie anb6'
re ethnische Identitäten als die Bhinneka Tungga
Ika - die (nationale) Einheit in (ethnischer) Vieh
falt - konstituierend angesehen. Chinesische ##
indonesische Identität werden also - trotz des Ah'
baus von Diskriminierung und trotz des Revival8
chinesischer Kultur - auch heute nur als beding
kompatibel angesehen. Dies hat zur Folge, basS
viele und insbesondere jüngere Chinesen in
karta alternative Identifikationen ins Zentrum ihr6r
Identität stellen, die ihre Indigenität zum Ausdru6^
bringen. Sie tun dies in Form iram'ethnischer
ethnischer Indigenisierung.
Transethnische Indigenisierung im Kontext
der Kategorie “Orang Jakarta”
Ein junger Chinese erklärte mir, er sei O##?
Jakarta und erwiderte auf meine Frage, ob
Betawi sei: “Betawi bin ich nicht, denn #6lil
Vorfahren sind Chinesen, keine Betawi. Sie hab
sich nicht integriert in die ethnische Grupp6 a t
Betawi. Wir sind keine Muslime, praktizieren #c
die Betawi-Kultur. Aber wir sind Orang Jak#
Asli [echte Jakartaner]. Jakarta ist unsere Hei#
So wie sie die Heimat der Betawi ist.” u
Für das weitere Verständnis ist es wichtig A
wissen, dass die Kategorie “Orang Jakarta” zW
Bedeutungen hat. Zum einen ist es eine Bezel^ ß
nung für die ethnische Gruppe der Betawi,
neben der Bezeichnung (Orang) Betawi verwaü
Anthropos
103
.20Ö8
171
n(%enisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung
Wlrd. Häufig wird dann der Zusatz “Asli” hinzu-
§e%, um zu verdeutlichen, dass es sich bei den
0 Gezeichneten um die “ethnischen” Jakartaner
t ndelt. Zum anderen bedeutet die Bezeichnung
t rang Jakarta” einfach (“un-ethnisch”) “Jakar-
Пег”. Orang Jakarta werden neben den Betawi
^ Ca jene genannt, die schon lange in Jakarta le-
en und die als “typisch jakartanisch” angesehen
erden. Gelegentlich wird auch hier ein “Asli”
nzugefügt, das dann jedoch nicht auf die ethni-
ne Qualität der jakartanischen Identität verweist,
*ndern lediglich auf die eigene Indigenität und
«thentizität als Jakartaner. Dass die Bezeichnung
. rang Jakarta” einmal ethnisch gemeint ist und
nn die Betawi bezeichnet und einmal transeth-
• Ca ~ im Sinne Jakartaner - führt dazu, dass
die sich zwar als Jakartaner fühlen, aber nicht
l s Getawi, ihr gegenüber oft gemischte Gefühle
aben (vgl. Knörr 2002).
Insbesondere vielen Chinesen in Jakarta (aber
tr'cbt nur ihnen) ist die Kategorie “Orang Jakarta”
2 ihrer Ambivalenz als indigene Identität urba-
Щ ^Uschnitts willkommen. Sie betonen mit Blick
die Betawi-Konnotation, dass Orang Jakarta
die ^entasch sei mit Orang Betawi. Insbesondere
p,e Tatsache, dass auch heute mit den Betawi oft
^Inständigkeit und ein Mangel an Bildung und
^isiertheit assoziiert wird, bewirkt, dass sie sich
s Orang Jakarta von den Betawi abgrenzen:
und Betawi sin<d anders. Sie sind strenge Muslime
rriQcl Gaben wenig Interesse an moderner Bildung und
j^i fnen Berufen. Sie haben ganz eigene Traditionen,
£ 6nen П nichts anfangen kann. Aber ich bin wie die
l^ierWl ^e*nj Jn^^n Asli, weil schon meine Vorfahren
ebten und ich hier geboren wurde.
Ich к-
\ya ln Orang Jakarta. Ich bin hier geboren, hier aufge-
liier SCn' n^ciic hier und meine ganze Familie ist
üe/ r^6'116 Freunde sind hier und meine Geschäftspart-
hje'jTle Gagen, ob ich Betawi bin. Nein, das sind die,
spr etawi-Traditionen pflegen, einen eigenen Dialekt
Ich и 6n Un(l ziemlich altmodische Einstellungen haben.
ln modern und gebildet. Ich bin Orang Jakarta.
es ’ ha Chinesisch-Sein an Schrecken verliert und
birZu einem Revival chinesischer Kultur kommt,
keif* Kategorie “Orang Jakarta” die Möglich-
em C^nes*scBe Identität mit jakartanischer - und
So , ,lndonesischer - Indigenität zu verbinden, al-
se ,y.eicGzeitig chinesisch und indigen zu sein. Die-
sje entitäre Variante gewinnt an Attraktivität, weil
2ej.. as Chinesische nicht verleugnet und gleich-
1ад1§ hie Zugehörigkeit zu Jakarta und damit zu
rpjr°niesien verdeutlicht. Ein junger Mann erklärte
t°b7 Orang Jakarta bin ich ein Einheimischer
n8 asli] von Jakarta. Und damit auch Indo-
Anth
r°P°s 103.2008
nesier. Schließlich ist Jakarta die Hauptstadt von
Indonesien.” Die Kategorie “Orang Jakarta (Asli)”
relativiert also die chinesische Identität - nimmt
ihr den nationalen Bezug zu China -, indem sie
sie in Beziehung setzt zur eigenen Indigenität in-
nerhalb Jakartas und damit auch Indonesiens.
Es gibt in Jakarta - auch und besonders unter
Chinesen - solche, die sich generell gegen eine
Betonung ethnischer Identitäten aussprechen und
letztere als veraltet, provinziell und potenziell kon-
fliktär einordnen. Eine junge Chinesin betonte mir
gegenüber, dass es egal sei, “welcher ethnischen
Gruppe man angehört. Wichtig ist, was man für ein
Mensch ist”. Für Personen, die sich in dieser Weise
als Jakartaner begreifen, ist Jakarta ein melting pot,
der ethnische Identitäten an Bedeutung verlieren
und urbane, jakartanische Identität an Bedeutung
gewinnen lässt. Ein junger Mann meinte: “Ob man
jetzt Vorfahren hat, die Chinesen waren oder wel-
che, die aus Sumatra kamen, ist in einer Stadt
wie Jakarta egal. Hier wird man Orang Jakarta.
Stämme sind was für die Provinz, nichts für die
Stadt.”
Die explizite Ablehnung ethnischer Identität ist
unter Chinesen aber auch deshalb besonders aus-
geprägt, weil sie in ihrem speziellen Fall mit Dis-
kriminierung verbunden ist. Dass auch der junge
Mann, der die Stämme in die Provinz verfrachten
will, in Jakarta Unterschiede wahrnimmt, denen
ethnische Kategorien zugrunde liegen, wurde an
seiner Reaktion auf meine Anmerkung deutlich,
dass javanische Jakartaner doch meist auch auf
ihre javanische Identität hinweisen würden: “Klar,
Javaner zu sein ist ja auch kein Nachteil, im Ge-
genteil. Ein Großteil der Leute in der Politik und
der Verwaltung, in den hohen Positionen, sind Ja-
vaner. Also warum sollte man dann sagen, man sei
Orang Jakarta? Also, viele junge Leute sagen das
auch, aber sie sagen meist auch, dass sie Javaner
sind und sie pflegen auch ihre Traditionen, auch in
Jakarta.”
Ethnische Indigenisierung im Kontext
der Kategorie “Orang Betawi”
Vielen Chinesen genügt eine Indigenisierung via
Ausstattung mit transethnischer Identität nicht.
Als Folge der langjährigen Diskriminierung und
Verdrängung des Chinesischen ist bei ihnen ein
Bedürfnis nach ethnischer Identität indigener Zu-
ordnung entstanden, die einem Stigmatisierung er-
sparen und Anerkennung als indonesischer Staats-
bürger sichern soll. Dieses Bedürfnis ist umso
verständlicher, als dass (indigen-)ethnische Zuord-
172
nung in Indonesien nicht nur ein wichtiger Be-
standteil sozialer Identität ist, sondern auch die Zu-
gehörigkeit zur indonesischen Nation symbolisiert.
Viele Chinesen konvertieren zum Christentum und
geben sich als Menado aus. Die Menado sehen ver-
gleichsweise chinesisch aus, sind in Nordsulawesi
beheimatet und Christen.
Eine aufgrund des gestiegenen Ansehens der
Betawi zunehmend attraktive identitäre Alternative
besteht darin, als Betawi durchs Leben zu gehen
und es gibt immer mehr, insbesondere jüngere
Chinesen, die sich als Betawi bezeichnen. Unter
ihnen sind etliche, die in einer Betawi-Umgebung
aufgewachsen sind oder mit Betawi verwandt sind,
die den Betawi also von vorneherein nahe stehen.
So ziehen manche lediglich “formale” Konsequen-
zen aus sozialen und kulturellen Tatsachen. Eine
junge Frau sagte mir: “Ich habe mich eigentlich
noch nie so richtig als Chinesin gefühlt, sondern
mehr als Betawi. Meine Freunde waren Betawi, ich
spreche kein Chinesisch, sondern Betawi. Meine
Eltern haben aber schon darauf bestanden, dass
wir Chinesen sind. Ich sehe das jetzt anders und
sage, ich bin Betawi.”
Aber auch andere Chinesen, die bislang den
Betawi nicht sonderlich nahestanden, geben sich
zunehmend als Betawi aus. Während die Cina
Betawi bzw. Hitachi an sich kein neues Phänomen
sind, so ist die Betonung ihres Betawi-Seins doch
eine neuere Entwicklung. Aus dem Hitachi (hitam
tapi Cina, dem Betawi, der eigentlich Chinese ist)
wird sozusagen ein Chitahi (Cina tapi hitam), ein
Chinese, der eigentlich Betawi ist. Ein Mann, den
ich fragte, warum er sagt, er sei Betawi, während
sein Bruder sich als Peranakan bezeichnet, mein-
te: “In Indonesien ist man besser dran, wenn man
Betawi ist, als wenn man Chinese ist. Sehe ich aus
wie ein Chinese? Nein. Bin ich reich wie ein Chi-
nese? Nein. Also bin ich Betawi. Wenn mein Bru-
der sagt, er sei Peranakan, dann ist das in Ordnung,
aber ich fühle mich als Betawi.”
Das Betawi-Bewusstsein ist in den Gruppen, die
identitär irgendwo zwischen den Betawi und den
Chinesen angesiedelt sind, durch die Aufwertung
der Betawi und die damit verbundene öffentliche
Auseinandersetzung über kulturelle Aspekte ihrer
Kultur gewachsen. Die Tatsache, dass sich z. B.
künstlerische Ausdrucksformen von Chinesen und
Betawi auf dem Hintergrund ihrer wechselseitigen
Beeinflussung vielfach ähneln, erleichtert eine fle-
xible Interpretation ihrer ethnischen Herkunft und
Zuordnung. Dass die (auch) von den Cina Beta-
wi praktizierten Theater- und Musikstile Lenong,
Gambang Keromong und Cokek staatlicherseits zu
Betawi-Traditionen erklärt wurden, hat sich auch
Jacqueline K##
unter vielen Cina Betawi herumgesprochen.
Wert darauf legt, als Betawi anerkannt zu w6#
den, beruft sich so bei Zweifeln an der Authe11'
tizität der eigenen Betawi-Identität gelegentlich
auch auf staatliche Bestätigung: “Sogar der Go#
verneur sagt, dass Gambang Keromong und Coke*1
Betawi-Kultur ist. Und wir praktizieren beide8.
Also sind wir auch Betawi. Egal, ob wir Müsli#16
sind oder nicht. Es geht um Kultur und Traditio#
nicht um Religion.”
Wenngleich die kulturellen Gemeinsamkeit611
im Fall von Betawi und Chinesen zwar auch ii#6
identitäre Nähe erleichtern, wird diese Nähe du##
die verschiedenen Religionszugehörigkeiten oft aß
beeinträchtigt erlebt. Insbesondere in einer Umg6'
bung, die hauptsächlich von islamischen Beta#1
bewohnt wird, gelten nur muslimische Betawi at
“richtige” Betawi und will man als solcher a#
erkannt werden, muss man muslimisch sein od6r
es werden. Ein konversionswilliger junger Chin68ß
meinte zu mir:
Ich fühle mich den Betawi näher als den Chinesen. Ab0
muss ich auch zum Islam übertreten. Das heißt
dass ich kein Schweinefleisch mehr essen darf, a#
dann esse ich eben kein Schweinefleisch mehr. M#1#
Eltern fanden das erst nicht gut, aber sie versteh6#
dass es besser so ist für mich. Meine Freundin ist hal
Betawi, halb Sunda und wir möchten islamisch heirater1'
Es ist besser so und einfacher.
Personen, die sich selbst als chinesische Beta#1
begreifen, aber Buddhisten sind, empfinden ihr ZLl
gehörigkeitsgefühl zu den Betawi häufig durch
mangelnde Anerkennung seitens der islamisch6
Betawi getrübt. Zwei Frauen kommentierten #
Erfahrungen und Einstellungen folgendermaßen
Ich bin Betawi, aber eben nicht islamische, soa^6^
buddhistische Betawi. Es gibt viele Betawi, die
deshalb nicht als richtige Betawi anerkennen. DaS
schade, aber so ist das halt.
Wir haben schon immer Betawi-Traditionen gepfl6^
Es gibt aber viele Betawi, die sagen, wir wären k®
Betawi, weil wir keine Muslime sind. Die sagen ^
wir seien Chinesen. Ich fühle mich nicht als richtig
Chinese, auch wenn ich Buddhist bin und meine Vor
ren zum Teil Chinesen waren. Ich denke, ich bin Be*
Oft geht die identitäre “Betawi-Wende” heute
einer Konversion zum Christentum, meist z
Katholizismus, einher. Gegenüber der relativ
blierten Konversion zum Menado (s. o.) beinha
diese Variante den Vorteil, dass sie für Chin68
die in Jakarta beheimatet sind, einen höheren
thentizitätsgrad birgt: “Ich bin hier aufgewachs
103-
2008
Anthropos
173
^genisierung versus Re-Ethnisiemng
111 der Umgebung von Betawi. Diese Betawi sind
. viel ähnlicher als die Menado. Was habe ich
^ denen aus Menado zu tun, außer dass ich so
aussehe? Nichts.”
, Als Betawi erhält man die Möglichkeit, einer
eiltdeutig als indonesisch klassifizierten Gruppe
aHzugehören, die nicht nur in Jakarta beheimatet
sondern sogar als indigene Bevölkerung Jakar-
s gilt. Man kann Betawi werden, ohne notwendi-
gerweise zum Islam zu konvertieren. Wenngleich
le große Mehrheit der Betawi Muslime sind, so
^ird doch zunehmend bekannt, dass es insbeson-
dre christliche Minderheiten unter ihnen gibt. Ei-
d Konversion zum Christentum ist für Chinesen
^sichtlich ihrer alltäglichen und religiösen Ge-
wohnheiten deutlich unproblematischer als es eine
°nversion zum Islam wäre. Man kann weiterhin
q oweinefleisch verzehren und muss das tägliche
t häftsleben nicht zum fünfmaligen Beten un-
frechen. Als Muslim dürfte man weder einen
ar im Heim haben noch an traditionellen chi-
sischen Zeremonien teilnehmen, da diese aus
^füiischer Sicht verboten sind. Speisen im Haus
(nichtislamischen) Eltern wäre aufgrund der
jj iahr, über Geschirr und Besteck mit Schweine-
^ 1Sch in Berührung zu kommen, untersagt. Das
teenten Haus der Eltern wäre ebenfalls verbo-
rle ’• ^a slch dort ein Hund aufhalten könnte. Chi-
d|1Sche Rituale und Gewohnheiten sind leichter
hem christlichen, speziell dem katholischen
yjfuben -n zu bringen, innerhalb dessen
b are und Schutzheilige eine wichtige religiöse
v eotung haben, der Hundehaltung und Verzehr
M h ^bweinefleisch erlaubt. Der Katholizismus
^ zudem weniger mit den einstigen Kolonial-
tjs ep| in Verbindung gebracht als der Protestan-
^.fus. Eine wichtige Rolle spielt auch, dass die
tr°Ue im Falle einer Konversion zum Christen-
K goringfügiger ausfällt als dies im Fall einer
kj ^Version zum Islam der Fall ist. Ein junger
nn erklärte hierzu:
.
s^nd' 1Ch zum isiam übergetreten wäre, würde ich
des r Geäugt, ob ich mich auch gemäß den Regeln
uDcl ain Verhalte. Die meisten Leute hier sind Muslime
Abe S'16 Müssten, dass ich nicht immer ein Muslim war.
ko^ fa hem Katholisch-Sein ist das kein Problem. Da
flrier - keiner kontrollieren und ich kann meine Religion
ausüben, so wie es mir richtig erscheint.
h
eta. .
§eke 1 s*nd aus dieser Sicht nicht primär dadurch
^ahn nze^chuoL dass sie Muslime sind, sondern
s*hd rC ^ass s^e iudigene Einwohner Jakartas
.lne Konvertitin erklärte mir hierzu: “Die
1 sind hervorgegangen aus ganz vielen ver-
Kopos 103.2008
schiedenen Gruppen von Menschen. Chinesen wa-
ren ganz viele dabei. Also muss man nicht musli-
misch sein, um Betawi zu sein. Das behauptet nur
die Mehrheit der Betawi, weil die Mehrheit halt
muslimisch ist.”
Die meisten Chinesen, die “neue” Betawi wer-
den, gehören fortan zu den sogenannten Betawi
Kota,30 den (inner)städtischen bzw. “modernen”
Betawi. Das Revival von Betawi-ness31 wird maß-
geblich seitens der Betawi Kota betrieben und re-
präsentiert. Dies hat zur Folge, dass heute weniger
als früher Betawi-Sein automatisch mit Defiziten
in Sachen Bildung, Modernität und Urbanität as-
soziiert wird. Dies wiederum erleichtert es jenen
Chinesen, eine Identität als Betawi anzunehmen,
die für sich in Anspruch nehmen, gebildet, modern
und urban zu sein. Dies war auch die Meinung
eines jungen und neuen Betawi teils chinesischer
Herkunft:
Es ist doch nicht so, dass die Betawi lauter ungebildete,
laute Leute sind, die ihre Kinder nicht in die Schule
schicken und nur in der Moschee hocken. Das ist bei
den Betawi Kampung vielleicht so, aber doch nicht bei
den Betawi Kota.
Grund für die Annahme einer Identität als Betawi
ist aus Sicht der Chinesen in Jakarta also, dass
diese als ethnische Identität indigener - jakarta-
nischer und indonesischer - Provenienz sowohl
der eigenen lokalen Identität als Jakartaner als
auch der eigenen nationalen Identität als Indone-
sier mehr Authentizität und Anerkennung verleiht.
Man indigenisiert und indonesisiert sich sozusagen
gleichzeitig, wenn man die transethnische Iden-
tität als Jakartaner (Orang Jakarta) durch deren
ethnische Variante (Orang Betawi) ergänzt. Eine
Chinesin erklärte mir folgendermaßen, warum sie
sich als Betawi bezeichnete: “Wenn du Betawi bist,
ist klar, dass du Indonesier bist. Wenn du Chinese
bist, ist das längst nicht so klar.” Des Weiteren
birgt die Betawi-Identität gegenüber anderen ethni-
schen Identitäten für Chinesen den Vorteil, dass es
historisch gewachsene Überschneidungen mit dem
Chinesischen gibt. Man kann - sofern man will -
Betawi sein und - sozusagen darin inkorporiert -
Chinese. Aufgrund des heterogenen Entstehungs-
kontextes der Betawi ist es auch möglich, je nach
Erfordernis die ethnische oder die transethnische
30 Kota = Stadt. Zur Differenzierung verschiedener Betawi-
Gruppen s. Knörr 2007.
31 “Betawi-ness” ist ein Begriff, der primär von Akademikern
und Betawi-Promotern benutzt wird, der sich aber auch
darüber hinaus zunehmender Beliebtheit erfreut, z. B. in
Künstlerkreisen, unter Musikern (s. Knörr 2002).
174
Referenz der Betawi-Identität in den Vordergrund
zu stellen, sich also - vereinfacht gesagt - mal
als chinesischer Betawi, mal als Betawi-Chinese
zu präsentieren. Dabei besteht der wichtige Un-
terschied der “neuen” gegenüber den “alten” in-
dochinesischen Identitäten darin, dass erstere im
Gegensatz zu letzteren in Verbindung stehen mit
der urbanen und modernen Variante sowohl der
Betawi-Identität (Betawi Kota) als auch der Kate-
gorie “Orang Jakarta”.
Jenen Chinesen, die in Glodok und Mangga
Dua leben, steht die Option der (situativen) Kon-
version zum Betawi hingegen nicht so offen. Wer
chinesisch aussieht, in einem von Chinesen domi-
nierten Viertel wohnt und arbeitet, kann schlecht
eine andere als die chinesische Identität für sich
in Anspruch nehmen. Die Verwurzelung in chine-
sischer Kultur und Lebensart ist hier auch ausge-
prägter als in ethnisch heterogeneren Wohnvier-
teln. Betawi zu sein würde entsprechend eher zu
Distanzierung und Ausgrenzung führen. Dies gilt
umso mehr, als dass es in chinesischen Vierteln,
die bis in die jüngste Vergangenheit hinein in
besonderem Maße von gewalttätigen Übergriffen
betroffen waren, darauf ankommt, chinesische So-
lidarität zu beweisen.
Die Lust der Betawi an der Inkorporation:
Wider das Peranakan-Solo
Der Rückgang der Diskriminierung und Ausgren-
zung der Chinesen hat in Verbindung mit der all-
gemeinen Liberalisierung dazu geführt, dass sich
auch unter den Peranakan immer mehr Menschen
auf ihren chinesischen Identitätsanteil besinnen. In
Teilen fungiert die Revitalisierung des Chinesi-
schen so auch als Gegenbewegung zur Betawisie-
rung, indem sie das Chinesische in den Vorder-
grund rückt. Eine junge Chinesin sagte mir:
Viele chinesische Indonesier sind arm. Viele hier sind
chinesischen Ursprungs, werden aber als Betawi be-
zeichnet, weil sie so aussehen und arm sind. Aber eigent-
lich sind diese Betawi Hitachi oder Cina BentengJ321
Sie sind Chinesen, weil sie damals aus China kamen.
Sie sind chinesische Indonesier. So wie man javanischer
Indonesier sein kann oder Betawi-Indonesier.
Das Revival chinesischer Kultur und Identität be-
deutet aus Sicht vieler Betawi dann auch eine
Konkurrenz auf dem Feld jakartanischer Identitäts-
32 Anmerkungen zu diesen chinesischen Ansiedlungen findet
man in Anonymus (1840: 62).
Jacqueline Knöh
politik und es gibt viele Betawi, denen es nicü
gefällt, dass ihnen das Revival des Chinesisch211
in der kulturellen Szene Jakartas die Schau stiehl1.
Die öffentlichen Veranstaltungen, die im Zusam-
menhang der Wiederbelebung chinesischer Kulm1
stattfinden, erregen viel Aufsehen, auch deshalb
weil sie über 30 Jahre lang kaum stattgefund211
haben.
Die Kritik daran fällt aber besonders seh2llS
jener heftig aus, die als Betawi-Aktivisten bemüht
sind, den Kreis der Betawi durch Inkorporation s°
zu erweitern, dass die Betawi auch im politische11
Leben an Bedeutung gewinnen. Dieser Versu2
beinhaltet die Propagierung von Betawi-ness al
einer sowohl ethnischen als auch transethnischen "
sozialen und jakartanischen - Identität und hat das
Ziel, möglichst viele Menschen im Betawi-BootzlJ
versammeln, um auf politischer Ebene Anspruch
nach entsprechender Repräsentanz einfordern 2
können.
Da die Betawi aufgrund ihres kreolischen E^
stehungskontextes, der eine Heterogenität im Ef
sprung beinhaltet, hinsichtlich der Interpretati011
dessen, was und wer als Betawi gilt, besondßfS
flexibel sein können, versuchen etliche BetaM
Aktivisten das Chinesische in Jakarta als T2
der Betawi-Kultur zu interpretieren und begründ211
dies mit den vielen kulturellen und historisch211
Gemeinsamkeiten der Betawi und der Chin2sel1
in Jakarta. Sie sind bemüht, dem chinesisch
Revival des Chinesischen ein Betawi-Revival d2
Chinesischen entgegenzusetzen und verfracht2
- zumindest in der öffentlichen Rhetorik
Chinesen (die im gegebenen Fall häufig explizit
di2
Peranakan bezeichnet werden) ins Betawi-Lagef’
RCt-
um so für einen Zuwachs in den eigenen ^
hen zu sorgen.33 Jene (auch) politisch motivi
te Betawi-Elite befürchtet nämlich, dass sich
Chinesen durch ihre Besinnung aufs Chinesis2^
dem Kreis jener entziehen, die (potenziell) d
Betawi zu zählen wären. Diese Betawi-Aktiv|S
erklären die Chinesen in Indonesien zu “eig2l.ß
liehen” Betawi und verweisen darauf, dass
- wie die Betawi - Nachfahren jener MenSiTß0
seien, die schon in Batavia gelebt hätten. N2 „
der kulturellen wird auch die “ethno-genetisc
Vermischung von Chinesen und Betawi ins ü Q
geführt und als Betawisierung interpretiert. EU1 h
Stimmen hierzu:
33 Wenngleich für die Mehrheit der Betawi Islamität nac p
vor Bedingung echten Betawi-Seins ist, sind die StJrn ,
der politischen Betawi-Elite vergleichsweise mächtig
gewinnen deshalb an Bedeutung und Zustimmung-
103-200«
Anthropos
Indi
'genisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung
B
, lese Leute sind natürlich Betawi. Auch viele Perana-
n Wurden damals Teil der Betawi, so wie andere
uische Gruppen auch. Das ist es ja, die Betawi sind
uuscht in ihren Herkünften. Ich meine, gucken Sie
Sich H* t °
ute Leute doch an. Das sind keine Chinesen, das
Slnd Betawi.
nus ^^nesen waren genauso früh da wie jene Gruppen,
s denen die Betawi entstanden sind. Manche Chinesen
als^611 sc^ned Betawi, andere behielten ihre Identität
dasChmesen °der Peranakan bei. Aber im Grunde sind
auch Betawi. Chinesische Betawi, aber Betawi. Alle,
^ Nachfahren der Orang Jakarta Asli sind oder sich mit
eu vermischten, sind eigentlich Betawi.
b Wlrd argumentiert, dass entsprechend die Ver-
ddenheit der Chinesen mit Jakarta genauso aus-
Prägt sein müsse wie die der Betawi und es dem-
b cil folgerichtig wäre, wenn sie sich als Betawi
befreifen würden. Ein Beamter der DKI Jakarta
de °nte: “Wir sollten das Chinesische fördern, in
^ Sinne, wie wir die Kultur der Betawi fördern.
derer nicht als separate Kultur, sondern als Teil
P)r Hetawi-Kultur, als jakartanische Tradition.”
e^nhergehend wird nicht selten auch darauf
u/^rksam gemacht, dass Chinesen, die sich als
Itid^ bekennen, damit auch ihre Identität als
ve °nesier untermauern - womit implizit auch
^rraittelt wird, dass sie dies andernfalls nicht tun.
d0 ^lrc* a^so unterstellt, dass chinesische und in-
Paf vS^Scbe Identität nicht in derselben Weise kom-
^tät 6 Se*en w^e Betawi- und indonesische Iden-
' Durch ^re identitäre Verbrüderung mit den
gj 'Vl - so das Betawi-Argument - kann auch
als aaft gemacht werden, dass sich die Chinesen
W^^e indonesische Staatsbürger begreifen. Es
" de aucb ~ mal mehr, mal weniger offen
?llletr ^0rwurf ^aut’ dass die Chinesen es nicht
äati Zt Se^bst zu verantworten haben, wenn ihre
ver„.na e Identität umstritten ist. Würden sie sich
b6ll ar^t als (chinesische) Betawi zu erkennen ge-
ll^ b Statt I^abruen “exklusiv” chinesischer
äitio etawi-extemer Eigenregie chinesischen Tra-
ajs | en zu frönen - wäre ihre Glaubwürdigkeit
tejj pdonesische Staatsbürger demnach unbestrit-
Hw flne Promlnente Vertreterin äußerte ihren Un-
°lgendermaßen:
versteh
lrUrr,er ne das nicht Einerseits wollen die Chinesen
einige ab ludonesier anerkannt werden und nun tun
arierpa ünter ihnen alles, um stattdessen als Chinesen
S*Scheplt ZU Werden- Chinesische Nachrichten, chine-
aaerpa adl°sendungen u.s.w. Wenn sie als Indonesier
Hetavv -nat Werden wollen, dann sollten sie sich besser als
laxige . 1 endfizieren. Schließlich sind sie auch schon so
ier wie wir.
Ants»s 103,2008
175
Es wird hier einerseits gefordert, dass sich die Chi-
nesen als Betawi begreifen und öffentlich beken-
nen, während durch die Formulierung andererseits
erneut deutlich wird, dass trotz der behaupteten
Nähe von Chinesen und Betawi seitens der Beta-
wi selbst ein Unterschied gemacht wird zwischen
denen, die “wir” sind und denen, die wie “wir”
sind, aber eben nicht identisch mit “uns”.
Es gibt auch Betawi, die das Revival des
Chinesischen - zumindest offiziell - ausdrück-
lich befürworten. Eine Mitarbeiterin des “Indo-
nesischen Instituts der Wissenschaften” (LIPI =
Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia) erklärte
in einem Interview, die Verbannung chinesischer
Kultur unter Suharto sei ein Fehler gewesen, der
der damit beabsichtigten Assimilation der Chine-
sen entgegengewirkt habe. Sie fährt fort: “Culture
could be used as a tool for Chinese-Indonesians to
interact socially with the local culture and its peo-
ple, which in tum would also lessen the likelihood
of any possible conflict” (in Widiadan 2000). Das
Chinesische wird auch hier implizit als “fremd”
gegenüber der lokalen Kultur und Bevölkerung
eingeordnet. Es wird - durch den Hinweis, dass
chinesische Kultur der Interaktion mit der lokalen
Bevölkerung dienen könnte - unterstellt, dass sie
es (derzeit) nicht tut. Es wird ignoriert, dass sich
die große Mehrheit der Chinesen in Jakarta und
Indonesien - sofern man sie ließ - schon immer
mit der lokalen Bevölkerung vermischt hat und
dass die öffentliche Praxis chinesischer Traditi-
on schon immer eine interethnische Angelegen-
heit war. Nicht zuletzt die Tatsache, dass sich die
Betawi und die Chinesen kulturell und identitär
vermischt haben, belegt dies eindrücklich. Ursa-
che und Wirkung der Separierung und Exklusion
der Chinesen werden hier also verwechselt bzw.
verdreht; nicht die Chinesen haben sich separiert
und ihre Kultur ins Private verbannt; die indone-
sische Politik (und in Folge die Öffentlichkeit) hat
dies getan. Statt durch die Vermittlung historischer
Tatsachen mit alten Vorurteilen aufzuräumen, wird
im Rahmen derartiger aktueller Äußerungen zum
“chinesischen Problem” häufig implizit vermittelt,
dass Suhartos Befürchtungen die Chinesen betref-
fend gar nicht so falsch gewesen seien, sondern
lediglich die daraufhin ergriffenen Maßnahmen.
Mit Blick auf das gegenwärtige Revival des Chi-
nesischen wird dabei vielfach ignoriert, dass die-
ses Bezug nimmt auf eine interethnische Tradi-
tion des Chinesischen in Indonesien, die lange
vor der Suharto-Ära ihren Anfang nahm und der
durch letztere gewaltsam Einhalt geboten wurde.
Auch heute wird die öffentliche Praxis chinesi-
scher Kultur in Jakarta vor allem von solchen
176
Jacqueline Knöd
Chinesen getragen, die sich der indonesischen und
insbesondere der Betawi-Kultur verbunden fühlen.
Egal ob in den chinesischen oder in den ethnisch
heterogeneren Vierteln, Popularität gewinnen chi-
nesische Veranstaltungen vornehmlich dann, wenn
sie in einem multiethnischen und jakartanischen
Kontext stehen, der nicht exklusiv chinesisch ist,
sondern innerhalb dessen das Chinesische als
Teil jakartanischen Kulturerbes, als Teil jakartani-
scher und damit indonesischer Identität vermittelt
wird.
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:°P°S 103.2008
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ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 179-190
Ethnographische Datenerfassung, Dokumentation
und Beschreibung bei Pietro Deila Valle (1586-1652)
(Fortsetzung von Anthropos 102.2007: 421-439)
Jürgen Jensen
of S ract- - Many important elements for the development
foreUUural/social anthropology had already been present be-
of t*le Enlightenment, between the 15th and the beginning
W^0 e, century. The Italian traveller Pietro Della Valle,
year Vl sited many Oriental countries and parts of India in the
s°phS 1626, published the then most voluminous and
it‘StlCated travel reports of the time. Besides other materi-
iHe c°ntains a vast amount of ethnographic data. The argu-
apD,. (d this article is that Della Valle already developed and
W0rked explicitly the main principles of ethnographic field-
f(jrrn ’ evaluated critically his data, and provided detailed in-
ethn l0n ab°ut his sources. [Documentation, early travellers,
°§raphy, fieldwork, history of anthropology, methods]
r10]f* Jansen, Dr. phil. (Berlin), Professor am Institut für Eth-
^eldfle der Universität Hamburg bis zum Ruhestand 2001. -
leress°rsc^Ungen ™ Uganda, Mauritius und Italien. Seine In-
Schaf nschwerpunkte sind: interethnische Beziehungen, Wirt-
sich Aethnologie, Religionsethnologie sowie in regionaler Hin-
licjj. ,n^a und Italien. - Publikationen u. a.: “Verwandtschaft-
(Ber,. Ka‘e Bindung und regionale Mobilität bei den Bavuma”
sung n 1980), “Der Gegenstand der Ethnologie und die Befas-
se komplexen Gesellschaften” (Zeitschrift für Ethnolo-
Mo(fe U’ “Plural Societies and ‘TransnationaT Social Spaces.
[eds ,^frican Complexities” (In: J. Oßenbrügge und M. Reh
’ 0ctel Spaces of African Societies. Münster 2004).
4 j
nteressenausrichtung
behandelte Gegenstandsfelder
AuCh
Hch • Selektion behandelter Themen ist eigent-
ner/, em ^sPekt von Methode, aber wegen der sei-
konneitl§en schwachen Entwicklung von Theorie
te hier sein Bemühen um Reflexion und Akri-
bie nicht greifen. Wichtig ist dennoch, welche As-
pekte er eigentlich behandelt hat, in denen die me-
thodischen Gesichtspunkte zum Tragen kommen
konnten.
Zu welchen kulturellen und ethnischen Phäno-
menen hat also Deila Valle, gemessen an heutigen
systematischen Gesichtspunkten, unter Anwen-
dung der oben herausgearbeiteten methodischen
Gesichtspunkte ethnographische Beiträge geliefert
und warum zu gerade diesen? Er hatte grundsätz-
lich einige allgemeine, relativ diffuse Gesichts-
punkte für die Auswahl des Beachtens- und Mittei-
lenswerten im Sinne. Welche ethnographisch rele-
vanten Gegenstandsfelder Deila Valle berücksich-
tigt und entsprechend dann beschrieben hat, hing,
wie schon angedeutet, von subjektiver Auswahl ab,
also davon, was ihm selbst wichtig und bedeutsam
erschien. Einige Gegenstandsfelder hat er grund-
sätzlich immer - wo er sich auch befand - näher
behandelt, in anderen Fällen orientierte er sich dar-
an, was ihm fremdartig und außergewöhnlich und
eben deshalb mitteilenswert erschien - er spricht
dann stets von “curioso” im Sinne von bemerkens-
wert (1672; 168, 315; 1677b: 31). Seine diversen
Hinweise dazu zeigen, dass es sich um Phäno-
mene handelte, die ihm besonders fremdartig und
als in Europa in der beobachteten Form unbekannt
erschienen. Das Fremde, Exotische, vom Wohl-
bekannten besonders Abweichende und daher das
Wissen besonders Erweiternde also war es, was er
für vorrangig mitteilenswert hielt, dann aber in ih-
180
Jürgen Jensen
rem weiteren Kontext und im Detail. Andere As-
pekte, die ihm den europäischen Verhältnissen ähn-
lich zu sein schienen, nahm er durchaus wahr, wie
allgemeine Ortscharakterisierungen zeigen, aber er
hielt es nicht für erforderlich, hier genauer nachzu-
forschen und detaillierte Mitteilungen zu machen.
Indirekt kommt aber dann doch noch vieles in die-
ser Hinsicht vor, wenn er nämlich Situationsbe-
schreibungen oder Gespräche wiedergibt oder auch
biographische Daten von bestimmten Personen lie-
fert. Er wollte sich auch nicht wiederholen; so be-
obachtete er in Persien mehrmals dieselben großen
islamischen Feste, beschrieb diese aber zumeist nur
einmal detailliert, registriert aber dann auch wieder,
dass ein großes Fest in einer ländlichen Gegend
gänzlich unbeachtet blieb (1677a: 394). Hinsicht-
lich Indien betont er gleich zu Anfang, dass er -
da er bisher schon sehr detailliert über Moslems
geschrieben habe - sich in den Berichten zu die-
sem Land ganz stark auf die Hindus konzentrie-
ren wolle (1677b: 32). Zu Beginn der Reise, also
während des Aufenthaltes in Istanbul, war er noch
etwas unsicher, was er eigentlich beachten, beob-
achten und schriftlich festhalten sollte; er erwar-
tete von Schipano als einer Art Ideengeber bzw.
Mentor Hinweise und erhielt auch einige, die er
aufgriff (1672; 91-94, 140f.). Bald jedoch hatte er
sich von dieser Abhängigkeit emanzipiert, und ent-
schied dann weitgehend für sich, was er an Fakten
für erforschens- und erwähnenswert hielt: .. ich
schrieb minutiös alles das auf, was mir der Beob-
achtung wert erschienen war” (... scriveva minu-
tamente tutto quello, che mi pareva di haver veduto
degno di osservazione) (1658: 66). Dies war wegen
der Ausrichtung auf Unbekanntes und subjektiv für
bedeutsam Gehaltenes - auch wenn es Kleinig-
keiten waren - wie erwähnt, oft konträr zu jenen
Gesichtspunkten, die in der apodemischen Litera-
tur für “wissenswert” oder “wesentlich” gehalten
wurden (Stagl 1980b: 141-144; 1983b: 25). Dies
ermöglichte eine besondere Flexibilität hinsichtlich
der Berücksichtigung von ad hoc auftretenden Phä-
nomenen, was zusammen mit der Tendenz zu äu-
ßerster Genauigkeit zu wertvollen Beschreibungen
führte, wie sie sonst nicht oft zu finden sind. Wenn
auch Deila Valle nicht angab, was er denn nun
nach welchen Gesichtspunkten für bedeutsam und
berichtenswert hielt, so ist es doch möglich, eini-
ge derartige allgemeine Punkte aus seiner Schrift
herauszuarbeiten. Auch wenn dies keineswegs er-
schöpfend ist, möchte ich die wichtigsten davon
kurz vorstellen.
Grundsätzlich gab er genau an, wo er gerade
reiste und sich aufhielt und er lieferte auch zu jeder
Landschaft und jedem Ort einige allgemeine An-
gaben zur Topographie, zur Kulturgeographie und
nicht zuletzt zu den Bewohnern (siehe unten); d16
detaillierteren Beschreibungen zu speziellen ü6'
genständen lassen sich entsprechend genau zeit'
lieh und räumlich zuordnen. Hinsichtlich der al|'
gemeinen Lokalinformationen schließt er im übt1'
gen durchaus an die ausführlicheren der Itinerai6
mittelalterlicher Pilger und auch die Berichte №
großen Asienreisenden wie Marco Polo und
bruck (Pögl 2002: 33 f.), sowie von Reisenden d6f
Renaissancezeit im vorderen Orient, wie dem vo11
ihm reichlich erwähnten Belon (Belon du Mafls
1554) oder auch Tenreiro (Tenreiro 2002), an. Ab6f
das Besondere sind bei ihm eben die sehr detailb6r'
ten Beschreibungen, auf die hier näher eingegang611
werden muss. Dabei ist hinsichtlich der folgend611
Übersicht jedoch zu beachten, dass stets nur B61'
spiele erwähnt werden können; das Werk enthält]6'
weils sehr viel mehr Material als hier angesproch611
werden kann.
Ein Komplex schließt unmittelbar noch weitge
hend an die mittelalterlichen Pilgerberichte an un
erfasst weitestgehend dieselben Arten von Miß61
lungen wie jene (Hippier 1987; Hodgen 1964:49"
77). Es sind nämlich die Mitteilungen einerseits
in besuchten christlichen Gebieten über die in ^
stimmten Kirchen aufbewahrten bedeutsamen B6
liquien und andererseits über die in Ägypten, S1
nai, Palästina und auch noch Damaskus gelegen611
christlichen und jüdischen Kultstätten, die der Tra
dition nach Geburtsorte, Wirkungsstätten, MafÜ
riumsplätze und Begräbnisorte von Personen 6
Alten und vor allem des Neuen Testaments - nflt
diesen besonders natürlich die zentralen Heilig11
mer in Jerusalem (Grabeskirche) und Bethieb6
(Geburtskirche) - sowie von Heiligen sein sollt611'
Deila Valle meint hinsichtlich dieser Beschreib1111
gen, dass er wahrscheinlich von allen italienisch ^
Pilgern derjenige sei/der die größte Zahl heÜÜ ,
Stätten besucht und entsprechend Details geh6*
habe; diverse von ihm besuchte unbedeutendere h
be er gar nicht erwähnt (1672: 403). f
Für alle bereisten Gebiete macht er Angaben z
Siedlungsweise sowie der Bodennutzung und
Gestaltung von Zeltsiedlungen, Dörfern und SU
ten, bei letzteren mit vielen Details des Stadtbild j
also der bedeutsamen politischen, religiösen U1
wirtschaftlichen Zentren und der Wohngebiete- r
fast jeden besuchten oder auch nur auf der R6 .
kurz berührten Ort macht er Angaben zur e- _
sehen und religiösen Zugehörigkeit bzw. Zusa
mensetzung der Bevölkerung bei den oft plura ^
Verhältnissen der Bewohner. Bei Verkehrszen
gibt er auch an, welche Fremden dort mit welc
Anliegen durchreisen und eventuell auch fest6
2008
103-
Anthropos
181
Hth
n°graphische Datenerfassung, Dokumentation und Beschreibung bei Pietro Deila Valle (1586-1652)
ehe Ansiedlungsplätze haben. Bei nur in einer Re-
n oder in einem Ort angetroffenen ethnischen/
igiösen Einheiten versucht er, zumindest eini-
ln Erfahrung gebrachte spezifische Daten mit-
ten. Somit liefert er sehr viele Anhaltspunkte
eine allgemeine Übersicht über weite Gebiete
(^^htlich kultureller und ethnischer Verhältnisse,
en Einbettung in geographische Umwelten und
^ ltlSche Gegebenheiten durch die entsprechenden
ist Sbez^§Echen Ausführungen deutlich werden. Es
ü>m kaum eine ethnische oder religiöse Min-
r heit entgangen, wie z. B. Jesiden, Mandäer, zo-
^ ^trische Perser, viele christliche Gruppen. Auch
ter \Z'^' Bottich, in welch großem Ausmaße un-
a ^coah Abbas mitten in Persien Georgier und
ünd 6n^er zwan§swe^se angesiedelt worden waren,
p man erfährt, dass auf der persischen Seite des
§ibt1SC^en ^°^es Araber wohnten (1658; 171). Er
eth aUC^ mancEmal einige Daten zu Regionen und
ter ^1Schen Einheiten an, die er nicht oder viel spä-
der ^reist hat, von denen er aber von Angehörigen
hat etre^en<^en Einheiten Informationen erhalten
p ’ so z. B. über Äthiopien von einem äthiopischen
ha a au^ §emeinsamer Pilgerschaft im Heiligen
Ü672; 332-334), oder über Verhältnisse in
n’ das er erst später bereiste, von Kaufleuten in
Eren n (1658: 42’ 67“79’ 120-122). In dem letz-
aUch ^aH kann er neben zahlreichen Einzelheiten
ßer rnitte^en’ dass man hinsichtlich Indien mit au-
etk •enthch komplexen Verhältnissen mit vielen
rec. Sch und sprachlich unterschiedlichen Gruppen
r? (68).
-^ordentlich viele Informationen liefert er
üItls ereich der Verkehrsverhältnisse und Reise-
e'§en'n<L'e’ Wobe* er in besonderem Maße seine
aber e,n Eeisebedingungen ausführlich beschreibt,
and p eichzeitig eben die an den jeweiligen Orten
ieiev eiSer°uten angetroffenen, für alle Reisenden
te| ? anten Verhältnisse hinsichtlich Transportmit-
lichk r ^ee und auf dem Lande, Unterkunftsmög-
Mep fjf®* der Organisation, von Umwelt und/oder
n bedingter Problemfelder, offizieller be-
ancl Al/er Kontroll- und Aufsichtsmechanismen
Und p ^aben an staatliche oder lokale Instanzen
Mögi ei,Sonengmppen. Weiterhin gehören dazu die
n- lcukeiten und Probleme der Überwindung von
G
azen in Krieg und Frieden,
fieli e^r Se^ektiv sind seine Darstellungen zu máte-
se ,era Kulturbesitz und Technologie. Hier finden
(v. ?airneist nur sehr allgemeine oder gar keine
gef en‘ln einigen Fällen jedoch, wo er meint etwas
einJnden zu haben, das auch in Europa sinnvoll
^ Zasetzen wäre, also dort eine nützliche Innova-
che pe'n ^drde, liefert er äußerst genaue, detailrei-
cschreibungen, so z. B. zu Methoden, Schnee
nthr°Pos 103.2008
für die Produktion von Speiseeis im heißen Som-
mer zu lagern (1677a: 158-164) oder wie die er-
wähnten Methoden der Raumkühlung unter extrem
heißem Sommerklima (s. Kap. 3.5). Weiterhin geht
es ihm um die genaue Beschreibung von Trach-
ten, die er möglichst in Abbildungen zu erfassen
suchte (1672: 307), gelegentlich aber auch detail-
liert schriftlich beschrieben hat (1658: 157-162).
Auch erwarb er viele, insbesondere für ihn selbst
angefertigte Kleidungsstücke, oder auch beiläufig
beobachtete Dinge wie als sehr praktisch emp-
fundene Palmblattsandalen im südlichen Persien
(1677a: 380); offenbar hielt er die Trachten für be-
sonders charakteristische Merkmale einzelner Kul-
turen. Jedenfalls schenkte er diesen die größte Auf-
merksamkeit. Ein drittes Gegenstandsfeld, zu dem
er immer wieder über das gesamte Werk verstreut
ausführliche Beschreibungen von Einzelheiten lie-
fert, betrifft pflanzliche und mineralische Arznei-
mittel und Drogerieartikel sowie überhaupt außer-
gewöhnliche Nutzpflanzen. Auch seine Frau steuer-
te ihre diesbezüglichen Kenntnisse bei (1658: 108).
Dies war allerdings nicht sein eigenes Interessen-
gebiet, sondern ein Spezialgebiet von Schipano,
der offensichtlich immer wieder um entsprechen-
de Angaben gebeten hatte (Almagiä 1951: 377 f.);
Deila Valle bemühte sich, hier ausführliche Infor-
mationen zu liefern. Während er noch von Istanbul
aus Pflanzenteile an Schipano schickte (1672: 141),
teilte er später mit, dass er Pflanzen mangels ge-
eigneter Materialien nicht pressen könnte (450f.).
Er muss dennoch eine erhebliche Sammlung sol-
cher Dinge zusammengetragen haben (Almagiä
1953: 15). Er erwarb auch diesbezügliche einhei-
mische Manuskripte, merkt allerdings an, dass es
oft schwierig sei, die dort genannten Pflanzen
bzw. Medikamente zu identifizieren (1677a: 278f.).
Schließlich beschreibt er - das ist der vierte Kom-
plex - in Zusammenhang mit seinem später anzu-
sprechenden Interesse an religiös-kultischen Phä-
nomenen nach Möglichkeit sehr genau Kultstätten,
also christliche, jüdische, hinduistische u. a., z. T.
mit Grundrissskizzen, während Moscheen und an-
dere islamische Kultstätten zumeist für ihn nicht
zugänglich waren und daher, abgesehen von den
doch vorkommenden Ausnahmen, nicht näher be-
schrieben werden konnten, jedenfalls nicht die In-
nenräume. In einem Fall erlangte seine Frau Zu-
gang zu einer wichtigen islamischen Grabmoschee
(1658; 395-397), so dass er deren Beschreibung
übernehmen konnte. Das Gegenstandsfeld “mate-
rieller Kulturbesitz und Technologie” lässt in be-
sonderem Maße die Subjektivität der Auswahl der
näher beobachteten und entsprechend detailliert be-
schriebenen Phänomene erkennen.
182
Jürgen Jens**
Ein Bereich, für den er sich nicht näher inter-
essierte, war, wie schon erwähnt, das weite Feld
der wirtschaftlichen Organisation und Prozesse.
Dies hing sicherlich mit seiner Aversion gegen
den Handel, den er als Adliger mit großen Ein-
künften aus Besitztümern für unter seiner Würde
hielt, zusammen (1658: 103; 1677b: 205). So kann
man zwar durch seine allgemeinen Beschreibun-
gen von Landstrichen und Ortschaften und indi-
rekt durch Darstellungen anderer Beobachtungen,
die aber wirtschaftliche Aspekte berührten, immer
noch vielerlei einschlägige Informationen erlangen.
So finden sich bei ihm im Kontext des Erwerbs
und der Beschreibung von Mumien die wohl ers-
ten Daten zu denjenigen Landbewohnern, die sich
ganz auf das Ausgraben von Mumien und anderen
Altertümern und ihrem Verkauf in Sakkara spe-
zialisiert hatten, und zu dem weiteren Handelsweg
(1672: 253-267). Doch es fehlen eben die sonst bei
ihm üblichen Detailbehandlungen; schon gar nicht
hat er integrierende Darstellungen größerer Berei-
che geliefert.
Della Valle hat sich viel mit Aspekten sozialer
Organisation beschäftigt. Auch hier findet man kei-
ne Systematik, sondern vor allem Material zu vie-
len Einzelfällen, und zwar oft verstreut über diverse
Briefe. Haushalte, Familien und die Beziehungen
von Verwandten interessierten ihn sehr, und zwar
vor allem diejenigen der höheren sozialen Schich-
ten. Zur Familie seiner Frau finden sich zahlrei-
che verstreute Angaben über einzelne Personen und
auch ein Überblick (1677a: 217-222); es lässt sich
aus solchen Angaben eine Familiengeschichte, die
Lokalisierung mit Wohnorten und Migrationen von
Personen und Teilgruppen sowie Heiratsbeziehun-
gen im Kontext allgemeiner politischer und wirt-
schaftlicher Konstellationen rekonstruieren. Zu sei-
nem eigenen multiethnischen Haushalt und ihren
Mitgliedern in Persien finden sich zahlreiche Anga-
ben, ebenso zu seiner jeweiligen Reisegruppe und
ihren Mitgliedern. Überhaupt finden sich zahllose
Details zu seinen sozialen Kontakten in den vielfäl-
tigen Situationen während der Reisen und während
längerer Aufenthalte. In diesen Zusammenhängen
finden sich Angaben nicht nur zu den Kontaktpart-
nern aus den diversen ethnischen und religiösen
Gruppen, sondern oft auch zu deren familiären Ver-
hältnissen. Besondere Aufmerksamkeit schenkte er
dem Harem des Schah Abbas, worüber er vor al-
lem durch seine Frau, die dort gute Kontakte hat-
te, vieles erfahren konnte (16-20). In Südindien
interessierte er sich besonders für die matrilineare
Organisation, vor allem hinsichtlich der herrschen-
den Familien (1677b: 193, 282, 334). Er gibt aber
auch ein schon relativ zutreffendes Bild der ma-
trilinearen Abstammungsrechnung, der matrifok3'
len Familie und wechselnder Partner der Frauß11
bei der Nayar-Kriegerkaste (330, 347-350). Sons1
war er in der Regel mit patrilinearen Verhältnisse11
und mehr oder weniger patriarchalen Haushalte11
konfrontiert, was nicht genügend von europäische11
Verhältnissen ab wich, um dazu außer in einig611
Details und in der Beschreibung von Einzelfäll611
näher einzugehen. In diversen besuchten Fändet11
nahm er teil an rites de passage, nämlich Hochze1'
ten und Totenritualen unterschiedlicher ethnischst
Gruppen und beschrieb sie in großer Breite, wie et
dies allgemein für rituelle Anlässe und Zeremonie11
tat. Er skizzierte auch prägnant die bei den pets1'
sehen Schiiten gängige Probeehe (1677a: 543). Ül6
Stellung der Frauen interessierte ihn überall ung6'
mein und er berichtete über zahlreiche einschl^'
gige Beobachtungen und gab von als verlässh6*1
angesehenen Dritten erlangte Informationen weh611
So beschrieb er u. a. ausführlich aufgrund von F6'
richten seiner Frau die in Persien den Frauen t6'
gelmäßig eingeräumte Freiheit, an bestimmten Ü'
gen und zu bestimmten Gelegenheiten unter Ah'
Wesenheit von Männern - außer dem Schah -
Innenstadt und den Bazar von Isfahan zu bevö
kern und sich dort u. a. bei Gesang und Tanz U*1'
gezwungen zu vergnügen (16, 43 f.). Besonder65
Augenmerk widmete er Sondergruppen wie TänZ6
rinnen in Ägypten (1672: 316), bei persischen FeS"
ten (1658: 90) und in Hindu Tempeln (72), reg16
renden Frauen in Südindien (1677b; 186 f., 2^
281, 353), oder auch bald nach seiner Rückkeh1
in Europa einer Spanierin, der es gelungen
in Männerkleidung als Soldat anerkannt zu werdßfl
(602-605). Explizite Darstellungen von gesamt
sellschaftlichen Gliederungen liefert er, wie sch6^
erwähnt, zur mesopotamischen ländlich-kleinste
tischen Gesellschaft und zum Hindu Kastens)'^
tem, und zwar letzteres recht ausführlich. AnsoU5
ten muss man Entsprechendes zu anderen Regio11
aus seinen vielen Detailbeschreibungen heraus
beiten. Möglicherweise sollten seine für uns v
loren gegangenen Zeichnungen, zu denen knapP
Kommentare geliefert werden sollten, und zwar
allem soziale Zuordnungen bezeichnende Kostu
Zeichnungen, Anhaltspunkte auch dafür liefern-
Große Aufmerksamkeit widmet Deila VaUe ^ j
Besonderheiten der verschiedenen ethnischen un
Rßl'
religiösen Gruppen, mit denen er auf seinen
sen konfrontiert wurde. Alle seine näheren ^
Schreibungen beziehen sich gewöhnlich jeweils
bestimmte derartige Einheiten, ihre Vertretung
den Siedlungen und Städten, auf den Reisen uS^
Er macht überall deutlich, wenn er irgendwo^
mehrere Einheiten, zumeist auch siedlungsrna
_2008
103
Anthropos
183
Hth;
n°graphische Datenerfassung, Dokumentation und Beschreibung bei Pietro Deila Valle (1586-1652)
^trennt wohnende, gestoßen ist. Er weist immer
eder auf seinen eigenen multiethnischen Haus-
tr 1 hin, und er macht Angaben zu der heterogenen
unft der Frauen im Harem des Schah Abbas,
zumeist christlichen Einheiten zugehörig wa-
(1677a: 18f.). Alle seine näher beschriebenen
fltakte weisen die Zugehörigkeit seiner Kontakt-
g rner und besonders der Gesprächspartner aus.
^utsame Informationen liefert er zu Europäern
i Qen besuchten unabhängigen Staaten wie in Ko-
uialgebieten. Wie schon erwähnt, liefert er sehr
e| Material zu interethnischen bzw. interreligi-
die11 ^ez^ebungun? indem er vor allem für Persien
^ °ffizielle Politik der Toleranz bei gleichzeitiger
SM^hung um Konversion zum Islam durch zahllo-
p eisPiele belegt, worunter auch viele detaillierte
Beispiele von Einzelpersonen sind. Seine eige-
ten ^embhungen um die Begründung eines zwei-
te11 ^0rn des Orients in Isfahan liefern zu diesem
Se§enstandsfeld - von den ersten Ideen bis zum
e,tem - detailliertes Material aus erster Hand,
auch für andere besuchte Länder liefert er
y Material zu dem Themenbereich, wie z. B. zum
die von Katholiken und Hindus in Goa. In
Zw-86111 ^usammenhang wird auch über einen Streit
denScben Jesuiten und Angehörigen anderer Or-
^ dort über die Bedeutung eines indischen Klei-
Sesn^Sstückes als mehr soziales oder mehr religiö-
ten ^J^bol und die Frage, ob man es Konverti-
]yj za tragen erlauben dürfe, berichtet (1677b: 86).
Sc,n badet auch Details wie die Angabe, dass die
jw Wester seiner Frau in Isfahan einen Armenier
b atete und Hochzeitsrituale zunächst katholisch
bis^ Pe*tung eines Karmeliters und dann arme-
fQi n burch einen armenischen Priester durchge-
WUrden (1658: 472), oder auch Hinweise auf
gep aten von Holländern in Indien mit gefangen
°tnmenen portugiesischen Frauen oder auch mit
£rentalischen Christinnen (1677b: 25, 116, 118f.).
ya auf eine Moschee in der Stadt Camba-
bia p11, au°h von Hindus besucht wird, und er
Mo/ &enereU darauf aufmerksam, dass indische
haHJ ertls rituelle Anleihen bei den Hindus gemacht
^ (1677b: 66).
Plorn a beanspruchte ja Politiker bzw. Di-
Uns at zu sein und interessierte sich entsprechend
sbcht ln d^e politischen Vorgänge und ver-
ätisoh m Persien, selbst in diesem Feld mitzu-
JVlat en- In diesem Zusammenhang liefert er viel
Wait ria zu den jeweiligen Herrschafts- und Ver-
rpehj,11^8^Systemen der besuchten Länder und noch
Scheri vUm P°ütischen Geschehen. Viel zu politi-
zieru ^stemen ist in seinen biographischen Skiz-
ten a^en yon Herrschern und Politikern enthal-
so zu den zentralen Entscheidungsinstanzen.
Mthr,
°Pos 103.2008
Zur öffentlichen Verwaltung kann man auch wieder
ein Bild durch viele verstreute Angaben gewinnen.
Hinsichtlich Persien stellt er u. a. dar, dass die ge-
wöhnlich in geschlossenen Siedlungen oder Orts-
teilen ansässigen ethnischen Einheiten jeweils nach
ihren eigenen kulturspezifisehen Instanzen auto-
nom verwaltet wurden (1658: 55); ja, er selbst hatte
rechtlich die Aufsicht über seinen Haushalt (56).
Das juristische System wird nur sehr unvollkom-
men erfasst. Es werden gelegentlich einige vom
Schah selbst entschiedene Bestrafungen, die ihm
als barbarisch und von Willkür beherrscht erschie-
nen, beschrieben, aber für Persien oder gar ande-
re besuchte Länder bleibt das Ganze doch sehr
im Dunkeln. Zum politischen Geschehen liefert er
viel Material auch wieder in seinen biographischen
Skizzen von Persönlichkeiten der jeweiligen Gebie-
te oder in Beschreibungen zur Zeitgeschichte auf-
grund von Informationen aus den diplomatischen
Kreisen, in denen er verkehrte. Aber hinsichtlich
Persien liefert er Details durch seine vielen, meist
aus dem unmittelbaren Erlebnis heraus beschriebe-
nen Gespräche zwischen dem Schah und den di-
versen, am Hofe verkehrenden Gesandten asiati-
scher und europäischer Länder und sonstiger poli-
tisch tätiger, wie der Missionare - entweder, weil
er selbst anwesend war, oder von Akteuren oder
anderen Anwesenden umgehend informiert wor-
den war. So gibt er auch viele Informationen und
Einschätzungen zu internationalen Konstellationen
und deren Veränderungen. Er interessierte sich aber
auch sehr für das politische Zeremonialwesen; sehr
lange Beschreibungen von allgemeinen und per-
sönlichen Audienzen finden sich ebenso wie solche
von öffentlichen Auftritten der Herrscher vor der
Bevölkerung der jeweiligen Länder.
Sehr interessiert war er am Militärwesen. Da er
sich selbst auch gerade als einen Mann des Schwer-
tes bezeichnete, wenn er auch wenig Gelegenheit
zur Anwendung hatte, wird dies einsichtig. Er gibt
sehr ausführliche Beschreibungen vom türkischen
(1672: 145-163) und noch genauer vom persischen
Heer (1658: 368-377) hinsichtlich der Gliederun-
gen in Kampfgruppen. Vor allem liefert er dabei
Material in detaillierten Beschreibungen der Ar-
meen mit ihrem Tross auf dem Marsch und in den
Feldlagern auf Grund eigener Anschauung, wäh-
rend er von Kampfgeschehen nur einiges auf Grund
von Berichten anderer sagen kann.
Am intensivsten jedoch beschäftigte sich Deila
Valle mit Manifestationen des religiösen Lebens
der besuchten Gebiete bzw. ihrer Bewohner. Da-
zu hat er eine Fülle an Beschreibungen gegeben.
Es handelt sich hier zweifellos um ein sehr tief-
gehendes Interesse, da er einerseits persönlich sehr
184
im Katholizismus verankert war, die Gelübde zur
Pilgerreise sehr ernst nahm und mit seinen Plänen
und Bemühungen um die Errichtung einer großen
katholischen Gemeinde in Persien als Zentrum der
katholischen Kirche im Orient sich intensiv enga-
gierte, andererseits aber jegliche Form von Glau-
ben und Kult außerhalb des Katholizismus oder des
Christentums allgemein so genau wie möglich er-
fassen wollte, wobei mindestens teilweise der Ge-
danke im Hintergrund stand, Informationen für spä-
tere missionarische Tätigkeiten kirchlicher Abge-
sandter für den Anschluss orientalischer christli-
cher Konfessionen an Rom oder direkt zur Mission
unter Nichtchristen liefern zu können. Er lag hin-
sichtlich dieser Motivation eindeutig konform mit
jenen seinerzeitigen oder früheren Missionaren, die
eine genaue Kenntnis der vorhandenen religiösen
Phänomene als Voraussetzung für eine erfolgreiche
Mission ansahen, wie z. B. Sahagün, Las Casas und
insgesamt die Jesuiten, die denn gewöhnlich auch
als Verfasser von guten ethnographischen Berich-
ten hervorstechen.
Er suchte nach Möglichkeit Kultstätten zu betre-
ten und bei rituellen Anlässen und Festen anwesend
zu sein. Es findet sich daher bei ihm eine Fülle ent-
sprechender Beschreibungen aufgrund eigener An-
schauung und eventuell Erläuterungen von Sach-
kennern aus allen besuchten Gebieten, sofern Kult-
stätten, Rituale und Umzüge zugänglich waren, was
eben - wie erwähnt - hinsichtlich islamischer Kult-
stätten von Sunniten wie auch Schiiten mit Schwie-
rigkeiten verbunden war. Öffentliche Festabläufe
hingegen waren ihm auch hier beobachtbar und er
nutzte jede Gelegenheit dazu. Hinsichtlich christ-
licher Kirchen und kultischer Handlungen hatte er
nirgends Schwierigkeiten der Teilnahme, ebenso
wenig in einer Synagoge in Syrien (1677b: 514f.)
oder in den vielen Kultstätten der besuchten hin-
duistischen Gebiete, wofür er eine Fülle von Be-
schreibungen liefert. In Indien suchte er jeden in
besuchten Orten vorfindlichen größeren Tempel auf
und bemühte sich, wo auch immer sich die Gele-
genheit bot, dort stattfindende Rituale genau zu ver-
folgen, und lieferte genaue Beschreibungen, soweit
es ihm bei oft unzureichendem Hintergrundwissen
möglich war. Keinen Zugang hatte er zu Kultstätten
der Samaritaner, Jesiden und Mandäer sowie der
Zoroasteranhänger in Persien. Jedoch bemühte er
sich auch in diesen Fällen, Informationen zu Kult
und Lehre durch Befragungen einzuholen. Er hat-
te in Schiraz sogar Kontakte zu Mitgliedern zwei-
er Gruppierungen verbotener islamischer Geheim-
lehren, worüber er dann einiges mitteilen konnte
(1677a: 472-477). Er interessierte sich auch sehr
für außergewöhnliche Religionspraktiker wie die
Jürgen Jensel1
indischen Sadhus (1677a: 579; 1677b: 95-97, 1^’
316-320) und besondere Phänomene wie die Wtf'
wenverbrennung bei Hindus (1677b: 80f., 241 f*’
247-251). Immer wieder suchte er direkte Kontak'
te. So führte er Gespräche mit einer Hindu WitAe’
die ihre eigene Verbrennung vorbereitete (241 f-»
247-251). Seine Angaben über theologische
tergründe waren sehr unterschiedlich genau; №
allgemeinen theologischen Grundlagen des Isla*11
setzte er als bekannt voraus und er teilte mit, dass
er einfachere Grundlagentexte übersetzt hatte an
sie als solche veröffentlichen wollte (1677a: 236""
248, 305), wozu es aus schon genannten Grüfl'
den nie kam. Er fand selbst seine erlangten l*1'
formationen über Grundlagen des Hinduismus E*r
nicht sehr tiefgehend und auch hinsichtlich der fe'
ligiösen Minderheiten wie der oben genannten 111
islamischen Ländern konnte er angesichts gern1'
ger Kontakte auch nach eigener Einschätzung 11111
oberflächliche Informationen liefern. Er bernühtß
sich auch um den Erwerb von Büchern in ihm g6
läufigen Sprachen, in denen etwas zu religiös611
Doktrinen und anderen Aspekten der Gedankt'
weit enthalten war. Hervorzuheben ist, dass er 61
nen interreligiösen Dialog, den er selbst mit eifleil1
Perser führte, relativ genau wiedergibt (202-20-9’
und dies auch in einer gesonderten Publikation vef
öffentlichen wollte (599 f.), wozu es jedoch mcl?
kam. Ebenso berichtet er über ausführliche Re^1
gionsgespräche von Schah Abbas mit den katfiok
sehen Ordensvertretern in Isfahan zu Konfession8
unterschieden unter Christen, über die letztere
ihn
genau unterrichtet hatten (115-131). Relativ sehel1
berichtet er über Magiepraktiken, wenn das The#1^
auch nicht völlig fehlt. Er beschreibt die Bestraf'-111^
von Juden in Persien, die von anderen Juden d
Zauberei beschuldigt worden waren (99). Er ö6
richtet über Gerüchte, nach denen ein MachthaD
sich in einem indischen Staat mit Hilfe von schv^
zer Magie im Amt halten sollte (1677b: 138f.)> 0 g
ne jedoch erfahrene Details darzustellen, weil 6
alles nur Unüberprüfbares von Hörensagen V ’
und er beschreibt Vorstellungen und Windzauo
indisch-moslemischer Seeleute (444f.). Offenst
lieh sah er hier große Probleme, irgendwie k
Fassbares beobachten und beschreiben zu könneI1,
Jedenfalls lässt sich feststellen, dass Deila v
le zu einer Vielzahl von ethnographischen Gege
standsfeldem der besuchten Länder, ihrer Ethn1
und Kulturen, Beobachtungen angestellt, Infot
tionen gesammelt und dann dies in relativ gr° ^
zeitlicher Nähe vor Ort schriftlich (und z. T. aU
bildlich) niedergelegt hat. Es wurde verdeuth6^’
dass er in ganz unterschiedlichem Maße ein2
nen Aspekten kultureller und ethnischer Phäno
IO3.20«8
Anthropos
185
Eth
n°graphische Datenerfassung, Dokumentation und Beschreibung bei Pietro Deila Valle (1586-1652)
& seine Aufmerksamkeit geschenkt hat, wobei es
i ^hst subjektive Gesichtspunkte waren, die ihn
kten. Dass in gewissem Maße jeglichen eth-
§raphischen Beschreibungen, auch denjenigen
Ethnologen selbst, immer auch subjektive Ge-
^sPunkte und Sichtweisen mit zugrunde liegen,
b°rt heute zum methodischen ethnologischen
rundwissen, so dass sich hier Deila Valle nicht
udsätzlich von anderen und eben auch nicht von
je^ernen Fachleuten abhebt. Die trotz der sub-
fi'i|Ven ^uswahl tatsächlich vorhandene Themen-
ta ir erscWießt sich dem Leser erst durch die de-
uerten Register zu den einzelnen Bänden. Zu
s . Gingen aber, denen er größere Aufmerksamkeit
s , er|kte, liefert er aufgrund seiner unbedingt kriti-
en Prinzipien zumeist außerordentlich reichhal-
C|T ’ detaillierte Beschreibungen, die als vorbildli-
Ethnographie zu einzelnen Aspekten mit vielen
j^^falluntersuchungen zu gelten haben. Für sei-
^eit bestätigte oder korrigierte er viele, schon
re ,anc*eren berichteten Sachverhalte, insbesonde-
§eri Öer Gefeit er eine ungeheure Fülle an vielseiti-
ui .ünd verlässlichen Daten zu bisher kaum oder
re h bekannten Phänomenen, wobei insbesonde-
re eJenigen, ¿jg aus sejnem langen Aufenthalt in
!en resultieren, mit Vorrang genannt werden
(jesSSen- Nicht nur für die Leser in der 2. Hälfte
Sch lieferte er grundlegende ethnographi-
be l^taisse. Auch heutige Auswertungen sei-
lün öer*cbte unter gegenwärtig aktuellen Fragestel-
Ös §en, so etwa zu interethnischen und interreligi-
dürf ^r°Elemen, aber auch zu manchen anderen,
bedeutsame neue Einsichten ermöglichen.
de d*e bei ihm zu findenden, für seine Zeit eher
sie er§ewöhnlichen methodischen Prinzipien, wie
hiersei*en Untersuchungen zugrunde liegen und die
SQ^h^ausgcarbeitet wurden, ermöglichen in be-
rtien erem zukünftige Auswertungen im Rah-
G ,. ethnohistorischer Rekonstruktionen für viele
lete zu Beginn des 17. Jhs.
Valles Bemühungen
11111 Kulturvergleiche
Auch
boo Wenn es in dieser Untersuchung um die eth-
do^Phische Methodik bei Deila Valle geht, so soll
le j angesprochen werden, inwieweit Deila Val-
Fth, ahgemeinen Aspekte einer entstehenden
WUr. °gie seiner Zeit, wie sie anfangs skizziert
Wöh ,n’ eingebunden war. Es wäre ganz außerge-
kuitürlch, wenn sich bei einem gebildeten, so an
teresrel>en Phänomenen in besonderem Maße in-
rpajs lerten Autor keine Spuren von Elementen da-
Schon gängiger, übergreifender Vorstellungen
At*hr,
0pos 103.2008
finden ließen. Tatsächlich lässt sich durchaus eini-
ges beobachten.
Deila Valle hatte zwar zunächst das Bestreben,
seine Beobachtungen im Kontext seines unmittel-
baren Erlebens niederzuschreiben; das gilt für sei-
ne ethnographisch relevanten Darstellungen wie
auch für andere Themen seiner Beobachtungen und
Erkundungen. Man findet in seinen Texten aber
auch gelegentlich das Bemühen, Beobachtetes über
den Einzelfall hinaus mit anderen kulturellen Ver-
hältnissen zu vergleichen. Implizit ist natürlich der
Vergleich mit den ihm bekannten europäischen
Verhältnissen immer im Hintergrund, indem er ver-
suchte zu differenzieren zwischen relativ ähnlichen
Phänomenen, die dann seinem Ansatz nach nicht
im Detail oder gar nicht thematisiert zu werden
brauchten, und solchen, die fremdartig, für euro-
päische Leser als unbekannt eingeschätzt wurden
und für ihn deshalb zur Erweiterung der Kennt-
nis mitteilenswert waren. Aber es finden sich auch
explizite vergleichende Hinweise. So fand er, dass
Aspekte eines der beschriebenen persischen Fes-
te dem Karneval entsprechen (1677a: 46). An an-
derer Stelle kennzeichnet er das höfische Leben
am persischen Hofe als wesentlich legerer im Ver-
hältnis zu den sehr zeremoniell-förmlichen Ent-
sprechungen in Europa (21), anderseits hebt er
die größere Willkür des Herrschers im Verhältnis
zu entsprechenden europäischen Verhältnissen her-
vor (104). Einmal stellt er explizit fest, dass er
in allen besuchten islamischen Gegenden diesel-
ben Bräuche bei Mondfinsternissen hat beobachten
können (1658: 83), ein anderes Mal geht er auf die
Institution der Klageweiber in unterschiedlichen
Kulturen ein (1677a: 442). Auf die verhältnismäßig
seltenen bewertenden Vergleiche wurde bereits hin-
gewiesen. Aber eine andere Vergleichsebene als der
zwischen dem Europa seiner Zeit und den östlichen
Kulturen war ihm viel wichtiger. Auf Grund sei-
ner humanistischen Bildung versuchte er, ihm aus
der Literatur bekannte Beschreibungen von Kultu-
ren aus der Antike zu Vergleichen heranzuziehen.
Dies tat er zumeist unter dem Gesichtspunkt histo-
rischer Zusammenhänge. Herausgestellte Ähnlich-
keiten versuchte er überwiegend durch historische
Kulturkontakte zu erklären, was seinerzeit nicht
ungewöhnlich war und womit er sich in die Vor-
läufer von Lafitau hinsichtlich der Erklärung von
Ähnlichkeiten einreihen lässt. Einerseits versuchte
er historische Kontinuitäten zu erkennen. Er sah
z. B. hinsichtlich Indien eine historische Kontinui-
tät von den antiken Berichten über nackt gehende
Heilige bis zu den von ihm selbst beobachteten
Sadhus (1677b: 95). Zumeist aber ging es ihm um
das Erkennen weiträumiger Kulturbeziehungen. So
186
Jürgen Jensen
glaubte er hinsichtlich der Seelenwanderungsvor-
stellung der Hindus Ähnlichkeiten zum alten Ägyp-
ten erkennen zu können, wobei er sich auf anti-
ke Missverständnisse altägyptischer Religion stütz-
te, der man Seelen Wanderung zuschrieb (65, 72).
Er meinte auch jemanden gefunden zu haben, der
die Hindu Gottheit Brahma als Vergöttlichung von
Pythagoras, dem in der Antike Seelenwanderung
als Lehrmeinung zugeschrieben worden war, er-
klärte; er schloss sich dieser Meinung aber nicht
an (74). Verbindungen zwischen Ägypten, dessen
Kultur er als älter und damit als Ursprungsgebiet
des Vorstellungskomplexes ansah, und Indien sah
er über den Seeweg als möglich an. Andererseits
aber findet man auch Vergleiche, die offenbar eher
systematisch gemeint waren. So vergleicht er, wie
schon angedeutet, die hinduistischen Gottesvorstel-
lungen einerseits hinsichtlich angetroffener Auffas-
sungen, dass die Götter nur einzelne Manifesta-
tionen einer übergreifenden einzigen Gottheit und
eher mit christlichen Heiligen vergleichbar seien
(1658: 120), mit den monotheistischen Religionen,
anderseits sieht er hinsichtlich der Vielzahl der Göt-
ter aber auch Parallelen zum antiken Polytheismus
(1658:42-50; 1677b: 71). Da er hier nichts von
Kulturbeziehungen sagt, zeigt dies auch eine ge-
ringfügige Tendenz zu systematisch zu verstehen-
den Parallelen in seinem Denken an.
So kann man - auch wenn seine Versuche, Ähn-
lichkeiten historisch-diffusionistisch zu erklären,
ins Abseits führten - feststellen, dass bei ihm ein
gewisses Interesse vorliegt, über die reine Darstel-
lung hinaus sich auch im Kulturvergleich zu ver-
suchen, wobei er im Sinne einer ganz allgemei-
nen Tendenz dachte, die aus dem Humanismus re-
sultierte und bei Lafitau (1724) einen Höhepunkt
erreichte, nämlich die bei antiken Schriftstellern
gefundenen Angaben über Kulturen zu Verglei-
chen mit gegenwärtigen Fremdkulturen heranzu-
ziehen. Wie dargelegt, gab es bei ihm aber auch
einen Versuch, rein systematisch zu vergleichen,
und schon erwähnte erste Ansätze zu funktionalen
Beziehungen und Strukturerkenntnis gab es eben-
falls, worauf schon hingewiesen wurde. So kann
man über die sehr ausgefeilte und in verschiede-
ner Hinsicht methodisch reflektierte Ethnographie
hinaus bei ihm vereinzelt zarte Keime allgemeinen
ethnologischen Denkens beobachten.
6 Die Wirkung der Reiseergebnisse
Deila Valles auf die Entwicklung
kulturwissenschaftlicher Disziplinen
Obwohl Deila Valle zu Lebzeiten weithin he'
kannt war und in informellen persönlichen Ko11'
takten seine Ergebnisse diskutieren und bekann1
machen konnte, wurde eine eigentliche Breite11'
Wirkung durch den Druck seines Hauptwerkes, al'
so der Veröffentlichung seiner Briefe an Schipan0,
erst nach seinem Tode erlangt. Es erschienen 111
erster Auflage zunächst die ersten beiden Bänd6,
nämlich 1651 (Türkei) und 1658 (Persien), letzte'
rer wie in allen späteren Auflagen wegen des he'
sonderen Umfangs in zwei Teilen. Alle drei Bänd6
erschienen dann 1662-63 in Rom, wie die beide11
Bände der ersten Auflage auch. Vier weitere A*11'
lagen erschienen in der Folgezeit in Venedig bzV
in Bologna. In Übersetzung erschien das Werk aa
Deutsch, Englisch, Französisch und Holländisch111
den 80er Jahren des 17. Jhs. Die Bedeutung dßS
während der Reise gesammelten Wissens, das rnal1
für weite Strecken unbedingt als einen umfangt61'
chen Korpus von Forschungsresultaten bezeichn611
kann, sowie die Manuskript- und Objektsamrnl1111
gen lagen auf einer Reihe von Gebieten und hü'
deten oft überhaupt Ausgangspunkte und wichtig
Anregungen für Weiteres. Deila Valle lieferte A11'
regungen für die Archäologie und Sprachwiss611'
schaft von Altägypten, Mesopotamien und Persi611’
wobei er die bedeutendsten altpersischen Statt611
als erster besuchte und beschrieb und er auf vlf
le bis dahin unbekannte Ruinenstätten am Ran(1
seiner Reiserouten aufmerksam machte. Er m^
te erstmalig auf die koptische Schrift und Spra611
ebenso wie auf die samaritanische Schrift aufmer
sam, lieferte auch Alphabete und ganze ManuskbP
te dazu. Er machte auf die babylonische Keilschb ’
wozu er einige Objekte aus gebranntem Ton 111
dieser Schrift als Belegstücke aufgesammelt hah6,
ebenso wie auf die persische Keilschrift aufmer
sam. Überhaupt sammelte er viele Handschritt ^
in den orientalischen Hauptsprachen wie auch s
che in kleineren Sprachen. Seine unveröffenth611
Grammatik des Türkischen soll die beste der
maligen Zeit gewesen sein (Rossi 1938). Er
da'
fiat
det
sehr viel zur Kenntnis der Zeitgeschichte bzW-
politischen Verhältnisse in den orientalischen L
dem sowie der internationalen Beziehungen beig
tragen, über die er z. T. sehr intime Kenntnis erla £
hatte. Bull spricht besonders hinsichtlich dieses
reiches von: “the richest, most sophisticated c ^
temporary record we have of the state of the wnr
in the first quarter of the seventeenth century’
1989: ix). Della Valle trug hinsichtlich Geograp
103.2008
Anthropos
,n°graphische Datenerfassung, Dokumentation und Beschreibung bei Pietro Deila Valle (1586-1652)
187
Eth
^sonders zur Kenntnis von Persien Erhebliches bei
and fügte in seinen Reisebericht zu allen bereis-
n Legionen so manche Hinweise zu klimatischen,
natUr' und anthropogeographischen Verhältnissen
ein> Auch ließ er sich zum Ende seines Persien-
aufenthaltes ein Astrolabium kommen, um Mes-
sen der geographischen Breite zu besuchten Or-
ten
vornehmen zu können. Etwa 2/3 des fast 2400
eüen umfassenden Werkes kann man jedoch als
eZeitigen Beitrag zur ethnographischen Kennt-
tßS der bereisten Länder einschließlich der Hin-
grundinformationen betrachten; die aus letzte-
t n rekonstruierbaren methodischen Gesichtspunk-
Mei
Slud Gegenstand der vorliegenden Untersuchung.
emes Wissens gibt es aus jener Zeit keine auch
r annähernd ähnlich umfangreiche und zugleich
^filierte wie gut belegte ethnographische Dar-
üung aus weit überwiegend eigener Anschau-
g- Die ethnographischen Materialien hinsichtlich
u..s ^rkischen Reiches und des westlichen Dekans
kö:
nnen als zumeist besonders detailreiche und da-
ü viel Neues und Vertiefendes enthaltende Bei-
§e im Rahmen anderer vorangehender, gleich-
^ lllger oder etwas späterer Darstellungen gelten.
.^esonders zu den Pilgerstätten im Heiligen Land,
y typten und im Sinaigebiet gibt es sehr viel
ergleichsmaterial. Hinsichtlich Persien, worüber
Inf 6rze^ ef*er bruchstückhafte, aber kaum nähere
°rmationen Vorlagen, und wo er sich anderer-
vi if-arn ^an§sten aufgehalten hatte, hat er hingegen
no ^ *ge Grundlagen zur weiteren Kenntnis mit
te Ca Weit mehr Detailfülle als für andere Gebie-
Geflegt- Er hah wie ausgeführt, zu sehr vielen
s ^^tandsfeldem und oft außerordentlich umfas-
g e und ins Einzelne gehende Beschreibungen
§epe • ‘ Er ^at entsPrechen(f obigen Ausführun-
1. nicht nur Darstellungen zu einzelnen Ethnien,
viej gl0nsgruppen und Kulturen geliefert, sondern
^hr gerade auch ein Panorama von multieth-
ter vfn Und multikulturellen Verhältnissen und in-
^ei ^ schen bzw. interreligiösen Beziehungen ge-
6t‘ se* an ^Ieser Stelle erwähnt, dass re-
e^. e Ausgaben des Werkes nur Teile des Originals
la y^611 1989) oder stark gekürzt sind (Del-
gefad 6 ^aeta e Lockhard 1972), besonders
Det .? hinsichtlich der ethnographisch relevanten
tj0n ]* Erstellungen und der dazu gehörigen Situa-
tiv aterh 80 dass sie nicht den richtigen Eindruck
an°graphischen Leistung vermitteln können,
ber Sgesarnt fehlt es an Untersuchungen zu sei-
^achfmittelbaren Wirkung auf Zeitgenossen und
tfl)er °i§er- Die Vielzahl der Auflagen und die
Ver^r etzungen sprechen für eine zunächst weite
eben eitUng und damit Rezeption seines Werkes,
0 wie seine Sammlungen eigenständige Aus-
Anthr°Pos 103.2008
Wirkungen gehabt haben müssen. Allerdings ist
sein Werk zu einer Zeit, die weit nach der Reise lag,
gedruckt worden, als also schon andere, aktuellere
Berichte zu Teilregionen seiner Reise erschienen
waren, die für das unmittelbare Zeitgeschehen in-
teressanter waren, auch wenn sie für viele Gegen-
standsfelder zumeist bei weitem nicht einen ähn-
lich tiefen Eindruck vermitteln konnten wie Deila
Valles Ausführungen. So ist damit zu rechnen, dass
die Breitenwirkung und damit auch die Wirkung
auf Nachfolger und entsprechend auf die weite-
re wissenschaftliche Entwicklung relativ kurz und
sein Werk schon in der Aufklärungszeit nicht mehr
aktuell war. Montesquieu hat z. B. offensichtlich
für seine “Lettres persanes” nicht daraus geschöpft
(Vernière 1960: xix-xxi).
7 Abschließende Bemerkungen
Die vorliegende Untersuchung sollte zeigen, dass
Pietro Deila Valle in seinen Reisebriefen, die als
umfangreiches Werk - mit Ausnahme des vorgese-
henen Abbildungsbandes - veröffentlicht wurden,
nicht nur eine ungeheure Fülle an Datenmaterial zu
den von ihm bereisten Ländern vorgelegt hat, son-
dern dass sich in diesem Werk auch in erheblichem
Maße methodische Reflexion und die Durchfüh-
rung von methodischen Gesichtspunkten zur Eth-
nographie finden. Man kann sagen, dass alle all-
gemeinen grundlegenden Gesichtspunkte zur eth-
nographischen Feldarbeit darin enthalten sind, wie
sie heute berücksichtigt werden. Natürlich fehlt es
noch an spezielleren Methoden zu einzelnen Ge-
genstandsfeldern und man muss die Zeitumstän-
de mit ihren Möglichkeiten und Beschränkungen
bedenken, aber es sind eben von ihm die grund-
sätzlichen Gesichtspunkte voll berücksichtigt und
z. T. explizit diskutiert. Dabei ist die Beschreibung
nicht nur detailliert, sondern zumeist auch lebendig
und lebensnah. Nicht umsonst fühlte sich Goethe
mehr als von allen anderen Quellen zu Persien von
Della Valles seinerzeit schon wieder fast verges-
senem Werk inspiriert. Die umfassende Bericht-
erstattung über die Umstände der Beobachtungen
und Aufzeichnungen und die persönlichen und si-
tuativen Hintergründe, also der subjektiven Gege-
benheiten, liefert der Quellenkritik weit mehr und
differenzierteres Material als es zu den meisten eth-
nologischen Feldforschungen des 20. Jhs. zugäng-
lich ist. Erst seit der Veröffentlichung von B. Mali-
nowskis Feldtagebuch (1967) wird die Bedeutung
dieser Hintergründe in der Literatur zur ethnolo-
gischen Feldforschungsmethodik und Quellenkri-
tik intensiv diskutiert. Angesichts dieser Qualitäten
188
Jürgen Jensen
kann man Deila Valle als einen der maßgeblichen
Begründer von Feldforschungsmethodik zur Eth-
nographie zu einem frühen Zeitpunkt in der Vor-
geschichte der Ethnologie bezeichnen. Wenn die
Auswahl der mit größerem Detail behandelten Ge-
genstände bei ihm sehr subjektiv ist, so ist zu be-
rücksichtigen, dass die heutige Forschung längst
erkannt hat, dass es keine vollständigen Darstellun-
gen oder gar erschöpfenden monographischen Ge-
samtbehandlungen von ethnischen Einheiten oder
auch Teilgruppen geben kann, ja manche Auto-
ren etwas überspitzt nur noch kaleidoskophafte Be-
handlungen ethnographischer Phänomene für mög-
lich halten. Somit ist auch in dieser Hinsicht das
Subjektive geradezu unumgehbar und man kann ei-
nem frühen Autor deshalb keinen Vorwurf machen.
Auch kann kaum bemängelt werden, dass keine
präzisen Problemstellungen als Leitmotive Vorla-
gen und Theoriegesichtspunkte nur am Rande auf-
scheinen. Dazu gab es seinerzeit überhaupt keine
Grundlagen, auf die er sich hätte stützen können,
und überhaupt waren unter den seinerzeit publi-
zierenden Besuchern fremder Länder kaum philo-
sophisch gebildete oder gar selbst philosophieren-
de Personen bzw. wissenschaftliche Theoretiker.
Selbst unter Theologen in der Mission, die sich
für die Kulturen in ihrem Aktivitätsfeld interessier-
ten und darüber publizierten, waren systematische
Denker wie Las Casas vor ihm und Lafitau nach
ihm nach jetzigem Kenntnisstand völlige Ausnah-
meerscheinungen. Deila Valle war kein Gelehrter
im seinerzeitigen Sinne, sondern vielmehr einer,
der Unbekanntes oder wenig Bekanntes erforschen
wollte, und zwar vor Ort und unter Entwicklung
relevanter Maßstäbe der Beobachtung; er war un-
bedingt ein empirischer Forscher. Die ursprüngli-
che Absprache mit dem Gelehrten Schipano, über
den im Übrigen wenig bekannt ist, zeigt, dass ei-
gentlich jene Trennung in die Material beschaffen-
den Forscher und die auswertenden Gelehrten, wie
sie gerade in der Ethnologie bis in das beginnende
20. Jh. hinein gängig war, hier explizit eingeführt
wurde und eigentlich angestrebt war. Deila Valle
selbst fühlte sich, wie gezeigt, nach der Absage
Schipanos nicht dazu berufen sein Material zu einer
gelehrten Abhandlung zu verarbeiten - sehr zum
Vorteil des Einblicks in das nun in der Publikation
situationsnah präsentierte Material. Gerade deshalb
bleibt es dabei - Deila Valle gebührt ein herausra-
gender Platz in der Vorgeschichte der Ethnologie.
Man kann Deila Valles Leistung auch unter dem
generellen Gesichtspunkt eines Beitrages zur Ent-
stehung der modernen Wissenschaft betrachten, die
gerade ganz allgemein in seiner Zeit zu lokalisie-
ren ist. Noch gab es enge Verknüpfungen zwischen
mehr esoterischen und theologischen Aspekten d6S
Wissens und empirisch fundiertem Wissenschaft8'
streben, wie in der Alchemie, in der Verbindung
von Astronomie und Astrologie, hinsichtlich Natut'
beobachtung und Naturmagie und eben zwischen
der Kulturbeobachtung und dogmatisch gebundß'
nem biblisch-antikem Geschichtsverständnis bzV
absolutem kirchlichem Wahrheitsanspruch in vef'
schiedener Hinsicht. Aber es war bereits erkennbar
dass diese enge Bindung sich aufzulösen begnn11
und auf vielen Gebieten die Forschung gegen groß6
Widerstände - man denke an den Fall Galilei "
auf eine unabhängige Wissenschaft zustrebte. ÜU'
ter diesem Gesichtspunkt ist Deila Valle ein Vof'
reiter der empirischen Forschung im Bereich de8
Soziokulturellen. Seine Arbeit zeigt ganz klar, da88
er erkannte, in welchem Maße einerseits die eU'
pirische Erfassung von Gegebenheiten mit prakü'
sehen Schwierigkeiten (Problemen der ZugängH6^
keit, Problemen der Kompetenz und der Wahrhai'
tigkeit von Informanten, Problemen der Übersei'
zung, Problemen der Interpretation usw.) rechu611
muss, die es zu erkennen und zu überwinden g1
und worum er sich permanent bemühte. Anderei'
seits aber demonstriert er, dass es bei Beobacht*111'
gen und Beschreibungen im interkulturellen Fe*
erforderlich ist, Vorurteile der eigenen Tradition 2Ll
überwinden, was bei ihm in bemerkenswertem
ße der Fall ist. Es ist oben darauf aufmerksam Se'
macht worden, dass er gerade in letzterer Hinsi6*1
auf Widerstand in Gestalt der Zensur stieß.
Die vorliegende Untersuchung sollte im Übrig6^
keine umfassende Behandlung dieses Autors 1111
seines Werkes liefern, sondern vielmehr soll s1^
zunächst einmal anhand der Herausarbeitung
bei Deila Valle deutlich erkennbaren methodisch6
Prinzipien auf ihn aufmerksam machen und zu V6;1
teren Untersuchungen anregen. Dazu eröffnet 86
Werk reiche Möglichkeiten. Überhaupt bieten 81
- wie schon anfangs angedeutet - zu der PeU°
der Vorgeschichte der Ethnologie, in die Deila v
le einzuordnen ist, außerordentlich viele Mögh6
keiten zu fachgeschichtlicher Forschung, die vi
bedeutsame Erkenntnisse erbringen würde. Die .
langer Zeit erschienene und daher viele heute
bedeutsam erkennbare Problemfelder nicht berü6
sichtigende Überblicksarbeit von Hodgen (19° ’
die zu ihrer Zeit kaum Aufmerksamkeit gefun*1^
hatte, bietet immer noch den wichtigsten Einstieg
die Thematik, und die spezielleren Untersuchung
Stagls zu den Apodemiken (1980a, 1980b, 19° ’
1983b, 1995) erschließen eine reichhaltige Q11^
lenliteratur zu einem besonderen Aspekt, enthm
aber auch manche darüber hinausweisende
gungen; auch liefern manche Spezialarbeiten
103.2008
Anthropos
189
Eth
n°graphische Datenerfassung, Dokumentation und Beschreibung bei Pietro Deila Valle (1586-1652)
Quellenkritik zu Schriften aus dieser Zeit wertvolle
nregungen. Aber grundsätzlich fehlt es doch weit-
§e.hend an einer genaueren Befassung mit dem viel-
maligen Quellenmaterial dieser bedeutsamen Perio-
e der Vorgeschichte der Ethnologie.
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103.200*
Anthropos
Anthropos
103.2008: 191-202
Diffusionism, Appropriation, and Globalization
Some Remarks on Current Debates in Anthropology
Hans Peter Hahn
in s*ract. - Diffusionism is a long-standing theoretical issue
sh0anthroPol°gy- The current research on globalization often
derWs astonishing similarities between the 19th century un-
teo andin§ °f diffusion and the most recent interpretations
a||ej a'n§ globally circulating cultural phenomena. These par-
Ij)St lndicate the impact of global influences on local cultures.
tua ad °f adopting a macro perspective that promotes a world
actj °udook, the author proposes a closer examination of local
ree^n 'n the context of global influences in order to avoid the
tlie ,Qrgence of the shortcomings that led to the termination of
thro. century approaches. The focus on the local perspective
Way study of cultural appropriation appears to be an optimal
[ft 0 Understand the working of globalization on local levels.
anthropology, history of anthropology, globalization,
n°d°logy]
h ¡1 j) ^ p
ciai f0^eter Hahn, PhD, professor of anthropology with spe-
^rankfCUS °n at J°hann Wolfgang Goethe-University of
arid ij Urt' ~ He carried out research on material culture, crafts,
a j°jntVePdoc,ds in Togo and Burkina Faso and participated in
the r research programme entitled “Local Action in Africa in
Bayre°niext of Global Influences” (SFB/FK 560, University of
cuiat- where he codirected a project on consumption, cir-
Cetit '°n global goods, and households in West Africa. - Re-
(herij^hcations include “Materielle Kultur. Eine Einführung”
(«WD 2005), “Cultures of Migration. African Perspectives”
Citecjllv_d with G. Klute. Münster 2007). - See also References
Int
At
Auction
nt^p lrst §Iance, a comparison between the world
HrSh°Wing t*16 so_called “malajo-nigritic Kul-
N^ls °f Leo Frobenius (Map 1) and a recent
§ivenrepresentlng the worldwide distribution of any
c°nsumer goods (Map 2) discloses
a sur-
prising degree of similarity.1 The obvious resem-
blances are based on the perception of the globe
as being the overarching frame for far-reaching,
manifest, and complex relations. Discernible dif-
ferences mainly concern the topics represented on
the maps. Thus the particular attention of anthro-
pologists of culture history in the mid 19th to early
20th centuries was directed towards “cultural com-
plexes,” referring to bundles of specific cultural
traits thought to be in cooccurrence on several con-
tinents. World maps of globalization, by contrast,
show such topics as the flows of consumer goods,
the access to information, or the distribution of
political systems.
It is fascinating to recognize how Frobenius
meticulously drew on his maps the traces of the
“cultural complexes,” which had been previously
defined by him. The worldwide distribution of the
corresponding cultural traits was a core feature of
his notion of Kulturkreise, and in such distant areas
as Oceania and West Africa he observed parallels
concerning material culture, indigenous law, and
mythology (1897, 1898). He was fully aware of
the fact that his “cultural complexes” could only
be conceptualized as flexible structures. Therefore,
1 The map 1 is taken from Frobenius (1898: map 20). Its
relevance for my argument is not so very much the specific
topic (being related to the origin of the African cultures)
but merely the way of combining history and space. The
idea that chronology must be discernible in the spatial
configuration was a core feature of the new methodology
of culture history. It has been adopted by many colleagues
at that time.
192
Hans Peter
Hahn
Map 1: Sketch of the world map adapted from Leo Frobenius (1898: map 20). This simplified sketch is shown here in order
viusalize the methodology of culture history.
he compared cultures with organisms, which have
the capacity to adapt to different environments
by changing their Gestalt.2 These details of the
theoretical framework of culture history are of
some importance, because they reveal some sig-
nificant congruencies between the idea of “culture
history” and the concept of “ethnoscapes” coined
by Arjun Appadurai (1990). The later used this
term in order to underline the complex interactions
of ethnic groups, religions, and technologies all
over the globe. The result of these interactions is a
patchwork, or “cultural landscape.” Still following
the thoughts of Appadurai, cultural phenomena
in the context of globalization may be perceived
as circulating around the globe and being modified
in different areas, without losing their specific
characteristics (which may be addressed as their
Gestalt).
These remarks make clear that the parallels
reach far beyond their aforementioned visual qual-
ities. They transcend the level of similar metaphors
of cultures as organisms or landscapes by linking
the most remote parts of the world into a larger
framework of exchange and mobility. The com-
mon perspective implies furthermore the idea of
the effortless transportation from any place in the
world to any other place. This becomes clearer
2 The similarities between the psychoanalytical concept of
Gestalt and the idea of cultures, both of them being defined
through specific configurations, has been underexplored so
far. However, Weakland (1951) mentions that these two
concepts can be related to each other.
by the following example of a research propda’
made by Christoph Brumann (1998), who dlS
cussed the possible research priorities for a “se^
ond phase of globalization.” In this context 11
proposed a more empirically oriented applied0
of the term “ethnoscapes.” Following Brurna##’
an example for doing this would be a world’ll
mapping of festivities and rituals related to Cl#18
mas. As he proposes, researchers should colled
much information as possible on local Chris#11
traditions, and, in a second step, draw a j
of this complex and globally distributed fit#
This research proposal might be regarded as s°# ^
kind of “missing link” between the perspectives
culture history and globalization. This idea ab°
future research makes even clearer the far-read#
parallels between the'two approaches.
Bernhard Streck (2001), one of the first ^
thropologists to discuss these parallels betw ^
the culture-historical method and the percepti0#
globalization, labels these trends in globalizat
discourse as “neo-diffusionism.”3 * * He recog#1
in the current debate about globally circula J.
phenomena the chance to overcome the fallacieS^
the older diffusionism and, thereby, of the cult#r
map
3 In his history of anthropology, Marvin Harris (1968 ^
382 ff.) already classified the culture-historical appr°^
part of the diffusionist perspectives in anthropology- -^g
time, German anthropologists vividly refused the ^
together of the different culture-historical theories t
1973). See for the relevance of diffusionism in 6
anthropology also Lowie (1937) and Welz (2001)-
103-2008
Anthropos
193
diffus
lonism, Appropriation, and Globalization
(of n ^ ^oldd map showing “Global Flows of Dairy Products,” adapted from <http://www.farmedaniamal.net/faw/faw5-42.htra>
2007). In the framework of Appadurai this is an example of his “landscapes” with particular nodes and barriers.
tj|st°rical methods of Frobenius and others. Al-
^ugh culture history had a high sensitivity for
0i^Ural connections covering large spatial areas,
r °f its shortcomings was the neglect of more
ent diffusions of cultural traits. In particular,
ent phenomena of the second part of the 19th
Sl such as the diffusion of the bicycle, the
m engine, and complex social institutions of
fieln 111 ^ministration, might have been fruitful
ho research- As a consequence of the evasion
old mo(lem world, and of the retreat towards
^ and distant phenomena, the potentials of the
arp cuiture history received little attention
spe • anthr0P0l0gists later on. The atomistic per-
(je ctlves dominating social anthropology have not
Coen able even to approach the topic of global
^ections anyhow.4
cuu eemingly, Leo Frobenius and the concept of
re history had not been so totally wrong,
be the conclusion in the light of the parallels
tjj recent globalization perspectives. This line of
trjb is worth further discussion and also con-
rent^s to replying to some criticism against cur-
r trends in anthropology, as represented by An-
Tsing (2000), among others.5 Tsing blames
CQ6n ln the realm of the atomistic paradigm, diffusion
s lriUed to be a topic of anthropology, albeit on a much
tlQS?68 an<^ societies in Africa on a regional cultural level
er scale. Thus, Igor Kopytoff explored the diffusion of
See
34).
sp6 a^So Burawoy (2000), who also has a critical per-
glob We °n l^e sudden emergence of the new topic of
ahzation. In contrast to the optimistic position of Gupta
Anth;
r°pos 103.2008
the anthropologists for having picked up global-
ization as a saving straw in a highly critical sit-
uation in the 1980s, when many scholars in the
Humanities thought the subject of anthropology
would fade away with the disappearing of indige-
nous peoples and the emerging debate about the
inequalities of representations. Her criticism is par-
ticularly directed at the carelessness of switching
away from the discipline’s self-reflection, which
had taken a certain momentum at that time in the
context of the debate following the publication of
“Writing Culture” by James Clifford and George
Marcus (1986). Instead of thoroughly discussing
the critical position towards anthropological meth-
ods and the history of the discipline, anthropolo-
gists preferred to turn to the new phenomena of
globalization.
As a matter of fact the anthropological turn
toward the study of globalization was somehow
unconnected to previous issues and fields of re-
search.6 Thus, within the limited scope of the
history of anthropology in the years preceding
the turn toward globalization, Tsing’s criticism is
justified. However, looking at the earlier history
of anthropology, as I did at the beginning of this
and Ferguson (1997a, 1997b), Burawoy depicts the deficits
of any globalization approach which does not focus on the
local.
6 In anthropological literature is still a discernible gap be-
tween the booming topic of globalization research and
the reflection about the discipline’s history, as blamed by
Godelier (2000) and others.
194
Hans Peter Hahn
article, shows that anthropologists had been in-
terested in global connections and interactions as
early as almost a century before the rise of the
term “globalization.”
Despite these enticing lines of thought I will
not deepen the reflection about the long run of the
discipline’s history and, instead, exploit the out-
lined parallels for a critical examination of some
current methodological issues in anthropology and
discuss some conceptual problems in its current
dealings with globalization. I will then explain in
some detail the relevance of the term “cultural
appropriation” for a better understanding of global-
ization. My hypothesis is that appropriation should
be adopted as a theoretical framework in anthropo-
logical globalization research in order to overcome
some of the current methodological shortcomings
and to reorient research to a more thorough study
of local societies. This claim is based on the ar-
gument that cultural appropriation is not only a
functional tool explaining the link between the
worldwide distribution of cultural traits and its
adoption or rejection. Reaching far beyond this
level of understanding, appropriation may also
open new horizons of innovation and resistance.
The aim of this contribution is, therefore, twofold:
first, I will theorize the term “appropriation” in
order to show its theoretical potential; second, I
will show the efficiency of the term when it is
used for explaining phenomena of globalization in
the context of some examples.
Deficits of Current Debates on Globalization
As my introductory remarks have shown, the use
of culture history as method and the current ideas
about globalization may be lumped together in
the framework of diffusionist theories. Today, as
in the 19th century, contact between societies
and cultures and the diffusions of cultural traits
are given a higher priority than cultural change.
The moving of cultures seems to be dominant,
independently of the question whether this is to
be explained by stimulus diffusion or by the
mobility of people.7 But, before proceeding to a
detailed critique of this overemphasis upon the
mobility of people and cultural traits, it might be
useful to present some critical perspectives on the
globalization debate.
7 The increasing mobility as a shared topic of 19th-century
anthropology and in the domain of globalization is also to
be seen as part of a new experience of the anthropologists
themselves (Probst 2005).
Anthropological interest in globalization begarl
in the 1980s as a debate driven by an increasing
awareness for new economic and cultural phenon1'
ena. Although newspapers reported on the action5
of global players and the global entanglement
of economies and societies, social anthropologists
did not yet have a proper disciplinary approach
to these phenomena. At that time, the relation
between anthropologists and the public percept01!
of globalization was comparable to the story oI
the rabbit and the hedgehog. When anthropol0'
gists like Arjun Appadurai, Mike Featherstone, fnr
Hannerz, and others introduced one after the othgr
their new theories, the public was able to lead1
about the even newer phenomena and even m°rS
astonishing worldwide links. Obviously, global'
ization phenomena emerged much faster than
the corresponding new interpretations from antin'0'
pology.
Identifying anthropological approaches to glotr
alization is furthermore complicated by the fa°
that there is a dominant understanding of globa*
ization as an economic or political term. Often 1
remains unclear to what extent it also describe
social and cultural changes. Focussing globally
tion on economies would result in a limited
evance of anthropological issues. Then, culWrJ
phenomena might be classified as “collateral el'
fects” of globalization. Nevertheless, this perspeC
five is misleading and globalization has to be
garded as having an impact of equal important
on economic, social, and cultural aspects, ft lS
the first task of anthropologists engaging in *.
public debates to make this point as clear as p°sS^
ble; Cultures and societies are as much concern0
with globalization as it is the case for economy
Perhaps, globalization has escaped a convin0111^
theoretical framework from sociology and anthf°
pology until now, just in cause of the extreme;
great diversity of significant observations relate
to it.
A good indicator for the incomplete or at
least
inconsistent theoretical explanation of global^
tion is revealed by the fact that some imp°rt
anthropologists, like Jonathan Friedman, take
highly critical attitude in the globalization deb
and refuse to appreciate globalization as some
thin»
new, or as being of any relevance beyond
Waftef
stein’s world-system theory.8 Following Fne
dm a11
8 Some historians and anthropologists distinguish
the long and the short concept of globalization. Whet-
short concept sets the starting of globalization in the ^
the longer perspective sees a phase of globalization ^
la lettre, dealing with globalization phenomena in the
1O3.20«8
Anthropos
195
diffusion ism, Appropriation, and Globalization
(2005), there is no reason to explain the current
Phenomena of globalization other than as a peri-
°d of declining hegemonies. The opening of the
Political power blocks after 1989, the increase in
0rld trade and the intensification of the circula-
’°n of goods may be subsumed as an outcome of
Pe increasing disorientation. Following Friedman,
* ohalization is nothing new. Thus, he compares
Pe current phenomena of globalization with the
Period of decline of the Roman Empire (2004).
. ^ this statement, Friedman is - without making
e*Plicit or giving any references - astonishingly
close
to late representatives of culture history like
swald Spengler (1919-22) or Arnold Toynbee
(1962)9
ll is not possible to discuss here whether Fried-
a’s position is justified or not, but I will use
ls critical view of the current globalization debate
refer to one of his arguments, because it is per-
nePt for a better understanding of anthropology’s
^Pccific problems with the increasing circulation
goods and ideas. His argument starts with a
Scription of the Kwakiutl, an Indian tribe on the
dhwestem coast of America, famous for their
Patch ritual. One day, the Kwakiutl began to
e sewing machines for this ritual and to destroy
pePt instead of the formerly used copper plates.
Redman’s argument regarding this innovation is
• at local traditions will not change automatically
j st because of the arrival and the subsequent
c [egfation of global goods in a ritual, as it is the
asc with the potlatch.
^ What we learn from this argument is that the
g, Option of the circulation of goods around the
a de and their diffusion even to the groups which
^Propologists understand as “their own domain”
0£ not a reason yet to posit any essential change
the^°se socicbcs as such. As Friedman argues,
the recent usage of the sewing machine among
0j,e Kwakiutl may be described as a phenomenon
q^^balization.10 But to understand the conse-
^hf^CeS t^s’ we ^ave t0 as^ more exactly
ether the society changes as such, and if so, to
^entury and even earlier (Robertson 2001; Osterhammel
Petersson 2003; Wimmer 2003). The precursor of these
Pproaehes is immanuel Wallerstein and his concept about
9 Jhe Modem World-System” (1974).
t, Us> Friedman implicitly confirms the parallels drawn in
]Q lntroductory section of this article.
e Indians engaged in potlatch were systematically in-
thr StC<^ 'n Western consumer goods, which they acquired
c °u§h the fur trade reaching its peak through the 19th
*** (Masco 1995:51). Thus, the integration into the
]ev°nial world-system propelled the potlatch not only on the
0|V'el °f the goods involved, but also in the social structure
c°rnpetition through conspicuous gift-giving.
At4hi
:r°P°s 103.2008
what degree. Dominant arguments of the current
globalization debate are based on mobility, and
they are fixed by the fascination of the metaphors
of currents and flows. Decisive questions, for
whose treatment anthropologists would consider
themselves as being experts, however, remain
open. These questions concern the agency at the
level of local societies as well as the cultural
change in those societies.
The Role of Appropriation for Understanding
Global Influences on Local Societies
In this dilemma, it might be advisable to leave
for a moment the path of the nervous debates
describing bewildering globalization and diffusion
phenomena. Instead of freezing our perspective
in the admiration of the novelties and the unex-
pected, it seems to be more appropriate to switch
to the level of a more conceptual perspective. I
will do this in reflecting about the relevance of
appropriation in the context of the new diffusionist
paradigm and beyond. If the particular anthropo-
logical specificity of focussing on the actors and
their view onto cultures shall be maintained, then
globalization should be linked to the concept of
cultural appropriation, describing local perceptions
of new cultural phenomena.11 The circulation of
objects and things as such is of lesser importance,
regarding the question of how to understand cul-
turally meaningful actions in the context of glob-
al influences. A closer look at appropriation will
serve in the following as a reorientation away from
the dominance of the pure description of phenom-
ena of circulation (sewing machines among the
Kwakiutl) and toward a deeper understanding of
meaningful local action in the context of global-
ization.
“Making something to become one’s own”
describes - following Wilhelm Dilthey (1910) -
the fundamental idea of being confronted with
the “other.” To enlarge one’s own horizon and
to appropriate the formerly strange is one of the
central figures in the thinking of the 19th century,
in particular of hermeneutics as a methodology
of understanding. More than a half-century later,
Paul Ricoeur was one of the first philosophers to
11 An early usage of appropriation in social sciences can be
found in the texts of de Certeau (1984). De Certeau sees the
relevance of this term in the defeat of the power of large-
scale structures. He uses the idea of “appropriation” with
the intention to readjust the scientific perspective towards
local action. For a further reflection about de Certeau’s
notion of “everyday life,” see Highmore (2000).
196
Hans Peter Hahn
problematize and to expand the concept of appro-
priation, which had been so familiar and prominent
in the 19th century.12 Ricoeur (1981) points to the
hermeneutical basis of cultural appropriation and,
thereby, proves the necessity to think about the
specific meanings of this concept.13 Ricoeur (1981:
178) attaches great importance to the fact that, in
contrast to the older philosophers, the hermeneu-
tical perspective of appropriation has changed its
meaning by the thoughts of Hans-Georg Gadamer
(1960). Gadamer’s concept about the “fusion of
horizons” means that it is not adequate to include
foreign things, institutions, or ideas into one’s own
horizon. Instead of this, a correct understanding of
appropriation implies the focus on the “momen-
tum of understanding” as an open process, which
inevitably leads to a changing of an actor’s iden-
tity.14 The process entangles the person who is
appropriating an object or an institution to the
extent that he or she does not have a complete
control over its outcome.
This longstanding tradition in the Humanities
of theorizing “appropriation” as described so far
is useful for the distinction between everyday
and scientific understandings of this concept. The
more limited everyday usage of this term, which
sometimes also can be observed in anthropological
literature, can be misleading in the context of
globalization theory.
This particular tradition of the term “appropri-
ation” also makes obvious the shared roots of two
approaches, which today seem to be totally sepa-
rated. The first of the two debates is situated in the
context of a critical perspective towards Western
thought and agency. In this context anthropologists
are particularly exposed to sharp criticism of the
illegitimate intention to appropriate other cultures
by writing, drawing, or photographing. This debate
has received growing attention from the 1970s
onwards, when indigenous rights became a topic of
discussion. An outstanding book summarizing this
debate is the edited volume by Bruce Ziff, entitled:
“Borrowed Power” (1997). The title reflects some
12 Obviously, I have left out here some important 19th-century
thinkers who contributed eminently to the emergence of the
concept of “cultural appropriation.” In particular this is the
case for Karl Marx and his notion of appropriation as a
precondition of man’s existence in the world. Even today
Marx’s argument is of relevance for applications of the term
“appropriation” (cf. Haug 1994; Cheah 2006).
13 Cf. Schneider (2003, 2006) for a closer discussion of
Ricoeur and hermeneutics in anthropology.
14 This context is one of the reasons for the career of the
term “identity” in social sciences and in anthropology (cf.
Jenkins 1996; Emcke 2000).
of the most biting criticism concerning the “steak
ing” of indigenous art and the commercialize
of non-Westem crafts as part of an exoticiziuS
practice in consumer societies (Grewe 2006). ThlS
debate is about the illegitimate behavior of th6
powerful to make use of other people’s tradition8’
of their knowledge and aesthetics, as authors 01
artistic or scientific work. They do so without
asking the “true owners” of these cultural phe'
nomena, and benefit from the windfall profits fr0111
doing so.15 Such appropriations are a major issue’
lamented by advocates of indigenous peoples. ^
good deal of such conflicts end up with veA
precise arrangements about which cultural forte5
of expression are subject to an ethnic copyrigfrj
and, therefore, fall under the “appropriation ban
(Rowlands 2002).
In contrast to this, the understanding of appr°'
priation in the context of the globalization debate
is oriented toward the indigenous peoples, not a8
victims but as actors. In this perspective appropd'
ation is no longer regarded as the behavior of №
powerful but merely as a particular strategy of №
powerless. According to Michel de Certeau (198
the powerless may use appropriation to underrntee
the power of the ruling people. Among others, Jeaj!
and John Comaroff (1991, 1996) have elaborate
this point by explaining the modifications of West'
em clothing by natives in South Africa. In ^
discourse, appropriation is much praised because1
describes spaces of agency which do counter heg6'
monies. Here, appropriation is understood also a5
an act of self-assertion and of resistance of l°c ,
identity against the colonial powers or postcolote3
elites.
The contradictions between the two debate5
have become obvious. Although each of the tvf
perspectives is legitimate and well founded iu 1
particular historical and empirical domains, 1
approaches to the term are quite different. Iu 1
first debate appropriation is a matter of interpteta
tion. This is linked to the hermeneutical unde
standing where anthropologists make someth1 &
become their own; they are the authors, and, c
respondingly, they claim a particular authority-
the second debate, acting and the prevailing p0';
relations are in the focus of the observation- 1 ,
question in this debate is not about the indiviu ^
author but merely about the spaces of agency
15 Beyond the usual claims about illegal usage of tfaclltl^g0
forms and techniques (Pannell 1994; Todd 1992).
the dissemination of rituals and religious practices
been criticized as “illegitimate appropriation” (Ldsch
Fisher 2004; Irvin 2005).
103-2008
Anthropos
197
^iffusionism, Appropriation, and Globalization
eVeryday life. Appropriation on the side of indige-
n°Us people is something pragmatic, something
^predictable. The only possible conclusion from
°°king at both debates is to enlarge the under-
handing of appropriation so that it contains both
Meanings. Properly understood, appropriation can
?eilsitize the observer for the necessity to com-
lne hermeneutic approaches with a perspective
°n Pragmatic actions.
b
Adjusting the Globalization Debate through
e Appropriation Approach
the light of this broader understanding of appro-
bation, the role of this term in the globalization
bourse becomes somehow clearer. As already
entioned, this term is a tool applied to the par-
utar anthropological methodology of focussing
the local. Thus, the concept represents an al-
‘Native to the dominance of the flow metaphors,
hcized at the beginning of this article. At the
saitie
time it explicates the resistance and self-
?Sertion of the local in spite of the increasing
°hal influences (Probst and Spittler 2004).
Appropriation is neither the first nor the only
tative of establishing alternatives to the domi-
111 flow metaphors. The terms of hybridization
sid Cre°dzation, which currently receive a con-
t erable popularity in the Humanities, also claim
offer alternatives to flow metaphors and the
^ S1°pia of cultural homogenization (Hahn 2004c).
had been introduced a decade ago and rep-
de^nt a particular position in the globalization
tur ate’ which underlines the vitality of local cul-
(e es>16 Following the core arguments of these
the phenomenon of cultural homogenization
^Uced by the diffusion of global norms, ideas,
the technologies is inevitably complemented by
hybei*ergence of new cultural mixtures. In short,
lhe ric^Zah°n and creolization manage to explain
dj Present-day cultural diversity without denying
Po] ^ globalization. In particular, in anthro-
See°£lcal essays they are often used because they
to direct the focus of observation toward the
ahvity of local societies.
ach of the terms has been discussed largely in social
Cl?nces in the last years. Out of the huge corpus of books
a Published articles it is worth to name at least those
b 10 introduced the term in the current debate. It was Ulf
nnnerz (1987) who introduced creolization, and Homi
thea°^a (1994) who is most influential when people discuss
. term “hybridization.” For this term see also Jan Pieterse
ederveen (1995).
Anth
r°P0S 103.2008
This specific capacity is an important achieve-
ment, but I think, it also contains a problemat-
ic aspect. Stemming from biology and linguistics
and being imported into anthropology as guiding
metaphors, hybridization and creolization imply a
merely mechanical picture of local creativity by
taking for granted the readiness of local people
to discuss and to integrate new cultural phenom-
ena.17 This mechanical picture obfuscates some
important questions: Is it really so that people vol-
untarily agree to integrate the new? Under which
conditions global influences are adopted, trans-
formed, or rejected?
Within the limited framework of hybridization
and creolization, the acceptance of new things by
local societies becomes a kind of “normality.” The
possibility of rejection, which was so important
in anthropology some decades ago, is no longer
considered (Spittler 2002). Neither the refusal nor
the question as to why such transformations occur
and whose interests are linked to these processes
are part of these concepts. My critical perspective
is akin to the position of Marshall Sahlins (1988),
who also criticizes the assumption of an automatic
adoption or transformation of Western or global
cultural phenomena. Following Sahlins, the idea
that no society can escape global influences should
be regarded as an illegitimate form of universal-
izing specifically Western thought. In contrast to
this approach, anthropology should face the task of
answering questions about continuity and change
without prefabricated models.18
The concept of appropriation is particularly
apt to deal with such questions without any pre-
assumptions. Appropriation orients the look at lo-
cal contexts and protagonists, who decide whether
a certain cultural element is picked up, trans-
formed, and will become a feature of the local
society - or not. The concept of appropriation
constitutes a way of understanding cultural pro-
cesses, which stress durability and the locality of
meaning. It offers an attempt to explain equally
well processes which are as different as adoption,
modification, and rejection. Appropriation man-
17 According to Charles Stewart (1999:41; 2007) it is the
“porosity” of cultures which constitutes the highly prob-
lematic bias of these terms. This applies to creolization and
hybridization as well as to syncretization.
18 Anthropology should not limit its scientific interest to the
statement that globalization has an impact on cultures.
According to Strathera (1995: 165) every local culture tends
to have a globalizing self-understanding. Anthropologists
should, therefore, be particular sensitive for the persistence
of local specificities, which often exist without being
noticed.
198
Hans Peter Hahn
ages this task by looking at the aspect of local
agency and the strength of local societies. There-
fore, tradition and the emergence of new tradi-
tions must be regarded as results of appropriation,
too.
Furthermore, how is it possible to regard tradi-
tion as part or even result of the process of cul-
tural appropriation? This question is related to the
experience of interpreting empirical research on
global influences in Africa.19 A closer look at the
integration of global goods reveals several fields
of agency linked to this process. Without consti-
tuting subsequent stages, these fields or aspects of
appropriation are helpful to structure the empiric
findings. Although no appropriation process covers
all aspects, the initial phase (acquisition) and the
result (tradition) are necessary elements.
Thus, the initial phase of cultural appropria-
tion can be contact, acquisition, or adoption. Fur-
ther modes are begging, lending, or even stealing,
as described drastically in the literature (Nelson
2003). At this stage, actively controlling the pro-
cess is a prerequisite. The next stage constitutes
what is meant by the term “appropriation” proper-
ly, and it describes the different fields of agency
which may, but do not need to be present in their
totality. The intention of these acts is the transfor-
mation or redefinition of the appropriated cultural
element. The transformation does require some
preconditions and has particular consequences.
One of the conditions is what I call the “obstinacy”
or “autonomy of rules and properties.” This applies
to material objects, which depend on particular
technologies, as well as social institutions and
religions, which require well-defined normative
or ethical positions. This transformation includes
redesigning, renaming, and recontextualization as
well as bodily adaptation. Furthermore, the trans-
formation leads to the creation of local traditions
enclosing particular forms and specific ways of
dealing with the appropriated element. Kurt Beck
(2001) has shown this with the example of the
diesel engine in the Sudan, and I have described
the appropriation of the bicycle in West Africa in
the context of the mentioned research programme
(Hahn 2004a).
19 In the framework of the above mentioned programme, in-
vestigations into household possessions and documentations
of objects’ life histories were carried out. One of the aston-
ishing outcomes is the fact that “global goods” are hardly
ever perceived as something contradicting or questioning
locally produced things or local traditions. In the context
of the research project we understand this as result of the
process of traditionalization which is part of appropriation
(Hahn 2004c; Verne 2007).
Appropriation and Innovation as Processes
of Interpretation and Improvisation
As both case studies show, improvisation is
great relevance during the process of appropHa'
tion. As a matter of fact, improvisation describe
an area neglected by anthropology so far. Impr°'
visation stipulates the fact that people act without
controlling entirely the outcome of their actioU’
and that the result of the acting may be only 0
limited or temporary value. Typically, improvise
tion has to do with actions which have a cle^j
intention, but do not have a very well-defin6
result. Improvisation - as appropriation, too - cal1
be understood as a hermeneutical process, insof^
as the actor is searching for the right mode 0
acting or dealing with an object, until he will be
able to master the new thing. This is the key ^
relate both terms to each other: a more thorough
understanding of appropriation combines the &ct'
ing (improvisation) with the reinterpretation an
reinvention. In this way it becomes possible t0
combine the two discursive traditions of the terlTl
“appropriation” mentioned above.
Thus, tradition, which has been placed at
end of appropriation, does not contradict innova
tion. On the contrary, contextualization frequ#*
ly consists in redefining a worldwide distribut6
cultural element as something new and in stress
ing the difference compared with the very sam6
element in other societies. A good example 1.
this comes from my already mentioned reseat6
on bicycles in West Africa, which focused 0
vity
the acting of bicycle users, on their creati
and their capacity for improvisation. In the
ligi*
of a larger theoretical framework, these action
constitute only a partial appropriation of gl°
goods. Of equal importance is the interpretati
dimension of the appropriation of bicycles, whi
has been documented by Jean-Pierre Jacob (19/
He reports on a quite specific legend of °rl^e
of bicycles for a neighboring region. Among 1
aus
Winye in Burkina Faso, there is a story about
invention by one of their ancestors of all rnea*^
of transport, which do not work without the
of air, as bicycles, cars, and aeroplanes. Thus, ^
Winye declare themselves as experts for using a
manipulating the air, and they assign to the
ropeans the capacity to deal with water transP^.g
When Europeans brought the first bicycles to
area, they just remitted to the Winye what an6 ^
belonged to them and what had been kept sate
the White people for some time. 0t
Appropriation is the basis for innovation ^
only in the sense of inventing new contexts
103.
Anthropos
199
Diffus
1 on ism, Appropriation, and Globalization
^tablishing new traditions. It goes well beyond
these
In
aspects when improvisation is considered.
Particular, when dealing with material culture
^ technical objects like the diesel pump or the
lcycle it is difficult to draw a line between techni-
Ca^ improvements (innovation), customization, or
Pure recontextualization.20 As far as innovation
*,esults from improvisation, it is the result of an in-
• V](iual effort and puts the role of the protagonist
0 the center. Only if it leads to a new practice
c°gnized as such in the local society, it is consid-
^ed as an innovation. Innovation is thus a question
the author. As I have shown, appropriation is
question of the author, too. Just as the legend
t the means of transport, which are connected
, air, transforms those objects in a manner that
0£ y afe perceived as local inventions, it is one
r the constitutive aspects of the appropriation to
^ ahvize the diffusion and to stress the fact of
e local reinvention. Thus, innovation refers to
j °Ple as innovators, that means actors, who have
_ ensively dealt with an object, who have become
^Pert for tjjg object’s properties, and who define
qualities.
lis understanding, cultural appro-
acting with the aim of changing
and also the act of “interpreting
0^h the intention to make other things to become
8 0Wn•,, Therefore, it requires time and it also
. he perceived as work. James Carrier (1995)
pr^Slghtedly has used the expression “work of ap-
tjlePriati°n.”He understands both aspects with this:
SOc.Practical, physical work of redesigning and the
Work of interpretation and redefinition. The
^ °t the social work is to create a new concensus
itl°ut the assessment of the object or the institution
a ^Uestion. This way the cultural element becomes
he ]C^ tradition. I will conclude from a hermeneu-
tjj 1 Perspective: part of the cultural work is also
hie rea^ness to change oneself in the context of
Process of reinterpretation.
Dri •Cording to t]
lafion describes
e environment”
fusion
This •
artlcle has proposed an understanding of cul-
ca] aPPr°priation that is central to anthropologi-
ap re^ection. If we compare the focus of cultural
the °Priation with the perspective of the maps of
cUs Xv°rldwide diffusion of cultural traits (as dis-
c]e^^m the first section of the article), it becomes
’ JUst how much of the path has been made
a more detailed description of the empirical fields of
Pr°priation-oriented research cf. Hahn (2004b).
VlHhr
away from the metaphors of global flows and in
the direction of more depth in the analysis of local
changes.
Although I did not want to agree entirely to
the criticism concerning the dominant metaphors
in the current globalization debate, the critical
position was helpful in order to identify the short-
comings of the ongoing debate, and to show a way
to compensate for these deficits. I am convinced
that anthropology will be able to gain a better un-
derstanding of globalization only by readjusting its
focus on the local level. This priority of the local
might cure the fallacies of the cultural-historical
approach as well, which is the particular impact
of the concept of appropriation. In directing the
perspective on local actors, we may build up a
device to overcome the shortfalls of diffusionist
approaches. One hundred years ago, diffusionist
anthropologists neglected local horizons of mean-
ing and action. If the globalization debate today
once again dismisses the perspective on the local,
it will fail to describe adequately the ongoing
processes of cultural change.
An anthropological theory of culture in the
context of globalization is only possible if we
leave the bird’s-eye view of the maps of the world
and put the level of the local protagonists in the
center. The concept of appropriation contributes to
such a theory of culture, because it is focussed on
the different aspects of acting on the local level.
So, appropriation is an instrument which helps
us to examine questions of rejection, takeover,
adoption, or reinvention without simplifying pre-
assumptions. The concept opens new horizons
which explain the change of local societies. Instead
of limiting the perspective to culture contact (or
cultural mixing) by using appropriation, cultural
change becomes a central focus for anthropolo-
gy. Appropriation, as a mode of cultural change,
is nothing that happens automatically, but it
deals with local action and the creation of local
meaning.
Before discussing the relevance of this new
approach to globalization, I have shown the long
tradition of this term in the Humanities and I
have stressed the fact that appropriation means
hermeneutical interpretation and pragmatic action
(improvisation). Whenever appropriation is re-
duced to only one of the two levels, its heuristic
potential is abandoned. The current usage of ap-
propriation in anthropological texts on globaliza-
tion will benefit from combining the two meanings
of appropriation. Interpretation and action are no
contradictions in this context, but they are precon-
ditions of each other.
°P°s 103.2008
200
Hans Peter HaW1
Appropriations are not just a matter of “acting”
of indigenous people, and appropriations are not
exclusively an illegitimate “attitude of arrogance”
of Western ethnographers. Both contexts are exam-
ples of appropriation, which are not fully explored
when they are looked at separately. I prefer to use
the metaphor of regards croisés because appro-
priation is always linked to several perspectives
that cross each other. In all these cases, using
appropriation as a conceptual framework leads to
a closer look at the actors. Appropriation is al-
ways an action which has its sense on the level
of the actors’ intentions. This is the reason why
appropriation may contribute to the assertion of the
identity of one’s own and to the permanence of lo-
cal societies. Appropriation is, therefore, critically
valuable for a better understanding of cultures in
the context of globalization.
The article emerges from the ongoing research on “Local
Action in Africa in the Context of Global Influences”
(SFB/FK 560) at Bayreuth University. It has been
presented at Frankfurt University in May 2006 and it has
been repeatedly discussed with my colleagues. I wish
to express my gratitude to Gerd Spittler and Markus
Verne, the collaborators in the research project, for
allowing me to present some of the research results in
this article.
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|03.2°°8
Anthropos
Berichte und Kommentare
aUiral Objects Transformed
nt° Symbolic Meaning
***0|*g the Sidäma of Northeast Africa
°^n H. Hamer
CqqS art*c^e concerned with symbolic support for
^ Peration, what Searle has recently referred to
, resulting in the collective allocation of functions
iti k °n m^es diât result in institutions grounded
’J* tae moral power of the actors (2006: 12-15).
^,ese activities are often connected to elements
fenH ’ w^en associated with the status of actors,
{ ^ become transcendent symbols. Specifically,
^ ar|t to focus on cattle, wood, water, butter,
t^e ^Ük- These are common elements used by
t0 mdàrna of northeast Africa in varying contexts
theC°nvey meaning. The concern is to show how
^ .e Phenomena are given social significance
lr,stitutional relationships. As will be shown,
c0nte things are linked by the Sidâma to social
r°k emotions, and above all production. The
Creer: Graeber has suggested, is not simply about
of lng material things as ends in themselves, but
7liking people and social relations (2006: 69-
ïf
Cre ,s°cial being and production are basic to the
^k°n symbols, the process by which the latter
roe . fted from one context to another in changing
I SL^nê is more complex. To get at this process
Stra* rely on the concepts developed by Ivo
h r ^88). He indicates that the emotional
fle social are the two key aspects in ontology.
c°nstitute the basis for the moral order that
keyfs in a symbol, and the latter becomes the
l9^° gaining power over the unknown (Strecker
^"30, 37 f.). The main issue is use rather
SoCi leaning in controlling status. Further, the
W 1 Pressure created by symbolism becomes an
iw ct Way of communication about events and
lal elements. As Terry Turner has phrased it,
4n
°P°s 103.2008
perhaps a little more elegantly, it is a matter of
regarding “minimal elements” as being changed
“in both epistemological and ontological senses
to the combinatorial structures in which they are
incorporated in cultural discourse and social ac-
tion” (1991: 122). This pressure may be used for
domination or to avoid humiliation. To summa-
rize, symbols develop alternatively to satisfy the
social and emotional aspects of the moral order;
expression of the power of communication regard-
ing events and things; and finally for dominating
others and/or avoiding humiliation.
The People
Elsewhere I have written extensively on Sidamo
culture (Hamer 1987, 2003).1 The Sidâma are a
Cushitic-speaking people with a social structure
grounded in a generational class system (lua) lead-
ing to pervasive elderhood authority. They reside
in small hamlets (kaca) surrounding plateaus on
the edge of the Rift Valley, between Lakes Awassa
and Abaya. Although the population is probably
much larger at present, the official 1984-census
placed it at 1.5 million with an estimated 240
persons per square mile (Office of the Population
and Housing Census Commission 1984). Hamlets
(kaca) are organized into neighborhoods (olau) for
community labor in house building, trail main-
tenance, and pond clearance, as well as for the
performance of large rituals such as mourning the
dead (kayico witla). Today coffee is the cash crop
mixed with gardens producing subsistence crops.
1 The research was carried out under grants from the Ford
foundation, Great Lakes Colleges Association, and the
Canada Council in the 1960s and 70s. Later brief interviews
with individuals were completed in the 1980s and 90s.
Sidama is the designation of the Aleta people where most of
the research was conducted. Brpgger (1986), Cerulli (1956),
and Vecchiato (1993) use the term Sidamo, though the
former designation has been recommended by a Sidanco
(singular) (Hotesso 1983). I use Sidamo as an adjective.
204
Berichte und Kommentar6
The latter consist of ensete edulus (wese)2 * * * * * along
with a variety of vegetables. Cattle which provide
milk, butter, and meat for ritual purposes graze in
the communal pasture on the center of the plateau.
The people follow a division of labor in which
wives manage households, care for young children,
and prepare food. Husbands are responsible for
planting and herding cattle. Both parents rely on
the youth as a supporting labor force (Hamer and
Hamer 1994).
The Sidama are organized into exogamous
patricians (gurri) and because of unilineal de-
scent through males women have no claims on
land in either their own or their husband’s clan.
The pervasive male authority of the generational
class system means that men are conceptualized
as fathers or foster fathers, regardless of agnatic
or affinal connections. This is structured through
the generational class system (lua) which crosscuts
clan divisions. Women have no such organization
though old women, beyond childbearing age, re-
ceive a degree of respect and converse as well as
share food with male elders.
There are five classes in the lua which follow
in sequence, changing every seven years over a
35-year cycle. Preinitiates belong temporarily to
a second class beyond the one into which their
father is initiated. When the latter is promoted to
elderhood, the son is initiated into the class behind
the father and the son’s son becomes a preinitiate
in the class preceding his grandfather. By the
time the son is promoted to elderhood, 28 years
following his father’s ascendancy to that status, the
son’s son becomes an initiate in the class preceding
his father’s. In effect a man becomes related on a
father-foster father basis to all the elders in all
five classes at different periods in the life cycle.
The resulting linkages make it possible not only to
optimize conflict resolution, but for men to acquire
land and increased wealth in clans other than their
own. This is because generational father-foster
father bonds of the lua.
It is in the myths, rituals, and spiritual beliefs
of the Sidama that one finds support for the social
structure and production process. Principally in
these areas of institutional daily life concerning
fear, hope, and well-being one finds a richness of
symbolic transfers from one experiential context to
2 Ensete edulus (wese) is referred to as the “false banana
tree” since the fruit is nonedible, but the trunks and root
are harvested as food (Bezuneh 1972: 9, 12). It has a high
caloric value and is drought resistant (Smeds 1955: 38;
Olmstead 1974: 153). Wese is the Sidamo term for the plant
and wasa is the refinement of the plant as prepared food.
another. Thus seemingly mundane objects such aS
butter, milk, wood, and cattle become more than
elements as they acquire transcendent meaning8111
changing social situations.
The Emotional and Social
I begin with two versions of the story of Queel1
Furra, which portrays the origin of the institution'
alized emotions and social divisions between mel1
and women. In this myth women hunted wild a°
imals and went to war under the leadership of №
Queen. Marriage negotiations were conducted hy
women for husbands who were expected to prepay
the food for their warrior wives. The beginning 0
the end of these practices is portrayed in two dn
ferent versions of the story. In one version, wherl
the women count their numbers after a battle,
always come up short of one warrior unaccounw
for. This is because the person counting fail8 t0
include herself. Furra changes marriage rules s°
that women can prepare food, but are told to neve
show newly made butter or ensete (wasa) to th£l
husbands and to always deny the first requests 0
the latter. Nevertheless, the Queen continues t0
exercise her power by ordering the young men t0
kill all the elders who are hiding in the foi£S'
Further, she assigns the youth certain impossw
tasks like building a house that doesn’t touch m
ground and finding a zebra that she may ride №
a horse. The elders tell the young men to captu
a zebra, then help Furra to mount the anhna’
and send them off at a gallop. Following tbe. t
instructions they help her mount, but then ins*
that to steady the Queen they must tie her to t
beast. This done, they whip the zebra which g° ^
off at a gallop. Before long Furra is being buffet^
against trees and boulders until her body begin8
fall apart and is scattered in various places. ^
in the first version of the story this is the end 0
the woman ruler and roles of authority and s°cl
control are reversed. . g
A second version emphasizes women hunh
and killing a water buffalo. When, however, m g
return from the hunt, they cannot say which 0 j
actually killed the animal. The Queen tells them
to take credit for the act by putting butter in m
hair. Another variation in this version indiea
that Furra’s body finally disintegrated in the a
of the Shabadino clan {gurri) at Curra. Here ^
remains are said to be buried, and women 8
put butter on a tree near the alleged grave. Bn
as emblematic of the moral status of women
still used in the two months of seclusion follow
103.20°*
Anthropos
205
efichte ur)d Kommentare
^eJ>iith of a child. Each woman in the hamlet
aca) brings a bowl of ensete (wasa) smothered in
ter. The husband expresses moral approbation
J killing a cow to feed the wife who has provided
lat*1^6 or a female child whose exchange in
^ life will enable the son to marry,
thus there are both emotional and social as-
ts to the mythic meaning of butter even to the
th Sent day- ^ is indicative of the status of women
c at §lves them a role extending beyond the mere
a sequences of production and reproduction. It is
c Sl§nification of their moral importance of their
tributions to the power and authority of men in
staining communal order.
As an anthropologist my awareness of the
0bsnecti°n between women and butter was first
q erved by watching them place butter on a tree.
enquiry I was told this was the equivalent of
Plit g a ^arSain (.tana), “If I return in peace, I will
Gutter on the tree.” The tree doesn’t have to
Associated with a particular spirit. It was a bar-
^ an<I a practice I was to hear about frequently.
saf6 ^utter in this context of seeking to insure
0cc • *s symt»0lic of woman power. Women, and
penally even men, will often feed butter to
o^ession spirits (satana) when they have a seri-
Alness. These spirits are believed capable of
o ,n§ the sickness if properly fed (Hamer and
Her 1965) Again the butter becomes a bar-
\vjbjln§ Ploy suggestive that the human petitioner,
ijj e n°t as powerful as the spirit, is not lacking
this Valued resource for exchange. For a woman
hl. Procedure gains symbolic credence when the
the and Places butter in her hair before calling
it sPmt and repeats the process when she sends
dWav
Th '
§te ne P°wer an(l control of men, which has been
Quater than that of women since the demise of
of Furra, is legitimated by the mythical tale
Abo
and his bull. This myth is suggestive that
as i
cattj tter is the sign of woman’s moral power,
leg e Serves the same purpose for men. In this
dec- a Abo, following a quarrel with his brother,
fopJ es to leave the hamlet with his bull. He
hoipWs bull to the highlands where it digs a
u)t. In the ground from which emerges a spring,
a hutately becoming the Gidabo River. Abo builds
fe^ at this place and ultimately produces tej, a
Hentecl drink made of honey and spring water.
tej en makes two containers of the drink, one of
lie j d rite other mixed with snake venom. Then
^inkVlteS PeoPle fr°m the surrounding area to
c0nt • UnFeknownst to them, from the poisoned
thejr laers- As they succumb, Abo acquires all
and. People begin to believe that he is
nthr°Pos 103.2008
possessed by a powerful spirit and come to serve
and bring him bulls and honey as tribute. In time
his descendents increase in number, and the area
becomes associated with the Holo an Garbico
clans (gurri), two of the most powerful groups in
present-day Sidamo land. His grave, high on one
of the forested mountains, is a shrine to which
descendents and supplicants bring bulls annually
in search of favors from his powerful spirit (Hamer
1976: 328-330).
With the passage of time the ultimate grounding
of the socioemotional power of the elders has
come to involve presentation of bulls to the spirits
of deceased fathers. If the living elders have
controlling authority over the moral order, their
spirits are believed to be even more powerful.
At various times the spirit of a deceased father
will appear in a dream to his eldest son, often
admonishing the latter for violating the moral
code Qialdlu). To show repentance the spirit will
request his son to feed him a bull. In this context
the feeding represents ultimate respect for male
authority for which the bull becomes a symbol.
As symbols of authority and the division of
labor, butter and bulls transcend mundane forms
of producing nourishment and everyday social ac-
tivities, to stand for moral order in the community.
Sidamo women are considered able to produce
what is considered positive value in the household.
It is not merely a matter of making ensete {wasa)
edible, but on occasion embellishing it with butter
to show her importance in correctly supporting the
status of the husband, especially in the presence of
guests.
By contrast, cattle are herded by men and boys
over distant pastures that bring together the re-
sources of the several households in the neighbor-
hood (olau). Numbers and quality of cattle provide
a man with an emotional sense of value among
other men.3 * * It is also suggestive of successfully
maintaining connectiveness with previous genera-
tions by having the means to honor the requests of
deceased elders. Therefore, both butter and cattle
become symbols, confirming Graeber’s concept of
“floating above and unaffected by the mundane
details of human life” (2006: 74).
3 Indeed as one old elder explained to the anthropologist a
man would rather die than lose his cattle. He went on to
explain how during the Italian occupation soldiers had taken
his cattle and he spent days going all over the countryside
begging for their return rather than go home without them
to his village. Only when he had collected most of them
did he feel he could return without feeling less than a man.
206
Berichte und Komme)
Power by Communication about Events and
Things
If butter and bulls symbolically express moral
authority of women and men, wood can be seen
as reflecting communication power in differing
structural contexts. In its most notable form as
a tree it signals the responsibility of elders for
enforcing morally acceptable rules. The latter al-
ways meet under special trees to make policy and
settle disputes. As these sessions often last longer
than a day, as sundown approaches, the oldest man
will suggest they leave the matter under discussion
upon the tree until morning. In a different con-
text, that of mourning (kayXco-witla) for a man of
esteemed age or an especially courageous youth,
a smaller tree will be felled. It will then be cer-
emonially carried, with appropriate lamentations
to the place where the mourners are assembled.
Here it will be appropriately placed upright on the
ground for three days as a representation of the
deceased’s fame and exploits. People will dance
and sing songs concerned with the importance of
following the moral code (halâlu). Often these are
laments expressing how people were more faithful
to the rules of harmonious community in the past
(Hamer 1987:91-94).
At the opposite end of the spectrum from the
symbolic tree honoring the deceased is the change
from youth to elderhood, marked by circumcision
and initiation to this esteemed status. The Sidâma
are unusual in using circumcision to indicate status
associated with advanced age rather than the be-
ginning of adolescence. It is after the operation and
the movement into a special hut for two months
that wood becomes emblematic of the transition.
A young boy (jalla) is appointed to serve the
novitiate elder during the seclusion period. One
of his first duties is to kill a special bird (wanji),
pluck the feathers from its tail, and tie them to the
end of a four-foot-long bamboo pole. Then on the
evening of a sacred day (ayanna) in the celestial
calendar, the jalla takes this object and places it
in the mud of the nearest river. Prior to this event
the newly circumcised must speak with humility to
others who enter the seclusion hut, but now he may
show his soon to be realized elderhood authority
especially in regard to his wife and family. Thus
the pole becomes more than a piece of wood in the
context of nature, being transformed into a symbol
of nascent elderhood power.
Thus trees in different contexts translate tan-
gible objects into communicating the struggle to
balance individual justice with maintenance of
social cohesion, in which recognized persons of
ntare
wisdom mediate between the two. The tree nnd&
which the elder’s council meets becomes a symt>°
of their presence. It communicates figuratively aS
symbol of what has happened previously in poh^
making and dispute settlement and what is yd
follow before consensus is achieved. Disputes aa
policies are about things (i.e., property) and eveds
using symbols to communicate moral values. TbC;
become a means of telling all persons about №
importance of community and individual resp0^
sibility. In their minds trees become associate
with the continuous struggle to maintain sod
cohesion. Finally, felled trees represent estcd**
for the dead elders by ordinary people who can;
them, singing songs of lamentations to the moum
ing place. Here they are placed upright while m
mourners lament further and urge support for y1
moral code (haldlu). After three days of mourndc
the tree is taken down and sprinkled with war
by a female relative, perhaps indicating that in tn,
end the deceased has been returned to the powd1
world of spirits, such as those associated with 1
waterways. Alternatively, it could be a metaph
in which the water stands for one of the m°
important blessings of the elders calling for ra
in time of drought. The fall of the elder in dea
becomes analogous to the fall of rain.
In another context wood acquires the mead ^
of punishment. Both parents and elders use sticii ’
sometimes literally, to punish wayward child*-6/
Even a Christian acquaintance of the anthrop0^
ogist occasionally beat his wife with a stick
reinforce his authority. Younger siblings in
life will sometimes claim that they no longer reS6^
similar beatings of older siblings which they „
recognize as useful in “... making them be g°° '
The stick as an instrument of punishment becod
a symbol of moral order. , f
In a more abstract sense the spear of an. n0t
can communicate the power of an oath. It lS &
uncommon in cases of theft when there are
number of suspects, and it is difficult to oh
definitive proof against a suspect, to requim
latter, on pain of death, to swear their innoce
upon an elder’s spear. Of even greater solem
is the use of spears in cursing sorcery. The cl
meet in a barren place so as not to harm ,
soil through cursing, and form a semicircle a to
their spears. They then ask all the residents 01
neighborhood (olau) to come forward and s^ct?
their innocence by saying, “If I have done this
may you kill me with these spears.” The c
follow the oaths by cursing all sorcerers. o£j
An alternative is oath taking over a w
burning fire, specially kindled in a circle of cl
103.20°8
Anthropos
207
er'chte und Kommentare
^ Person who fails to tell the truth is believed
ultimately dry up and whither away. In this
in ^eCt *s interesting the word for lineage
? Sidaminya is bosello which consists of ones’
°sest relatives. Bosello literally translates “near
e ure.” Thus to lie in oath taking is to deny one’s
ecedents and descendents, essentially becoming
u°nperson.
Though women’s roles are not associated with
es> wood to a lesser extent than for men in
t>olUrn*ng r^tua^s becomes a communicative sym-
°f power and control differences. This is
leved through rites in which small wooden
es are placed in the ground with the deceased’s
wt (semma) wrapped around them and sur-
kj nued by cooking utensils. The latter are em-
eUiatic of household control, the domain of
the**1611 *n ^ood Preparation. Wood appears again in
e dances of men, in front of the memorial, who
hnuously wave their spears back and forth as
jj^ uiove forward and backward toward a dancing
°f women. I was told this is not done in
or for young women, but only for the old
°Se W^° ^ave *n cbildbirth. This implies
bv death in old age is a sign that the deceased
lng a long life has shown proper respect for
liv
authority of the elders of the lineage into
jts cu she has married, by seeking to perpetuate
hasc°utinuity. A young woman dying in childbirth
Presumably given up her body, an ultimate act
Aspect.
% ^notber symbol of the communicative power of
^ ^S’ but in a more ambiguous form, involves the
cas, rnilk. In the past men gave cattle rather than
l0 as bridewealth. The wife, however, continues
t^PPort the husband through his cattle. She does
en$ by placing the dung of the animals on
(ty ete seedlings, nourishing the staple food ensete
bUt. which when suitably prepared by her with
Pro r s^ould be served with milk. Her success in
itwVlcdng milk, especially when there are guests,
bUtt ases the husband’s prestige. But milk, unlike
by ,r’ is not solely associated with or controlled
Part 6 Wd?e since it comes from cows which are a
r>f the husband’s domain,
by e ambiguity of milk is also demonstrated
cCyth°l°gy. According to one such tale the
an n r Nagano) appears on earth disguised as
0fdin
ary mortal and asks a woman for water.
H^ks to show hospitality by offering milk
arm d °f honoring his request. The creator leaves
requrtleets a snake to whom he makes the same
brjn(f st for water. When the snake responds by
life Water, Magano grants the latter eternal
condemns humans to death. Nevertheless,
Hr,
°Pos 103.2008
the importance of cow’s milk as alternative to
other life sustaining drinks remains as a symbolic
form of separation used in ending the prolonged
connectedness with the mother at the time of
weaning. Further, it can be used for separating
one, especially women, from danger. Again there
is a mythical tale of the Harbigona and Kavenna
clans in the highlands. In this narrative the former
escape from slaughter by the latter people by
fleeing across the Loghta River. At the request
of the Harbigona elders the river stops flowing
until the fugitives have crossed, only to resume
flowing swiftly upon the arrival of their pursuers.
Tradition gradually develops of honoring the river
and seeking its protection by slaughtering a sheep
or a bull. If a supplicant can’t afford such a gift,
often women seeking safety on a journey, they
may alternatively rub butter on rocks and pour
milk into the river.
Therefore milk, associated with cattle as em-
blematic of male control, communicates an ambi-
guity of the symbolic power in changeful events.
For women the animals that provide milk are given
by men as a means of separating them from their
own agnates and joining them affinally with their
husbands. Their off-spring are bodily separated
from them at weaning to become a part of the hus-
band’s clan. In the event it involves separation of
control dominance and dependence of the children
on the mother to future control of men over the
female child, through marriage negotiations, and
the male offspring in inheritance allocation. As to
women providing milk as hospitality in serving
their husband’s guests, the latter’s high status and
authority are communicated to the community. Re-
ciprocally, the power gained by the husband can
then be transferred to the wife as protection, as
in the example of a journey involving dangerous
water crossings. However, in these two examples it
is not simply the symbolic communication of male
power in changing events, but also that of women
when butter as well as milk is put to protective
use. The fragility of human power in general is,
however, indicated in the tale of the creator deity
who shuns the human means of communicating the
obligatory power of hospitality through offering
milk by demonstrating the greater power of water
in the universe.
Domination and Avoidance of Humiliation
In the connectedness between kinship, genera-
tional classes (lua), and the establishment of a
gerontocracy the giving and receiving a bull, milk,
208
Berichte und Kommend
butter, and prepared ensete (wasa) acquires a
transcendent meaning. It becomes a process for
demonstrating power and the avoidance of humili-
ation. An example is the relation between an older
brother and a younger sister. The bond is always
one of protection, even after marriage, but in re-
turn the latter’s son(s) should serve their maternal
uncle by providing him with labor and more than
ordinary respect for his age (Hamer 2005: 563 f.).
Though this is the cultural norm, there are varia-
tions in individual choosing that may work against
the prescribed constancy of service of the sister’s
son to the mother’s brother, and reciprocal service
of the latter in presenting tangible gifts to the
former. Such variation may be attributable to the
early death of a mother’s brother, the erosion of
the bond in recent years due to the cash economy
and religious proselytization, and the limitations of
time and distance (565). There may also develop
a more personal connection with a father’s brother
and the possibility the mother’s brother may lack
the resources to properly reciprocate his nephew’s
service. Regardless of these variables of agency
there is general consensus that the elder sister and
her son must support the promotion to elderhood
rites of her brother. This is done by bringing the
aforementioned gifts and in recent times money to
pay the circumcision specialist for the operation
that marks the beginning of promotion to elder-
hood (Hamer 1987:247; ns 16, 17).
The bull brought by the sister’s son represents
the connectedness between father and son. The
wife by bearing a son has created a linkage to
the power and authority of the father that will
in time become part of his son’s status. If the
uncle and nephew have had a long relationship
of service and gift exchange, the bull becomes a
transcendent symbol of respect. On the other hand,
should they have been negligent in performing
their obligations the gift animal becomes a means
of overcoming embarrassment and humiliation.
Though the uncle may not have shown the power
of authority, he is supposed to show over his
nephew, and as the latter has neglected his service
and respect duties, the bull remains a symbol of
what is supposed to happen. As Strecker suggests,
it disguises support for the ideal location of power
and control and as an “artful placement” becomes
an important symbol for avoidance of humiliation
(1988: 208-211; 214). The presentation of butter,
milk, and ensete (wasa) becomes in like manner
an indication of the support the sister should have
shown, or partially neglected by not insisting on
her son’s responsibilities, is a means of avoiding
humiliation. It is also an indicator that mother and
son support the norms of elderhood for authority
and power. This shows a respect for normatiye
continuity over generations to come.
Discussion and Conclusion
As Strecker (1988: 214 f.) proposes, when the uat
ural order of phenomena is ignored, symbols °c
cur. For example, milk does not normally eX1
with water, but through artful displacement in c6f
tain contexts it communicates the fear of wome^
of powerful water spirits when crossing danger0
waterways. In this situation milk may be p°UIT
in the water as an offering. In the myth of tn
creator’s (Magano) visit and request for watef.'
it is shown as hospitality to a guest rather
than
for satisfying thirst. Nevertheless, milk also eo^
municates ambiguity as well as power in that
can as easily become an indicator of social s°P
aration.
Butter is a food, but with the reversal of t
social order from female to male dominance 4
also an emotional symbol of support for the ne
social status of women. Not only is it a m°a
of enhancing status but can be used to barga
with powerful spirits to protect women from illae f
and support emotional and practical desires to
children. Bulls and cattle have similar funcfi0
for men. They support their notional desires '
symbolizing wealth and elderhood status as g
ifts
from the more powerful deceased elders.
The sheer power of communication is pro
in certain living trees as the setting for res01^
ing social conflict. Alternatively, trees may be g
moved from their natural environments to bec°
M\àù
oh'
nts
symbols of death. Lesser use of wood fragU16
occurs by attaching it to blades or using sitf^
sticks for admonishing wrongdoing in contexts
childhood punishment and adult oath taking- ^
trees and sticks of wood also become symbol8
finality in the deaths of men and women. ^
Dominance and fear of humiliation involve g .
giving in linking agnates and affines in elderh
promotion rituals. Agnatic-affinal ties of maft*
are critical in supporting the gérontocratie an
klag
ity that overcomes kinship divisions in see s
to form communal harmony. Ritually it inv°
the symbolic meaning of bulls, butter, milk c
bined with the staple food of ensete in gift £lV' ^
These are the objects given to an initiate e
kinsman to show respectful commitment to a ^
of dominant authority, that insures continuity .
the gérontocratie process. Even if the teq Q
practices leading to initiation promotion n
103
$0$
Anthropos
209
erichte und Kommentare
bef neglected or ignored, the symbolism of the
77s provides compensation and avoidance of Ini-
tiation for the participants.
Thus the natural objects of butter, milk, wood,
cattle are easily translated in the imaginings
, Tie Sidäma into symbols for social control of
e rnoral order and production. This is because
e People unlike, for example, Westerners are not
t Urated with modernism. Sidäma have not lost
cn with the environment which has remained so
ch a part of their imaginings and have not given
} to the sense that technology and consumerism
Ttiately controls the universe and their destinies.
I* all of this I have been interested in looking at
amo symbols that are of considerable cultural
historical depth. But I have hinted at changes
ritual associated with the modem phenomenon
e a cash economy. The people have had a cash
the n°m^ c°ffee production dating at least from
as nuddle of the twentieth century. Money is used
pj^he medium of exchange in traditional market
^ Ces and is given, as indicated, to compensate
pfQ Clrcumciser who now performs the elderhood
^ Motion rite with a razor rather than an obsidian
ade. Currency has even penetrated the elder’s
r , rieils (songo), with fines being paid in currency
l er than cattle. Relations of power and support
. ^een husbands and wives have to some extent
e . eroded by the latter resenting, even threat-
adg '•heir husbands, for not being permitted to
u lately share in the new symbol (Hamer and
iaTer 1994)
sj I* is evident, however, that the new does not
0jt Ply replace old symbols, but new forms are
qu^n given old meanings or the reverse. Conse-
^ ntly currency, rather than replacing, is simply
it ^ ern version of butter, cattle, wood, and milk,
the ecortles simply an alternative symbol added to
ethers. So far it does not seem to have created
c fictions or discordancy as the struggle for
]\fe seems to have done in some areas of Papua
^ Guinea (see especially Knauft 2002).
^ ae question remains, however, as to when
tbe ^ symbolic forms of consumerism replace
symbols? Robert Foster, following Miller
“0^. • defines consumerism as living through
(I^ts and images not of one’s own creation”
*** 2002: 60). This implies degrees of Western-
Taf ec^ucation, industrialization, and capital for-
tary°„n °nly to be found in the most elemen-
el^b 0rins in Sidämo land. Moreover, as Foster
\c]0rates’ Such a movement toward modernity is
pres^terminate and nonlinear” (2002: 62). So the
Wd- nCe currency is not a change in meaning
ng inevitably to global consumerism. Nor is
Anthr,
°Pos 103.2008
there at present a noticeable class distinction be-
tween young intellectuals and elders leading to
conflict. For most Sidama it is still objects and
images of one’s own making that dominate sym-
bolism with money providing only an alternative.
The latter does not provide the emotional person-
alism so important in the social relations of power
and production.
To conclude there is an important point that
V. Turner made years ago about the creation of
symbols through artful displacement involving “a
unitary power, conflating all the powers inherent
in the activities, objects, relationships, and ideas”
(1967: 298). Nevertheless one cannot ignore an
important caveat by Strecker that involves the
difficulty of the ethnographer in discourse and
participant observation, as well as contemplating
the transcendence of objects from one context to
another in making symbols (1988: 222). As he
suggests, meaning is hidden and its potential “can
never be exhausted” nor proven as an ultimate
explanation. Beliefs and values are always in flux,
even consciously, and the unconscious element in
discourse and observation is virtually impenetra-
ble.
References Cited
Bezuneh, Taye
1972 Progress Report on Ensete Research Project. Debre
Zeit: Agricultural Experimental Station, College of
Agriculture, Haile Selasse I University. [Mimeograph]
Brpgger, Jan
1986 Belief and Experience among the Sidamo. A Case
Study towards an Anthropology of Knowledge. Oslo;
Norwegian University Press.
Cerulli, Ernesta
1956 People of South-West Ethiopia and Its Borderland.
London: International African Institute.
Foster, Robert J.
2002 Bargains with Modernity in Papua New Guinea and
Elsewhere. In: B.M. Knauft (ed.). Critically Mod-
em. Alternatives, Alterities, Anthropologies; pp. 57-81.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Graeber, David
2006 Turning Modes of Production Inside Out. Critique of
Anthropology 26: 61-85.
Hamer, John H.
1976 Myth, Ritual, and the Authority of Elders in an Ethiopi-
an Society. Africa 46: 327-339.
1987 Humane Development. Participation and Change among
the Sidama of Ethiopia. Tuscaloosa: The University of
Alabama Press.
210
Berichte und Kommen^6
2003 Inclusion and Exclusion in Generational Class Systems
among Cushitic Speaking Peoples in the Horn of Africa.
Zeitschrift für Ethnologie 128: 195-212
2005 The Mother’s Brother. Kinship and Community among
the Sidâma of Northeast Africa. Anthropos 100: 560-
567.
Hamer, John H., and Irene Hamer
1966 Spirit Possession and Its Socio-Psychological Implica-
tions among the Sidamo of Southwest Ethiopia. Ethnol-
ogy 5; 392-408.
1994 Impact of a Cash Economy on Complementary Gender
Relations among the Sidâma of Ethiopia. Anthropolog-
ical Quarterly 67: 187-202.
Hotesso, Betana
1983 Sidâma People and Culture (in Amharinya). Addis
Ababa; Bole Printing Press.
Knauft, Bruce M.
2002 Trails of the Oxymodern. Public Practice at Nomad
Station. In: B. M. Knauft (ed.), Critically Modem.
Alternatives, Alterities, Anthropologies; pp. 105-143.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Miller, Daniel
1995 Introduction. Anthropology, Modernity, and Consump-
tion. In: D. Miller (ed.), Worlds Apart. Modernity
through the Prism of the Local; pp. 1-22. London:
Routledge.
Office of the Population and Housing Census Commission
1984 Ethiopia 1984. Population and Housing Census Prelim-
inary Report. Addis Ababa: Government Printer.
Olmstead, Judith
1974 The Versatile Ensete Plant. Its Use in the Gamu High-
land. Journal of Ethiopian Studies 12/2; 147-158.
Searle, John R.
2006 Social Ontology. Some Basic Principles. Anthropologi-
cal Theory 6: 12-29.
Smeds, Helmer
1955 The Ensete Planting Culture of Eastern Sidamo, Ethi-
opia. The Role of the Ensete-Plantations in the Local
Economy and Their Significance in the Cultural Ge-
ography of Ethiopia. Helsingfors: Societas geographica
Fenniae. (Acta geographica, 13/4)
Strecker, Ivo
1988 The Social Practice of Symbolization. An Anthropolog-
ical Analysis. London: The Athlone Press.
Turner, Terence
1991 “We Are Parrots.” “Twins Are Birds.” Play of Tropes
as Operational Structure. In: J. W. Fernandez (ed.), Be-
yond Metaphor. The Theory of Tropes in Anthropology;
pp. 121-158. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Turner, Victor
1967 The Forest of Symbols. Aspects of Ndembu Ritual.
Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
Vecchiato, Norbert L.
1993 Illness, Therapy, and Change in Ethiopian Possession
Cults. Africa 63: 176-196.
The Origin of the Rhaetians
Alfred Tóth
of
I dedicate this article to the blessed memory u
my unforgettable teacher and best friend in
world, Prof. Dr. Linus Brunner.
1 Towards a Relative Chronology of the Rhaetic
Language
The existence of the Rhaetians and their languaSe’
Rhaetic, although known since the first mention1^
of the Rhaetic wine in Cato (234-149 B.C.)> ^
re rustica, fragm. 364 (Schönberger) = fragß1,
(Jordan), and especially Pliny XVIII, 172 who ie*
us that the Rhaetic name for the plow with whe^
was ploum, has not been deciphered correctly url
1982, when the Swiss linguist Prof. Linus Brunn^
(1909-1987) published the first readings of 1
Rhaetic inscriptions (Brunner 1981). In a \°.
series of articles,1 Brunner proved that Rhae
was an Eastern Semitic language, most close^
related to Akkadian, but also showing roots a9
grammatical features that are only known in W®
ern Semitic languages, mostly in Arabic and R
brew. Brunner also found 1 Ugaritic, 1 Phoenicia ’
1 Hittite, and a few other words of Indo-Europe*
origin (Toth and Brunner 2007: 104 ff.). In
and Brunner (2007) and in a few recent w°r j
(Toth 2007a-o), I have assembled the additi01^
information we have gotten about Rhaetic and j
origin of the Rhaetians in the past twenty yearS'
will sum them up here briefly: j
1. Initial Akkadian w- that has disappe^f
at about the time of King Hammurabi 0-™ a
1750) (cf. Brockelmann 1908: 139). But
help’
As'
it preserved in the Rhaetic inscription Pi
VITAMU LAKHE “I have asked you for
Vitam(m)u)”2 in VITAMU, the name of an ^
Syrian death-ghost which appears in Akkadiarl
Etem(mu), Itammu. Since this Rhaetic inscrip11 /
was found on a granite boulder close to Vade
Pfatten in South Tyrol (Italy), this proves 1 ^
the Rhaetians must have left their Mesopota111^
homeland before Akkadian w- > 0-, i.e., before
end of the 18th century B.C.
1 Brunner 1982a-d; 1983a-d, 1984,1985a-e, 1986, l987^ef
2 PID 196; Brunner and Toth 1987:61; Toth and
2007: 68. The numbers after “PID,” “Bravi,” and ‘ s
refer to the numbers of the inscriptions and not to p
,03.20o8
Anthropos
211
В,
efichte und Kommentare
2- Rhaetic must have been spoken in an area
Here Sumerians lived. This is proved by a Sume-
.an word in the Rhaetic inscription KALIP 1ST
j^HU] PHUPER SUKH “Goddess Estu, I have
r°ught white clothes” (Mancini 17; Toth and
^nner 2007: 89), where PHUPER < Sumerian
Qbbar (1109x: EDIIIb, Old Akkadian, Ur III,
barlY Old Babylonian, Old Babylonian) wr. bab-
ar2 “(to be) white” (> Hungarian bibor “purple,
. adet,” originally “shining”), and this can on-
y have been in Babylonia, i.e., in the South of
es°potamia.
3- The about 200 Rhaetic inscriptions, only
b tew dozens of them are readable and which
^aVe been found in Switzerland, Italy, Austria, and
°uthern Germany, are written in a runic alphabet
cSu% called “Northern Etruscan Alphabet” be-
Y Se the Etruscans used the same runes (as the
^letians and a few other ancient Alpine people
t k Rut these runes show striking similarities
the^e Germanic runes on the one side and to
the ^Un§ar^an (Szekely) runes of Transylvania on
ajr otker side. A few of these Szekely runes are
eady present on some of the Tartarian Tablets
a Were excavated in 1876 in today’s Rumania
0r *ater dated using C14 method from the middle
half16 millennium B.C. (Badiny 2001; 186).
ly at and Zakar (1976) proved that these ear-
frn^ekely runes were most probably the basis
th k the cuneiform writing originated at
Yj6 beginning of the 4th millennium B.C. In 1963,
| assa proved that the motives showing up on the
tiy arian Tablets are identical with Sumerian mo-
J[s fr°m Umku Warka IV (ca> 350°-3200 B.C.)
/erndet-Nasr (ca. 3100-2900 B.C.) cultures. It
4? Seems that the Rhaetians took over their Runic
^ abet from the ancestors of the Szekelys, who
f0 have emigrated to Mesopotamia in order to
the Sumerian people some time between the
Hju anc* the 4th millennium B.C. This points to a
and ^ c^oser relationship between the Sumerians
arid Rhaetians than between the Sumerians
W0 Akkadians, since otherwise the Rhaetians
wt- without doubt have adopted the cuneiform
ltlg instead of the Runic alphabet.
^ Th
, e Linguistic Landscape of Early
es°potamia
0fhciau • .
ip Yj it is assumed that the Semitic influence
lUry ^SoPotamia did not start before the 26th cen-
°niy f^he oldest Akkadian texts are, however,
Mato r°rn the 24th century B.C. (cf. Ungnad and
Us 1969: 4). It is also assumed that Sumeri-
Sb
r°P°s 103.2008
an has ceased to be a spoken language already
at the end of the 3rd millennium B.C. (Edzard
2003: 5). But acclaimed researchers like Lieber-
man (1977: 20) assume that is was still spoken in
Old Babylonian time, i.e., between 1728 and 1686
B.C. Also the fact that we do not only find Sume-
rian borrowings in Akkadian, but also Akkadi-
an borrowings in Sumerian, supports Lieberman’s
thesis, although also a language that is only used
for writing can still adopt loanwords (cf. e.g., the
German loanwords in Medieval Latin).
But already Hruska opposed against the idea
of the Semites as latecomers in Mesopotamia;
“Das einfache und bereits verbreitete Bild der alt-
mesopotamischen Geschichte, nach dem zwischen
Euphrat und Tigris zuerst die Sumerer und später
Semiten regierten, ist durch die neuen Ausgrabun-
gen in Abu SalabTkh und Teil Mardlkh erheblich
verändert worden. Die Semiten haben von An-
fang an in der Kultur und im Staatswesen des
alten Vorderasien entscheidend mitgewirkt” (1979:
337 f.). It is thus not true, that “the Mesopotamian
plain was not conducive to a great variety of
languages, as against Iran, Anatolia, or the Cau-
casus which, until our days, has been a veritable
language museum” (Edzard 2003: 4). It follows
that the oldest testified Semites in Mesopotamia,
the Akkadians, may have been there already long
before the 26th century B.C.
Between 2500 and 2230 B.C., the Amorites,
after a long period of famine, emigrated from
their native North African (Egyptian and Ara-
bic) homeland to Mesopotamia (Baton 1901:25).
Mesopotamia with its two big rivers Euphrates and
Tigris is vast and rich in fertile land, so people
who had to emigrate found there a new home-
land. It is thus only natural that such a prosperous
landscape had attracted people of many different
tongues. The Amorites spoke Amoritic, a dialect
of Akkadian found on tablets dating from 1800-
1750 B.C. showing many Northwest Semitic forms
and constructions (cf. Streck 2000; Gelb 1980).
The Amorites were seminomads first in the Middle
Euphrates area and gradually became sedentary.
They then penetrated deep into Sumeria and were
believed to be one of the causes of the downfall
of the 3rd dynasty of Ur (ca. 2112-2004 B.C).
During the Ur III period (2100-2000 B.C.), the
Amorites formed an identifiable ethnic component
along with Sumerians and Akkadians. Between
about 2000 and 1800 B.C. they covered both Syr-
ia and Mesopotamia with a multitude of small
principalities and cities. Almost all of the local
kings in Babylonia (such as the already mentioned
Hammurabi) belonged to this stock. One of their
212
Berichte und Komme)
capitals was Mari, obviously derived from their
name which appears as Martu in Sumerian and
as Amurru in Akkadian and whose commonly
assumed meaning is “westerner.” Farther west, the
Amorites’ political center was Salab (Aleppo). In
that area, as well as in Palestine, the newcomers
were thoroughly mixed with the Hurrians.
The Hurrians or Hurrites settled in the 3rd and
2nd millennium B.C. in the South of the Lake
Van. From there they expanded to Mesopotamia,
Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt, and Palestine. Their lan-
guage that is now considered “a language of their
own” (Edzard 2003; 4) was earlier compared to
Urartian and believed to be, under Phrygian influ-
ence, an ancestor language of Armenian (Diako-
noff 1971). The Hurrians soon acclimatized to the
Sumerian-Akkadian culture and played an impor-
tant role in mediating this culture to the Hittites.
The Hurrians seem to be the first people to use the
horse in wars.
Between 1900 and 1600 B.C. the Indo-Euro-
pean Hittites penetrated Mesopotamia, and their
invasion spelled the end of the Old Babylonian
empire.
During the 12th century B.C., the Semitic
Aramaeans began to settle in great numbers in
Mesopotamia and Anatolia. As Akkadian was used
in the early and middle 2nd millenium B.C. as lin-
gua franca in Mesopotamia, at the end of the 2nd
millennium Aramaic came to be spoken through-
out the Mediterranean coastal area of the Levant
and spread east of the Tigris. Although Human
words are not testified in Rhaetic - perhaps due
to the very small number of inscriptions -, yet be-
cause we have at least one clear Hittite word in the
Rhaetic inscription3 * and no Aramaic word at all,
the Rhaetians must have left their Mesopotamian
homeland between 1900 and the 12th century B.C.,
i.e., after the arrival of the Hittites and before the
arrival of the Aramaeans in Mesopotamia.
It is interesting that the obviously mixed lan-
guage that the Rhaetians spoke, namely, Akkadian
with West-Semitic elements, was not only similar
to the language of the Amorites (Streck 2000) but
also to a few other languages that show similarly
Eastern and Western Semitic elements, but all of
them are based on Akkadian. Rainey (1996/1: 31)
mentions for example: “The Taanach letters, dating
from LB I, i.e., the mid-fifteenth century B.C.,
share the same Old Babylonian traits and lack
of Middle Babylonian traits as the Amama let-
ters from Canaan. Whey also have a strong West
3 PID 192; Brunner and Toth 1987: 63; Toth and Brunner
2007: 68.
ntare
Semitic flavor, especially in the verbal usageS>
The Amama letters that were found in 1887 W
a peasant woman in Amarna, situated betwe^11
Memphis and Luxor in Egypt, are next to tn
Amoritic language the best known documents oi
Semitic language that is based on Akkadian b
shows strong influence from West Semitic laI1^
guages. The Amarna letters were written aroufl
the middle of the 14th century B.C. by kings an.
vassals of Babylonia, Assyria, Hath, and Mitarinl
to Pharao Amenophis III and his son Amenoph|s
IV (Akhenaton) (Knudtzon 1907-15; Izre’el 199 »
1998). .
While the status of Amoritic as an own Sernit1^.
language is accepted since the thorough study 0
Streck (2000), the linguistic status of the Ama*11^
and Taanach letters and some other docuib®11
is mostly assumed to be that of a “mixed
pidginized languge (e.g., by Izre’el [1998],
leading expert in “Canaano-Akkadian”; cf. als ,■
Knudtzon 1907-15). Moreover, the language
the Amama letters is considered to be an ancest
of Canaanite, a Western Semitic language close;
related to Hebrew. Since the Arabic words
Rhaetic are overwhelmingly greater in nuit1
bef
beea
of
than the Hebrew ones, Rhaetic cannot have
a language that was related to the language
“dialect” of the Amama or the Tanaach letter^
Moreover, there is no relationship between Rhae
and Canaanite. Therefore, Rhaetic must have be
either a language of its own or Amoritic.
3 The Rhaetic and Amoritic Languages
In the 17th century B.C., the Amorites took
of the Hyksos movement and conquered EgyP.
1648 B.C. Since the Amorites originated accom]11^
to Paton (1901) also in Egypt, their campa1^
can be interpreted historically as a reconqnest^6
their ancient homeland. As a matter of fact’ g
Amorites were even the leaders of the Hykf
who were formed by various groups of Seif1 ,g
people from Mesopotamia, Canaan and the toda>a
Syrian-Libanese coast. This may point to the ^
that the Amorites must have had contact to the
called Pre-Canaanites, the bearers of the langu
of the Amarna and Tanaach letters, when
were are in Mesopotamia. In about 1540 B-C- ^
Amorites and the rest of the Hyksos were cba^.g
out of Egypt by Pharao Ahmose. We can date ^
event exactly because the battle that took plaC^ gt
engraved in two steles. One of which is al t
completely conserved and is one of the ea g
proofs of the presence of the horse in Egypt- ^
103.20°*
Anthropos
213
®erichte und Kommentare
piously the Humans used the horse first, it must
ve been introduced to the Amorites already in
esopotamia, which points to Amoritic-Hurrian
n§uistic contacts, although we have no written
5c°rds about them. After the Hyksos time the
Sorites wandered to Canaan, where they appear
tbe Bible (Deuteronomy 7; If.). In the Levant
eY built their state Amurru that was occasionally
aePendent and under Hittite or Egyptian rule.
• the Northern African origin of the Amor-
im s points also that they were represented on the
§Yptian monuments with fair skin, light hair, blue
Tyes> curved or hooked noses, and of great stature,
i y Were fierce tribal clansmen who forced them-
Ves into lands they needed to graze their herds.
°ugh herdsmen, the Amorites were not peaceful
^oralists. They twice conquered Babylonia (at
end of the 3rd and the beginning of the 1st
* ennium). The decline of the Sumerian lan-
^ a§e in Mesopotamia was the time of their most
asm°us incursions, so that the Amorites and not,
Usually assumed, the Akkadians may have been
PonBibIc for the emigration of the Sumerians (or
ars ^eatb the Sumerian language, as most schol-
assume). At first the Amorites were merely a
the^ar ^tant t0 ti16 Ur III empire, but eventually
si y undermined it to such an extent that the po-
Wel0a of last king Ibbi-Sin (2028-2004 B.C.) was
t0 ^ened to the point that his subjects were able
^eit>Vert^row b*s m^e‘ <bl ^er nitbnbyionisohon
^i Slnd die Amurriter eine der bedeutendsten
^rischen Grossen” (Streck 2004: 350).
18 double habit of the Amorites - at the same
Thi
stfQ6 ^arrners and conquerors - remembers most
0\v n£iy to the description of the Rhaetians that we
t0 Publius Annius Florus (ca. 70 - ca. A.D. 140)
in Cassius Dio Cocceianus (ca. A.D. 165-229).
ls Roman History,” Cassius Dio writes: “The
the t' Wbo dwell between Noricum and Gaul, near
pontine Alps which adjoin Italy, were over-
Qaii|ln§ a large part of the neighbouring territory of
they anC* carrying off plunder even from Italy; and
alijesWere harassing such of the Romans or their
acts aS travehcd through their country. Now these
exp theirs seemed to be about what was to be
of D e<^ °f nations which had not accepted terms
the maCe’ but they went further and destroyed all
had i S am°ng their captives, not only those who
Whoa reahy come into the world, but also those
HomWere still in the woman’s wombs, the sex of
Qiv ^covered by some means of divination.”
a0d ti en the many parallels between the Rhaetians
AkK,6 Aniorites - their languages which were
HueriCelan'based’ hut with strong West-Semitic in-
’ their close ethnical and linguistic affili-
hr°Pos 103.2008
ation to the Akkadians, their common status as
farmers and brutal conquerors - lead us to the
question if they are not one and the same people.
At least the Sumerian name of the Amorites -
Martu (whose etymology is debated, cf. Streck
2000) - could be interpreted as Ma-rtu (the Sume-
rian “spelling” Mar-tu is due to the two cuneiform
signs used), and in rtu could be the same root
that is in Akkadian re’Ttu “shepherdess” (“ ‘ ” is
unknown in Sumerian) that gave the Rhaetians’
main-goddess Ritu/Reitu and the Rhaetians them-
selves their name. Both phonetically and semanti-
cally, this interpretation fits both to the Rhaetians
and the Amorites. But then, what is the first part
Ma-1 In the Rhaetic inscription4 we read: RITI
EM[U] “Ritu, mother.” Ritu is also often called
“queen” or “goddess,” and EM, UM are the Rhaet-
ic words for “mother.” Could this be the word
that forms the first part of Martu? If so, then the
name of the Amorites would be theophoric, mean-
ing “(people/followers of) Mother Ritu,” whereby
“mother” stands for “queen” or “goddess.”
May the new interpretation that I gave for the
name of the Amorites be debatable, the linguistic
facts that parallel strongly the Amoritic and the
Rhaetic language are not. Both languages share
the following features (Streck 2000):
1. The usual Semitic imperfect-perfect distinc-
tion includes a 3rd-person suffix -a (unlike Akka-
dian and Hebrew). This suffix is also present in
Rhaetic; TUKINUA “you have been faithful”5 <
Akkadian känum “to be honest, to be true” and
RAKINUA “you have hoped”6 < Arabic rakina al
“to trust in.”
2. Both Amoritic and Rhaetic had a verb-
form with geminate second consonant7: ESIUNNE
“heal (Imp. pi. m./f.?)” < Akkadian asü “physi-
cian,” Arabic "asä, 'äsä “to heal.”
3. The Ist-person perfect both in Amoritic
and in Rhaetic is in -ti (sg.) and -nu (pi.) as in
the Canaanite languages8: PHAKATI < Akkadian
paqädu “to look after,” Hebrew päqad “to visit,”
SAKATI < Arabic sahd “to be generous.”
4. Streck (2000: 106) mentions the Amoritic
verb nahälu “übereignen (to make sth. over to
4 PID 225; Brunner and Toth 1987:55; Toth and Brunner
2007;72.
5 PID 209; Bravi 82; Brunner and Toth 1987: 65; Toth and
Brunner 2007:69.
6 PID 233; Bravi 206; Brunner and Toth 1987: 65; Toth and
Brunner 2007: 74.
7 Mancini 28; Bravi 97; Brunner and Toth 1987:65; Toth
and Brunner 2007: 81.
8 Mancini 111; Bravi 252; Brunner and Toth 1987: 57; Toth
and Brunner 2007: 86.
214
sb., to transfer)” as typical for Amoritic, but it
shows also up on the Rhaetic inscription9: RITAM
NEHELANU “We have given Ritu a gift” < Arabic
nahalu “to give as a gift.” Another lexical parallel
between the 198 Amoritic and the less than half
so many Rhaetic words that we know for sure
is Amoritic sum “Felsen (rock, boulder)” (Streck
2000; 117) that shows up in the Rhaetic river name
of the Orisons Plessur “rock-river” < Hebrew peleg
“river” + Hebrew sur “rock” (with typical Semitic
compound structure; Toth and Brunner 2007: 123),
while the other languages have t instead of s in
the word for “rock” that is, however, also testified
in the village name of the Orisons Maladers, old
Maladirs < Semitic prefix ma + Arabic 'aid tur
“on the hill” (Toth and Brunner 2007: 120). The
double existence of Semitic sur and tur “rock” in
the Rhaetic language is an amazing proof of the
mixed character of this language.
5. The diphthong ay is preserved both in Amor-
itic and in Rhaetic10: KAIAN “blacksmith” < Ara-
bic qain “id.”11: KHAIS “canvas” < Arabic hais
“id.” Besides these agreements of Amoritic and
Rhaetic in all important points, we find, however,
three features in which the two languages may
disagree:
6. In Rhaetic, w does not change > y in verbs as
it does in Amoritic12: VATHANU (for *VAKANU)
“we are suffering” < Arab. wagVa “to suffer.”
7. In Rhaetic, a very often > i (f!)!e {el), while
it stands in Amoritic13; ERIKIANU < Akkadian
arakum “to be long”14: ETINU, ETINE < Ara-
bic zatu “to give.” However, according to Streck
(2000: 170) there are no sure testimonies for the
sound-change a > o that used to be believed as
typical for Amoritic. It does not appear in Rhaetic,
either.
8. An important difference between Rhaetic and
Amoritic is the Rhaetic syncope15: APNU “let get
rotten” < Arabic cafina “to get rotten, to decay”16:
9 PID 221; Brunner and Toth 1987:54; Toth and Brunner
2007: 81.
10 PID 244; Brunner and Toth 1987:63; Toth and Brunner
2007; 6.
11 Mancini 105; Bravi 257; Brunner and Toth 1987: 58; Toth
and Brunner 2007: 84.
12 Steck 2000: 18; cf. Mancini 18; Bravi 87; Brunner 1985c:
66; Toth and Brunner 2007: 79.
13 Mancini 24; Bravi 93; Brunner and Toth 1987:93; Toth
and Brunner 2007: 80.
14 Mancini 225; Brunner and Toth 1987: 55; Toth and Brunner
2007: 72.
15 Toth 2007o; cf. Bravi 85; Brunner and Toth 1987: 60; Toth
and Brunner 2007: 78.
16 Mancini 110; Brunner and Toth 1987; 60; Toth and Brunner
2007:85.
Berichte und Kommentare
ELYA “god” < Hebrew eldah “id.”17: LA SBA^J
“don’t dry out” < Akkadian sabdbu “id.”18 KNIJS
“gather!” < Hebr. kdnas “to assemble” (same sy°
cope in “Knesseth”). Brunner (pers. comm., 19°
assumed back-jumping of the accent to the hr
syllable. His assumption seems to be right, since
the Rhaetic syncope still works as substrate 111
Rhetoromance, the successor-language of Rha£tlC
(cf. Toth 2007o: 227 f.).
The Rhaetic-Amoritic differences 6. and 8. cal1
be due to the fact, that Amoritic is preserved 111
cuneiform, while Rhaetic is preserved in rurl1^
writing. And in the “North-Etruscan alphabet
there is no sign for y so point no. 6 can
dropped. Since the cuneiform-signs are syfia^lC’
while the runic-signs are not, syncope could n
or not easily have been expressed if it existed 111
Amoritic like it could be shown in Rhaetic, thuS’
point no. 8 can be dropped, too. What concern
point no. 7, the Rhaetic transgression d > e/i ^
be a sound-change that happened only after 1
Rhaetians had left Mesopotamia. Since the old^
Rhaetic inscriptions dates from approximately 1
6th century B.C. and the texts in which the Am014
ic names show up are from the 18th century B-
there are 12 centuries between these language
4 Conclusion
The Rhaetic and the Amoritic language agrce ^
5-7 of 6-9 important phonetical, morphology
and lexical features that separate both langna£
either from Akkadian or from the West-Sem1
languages or both from East- and West-Serni ^
Since Rhaetians and Amorites correspond als°
their social, cultural, and ethnical habits, I dare
tering the assumption that both people are one a°
the same. I speculate that after the Amorites Y
expelled from Egypt which they conquered a ^
having left their Mesopotamian homeland,
part of them wandered to Canaan, but another P
stayed for about one century in the Mediterrane
This remaining group of Amorites may have ta
part of the Sea-Peoples’ wars in the 13th" ^ ,
centuries, since they had already proved their №
itary experience during the Hyksos storms- ^
the Sea-People they may have reached Italy, e
the arrival and settling of many Sea-people
testified. Possibly the Amorites wandered no
wards and were first expelled by the Etrus
17 Bravi 83; Brunner and Toth 1987-60- Toth and Brunner
2007:78. f
18 PID 238; Brunner 1982b; 163; Toth and Brunner 2007-1
103
,2008
Anthropos
215
er'chle und Kommentare
Ofti Tuscany as they were expelled later, in the
, . century B.C., by the Celts who entered the
P ain 0f tke j-jVgr p0 (Aigner Foresti 1992; 77) and
er>t even more to the north where much later their
Scription were found. Their name “Amorites”
Quid f,ave easjjy shortened to “Rites” and, with
QaPtation of the Greek ending -es to the corre-
P°nding Latin ending -i, to *Riti, *Reiti, *Raeti.
b e first two forms are testified as name of the
aetians’ main goddess.
Abbreviations
Br ■
ESnp ®ravE Ferruccio 1980-81
Epigraphical Society of America Occasional Publica-
Vl . Eons
p^ni: Mancini, Alberto 1975
Whatmough, Joshua 1933
^efer,
enees Cited
!(jaer Foresti, Luciana (Hrsg.)
Etrusker nördlich von Eturien. Wien.
Ferenc
Ignaz tôrténelmük vezérfonal Ârpâdig. Budapest.
fei1*™“*0
01 La lingua dei Reti. 2 vols. Bolzano.
Ig^Hmann, Carl
Grundriss der vergleichenden Grammatik der semi-
hschen Sprachen. 1. Bd.: Laut- und Formenlehre. Berlin.
l9>r, Linus
kediscovering the Raetic Language. ESOP 9/212: 56-
l982a
mangue rhétique - langue sémitique. Méditerranea 8:
l9î*2b ry 4‘ •
UIe rätische Sprache entziffert. Bündner Monatsblatt
1982 7~8; 161-165.
l982d ^aet'c Inscriptions. ESOP 10/229:9-12.
lÇ)83a khaetic Inscriptions in the Tyrol. ESOP 10/234: 45-57.
Entzifferung der rätischen Inschrift von Schuls. Helvetia
l983, trchaeolo8ica 14/53:3-13.
kätische Inschrift von Wartau. St. Galler Tagblatt 16.12.
1983c 1983.
c Toponymie de la Rhétie comme source historique et
l983d culturelle. Méditerranea 12: 8-10.
V'as lehren uns rätische Namen? Bündner Monatsblatt
>984 JT*«-™.
as rätische Heidentum. Bündner Monatsblatt 1-2;
l985a 20~26.
Gedanken zu den “Dolomitensagen” von Karl Felix
l985k KT0lff' fGnpubl. manuscript, dated 22.5.1985]
ewly Identified Raetic Inscriptions. ESOP 13/312;
1983c R4'21'
atische Gefäss- und Votivinschriften. Helvetia Archae-
l985d °J.°gica 16/62:63-71.
j^keieh der Fanes. [Unpubl. manuscript, dated 20.5.
^thr,
°P°s 103.2008
1985e Weitere rätische Namen in Südtirol. [Unpubl. manu-
script, dated 2.8.1985]
1986 Die Sprache der Räter. Bündner Jahrbuch.
1987a The Method in Deciphering and Explaining Unknown
Languages. ESOP 16:22.
1987b Die rätische Sprache. St. Galler Tagblatt 5.10.1987.
1987c Sprache und Ortsnamen der Räter. Helvetia Archaeo-
logica 18/70:46-55.
1987d Unsere ältesten Orts- und Flurnamen sind arabisch-
babylonischen Ursprungs. Terra Plana 3: 20-22.
Brunner, Linus, und Alfréd Toth
1987 Die rätische Sprache - enträtselt. Sprache und Sprach-
geschichte der Räter. St. Gallen.
Diakonoff, I. M.
1971 Hurrisch und Urartäisch. München.
Edzard, Dietz Otto
2003 Sumerian Grammar. Leiden.
Gelb, Ignace
1980 Computer-Aided Analysis of Amorite. Chicago.
Hruska, B.
1979 Review of C.-G. Gostony; Dictionnaire d’étymologie
sumérienne et grammaire comparée (Paris 1975). Ori-
entalische Literaturzeitung 74: 338-339.
Izre’el, Shlomo
1991 Amurru akkadian. 2 vols. Atlanta.
1998 Canaano-Akkadian. München.
Knudtzon, Jdrgen Alexander
1907-15 Die El-Amama-Tafeln. 2 B de. Leipzig. [Aalen 1964
= Neudruck der Ausgabe 1915]
Labat, René, and Andrâs Zakar
1976 A sumer és akkâd ékjelekrôl. Garfield.
Liebermann, Stephen J.
1977 The Sumerian Loanwords in Old-Baby Ionian Akkadian.
Cambridge.
Mancini, Alberto
1975 Iscrizioni retiche. Studi Etruschi 43: 249-306.
Paton, Lewis Bayles
1901 The Early History of Syria and Palestine. New York.
Rainey, Anson F.
1996 Canaanite in the Amarna Tablets. A Linguistic Analysis
of the Mixed Dialect Used by the Scribes from Canaan.
4 vols. Leiden.
Streck, Michael P.
2000 Das amurritische Onomastiken der altbabylonischen
Zeit. Bd. 1. Münster.
2004 Die Religion der amurritischen Nomaden am mittleren
Euphrat. In: M. Hutter und S. Hutter-Braunsar (Hrsg.),
Offizielle Religion, lokale Kulte und individuelle Reli-
giosität; pp. 421-432. Münster.
Töth, Alfréd
2007a Hungarian-Mesopotamiand Dictionary. The Hague.
2007b Hungaro-Rhaetica I. The Hague.
2007c Hungaro-Rhaetica II. The Hague.
2007d Introduction into Sumerian-Rhaetic Research. In: A. Töth
2007c; pp. 1-2.
2007e Introduction to Researching the Rhaetic Language.
ESOP 25. [In print]
2007f Die kleinasiatische Herkunft der “Frauen aus Fanes”.
Der Märchenspiegel 36/2: 21 -25.
216
Berichte und Komm*
2007g The Method of Internal Combination and the Recon-
struction of Rhaetic. ESOP 25. [In print]
2007h The Name of the Rhaetic Goddess Ritu and Its Etymol-
ogy. ESOP 25. [In print]
2007i Newly Identified Rhaetic Inscriptions. ESOP 25. [In
print]
2007k Rätisch und Etruskisch. Zu einer Neubestimmung ihres
Verhältnisses. Anthropos 102: 224-230.
20071 The Rhaetic Inscriptions: First Edition with Translation
and Bibliography. ESOP 25. [In print]
2007m When Did the Sumerians Leave Mesopotamia? In:
A. Toth 2007c; pp. 25-28.
2007n Sumerian kab, Akkadian kappu(m) “Wing of a Horse
Bit,” Hungarian Gebe “Worn Out Horse” and Gep
“Horse-driven Machine.” In; A. Toth 2007c; pp. 3-4.
2007o Überlegungen zu einer relativen Chronologie der räti-
schen Sprache. Zeitschrift für Sprache und Sprachen
35: 15-32.
Toth, Alfred, and Linus Brunner
2007 Rhaetic. An Extinct Semitic Language in Central Eu-
rope. The Hague.
Vlassa, Nicolae
1963 Cronology of the Neolitic in Transylvania, in the Light
of the Tätäria Settlement’s Stratigraphy. Dacia 7: 485-
494.
Ungnad, Arthur, and Lubor Matous
1969 Grammatik des Akkadischen. München. [5th ed.]
Whatmough, Joshua (PID)
1933 The Pre-Italic Dialects of Italy. Vol. 2. Cambridge.
Ein verschollener Vorläufer
der Ethnologie
Der Aufklärer und Sozialutopist
Christian Gottlieb Priber (1697-1745)
Marin Trenk
“Glaub mir, werde Hurone!”, lautete der Rat des
indianischen Weisen Adario an den Baron de La-
hontan (1981:31) in dessen fiktivem Werk “Ge-
spräche mit einem Wilden” aus dem Jahre 1703.
Drei Jahrzehnte später befolgte der Anwalt, Auf-
klärer und Sozialutopist Christian Gottlieb Priber
diesen Ratschlag. Vom naturrechtlichen Denken
durchdrungen machte sich der radikalste unter
den deutschen Frühaufklärem eines Tages auf, um
selbst bei den Wilden die “süße Freiheit der ersten
Naturgesetze” (Montaigne 1998: 5) zu genießen.
Die Nachrichten von den neuentdeckten Völker-
schaften Amerikas haben seit Thomas Morus die
elitäre
politischen Utopien der Neuzeit beeinflusst u11
das utopische Denken in Europa beflügelt. At>er
nur selten hat die eigene Erfahrung indigener
Kulturen den Anstoß gegeben, eine ideale g6
sellschaftliche Ordnung zu entwickeln. Der Früh
aufklärer und Sozialutopist Priber war einer die
ser seltenen Fälle. Er vollzog einen erstaunlich611
Schritt, als er nicht nur nach Amerika auswanded6,
sondern sich 1736 den Cherokee im Südosten aI1
schloss. Und hier hat die Erfahrung einer Lebefi8
weise, wie sie kein utopischer Denker jemals hat*6
erfinden können, ihm im Wortsinne zu denk611
gegeben.
Christian Gottlieb Priber kam am 21.
1697 im sächsischen Zittau in der Oberlausitz a
Sohn eines Tuchhändlers auf die Welt. Er besuchf
das städtische Gymnasium, studierte in Leipzig 6
Rechte und kehrte 1722 als “Juris practico’ 1
seine Heimatstadt zurück. Unmittelbar nach sei9
Rückkehr verheiratete er sich mit Christiana D°r°
thea Hoffmann, und zwischen 1723 und 1732
den ihnen sieben Kinder geboren, von denen V1
überlebten. Wahrscheinlich führte Priber in düs^
Zeit ein Doppelleben: In der Öffentlichkeit war
der angesehene “Oberamts-Advokatus”, währ611
im Verborgenen ein ungewöhnlich radikaler Au
klärer über eine bessere Welt nachdachte. Als ih
die Obrigkeit auf die Schliche kam, musste er flie
hen. Wahrscheinlich hat der England-Besuch
Gruppe von Cherokee den Ausschlag gegchel1'
zunächst nach London und dann zu den Cher°k
ins Exil zu gehen (Crane 1919; Mellon 1973)-
Im Jahre 1730 traf eine Abordnung des Sta0\
mes in Begleitung eines gewissen Sir Alexafl
Cuming in London ein. Dieser exzentrische Sch
te hatte gerade auf einer Rundreise durch
Land der Cherokee einen lokalen Dorfchef 11
mens Moytoy zum Kaiser gekrönt. Der Auw
der “sieben Cherokee-Häuptlinge” wurde zu eih
gefeierten Ereignis. Ihre Anwesenheit in L°h
belebte das Interesse an den Kolonien, und a
wiederum führte 1733 zur Gründung von Georg
Auf der Suche nach einem Asyl spielte Prl ^
anscheinend zunächst mit dem Gedanken, s^g
dort niederzulassen, weil Georgia ursprünglich ^
Zufluchtsort für alle Verfolgten gedacht war-
Jahre 1735 tauchte er in London auf und
tragte die Ansiedlung in der neuen Provinz. P° ,t
daraus wurde nichts, zum Jahresende bereits
er sich im benachbarten South Carolina aut-
dieser Kolonie der Sklavenhalter kann es
lerdings schwerlich gefallen haben. Im folgen ^
Jahr schon machte sich Priber auf den Weg 111
von Cherokee bewohnte Bergregion der südli
Appalachen.
103
.2008
Anthropos
217
erichte und Kommentare
Fier lebten knapp 20 000 Menschen in etwa 60
j a°hängigen Dörfern, die allesamt um Versamm-
p n§shäuser gebaut waren, die mehrere hundert
t ers°nen fassen konnten. Ein Stadtoberhaupt ver-
jede Siedlung, aber selbst dieser “Häuptling”
^rtugte über keinerlei Machtmittel, um seinem
pj en Geltung zu verschaffen. Bei den Chero-
]qt War 'jeder sein eigener Herr” (McDowell
je /ü: 393), wie Europäer kopfschüttelnd über de-
herrschaftsarmes politisches System bemerk-
r Zwischen den autonomen Dörfern gab es Be-
Ungen und Absprachen und gelegentlich kam es
^ §ar zu regelrechten Koalitionen. Eine “Cherokee-
aicht)n” ^a^e^en existierte zu jener Zeit noch
Der Abenteurer Sir Alexander Cuming, der ei-
Vcf6 ^a^re vor Priber die Cherokee besuchte, ahnte
. diesen politischen Verhältnissen nichts. Auf
Sr»60 ^raum seiner Frau hin schiffte er sich nach
er , *h Carolina ein. Von Charleston aus besuchte
fl ^ Frühjahr 1730 in einer mehrwöchigen Tour
^°rce die wichtigsten Siedlungen der Chero-
u.' Auf dem Höhepunkt seiner selbsternannten
j^lssion - offizielle Seiten wussten nicht davon -
f^°nte er den Chef der Siedlung Great Tellico,
>y, zum Kaiser der Cherokee (und sich er-
ate er zu deren oberstem Herrscher). Die Che-
nail
r°kei
ehi
e scheinen diesen bizarren Besucher durchaus
^ genommen zu haben, denn eine Delegation
folgfp ^
Abt lilrn nac^ P°nd°n- D°rt wurde offiziell ein
Seh 0rnrnen geschlossen, das europaweit für Auf-
der n SOr§te’ weil es die Cherokee zu Vasallen
len ei?°Fschen Krone erklärte und ihre ausgedehn-
ten Serien dem Empire einverleibte (Crane
f. 277-280).
Ql ri°er kam nicht mit leeren Händen zu den
O Bei seiner Ankunft in Great Tellico
s£Ac^enkte er neben seinem gesamten Besitz auch
bre e beider und machte sich damit zahlreiche
ge ncle- Überhaupt scheint er sich mühelos an-
UiSj Sst zu haben. Das Tempo, mit dem er india-
^ vermerkten englische Händler, die jeden
eineer Schritte misstrauisch verfolgten, nicht ohne
^ewisse Bewunderung: “Da er ein großer Ge-
sejn er War? meisterte er schnell ihre Sprache, und
f'llloeinnehmendes Wesen gewann ihre Herzen im
be-er trimmte sein Haar nach Indianerart und
naci te sich wie sie, wobei er gewöhnlich fast
(Qra herumlief, bis auf Hemd und Lendentuch”
Hand] 1909:59). Fortan, so schreibt ein anderer
sich 6r’ < a^’ trank, schlief, tanzte und kleidete er
VondWle die Indianer, so dass es schwer war, ihn
17^2- Fingebohrenen zu unterscheiden” (Adair
Herp F). Priber wurde durch Adoption zu ei-
v°llwertigen Mitglied der Cherokee-Gesell-
hr°Pos 103.2008
schaft. Er soll sich auch verheiratet haben, was bei
Weißen, die unter Cherokee lebten, vollkommen
üblich war. Ganz unüblich dagegen war, dass er
bereits nach zwei Jahren zu den führenden Ge-
stalten (“beloved men”) Great Teilicos und damit
der gesamten westlichen Abteilung (“Overhill”)
der Cherokee zählte. Wahrscheinlich tauchte Priber
tiefer in die Welt der Cherokee ein als die meisten
anderen Weißen. Aber er hat nicht - wie ande-
re “indianisierte” Europäer - einfach ein Leben
als Europäer gegen ein Leben als Indianer einge-
tauscht.
Die Regierung von South Carolina war seit
längerem bestrebt, einen der vielen lokalen Chefs
der Cherokee zu deren alleinigem Vertreter zu
erheben, weil sie sich dadurch eine Erleichterung
im Umgang mit den Cherokee erhoffte. Inter-
essanterweise scheint es unter den Cherokee ähn-
liche Überlegungen gegeben zu haben. Als Sir
Alexander Cuming nämlich 1730 Moytoy zum
Kaiser krönte, war dieser anscheinend bereits als
Sprecher und Oberhaupt der Cherokee im Ge-
spräch. Vielleicht wird dadurch verständlicher,
weshalb die Cherokee so bereitwillig bei dieser
“Krönung” mitspielten. Moytoy wurde zwar “Em-
peror”, aber herrschaftliche Machtbefugnisse er-
warb er damit nicht. Für die meisten Cherokee
wird sich durch eine Zeremonie, die ihrer Vorstel-
lungswelt fremd war, wenig geändert haben. Für
Moytoy freilich dürfte sie mit einem Prestigege-
winn verbunden gewesen sein.
Ob der Aufklärer Priber wohl enttäuscht (oder
nicht eher erleichtert) war, als er mit diesem “Kai-
ser” zusammentraf, der - nicht nur am Absolu-
tismus seiner Zeit gemessen - über eine äußerst
bescheidene Machtfülle verfügte? Hören wir, was
seine britischen Gegner über ihn in Umlauf brach-
ten: Priber habe in Windeseile ihre Sprache ge-
lernt, schreibt James Adair (1782: 50-56), um so-
gleich seine antibritische Propaganda zu entfalten.
Über die Engländer verbreitete er, sie hätten es auf
das Land der Indianer abgesehen. Zugleich habe er
diesen “rohen Wilden” den Floh ins Ohr gesetzt,
aufgrund ihrer Zahl, ihrer kriegerischen Neigung
und der Lage ihres Landes von ungeheuerer Be-
deutung im amerikanischen Machtgefüge zu sein.
Er habe ihnen geraten, um des eigenen Vorteils we-
gen neben den Engländern auch mit den Franzosen
in wirtschaftlichen Austausch zu treten. Danach
sei Priber dazu übergegangen, ihnen eine Regie-
rung zu geben. Priber, behauptet Adair, habe nicht
nur ihren alten “Erz-Magier” (also Moytoy) zum
alleinigen Herrscher aller Cherokee gekrönt (!),
sondern auch eine Reihe weiterer klangvoller Titel
“für alle Mitglieder des roten Hofes ihrer impe-
218
Berichte und Komm61
rialen Majestät” erfunden. Für sich selbst habe er
den Titel des ersten Staatssekretärs seiner kaiser-
lichen Majestät reserviert, mit welchem er fortan
alle Schreiben an die Regierung in Carolina zu
unterzeichnen pflegte. Demnach habe also Priber
das “neue rothe Reich” der Cherokee ins Leben
gerufen. Und damit nicht genug, betrieb Priber
auch noch den Zusammenschluss aller benachbar-
ten indigenen Völker bis jenseits des Mississippi.
Obschon Moytoy ein “Herrscher” von engli-
schen Gnaden war, scheint er auf Unabhängigkeit
von den Engländern bedacht gewesen zu sein. Für
ihn - wie für andere Cherokee - muss der Um-
gang mit einem Weißen, der dem zivilisatorischen
Sendungsbewusstsein und Expansionsstreben ab-
lehnend gegenüber stand, aufschlussreich gewesen
sein, weil Priber etwas besaß, was kein Cherokee
besitzen konnte - Einblicke in die Ziele und Be-
strebungen der europäischen Mächte. Wenn Priber
demnach die Engländer als Leute “abschilderte,
die sich gern fremder Länder anmaßen” (Adair
1782:51), dann musste er dazu nicht mehr tun,
als vor den Cherokee englische Landkarten aus-
rollen. Denn diese Karten zeigten die zukünfti-
ge Ausdehnung der Kolonien; auf ihnen war das
Land der Indianer aufgeteilt und der Mississippi
schon zu einer Zeit als Westgrenze eingetragen,
als die meisten britischen Siedlungen noch den
Atlantik säumten. Leider sind keine Details der
Priber’sehen Propaganda überliefert. Aber mit Si-
cherheit hat der Anwalt Priber den Cherokee die
Tragweite des Londoner Abkommens verdeutlicht,
von dem Moytoy eine Ausgabe besaß (McDowell
1970; 140 f.). Dieser Vertrag verpflichtete die Che-
rokee zu miltärischen Hilfsdiensten für die Bri-
ten, schrieb die Auslieferung entlaufener Sklaven
vor, verbot den Handel mit anderen Nationen und
übereignete ihr Land der britischen Krone. Laut
Abkommen war “The great Nation of Cherrokees”
jetzt zu “Children of the Great King of Great
Britain” geworden, während sich im Gegenzug
die englische Seite zu nicht mehr verpflichtete,
als Handel mit den Cherokee zu treiben, und der
König gestattete ihnen, auch weiterhin in ihrem
Land zu leben.
Etwa vier Jahre lang, von 1736/37 bis zum Win-
ter 1740/41, arbeiteten Moytoy und Priber Hand
in Hand. Solche Bündnisse zwischen indigenen
Anführern und kulturellen Überläufern waren in
der amerikanischen Geschichte keine Seltenheit
(Trenk 2007). In dieser Zeit versorgte Priber die
Cherokee nicht nur mit Informationen über die
Welt der Weißen. Als “Erster Staatssecretaire sei-
ner Majestät”, wie Adair ihn nennt, oder als “Pre-
mierminister”, so Grant (ein anderer Händler), ver-
ntar6
fasste Priber für die Cherokee Schreiben an
die
Regierung von South Carolina, die leider nie
erhalten geblieben sind. Nicht anders als heutig6
“Aktionsanthropologen” stellte er den Indiane1"11
seine Fähigkeiten zur Verfügung und nahm Pah61
für ihre Belange. Von Moytoys einzigem Besu
in Charles Town (dem späteren Charleston)
März 1738 ist kaum mehr bekannt, als erneut6
Beschwerden der Cherokee über die betrüge1"1
sehen Geschäftspraktiken der unter ihnen lebe11
den Indian Traders (Easterby 1951:551, 559 nd
Abhilfe freilich scheint hier erst Priber gescha
fen zu haben, indem er die Cherokee mit Maß ^
und Gewichten vertraut machte und - ganz pra
tisch - eine Waage für sie konstruierte. Das du*
te die ihm nachspionierenden Händler vor ^
endgültig in Rage gebracht haben. Gravierend
aus englischer Sicht war indes, dass er ihnen me ^
Eigenständigkeit im Umgang mit den rivaUsie
renden Kolonialmächten empfahl. Weil er au
für Handelskontakte mit der französischen Sn1
plädierte, galt er den Briten fortan als Agent n
Franzosen. Zunächst glaubte man, das ProbR
Priber ließe sich durch eine Bestechung Moyt(V
und eine Razzia aus der Welt schaffen. Da Pdn
bei den Cherokee naturalisiert war und unter 1
rem Schutz stand, schlugen solche Aktionen an6
dings fehl.
Für Priber scheint eine gewisse Zentralisier11
der unabhängigen Cherokee-Siedlungen unabdin|^.
bar gewesen zu sein, wollten sie gegen die strn
organisierten europäischen Mächte bestehen- ^
mit unterstützte Priber innerhalb der Cherok
Gesellschaft einen Prozess, der bereits im Gan&^
war. Seine außenpolitischen Ziele dagegen Wa .
von geradezu visionärer Weitsicht: Priber sch^
war
def
te eine Union aller Indianerstämme vor. Er
sich darüber klar, dass die Indianer angesichts
kolonialen Expansion nur dann eine Überleb6
chance hatten, wenn sie sich zusammenschlo8
Für die gleiche Vision stritten in den folgen -
Generationen die indigenen Propheten, die eia
panindianischen Widerstand das Wort rede
Doch anders als für die nativistischen Prophe
die eine Abkehr von allem Europäischen pre ^
ten, gab es für Priber keinen Zweifel, dass
indianischen Völker ihre Unabhängigkeit nur
wahren würden, wenn sie mit den Europäern ^
schaftlich gleichzogen. Priber scheint dafür '
getreten zu sein, europäische Handwerker in
Cherokee-Siedlungen aufzunehmen, damit cn
kee deren Fertigkeiten erlernten. Vor allein
Waffentechnologie galt es zu beherrschen, da,
Konfliktfall eine Abhängigkeit vom Feind
ware.
103
.2008
Anthropos
'Siebte und Kommentare
219
, Auf diesem Weg aber sind ihm die Chero-
nicht gefolgt. Als bei der Winterjagd 1740/41
10ytoy dem Anschlag eines irokesischen Kriegs-
äruPPs zum Opfer fiel (Chandler 1906: 196, 224),
, ^nrte sich Pribers Plan. Von nun an ging es
!hm
nrn die Gründung einer utopischen Gemein-
!C^aft, die er “Paradies” oder “Königreich Para-
les” nannte.
^ Priber identifizierte sich mit den Cherokee,
^eidete sich wie sie, lebte wie sie. Doch sein
^ eal einer vollkommenen Gesellschaft fand er
kei ^nen nicht. Er trat mit Nachdruck gegen ihr
. le§erisches Lebensideal auf und wollte sie für
k Niedliches Zusammenleben mit ihren Nach-
Aarn gewinnen, wie der französische Voyageure
Q^oine Bonnefoy (1916:250) berichtete, der als
i^ngener zu den Cherokee gelangt war. Auch
^ e Neigung zu Sorglosigkeit und Müßiggang traf
3 Pfrber, der einer protestantischen Arbeitskultur
j stammte, allem Anschein nach auf Ablehnung.
he lhrer Gemeinschaftlichkeit aber, ihrem Gleich-
en, ihrer Herrschaftsarmut und in dem bei
e en herrschenden Geschlechterverhältnis scheint
^ Ansatzpunkte für seine Vision einer besseren
eP gesehen zu haben.
g£rpuf halbem Weg zwischen den Cherokee-Ber-
C Und der südlich gelegenen Konföderation der
^ elc °der Muskogee plante er eine neue Ge-
^^Hschaft ohne Rassenschranken, der - und da
ler er seiner Zeit weit voraus - “Menschen al-
^°ufrurs und Complexionen” (Grant 1909:
les an§ehören sollten. Auch sollte hier allen al-
Un gehören. Dies war zwar bei den Cherokee
B . lcfr aber erst das Abschaffen von Mein und
kjIn Schien Priber die erstrebte Gleichheit aller
te Schen zu garantieren. In diesem Punkt folg-
rJ.r §anz offensichtlich dem Vorbild vieler eu-
9er pSc^er Utopisten seit Thomas Morus und nicht
ci,e herokee-Kultur. Außerdem sollten die Frauen
9er p.frhcn Rechte wie die Männer haben. Hier ist
,lnfluss der Cherokee auf sein Denken deutlich
aA denn Frauen sollten ihre Männer nach
frss Ün^en wählen, aber auch jederzeit wieder ver-
\v^r gönnen; sogar täglich, wenn ihnen danach
als i ,erner sollte es im “Paradies” - nicht anders
ünbQ ! ^en Cherokee - nur so viel Herrschaft wie
f(ir , ln§t nötig geben. Vor allem aber sollte es
es w, ‘e offen sein, für Weiße, Rote und Schwarze;
HiScb r ^fl^htsort für afrikanische und india-
in ^ e ^hlaven sowie für Europäer gedacht, die
frjst n Kolonien ihr Leben in Schuldknechtschaft
Mussten.
V0rs. ers wirtschaftliche, politische und soziale
0rifü Ungen waren selbstredend eine Provokati-
r 9ie englischen Kolonien. Die Idee vom Asyl
hr0P0s 103.2008
brachte das Fass jedoch zum Überlaufen. Priber,
schäumte der Gouverneur Georgias, General James
Oglethorpe, habe vor, alle entlaufenen “Schuld-
ner, Sträflinge, Diener & Negersklaven der beiden
Carolinas & von Virginia” (de Baillou 1960: 101)
aufzunehmen. Damit untergrabe dieser Kopf einer
“Bande von Outlaws” die Ordnung der Kolonien.
Es war ein erklärtes Anliegen der englischen Po-
litik, eine Annäherung von Schwarzen und India-
nern unter allen Umständen zu verhindern. Denn
die britische Herrschaft war in Gefahr, sollte sich
das Indianerland quasi in einen Maroon-State ver-
wandeln.
Nachdem Priber zum Feind Nr. 1 der südlichen
Kolonien erklärt worden war, wurde seine Besei-
tigung zielstrebig in die Wege geleitet. Anfang
1743 kam einem Fortkommandanten in Georgia
zu Ohren, der verhasste Deutsche plane eine di-
plomatische Mission in das französische Louisiana
und spanische Florida. Darauf lauerten ihm eini-
ge Händler unterwegs auf und verschleppten ihn
auf eine Insel vor der Küste. Er wurde in Fort
Frederica auf St. Simon’s Island eingesperrt, wo
er, ohne dass es je zu einer Anklage oder gar ei-
nem Prozess gekommen wäre, 1745 in seiner Zelle
starb. Bei seiner Festnahme trug er mehrere Ma-
nuskripte bei sich. Darunter war ein für den Druck
fertiggestelltes Buch mit dem Titel “Paradies” oder
“Königreich Paradies” (also die Prinzipien seiner
politischen Utopie), dann sein Tagebuch, außer-
dem ein Wörterbuch der Cherokee-Sprache sowie
weitere ethnologische und linguistische Aufzeich-
nungen, die allen Neugierigen und an den Che-
rokee Interessierten, wie sich der Händler James
Adair (1782: 56) ausdrückte, “sehr hilfreich ge-
wesen wären”. James Mooney, der erste moder-
ne Ethnograph der Cherokee, war überzeugt, dass
Pribers Wörterbuch “die erste und wahrschein-
lich noch immer wichtigste Studie der Sprache”
(1900: 37) sei. Gleiches ließe sich wahrscheinlich
auch über Pribers Ethnographica sagen. Doch al-
le diese Schriften gelten seither als verschollen.
Wären sie erhalten geblieben, hätte ihr Verfasser
heute fraglos einen Namen als utopischer Denker
und Vorläufer der amerikanischen Linguistik und
Ethnologie.
Pribers deutsche Frau Christiana Dorothea ver-
starb mit ihrer jüngsten Tochter am 23. Juli 1757,
als die österreichische Artillerie im Siebenjäh-
rigen Krieg Zittau verwüstete. Anlässlich eines
“Ehrengedächtnisses” am 11. September wurde ihr
Lebenslauf verlesen. Darin wird hervorgehoben,
dass sie “mit Herrn D. Christian Gottlieb Prie-
bem, berühmten Juris practico in Zittau” in “einer
23jährigen Ehe” sieben Kinder zeugte (Eckarth
220
Berichte und Komme)
1757: 136). Aus diesem Dokument geht wahr-
scheinlich hervor, dass Priber 1745 in seiner Zelle
- möglicherweise an Malaria - starb, da ihre Ehe
am 12. November 1722 geschlossen worden war.
In Fort Frederica lebten damals zahlreiche deut-
sche Siedler, sie könnten seiner Frau die Nachricht
vom Tode des prominenten Häftlings hinterbracht
haben.
Mehr freilich scheint von dem “philosophe sau-
vage”, der noch im Kerker an seiner indianischen
Kleidung festhielt, nicht nach Deutschland gedrun-
gen zu sein. Priber hatte die Veröffentlichung sei-
nes druckfertigen Staatsromans geplant. Für ihn
schloss die Zugehörigkeit zur Stammeswelt der
Cherokee eine zeitgleiche Zugehörigkeit zur eu-
ropäischen Gelehrtenrepublik nicht aus. Aber wel-
che Kontakte auch immer zur Alten Welt bestan-
den hatten, mit seinem Tod rissen sie ab und er
wurde vergessen. Lokalem Sammlerfleiß verdank-
te es sich, dass er Eingang in ein “Gelehrtenlexi-
kon” - wofür er sich durch seine noch erhaltene
juristische Dissertation “Quam de usu doctrinae
juris romani, de ignorantia juris in foro Germa-
niae, et quod in eo Aequum sit” (Erfordiae 1722)
empfohlen hat - und ein Beamtenverzeichnis fand
(Otto 1821:344; Pescheck 1839:790). Den ein-
zigartigen Gelehrten aus der Oberlausitz scheint
vor Beginn des 21. Jhs. in Deutschland außer dem
Historiker Günter Mühlpfordt niemand gekannt zu
haben.
Wenn man sich heute auf die Suche nach die-
sem “vergessenen Aufklärer Nordamerikas” (Mühl-
pfordt 1981:5) und verschollenen Ethnologen
macht, beschleicht einen fast der Eindruck, als ob
alle historischen Spuren getilgt worden wären: Als
seine Heimatstadt Zittau im Siebenjährigen Krieg
zerstört wurde, fielen die meisten Dokumente den
Flammen zum Opfer. Wenn es demnach in den
1730er Jahren eine “Polizeiakte Priber” gegeben
haben sollte, dann ist sie unwiderruflich verschol-
len. Über seinen Aufenthalt bei den Cherokee
finden sich in den Archiven von South Carolina
nur spärliche Hinweise, weil von den Unterlagen
über die indianischen Angelegenheiten der Ko-
lonie ausgerechnet die Jahre 1718 bis 1750 ver-
schwunden sind (McDowell 1955; v). Sogar von
der Siedlung Great Tellico an einem Seitenarm des
Tennessee, in der Priber sieben Jahre lebte, fehlt
jede Spur, seit die Region von einem Staudamm
geflutet wurde. Und Pribers Schriften schließlich
gelten seit seiner Festnahme 1743 oder seinem Tod
im Kerker von Fort Frederica 1745 als unauffind-
bar. Dabei haben sie Vertreter der Kolonie Ge-
orgia, die ihn verhörten, noch in Händen gehalten
(Grant 1909: 58 f.; Baillou 1960). Da eine Anklage
ntare
Pribers geplant war, werden diese Schriften
ab
Beweismaterial auf dem Amts weg nach Engü0
gelangt und in London auf dem Schreibtisch ü
Duke of Newcastle gelandet sein, der von 1724 f
1748 für koloniale Angelegenheiten zuständig
Thomas Pelham-Holles, First Duke of Newcast
war ein halbes Jahrhundert lang in verschieb
nen Funktionen einer der maßgeblichen englisC^
Politiker der Epoche. Da sein Nachlass eine n
umfangreichsten Sammlungen der British Libra j
ist, halten Experten es für durchaus möglich, 4a
darunter bis heute das eine oder andere SUT
Pribers verborgen sein könnte (pers. Mitteil11 »
von Patricia Kulisheck, University of Minnesota
8. April 2002; siehe auch Kulisheck 1997).
Ohne die Unterstützung der Volkswagen-Stiftung all_
der DFG wäre es mir nicht möglich gewesen,
Spuren Pribers - sowie zahlreicher weiterer “kulturm
Überläufer” - nachzuspüren. Auf diesem Weg haben mf
Karl-Heinz Kohl, Urs Bitterli, Günter Mühlpfordt
Eberhard Schmitt mit Rat und Zuspmch geholfen. D111
allen möchte ich dafür meinen Dank aussprechen.
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°Pos 103.2008
Financial Self-Help Organizations and
Social Security
A Review Article
Norbert Dannhaeuser
Not unlike other areas of interest, efforts at inter-
national development have been subject to fash-
ions. The Development Decades after World War
II began with an emphasis on community devel-
opment, which was followed by the technological
push (e.g., Green Revolution) in the 1960s. Subse-
quently, the integrated and basic needs approach-
es became popular, to be followed in the 1990s
by sustainable development. During recent years,
special attention has been given to microfinance
within the now popular institutional approach, as
epitomized by the Grameen Bank and its founder,
Dr. Muhammad Yunus, receiving the 2006 No-
bel Peace Prize, and by 2005 being declared the
International Year of Microcredit by the United
Nations.
What should not be overlooked is the fact that
microfinance organizations (what Lont calls, fi-
nancial self-help organizations)1 have existed for
a long time in a number of developing coun-
tries without being tied to formal financial in-
stitutions, development agencies, or NGOs. Over
recent years, efforts by the latter group have in-
creased to introduce their own versions of micro-
finance organizations among the poor to generate
local capital accumulation and investments. Fre-
quently that has occurred in settings which already
are served by indigenous self-help organizations,
with the result that these compete with the intro-
duced ones or, less negatively, links are established
between local organizations and formal financial
institutions designed to encourage development.
Lont defines financial self-help organizations
broadly as “institutions organized around one or
more collective funds originating from contribu-
tions made by participants, and which are basi-
cally administered by the participants themselves”
(13). Indigenous organizations of this kind (e.g., in
China, Korea, Indonesia) have received scholarly
attention since the 1950s, including by anthropol-
ogists. However, Lont’s study is one of the very
1 Lont, Hotze: Juggling Money. Financial Self-Help Organi-
zations and Social Security in Yogyakarta. Leiden: KITLV
Press, 2005. 292pp. ISBN 978-90-6718-240-9. (Verhan-
delingen van bet Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en
Volkenkunde, 221) Price: € 35.00.
222
few monograph length efforts focusing on financial
self-help organizations based on long-term, inten-
sive field research.
Lont chose a country, Indonesia, with a rich
tradition of local financial self-help organizations.
The field site is an urban neighborhood (kampung)
in the city of Yogyakarta, south-central Java. The
result is a fascinating, ethnographically rich ac-
count of the history and currently existing variety
of self-help organizations in the community, the
manner in which individuals manipulate (“juggle”)
their participation in them, and how (along with
other resources) they enable individuals to meet
their economic and social needs.
The perspective of the author is one of proces-
sual anthropology, rather than the culturological
one Clifford Geertz developed some time back
in the same general ethnographic context (Java,
Bali). To Lont, individuals in Bujung (the field site
kampung) are rational actors who employ multiple
tactics in using self-help organizations to reach
various, at times contradictory, goals. Through
this stream of decisions and transactions financial
self-help organizations are created, changed, and
occasionally destroyed. This is not an institutional
approach, and culture is only rarely employed by
the author to account for behavior, such as when
he points out the local preference for balanced
reciprocity, or that of avoiding shame.
Lont of course encountered difficulties in the
field (lasting from August 1997 to August 1998,
with some repeat visits between 1999 and 2002).
Anyone who has done field research on commer-
cial aspects of a community encounters barriers
of distrust and secrecy which time and multiple
contacts can only partially overcome. Complicat-
ing matters further, many of the self-help organi-
zations in Bujung, especially the financially more
successful ones, are operated by women and that in
a Muslim context. The research result is especially
impressive given these challenges that Lont faced.
The literature has been rather euphoric about
the social security function of indigenous self-help
organization. It is this widespread optimism that
Lont constructs his core research question around:
what is the actual (not just assumed) degree to
which financial self-help organizations in Bujung
serve to alleviate economic and other adversities
and deficiencies faced by the population?
In trying to find the answer the author skill-
fully moves between theoretical issues discussed
in the literature and the ethnographic evidence
(both qualitative and quantitative) on the ground -
putting the ethnographic content into theoretical
context and testing the theoretical assumptions by
Berichte und Kommentare
means of the data from the field. He also help^
the reader to get a sense of variety of personal
periences within the overall social context by fre
quently describing the experience of individua
The author traces the history of Bujung (t0<^
a neighborhood of some 5,000 inhabitants) fr°.
the colonial period, the communist (PKI) doiu1
nated interlude of the 1950s, through the viciuu
campaign against the PKI in 1965/66. After tn|
wrenching experience, the kampung, previou 1
composed of a homogeneously labor/agricultut
population, became socially divided due to t
immigration waves. One of these consisted of cl
servants who settled in the center of the neigb^0'.
hood (Atas); the other involved poor laborers lr°
surrounding agricultural areas who moved to
periphery of Bujung, Ledok. The former subgr° r
is wealthier and more seriously Muslim than ^
latter, but despite these differences they are
terdependent communities with Ledok provr
political support to Atas and with socioeconoiu
help at times flowing in the opposite direct!0^
Throughout his work, Lont gives roughly eC^
weight to both subgroups, although the financé
more successful self-help organizations are mai
found in Atas. The history of the neighborly0 j
since the 1960s crises has been one of p°^flC
consolidation by the government, fighting crinV
economic expansion, and in the late 1990s 6
nomic decline tied to the Asian financial crisis-
The people of Bujung face a number of a
versaries and deficiencies which Lont clusters i
sudden and high expenditures (for education,
ness, death, etc.) and uncertain income. Aftel .g
lustrating these financial gaps faced by individu
of different socioeconomic groups - day labot
pedicab drivers, office workers, and so on - ^
addresses the local financial self-help organ
tions which presumably deal with these crise8-
Bujung has a great number and variety of nU
cial self-help organizations. Lont classifies theih^
terms of two criteria: first, the relative import^,
of their social over against financial functi ^
second, the size of the monetary contribution8
members - large or small. Most of the org
zations with small contributions per meeting ^
found on the social end; that is, the social â
political gain of the monthly (or so) mee j
tends to be greater than financial contributions ^
gain that are involved in participating. Virtually ^
adult residents of Bujung are members of at ^g
some of these associations. Larger contributif
and financial returns are involved in private
especially market arisan\ that is, rotating c ^
associations in which “participants make re&
103
.200*
Anthropos
223
efichte und Kommentare
Contributions to a kitty which is immediately re-
attributed to each participant in turn” (ix), the
quence being determined by a lottery, auction, or
fu 6r nieanS‘ The financial, rather than the social
^tion, tends also to be of greater importance
Public accumulating savings and credit associ-
°ns (locally known as simpan pinjam) in which
^ar membership payments entail rights by par-
*Pants to borrow usually at low interest (Muslim
°scription against interest is not widespread).
!s the presence of a large variety of financial
s- ^'help organizations in Bujung due to diffu-
j n 0r socioeconomic evolution? Lont’s answer
c’ koth. Learning from self-help experiments of
^unities outside of Bujung plays a role, but
lhe° rec^ucec^ rebance on landlords as patrons and
t expansion of the economy have contributed
proliferation of different types of self-help
0rSanizations.
tn ^°ni discusses in this context the problem of
generation so important in these organizations
^ u defaulting and cheating being always a possi-
the eVen ^ relatively rare (here the character of
^ea<^ers is crucial). Their financial operations
tL not particularly transparent and to consider
deeSe Organizations as examples of “grass-roots
^ocracy” (120), as often is done in the literature,
Lont stretches the notion of Western democ-
“Ina ^yond its bounds. At best they represent
^ a°nesian-style democracy” in which “a small
the °r^ °h influential individuals make most of
ri® decisi°ns” (121), even if members have a
Sp. t to express opinions and vote on leadership
Motion.
f^lte history, organization, operations, and bonc-
es ^ financial self-help organizations are illustrat-
y a detailed portrait by Lont of a large, public
k^Qn PiRjam which draws most of its members
or a Atas sub-neighborhood. Of interest is the
national complexity of the association of 223
0J*bers divided into four subgroups, each with its
Of • s°cial and financial benefits and obligations,
rarest is also the social pressure on members
this°a^ to contribute, but also to borrow - and
SdWhether they neefi funds or not. In fact, the
fiWas createfi just as much to serve the social
nnancial needs of members as it was a politi-
cians by community leaders to provide some
statuy to Bujung which had lost its administrative
vy as kampung years earlier.
Se|f,r,at’ then, is the social security function of
U0 eJP organizations in Bujung, the main ques-
Pe.
- -ars°^ study? According to Lont, “it ap-
Cufii ^at t^le tendency to attribute a social se-
^ function to financial self-help organizations
f°Pos 103.2008
is somewhat premature” (190); at best, the social
security they provide is moderate. After returning
to some of the adversaries and deficiencies faced
by the local population, Lont shows that these
organizations are only one kind of a number of
resources - others include moneylenders, banks,
neighbors, religious organizations - tapped to deal
with financial gaps.
As a means to generate financial capital to meet
social security, self-help organizations are main-
ly indirectly significant. Lump sums are obtained
from arisan and simpan pinjam, but their timing
is difficult to predict by members. Consequent-
ly, these organizations are principally used as a
means to add to savings, as sources for business
investments, to serve as collateral for loans from
alternative sources, or as means to engage in “on-
lending” - using borrowed lump sums to pay off
existing loans. All these options encourage the
constant juggling of money to deal with financial
gaps. Even their role in generating social capital is
moderate. Membership in self-help organizations
does not guarantee special help from comembers
in case of an emergency. Moreover, the social
insurance funds of these organizations for medical
and funeral expenses are small relative to actual
needs.
The question then arises, why do Bujung res-
idents participate in the broad range of self-help
organizations if in doing so the security benefits
are only moderate, and if it is noted that taking part
in them has also its costs in terms of contributions
required, time invested, and risks involved of being
cheated. Though moderate, net benefits usually are
obtained by participants, with individuals differing
considerably in the financial over against social
gains received. Also the cultural ideal widespread
in Java of cooperation (gotong royong) and social
harmony count, as well as political pressure put
on individuals to participate in at least some of
the more socially oriented organization.
At the end of his study, Lont turns his attention
to two specific issues: the impact of the 1997 Asian
financial crisis, and the result of well-meaning
attempts made to establish links between local
self-help organizations and formal sector financial
institutions. Given the impression he received from
many informants that they lived at the margins of
existence (“they barely had enough to live on”;
200) before the financial crisis, Lont expected that
numerous Bujung residents would be thrown into
poverty and that many financial self-help organi-
zations would not survive as the crisis took hold
locally. This did not happen. Although the Bujung
community faced rapid inflation and decreasing
224
Berichte und Komm61
income owing to loss of better paying jobs, most
self-help organizations actually flourished. More
people used them to discipline their financial and
saving behavior, and lump sums occasionally re-
ceived from them became even more important
than before. The resilience of these organizations -
and the kampung residents - during the crisis can
also be attributed to the fact that economic life be-
fore the crisis was not quite as “just barely enough”
as informants had Lont believe. The crisis merely
intensified the need to juggle money, reminiscent
of Geertz’s notion of cultural involution. It did
not lead to a breakdown of the system into crass
individualism or the emergence of shared poverty.
Ever interested in improving the services of in-
digenous financial institutions, some development
agencies and NGOs have argued over the years
that, rather than replacing such institutions with
introduced ones, they should be linked to the for-
mal financial sector. The hope has been to get the
best of two worlds: local commitment and group
loyalty, with access to greater financial resources
under more professional management. The experi-
ence in Bujung along these lines left Lont with a
skeptical opinion about these so frequently lauded
arrangements.
In Bujung, the linkage group involved local
simpan pinjam receiving some of their loanable
capital from a bank. The two cases examined by
Lont soon went (in effect) bankrupt. Lont points
to two fundamental problems with linkages of this
kind, implying that flaws are far more common
than generally admitted. First, the notion of group
or joint liability which supposedly motivates mem-
bers to repay on their loans, is weakened through
the linkage because greater sums are involved in
these arrangements, making defaults by individ-
uals more tempting despite the shame involved
in doing so. By the same token, individuals less
sensitive to local social pressure often have more
relations with outsiders and, therefore, it is typical-
ly such individuals who become leaders in linked
systems. Second, if available capital is only de-
rived from local sources - that is, when members
borrow from one another - it is more difficult to
default with impunity than if much of the capital is
derived from an external bank. In sum, the author
feels “that the ultimate objective behind linkage
projects, that is, increasing integration while pre-
serving embeddedness ... is an unattainable ideal”
(237).
Why do most assessments of linkage projects
present such a positive picture about their result?
Lont suggests that these assessments are them-
selves often deficient. Most of them rely on inter-
ntare
views or reports of local organizing commifiee^
“the programme brokers who have an interest m
positive evaluation” (238) to assure continued &
cess to cheap credit which can be used for person
profit. In turn, banks and NGOs usually have #
means to monitor the “internal monopolization
the provision of loans by the organizing comm
tee” (238). Financial fiction, it seems, helps to per^
petuate arrangements which for different reaso
locals and members of formal sector organizatm
find useful to maintain. ,
find'
In his conclusion, Lont returns to his mam
ial
ing in order to explain it; that is, why are finand
self-help organizations only moderately impoft ,
in covering the social security needs of Bujung
population? A number of factors are involved-
these organizations are local, their membership
not sufficiently broad and inclusive to serve as
base of effective medical or accident insurant
- alone the social divide between Atas and Led
does not help in attempts to reach scale. MoreoV ^
some alternatives to cover social security nc6
are available, risks and needs are not the sa
for all, and emergency funds are more subj
to fraud by their custodians than funds ate
arisan and simpan pinjam. Culture plays a role
well. The context of Bujung in which relations
personal even in the economic sector, contradi
arrangements involving collective insurance 1
operate through impersonal relations. Furtherm0 J
there is the local cultural preference for balanc
reciprocity in which everyone is expected to cv t
tually gain approximately the same. This does
allow for conditions, typical in insurance schem^
in which some members have received funding
cause of medical or other emergencies and otn ^
not because they happen not to have been sub)
to such exigencies.
Finally, Lont turns to the national level
compares financial self-help organizations i*1
donesia (Bujung forming the ethnographic va
line) with the historical development of & e
al benefit societies in the 19th century Eni
which eventually evolved into national insure ^
schemes. Why has the European historical exp ^
ence been fundamentally different from the m
recent Indonesian path toward development-
though, as was the case in Europe during lfl ^
trialization, a strong national identity exists liJ g
donesia, the government lacks sufficient res°UeaIn
and most Indonesians do not have jobs that
them a regular wage - both prerequisites
appearance of mutual benefit associations an
tional insurance schemes of the European va
Widespread corruption in the Indonesian Pu
103.300®
Anthropos
225
efichte und Kommentare
tSector further undermines efforts to establish na-
j nal insurance programs. Consequently, residents
Places like Bujung - and the author implies
t there are many such communities, and not
V in Indonesia - will have to rely on juggling
^ tlCs for a long time to come that involve various
ancial self-help organizations, as well as other
t °Urces, to make ends meat on a daily basis, and
Manage adversaries that surely they will face in
e future.
This
and
short.
work, though of considerable scholarly
Practical importance, is not without some
hel lCornangs. Greater editorial care would have
^Ped. Some of the figures (especially 2 and 3)
. Confusing to the reader, occasionally citations
a en in the text do not appear in the bibliography,
^ Appendix 1 in the text is entitled Appendix
at the end of the book. More significant are
a ain omissions, even if it is realized that all
il0rs have to set limits of what they cover. Why
l es Lont not include a more general discussion of
his findings relate to the broad-based, inter-
^cl0nai effort made by the Greeman Foundation,
Se.Cl0n International, and similar institutions in
ün;*g up and fostering microfinance organizations
er (partial) local control in developing areas?
ter°re°Ver’ ihe comparison with Europe is of in-
adfSt’ ^ut contrasting the case under study with
Scha*ced third world countries and their insurance
ta eiIles (Brazil, Malaysia, Mexico, etc.) would
Ca added to our understanding of the Indonesian
jïlee> Though occasionally mentioned as wealthy
therChants and potential moneylenders in the text,
Hot r°*e the Chinese in the local market is
ind addressed (they are not even itemized in the
gjvexh n°r is the relation of Islam and finance
br; ^ systematic attention; Islamic finance is only
have ^ mentioned in a footnote. Finally, it would
;we been helpful for the reader to understand the
Qf.: a Workings of rotating credit associations (the
if several full cycles involving different
be °ds of allotment (lottery, bidding, etc.) had
a Presented.
add nese shortcomings - most of which could be
tr^ed in a future edition - should not dis-
ethn ‘rorn die fact that this is an outstanding
of °^raPhic study of an institution that, although
difïj eat importance in the development field, is
lu-it to examine through intensive fieldwork,
fw s success in doing so, and in putting the
tiVe into theoretical context and compara-
roj^ ^^Pcctive, should be lauded. Similarly, de-
be g hcizing some of the characteristics said to
stance°Ciated with self-help organizations (for in-
’ their social security role, their democratic
hr°P°s 103.2008
character) and the efforts at linkages with the
banking sector will help more realistic assessments
of them in the future. Throughout the text, Font’s
descriptions and analyses are clearly presented in a
well-organized manner without losing the interest
of the reader. This is a first-rate addition to the
ethnography of Indonesia (especially of Java) and
to the understanding of indigenous financial self-
help organizations. Anyone interested in Southeast
Asian urban conditions and more general develop-
ment issues will find this work of lasting value.
Kolonialismus und Geschichte
Ein Rezensionsartikel
Hans Voges
Einen wesentlichen Bestandteil von Frederick Coo-
pers “Colonialism in Question”1 bildet die sprach-
oder ideologiekritische Untersuchung, die man
heute wohl eher geneigt wäre als Diskursanalyse
zu bezeichnen, wenn nicht der kritische dekon-
struktive Jargon fehlen würde.
Zerpflückt werden einige tonangebende Leit-
begriffe der humanwissenschaftlichen Diskussion,
die von den Fürsprechern verschiedener Theorie-
ansätze - von den “Subaltern Studies” bis zum
“Postcolonial Criticism” reichend - inspiriert ist.
Cooper, der selbst ein renommierter Historiker
des modernen Afrika ist, präsentiert eine ganze
Kohorte von Autoren und Kritikern, die von in-
nerhalb und außerhalb der Völkerkunde Position
beziehen.
Cooper vermisst die Stärken und Schwächen
einiger tonangebender kulturwissenschaftlicher
Richtungen und der in ihrem Rahmen argumentie-
renden Autoren: Unter den allgemeinsten Positi-
onsbestimmungen ragt zunächst die postkoloniale
Kritik hervor, die sich seit etwa 1980 im Gefolge
des Edward Said’sehen Denkens entfaltet hat.
In ihr wird eine spezifisch westliche dominante
Geschichtsauffassung auf eine kontinuierlich aus-
geübte Unterdrückung, Gewalt und Hegemonie re-
duziert, die sowohl das Äußere wie das Innere der
1 Cooper, Frederick: Colonialism in Question. Theory, Knowl-
edge, History. Berkeley: University of California Press,
2005. 327 pp. ISBN 978-0-520-24414-6. Price: £ 12.95.
226
Berichte und Komme
vom Westen erfassten Kulturen ergreift. Innerhalb
der Bandbreite postkolonialer Kritik haben sich
vor allem die Protagonisten der “Subaltem Stud-
ies” einen Namen gemacht, - indische Intellektu-
elle wie Dipesh Chakrabarty und Partha Chatterjee,
die sich um eine nach Klassen und Gender spe-
zifizierte Sicht der Sozialgeschichte Indiens be-
mühen. Eine dritte Position, die vielleicht in der
Ethnologie den meisten Anklang findet, bezeichnet
Cooper als modemitätskritisch. Nicht nur werden
unter dem Titel einer nach Universalität strebenden
Moderne negative Aspekte von Aufklärung, Kapi-
talismus oder Imperialismus subsumiert. Es wird
überhaupt die Pluralität von Moderne unterstri-
chen, innerhalb derer sich je nach Region, Kultur
oder auch Kolonisierungsgrad eine eigene Form
von Moderne entwickelt hat. Was diese kritische
Haltung betrifft, so sind für ihn die Werke von
Jean und John Comaroff prototypisch und wecken
sein besonderes Interesse.
Über alle methodologischen und thematischen
Unterschiede hinweg ist diesen Positionen gemein-
sam, dass sie von der Schwelle der postkolonia-
len Situation aus argumentieren, indem sie in der
Geschichte zurück- und zugleich von dort in die
Gegenwart vorausblicken. Ihren kritischen Maß-
stab beziehen sie aus der Diskrepanz zwischen der
westlich-kapitalistischen und der “restlichen” Welt
(gemäß dem englischen Wortspiel).
Diese Ansätze versuchen - unabhängig von der
Besonderheit ihres Gegenstands -, ein historisch
erfahrenes Unrecht zu korrigieren, indem sie das
Missverhältnis in Macht und Wohlstand zwischen
westlicher, europäischer Metropole und den ver-
schiedenen Peripherien erklären. Neben Kapita-
lismus und Imperialismus ist jedoch in den letz-
ten Jahrzehnten ein zusätzliches Ursachenbündel
getreten, dessen Kem sich auf die Durchsetzung
von soziokultureller Modernität als auch auf die
Gewöhnung an einen Subjektstatus - beide Ele-
mente in wechselnden Mischungsverhältnissen -
reduzieren lässt.
In der Sicht der postkolonialen Kritik wird die
westlich dominierte Geschichte zu einer kontinu-
ierlich ausgeübten Unterdrückung und Gewalt, die
sowohl auf das Äußere wie auf das Innere der von
ihr ergriffenen Kulturen zielt.
Es ist nicht zu verkennen, dass diese kriti-
sche Literatur vor allem in der angelsächsischen
Welt - sprich den USA - eine Aufmerksamkeit
heischende Position erlangt hat und sie beson-
ders nachdrücklich von Intellektuellen aus dem
Commonwealth vertreten wird. Europäische For-
schungstendenzen, die nicht so sehr ins Licht einer
politisierten Öffentlichkeit geraten, werden dabei
zwangsläufig vernachlässigt. Anbetrachts der z.
heftigen Debatten ist nicht aus den Augen zu vef
Heren, dass gerade die akademische Umwelt Not
amerikas einen Resonanzboden darstellt, in der d
Erbe und Trauma von Sklaverei, Kolonialist^
sowie die aktuelle prekäre Weltmachtposition u
USA ein besonders starkes Echo finden. Coope
ist sich der aktuellen politischen Implikation
von geisteswissenschaftlichen Theoriekonstrukt
und historiographischen Fragestellungen sehr wo
bewusst und bringt sie immer wieder an geeignc
Stelle zur Sprache.
In einem frühen Teil - Kapitel 3 bis 5 - weme
die bis zu Parolen verdünnten Begriffe der Idel1^
tität, Globalisierung und Moderne einer Prüfnj1^
unterzogen, die kein spezifisch kritisches PaI11
vor sich her trägt, sondern eher vom Ethos faC.
historischer Genauigkeit und Konkretion sowie e1^
nem generell emanzipatorischen Interesse beflng
wird.
a) Der Begriff der “Identität”, zeitweilig uruüs
send gebraucht im Sinne einer kulturellen, s°zlfß
len und nationalen Identität oder als eine plura .
Identität in multikulturellen Kontexten, büßt
Trennschärfe ein, wenn jegliche mentale Form a
Selbstbehauptung von Gruppen darunter suhs^
miert wird. Dies gilt vor allem dann, wenn n°
eine nominalistische Gestik hinzutritt, die jeghc
konstante Referentialität - die Gefahr des Es^
tialismus wird ja geradezu rituell beschworen "
Frage stellt. (Dieser Abschnitt ist gemeinsaiu 111
Rogers Brubaker verfasst worden.)
b) Bei näherem Zusehen verliert sich der y
griff der “Globalisierung” in einer Historiograph^j
die abwechselnd groß oder klein gedacht W(
(sei es in geographischen Räumen, sei es io n
torisch großzügig bemessenen Epochen). Ist h
tatsächlich ein epochales oder die Epochen nh
greifendes Phänomen gemeint? Welcher soz1
technologische, ökonomische Aspekt belegt
Vordergrund der Diskussion? Handelt es sich m
doch eher um ein Bündel von Phänomenen, des!»
Zusammensetzung sich verändert? Letztlich»
Querschnitt, bleibt das Phänomen zu unspezm5
um genuin aussagefähig zu sein. .
c) Das Etikett der “Moderne”, das etwa in
vielen Titeln (im Singular wie Plural) auftaac^
lebt zu einem guten Teil von der täuschen
Transparenz des Begriffs. Was modern ist, sc
nen wir auf Anhieb zu wissen, vor allem w ,
wir Altes oder Rückständiges als Widerpari ^
zunehmen. Steht sie nicht für ein Bündel
Eigenschaften (angefangen bei der Rationah
das ein historisches Problem mit der Gegen „
direkt vermittelt? Verweist sie auf eine Ep°c
.200g
Anthropos
103
227
er'chte und Kommentare
^sicher ist, wann sie beginnt - z. B. in irgend-
ner Region Afrikas oder Asiens, etwa im Zuge
r europäischen Expansion, etwa mit dem Einset-
n des Kolonialismus oder etwa als zwangsläu-
fig Begleiterscheinung des Kapitalismus? Viele
Befische Autoren scheinen sich nicht recht ent-
ueiden zu können, ob sie Modernität als Epo-
Bezeichnung oder als Konfiguration von Merk-
a en bevorzugen sollen.
j ^iese Begriffe - vermerkt Cooper kritisch bi-
Uzierend - wecken allzu weitläufige begriffliche
^soziationen. Das ist ihre Schwäche, denn da-
rch wird ein feiner auf das jeweilige Unter-
cnungsfeld abgestimmter Gebrauch verhindert,
ijj §leich wird hierin der Widerhall hörbar, den sie
Vlelfältigen humanwissenschaftlichen Diskussi-
von
J}S2usammenhängen finden. Die Verbindung
^ urdeutigkeit und unzureichender semantischer
^e^irnmtheit suggeriert eine generelle Verwend-
]• «it in den diversesten humanwissenschaft-
§ nen Problematiken und suspendiert von der
h Cpe uach den adäquaten, Problem erschließen-
^ Begriffen.
j. Cooper bewältigt seinen kritischen Überblick
s ^r die zeitgenössischen Tendenzen in ethnologi-
^ en und historischen Studien, der häufig genug
5oer afrikanische Themen hinausgeht, auf rund
Hol ^ten- P-r selbst gibt dann einer geschicht-
a \ünd gesellschaftlich vertieften Konfigurations-
a ^Se den Vorzug, die sowohl die Innen- wie
Beziehungen einer Gesellschaft, eines sozia-
ric.SBients, einer Gruppe usw. einbezieht. Als
Sn ,tUn§weisend hebt er die programmatische Per-
Hef Ve ^ervor’ die Georges Balandier in seinem
IgJBtcn Aufsatz “La Situation coloniale” von
äj skizziert hat. Ihm sei es darum gegangen,
Ma Vf°n außen an eine Gesellschaft herantretenden
Sni , und Austauschbeziehungen - Musterbei-
^ die Kolonialgebiete in Afrika - kenntlich
g^Ben uncj deren Folgen für die soziale Or-
lSafion einer Kultur offen zu legen. Was die
We e|'schaffen Afrikas betrifft, seien leider nur
angelsächsische Wissenschaftler - die sog.
j ^Pperbelt anthropologists” (u. a. A. L. Epstein,
rüb ^dchell) - dieser Perspektive gefolgt. Da-
l9^r hinaus habe Balandier sogar schon in den
W er/ahren dazu aufgefordert, die Folgen von
0e atrialisierung und Urbanisierung für Afrikas
£. bchaften zu erforschen.
Her lne ^eoriegeleitete Geschichtsschreibung, die
Veit§l0balen Differenz von Westen und übriger
tj0n üamt deren geistesgeschichtlichen Implika-
W i folgt, die ihr politisch-emanzipatorisches
0,
Bse
auf ein ausgesprochen flaches Profil von
chicfite gründet, tendiert zu politischen Kurz-
hr°p0s 103.2008
Schlüssen: sie verkennt den Freiheitsspielraum der
einzelnen ebenso sehr wie die Unberechenbarkeit
von Ereignisverläufen. Zu dieser “kurzatmigen”
Geschichtskonzeption entwirft Cooper eine Alter-
native. Die von ihm Kritisierten meinten, dass sich
die Konstellationen der Gegenwart ganz eindeutig
und zwangsläufig aus den Kräften der Vergan-
genheit ergäben und könnten nicht umhin, den
Akteuren der Vergangenheit Handlungsoptionen
abzusprechen. Nicht nur entspräche diese historio-
graphische Engführung keineswegs der Wahrneh-
mung der geschichtlich Handelnden, sondern sie
stelle auch die Frage nach den Handlungsmöglich-
keiten, der Wahl zwischen unterschiedlichen Stra-
tegien sowie nicht zuletzt nach den Grenzen
menschlicher Handlungspotenziale nicht einmal
im Ansatz.
Für Cooper dagegen ist ein näheres Hinblicken
auf das Besondere der Geschichtsprozesse selbst-
verständlich. Große, bedeutende politische Ereig-
nisse ergeben sich nicht dadurch, dass die Teilneh-
mer oder Vorkämpfer einer politischen Bewegung
alle mit den gleichen Intentionen auf das gleiche
Ziel losgehen (das dann in der Folge eintritt), viel-
mehr sind sie das Ergebnis von “Konjunkturen”.
Erst wenn es den Akteuren mit ihren Ideen, Inter-
essen und Erwartungen gelingt, mit einer momen-
tanen historischen Konstellation in Verbindung zu
treten und auf sie Einfluss zu nehmen, kann etwas
Neues geschehen, das nicht in der anfänglichen
Absicht der Handelnden, in ihren Ausgangsent-
scheidungen, gelegen hat. Der Ausdruck “Kon-
junkturen” spricht nichts weiter aus, als dass eben
eine Akkumulation von Zufällen zu einem bedeut-
samen Ereignis führt: Damit ist auch der Verzicht
darauf besiegelt, Geschichte von einem faktischen
Endpunkt in der Gegenwart aus zu konzipieren und
von dort aus, gleichsam rückwärts, die dominieren-
den Handlungsverkettungen nachzuzeichnen und
die erfolglosen oder misslingenden zu verdrängen.
In dieser konstruktiven Absicht liefert Cooper
am Schluss seines Buches eine überzeugende Fall-
studie, in der er frühere Aufsätze zusammenfasst.
Als Beispiel für eine “Konjunktur” kann die Deko-
lonisation im französischen Westafrika nach dem
2. Weltkrieg gewertet werden, denn sie ist (so
Cooper) das unerwartete Ergebnis von Faktoren,
die erst im Laufe einer längeren sozialen Ausein-
andersetzung zusammenfanden und sich im Wech-
selspiel mit der Einschätzung der Konfliktparteien
näher bestimmten. Zu den historisch bestimmen-
den Faktoren zählen das durch den Weltkrieg er-
schütterte Selbstvertrauen der “weißen” Koloni-
alwelt als auch die Erfahrungen der “farbigen”
Völker, die von jenen in den Krieg hineingezo-
228
gen wurden, sowie die Versuche der europäischen
Politik, ihre jeweiligen Kolonialimperien auf ei-
ner neuen Grundlage wiederzuerrichten, indem sie
etwa durch Zugeständnisse an die Kolonial Völker
imperiale Legitimität zurückzugewinnen hofften.
So glaubten z. B. französische Politiker ebenso wie
die Mehrheit ihrer afrikanischen Gegenspieler, die
Nachkriegsepoche sei die Stunde für Gleichbe-
rechtigung und für umfassende staatsbürgerliche
Rechte.
Unter dieser epochalen Signatur brachen 1946
im französischen Westafrika Streiks aus, mobili-
sierten die städtische Bevölkerung und entwickel-
ten eine eigene Dynamik, die das Ringen der
betroffenen Parteien - hier französische Koloni-
alpolitiker, dort afrikanische Gewerkschafter und
Politiker -, Zugeständnisse und unbefriedigenden
Interessenausgleich als auch die Enttäuschung der
anfänglichen Erwartungen und eine völlig neue
Politikkonstellation (sowohl was die Einstellun-
gen wie die Ideologien betraf) involvierten; Die
französischen Kolonialherren würden die Koloni-
en in die Unabhängigkeit entlassen, während die
afrikanischen Politiker sich eine neue politische
Utopie zu eigen machten, die an die Stelle einer
Aufnahme in die französischen Bürgerrechte eine
Besinnung auf die afrikanischen Wurzeln setzte,
mitsamt der Implikation einer vollständigen natio-
nalen Souveränität. In diesem Szenario wird der
Abstand erkennbar zwischen den politischen Kon-
stellationen und Bestrebungen der unmittelbaren
Nachkriegszeit und einem politischen Ergebnis,
das sich im Verlauf der 1960er Jahre als Tatsache
der Unabhängigkeit herauskristallisiert hat; ein Er-
gebnis, das so nicht vorhersehbar war und auch
erst für die epochale Tagesordnung neu formu-
liert werden musste. Cooper plädiert überzeugend
dafür, die historisch scheinbar folgenlose Zwi-
schenphase der 1940er Jahre ernst zu nehmen, die
durch einen mentalen Umschwung abgelöst wur-
de, dessen historischer Erfolg das Vorangehende
außer Kraft setzte, da er zeigen kann, wie un-
erwartete Handlungsoptionen und Entscheidungen
unter besonderen Bedingungen (“Konjunkturen”)
wirkungsmächtig werden können.
Insgesamt kommt es nicht überraschend, dass
das Thema “Empire” Gegenstand eines eigenen Ka-
pitels geworden ist. Gewissermaßen führt Cooper
hier den Nachweis, dass, wer vom Kolonialis-
mus rede, vom Imperium nicht schweigen dürfe.
Wenn das Imperium eine Generalstrategie der He-
gemonie auf der Ebene der internationalen Bezie-
hungen umschreibt, so ist der Kolonialismus die
in viele Seiten aufgesplitterte Umsetzung an Ort
und Stelle, hier zumeist in Überseegebieten Frank-
Berichte und Kommentar
reichs und Englands. Ohne Rückblicke auf ^
älteren Imperialismustheorien J. A. Hobsons, ^■
Lenins und J. Schumpeters wird zwar der Wider
hall kaum verständlich, den diese Ansichten 111
früheren Etappen der Disziplingeschichte g^üil
den haben. Dafür aber gelingt dem Autor 6,11
einfacherer und unmittelbarer Zugriff auf die P°
litische Gegenwart. Unverkennbar erhält die g6
genwärtige Debatte um die Rolle von Impe^611
Auftrieb von den problematischen Folgen der zei
genössischen US-Außenpolitik. Allerdings kann
Cooper aber auch ein Erstaunen darüber nicht vef
hehlen, wie aktuell das anscheinend angestaubt6
Thema immer noch sein kann. Ganz nebenbei lelS
tet er einen Beitrag zur Versachlichung der DiskuS
sion, indem er die Westeuropazentrik der meist
Wissenschaftler und Publizisten überwindet uu
die charakteristischen Eigenarten und Entwickln11
gen der in der Geschichte anzutreffenden RelC
skizzenhaft herausarbeitet. . *
Für die Kritiker - moniert Cooper - verUu
die Kausalbeziehung immer nur in einer Richtung;
von den europäischen Herren zu den “farbig611
Untergebenen oder, anders gesagt, von der eLl
ropäischen Macht zur kolonialen Unterwerfung
Auch wenn sich das Gefälle zwischen Herrsch611
den und Beherrschten nicht nur in der persönlich
Form von Tätern und Opfern ausdrückt, sond6
sich auf struktureller und institutioneller Ebe
wiederholt, bleibt es doch stets eine ebenso 6111
deutige wie eindimensionale Beziehung, iu
keine Zwischentöne oder Ambivalenzen vernen
bar sind. Das Fehlen solcher Zwischentöne
etwa die Existenz unterschwelliger, die m6
Schaftsbeziehungen konterkarierender Abhang £
keiten, das alltägliche Zusammenwirken zwiscn
Machthabern und Untergebenen, der kulturelle u
ökonomische Austausch - gerade das ist es, ^
der auf Konkretion sinnende Historiker festhat
möchte.
Zitierte Literatur
Balandier, Georges , -eys
1951 La situation coloniale. Approche théoretique. C
Internationaux de Sociologie 11: 44-79.
Cooper, Frederick ry.
2005 Colonialism in Question. Theory, Knowledge, №s
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Anthropos
103
.2008
229
Be *
erichte und Kommentare
Tibetan Learning Resources
^ Review Article
^erald Roche
je Ascription and review of three language-
Qfarning resources available for the Amdo dialect
Tibetan is offered, due to the recent publica-
11 of two new materials.1 To begin with, I will
r°duce the Amdo region and its dialect.
. ^idigenous populations of people speaking vari-
b!es °f Tibetan can be found within China, Nepal,
*an, Pakistan, and India. The entire region in
lch Tibetans make up a large portion of the local
filiation can be referred to as “ethnic Tibet,”
lch is nowadays commonly divided into three
hiral-linguistic regions: Kham (KHams), Amdo
Ha an<^ U-Tsang (dBus gTSang). An alter-
a 1Ve system combines the regions of Kham and
^0 to form Mdokham (mDo KHams), whilst
(j gating the region of Ngari (mNGa Ris) from
fsang (Gruschke 2004). The first classificatory
eacteiT1 better reflects general patterns of differ-
here’ Particularly linguistic variation and is used
The linguistic-cultural realm of Amdo today
^.Urs entirely within the People’s Republic of
llla- It is divided between Qinghai, Gansu, and
t Aan provinces. Within Qinghai, the prefec-
So^s of Guoluo/Golog (mGo Log),2 Hainan/Mt-
Ha i? .^TSHo IHo), Huangnan/Malo (rMa IHo),
^ ei/Mtsoshang (mTSHO Byang), and Haixi/
0fSAUv (mTSHo Nub) contain large numbers
ri Tibetan speakers. At the county lev-
tl,’ A following counties also contain significant
q() bers of Amdo Tibetan speakers: Huangzhong
% (Xining Municipality), Xunhua Salar
^°rbu, Kalsang, Karl A. Peet, dPal IDan bKra shis, and
p6Vln Stuart: Modem Oral Amdo Tibetan. A Language
rip’Tler' Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2000. 324 pp.
- 978-7734-7895-4. Price: $ 126.00.
Su:
Tib^ Liio-ming and IHa Byams rGyal: Colloquial Amdo
u ,etan- A Complete Guide for Adult English Speakers.
ISh\n§: Lhina Tibetology Publishing House, 2005. 538 pp.
7-80057-557-8. Price: 108.00 RMB.¥.
Au ° sGri§ La and gZungs ’Bum Thar: The Eye-Opening
q Ticious Amdo Dialect Instructional Book. Lanzhou:
lla?®u Nationalities Press, 2006. 544 pp. ISBN 7-5421-
fier7'X- Price: 22.00 RMB.¥.
foil6 ar*b wkh other place names, pinyin is given first,
ciat°WeC* by an approximation of the Amdo Tibetan pronun-
in and the Wiley transliteration of the literary Tibetan
Anthr,
°P°s 103.2008
Autonomous County, Hualong Hui Autonomous
County, Minhe Hui and Monguor (Tu) Autonomous
County, Huzhu Mongghul (Tu) Automous Coun-
ty, and Ping’an and Ledu Counties (all within
Haidong Region). Within Gansu Province, Gan-
nan/Ganlo (Kan IHo) Prefecture contains large
numbers of Amdo Tibetan speakers. Tianzhu/
Huari (dPa’ Ris) Tibetan Autonomous County also
contains some Tibetan speakers, as well as a large
number of Tibetans who speak the local Chinese
dialect as their mother tongue. Within Sichuan,
Amdo Tibetans are found within Aba/Ngawa
(rNGa Ba) Tibetan and Qiang Autonomous Prefec-
ture. Nomadic people within Luhuo/Drango (Brag
mGo), Serta/Sirda (gSer rTa), and Serxu/Sershul
(Ser SHul) counties also speak Amdo Tibetan.
Statistics given for the number of speakers
of Amdo Tibetan range between 800,000 (Sung
and IHa Byams rGyal 2005) and one and a half
million (Norbu et al. 2000). Accurate figures are
difficult to settle on, because Amdo Tibetan is not
only the first language of Tibetans within these
areas, but also traditionally operated as a lingua
franca between other ethnic groups, such as Hui,
Han, Monguor, and Mongols, a function which is
rapidly being replaced by putong hua, or Modern
Standard Chinese. Another factor which makes
gathering accurate statistics difficult is that certain
groups which are not classified as Tibetan actual-
ly speak Amdo Tibetan as their mother tongue;
for instance, most of the Mongols of Hennan
Mongol Autonomous County, Malo or the Tibetan-
speaking Hui (zang hui) in Hualong County,
Haidong Region. To further complicate matters,
some who are classified as Tibetan and live with-
in the realm of Amdo do not speak the Amdo
Tibetan dialect (for example, the “Baima/Dwags
Po” Tibetans in Pingwu and Nanping Counties,
Sichuan and Wen County Gansu [Upton 2000], or
the Tibetans living in Joni [Co ne], in Ganlo. Both
Baima and Joni Tibetans speak their own unique
Tibetan dialects).
Despite this confusion, we can confidently say
that a reasonably large number of people on the
northeastern edge of the Tibetan cultural realm do
speak Amdo Tibetan, and that learning this dialect
therefore opens up a large range of communica-
tive and learning chances. Furthermore, with the
gradual opening up of once-closed Tibetan regions
to foreigners, the opportunities for foreigners to
communicate with and learn from Amdo Tibetan
speakers is better now than ever before. Within
the entire Amdo region, the only regions current-
ly closed to foreigners are the counties of Dar-
lag/Darlag (Dar Log), Baima/Padma (Pad Ma),
230
Berichte und Komme)
and Gade/Garde (dGa’ bDe) in Golog and the
monastery of Sertar Lamng Gar in Sertar County,
Ganzi, Sichuan.
And what exactly is there to be learnt in Amdo?
Amdo is often portrayed by Chinese, Westerners,
and Tibetans alike, as a frontier region - a Wild
West, inhabited by uncouth cowboys and backward
peasants. This image, whilst quaint and entertain-
ing, is far from the truth. A list of significant
historical and contemporary figures from Amdo
shows the region’s importance in the Tibetan reli-
gious, artistic, and intellectual worlds: TSong KHa
Pa (founder of the Gelugpa sect of Tibetan Bud-
dhism, from Huangzhong), the fourteenth Dalai
Lama (from Ping’an), the tenth Panchen Lama
(from Xunhua), dGe ’Dun CHos ’PHel (monk,
historian, poet, artist, inventor, and translator, from
Rebgong), dGe bSHs SHes Rab rGya mTSHo and
TSHe brTan Zhabs Drung (two famous Gelug-
pa scholars from Xunhua who lived in the 20th
century), ZHabs dKar TSHogs Drug Rang Grol
(yogic practitioner from Rebgong), and sKal IDan
rGyal mTSHo (Gelugpa teacher, poet, and com-
poser from Rebgong who lived ca. 400 years ago).
Recent Amdo figures include Don ‘Grub rGyal
(author, from Jiantsa), Pad Ma TSHe brTan (novel-
ist and maker of first ever Amdo Tibetan language
film), sMan bLa sKyabs (comedian, lyricist, and
social commentator), ZHogs sTon (secular mod-
ernist author), ’Ju sKal bZang (poet from Golog),
dPal Mo (feminist, poet, and teacher), Sangs rGyas
rGya mTSHo (novelist and poet who rose to fame
after writing about a widespread snow-disaster in
1994), Dor ZHu gDong Drug sNYems bLo (teach-
er and widely published nonfiction author), as well
as the leading exemplars of the Amdo mandolin
musical style - Huangun (dPal mGon) and Debi
(bDud Bhe). As well as having produced many
famous Tibetans, Amdo also contains many impor-
tant religious and cultural sites, such as Labrang
(bLa Brang, an important Gelugpa monastery fa-
mous for its educational facilities and as a site
of musical innovation), Rebgong (famous for its
THang KHa paintings and art schools, as well
as for producing famous religious scholars), rDe
TSHa (famous throughout Tibetan areas for its
monastic education), and Bya KHyung (famous for
being the site where TSong KHa Pa received his
first religious training).
A number of language-learning resources are
currently available for people who want to access
this heritage and learn to communicate in Amdo
Tibetan. Before launching into a description of
these resources, it is first necessary to emphasise
two important features of the Amdo Tibetan di-
ntar6
alect. First, Amdo Tibetan is an oral language
Tibetans from Amdo and, for instance, U-Tsaflg’
can communicate with one another by writing 1
Tibetan, but their way of pronouncing the satf1^
written words, and even individual syllables,
very different. Moreover, there are numerous le^
ical items in Amdo Tibetan that do not appear
written Tibetan. Secondly, it is also important
realize that Amdo Tibetan is not a single, standa
dialect. Though all Amdo Tibetans can understan^
one another reasonably well, there are variations
how they pronounce certain words, as well as1
cal peculiarities of vocabulary. Broadly speaking’
Amdo Tibetan can be divided between noma
and agricultural subdialects. However, these sn
dialects show variation from place to place, partlC
ular among the agricultural subdialects. These t
factors - Amdo Tibetan’s orality and its nonsta^
dard nature, are important and recurrent features
terms of the various language-teaching materia
merits. j
As a final note before offering a description an
review of materials, I want to point out that I a ^
reviewing these materials from the perspective ^
a language learner, not a linguist. Analysis of ^
linguistic merits of the various books is bey0^
the scope of this work. I have been learning Ana
Tibetan for 22 months (as of June 2007), and ha ^
used all three of the language resources descn ^
herein, in a variety of educational settings, wd
variety of teachers. My review of the material8
based on this experience. 6
“Modern Oral Amdo Tibetan. A Langlia^g
Primer” (Deng Rabs A mDo’i KHa sKad) vV .
published in 2000 by Edwin Mellen PfesS’,pal
was written by Kalsang Norbu, Karl A. Peet, d
1TN t Tr t • 1 T r • n . m _ 4-X\lC\ 1
IDan bKra shis, and Kevin Stuart. The two
fina
betan authors are both from farming areas (Xnn
and Rebgong, respectively) and are conseqnen
speakers of the agricultural subdialect. The b
contains forty lessons (each of approximately
pages) organised into three units: phonetics; n°
adjectives, and simple verbs; and complex ve
Each lesson contains a combination of the
ing elements: texts, dialogues, drills, new 'v°
English translations, grammatical notes, and ^
ercises. The book also contains an introduc ^
which introduces the Amdo region and dialed’ ^
well as providing a survey of previous studio ^
the Amdo dialect. There are six appendices in
book: the Amdo phonetic system; root verb 111 ^S)
tion; linking verbs, possessive/existential v 6
auxiliary verbs; Tibetan-English word list; P
names and proper names; and an English-^1 ^
word list. The last section in the book is a refete
1O3-2O08
Anthropos
231
Bp •
6richte und Kommentare
Üst- There are five accompanying audio CDs with
thebook.
th'^Ce 126.00) is the biggest problem with
^ s book. This places it out of reach of most stu-
nts- However, several features of the book make
p.a highly desirable language learning resource.
lrsh the book is written from a student-centred
• ^gogical perspective. The lessons progress log-
and evenly from simple to more complex.
tü; drills, texts, dialogues, and exercises are struc-
r^d in such a way that they draw attention to
the 6XernP^fy sabent grammar points. Moreover,
y are interrelated and overlap in a manner that
^kes for effective absorption of new material,
j WeH as being pedagogically organised, material
also pragmatically organised. Useful words and
rases are introduced first, so that the learner
bPf exPiain their name, age, and place of origin
0re they acquire such terms as “umbrella” or
th ,?r dower.” Finally, it is necessary to note
Modern Oral Amdo Tibetan” is intended as
anguage primer only and not a complete course,
b Colloquial Amdo Tibetan. A Course for Adult
j^§lish Speakers” (A mDo’i KHa sKad) by Sung
°'triin and IHa Byams rGyal, and published by
(j 6 China Tibetology Publishing House in 2005,
fr es not indicate where the Tibetan author is
auth anc* d not c^ear wblch subdialect this
°He °r sPeahs- This book is organised into twenty-
p e lessons. Each lesson is approximately twenty
°es long and contains a dialogue, vocabulary,
t^ma, notes, cultural notes, key sentence pat-
W-S’ and exercises. In addition to the core ma-
tyL.1 °f the lessons, there is also an introduction
^ • COntains information on the Amdo region
t0 dialect, as well as four appendices (answers
Reises, verb conjugations, pronouns: written
gj0 sP°ken forms, and Tibetan place names), a
hn^arY, an Amdo Tibetan-English word list, an
dex lsb'Amdo Tibetan word list, a grammar in-
an<^ a bibliography. There are two CDs of
!° Material to accompany this book,
of m°ng the book’s problems is the large amount
n0tefce devoted to English texts. The grammar
f0rare long, complicated, and difficult to follow
r^, e nonlinguist. The cultural notes also take up
be r°om. Although these notes would certainly
h eful for a person studying Amdo Tibetan
Cou1(1abroaci, a person visiting or living in Amdo
in , learn the sum total of the cultural notes
pr0jy°ut two weeks of careful observation and
lheSelri£ conversation. It would be better to present
hrigi- ^laterials in the target language rather than
aUcii0Sh- ^nothcr problem with this book is that the
Materials are occasionally out of synch with
Vh
r°P°s 103.2008
the book. Finally, calling this book a “Complete
Course” is an overstatement. Upon completion
of this book, the learner would be able to have
simple, mostly functional conversations in Amdo
Tibetan. Two positive features of this book make
it worthwhile. Firstly, the key sentence patterns
are useful in acquiring flexible sentence structures
(although it would perhaps be more useful if there
was no accompanying English, and the learner was
left to translate the sentences for themselves). Also
the inclusion of answers for exercises makes this
a good self-study tool.
“The Eye-Opening Auspicious Amdo Dialect
Instructional Book” (A mDo’i sKad Kyi Krid Yig
sKal bZang Mig ’Byed) was written by gTS6 sGrig
Pa and gZungs ’Bum THar and published in 2006
by the Gansu Nationalities Press (Kan Su’u Mi
Regs dPe sKru Khang). This book has eighty-
one lessons, which range between two and almost
twenty pages long. For the English-speaking learn-
er, the only other usable part of the book is the
Tibetan-Chinese-English word list at the back of
the book.
This book has many problems and it would
be practically impossible for someone who didn’t
already read Tibetan to learn the Amdo phonetic
system from this book, without the assistance of a
native Amdo Tibetan-speaking teacher. There are
no explanatory notes in English, only in Tibetan.
Secondly, this book does not employ a student-
centred pedagogical method. The student will find
this book disorganised and occasionally overly dif-
ficult. The progression of the lessons is impractical
and uneven, sometimes requiring vast leaps of
understanding on behalf of the learner. Although
grammar notes are present in the chapters, they
are in Tibetan, thus, if the learner is to understand
anything, the presence of a native, literate teacher
is again necessitated. Not enough time is spent
on basic conversational language before advancing
to the very interesting, but somewhat impractical,
arenas of Tibetan history, religious philosophy,
and love songs. As a learning resource for a be-
ginner, this book is of limited value. However,
for someone who has already completed one of
the two above books, and who has access to a
literate native teacher, this text presents excellent
opportunities for expanding one’s knowledge of
Amdo Tibetan culture.
As a final note, I would like to compare the
texts on three criteria. The first is the extent to
which the language presented by each text defers
to the written form of Tibetan at the expense of
the oral. Of the three, “The Eye-Opening Aus-
picious Amdo Dialect Instructional Book” is the
232
Berichte und Kornrne]
worst culprit for presenting written rather than
oral forms. Given the fairly high illiteracy rates
amongst Amdo Tibetans, this gives one a tool-
kit of almost useless terminologies, and learning
such terms often actually impedes one’s ability to
communicate. Both “Modern Oral Amdo Tibetan”
and “Colloquial Amdo Tibetan” do a better job of
sticking to the oral form.
Secondly, it is possible to look at each text with
regards to how well it represents a “standard” Am-
do dialect. Having studied each text with several
different teachers, I can attest that all three present
problems. Each copy of these books that I own is
littered with crossing-outs, rewriting, marginalia,
etc. When using any of these texts, don’t ex-
pect every teacher or every interlocutor to agree
with the given pronunciations. The most important
thing is internal consistency, and all three texts
maintain this well.
Finally, I add a point about the use of loanwords
in Amdo Tibetan. Amdo Tibetan, being in a contact
zone between Tibetan and several other languages,
is more strongly influenced by external factors
than, for instance, the Tibetan spoken in U-Tsang.
In particular, Chinese loanwords are prevalent.
Often where a Tibetan literary form exists, Amdo
Tibetan-speakers will employ the Chinese word in
oral discourse. This is particularly the case for
words of recent origin. Therefore, the Chinese
term dian hua (telephone) is often used in favour
of KHa Par, and piao (ticket) is used instead of
Pa Se. Whilst I believe that in such cases it is
better to defer to the literary forms, it is also
important that the learner be aware of the Chinese
forms which people most commonly employ. Of
the three texts, “Modem Oral Amdo Tibetan” does
the best job. “Colloquial Amdo Tibetan” is not far
behind, but certain Chinese terms are only includ-
ed in the glossary rather than within the lessons.
Finally, “The Eye-Opening Auspicious Amdo Di-
alect Instmctional Book” defers to the literary
in every case, and does not include Chinese loan
words.
ntare
Used in conjunction, with careful cross-check^
and with a teacher who is a native speaker
Amdo Tibetan, by students who are flexible an
accepting of some contradictions and inconsiste11
cies, the three materials above provide the lan
to
guage learner with an excellent opportunity ,
learn Amdo Tibetan. In turn, speaking Amdo 1
betan opens up a whole fascinating world and
myriad of learning opportunities. For those
w
are interested in learning Amdo Tibetan m
an
official university course, Amdo Tibetan langLia^
courses are currently available at the following
institutions: University of Helsinki (Helsinki, Fi*1
land), Qinghai Normal University and Qiflê*1
Nationalities University (Xining, China), Nod
west Nationalities University (Lanzhou, Chida'’
Humboldt University (Berlin, Germany), and 1
Institute for Oriental Languages (Paris, France)-
References Cited
Gruschke, Andreas , s:
2004 The Cultural Monuments of Tibet’s Outer ProvT’^
Kham; vol. 1: The TAR Part of Kham, Tibetan
tonomous. Bangkok; White Lotus Press.
gTSo sGrig Pa and gZungs ’Bum THar uC,
2006 The Eye-Opening Auspicious Amdo Dialect Instr
tional Book. Lanzhou: Gansu Nationalities Press.
• aid
Norbu, Kalsang, Karl A. Peet, dPal IDan bKra shis>
Kevin Stuart ef,
2000 Modem Oral Amdo Tibetan. A Language Pfl
Lewiston; The Edwin Mellen Press.
Sung Kuo-ming and IHa Byams rGyal , iu[t
2005 Colloquial Amdo Tibetan. A Complete Guide for
English Speakers. Beijing; China Tibetology PubllS
House.
Upton, Janet jji-
2000 Notes Towards a Native Tibetan Ethnology: ^¿Qe
troduction to and Annotated Translation of dMu ^
bSam gTan’s Essay on Dwags Po (Baima Zangzu)-
Journal 25/1: 3-25.
103-200»
Anthropos
Rezensionen
Qe rnason, Johann P., Armando Salvatore, and
Qi . 8 Stauth (eds.); Islam in Process. Historical and
2qq *2ati°nal Perspectives. Bielefeld: transcript Verlag,
the s 329 PP- ISBN 978-3-89942-491-1. (Yearbook of
^ociology of Islam, 7) Price; € 36.80
üHd 6r S'e^te Band der von Georg Stauth gegründeten
Vor Seitdem mit verschiedenen weiteren Herausgebern
. gelegten Jahrbücher hat das neuerliche Interesse von
Wis ersalhistorikem, Sozialwissenschaftlem und Islam-
ckel'enSC^laftlern an dem von Karl Jaspers 1949 entwi-
^eb 611 Konzept des “axialen Zeitalters” zum Thema.
e||e en einer Einleitung der Herausgeber, die den aktu-
l9^n ^tand der Debatte zu diesem Thema referieren (8-
ges 'Verc^en in dem Band unter drei Gesichtspunkten ins-
^2 verschiedene Beiträge versammelt. Zumindest
dje slarnwissenschaftlern unter den Lesern und denen,
tr^11 der Debatte um das “axiale Zeitalter” nicht ver-
£ss Slnc^’ s°Pte man raten, den Beitrag von Joseph van
Hx j Kl am and the Axial Age” (220-237), zunächst
§hffSen’ Urn nicht zuletzt einen Überblick über die Be-
i(0n ünd Forschungsgeschichte und die Bedeutung des
I^P* für die wissenschaftliche Befassung mit dem
Kstm ZU er^aPen- Zugleich gewinnt man hier auch das
deret) ^tarium, um sich mit den übrigen Beiträgen und
aos . Verwendung des Konzepts des “axialen Zeitalters”
Ränder zu setzen.
Scbrj T erste der drei Abschnitte des Buches ist über-
tl$c. en ^Cristallizations”. Darin setzt sich zu-
sha|]S-Jollarm P- Amason unter der Überschrift “Mar-
°reti
Kodgson’s Civilizational Analysis of Islam: The-
0eS(^a and Analytical Perspectives” (23-47) mit der
den fru stheorie von Hodgson auseinander, die er zu
kontr °erKgungen von Karl Jaspers und Max Weber
hisloastierend in Beziehung setzt. In einem universal-
in ‘J?Schen Ansatz bemüht sich Babak Rahimi dann
Afro ,;e Middle Period: Islamic Axiality in the Age of
Ho(jg Urasian Transcultural Hybridity” (48-67) darum,
fers h0ns Überlegungen und die Idee des axialen Zeital-
Ko0peer islamische Welt hinaus auf die Kontakte und
gen ry^PoHsformen zwischen allen Reichen der damali-
Utit h h'Urtlene auszuweiten. In dem folgenden Beitrag
0 ,T| Titel “Identity Formation in World Religions:
Arpa(j Parative Analysis of Christianity and Islam” von
sten Zakolczai (68-94) werden die theoretischen Vor-
leben ®en v°n Jaspers und Max Weber noch durch die
iKpUe'j0nder Liminalität von Victor Turner ergänzt. Das
Wlrd abgeschlossen durch einen weiteren Beitrag
hr°Pos 103.2008
von Johann P. Amason mit dem Titel “The Emergence
of Islam as a Case of Cultural Cristallization: Histori-
cal and Comparative Reflections” (95-122), in dem er
die Vernachlässigung der Geschichte und Entwicklung
der islamischen Welt in den verschiedenen universalge-
schichtlichen Theorien betrachtet und schließlich auch
kritisiert.
Der nächste Abschnitt steht unter dem Titel “Cross-
roads and Turning Points”. Unter dieser Überschrift zeigt
Said Amir Arjomand mit seinem Beitrag “Revolution in
Early Islam. The Rise of Islam as Constitutive Revolu-
tion” (125-157), wie man die frühislamischen Entwick-
lungen auch als eine revolutionäre Bewegung beschrei-
ben kann. Diesem Beitrag folgt eine Untersuchung von
Georg Stauth zur vorislamischen und islamischen Ge-
schichte eines Heiligen unter der Überschrift “'Abdallah
b. Salam: Late Antiquity and Early Islam” (158-189),
in der die Beziehungen zwischen dem altägyptischen
Glauben und der neuen islamischen Religion bis hin zur
gegenwärtigen ägyptischen Volksreligion betrachtet wer-
den. Dem folgt “Story, Wisdom, and Spirituality: Yemen
as the Hub between the Persian, Arabic, and Biblical Tra-
ditions” von Raif George Khoury (190-219). Darin wird
die Rolle des Yemen für die Entwicklung der islamischen
Historiographie wie der arabischen Literatur hervorge-
hoben. Dem folgt der schon angesprochene Beitrag von
van Ess.
Der abschließende Abschnitt des Buches steht unter
der Überschrift “Cultural and Institutional Dynamics”.
Er wird eingeleitet durch einen zweiten Beitrag von Said
A. Arjomand, in dem er sich unter dem Titel “Islam and
the Path to Modernity; Institutions of Higher Learning
and Secular and Political Culture” (241-257) mit den
Thesen von George Makdisi zur Rolle der Medrese als
Vorbild der abendländischen Universitäten kritisch aus-
einandersetzt. Auch Arpad Szakolczai erhält ein weiteres
Mal Gelegenheit, sich zum Thema des axialen Zeitalters
zu äußern, wenn er in “Global Ages, Ecumenic Empires,
and Prophetie Religions” (258-278) die Thesen von Karl
Jaspers und Max Weber kontrastiert und die Figur des
Trickster als weiteres Konzept in die Debatte einführt.
Armando Salvatore stellt in seinem Aufsatz “Reflexivity,
Praxis, and ‘Spirituality’: Western Islam and Beyond”
(279-305) eine Beziehung zwischen dem islamischen
Konzept der “Maslaha” und dem abendländischen der
“res publica” her. Der abschließende Beitrag von Shmuel
N. Eisenstadt, “Public Spheres and Political Dynamics
234
in Historical and Modern Muslim Societies” (306-318)
kritisiert die ältere “orientalistische” Vorstellung, dass es
in islamischen Gesellschaften keine “public sphere” ge-
geben habe, und nennt einige Gegenbeispiele. Der Band
wird mit den “Abstracts” der Beiträge und mit den Bio-
graphien der Autoren abgeschlossen.
Auch das 7. Jahrbuch für die Soziologie des Islams
vereinigt Beiträge von Autoren, die sich von sehr unter-
schiedlichen Ausgangspunkten ausgehend in eine aktu-
elle Debatte einmischen. Je nach dem theoretischen und
wissenschaftlich-praktischen Standpunkt wird der Le-
ser die Beiträge mit unterschiedlicher Zustimmung, aber
stets mit Interesse lesen. Peter Heine
Asad, Talal: On Suicide Bombing. New York: Co-
lumbia University Press, 2007. 144 pp. ISBN 978-0-231-
14152-9. Price: $ 19.95
Begibt man sich bei “Amazon.de” auf die Suche nach
einem Buch über Terror, so erhält man 631 Angebote,
bei Selbstmordattentäter sind es nur 31 und keines der
Bücher ist älter als zwei Jahre. Terror ist ein heißes,
ein explosives Thema in unserer Gesellschaft, über das
viel, wenn nicht gar zuviel geschrieben und diskutiert
wird. Talal Asad hat ein weiteres Buch zu der Thematik
geschrieben. Ein Buch, das nicht nur durch seine wis-
senschaftlich gekonnte Rhetorik überzeugt. Ein Buch,
dass man lesen sollte, schon allein, um der einseitigen
Argumentation des Mainstreams zu entkommen. Dieser
Mainstream, so Asad, sieht die “Selbstmordbomber” als
Ikonen der “Todeskultur” Islam. Asad, Professor der An-
thropologie in New York, ist durch seine Forschung zum
Postkolonialismus und Säkularismus bekannt geworden.
Sein Vater, ein zum Islam konvertierter Jude, verlor sei-
ne Familie im Holocaust. Asad selbst kommt somit aus
einer multikulturellen Familie mit multireligiösem Hin-
tergrund.
Asad geht es weniger um die Motivation einzelner
Selbstmordattentäter; dies sei, so meint er, etwas über
das wir nur spekulieren können. Vielmehr geht es ihm so-
wohl um die gesellschaftlichen Zusammenhänge, um den
Antrieb zum Terror, als auch um die Sicht des Westens
auf die Gesellschaften, aus denen die Selbstmordbom-
ber kommen. Bereits in der Einleitung offenbart Asad
seine zwei zentralen Thesen. Er behauptet, dass es sich
bei Terrorismus um Aspekte militanter Aktionen in einer
ungleichen Welt handelt. Einer ungleichen Welt, auch
gegenüber dem, was wir als grausam, notwendig und
welchen Tod wir als gefühlsmäßig gerechtfertigt in Kauf
nehmen können. Des Weiteren sucht Assad nach den
Ursprüngen des Horrors, denn, so argumentiert er, es ist
vor allem der Horror, welcher durch einen Tod ausge-
löst wird oder nicht, der uns ein Geschehen verurteilen
lässt. Dabei betrachtet er zwei Aspekte des Horrors, zum
einen den anthropologischen, welcher mit dem Zusam-
menbruch der Identität zusammenhängt, zum anderen die
Aspekte christlicher Theologie, welche mit der Kreuzi-
gung den populärsten Selbstmord der Geschichte in einen
die Menschheit erlösenden Akt umgedeutet hat. Somit
beginnt Asad sein Buch bereits in der Einleitung mit zwei
Rezension11
zentralen Paukenschlägen. Die Spannung, die er <JaI11'
beim Leser aufbaut, hält Asad aber bis zur letzten 5e
seines gut hundert Seiten langen Textes durch. ^
In seinem ersten Kapitel, “Terrorismus”, nimmt A$a
die Zusammenhänge der “Kampf der Kulturen”-Theo
unter die Lupe. Im Kontext des Islams, so Asad, i§t
Jihad kein zentraler Denkbegriff, dies wird oft von W®
liehen Interpreten missverstanden. Die Überlapp1*11»
der kulturellen Traditionen, welche aus dem Christ
tum, Judentum und Islam hervorgegangen sind, wer
oft, betont Asad, übersehen. Ein Kampf der Kulm1 ’
wie er von Populärwissenschaftlem wie Michael Wat ^
oder Bernhard Lewis heraufbeschworen wird, so Asa^
existiert einfach nicht. Es handelt sich dabei vielmehr
ein Denkkonstrukt, hinter dem verschiedene Interes
zusammenlaufen. Die USA etwa verfolgt ihre eig®n .
Interessen im Nahen Osten, welche vor allem ökorl0 ^
scher Natur sind. Asad geht es nicht darum anzuklag
oder Schuldige zu finden, sondern ein breiteres Verstau
nis für die Zusammenhänge zu entwickeln. Asad
den Terrorismus als das beurteilen was er ist, ein zer^efl
rerisch-mörderischer Akt, der von Individuen begaaf
wird, die mit ihrer Handlung bei bestimmten Zielgrl *
pen etwas erreichen wollen. Asad versucht, anhand el
kühlen Analyse terroristische Anschläge nicht ern°
nal als teuflische Handlungen des Bösen zu bezeichn^
sondern sie als Kriegsaktionen zu betrachten. Dabei g
es ihm vor allem darum, dass die Gesellschaften, ^
welchen die Attentäter kommen, nicht weiter als etNs
minderwertig, als “Achse des Bösen” bezeichnet wer
Es handelt sich bei Terroristen nicht um Wilde, die ei ,
inhumanitären Akt begehen. Terroristen, so Asad, s
nicht weniger grausam als Soldaten eines National8
tes, die in ein Land geschickt werden, um dort zu
Im zweiten Kapitel, “Selbstmord Terrorismus ,
Asad seinen Schwerpunkt auf den Aspekt des S® s
mordes bei einem terroristischen Akt. Hier geht et
von Dürkheims bekannter Studie zum Selbstmord. „
dessen Ansatz, der im Selbstmord eine “soziale AkW^
sieht, zieht Asad die Verbindung zu Halb wachs’ The
die den Selbstmord nach Dürkheim mit dem OP^e* ,
Verbindung bringt. “Mit einem Opfer wird etwas aU^j,
geben, und diese Aufgabe ist sakral”, heißt es auf
te 43 in Asads Text. Bei den Selbstmordbombem haI1^t7e
es sich demnach um “altruistische Selbstmörder”, Ju ^
Palästinenser, die mit dem Glauben sterben, ihr Leb®11 ^
die “Umma”, für die palästinensische Nation geopi®' 6
haben. Nicht anders als ein Soldat der israelischen A
sein Leben für die Nation Israel gibt. Doch die
und hier liegt das Fundament von Asads Kritik, w®
im Okzident als moralisch unterentwickelt, als v°
dem verurteilt. Dabei, so argumentiert Asad, liegen^eJl
Wurzeln des Verständnisses, den Selbstmord als soZ^6ir
Akt eines religiösen Opfers zu sehen, eben im Chi1
tum selbst, wie sich in der europäischen Geschieht®
Märtyrertums nachweisen lässt. Mit Freud argume
Asad, dass es sich bei Krieg immer und auf beiden
um ein kollektives Spiel der Zerstömng handelt, we -j
angetrieben wird von dem Todesinstinkt, dem Geg ^
des Lebensinstinkts Eros. Soziale Differenzen wei
103
,2008
Anthropos
235
*ezens
'Ionen
qc Sa<E als Rückständigkeit und Gefahr für zivilisierte
cjesSe^Schaften wahrgenommen, dabei wird im Kontext
vertlndUStrieHen Kapitalismus das Recht, sich selbst zu
eineeidiSen’ Freiheit Gewalt global zu benutzen, nur
über ^e^te zugestanden, eben den Gesellschaften, die
v ,.r nötigen Mittel verfügen, einen “zivilisierten”
^ ZU führen.
Sc, .i*1 ^ritten und letzten Kapitel konzentriert sich Asad
Schaft Cd aU^ d^e ^ra§e’ warum in westlichen Gesell
tor
Ien auf Selbstmordattentate mit einem solchen Hor-
(ja, reagiert wird. Er kommt zu dem Schluss, dass es
jeitiei n’cht um den Tod an sich geht, sondern darum, wie
düaad stirbt. Horror, so definiert Asad, wird ausgelöst
Ch den totalen Kontrollverlust. Der Akt eines Selbst-
dtordb,
s°nd °m^ers löst nicht den Horror vor dem Tod aus,
den urn Vor d£r Tat, die von jemandem aus einer frem-
de j:eltgion, einer anderen Welt unternommen wird und
Ui opfern und ihren Hinterbliebenen die Möglichkeit
den Tod in der jüdisch-christlichen Tradition als
r7ung umzudeuten.
alle Se*nern Epilog argumentiert Asad mit Tatsachen: In
2qq i ^ditärischen Aktionen, die seit dem 11. September
oder lrn Kampf gegen den Terrorismus von den USA
det/ dem 'seelischen Staat unternommen wurden, wur-
jern Sehr viel mehr Menschen umgebracht, als Terroristen
Tail S ln der Lage dazu waren. Westliche Staaten haben
Qe Aade von Menschen massakriert, gefoltert und ohne
§eu ritsverfahren eingesperrt. Ihre Gegenspieler würden
^ila ÜS° handeln, wenn sie könnten. Und die bitterste
idsst-12’ der Asad seinen aufgewühlten Leser zurück-
un, ' ^uf dem Marktplatz des Todes gibt es einfach einen
lVje ^hiedlichen Marktwert, hier zählt der Tod eines
ben . n aus einer westlichen Nation mehr als das Le-
?iv;,eines Menschen aus einem für den Westen weniger
Aorten Land.
§es , . s Buch ist provokativ, aber nicht in blinder Wut
den -j,riehen. Er ist sich bewusst über seinen aufwühlen-
den 6Xt’ Se*n *st es’ den Leser zum Nachdenken zu
^ordert seinen Leser auf, sich weniger von der
?n]a einen Panikstimmung des Mainstreams einlullen
eideu)Seri' ^nd se*n hat alle Chancen, dies auch bei
^geschlossenen Leser zu erreichen.
Barbara Leveling
b
irnNaüeri Kerstin: Kleidung und Kleidungspraktiken
des wrden dor Cote dTvoire. Geschichte und Dynamiken
geu\v and£L vom Ende des 19. Jahrhunderts bis zur Ge-
82s8 art- Münster: Lit Verlag, 2007. 538 pp. ISBN 978-3-
^49 9q (Beiträge zur Afrikaforschung, 30) Preis:
ha ^ 8 ^ hema Kleidung und Kleidungsverhalten in Afri-
^ehtit C *n dgr deutschen Afrika-Forschung seit Jahr-
üaleri 5* ^ast völlig ausgeklammert. Auch im intematio-
ede an a^stah kann man erst seit Mitte der 90er Jahre
stellu übliche Hinwendung zu diesbezüglichen Frage-
^ästly ^eststehen7 wobei insbesondere amerikanische
Ma^ 1rSt°rikerinnen und Historikerinnen (Phyllis M.
199^1 [Cambridge 1995], Hildi Hendrickson [Durham
ictoria L. Rovine [Washington 2001], Leslie W.
'nthr(
0pos 103.2008
Rabine [New York 2002], Jean Allman [Bloomington
2004]) eine Vorreiterrolle spielten. Ihre Forschungsergeb-
nisse haben die besondere Relevanz von Kleidungssti-
len und Kleidungspraxis als Quelle sozialgeschichtlicher
Untersuchungen, die sich mit modernen gesellschaftli-
chen und kulturellen Veränderungen beschäftigen, vor
Augen geführt. Nun ist auch hier erfreulicherweise ein
neues Buch erschienen, das diese Forschungsrichtung
fortschreibt und zwar - und das ist erstmalig - in Form
einer kompakten ethnologischen Regionalstudie, die den
Wandel von Kleidungsstilen und Kleidungsstrategien im
Norden der Côte dTvoire zur zentralen Fragestellung er-
hebt. Es ist übrigens die veröffentlichte Version der Dis-
sertation von Kerstin Bauer, die sie bereits 2005 an der
Universität Basel vorlegte.
Den geografisch-kulturellen Rahmen bildet ein (heu-
te) kleinstädtisches Milieu, in dem die eingewanderten
Dyula im 19. Jh. eine herausragende Rolle als Händler,
Islamgelehrte und Textilproduzenten spielten. Als mo-
bile Händler und Weber unterschieden sie sich von den
sesshaften Bauern, die den von ihnen importierten Is-
lam nur langsam und unvollständig im Laufe der letz-
ten hundert Jahre übernahmen. Bis heute haben sie ihre
kulturellen, religiösen und sprachlichen Besonderheiten
im Vergleich zu der sie umgebenden ländlichen Bevöl-
kerung bewahrt. Die Untersuchungsorte liegen auf der
in der vorkolonialen Zeit berühmten Nord-Süd-Handels-
route der Dyula. Während sie damals den Ruf prosperie-
render Handelszentren und bedeutender Produktionsstät-
ten prestigeträchtiger gewebter Textilien hatten, sind sie
heute in die wirtschaftliche und politische Bedeutungslo-
sigkeit gefallen.
Obwohl der lokale Websektor in der jetzigen Zeit nur
noch einige wenige Handwerker umfasst, besitzen aller-
dings die handgewebten Stoffe - lokal hergestellt und
aus anderen Regionen importiert - kulturell und sozial
in rituellen Kontexten weiterhin eine große Bedeutung,
während sie aus der Alltags- und Festtagskleidung total
verschwunden sind. Die Frage nach diesen Veränderun-
gen und den Faktoren, die diesen Wandel bewirk(t)en,
stellt die Ausgangssituation der Untersuchung dar. Fo-
kus der Arbeit ist nicht die Stilgeschichte, sondern die
Handlungsorientierung der Menschen im Umgang mit
den Stoffen und im Rahmen ihrer Kleidungspraxis. Ins-
gesamt kreist die umfangreiche Arbeit immer auch um
die Frage nach der gesellschaftlichen Bedeutung von
Kleidung. Ist sie nur Abbildung herrschender sozialer,
kultureller Verhältnisse, oder ist sie bloße Fassade, Täu-
schung oder Fiktion? Auf diese eher provokative Frage
antwortet die Autorin mit einem mäßigenden, ausgewo-
genen Urteil; Es handelt sich weder um frei wählbare
noch um beliebige Kleidungsstile, “sondern vielmehr um
eine bewusste Gestaltung und Wahl zwischen verschie-
denen Optionen im Rahmen struktureller Grenzen, die
von gesellschaftlichen Normen, Machtverhältnissen zwi-
schen Generationen und Geschlechtern und der Lebens-
lage mitbestimmt werden” (533).
Der zeitliche Rahmen der Studie erstreckt sich also
über mehr als ein Jahrhundert, von der vorkolonialen
Zeit bis an die Schwelle des 21. Jhs. Die Autorin wertet
236
Rezension
schriftliche historische Quellen aus dem 19. Jh. in Form
von Monographien, Reiseberichten und Fotografien eu-
ropäischer Kolonialbeamter und Reiseschriftsteller aus,
die sie mit den Ergebnissen ihrer intensiven Feldfor-
schung konfrontiert.
Die Untersuchung des Kleidungswandels basiert auf
einem Milieu-Modell, das dazu dient, die Kleidungsprak-
tiken nach sozialen Gesichtspunkten differenziert dar-
stellen zu können. Bauer definiert die Milieuzugehörig-
keit durch je spezifische Lebensweisen und Werte, die
sich insbesondere durch die jeweilige Arbeit herausbil-
den. Für die vorkoloniale Zeit lassen sich folgende Mi-
lieus unterscheiden: nichtmuslimische Bauern, die Dyula
als Händler, Gelehrte und freie Handwerker und Men-
schen der Macht. Die postkoloniale Gesellschaft bildet
folgende hierarchische Milieustruktur heraus; die bäu-
erliche Landbevölkerung, die muslimischen Dyula der
Stadt, die christlichen Beamten und die ivorische Macht-
elite. Mittels dieser sozialen Kategorien wendet sich die
Autorin gezielt gegen eine ethnisch-essentialistische Be-
trachtungsweise, die Verhaltensweisen und Ausdrucks-
formen allein durch die ethnische Zugehörigkeit erklärt
und darauf zurückführt. Auch wenn Ethnizität eine ge-
wisse Rolle bei Kleidungsformen und -Strategien spielt,
so doch eher im Zusammenspiel mit bestimmten Berufen
und Arbeit, Religion, Bildung, Einkommen und politi-
scher Macht.
Es können je nach Milieu spezifische Besonderhei-
ten im Kleidungsverhalten ausgemacht werden, wobei
diese Unterschiede nicht unvermittelt nebeneinander ste-
hen, sondern aufeinander bezogen sind. In der Sichtweise
Bauers entfaltet sich die Bedeutung von Kleidung erst im
Rahmen der Reproduktion der sozialen Milieus, denn sie
erweist sich, so ihre These, als wichtige Ausdrucksform
und als Instrument in den Handlungsstrategien der In-
dividuen und Gruppen, um Zugehörigkeit, Abgrenzung
und Überwindung zu erreichen.
Der Aufbau der Arbeit folgt einem chronologischen
Prinzip, indem zunächst die lokal verwendeten Textilien
und die verschiedenen Kleidungsformen in der vorko-
lonialen Zeit bis zu den Weltkriegen rekonstruiert wer-
den (Kapitel III, IV und V), um dann die Kleidungswel-
ten in der postkolonialen Phase genauer zu untersuchen,
und zwar werden hier unterschiedliche, entscheidungs-
relevante Kontexte gegenübergestellt: das Ritual und der
Alltag (Kapitel VI, VII und VII).
Die übergreifende These des Buches besteht in der
Behauptung von der Ungleichzeitigkeit des Wandels in
der Kleidungspraxis, die die Autorin am Beispiel der
Entwicklung innerhalb der verschiedenen Milieus sowie
der unterschiedlichen Situationen und Lebenslagen nach-
zuweisen versucht. In diesem Sinn stellt Bauer nun zwei
so genannte vestimentäre Sphären gegenüber: die Sphä-
re des Rituals und die Alltagsmode, in denen je eigene
Formen des Wandels zu beobachten sind. Sie betont je-
doch in ihrer Definition des Rituals, dass dieses kein
vom Alltagsleben losgelöstes Dasein führt, sondern dass
beide Bereiche aufeinander bezogen sind und ineinan-
der greifen. Als Beispiel für die rituelle Praxis hat sie
das Hochzeitsritual für Frauen und den kurubi-Tanz der
Frauen, der im Rahmen des islamischen Fastenrnona
Ramadan aufgeführt wird, ausgewählt. Hier folgen $
detaillierte stilistische Untersuchungen im Hinblick
ästhetische und materielle Veränderungen in Form
Ergänzungen, Ersatz und Individualisierung in der
stümzusammenstellung. Eine bedeutende Rolle spien
bei der handgewebte, indigogefärbte Stoff, und das g
für beide Rituale, die, so das Ergebnis der vergleichen
Untersuchung, viele Gemeinsamkeiten sowohl in der b
sammensetzung der materiellen Symbolik als auch m
Entwicklung selbst seit der vorkolonialen Zeit aufwelS^,‘g
Neben Konstanten in der Kostümzusammensetzung w g
z. B. dem gewebten Wickelrock, der im sonstigen Al c
völlig verschwunden ist, sind aber auch Hinzufügung^
Differenzierungen je nach dem Ort der Aufführung 0
auch Modernisierungen durch profane, gewöhnliche
cessoires festzustellen. Allerdings zeigt sich auch
im rituellen Kontext, dass die dynamischen Kräfte un
schiedlich stark wirken. Das Hochzeitsritual erweist
als starrer und hat von daher weniger Veränderungei1 ^
gelassen, als es bei den kurubi-Tänzennnen der Fall1
die nämlich zunehmend auf moderne, nichtlokale St
zurückgreifen. 0
Wie lassen sich solche unterschiedlichen Dynam1
erklären? Bauer geht zur Klärung dieser Frage am
jeweiligen Funktionen ein. Während der Übergang811
der Braut in einem räumlich und sozial eng begreIlZ ^
Raum stattfindet, wird der kurubi-Tanz in der Klcinst,^
Bondoukou vor einem großen sozial, ethnisch und m °
ös gemischten Publikum aufgeführt. In diesem Zus
menhang übernimmt der Tanz die Funktion der ku
rellen Selbstdarstellung der Dyula und ihrer AbgrerlZ ^
gegen andere lokal ansässige Bevölkerungsgrupper1,
Zeichen der Unterscheidung und der partikularen 1
len Identität dient ihnen der relativ konstant geblic
Kopfschmuck, während die Wickelröcke sich an der ^
de der Festtagskleidung orientieren. Damit scheint
auch generell eine Umdeutung des Tanzrituals an .
vollzogen zu haben. Bei dieser Verschiebung wie a
bei anderen integrierten modernen Elementen zeigt
übrigens der von Bauer behauptete Zusammenhang
beiden Lebenssphären. ' ,
Dieses spannende Kapitel, das den unterschied^’ ^
Kleidungsdynamiken auf die Spur zu kommen verSl.^er
und durch die minutiösen Detailbeobachtungen ^
die Zeit und in der räumlichen Ausdifferenzierung ^
großem Interesse für die Forschung ist, kommt aber ^
der dem Erklärungsbedarf nur ungenügend nach-^.^
Autorin ordnet den Fortbestand älterer Praktiken,
verwendeter Materialien in die Definition der Ritual .
der zufolge diese grundsätzlich eher konservativ
konservierend sind. Die Elemente, die als bedeu ^
konstituierend für das Ritual angesehen werden, v ^
dem sich am wenigsten. Um diese Dynamik von Be
ren und Verändern jedoch nachvollziehbar zu ,liaC.|ien
hätte die Autorin näher auf den Zusammenhang zWi ^
der Bedeutung der untersuchten Rituale und der
fischen materiellen Ausstattung eingehen müssen ^
auch auf die Rolle des Rituals im gesellschaftlichen g
text überhaupt (wie in dem Beispiel des kurubi-
103
.2008
Anthropos
Pensionen
237
^ondoukou). Was lässt sich über die kontinuierliche
genrtSChätZUng handgewebter, indigogefärbter Stoffe sa-
'''ird a^er nur noc" partiell in die Praxis umgesetzt
itn Und schon seit Jahrzehnten durch die Verwendung
aüf0rt^erter Baule-Stoffe befriedigt wird? Darüber hin-
lhe Werden auch diese zunehmend von modernen Indus-
eingt0ffen verdrängt. Bauer führt an, dass das Ritual zu
gef ^ ökonomischen Problem wird. Doch es muss weiter
^ gt werden, so z. B. nach dem Bedeutungswandel der
^. e und auch der Textilien. Welche Veränderungen
Sc. 'n dem Selbstverständnis der Frauen und den gesell-
te t lC^en Rollenerwartungen am Werk? Das Verspre-
Scl ^ die Kleidungskulturen vor dem Hintergrund gesell-
ig. ""kultureller Bedingungen zu untersuchen, wird hier
£ider
D,
nicht eingelöst.
re , ertl Bereich der Rituale wird die vestimentäre Sphä-
re ^ ^sttagskleidung gegenübergestellt, wo nämlich
leb tT>aterieH und stilistisch neuen Kleider regelrecht ze-
ert Werden’ wo es eine gesellschaftliche Verpflich-
dergKdarstellt, sich finanziell für die neue Festtagsgar-
bei e his an die Grenze der eigenen Möglichkeiten zu
by., en- Die Notwendigkeit neuer Kleider wird von den
heits a Irn Fall der religiösen Festtage mit dem Rein-
bje §ehot ihrer Religion begründet. Kulturell lassen sich
ts pnVeshd°nen ’n prächtige Roben durch den Wert
tso rest'ges erklären, der durch statusgemäßen Konsum
Wirjj üluckt, aber gleichzeitig auch von ihnen erwartet
' Ule Mobilisierung finanzieller Ressourcen ist die
i\eu, v°raussetzung für die Übernahme von Neuem und
der eiten, doch sie erklärt nicht hinlänglich die These,
ibre^°*§e sich die Sphäre der Festtagskleidung durch
te a ^Sondere Innovationsfreude auszeichnet. Man hät-
ip y. | gerne mehr darüber gewusst, in welcher Form,
hepen Cae Richtung der Wandel und die Rezeption von
ten n ^ilen, Materialien, ästhetischen und sozialen Wer-
^ft. Das gilt auch für den Bereich der rituellen
troff Un£’ Wo immer wieder Veränderungen von den Be-
at^ en mit dem jeweiligen gesellschaftlichen Umfeld
ütid n andeR werden - doch entlang welcher Grenzen
jy r*entierungen?
ifii Aßt ^ann folSende Analyse des Kleidungsverhaltens
der j^la§ führt den Leser in den differenzierten Umgang
je na mit ihrer Kleidung ein, der sich einerseits
uHd a dern speziellen Kontext bzw. sozialen Rahmen
Alter ndererseits je nach Geschlecht, sozialem Stand,
die VpÜnd Religionszugehörigkeit unterscheidet. Für all
gibt es ^ ledenen sozialen Lagen und Handlungsräume
das b[ Regeln, die sich auch auf den Kleidungsstil und
%er ^"ungsverhalten beziehen. Wir erfahren dabei viel
ScBaft|- sPezifische kulturelle Bewertung dieser gesell-
tes lchen Kategorien sowie über die Wertschätzung
A jjy. llen im Allgemeinen und der verschiedenen Stof-
Bie 6s°ncleren.
Sg^te Analyseebene bezieht sich auf den Klei-
ne auc^nciel innerhalb der gesellschaftlichen Milieus,
du
n§sfc
schon in der vorkolonialen Zeit eigene Klei-
Beeinfi0rrnen entwickelten und diese durch gegenseitige
lnnovSSUngen’ Aufnahme neuer Produkte und loka-
le atmnen veränderten. In diesem Prozess spielten
mischen Dyula in ihrer Eigenschaft als mobi-
Anth,
r°Pos 103
2008
le Händler, Islamgelehrte und Weber eine entscheiden-
de Rolle, denn sie führten die neuen Industriestoffe aus
Europa in die Region ein und sorgten für deren Verbrei-
tung. Außerdem schufen sie einzigartige, ästhetisch und
technisch hochwertige Webstoffe, die durch die kreative
Integration importierter Farbfäden zu einem neuartigen
Produkt wurden.
In der postkolonialen Gesellschaft richten sich das
Kleidungsverhalten und die Wahl der Stile natürlich erst
einmal nach den jeweils zur Verfügung stehenden Res-
sourcen und dem vorhandenen Angebot an Konsumgü-
tem, das in den Regionen des Landes sehr ungleich ge-
staltet ist. Aber ebenso dienen die spezifischen Stile dazu,
sich als Angehörige eines Milieus kenntlich zu machen
und sich dadurch von anderen abzugrenzen. Diese Dyna-
mik nahm besonders in der postkolonialen Gesellschaft
zu, wo die Selbstbehauptung und der Kampf um Res-
sourcen zu einer Überlebensfrage werden. Das Prinzip
der Darstellung der Milieuzugehörigkeit durch Kleidung
behält auch dann noch seine Gültigkeit, wenn gegensätz-
liche, Milieu übergreifende Tendenzen feststellbar sind.
So gibt es Kleidungsstile wie das zwei- oder dreiteili-
ge Frauenkostüm oder den Männer-boubou, die sowohl
von den muslimischen Dyula als auch den christlichen
Beamten bzw. deren Frauen getragen werden, allerdings
nur in selektiven Situationen. Daran lässt sich die gegen-
seitige Einflussnahme zwischen Christen und Muslimen,
zwischen Elite und Mittelstand bzw. Jugendlichen erken-
nen, die vor allem auf der Verteilung der sozialen, po-
litischen und ökonomischen Macht basiert. Als Vorbild
taugen eben insbesondere diejenigen, die erfolgreich sind
und irgendeine Form von Macht besitzen. Die politische,
christlich orientierte Machtelite des Südens inszeniert
sich bewusst im westlichen Stil und findet in der Schicht
der Beamten und Staatsangestellten natürlich eifrige
Nachahmer. Aus dieser Warte verkörpert der boubou,
das Kleidungsstück der muslimischen Bevölkerung im
Norden, das Bild der Vergangenheit, der Nichtmodernität
und jetzt auch des politischen Rebellentums. Im Nor-
den dagegen wurde der boubou in der Vergangenheit in
großem Maße von den nichtmuslimischen Bauern über-
nommen, denn zu dem Zeitpunkt galten die Dyula auf-
grund ihrer Handelsmacht und ihres guten Rufs als kom-
petente Handwerker als sozial und kulturell einflussreich.
Die Gruppe der Jugendlichen und jungen Leute stellt
noch einmal einen Sonderfall der Milieu verwurzelten
Kleidungspraxis dar, denn sie kultivieren einen besonde-
ren, alle sozialen Grenzen sprengenden Lebensstil, der
sich gegen die ältere Generation und deren Machtan-
spruch richtet, aber eben nur temporär Gültigkeit hat und
dann schließlich wieder in die dem jeweiligen Milieu
eigene Lebensführung mündet.
In der Forschungsarbeit werden wichtige Erkenntnis-
se formuliert: die dynamischen Wandlungsprozesse un-
terliegen einerseits lokalen innergesellschaftlichen, kul-
turellen Faktoren, haben andererseits aber auch gezeigt,
in welch hohem Maße überregionale und externe Einflüs-
se aktiv in die Gestaltung der Kleidungspraxis aufgenom-
men wurden. Es ist deutlich geworden, dass Kleidung,
ihre Gestaltung und der Umgang mit ihr einen bedeu-
238
Rezensi°nen
tenden Platz in der Sozialgeschichte einnehmen, denn
sie bilden eine Schnittstelle, wo soziale Milieus, Religio-
nen, Machtkämpfe, Generationen, die Geschlechter, Wa-
ren und Technologien aufeinander stoßen, sich in nicht
vorhersehbarer Weise artikulieren und dort neu bewertet
werden.
Bedauerlich ist, dass die ursprüngliche Fassung der
Dissertation für die Veröffentlichung beibehalten wurde,
denn die für universitäre Arbeiten so typischen langen
ausführlichen Beweisketten und sich wiederholenden
methodologischen Erklärungen gehen zu Lasten einer
besseren Lesbarkeit und Verständlichkeit. Dennoch wün-
sche ich dem Buch viele Leser, die über diese Schwä-
chen hinwegsehen. Sie profitieren von einer Studie,
die detailgetreue historische Rekonstruktionen der ver-
schiedenen Kleidungsformen in einer sozial und kultu-
rell heterogenen Gesellschaft wie selbstverständlich mit
in die allgemeine Geschichte der Migration, Islamisie-
rung, Kolonisierung, Modernisierung und postkolonia-
len Gesellschafts- und Herrschaftsformationen integriert.
Dabei werden die Partizipation und subjektiven, parti-
kularen Strategien der verschiedenen sozialen Gruppen
bzw. Milieus anhand ihrer Kleidungspraktiken sichtbar
und nachvollziehbar gemacht. Über dieses Handlungs-
feld lässt sich der Prozess der sozialen Reproduktion re-
konstruieren. Ilsemargret Luttmann
Baumann, Martin, und Samuel M. Behloul (Hrsg.):
Religiöser Pluralismus. Empirische Studien und analy-
tische Perspektiven. Bielefeld: transcript Verlag, 2005.
259 pp. ISBN 978-3-89942-350-1. Preis: € 24.80
“Religiöser Pluralismus” war Thema der Interna-
tionalen Jahrestagung der Schweizer Gesellschaft für
Religionswissenschaft 2003 in Luzern. Ziel war, “Er-
fahrungen mit religiös pluralen Situationen in ande-
ren westlichen Ländern (Kanada, Großbritannien und
Deutschland) zu präsentieren, und andererseits darin, die
religiöse Vielfalt in der Schweiz und Projekte lokaler
Religionserhebungen vorzustellen” (11) und dabei “das
Phänomen Religion und den Faktor religiöse Orientie-
rung stärker in das Blickfeld der Migrations- und Plu-
ralismusforschung zu stellen” (16).
Das vorliegende Werk bietet die Vorträge der Ta-
gung. Einleitend gehen die Herausgeber aus von dem
neu erwachten individuellen “Bedürfnis nach Religion,
nicht jedoch nach einer bestimmten religiösen Instituti-
on - schon gar nicht nach ihren Lehrkonzepten” (9). Es
ging darum, die oft pauschalen Meinungen und Wertun-
gen, zumal auf Grund unterschiedlicher Einwanderun-
gen, durch saubere Analysen, Vergleiche und Reflexio-
nen zu beurteilen und zu korrigieren.
Zunächst geht Peter Bayer (“Die Lokalisierung des
religiösen Pluralismus: Bildet Kanada den Modellfall?”)
auf das typische Einwanderungsland Kanada ein, den
möglichen globalen Modellfall für religiösen Pluralis-
mus, denn Kanada zeigte immer schon eine gewisse Tole-
ranz gegenüber kulturellen und religiösen Unterschieden,
vertritt eine relativ neutrale Einwanderungspolitik und
konnte den Pluralismus in geregelte Bahnen lenken. Eth-
nische und religiöse Konflikte sind vermeidbar. Plura 1
wird als normal betrachtet. .
Kim Knott (“Researching Local and National
ralism: Britain’s New Religious Landscape”) unter811 ^
den lokalen und nationalen Pluralismus in der neuen
ligiösen Landschaft Großbritanniens seit 1970. Rß^Ü.,^
Unterschiede haben die physische Landschaft seit JV ,
des 20. Jhs. geändert. Muslime, Hindus und Sikhs 8
nicht nur vermehrt anwesend, sondern auch religl0S
der Öffentlichkeit präsent. Knott sieht in der nachkW
nialistischen Zeit die Präsenz neuer Religionen als P
tives Zeichen einer neuen britischen Identität. s
Karenina Kollmar-Paulenz (“Religiöser Plurafls
im mongolischen Weltreich; Die Religionspolitik ^
Mongolenherrscher”) bemerkt am Beispiel der
len, dass religiöser Pluralismus keine typisch eur0f
sehe Eigenheit und Neuheit ist, sondern im mongohs6^
Weltreich in Grenzen anerkannt und begrüßt war- ^
mal während der größten Ausdehnung des mongohs6
Weltreiches (1219/20-1259) war die enorme religtü
und kulturelle Vielfalt eine gesellschaftspolitische
ausforderung, die so bewältigt wurde, dass die
Stabilität des Reiches durch die weitreichende Rehg1
freiheit mehr gesichert als gefährdet war.
Karsten Lehmann (“Institutionen christlicher MU j
ten in Deutschland. Eine Sekundäranalyse am ®el
von Frankfurt am Main”) untersucht die Bedeutung ^
Migranten für den Pluralismus in Deutschland. Er u
eine doppelte Differenzierung fest: Die erste Ökonom
orientierte Zuwanderung seit 1950 ließ zahlreiche ctl
liehe Migrantengemeinden entstehen. Seit dem ^
schaftlich bedingten Anwerbestopp ab 1973 änderte
die religiöse und gesellschaftliche Situation sch011 ^
durch, dass die Familien der Gastarbeiter nach ^eU^ejt6
land kamen. Der Charakter der Zuwanderung wan ^
sich seit 1990 entscheidend durch Migranten, die jet
Flüchtlinge nach Deutschland kamen. Lehman stell1 ^
langsame Assimilation bei dynamischer Institution6*^,
düng fest, wobei die Entwicklung christlicher Inst*
nen, trotz bedeutender Gemeinsamkeiten, nicht aut
re Religionen übertragen werden kann. ,
Martin Baumann (“Religionspluralität in Deutsc .p
- Religiöse Differenz und kulturelle ‘Kompati^1 p
asiatischer Zuwanderer”) spricht für Deutschland v j,
ner “kleinen Religionspluralität”: 5 % der Gesamt
kerung (ca. 4 Mill.) gehören einer nichtchristlich611 ^
gion an. Er bietet einen eindrucksvollen Einblick ^jp
Geschichte der buddhistischen und hinduistischen u,
tionen in Deutschland, verweist auf berufliche, SP a
liehe und soziale Aspekte religiöser Eingliederimg
möchte dabei Integration von Assimilation unter ,
den wissen. Religiöse Differenz muss der Eingh6
nicht im Wege stehen. Schwerwiegender sind die
rellen Voraussetzungen.
Samuel M. Behloul (“Religionspluralismus:
scher ‘Normal-’ oder ‘Notfall’? Muslimische Vflßt ^
in der Schweiz und die Einbettung in den öffen
Raum”) sieht die gegenläufige Bewegung von Ru ^allp
und Wiederkehr der Religion als zwei kohärente
festationen der Säkularisierung. Empirisch getes
103.2Ö°8
Anthropos
Pensionen
239
0 ne Hypothese “am Beispiel der infrastrukturellen Ver-
sch n^- rnus^m^sch geprägter Migranten in der Zentral-
Een p1Z” ^7). Bohloul sieht das Neue am gegen wärti-
£ Keligionspluralismus ebenfalls in der mehrstufigen
Wanderung, bemerkt eine wachsende Individualisie-
lj ■^er Religiosität und kommt zu dem Ergebnis: Re-
kefi 86 ^erne’nschaften können große Anpassungsfähig-
en ?ntw^eln und die gegenwärtige Form des Religi-
de çUra^smus ist nicht Gegentrend, sondern Symptom
äkularisicmng.
An fr^an R°retan‘Saladin (“Die öffentlich-rechtliche
strü Innung weiterer Religionsgemeinschaften - ein In-
rnent gesellschaftlicher Integration?”) geht von der
Staatmemen ^nna^me aus’ dass im religiös neutralen
sieht *^e Integradon durch Grundrechte gesichert ist. Er
. aUC^ d*e Schweiz das gängige “Instrument zur
l’ch 6rUn§ der positiven Religionsfreiheit” in der “öffent-
keit ^dtlichen Anerkennung” (177). Die Selbständig-
ijc^ er Kantone führt allerdings auch dazu, dass öffent-
ejn lech fliehe anerkannte Religionsgemeinschaften auf
aber ,e dstbestimmungsrecht verzichten müssen. Er ist
und pderzeugt, dass die Spannung zwischen Gleichheit
fen ,äre-heh sich im Bemühen um Integration entschär-
Jörg Stolz (“Wie wirkt Pluralität auf individuelle Reli-
^ati ’ 1:11116 Konfrontation von Wissenssoziologie und
hersJlu* Choice”) überprüft die widersprüchlichen Ver-
eng ^en der Wissenssoziologie, die aus der Pluralität
tet adgemeinen individuellen Religionsverlust ablei-
W Ty der Rational-Choice-Theorie, die eine Zunah-
de -j, 611giÖsen Glaubens erwartet. Stolz vergleicht bei-
e°rien’ untersucht die unterschiedlichen Vörausset-
“ u°d kommt zu dem Ergebnis, dass der Wissens-
so^i ]°§le größere Wahrscheinlichkeit zukommt, dass
8Ulti lssenschaftliche Theorien aber keine Allgemein-
q eit beanspruchen können.
" w|g 6tan° Romano (“Religion und soziale Ordnung
v*6l Multikulturalität braucht die Gesellschaft?”)
Schafpanac^st: “Wie viel Religion erträgt eine Gesell-
SeJ]s , Und entfaltet dann Religion als Medium der ge-
T^tbohen Integration. Er plädiert für eine saubere
Plan v,Un^ Von Religion und Moral, eine Forderung, der
Agei °a* in Grenzen zustimmen kann, wenn die von ihm
dass !Sseile weite Reflexion auf Ethik nicht so weit geht,
l ellgiosität für die eigene Existenz folgenlos bleibt.
Iw mt zur abschließenden Frage: “Wie viel Religion
j^gt eine Gesellschaft?”
tfer 0 Rudolph (“Religion - eine unentbehrliche Form
Aert jn tUr<'> Sieben Thesen”) fasst seinen Beitrag poin-
ter -J, Sleben Thesen zusammen. Im Blick auf Fragen
ofe°dizee und der Ultimativität des Todes hat Reli-
*°ren |len^ar den Kampf gegen die Säkularisierung ver-
rri KuhnS0fern Religion konstitutiver Bestandteil unse-
^0rre^Ur8eschichte ist, kann sie mindestens historisches
bje 1V Se^n’ positiv in der Bereitschaft zum Dialog.
kene -p anregenden Beiträge dokumentieren eine gelun-
a^Ung- Josef Salmen
Beer, Bettina: Frauen in der deutschsprachigen Eth-
nologie. Ein Handbuch. Köln: Böhlau Verlag, 2007.
345 pp. ISBN 978-3-412-11206-6. Preis: € 39.90
“Frauen werden in deutschsprachigen historischen
Darstellungen der Ethnologie und den meisten ethnologi-
schen Nachschlagewerken gar nicht oder nur am Rande
erwähnt” (9). Dieses Manko will Bettina Beer mit die-
sem Buch beseitigen - und es gelingt ihr auch. Wie aus
der Versenkung tauchen (alphabetisch geordnet) 70 Eth-
nographinnen und Ethnologinnen auf - die älteste Ida
Pfeiffer (geb. 1797), die jüngste Brigitte Menzel (geb.
1930) -, die auf deutsch publiziert und im Großen und
Ganzen ihr Lebenswerk abgeschlossen haben. Ich erfah-
re: “Deutschsprachige Ethnographinnen und Ethnologin-
nen waren auf sehr unterschiedlichen Gebieten erfolg-
reich: Bei der Etablierung und Organisation des Faches,
in der Feldforschung, bei der Ausbildung von Studie-
renden oder gemessen an Publikationen, die von einer
breiteren Öffentlichkeit zur Kenntnis genommen wur-
den” (19). Die Länge der Einträge ist sehr unterschiedlich
und erklärt sich “unter anderem durch Vorhandensein
und Zugänglichkeit der Quellen” (19). Nicht immer sind
die Lebensdaten vollständig. In den einzelnen Einträgen
versucht Beer - gewiss mit unterschiedlichem Erfolg -,
das Gesamtwerk der Autorinnen zu evaluieren. Stets ist
eine Liste der wichtigsten Publikationen angehängt, die
dazu anregt, je nach eigenem Interessengebiet weiter zu
forschen. Dem Index sind nicht nur die Namen der Per-
sonen, die einen Eintrag haben, zu entnehmen, sondern
auch die Länder, in denen geforscht wurde.
Was das Handbuch besonders interessant macht, ist
der zweite Hauptteil, nämlich ein Vergleich der Lebens-
läufe der erfassten Frauen. Hier werden “Voraussetzun-
gen und Anlässe für Reisen und Studium” (255 ff.) ge-
prüft, die Studiengänge (265 ff.), die Vereinbarkeit von
Berufstätigkeit und Familie (274ff.) und schließlich “die
empirische Arbeit und ihre wissenschaftlichen Ergeb-
nisse” (285ff.). Deutlich wird, dass es den “‘frühen’
Frauen” (12) nicht in die Wiege gelegt war, Ethnologie
zu studieren oder gar ins Feld zu gehen. Anders als z. B.
Boas in den USA, der durchaus auch seinen begabten
Studentinnen den Weg ins Feld ebnete, wurden Studie-
rende im deutschsprachigen Raum kaum von ihren Leh-
rern ermutigt, aus der Ethnologie einen Beruf zu machen.
Kriegsbedingt fanden dann zahlreiche Frauen dennoch
ihre Verwirklichung im musealen oder universitären Be-
reich, als die Männer an die Front geschickt waren. Vie-
len wurde die Feldforschung durch eigenes Vermögen
oder als zunächst mitreisende Ehefrau eines Ethnologen
ermöglicht, die dann aber selbständig ihr Forschungsge-
biet - oft verstanden als Ergänzung zu dem des Mannes
- erschlossen. “Für viele Frauen ihrer Generation be-
deutete eine Entscheidung für das Studium, für Reisen
und Forschungen in anderen Ländern eine Entscheidung
gegen Ehe und Familie. Vierzig der siebzig aufgenom-
menen Frauen hatten keine leiblichen Kinder” (284). Ei-
nige der Frauen mit Kindern haben darüber hinaus ih-
re Reisen erst unternommen, nachdem die Kinder groß
genug waren, um zu Hause zurückgelassen zu werden.
Allerdings konnte nur eine Minderheit der Frauen durch
240
ihren Beruf leben. Beer stellt fest, dass die “Vereinbarkeit
von ethnologischer Arbeit und Familie ... nicht unbe-
dingt gleichbedeutend mit der Vereinbarung von Beruf
im Sinne von Gelderwerb und Familie [war]. In Tabelle
drei finden sich diese Frauen vor allem in den Rubriken
(unbezahlter) Mitarbeiterinnen, Hausfrauen und freibe-
ruflich tätiger Ethnologinnen” (285).
In diesem Licht erhält die Leistung, die Frauen zur
Etablierung der ethnologischen Disziplin erbracht haben,
ein besonderes Gewicht. Beer mahnt implizit eine neue
Bewertung der Leistung von Frauen in der Feldforschung
an. Sie weist auf die seit dem 18. Jh. gängige Hierar-
chisierung von Schreibstilen hin: “unpersönliches” wis-
senschaftliches Schreiben wird Männern zugewiesen, als
vorwissenschaftlich geltende literarisierende Schreibfor-
men den Frauen. In der ethnologischen Feldforschung
entsprach dem eine geschlechtsspezifische Rollenvertei-
lung: Wo Männer und Frauen gemeinsam im Felde wa-
ren, waren Frauen für die Knüpfung von Kontakten und
für die Schlichtung von Konflikten zuständig. Dadurch
“haben Ethnologinnen mehr als ihre männlichen Kol-
legen über persönliche Beziehungen und Umstände der
Feldforschung geschrieben, über die sonst wenig bekannt
geworden wäre” (299). Beer folgert: “Damit haben eini-
ge Ethnologinnen Forderungen nach einer postmodem-
reflexiven Ethnologie des spätem zwanzigsten Jahrhun-
derts schon früh erfüllt” (299).
Es gibt viel zu stöbern in dem Handbuch. Ich fürchte
fast, dass manchen Leserinnen die Tatsache, dass die Eth-
nologinnen der DDR auch in das Verzeichnis aufgenom-
men sind, überraschend erscheinen mag. Aber ich denke,
so wie es an der Zeit ist, die Leistungen der Frauen in der
Ethnologie in das rechte Licht zu rücken, so gilt dies auch
für die Forschungsergebnisse der Kolleginnen (und in
dem Fall auch Kollegen) der DDR. Meinem Geschmack
nach erhält die durchaus strittige Figur der Eva Lips da-
bei etwas zu viel Raum. Doch das tut meiner Empfehlung
an alle, die sich innerhalb und mit der Ethnologie be-
wegen wollen, keinen Abbruch: dieses Nachschlagewerk
gehört in jedes Bücherregal. Godula Kosack
Berner, Ulrich, Christoph Bochinger und Rai-
ner Flasche (Hrsg.): Opfer und Gebet in den Religio-
nen. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2005. 180 pp.
ISBN 978-3-579-01842-3. (Veröffentlichungen der Wis-
senschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie, 26) Preis:
€ 39.95
Der vorliegende Sammelband ist das Ergebnis zwei-
er Symposien der Mitglieder der Fachgruppe Religions-
und Missionswissenschaft der Wissenschaftlichen Ge-
sellschaft für Theologie, Berlin, über das Thema “Opfer
und Gebet in den Religionen”. Die beiden Symposien
sind im Band durch 1. Teil und 2. Teil gekennzeichnet,
was aber inhaltlich nicht relevant ist, da sie sich thema-
tisch decken.
Das Thema “Opfer und Gebet” wird sowohl von
systematischer als auch von empirischer Seite her be-
leuchtet. Systematische Beiträge sind “Opfer und Ge-
bet in der Religionswissenschaft. Eine Einführung” (11-
Rezensr
19) und “Opfer und Gebet in der Religionswissenschaf
Eine Vertiefung” (107-114) von Rainer Flasche so^
“Das Gebet aus der Sicht der analytischen Religi011.
Philosophie” (87-104) von Ulrich Bemer. Die
rischen Beiträge behandeln sowohl aktuelle Relig10 ^
als auch antike, die nur aus historischen Quellen
ierbar sind. Folgende Bereiche werden abgedeckt: &
duismus (Annette Wilke), Tok Kum aus Nigeria
H. D. Danfulani), Balinesischer Hinduismus - Irido .
sien (Olaf Schumann), Islam (Ursula Spuler-Stegen^^
Judentum (Karl Hoheisel), Katholizismus (Franz Wo
ger), Aladura Kirchen - Westafrika (Afeosemime A
game), Mandäische Religion (Carsten Koch), Az
sehe Religion (Hans Wissmann) und Altägyptische
ligion (Edmund Hermsen). Geographisch und tetnp0^
ist der Bogen sehr weit gespannt, was nicht zuletzt ^
Reiz einer solchen Nebeneinanderstellung von relig10
Phänomenen wie das Opfer und Gebet ausmacht-
unterschiedlich wie die Themenbereiche sind auch ^
Darstellungsweisen der Autoren, die von akriblS
wissenschaftlicher Ausarbeitung bis zu populärwis
schaftlichem Erfahrungsbericht reichen.
Flasches beide Beiträge sind programmatischer
tur. In Absetzung gegenüber den historischen Th
en über Opfer und Gebet bei Friedrich Heiler, G°r
dus van der Leeuw, Anton Anwander und Kurt U
ammer, denen er einen “religiozentrischen” Versteh
hintergrund nachsagt und, genauer gesagt, ein chns
dogmatisches Vorverständnis von Opfer und Gebet
lastet, plädiert er für eine scharfe Abgrenzung s°
von “Opfer” als auch von “Gebet” von ähnlichen,
christlichen religiösen Verhaltensformen, die alle11
in einem “weiteren” Sinn als solche bezeichnet v,/er
können. “Gebet” muss demnach abgegrenzt werde11
genüber dem Mythos, der Lehre, der Predigt, der Les ^
der narrativen Weitergabe heiliger Texte, dem erba^
chen oder belehrenden Spruch, Bekenntnissen un ,gfßii
kenntnisformein, Segen und Segensformeln oder an ^
ritualisierten Reden und Verhaltensweisen. “Opfer
oft in einem ähnlichen unscharfen Sinne gebraucht ,
muss gegenüber einer Verallgemeinerung der C>ar^^
gung von Gaben abgegrenzt werden. “Opfer” wäre ^
nach identisch mit dem Vorgang des Schlachtens 1111 ”
Blutvergießens, sodass die Begriffe “Opfer” und A
eine semantische Einheit bilden. .j-ggS
Positiv definiert Flasche das Gebet als
Z A1'
Wort” und “Interaktionsritual”. Es ist ein Geschehe11 ^
sehen einem Ich bzw. Wir und einem höher gesteh
und besitzt daher eine dialogische Struktur. Grund t>
dabei ist ein gedachtes Gegenüber, das durch eine.
nale Überlegenheit charakterisiert ist. Der Mensc ^
nicht zu einer gleichgestellten Persönlichkeit, s° ¡^¡y
wendet sich im dialogalen Sprechen von einer
ren Position an eine höhere Instanz. Das Gebet ^
Bitten, Wünsche, Hoffnungen, Forderungen, üa
Lobpreis in einen unverfügbaren Bereich und e
Antwort und Erfüllung. Es begleitet und ergänzt o ^
das Opfer, wird aber mehr und mehr zum zentralen .jgI-
munikationsmittel mit der Transzendenz, je indivi ^
das Frömmigkeitsverhalten sich ausformt. Ebenso
103-30°*
Anthropos
Pensionen
241
^um Phänomen Gebet die rituellen Verhaltensweisen,
| henen es vollzogen wird, sodass die religiöse Kom-
tekation nicht auf das reine Wort beschränkt bleibt.
On UC^ Opfer handelt es sich um ein Interakti-
3 tUaL das kultisch eingebunden ist und Konkretes im
int 1C^ ^es Unverfügbaren bewirken soll. Zur Grund-
ig k °n ^es Opferns gehört der Gedanke, dass aus dem
atl en neues Leben ersteht; dass der Mensch Leben
>n h 16 ^ranszendenz hingibt, um dadurch neues Leben
das 6r ^mrnanenz zurückzuerhalten. Flasches Annahme,
jede ^6r Plüschen Feier des christlichen Herrenmahles
Sei6 °Pfervorstellung fehlt sowie Jesu Kreuzestod von
•st nn Eidgenossen nicht als Opfer verstanden worden
elj APf-)> ist empirisch nicht haltbar, es sei denn man
^rä Klert wdikürlich bestimmte Schriften (wie den He-
d^kl bne^ aus dem Kanon des Neuen Testaments und
dis knett den Opfergedanken als eine Übernahme jü-
chrj 6r Und heidnischer Opferpraktiken durch die früh-
in ^sdiche Tradition (111). Ebenso ist der Sühnegedanke,
her 6ln durch das blutige Opfer zerstörtes Heil wieder
den wird, in den meisten Opferpraktiken, auch in
ist östlichen, vorzufinden. In den meisten Religionen
den h dern Blutopfer der Fruchtbarkeitsgedanke Verbun-
ds 6r s'ch sowohl auf die menschliche und tierische
Cb aU^ die agrarische Fruchtbarkeit beziehen kann.
beris . er steht der Gedanke vom Schaffen “neuen” Le-
fers flrn Vordergrund. Einen allgemeinen Sinn des Op-
diese^stschreiben zu wollen, hält Flasche für fraglich, da
Opfe 11Ur juweils im Kontext der betreffenden religiösen
^Praktiken zu ermitteln ist.
ligionerner versucht, “Opfer und Gebet” aus einem re-
sich ^Philosophischen Ansatz heraus zu verstehen, der
henSvv S. ernpirische und historisch-philologische Vorge-
de,-, ^eiSe deklariert, um durch “analytisches” Vorgehen
Re|. , e§ ln eine Metaphysik der Religion zu vermeiden,
gen k °nsPhilosophische Versuche der neueren Zeit lie-
"fies ^ üewi Z. Phillips vor, der das “Bittgebet” von der
fürdasWörung” dadurch abzugrenzen versucht, dass er
Gott echte Gebet eine Haltung der Abhängigkeit allein
geben^8enuber verlangt, die sozusagen als eine durch-
Ab^- 6 Lebenshaltung den Grundtenor angibt, und jede
V)C]a^'§keit vom Ritus oder der Formel ausschließt;
\v^r n hei lan T. Ramsey, der ebenfalls versucht, das
Lehet von magischen Beschwörungsakten abzu-
e^n’ und es als eine Sprechhandlung versteht, die
§e f^er Enthüllung göttlicher Vorsehung und Fürsor-
t>es0n ,rl' Woraus dem Menschen eine Verpflichtung der
bets 61 en Lebensführung erwächst; das Ziel des Ge-
W* als Erkenntnis oder Wahrnehmung göttlicher
^er begriffen; und zuletzt bei Vincent Brümmer,
P< Effektivität des Gebets von der Ebene der em-
G] * Nachweisbarkeit auf die Wahmehmungsebene
*ls q ^uhenden verlagert, auf der natürliche Ereignisse
^eÜer etserhörungen gedeutet werden. Damit soll aber
XVerdenln Suhjektive Sicht des Gebetsvorgangs ausgesagt
’ s°ndem ein Erkenntnisvorgang im Glauben, der
Dies'er Erfahrung beruht.
a ,e teligionsphilosophischen Aussagen testet Ber-
Schicbtean<^ V°n Beispielen aus der Religionsge-
’ namlich bei Plutarch, Chariten und Euripides.
Anthr,
°Pos 103
2008
Dabei zeigt sich, dass die religionsphilosophischen An-
sätze zumindest einen heuristischen Wert für die Reli-
gionswissenschaft haben können. Sie verweisen auf die
Wichtigkeit des Kontextes, der Erkenntnisfunktion und
der Beantwortung bzw. Nicht-Beantwortung des Gebe-
tes. Die (theologischen) Bewertungen des Gebets und der
(magischen) Beschwörungen aber können von der Reli-
gionswissenschaft so nicht übernommen werden, da die
Grenzen zwischen Glauben und Aberglauben fließend
und der inneren Haltung des Beters zuzuordnen sind. Es
kann nicht Aufgabe der Religionswissenschaft sein, ego-
zentrische, alterozentrische oder theozentrische Intentio-
nen des Gebets in eine Werteskala stellen zu wollen.
Die empirischen Beiträge aus verschiedenen lebenden
wie historischen Religionen relativieren diese systemati-
schen Vorgaben ganz erheblich. So schreibt Annette Wilke
in ihrem Beitrag aus dem Bereich des Hinduismus, dass
die abendländischen Begriffe “Opfer und Gebet” in die-
ser Weise für den Hinduismus nicht anwendbar sind.
Zwischen Gebet und Opfer besteht ein enger Zusammen-
hang, der bis zu einer Identifikation reicht. So spricht
man von Opfer, Gebet und Gebetsopfer, was eine Verin-
nerlichung des Opfergedankens bedeutet und ihn in den
Bereich des Devotionalen rückt. Opfer und Gebet wer-
den durch den Verzichtsgedanken mehr und mehr zum
mentalen Selbstopfer des Glaubenden. Eine ähnliche Un-
schärfe der Begriffe findet sich auch in den übrigen
Beiträgen aus Afrika, Indonesien und den historischen
Religionen, sodass die Forderung der Systematiker nach
scharfen Abgrenzungen eines “echten” Opfer- und Ge-
betsbegriffs ad absurdum geführt wird. Die empirischen
Darstellungen zeigen daher, dass eine systematische
Engführung keinen großen Sinn macht, da in den konkre-
ten Religionen die gelebte Tendenz zu einer Ausweitung
des Begriffsumfangs festzustellen ist. Hier offenbart sich
ein gewisser Widerspruch innerhalb der Mitglieder der
Fachgruppe, der es wert wäre, in Zukunft genauer in
Betracht gezogen zu werden. Joachim G. Piepke
Bolin, Inge: Growing Up in a Culture of Respect.
Child Rearing in Highland Peru. Austin: University of
Texas Press, 2006. 214 pp. ISBN 978-0-292-7198-0.
Price: $ 19.95
In “Growing Up in a Culture of Respect” schildert
Inge Bolin das Aufwachsen der Kinder im Hochland von
Peru. Seit 1988 besuchte die Autorin dreizehnmal das
Dorf Chillihuani (Departement Cuzco, Provinz Quispi-
canchis), einerseits zu Forschungszwecken, andererseits
um die Fortschritte von Yachaq Runa, einer NGO, die
sie 1992 gegründet hatte, zu verfolgen. Yachaq Runa soll
die medizinische Versorgung in den abgelegenen Dör-
fern von Quispicanchis unter Einbeziehung von westli-
cher Medizin und traditionellen Heilem und Heilerinnen
verbessern.
Kinder sind ein kostbares Gut, ist doch die Kinder-
sterblichkeit sehr hoch. Mädchen und Knaben sind glei-
chermassen willkommen. Aber laut einem alten Glauben
ist eine Familie, deren erstgeborenes Kind ein Mädchen
ist, vom Glück begünstigt und wird wirtschaftlich pro-
242
Rezension611
sperieren. Denn die Frau hält die Geschicke des Haus-
halts in den Händen, weil sie bestimmt, welche Produk-
te für den eigenen Verzehr, für die Saat und für den
Verkauf oder den Tauschhandel verwendet werden. Ihre
Subsistenzwirtschaft basiert auf der Viehzucht (Alpakas,
Lamas, Schafe) und auf dem Anbau von Kartoffeln und
anderen Knollenfrüchten.
Die andine Kultur ist reziprok aufgebaut; ein gegen-
seitiges Geben und Nehmen zwischen den Menschen,
aber auch zwischen den Naturkräften (Pachamama [Mut-
ter Erde], Apus [Berggottheiten]) und den Menschen.
Denn ein Überleben in der rauen und kargen Umwelt
auf 4000 m über Meer ist nur möglich, wenn alle Zu-
sammenarbeiten und respektvoll miteinander umgehen.
Die Künder wachsen in einer respektvollen Umgebung
auf und lernen von klein auf Rücksicht zu nehmen.
Kleine Kinder geniessen Narrenfreiheit. Erst wenn
sie sich oder anderen schaden könnten, greifen die Er-
wachsenen ein und machen auf das Fehlverhalten auf-
merksam. Eine eigentliche Kindheit wie bei uns gibt es
nicht. Das äussert sich auch sichtbar in der Kleidung. So
ab einem Alter von 6 Jahren tragen die Kinder dieselbe
Kleidung wie die Erwachsenen. Wenn sie vorher die Tä-
tigkeiten der Erwachsenen im Spiel nachgeahmt hatten,
so übernehmen sie nun allmählich kleinere Pflichten, wie
auf die jüngeren Geschwister aufpassen, Schafe und Zie-
gen hüten, Holz suchen, Wasser holen. Kinder werden
in alle Tätigkeiten entsprechend ihrer Möglichkeiten mit-
einbezogen. Es gibt kein Fest und keine Rituale, an denen
sie nicht teilnehmen dürfen. So lernen sie schon von klein
auf die Fertigkeiten, die sie später benötigen, um trotz
Armut und harter Arbeit ein erfülltes und zufriedenes
Leben im Einklang mit der Natur und den Göttern zu füh-
ren. Obwohl sie nominell Katholiken sind - evangelikale
Kirchen und Sekten versuchen zwar verstärkt an Einfluss
zu gewinnen -, sind es die alten Gottheiten, Pachamama
und Apus, die für das Wohlgedeihen von Haus und Hof
zuständig sind.
Heutzutage gehen die Kinder auch zur Schule. Er-
staunlicherweise übertrumpfen die Kinder von Chillihua-
ni die Kinder aus niedriger gelegenen Dörfern in Mathe-
matik, das auch ihr Lieblingsfach ist. Wenn sie in einem
Alter von 6 Jahren mit Hüten beginnen, fängt für sie auch
die Zeit des Zählens an: wie viele Tiere, wie viele von
jeder Farbe haben sie auf die Weide geführt, die sie dann
abends auch wieder zurücktreiben müssen. Sie lernen
Distanzen einzuschätzen durch den Gebrauch der Stein-
schleuder, die sie einsetzen, um umherstreunende Tiere
zur Herde zurückzutreiben. Räumliches Denken aber ist
eine Voraussetzung für mathematisches Geschick. Der
Raumsinn wird zusätzlich gefördert durch die weit in
die inkaische, wenn nicht gar in die vorinkaische Zeit
reichende Faszination der Quechua, in den Landschafts-
formen wie auch im gesamten Kosmos Metaphern und
Bilder zu entdecken, was sich auch in ihren Mythen und
Legenden niedergeschlagen hat.
Der Übergang ins Erwachsenenalter, die Pubertät, ist
ziemlich problemlos. Die Mädchen und Burschen sind
es gewöhnt, miteinander zwanglos und auf solidarischer
Basis zu arbeiten, was unter Spassen und Sticheln vor
sich geht; aber durch den generell respektvollen Umg^
miteinander artet es niemals aus. So ergeben sich V1
Gelegenheiten, sich kennen zu lernen und sich ineinan
zu verlieben. 0,
Indem Inge Bolin das Aufwachsen der Kinder sc
dert, zeichnet sie aus einem anderen Blickwinkel her
ein eindrückliches Bild der andinen Kultur. Ein lese
wertes Buch. , ^
Die Autorin zeigt das andine Ideal der Reziprozita
Umgang mit den Mitmenschen, der Natur und der splfl
eilen Welt. Ich fürchte aber, die Wirklichkeit sieht
überall so aus. Auch die Quechua sind nur Mensc
Armut und der harte Alltag im Kampf ums Üben6
führen auch hier zu Stress und Belastungen, die sic
häuslicher Gewalt und destruktivem Verhalten äuss ^
können. Behalten Sie dies im Hinterkopf und gemeS f
sie, vielleicht gerade deswegen, die Schilderung e ^
noch intakten Welt. Alice Spinnler-
th6
Brandes, Stanley; Skulls to the Living, Bread t° u,
Dead. The Day of the Dead in Mexico and
Maiden: Blackwell Publishing, 2006. 217 pp. ISBN °
1-4051-5248-8. Price: $ 24.95 fgi.
Das in weiten Teilen Mexikos recht spektakulär ge ^
erte Allerheiligen- und Allerseelenfest ist schon in
reren Buchveröffentlichungen behandelt worden- ^
hier vorgelegte ist darunter von besonderem RelZ‘ ^
legt einen besonderen Akzent auf die Ritualhandimv
und geht dabei der Frage nach, wie sich diese unteIjüp
litischen und wirtschaftlichen Einflüssen wie auch
turkontakt verändert haben. Über den Festablauf hin ^
bemüht sich der Autor herauszufinden, wie und W .
der “Dia de Muertos”, der Tag der Toten, zu einem na ■
>
nalen Symbol und einem Inbegriff mexikanischer I-m
tät geworden ist. Auf den ersten Blick verwirrend
die Tatsache, dass dieses Fest für die Toten voller Hu
Ironie und Leichtherzigkeit gefeiert wird. . ¿p
Zwischen Einleitung und Schlussfolgerungen lS ^,
Buch in drei Hauptteile gegliedert: “Historische Gi ul1 ^
gen”, “Gegenwärtige Veränderungen” und “Nördhc ^
Grenze”. Es wird also auch das Fest unter mexikanisC
Immigranten in den USA behandelt. „y
Im historischen Teil werden zunächst die Op
ben und ihre Veränderungen im Laufe der Zeit ^ fl
stellt, wobei ein besonderer Akzent auf den Süßig ^
liegt, einschließlich der massiven Schädeln aus Z .ß
Im Zusammenhang mit Letzteren werden auch ^
anderer Autoren referiert, die sie von den tzov’I ()|r
den aztekischen Schädelgerüsten herleiten w0^^;6 ef
ne dass der Autor sich damit voll identifiziert,
überzeugend darstellen kann, stammt das Ritual m .^jt
Grundform aus Europa und wurde in der Kol0^1 ^
sowie danach weiterentwickelt. Unter heutigen ^
Indianern in Zentralmexiko hat allerdings eine 5' ^es
präkolumbischer Zeit überlebt: wie damals wird der gI1eH
unnatürlichen Todes (Mord, Unglücksfall) Gesto
gesondert gedacht. eSagt
Bei der Einflussnahme des Staates, genauer %
dem Einwirken der offiziellen Tourismusförden-1 iV
,2008
103
Anthropos
Pensionen
243
Festgestaltung, präsentiert der Autor ein besonders
dokumentiertes und dazu noch spektakuläres Bei-
^ ek das von Tzintzuntzan am Pätzcuaro-See im Bun-
^sstaat Michoacän. Durch die Untersuchungen von
lee°rge M. Foster ist der Festablauf schon für 1945 be-
^ durch eigene Feldforschung in den sechziger Jahren
fe nüte ^er ^utor Fis dahin eingetretene Veränderungen
d0 .ten’ und ab 1971 das zunehmend von Touristen
bi I^ün^erte bombastische Spektakel beschreiben, wie es
s heute existiert.
lmEin eigener Abschnitt ist der Poesie gewidmet, die
pichen Umfeld der Totengedenktage in der Presse
Tot an^eren Medien verbreitet wird, und als calavem,
sö ?.nschädel, bekannt ist. Darin werden bekannte Per-
(j lchkeiten - oft Politiker - als bereits Verstorbene
^stellt und ironisch oder auch deftig kritisiert, selten
au k übertragenen Sinn bedeutet das Wort calavera
d. Freigeist, Lümmel und Liederjan, was dem Inhalt
St)' 'r°n^schen und provokativen Texte weitgehend ent-
getr hf Die Auswahl und Abfolge der Texte ist sehr gut
den111 ^Usammenhang mit rezenten Veränderungen wer-
dah aUcF Fie manchenorts zu beobachtende Einfluss-
Hall 6 ^es gänzlich säkularisierten nordamerikanischen
°Ween behandelt sowie verschiedene Versuche, der-
ge Vermischungen bewusst zu vermeiden, um die ei-
^Identität zu wahren.
,a das Fest inzwischen auch nördlich der Grenze
&fei .
^lif Wlr(^’ folgen am Ende Beispiele aus New York,
cler| 0rnien und dem Südwesten. Sie machen die Verän-
ünt §en deutlich, denen das Fest in neuen Kontexten
dje p le§t, unterstreichen aber auch seine Bedeutung für
^sstigung der eigenen Identität unter den Migranten,
t^al n* ^en Schlussfolgerungen wird zunächst noch ein-
as Stereotyp über die Einstellung der Mexikaner
XiK °h herausgestellt, wie es von Ausländem wie Me-
radi' 6rn selbst verbreitet wird: sie sähen dem Tod ge-
aHdlrilg *ns Auge, betrachteten ihn als etwas Normales
der pn.Statt Ihn nur zu fürchten verhöhnten sie ihn. Nach
" da rasentation verschiedener Behauptungen dieser Art
% ’Ullter auch durch Octavio Paz - schwenkt der Autor
Sterp r konkreten Praxis und beleuchtet das tatsächliche
¿at1|re.n Und die Trauer der Angehörigen, wie sie aus
k0nirlchen Ethnographien für Mexiko belegt sind. Der
\St könnte kaum größer sein, denn da ist nichts von
. erhöhnung und Kraftmeierei - nur Niedergeschla-
Und Trauer.
Fehauptete Unbeschwertheit und Koketterie ge-
4lercjer hem Tod gibt es in Mexiko aber tatsächlich,
Ibter,111®8 nur an heu ZW£i oder drei Tagen, an denen die
ser gefeiert werden. Und dass Mexikaner sich mit die-
V, u Ung gern identifizieren, ist sehr gut nachvollzieh-
v wejt rc*en sie doch als kraft- und humorvoll gepriesen
Üieüer überlegen den Nordamerikanern und Europäern,
ü Tod angstvoll verdrängen. Ulrich Köhler
^lis, Kees: Powers of Blessing from the Wilderness
V" heaven. Stmcture and Transformations in the
n °f the Toraja in the Mamasa Area of South
°Pos 103.2008
Sulawesi. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2006. 262 pp. ISBN
978-90-6718-270-6. (Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk
Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, 229) Price:
$ 30.00
Dr. Kees Buijs’s study is based on five years’ field
research among a Toraja population numbering roughly
one hundred thousand in 2002 and today with an econ-
omy based on the cultivation of rice, coffee, and other
food crops. They reside in the village Mamasa in the
western region of southern Sulawesi which lies to the
west of the more well-known Sa’dan Toraja of Tana
Toraja. In one version of their history the people of Ma-
masa are said to have come from the latter location and
to have settled in different locations within the Mamasa
region between Tana Toraja and the western coast; but as
one might predict their origins are accounted for some-
what differently in myth. Myths play a major part in the
portrayal Buijs gives of contemporary Mamasa ritual and
ideology as does social change, for a prominent theme
around which he has organized his ethnographic data is
that of change. Accordingly, one intention of this work
is to demonstrate how certain elements in the “old reli-
gion” of the Mamasa have changed as external circum-
stances have altered and have assumed more prominence
whereas other elements have either disappeared or else
assumed a different meaning. In the time when the old
religion held sway gods of the heavens and those of the
earth conferred their blessings upon ritual practitioners;
but nowadays, while the former have maintained their
authority that of the earth gods is becoming increasingly
redundant. Such ideas, and their ritual contexts, consti-
tute the ethnographic substance of his study and Buijs
examines them closely in a quest - successful as it hap-
pens - for explanatory abstractions that embrace notions
of structure, opposition, reversal, and transformation.
The “old religion” is referred to in the vernacular as
the aluk toyolo, and two of its most spectacular ingredi-
ents were a pair of gender-orientated rituals. The tobisu,
who are also known as tomalangngi’ (“someone who is
united with the deities”), are women who traditionally
participated in the ritual of pa’bisuan, a female rite led
by the toburake, a female priest, in which the participants
conjoined with deities of the wilderness and danced on
the branches of a banyan {Ficus benjamind). In comple-
mentary contrast was the head-hunting ritual for the to-
berani, “courageous men” who in past times participated
in head-hunting rituals. This sexual opposition is inti-
mately bound up into cosmological notions in which fe-
males are associated with the deities of the wilderness or
earth whereas males are associated with heaven. Spiritual
entities confer what the author refers to as “blessings”
upon human beings, without which the latter cannot pros-
per on earth, and the former are concentrated into two
transcendent regions outside the world in which human
beings live. These regions are the “above” and the “be-
neath,” or in other words, heaven and earth, i.e., the unin-
habited forest or wilderness. From these two areas, which
are inhabited by gods, come blessings, but each source
provides a different kind. Blessings that derive from the
deities of the earth are orientated towards life on earth,
244
Rezension11
fertility, health, and prosperity; blessings issuing from
the gods of heaven are directed towards heaven, includ-
ing (though they are not limited to) life after death. For
human beings it is important that the powers of blessing
from heaven and the powers of blessing from the earth
cooperate, and the growth of the rice harvest is a vital
instance of this cooperation. Rice is a gift from heaven,
but can only grow on earth as the result of the fertility of
soil and water, which are blessings drawn from the earth.
The corollary is that since the earth is associated with the
female sex and the heavens with the male sex, “the rice
harvest can be seen as the result of the coming together
of male and female powers, heaven and earth” (225).
This concept of conjunction is embedded in cosmology
and myth - “the descent of the sons of the gods to earth
and their dependence on the female powers of fertility”
- and finds expression in ritual. In the ma ’dondi, which
is carried out in the rice fields, women beckon men to
join them and they embrace in what I would regard as a
reenactment of this cosmological episode. This evocative
image of conjunction-leading-to-creation is conveyed by
Buijs thus: “The blessings to help rice grow and bear
fruit are expected mainly from the ancestral deities in
heaven, but in constant awareness of the goddess of the
rice, totiboyong, who represents the fertility-giving gods
of the earth” (225).
These and numerous notions of fertility and gender
intriguingly resemble those described for the Tetum of
Timor-Leste by the reviewer (see “Tetum Ghosts and
Kin. Fertility and Gender in East Timor.” 2nd ed. Pros-
pect Heights 2004), and underscore one of the points
Buijs raises in his theoretical preamble to his ethno-
graphic report, viz., the Austronesian commonality of
many of the archipelago’s institutions and collective rep-
resentations. Quite properly, his focus is on comparison
within his own immediate region of Sulawesi but read-
ers familiar with the entire ethnologisch studieveld will
perhaps readily recognize that these and other key top-
ics of Buijs’s study, including the idea of conjunction,
separation, complementary yet oppositional gender du-
alism, and the generation of life, are manifested in the
archipelago among peoples far removed from Sulawesi,
such as populations on Flores, Sumba, and Timor. Ac-
cordingly he might have considered more seriously the
relevance for his analysis of ethnographic works pub-
lished on eastern Indonesia and in thus doing been able to
use them as the proverbial mirror in which to see his own
Mamasa data given a novel reflection. Among others,
one of the several works pertinent to the question of, for
instance, spiritual agency, is Gregory Forth’s “Beneath
the Volcano: Religion, Cosmology, and Spirit Classifi-
cation among the Nage of Eastern Indonesia” (Verhan-
delingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land-
en Volkenkunde, 177; Leiden 1998). A scrutiny of this
ethnography might have suggested to him the desirabil-
ity of explaining more precisely the differences between
“deities,” “spirits,” and “ghosts,” and perhaps pay ex-
tended consideration to the ontological implications in-
herent in the differences he marks. In this way he might
have anticipated that some readers would wonder why
“ancestral deities” are deities rather than, say, “anees
trai
they
the
ghosts,” “ancestral spirits,” or simply “ancestors,” as
tend to be characterized by ethnographers working °n_
above-remarked islands (see “Grandchildren of the G
Ancestors: Social Organization and Cosmology al11
the Hoga Sara of Flores” by Andrea Molnar [Verbal1 ^
lingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land-^
Volkenkunde, 185]. Leiden 2000). “Blessing” is anot ^
notion which deserves more examination in its verna ^
larly, exegetical, semantic, and etymological aspects,
the more so since “blessing” (i.e., Buijs’s English
dition of the presumed indigenous category) is the a1
important of his analytical concepts. What do Man1
informants say about its meaning? These issues co
to mind since my own work among the Tetum inv°
much the same kind of spirit/human reciprocity as
gages the attentions of the author here; yet beyond
idea that blowing or sprinkling with water instills so
sort of vitality into a substance the population I stu
lack anything that might correspond to what the 1
“blessing” is generally taken to mean. ■>
This having been said, the ethnographic details p
provides of Mamasa ideas and ritual practices, his car6 ^
marshalling them so they become intelligible as pa|j ^
a pattern of structures, and his depiction of how c°l
- rUiJl'
five representations shift in response to changing dm
stances makes his study a most valuable addition 10
published literature on Sulawesi, worthy to stand beSl
the works of Chabot, George, the Kruyts, Nooy-P3^
and Volkman. “Powers of Blessing from the Wild61"11 ,
and from Heaven” is an informative account of ie ^
ity in a hitherto relatively little known community
the implications of fertility in the context of gendeh
spirit world, cosmological notions, and ritual. Fuf
more, by demonstrating the diverse manner in V
structural transformations come about, the author P
vides us with an exemplary model of the mutual tnteI^0p
between diachronic and synchronic. Indonesianist
ars, whatever their regional interests, will find this ;
well worth the reading. David H1
Carrier, Neil C. M.: Kenyan Khat. The Social
Life
of a Stimulant. Leiden: Koninklijke Brill, 2007. 288
illus. ISBN 978-90-04-15659-3. (African Social Stn
Series, 15) Price: € 85.00 0f
This volume is based on fieldwork among the M c,
east-central Kenya. The author investigated the pr° ^
tion and marketing of khat (in Kenya also termed W^
or veve), the stems and leaves of a highland tree (
edulis). Khat is a stimulant highly prized by 1113
eastern and southern Africa, Madagascar, and the ^
East. It is chewed and produces a sense of euphoria^.p,
alertness which enhances sociability and at times s ,
ens the senses and mind for carrying on boring °r
ing tasks such as those of taxi-drivers, night-watc
soldiers, and students preparing for examination8^.^
fenders of khat describe it as little stronger than cA ^s'
or other common stimulants and not as harmful as ^
sive consumption of tobacco or alcohol. Critics °
,03.300»
Anthropos
Pensionen
245
n ernn it for causing sleeplessness, sexual impotence,
b nutrition due to loss of appetite, and loss of money
de fr sPent on food, clothing, and education. Countries
. arin§ khat illegal neither ban tobacco nor alcohol,
• " 3TP. WnrcA Hroinc flip KnHnrpfc flip imna\?pr_
lshed
vioh
are worse drains on the budgets of the impover-
and which, in the case of alcohol, often lead to
su 6llCe' recent global migration khat is now con-
^e\v or ^legally, in Africa, Europe, Australia,
Zealand, and North America, mainly by Somalis
^ear Eastern refugees. Today it is illegal in Tan-
^ a, Sweden, Norway, Switzerland, Germany, Canada,
b <^ra^a’ New Zealand, and the United States. It is legal
jt . °rnalia, Ethiopia, Yemen, Kenya, and Great Britain.
an important part of the agricultural economy of
and and Ethi°pia where it is grown. Khat production
Sludtra<^6 constltute an especially interesting topic of
"id ^ 10 ^at *ts legality and moral status complicate its
qu- ejPread distribution. Furthermore, since khat spoils
q^i *V» hs successful distribution depends on expensive,
p transport by land and air.
the began his study working with Mem people in
^ enya highlands, the major khat producers in East
lioJfi iWhile Meru are today involved in the intema-
^rab ^at trade, mamly working through Somalis and
as Merchants, they have a long local tradition of khat
t0rn C^°P integrated into local ceremonies and daily cus-
the l0day production of khat is far more profitable than
itq Induction of coffee, tea, or food crops. It is far too
due h ant t0 de declared illegal in Kenya where it is pro-
filed fairly P0Pular- The author provides little de-
it js lnf°rmation on how the trade works in areas where
to £ e§al but notes that khat continues to find its way
Njev^ African immigrants in North America, Australia,
tra(j Zealand, and elsewhere. Both the legal and illegal
etbn- Work through African and Near Eastern kin and
lhese . networks of tmst and credit. The author examines
ln detail for the legal trade in Kenya and to a lesser
in Great Britain.
it js hural views about khat are complex even where
Coq traditional and legal. It is a messy product, its
^Ucb ■ i°n inv°lvmg masses of slimy, chewed leaves,
f etb Sf)ltting and coughing, and discoloured mouths and
fl fpi i>0rne local women condemn it as eroding mari-
ijig atl°ns on account of causing impotence and lead-
0qe en to spend too much time sitting around with
der ^ °fer “doing nothing” and not working. Some el-
etu1Cans value khat as exemplifying their African
Afjj nrilc tradition and male bonding. Some younger
doqCo S See ^hat as a means of expressing modern
ch aformity, especially since it was not traditionally
Consil hy young people who today both trade and
Afi
Sunte
rjc h- In contrast, some middle-class, educated
ca| a.,s c°ndemn khat as backward and barbaric. Lo-
%Sf. can views about khat are divided, even among
ns and Muslims and among those with medical
^e' Certainly nearly everyone considers khat less
sUcb ldan alcohol. Carrier provides rich reportage on
ltUegratried and contradictory views though he nowhere
aot Su es Such findings into any coherent picture. I do
s§est that there may be any prevailing evaluation
At%(
°P°s 103.2008
of khat, but in general the author appears far more adept
at reporting diverse data than in relating materials to any
broader concepts or theories about social organization,
cultural beliefs and values, or changing views regard-
ing gender, age, and suitable expenditures of time and
money. Yet the controversy surrounding khat makes it a
useful arena for considering these contested issues.
Carrier’s book provides more detailed and extensive
information about khat production and consumption than
any other available publication. The book is clearly writ-
ten and cast in a modest and appealing manner. Carrier
wisely avoids taking any strong position regarding the
pros or cons of khat though he clearly enjoyed khat chew-
ing and does not view it as an especially dangerous sub-
stance meriting its illegal status in some countries. There
is certainly little medical or social evidence provided in
this long study that would convince a reader to advocate
the banning of khat.
This book belongs in every library where there is a
program in East African studies. I found this book a valu-
able source of information. Unfortunately, not even the
many coloured illustrations in it would justify its very
high price so I doubt that many readers are going to pur-
chase a personal copy. Still they should urge their local
academic library to acquire it. T. O. Beidelman
Dünnwald, Stephan: Der pädagogische Griff nach
dem Fremden. Zur Haltung lokaler Initiativen gegenüber
Flüchtlingen in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Frank-
furt: IKO - Verlag für Interkulturelle Kommunikation,
2006. 378 pp. ISBN 978-3-88939-822-2. Preis: € 24.90
Die Verabschiedung des Zuwanderungsgesetzes
durch den Deutschen Bundestag hat die Migrations-
politik der BRD mit einem neuen rechtlichen Rahmen
versehen. Zum ersten Mal ist von der Politik anerkannt
worden, dass Deutschland ein Einwanderungsland ist.
Mit dem neuen Gesetz soll die Zuwanderung in gere-
gelte Bahnen gelenkt werden, indem formalisierte Prüf-
verfahren für die Anliegen der Migranten zur Anwen-
dung kommen, um eine Überprüfung und Bewertung
ihrer Integrationsabsichten und -bemühungen zu gewähr-
leisten. Nach der Sicherstellung des rechtlichen Status
werden die Zuwanderungsaspiranten in so genannten
Integrationskursen mit der deutschen Sprache und den
hier geltenden Gepflogenheiten vertraut gemacht. Nach
sechs Monaten wird anhand einer Prüfung festgestellt,
ob eine Integration erfolgen kann.
Gleichzeitig mit der Verabschiedung des Gesetzes ist
die über Jahrzehnte dauernde Aushöhlung des Asylrechts
seitens der Politik zunächst zum Stillstand gekommen.
Die Harmonisierung der EU-Flüchtlingspolitik, die Auf-
rüstung der Grenzsicherung an den EU-Aussengrenzen
und die Errichtung von Auffanglagern in den EU-An-
rainerstaaten hat dazu geführt, dass die Asylzahlen dra-
matisch zurückgegangen sind. Asylsuchende schaffen es
nicht mehr bis Europa und damit auch nicht mehr nach
Deutschland.
Damit ist der langjährige Disput zwischen Zivilge-
sellschaft und Politik über den Umgang mit Zuwande-
246
Rezensi°nen
rem in eine neue Phase eingetreten, wobei noch offen
ist, welche Auswirkungen dies auf die Einstellung der
Bevölkemng gegenüber Migranten haben wird.
Der alte, rechtlose Zustand mit seinem Abschre-
ckungspotential hat gesellschaftspolitisch über Jahre hin-
weg ein Klima entstehen lassen, in dem Migranten das
Stigma einer fremden, nur geduldeten Minderheit er-
hielten, denen leicht kriminelle Machenschaften unter-
stellt werden konnten. In den neunziger Jahren entlud
sich diese Situation immer wieder in pogromartigen Aus-
schreitungen der heimischen Bevölkemng gegenüber Zu-
wanderem. Auf lokaler Ebene versuchten Wohlfahrtsver-
bände, Migrantenvereine, Flüchtlingsorganisationen, die
Kirchen und Stadtteilinitiativen hier gegenzusteuern und
Strukturen zu schaffen, die Migranten bei ihren Integra-
tionsbemühungen und der Notwendigkeit zur Integration
zu unterstützen.
Dieses gesellschaftspolitische Klima ist der Aus-
gangspunkt für die vorliegende Studie von Dünnwald.
Über Jahre hat er in einem Stadtteil Münchens in einer
Stadtteilinitiative mitgearbeitet, die sich darum bemüh-
te, die Situation von Flüchtlingen in einem im Stadtteil
eingerichteten Lager erträglicher zu gestalten. Wie sich
diese Initiative gegenüber den Flüchtlingen, den Stadt-
teilbewohnern und den zuständigen Verwaltungsebenen
organisierte und handelte, bildet den Fokus seiner Stu-
die. Er kann dabei darlegen, inwieweit sich in der Arbeit
der Initiative die von den gesellschaftspolitisch geführ-
ten Diskursen vorgenommene Strukturierung des migra-
tionspolitischen Feldes durchsetzt und dafür sorgt, dass
Flüchtlinge als eine zu betreuende Gmppe wahrgenom-
men werden, die sich, um integriert werden zu können,
an die Vorstellung der Mehrheitsgesellschaft anzupassen
haben.
Für die Gründung der Initiative kann indirekt die
Regierung Oberbayerns verantwortlich gemacht werden,
die sich entschloss, in einem reinen Wohnviertel ein
Flüchtlingslager zu errichten. Ein Teil der Stadtviertel-
bewohner sah sich hierdurch vor das Problem gestellt,
wie mit den Bewohnern dieses Lagers umzugehen sei
und wie sie in das Leben des Stadtteils integriert wer-
den könnten. Nach anfänglichen Besuchen bei den La-
gerbewohnem wurde aus der Initiative heraus das Be-
dürfnis formuliert, für die Flüchtlinge ein kontinuierli-
ches Angebot aufzubauen, das ihnen bei der Integration
in die neue Umgebung helfen sollte. An der Frage eines
ausschließlich von der Initiative zu nutzenden Raumes
im Lager für ihre Angebote entzündete sich eine wich-
tige, für das Selbstverständnis der Initiative förderliche
Diskussion innerhalb der Gmppe und mit der zuständi-
gen Lagerleitung und Verwaltung. Nachdem der “Kampf
um den Raum” erfolgreich zu Ende gebracht wurde und
die ersten Angebote wie “Deutsch lernen”, “nähen ler-
nen”, “Kinder betreuen” kontinuierlich angeboten wur-
den, stellte sich heraus, dass die Flüchtlinge nur ein
begrenztes Interesse an diesen Angeboten hatten. Dünn-
wald folgert, dass die Initiative zwar erfolgreich war
in ihrem Bemühen, sich eine klare Struktur und einen
deutlicheren Arbeitsauftrag zu geben, zur Integration der
Flüchtlinge beizutragen, gleichzeitig aber die Bedürf-
nisse der Flüchtlinge nach nichtformalisierten, offeI1-
Beziehungen und Kontakten negierte. Integration g61^j,
zur Einbahnstraße. Die Flüchtlinge wandten sich ab, ^
deten eigene Netzwerke mit Verwandten oder Lands
ten, die schon außerhalb des Lagers in der Stadt, im p
desgebiet oder in anderen europäischen Ländern le^te ^
Aus dieser Einbahnstraßen-Situation kam die In1 ^
ve nicht mehr heraus, weshalb sie ihre Aktivitäten ^
stärkt darauf richtete, die Lage der Flüchtlinge und
Notsituation im Stadtteil bekannter zu machen. ^
Veranstaltung so genannter “multikultureller” Feste
Kleidersammlungsaktionen trat die Initiative als M1 ^
rin zwischen den Lagerinsassen und den Stadtteilbe^
nem auf und gewann beträchtlich an Ansehen und A ^
kennung bei den Einheimischen. Gleichzeitig zeig1
aber, dass diese Aktivitäten dazu beitragen, Nac
schaft und Flüchtlinge wirkungsvoll voneinander Zl1
parieren. Die Wohltätigkeit der einen nimmt den ad
über ihre Einordnung in die, den Einheimischen be' ^
te soziale Kategorie des Bedürftigen ihren bedroh^0 u
und ambivalenten Charakter. Sie werden in das Ge .ß
sozialer Verantwortung eingebunden, als Bedürfüge- f,
christliche Nächstenliebe und die bürgerliche M°ra^oCti
pflichten zur Mildtätigkeit, erwarten im Gegenzug Je
Dankbarkeit, die sich in Wohlverhalten, d. h. deh1 g
folgen von Regeln und Normen, zeigt. Die Flüch
bleiben Objekte, die sich anzupassen haben. 6y
Verschärft wird diese Haltung der Initiative S
über den Flüchtlingen in dem Augenblick, wo im kl-
eine Ungezieferplage (Kakerlaken) auftritt. Die W
tung sieht sich aus seuchenhygienischen Gründe11
zwungen, die Vernichtung des Ungeziefers dnzno ücjit'
Die Initiative in ihrer Mittlerrolle ist bemüht, die “ p
linge von deren Notwendigkeit zu überzeugen, ^, jgi
nur bedingt gelingt. Diejenigen Flüchtlinge, die sl pj,
Aufforderung zur Räumung ihrer Zimmer verwe
werden unter Mithilfe der Initiative gezwungen, d p-
Ordnung Folge zu leisten. Die Privatsphäre der
wohner hat gegenüber den übergeordneten hygie "V
Erfordernissen keinen Rechtsstatus mehr und kah ^
mittels Gewaltanwendung verletzt und aufgehoben^.ßSg
den. Am fehlenden Verständnis der Flüchtlinge für ¿tf
Aktion wird für die Initiative erkennbar, dass m ,piit
Fähigkeit zu verantwortlichem Handeln fehlt un
ihr Wille zur Integration fraglich bleibt. Wer kem
sicht zeigt, der muss dazu gezwungen werden. ^scbe
Für Dünnwald äußert sich hier eine kultursp6^^!'
Haltung, die schon seit den 1970er Jahren das p-
nis von Teilen der einheimischen Bevölkerung p,*
über den Zugewanderten bestimmt. Diese Bevöl p\\
gruppe ist den Migranten gegenüber zwar gruh
positiv eingestellt, hat aber Schwierigkeiten, dl
die Anwesenheit der Migranten unwirksam gevV poS1'
Regeln und Verhaltensweisen im Miteinander a p
tive Erfahrungen zu werten. Sie versucht des
erfahrene Unsicherheit durch Regeln und ^°rS a6o A1
einzudämmen und die zunächst offenen Bezieh
den Flüchtlingen durch strukturierte zu ersetzen-
Prozess erleben die Flüchtlinge als einen ver^‘n. ulld3,1
den, durch den sie zu Objekten degradiert were
,03.^
Anthropos
247
Merisi
Ionen
Mnen Handlungen vollzogen werden. Während es den
ten ?lledern der Initiative gelingt, sich ihrer Unsicherhei-
sieflrn Umgang mit den Fremden zu entledigen, indem
r diese Verantwortung übernehmen und deren Raum
da „^kturieren, wenden sie ein Verhaltensrepertoire an,
Hh Ü°er Integrationsstrategien der 1970er und 1980er
bedre nteht hinauskommt. Migranten haben Defizite und
'''ob• n ^er Unterstützung zum Abbau dieser Defizite,
C1 es vor allem an ihnen liegt, inwieweit dies gelingt,
sie Rückschlüsse zulässt, in welchem Maße
f(lr !ich urn Integration bemühen. Genau hierin zeigt sich
der Urinwald die Präsenz eines pädagogischen Habitus,
g|ej^s Mangel an geregelten Akzeptanzmodellen für die
üj) berechtigte Anerkennung von Migranten und den
. arten Fragen nationaler Identität Integration unter
kannmießlicher Betonung des Einzelfalls wahmehmen
9tider ^oßbrenten allgemeinen Regeln, die ja im Mitein-
^¿.*r deutschen Bevölkerung gelten, wird im Fall
bgo 'Stenten mit Misstrauen wenn nicht gar Ablehnung
U^d ^net’ techt beweisbar ist, ob sie wirklich greifen
wUr Anwendung kommen.
ren 11 Hilfe der von Clyde Mitchell in den 1960er Jah-
^r^^tekdten Situationsanalyse in Verbindung mit
die 6 Fourdieus Habitusbegriff gelingt es Dünnwald,
gecjp ,rtenrene Situation zwischen Migranten und ihnen
ber positiv eingestellter einheimischer Bevölke-
Ucfi ,?Urr|indest zu durchdringen. Hierdurch wird deut-
§eli leviel Arbeit letztlich noch zu leisten ist, um eine
Vftde Integration, die auf Respekt und Wertschät-
zen, zu ermöglichen. Roland Drubig
Of Jj n’ Roy (ed.): Ethnobiology and the Science
4^t> Mankind. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2006.
ISBN 978-1-4051-4589-7. (.Journal of the Royal
Institute, Special Issue, 1) Price: £ 19.99
Pliiw to discuss on a mere 200 pages an interdisci-
\ e area where anthropology gets in touch with bot-
tkdip' °§y» archaeology, linguistics, agronomy, history,
Hi01 ne’ an(I pharmacology? In his reader about “Eth-
an<^ tbe Science of Humankind,” Roy Ellen
"'fitted S,to assemble a series of articles, most of them
by internationally renowned scholars, which
%vioi an astonishing variety of themes and theories.
KVes fs cb°Ice can not be exhaustive, but it still
°'ol(w j ^°°d insight into what has been done in ethno-
V Uring the last decades, and what is being done
Hi0jo e b°ok is more about the theory and aims of eth-
eike, '-dan about methods or practical field experi-
ev,U^ß s°me of the contributors draw on their own,
Atily e ensive field research for reference. It should cer-
In jj- c°Urage further reading.
Ur|J lntroduction (1 -27), the editor attempts to pre-
the f0^r Seven headings, corresponding to the choice
te Htids seven articles, “an empirical account of
Pirst bf theories which ethnobiologists employ” (4).
^ (4 ‘ere H toe Linnean botanical and zoological
i^ce of'6X indispensable for giving the tangible ref-
'he i a Scientific definition, “translating” folk names
ernational categories of scientific Latin. More-
%0p°s 103,2008
over, numerous ethnobiologists have been following the
Linnean scheme in the organization of their research, or
have used it as a paradigm, trying to prove the existence
of corresponding classificatory systems in other cultures.
This directly leads us to the problematics of language
use and knowledge translation (6-8). If we regard lan-
guage as a classificatory device, we might miss much
of its social and cultural implications. Also, one should
acknowledge that language has its limits, and that knowl-
edge often is transferred nonlinguistically.
Cognitive anthropology (8-10), beginning in the late
1960s with the works of Berlin et al., or earlier still with
the dissertation of Harold Conklin in 1954, has been try-
ing to establish universal rules on how humans perceive,
and organize their knowledge of, their natural environ-
ment. Whereas this field has been largely discussed, there
is much less attention being paid on the social postu-
lates of knowledge distribution and knowledge transmis-
sion (10-12). Medical ethnobiology is one of the most
prominent and also most challenging domains of eth-
nobiology (12-14). Although numerous monographs on
ethnomedicine and inventaríes of medicinal plants have
been written all over the world, the editor states that
medical anthropologists often neglect the importance of
thorough ethnobotanical fieldwork, while natural scien-
tists working on folk remedies do not pay the necessary
attention to the ethnographic context. Here, ethnobiol-
ogy, as an interdisciplinary subject, should certainly be
building “intellectual bridges” (13).
Even more challenging, perhaps, is the partaking of
ethnobiology in applied anthropology (14-15). Here lies
a real opportunity for “bottom-up” instead of the usual
“top-down” development projects and a possible re-
sponse to the urgent ecological problems of our time.
The biocultural synthesis and the concept of co-evolution
(15-18) is an approach to demonstrate how culture and
biology, man and his environment influence each other
and which are the links that connect ecological and cul-
tural history. Emphasizing the centrality of ethnobiology
to anthropology (18-20), the editor expresses his convic-
tion that ethnobiology may lead anthropology on its way
to “concern itself once again with the ‘big’ issues: with
the relationship between naturalism and humanism, with
the renegotiation of relations between biology, social life,
and culture” (18-19).
In the opening article, “The First Congress of Ethno-
zoological Nomenclature” (29-54), Brent Berlin takes a
close look on how people might decide on the names they
give to animals. If those names are neither descriptive,
nor referring to the use of the animals or imitating their
calls, are they given in an arbitrary way? Berlin attempts
to prove, by comparing examples from various American
languages, as well as experiments he conducted with two
different groups of students, that the principle governing
here is phonaesthesia, that certain sounds, consonants
or vowels, be cross-culturally associated with distinctive
properties. While highly theoretic, this article still offers
good reading due to perceptive examples and a clear writ-
ing style.
The following contributor, Steven Mithen, makes it
248
Rezension6”
obvious he is a disciple of Berlin’s school, but his article
about “Ethnobiology and the Evolution of the Human
Mind” (55-75) is neither as convincing nor as instruc-
tive as Berlin’s. Mithen speculates about the nature of
early humans’, or hominins’ knowledge about the natural
world. He rejects the concept of human thought being in-
extricably linked to language, but rather than referring to
not language-dependent sensatory perceptions, as Hunn
does later in this volume, he views the human (or prehu-
man) mind in a rather mechanistic way, being a processor
of information, divided into interacting mental modules
and isolated cognitive domains, like the well-organised
harddisk of a computer (62). He takes it as given that
hominins have already classified the natural world in a
“pre-linguistic mode” (70). But how, I am asking myself,
will one make up a taxonomic scheme for things one
is not even able to name? The vision of a speechless
hominin, who has just learned how to walk on two legs,
splitting the vegetational or animal kingdom into fami-
lies, genera, and species, and thus gaining “reproductive
success” (59), seems amusing - if not absurd.
David R. Harris’s article about “The Interplay of
Ethnographic and Archaeological Knowledge in the
Study of Past Human Subsistence in the Tropics” (77-
95) is definitely more pragmatic. The author presents
us with new archaeobotanical techniques which allow
to give evidence of ancient root and tuber cultivation in
the tropics, namely the parenchyma, the phytolith, and
the starch-grain analyses. They promise to give insight
into the domestication process of these staples and to
verify the ethnohistorical hypothesis that roots and tubers
may have been cultivated earlier than cereals, pulses, or
tree crops. The second part of the article deals with the
author’s research concerning tropical forager subsistence
in north Queensland and on the western Torres Strait
Islands, by which example he demonstrates how the com-
bination of archaeological findings, historical evidence,
and ethnobiological fieldwork might render “great gains
in our understanding of the myriad ways in which hu-
mans have procured and produced food from plants, in
the tropics and elsewhere” (91).
The closely related field of historical ecology is laid
out by Laura Rival in her essay “Amazonian Historical
Ecologies” (97-115). Discussing the so-called cultural
decline when settlers turned nomadic after the European
invasion of Amazonia, Rival shows how the holistic ap-
proach of historical ecology helps to our understand-
ing of how nature and human societies interact. In the
particular case of Amazonia, it could prove that what
seems a pristine forest at first sight, might actually be
a human-shaped environment, and also give evidence
against the culture-evolutionary paradigm of man evolv-
ing from hunter and gatherer via trekker to settler. Thus,
the writing of the history of landscapes concerns not only
the past but present and future the like.
Anna Waldstein’s and Cameron Adams’s article,
with its promising title “The Interface between Medical
Anthropology and Medical Ethnobiology” (117-145),
leaves the reader somewhat deceived. It is written as a
kind of annotated bibliography, and it would have gained
much, had the authors paid just a little more consid6”
ation to not American and not English written source8
When Waldstein and Adams refer to the presumph0^
that ethnomedicine is largely based on witchcraft and U
just a symbolic effect, and argue that traditional her
medicine is empirical and can be judged efficient acco
ing to biomedical standards, they certainly run in °P
doors.
If I had to choose the most interesting article m
volume, it would be Paul Sillitoe’s contribution
“Ethnobiology and Applied Anthropology: Rappr0L' .
merit of the Academic with the Practical” (147 — 1/
He indicates how ethnobiology can play a key role
development work, providing a “bottom-up” dispose ^
to encourage sustainable agricultural development a”|
to avoid dependency from the chemical and biotechmc
industries. An ethnobiological view on natural conser
tion will open perspectives on how to preserve natnr
environments without fencing people off. An exchaAA
between indigenous societies, of ethnobiological kno
edge, on soil management for example, might prove v ^
helpful. Applying ethnobiology inevitably also
confronting political issues. Sillitoe briefly, but point6
introduces the reader to the problematics of intellect ^
property rights, of alternative development, and of se
determination. After reading his article, one really ^
ders why there aren’t more ethnobiologists leaving
purely academic to get involved with some of the maJ
challenges of our time. ^
Eugene Hunn’s “Meeting of Minds: How Do ,
Share Our Appreciation of Traditional Environm611
Knowledge” (177-196) is the one article in the book t
is mainly about methods. The author proposes that-
make ethnobiological texts attractive to a larger put| t
who would be alienated by latin and vernacular P1 ^
names and ethnographic details, we might write AW6f,
three books in one” (186), organizing the text in oi
ent layers, the “master narrative,” the “technical na
five,” and the “monographic narrative.” Pointing t0 ^
limitations of language in describing the natural
he suggests to include drawings, photographs, or &
sounds, on multimedia editions. Finally, he emphaS^g
that ethnobiological writing is, and has been for deca
an excellent opportunity to let “the ... voice of the D .
... be heard” (192). I would like to close this review ^
what he writes about the ethnobiologist’s task: “WheU
speak of ‘folk’ biologies and of ‘traditional’ environm
tal knowledge, we self-consciously set our modern u .
existence in opposition to a way of life that has end
far longer than ours and which I hope may contind6’
some form or other, in the face of globalization. I see^0{
reason to apologize for upholding this dichotomy n0i $c
taking sides. I reject the notion that it is either roma ^
or patronizing to affirm the value of a way of life that ^
as its primary goal the continuation of that way 0 ^
through the generations - that is my definition of sUS),-lI1e
ability - and that is confined in space and through
to an intensely familiar landscape, one sufficient fdf
continued existence of an established community 1 *
Christine Paul
103.2008
Anthropos
^e?ensionen
249
j?x ^n§ebrigtsen, Ada I.: Exploring Gypsiness. Power,
la an§e> and Interdependence in a Transylvanian Vil-
9?R iNeW York: Berghahn Books, 2007. 217 pp. ISBN
^-84545-229-2. Price: $ 75.00
Sert niS book is the revised version of a doctoral dis-
En^n written by the Norwegian anthropologist Ada
ten t>n®tsen- B is based on fieldwork conducted some
blf/ears ago in an unnamed Transylvanian community
anduate<^ *nto a Ullage, inhabited by ethnic Romanian
Ungarian peasants, and a segregated “hamlet” pop-
Posu ^ gypsies or Roma. The author had firsthand ex-
re.to both parts, and this enables her to offer illumi-
ofbn§ ^sights into the lives and thoughts of the members
b - the majority as well as the minority.
lions 6 Work bas descriptive as well as analytical ambi-
ititeS the descriptive level, Engebrigtsen provides an
C«ing sketch of the economy, cosmology, politics,
tfie , 'P’ and gender relations of the Gypsies who live in
Eo ^ settlement - somewhat oddly named “hamlet
Eotli ' These people belong to the Vlach subgroup of
si *lan Gypsies, and their competent description is a
liire Cant contribution to ethnography. The social struc-
sjs Q ihese people is characterized by a strong empha-
lea(je mai£ solidarity and equality, and an acephalous
Pecteq^iP Pattem qualified only by a traditionally ex-
rqaje ^but not always given) obeisance of women to
bhgtsaUth0rity- Their cosmology is, according to Enge-
c°nt 6n.’ starkly dualistic and based on the separation of
i^tmg entities, such as male vs. female, pure vs.
dailyre’ ^ead vs. alive, and Roma vs. Gadje. Yet, the
tie*! °bservance of these principles is subject to prac-
eyer c°nsiderations and needs, often triggered by the
PoJ^nt necessity to adjust to the larger universe
skeic^led by Romanian neighbours. The ethnographic
hew ■ °b the hamlet Roma doesn’t provide any radically
^Utbc)las^hts into the workings of Vlach society - the
ofM, clearly follows, and acknowledges, the template
that 4q StewarTs work with Hungarian Vlachs - but
itself 6Sn t detract from the value of the ethnography
Ploj-g^brigtsen strikes a more innovative note in her ex-
lhe r , n °f the local economy and of its role in shaping
°ther p:10118 between Roma and Gadje. Not unlike most
§ists ^PSles that have been described by anthropolo-
ferrjn e People of Roma shy away from agriculture, pre-
Scavenging and trade to the labour intensive and
PUrcbaeak^n§ peasant mode of life. However, since the
^Pen^6 tke goods and services offered by the Roma
%li s °n the goodwill of the villagers, the former are
be Cq to "cultivate” networks of Gadje patrons who can
°f ii|IT|nieb 0n as trading partners or simply dispensers
Vrib' ^ a nicely Presented argument Engebrigtsen
S°cial 68 tke various components of this cultivation of
^an[elati0ns and h°w this Gypsy counterpart to the
Ple^ rnode of production sustains an essentially com-
^the- 0r syuabiotic coexistence between the Roma
neighbours. Although asymmetrical, the
^ Wen ln^ tke two clusters °f residents are of practical
%psiesas symbolic value to both. The peasants use the
to explore the forbidden realm of magic, but
^Pos 103.2008
also to partake of gossip and to gather information about
other villagers. The Gypsies use the Gadje as providers
of the food which they refuse to cultivate themselves, but
also as the local guardians of the manifold boundaries
that keep the two groups separate and that enable the
Roma to enjoy a significant degree of social and cultural
autonomy.
Engebrigtsen indicates that the process of moderniza-
tion triggered by the 1989 revolution and accelerated by
Romania’s integration into “Europe” will have far-reach-
ing consequences for the traditional modus vivendi that
she observed in the 1990s. For example, she claims that
the rise of the country’s “Gypsy problem” to national
and international prominence has made the coexistence
of Roma and Gadje more problematic as the latter resent
the loss of national prestige in the eyes of the normative
West Europeans. In the long run, Engebrigtsen predicts
that the expansion of the “Gypsy agenda” from a local
to a national issue (witness the proliferation of NGOs,
ethnic politicians, and government policies) will result
in the erosion of the locally cultivated relations between
Roma and Gadje and of the cultural superstructure they
prop up.
“Exploring Gypsiness” is a valuable book that makes
a significant contribution to the discussion of interethnic
relations in Romania and beyond. But it also suffers from
a few shortcomings that ought to be mentioned. Its origin
in a dissertation is disturbing in the opening sections that
place too much emphasis on the enumeration of theoret-
ical issues to be tackled and not enough on the people
chosen for study. The reader has to wait until page 40
before the setting of the book is properly introduced.
And even then, throughout the ethnographic chapters that
constitute the core of the work, the degree of detail is
not always sufficient to support the author’s theoretical
aspirations. A particularly glaring omission is the ab-
sence of a more nuanced socioeconomic profile of local
Roma. The reader learns nothing about internal differen-
tiation; are there no differences in income or the ability
to manage resources, giving rise, in turn, to such widely
reported institutions as usury and internal exploitation
associated therewith? This is an unfortunate gap in the
context of Engebrigtsen’s emphasis (following Michael
Stewart) on egalitarianism and the ethos of brotherhood
as an important pillar of Romanimo. Overall, though, this
is a valuable book that addresses a multitude of intriguing
questions in a competent manner. David Z. Scheffel
Eriksen, Thomas Hylland: Engaging Anthropology.
The Case for a Public Presence. Oxford: Berg, 2006.
148 pp. ISBN 978-1-84520-065-9. Price: £ 14.90
Does anthropology really matter beyond the limits of
academia? This old question, often answered emphati-
cally in the most diverse kinds of anthropological liter-
ature, generally by making a plea for more public en-
gagement, continues to be reasonable and justifiable in a
context of frequent political contestations about the so-
cial utilities of humanities. Thomas Eriksen, Professor
of Social Anthropology at the University of Oslo and
250
currently one of the most renowned European anthropol-
ogists, asserts that anthropology has much to say for the
general public and presents his plea for its wider public
presence in this witty and sometimes polemical essay.
His starting point is the assessment of anthropology’s in-
creasing tendency for cocooning in the English-speaking
world since World War II, nourished by frequent profes-
sional reluctance to dialogue with noninitiates.
Eriksen is not worried about any specific kind of an-
thropological engagement as, for example, in minority
rights activism, which he explicitly recognizes as one of
many subjects which make an important contribution to
pulling the discipline out of academic ivory towers. His
concern is more about anthropology’s presence in public
debates about fundamental issues of contemporary life
or, in other words, about its positioning as a universal
intellectual discipline. His point is that anthropology is
too invisible and too silent in public arenas in spite of
its evident wealth in knowledge, and this seemingly has
to do with its complicated professional identity. Histor-
ically, anthropologists needed a long time to construct
their “ethnic frontiers,” but by doing so created a vari-
ety of mechanisms for external and internal exclusions,
which have hampered comprehensive and efficient com-
munication of knowledge and ideas outside the inner cir-
cles of initiates.
Eriksen emphasizes that there a real public demand
for simple and clear answers to complex questions could
be identified, and that the general reading public is far
from unable to absorb complexity, as long as it is pre-
sented through good writing and straightforward and
credible argument. In the first chapter, the author presents
some “styles of [public] engagement,” which have turned
out to be successful so far (as defamiliarization, cultural
autocritique, essay, and biography, for example), repre-
sented by works like Levi-Strauss’s “Tristes Tropiques”
or Mead’s “Coming of Age in Samoa,” but right away in
the next chapter he starts his ironic attacks on what could
be called “ivory tower anthropology”: a set of recipes
for cocooning (academic elitism, hyperspecialization on
“my group”, hiding oneself behind some nebulous refer-
ences to complexity, antiscientific visions of anthropol-
ogy, neglecting narrative in favor of analysis, etc., with
the last possibly being the most important one). The rest
of the book (five chapters) is a mixture of critiques, sug-
gestions, and recommendations about how to make an-
thropology better than it is in the field of extra-academic
communication.
Well selected examples, especially from Scandinavia,
help to understand why the book should not be seen as a
formula or recipe, but as a kind of stimulus or suggestion.
Eriksen’s style is very fluent and eloquent, as he has
already demonstrated in other books. Special attention
is paid to anthropology’s complicated relationships with
the media, above all what Eriksen calls the fast media
(newspapers, radio and TV programs, the Internet) and
to alternative forms of anthropological writing. Readers
will appreciate that there are neither endnotes nor foot-
notes. Although politically correct in grammar and con-
crete concerns (frequently using, for example, feminine
Rezensi°nen
plural instead of masculine), the author does not sp^
polemics against political correctness in itself, and ^
he considers the pemiciousness of postmodernist11
anthropology’s public presence. f.
One could argue that Eriksen’s views are very P
sonal in many parts and that his critiques concen
largely on English-language anthropology, but he J {
lies this focus by the fact that English has an ala1
unchallenged hegemony in contemporary anthrop0^
This tendency is counterbalanced by a number of b
dinavian examples, but it should be complemented
there are other national “styles of anthropology” (cl
Roberto Cardoso de Oliveira), which could serve as ^
cellent alternatives to the portrait of current mainstr
anthropology painted by Eriksen. One could cite»
example, the interesting case of Brazilian anthrop°|
where colleagues like Roberto DaMatta reached nah ^
audiences with his books about “Brazilianness” of e ^
conquered the top ten best seller list for many week8,
is the case of the semifictional but appalling “Ehte s
Tropa” written by anthropologist Luiz Eduardo So
jointly with the police officers Andre Batista and R°d r
Pimentel, which deals with everyday police violence-
“Engaging Anthropology” is an outstanding exai v ^
of engaged anthropology as proposed by the auth01,
is one of the most agreeable and sympathetic book8
anthropology I have read in the last few years, and car^gI-
recommended to all colleagues. Peter Schr°
Erny, Pierre : L’idée de “réincarnation” en
AfW
Noire. Paris : L’Harmattan, 2007. 151 pp. ISBN 9^
296-03228-6. Prix : € 14.50 fg,
Il ne s’agit point ici de réincarnation au sens Pr°^u
mais de croyances en la migration des âmes hof8^
contexte où le public pseudo-bouddhiste, pseudo-hn1 ^
shinto ou chine-toqué de notre temps a l’habitué
trouver pâture à son interrogation angoissée sur leS . $
dernières, en construisant un substitut à la résulte ^
des morts (dans quel état ?). En Afrique, on ne se ^
came pas généralement dans un baobab, une blatte °u i
chameau, mais dans un descendant ou dans un coUa
masculin ou féminin, d’où le triste sort des céliba
sans progéniture !
P. Erny, ce brillant directeur de l’Institut d’Eth11 .
gie de Strasbourg, fondé en 1960 par Dominique 2
a laissé la place au professeur Eric Navet, apres 8a^6
traite, tout en vivant son éméritat par l’écriture
dizaine d’ouvrages, simplement depuis l’an 2000, c° ^
crés par exemple aux “Contes, mythes et mystères » ^
chrétiens de l’antiquité et à leurs rêves, à l’ethnolog ^
la maison, à l’enseignement au Rwanda. Ses terrai
Burkina, du Rwanda, du Congo et du Zaïre de nag »jl
lui ont assuré une remarquable expérience africaine s
a su exploiter, de manière prolifique et non prolix6; s
une trentaine de livres. Je dirai volontiers le parai*6 ^
de nos deux vies : d’abord instituteur, puis pr°r ^
de philosophie dans le secondaire, avant de l’être ^
les secteurs de sciences humaines au sein des umv
africaines. Puis carrière dans une université fran<i
Anthropos
251
e2ensionen
alignements africanistes, direction de Laboratoire ou
sén ^ Ut ^ Ethnologie. De naissance, nous ne sommes
arés que de quelques mois.
Pens Ctt? estitne de mon collègue ne gauchit en rien, je
naf 6’ 1 aPPréciation que je porte à son idée de réincar-
qll 3 dont les développements synthétisent fort bien les
t>lé *6S Inajeures de l’auteur : clarification d’une pro-
par atlclUe’ mise en situation de la personne composite
a1() raPP°rt au contexte idéologique du cycle de vie et du
Ses 6 lnvisible, recours aux expériences énoncées par
aVe^r°Pres étudiants zaïrois, appuis sur des textes divers
rq0b exernPles dogon, bambara, wolof, diola, samo, agni,
par[ a’ bantou ..., prise en compte de situations tout à fait
les ^dières, synthèse théorique et comparaisons entre
netlt nn®es africaines et celles provenant d’autres conti-
jS‘ Ee tour est accompli. Il a débuté de longue date.
6 1116 souviens de l’incontournable Payot de 1972 :
du ant et son milieu en Afrique Noire. Essais sur l’é-
l0n traditionnelle”. L.-V. Thomas m’avait fait con-
li0 6 de P Emy, en 1968, “L’enfant dans la pensée tradi-
ppjs ,e d’Afrique Noire” (Paris : Le Livre africain). De-
tpen auteur se pose comme le maître de “L’enseigne-
ra . y ,ans les pays pauvres. Modèles et propositions (Pa-
l'°n” .p arrnattan’ 1977) et de “L’ethnologie de l’éduca-
Sedt arE ' L’Harmattan, 1981). Même l’ouvrage pré-
test un matériau pour une psychologie en même
^9u’une approche d’anthropologie religieuse.
retoUp ^Eique noire, la réincarnation est conçue comme
C0lrim eVentUel de l’ancêtre, mais sans que soit élaborée
n’gjn - 611 quelque doctrine philosophique, ce qui
Eperc Pas l’Idée d’avoir un impact considérable sur
Piiljaj ePtl°n du nouveau venu à l’intérieur du groupe fa-
ipar et sur la structuration de la personnalité de l’enfant
cUrrié u ^ans son existence quotidienne comme un réin-
Phil ' ingénésie (‘nouvelle naissance’) est un terme
Poür S??Eique qui remonte principalement aux stoïciens
^ents esiêner le retour périodique des mêmes événe-
apparü ‘ • • Réincarnation est par contre un terme récent
P)êtpe rers 1875 ; il désigne le processus par lequel un
dote ^jutent psychique ou un même corps subtil se
leHces Un CorPs matériel différent à chacune des exis-
Psyc^ SUccessives qu’il traverse” (13-14). La métem-
Sanf est déplacement ou autre état de l’âme. L’idée
^tre asmigration des âmes désigne le passage du même
^Uat ritUel ^°U E'en quelque chose, une partie, une
Pensée10n de la personne) d’un corps à un autre. Mais
rir Ce Savante et pensée populaire interfèrent parfois
' ejtceii eiTle‘ L’est pourquoi j’apprécie particulièrement
CeHes~ .6nte s®rie d’interrogations des pages 20-21 dont
enfaru^' • un même ancêtre peut-il revenir dans plusieurs
c)u SllTlultanément ? La réincarnation peut-elle s’opé-
les vieVlVant même de l’ancêtre? Comment interpréter
% J SlIuultanées de l’ancêtre dans l’autre monde et
Sej ^ude des vivants en tant que réincarné ?
Ertij]]e n ' ^ïiaginaire africain, dans l’au-delà, on vit en
ii^t 7 H°n rtlanêe’ boit, dort et cultive ses champs. So-
°ubliés 68 ^eux mondes ! Les inféconds sont taris, les
^'ferrie S°nibrent dans l’anonymat. L’auteur restitue par-
^ Prop0sl ieu des métaphores utilisées par l’Africain
s des différents états de l’existence, dont la mort
^°Pos 103.2008
qui régénère et revivifie. Pour preuves : les rêves, divina-
tions, ressemblances physiques, traits de comportement
de Valter ego. Le nom devient destin, évidence vécue
au quotidien. Les ancêtres tétéla sont vus comme réglant
la naissance et le sexe de leurs descendants. Chez les
Evé, pour qu’un nourrisson décédé revienne sur terre,
on l’enterre sous des feuilles à faible profondeur et la
mère attend le retour du “même”. Chez les Dogon, il y a
transmission du nyama. Faro décide, chez les Bambara, si
un courant d’air replace le fœtus dans le sein de la mère.
L’esprit du rab agit chez les Wolof. Généralement on de-
mande au devin l’ancêtre revenu dans le nouveau-né, sur-
tout lorsqu’il pleure souvent “pour demander son identité
véritable”. Selon P. Tempels, “on dit que le nouveau-né
‘est’ le défunt, tout en sachant qu’il ne s’identifie pas à
lui, car la naissance ne met nullement fin à l’existence
du défunt dans le monde des morts” (88). Reste à savoir
dans lequel ou lesquels de ses petits-fils un grand-père
se réincarne, si la mort d’un cru réincarné est un signe
de malédiction. Au Zambèze, la fréquentation des ani-
maux laisse croire que les ancêtres se réincarnent dans
des lions, éléphants, crocodiles ou léopards. Montrez-
moi vos marques corporelles, je le devinerai peut-être !
Et vous, sachez si votre ancêtre vous a laissé une énergie,
un influx, un fluide, une vapeur ou une odeur? (106)
A sentir ! mais en sachant qu’il y a des interprétations
savantes et populaires, minimalistes et maximalistes. Les
africanistes invoqués dans l’ouvrage vous le diront. Cinq
modèles de la page 105 sont éclairants ; retour intégral
de la personnalité, identité partielle, affinité ontologique,
parrainage affectif, identité symbolique par le nom.
De la fin j’avais soif, et la comparaison synthétique
avec les données extra-africaines me satisfait, d’abord en
douze propositions, puis par les évocations du Proche-
Orient antique, de la Grèce, de Rome et de l’Asie (circuit
hindouiste de la transmigration samsara, interprétations
shinto du karma, etc.), plus la métempsycose de Charles
Fourier. Sans chercher comme ce dernier auteur “l’har-
monie universelle”, on peut noter les multiples harmo-
niques de cet ouvrage : richesse de l’information, clarté
de l’exposé, rigueur de la démonstration, limpidité et
vigueur du style. En photo de couverture : un bambin
africain tient un pneu d’automobile : cycle de la vie ou
roue de la fortune ? Claude Rivière
Evens, T. M. S., and Don Handelman (eds.): The
Manchester School. Practice and Ethnographie Praxis
in Anthropology. New York: Berghahn Books, 2006.
334 pp. ISBN 978-1-84545-282-7. Price: $ 25.00
Wie wird ein Ereignis, eine Situation zu einem Fall,
der für die soziologische, pädagogische, juristische oder
medizinische Wissenschaft erkenntnisleitend sein kann?
Mit dieser Frage in einem Forschungsverbünd zur Pro-
fessionalisierung von Lemberatung in unterschiedlichen
Handlungskontexten konfrontiert, schien die in den eth-
nologischen und soziologischen Wissenschaften ange-
wandte “extended-case method” der britischen Sozial-
anthropologie eine Antwort zu bieten. Gemeinhin wird
sie als ein Verfahren definiert, das von der detaillierten
252
Rezensi°nen
Untersuchung spezifischer Ereignisse oder miteinander
verknüpfter Ereignisketten generelle theoretische Prinzi-
pien abzuleiten versucht. Dabei wird das erhobene For-
schungsmaterial nur soweit geordnet, wie es der einheit-
liche Charakter des untersuchten sozialen Gegenstands
erfordert.
Im Fall des Forschungsverbundes lagen vor allem bio-
graphiezentrierte Interviews und detaillierte Situations-
beschreibungen sozialer Settings vor. Im Verlauf der Auf-
bereitung dieses Materials wurde nach und nach deutlich,
dass die Darstellung der chronologischen Abfolge der
Erlebnisse, ihre Beziehungen zueinander und der Ein-
fluss, den die jeweiligen Umwelten auf sie ausüben, eine
starke subjektive Einfärbung aufwiesen. Dies erschwerte
eine Systematisierung der Einzelfallstudien. Die enge In-
teraktion zwischen Forscher und Untersuchungsperson/
-gruppe bei der teilnehmenden Beobachtung oder bei den
biographischen Interviews machte jede beschriebene Si-
tuation zu einem einzigartigen, unwiederholbaren Ereig-
nis. Dies sorgte in den Diskussionen des Forschungsver-
bundes über das Verhältnis zwischen dem Partikularen
des Falles einerseits und daraus ableitbaren, generalisier-
baren Makroprozessen andererseits für Klärungsbedarf,
wobei gänzlich offen blieb, inwieweit Fälle, eben wegen
ihres subjektiven Charakters, zur Überprüfung von Theo-
rien geeignet sind.
Anhand welcher Kriterien lässt sich entscheiden, wel-
cher Quantität bzw. Qualität die erhobenen Daten von
Handlungen und Ereignissen sind? Welche zeitliche Tie-
fe des Falls repräsentiert die Datenbasis? Wie gesichert
sind die Mitteilungen der Informanten? Welche gegen-
wärtigen Normierungen und Konditionierungen bestim-
men die Interpretationen des Informanten? Und schließ-
lich wie repräsentativ ist die Auswahl der Fälle und Er-
eignisse, d. h. der alltäglichen Praxis? Auch der ethnolo-
gischen Praxis sind diese Fragen nicht fremd und sorgen
beständig für kritische Einlassungen über den Nutzen der
“extended-case method” für die Forschung. In dem vor-
liegenden Sammelband von Evens und Handelman sind
es diese kritischen Einwände, denen die Autorinnen und
Autoren in ihrer Auseinandersetzung mit der als Man-
chester School bekannt gewordenen sozialanthropologi-
schen Forschungsrichtung ihre Aufmerksamkeit schen-
ken. Dabei verhehlen sie nicht, dass es für sie gerade
diese kritischen Fragen an diese Methode sind, die ihre
Bedeutung für die ethnologische Erkenntnisgewinnung
ausmachen.
Zweierlei steht bei der Manchester School im Vor-
dergrund: Zum einen die Idee, das gesellschaftliche Zu-
sammenleben von Menschen als eines von Konflikten be-
herrschtes wahrzunehmen, die in historischen Konfigura-
tionen begründet sind und der jeweiligen Situation ihren
Stempel aufdrücken. Und zum anderen die Überzeugung,
sich im Forschungsprozess nicht von Theorien leiten zu
lassen, sondern möglichst dicht an den Aktionen und
Handlungen der beteiligten Akteure zu bleiben und sich
an ihnen zu orientieren. Auf die ethnologische Theorie-
bildung und die ethnographische Präsentation von Feld-
forschungsmaterial hat dieser Ansatz ungemein belebend
gewirkt und schließlich mit dazu beigetragen, ethnolo-
gische Forschungen in den 1950er Jahren aus ihrer
schränkung auf koloniale Gesellschaften zu lösen.
In drei umfangreichen Sektionen setzen sich die
toren und Autorinnen mit den theoretischen Impüka ^
nen der Methode, ihrer Entstehungsgeschichte und
rer Bedeutung und Potentialität für heutige gesellsc0
liehe Wandlungsprozesse auseinander. Trotz oder g
de wegen der postmodemen Einsprüche gegen eine ^
zu selbstsichere ethnologische Erkenntnistheorie, die ^
die Dekonstmktion und Reflexion betont, erweist ^
die von der Manchester School initiierte Verbindung
Theoretisierung und direkter Beobachtung von PraXls {
der Feldforschung aktueller denn je für eine Theorie
Praxis und für eine ethnologische Praxis. Hierin se
die Autoren und Autorinnen des Sammelbandes das ,ß
gentliche Potential der von Max Gluckman und J- L ^ef
Mitchell entwickelten “extended-case method” und
aus ihr folgenden Situationsanalyse. ^
Beginnend mit den Artikeln “Ethnographie
British Social Anthropology” von Gluckman aus
Jahre 1961 und Mitchells Reflexion über “Gase and
ation Analysis” aus dem Jahre 1982, in denen die bei
die Gmndzüge ihres Ansatzes ausführen, eröffnen b
und Handelman die Sektion der theoretischen ImP
tionen anhand der Fragen nach der Beziehung zWlsCUI1d
den Mikro- und Makroebenen des sozialen Lebens
wie sie zu erkennen ist und fragen nach der inneren
bindung zwischen der wieder aktuell gewordenen s
alwissenschaftlichen Betonung sozialer Prozesse un
Herausbildung der “extended-case method”. Für L
zeigt sich in der nie abgeschlossenen, fortdauernd60 ^
gen Verbindung und Aufeinanderfolge von Aktio0 ^
Reaktion im Handeln der Menschen eine ontolog18
Dimension des menschlichen Seins, die, auf den F,^
zessualen Charakter einer Situation übertragen, als
ethisch bestimmte Realität von gegenseitigen Veran
tungsbeziehungen und -Zuschreibungen erscheint. I01 j,
ständigen Nehmen und Geben, Agieren und Rea^g6-
der Akteure entstehen Beziehungsgefüge, die vorn &
hende Beziehungen fortsetzen, erweitern, verändern ^
unterbrechen können. Jede dieser Handlungssequ60^
wird von den Normen, Regeln, historischen Erta jj,
gen, kulturell bedingten Verhaltensweisen der U
schaft mitbestimmt und beeinflusst diese wiederum- ^
Andreas Glaeser versteht aus einer soziologisC^r
Perspektive heraus das ethnographische Vergehe0^,
“extended-case method” als eines, das die Praxis der j,
teure dokumentiert und es erleichtert, mit theorieg ,
teten Fragestellungen an diese heranzutreten und
lungsfolgen, das heißt konkrete Lebenspraxen, s ^
reflexiv zu analysieren als auch in ihren emofi00 >
Prozessverläufen zu verstehen. Don Handelman er ^
Fällen
diesen Blick, indem er die Darstellung von * •**- pftr
Situationen als Beschreibungen mikrohistorischer
zesse deutet, die zeigen, wie Menschen ihr Hände » g,
re Praxis, praktizieren und so offene historische b ^
se generieren. In diesem Sinne hält die “extende
method” nicht Rückschau auf vergangene Prozesse _
dem spürt die in den Praxen der Menschen sich z ^ ei
den Zukunftsoptionen auf. Bruce Kapferer, der no
1O3.3008
Anthropos
Pensionen
253
ocT
{r studieren konnte, betont, wie gerade die Be-
casetUn^ §esedschaftlicher Konflikte in der “extended-
ünd ^^d” einen eminent politischen Gehalt aufweist
ter /US diesem Grund in der Geschichte der Manches-
Se ch°ol immer wieder für Anfeindungen sorgte. Die-
rner!fr^e Plüsche Orientierung hat der “extended-case
w °d’ letztlich zu ihrer auch heute noch innovativen
v t/ die ethnologische und soziologische Forschung
rn olfen _
,lm Kapitel zur Geschichte der “extended-case meth-
yl Wlr<^ dle Entstehungsgeschichte der Manchester
gejih°. ’ 'hre Verwicklungen mit der kolonialen Vergan-
Ve 6lt Großbritanniens, ihre wichtigsten Vertreter und
^eterinnen und die Bedeutung der Methode für ver-
ten te Disziplinen wie Sozial- und Politikwissenschaf-
^ausgestellt. David Mills konzentriert sich in sei-
der Beitrag auf die unmittelbare Entstehungsgeschichte
tün ^ancdester School. Nach der Übernahme der Lei-
reng des Rhodes-Livingston Institute in den 1940er Jah-
de ^0rgte Gluckman für eine Forschungsstrategie, die
ll]n ürch die koloniale Situation hervorgerufenen Wand-
sch fPr°Zessen iR verschiedenen afrikanischen Gesell-
ig ten mehr Beachtung schenkte. Die in dieser Zeit
Semer Leitung entstandenen Forschungsarbeiten
lün 6r1, Urn die beobachtbaren gesellschaftlichen Wand-
brjt- Pr°Zesse darstellen zu können, von der für die
Sch C^6 Anthropologie kennzeichnenden funktionalisti-
0e Und strukturfunktionalistischen Beschreibung von
9cht Sc^a^ten ab und gingen dazu über, aus der beob-
ent^n Praxis der Akteure heraus deren Gesellschafts-
ter l Urge zu untersuchen und ihren prozessualen Charak-
perauszustellen.
che,ür Marian Kempny liegt das Besondere der Man-
phj f*" School in der Fähigkeit, das erhobene ethnogra-
e Datenmaterial über die gemeinsame Arbeitsform
ken nar und erneuter Analyse beständig neu zu überden-
dadurch einen stetigen Prozess von Überprüfung
auck ^interpretation anzustoßen. In diesem Sinne kann
lrete niC^t davon gesprochen werden, dass es ihren Ver-
sonnen und Vertreter um die Bildung neuer theoreti-
Entwürfe geht, sondern darum, anhand ihrer ethno-
Schen Daten gemeinsame Lernprozesse zu initiie-
5t ■ -
reti etztlich ging es darum, nicht über etwas zu theo-
tttiä1 ren’ s°ndem sich praktisches Wissen anzueigenen
j^u benutzen.
(lie ünatü Frankenberg schließlich stellt Gluckman und
^tX ancdester School in den historischen Kontext von
cjw Ünd Freud, zwei explizite Vertreter der Untersu-
Schaf i- Cr d'e Auswirkungen von Konflikten auf gesell-
Vebv 1C^e und individuelle Prozesse, was für ihn darauf
Poiitieslst’ dass diese Art, Anthropologie zu betreiben, ein
^Sches Verständnis voraussetzt.
Heihe Per dritten Sektion stellen die Herausgeber eine
Schaf ,v°n Studien vor, die sich anhand heutiger gesell-
et h 1C^er Transformations- und Wandlungsprozesse
ipetb en, Vorteilen und Nachteilen der “extended-case
zWej pd auseinandersetzen. Karin Norman schildert
a *§eschichten von kosovarischen Flüchtlingen in
lie Sj edcn. Während im ersten Fall die Flüchtlingsfami-
damit au seinander setzen muss, wie der schwe-
Hr,
°Pos 103.2008
dische Staat durch seine Gesetzgebung sie zu einer se-
paraten sozialen Kategorie und Existenz als Flüchtlinge
verurteilt, schildert Norman im zweiten Fall, die Arbeits-
weise einer psychiatrischen Beratung für traumatisier-
te Flüchtlinge. Anhand der beiden Fallbeschreibungen
gelingt es Norman, das Spezifische der “extended-case
method” herauszuarbeiten; die Darstellung der Dynami-
ken von Praxis in einem spezifischen, durch geschichtli-
che Erfahrungen, Normen und Regeln bestimmten Kon-
text. C. Bawa Yamba konzentriert sich in seiner Studie
auf die im Rahmen einer Aufklärungskampagne über
HIV und Aids in Sambia wieder aufkommenden Furcht
vor Hexen. Ausgelöst durch ein schwedisches Hilfspro-
jekt, das sich, um an die Vorstellungswelt der ländli-
chen Bevölkerung anschlussfähig zu sein, an dem ethno-
graphisch dokumentierten Glauben an Hexen orientiert,
unterzieht Yamba die “extended-case method” einer ve-
hementen Kritik und fordert dazu auf, ihre Prozessdar-
stellungen nicht als verbindliche Wahrheiten anzusehen,
sondern immer wieder neu zu überprüfen bzw. erneut, an
den aktuellen Prozessen orientiert, zu analysieren. Björn
Lindgren schildert wie der Versuch einer Tochter, das
Erbe ihres Vaters anzutreten in Südsimbabwe eine Krise
auslöst. Die Dorfbevölkerung verweigert sich in diesem
Fall der Tradition, dass der unmittelbare Nachfahre des
Dorfchiefs dessen Amt nach seinem Tode übernimmt, da
eine weibliche Nachfolge nicht vorgesehen ist. Lindgren
weist daraufhin, dass es gerade durch die “extended-case
method” möglich ist, Informationen über die Politiken
der Ethnizität und den daraus resultierenden Konflikten
zu erfahren. Sally Falk Moore schließlich zeigt anhand
der “extended-case method”, wie sich an einem klei-
nen lokalen Ereignis in einem Dorf in Tansania die Wi-
dersprüche der tansanischen Sozialismusvariante offen-
baren.
Bruce Kapferer beschließt den Band zur Manchester
School mit einem Essay, in dem er die Verfahrensweise
der “extended-case method” und der Situationsanalyse
nochmals Revue passieren lässt und dafür plädiert, beide
als Ausdruck einer prozessorientierten Analyse zu fas-
sen, die sich den Unterschieden menschlichen Handelns
durch ihre Praxis widmet.
Die Modernisierung der ethnologischen Forschungs-
methoden durch die Manchester School scheint, so legt
es der vorliegende Band jedenfalls nahe, noch keines-
wegs abgeschlossen zu sein. Die Diskussionen in dem
anfänglich genannten Forschungsverbund verweisen zu-
mindest darauf, dass die von Gluckman so gerne getätigte
Analyse und Reanalyse vorhandener Forschungsmateria-
lien aktueller ist, als vielleicht gedacht. In diesem Sinne
sorgt der vorliegende Band für entsprechenden Diskus-
sionsstoff. Roland Drubig
Fardon, Richard: Lela in Bali. History through
Ceremony in Cameroon. New York: Berghahn Books,
2006. 162 pp. ISBN 978-1-84545-215-5. (Cameroon
Studies, 7) Price: $ 65.00
In “Lela in Bali” verfolgt Richard Fardon die Spur des
wichtigsten jährlichen Festivals in den Bali-Königrei-
254
Rezensi°nen
chen im Kameruner Grasland. Die Feierlichkeiten leiten
ihren Namen von der lera-Flöte der Chamba ab, die zu
Beginn des 19. Jhs. durch den jihad der Fulbe gezwungen
waren, ihr Siedlungsgebiet auf dem Middle Belt und dem
Adamawa Plateau im heutigen Grenzland von Kamerun
und Nigeria zu verlassen, um sich dann in verschiedenen
Königs- oder Häuptlingstümem im Grasland zu orga-
nisieren. Fardons Analyse versucht die Geschichte des
Lela zu rekonstruieren. Er beschreibt die Entwicklung
von einem muslimischen üfnrbar-Reiterfestival, das sich
unter dem Eindruck der deutschen Kolonisation zu einem
Fest mit militärischen Elementen entwickelt hat und von
Missionaren und kamerunischen Historikern wiederum
uminterpretiert wurde. In seiner heutigen Erscheinung
gleicht das Lela einem großen Volksfest mit folkloristi-
schen Zügen.
Die jährlichen Lela-Feierlichkeiten dienten durch die
Zeiten hinweg als Zurschaustellung von Macht. Dement-
sprechend waren sie, abgesehen von der Eröffnungsze-
remonie, öffentlich, kollektiv und partizipatorisch (viii,
101). Im Gegensatz zum durbar im nigerianisch-kame-
runischen Grenzland spielte im Grasland die Zurschau-
stellung von Gegenständen eine bedeutende Rolle. Die
sich neu entwickelten Chamba-Königreiche übernahmen
auch schnell Elemente der reichen Schnitztraditionen
des Graslandes. Während der Kolonialzeit wurden eu-
ropäische Elemente, wie Tropenhelme, eine europäische
Schiffstyphon oder die kaiserliche Flagge, in das Fest
integriert.
Den Kern von Fardons Analyse bilden, neben der
Aufarbeitung von Textquellen, 44 Schwarz-Weiß-Foto-
grafien, die größtenteils von Missionaren der Basler
Mission und dem deutschen Ethnologen Bernhard An-
kermann zu Beginn des 20. Jhs. aufgenommen wurden.
Darüber hinaus kann Fardon sich auf seine eigenen, aus-
gedehnten Feldforschungen stützen, die ihn seit 1976 mit
den Chamba-Gruppen in Nigeria und seit 1984 mit Bali
in Kamerun verbinden.
Neben Ereignissen, die direkt im Zusammenhang mit
den Feierlichkeiten stehen, gibt Fardons Arbeit Auf-
schluss über die politische Geschichte der Region, die
aufgrund des öffentlichen Charakters in Wechselwirkung
mit dem Lela stand und steht. Auch hier liegt der Schwer-
punkt der Analyse auf dem kolonialen Einfluss durch
Administration und Mission.
Die erwähnten Fotografien, auf denen in der Hauptsa-
che die Lela-Feierlichkeiten von 1908 festgehalten wur-
den, bilden die Ausgangslage des Buches und stellen
gleichzeitig die methodische Herausforderung dar. Die
Aufnahmen, die sich in hoher Qualität im Mittelteil des
Buches befinden, begleiten den Leser durch Fardons
Analyse. Anhand des Abgebildeten und der schriftlichen
Quellen werden die beteiligten Personen, die verwende-
ten Dokumentationstechniken und die möglichen Zusam-
menhänge rekonstruiert.
Fardons Arbeit gliedert sich in sieben Kapitel. Kapi-
tel 1 beschreibt verschiedene Perspektiven auf das post-
koloniale Lela und kommt zu dem Schluss, dass es im-
mer auch dazu diente, eine Verbindung zwischen Ver-
gangenheit und Gegenwart herzustellen. Welche Vergan-
genheit und welche Gegenwart es jedoch zu verbin
galt, musste jeweils unter dem Eindruck der v°m^
sehenden Diskurse und Machtzusammenhänge neU ß
handelt werden (2). Im selben Kapitel liefert Fardon 61
“thumbnail history” (3) von Bali Nyonga, dem ^alTe,
Schauplatz des Geschehens, von der Migrationsb6
gung der Chamba und dem bestens dokumentierten
Aval von 1908. ßJl
Kapitel 2 widmet sich dann detailliert den Vorgang
von 1908, an denen zahlreiche Europäer teilgenoiü^
haben, so dass neben Ankermanns Fotografien eine ^
zahl von Aufzeichnungen erhalten sind, die heute irn
chiv der Basler Mission und im Ethnologischen Kl
um Berlin aufbewahrt werden. Im Verlauf des Kap1 ^
beschreibt Fardon den Kontext, in dem die Aufnah
gemacht wurden, und rekonstruiert in einer Bestands3
nähme der Fotografien deren Entstehung.
Seine Analyse zeigt, wie fotografisches Matena
Produktion von Wissen beitragen kann. Sie zeig1 ^
auch die Grenzen eines solchen Versuchs auf, werinrsSe
sorgfältiger Bearbeitung des Materials manche Sch .
im Bereich des Spekulativen bleiben müssen. Denj,,
ermöglicht die Interpretation der Bilder wichtige R ^
Schlüsse auf die Bedeutung des Lela, insbesondere^
Fardon es versteht, die Abbildungen im Rahmen des
genössischen politischen Hintergrunds zu konteVu
sieren. die
Dies führt Fardon in Kapitel 3 fort, indem e ¡,
Fotografien in Beziehung zu den überlieferten TeXN
len setzt. Dabei wird hier der öffentliche Charakter
Lela deutlich. Es zeigt sich aber auch, dass die Fe ^
tung des Lela nicht zuletzt im Auge des Betrachters
Der Missionar Jakob Keller vergleicht die FeierlK ^
ten mit dem “Versöhnungsfest” der Israeliten. He1
Dorsch, ebenfalls Missionar, interpretiert die Zer
nie als “Lela Sühnopfer” (28). Für deutsche Kü^g
und Händler stand dagegen die kriegerische Bedeh
im Vordergrund. Der deutsche Offizier Franz Hhdej; ^
schreibt das Lela beispielsweise als “Waffenfest y
Rezentere Studien von E. M. Chilver und P. M- Ka ,e
aus den 1960er-Jahren geben Aufschluss über die s
Organisation (50). ' ^
Die folgenden Kapitel schreiben diese Konte ■
sierung fort. Die Zeit vor der kolonialen Macht B^
fung, die Ankunft der Deutschen und ihre AusWtf^^
auf das lokale politische Gefüge werden Stück für ^
aufgearbeitet und in ihrer Bedeutung für das Lela
pretiert. Kapitel 6 widmet sich den Vorläufern des ^
vals und thematisiert die Bedeutung der materiell611
tur für das Lela. qq'
Das abschließende Kapitel rollt nochmals me ^
schichte und die einzelnen Sedimente der Feierfic ^
auf. Es bezieht die Arbeiten lokale Historiker & ^
und beschreibt die Fortentwicklung des Festes bis
Gegenwart. ße-
Fardon macht es dem Leser nicht leicht. 6e ^
Schreibungen sind sehr dicht, und einige seiner AL, n
tationsketten erfordern die Bereitschaft zur angestr6
Reflektion. Dem Leser vermittelt sich dabei lei er Gil-
das Gefühl, wirklich hinter das Phänomen des 6
.2 OÖ8
103
Anthropos
b
Fusionen
255
cken
zu können, weil die unterschiedlichen Quellen ein
Se er°§enes Bild der Feierlichkeiten vermitteln. Teilwei-
ausschließende Interpretationen von Beobachtern
Teilnehmern am Lela verweisen auf die Probleme
^ r solchen Studie: Die Missionare wählten Vergleiche
, dem Alten Testament; dem Ethnologen Ankermann
eth 68 Um ^as Sammeln von Daten für vergleichende
dje ° °§ische Forschung; Offiziere und Händler stellten
Itit ^ irischen Komponenten in den Mittelpunkt ihrer
preerpretati°nen- Keine der Sichten kann jedoch die Inter-
ggh^onshoheit für sich beanspruchen. Fardons Heran-
t^Weise der Konstruktion und historischen Kontex-
^^isierung mag methodisch richtig sein, der Leser wird
jed ^6r Vielzahl der Sichtweisen und Interpretationen
Weitgehend allein gelassen.
^ , ennoch ist Fardons Buch ein wichtiger Beitrag -
nur zur lokalen Geschichte des Graslandes von Ka-
Cn-Hs trägt zu einem größeren Verständnis für Trans-
^ ^donsprozesse von Ritualen bei und stellt wichtige
die ,°dische Fragen, die all jene interessieren dürften,
k Slc^ tnit der Geschichte der frühen Fotografie in Afri-
aad mit visueller Anthropologie befassen.
iu Bali wird”, wie von der “Cameroon Studies”
^ibf 1Cat anders zu erwarten, von einer ausführlichen
rn 10§raphie und einem sehr brauchbaren Index abge-
et- Matthias Gruber
§rat Crr°’ Catarina, and Margot Wallner (eds.): Mi-
Mip1011.Happens. Reasons, Effects, and Opportunities of
i Fration in the South Pacific. Berlin: Lit Verlag, 2006.
194 „
*Urp.ISBN 978-3-8258-6998-2. (Novara - Beiträge
^azifik-Forschung, 4) Price: € 19.90
neuner Sammelband enthält ein knappes Vorwort und
dje Artikel. “Migration Happens” ermöglicht etwa Stu-
fig den’ die sich intensiver mit Migration im Südpazi-
Tj-jg eschäftigen möchten, einen guten Einstieg in Fragen,
^en und Probleme.
§raf 61 erste Artikel von P. Raghuram, “Dis/Placing Mi-
Sche°A ^cories”, soll einen Überblick über theoreti-
sch - j asätze geben, der aber enttäuschend oberfläch-
tung eiat- Stattdessen wäre eine ausführlichere Einlei-
pakt 6r Flerausgeberinnen mit einem Überblick über
Und den Stand der Forschung zu Migration und
%rjö°ra Südpazifik wünschenswert gewesen. Die
Zipii n acht Artikel zeigen aus unterschiedlichen dis-
logie ren Perspektiven (Ethnologie, Geographie, Sozio-
Pef|_e Ün<^ Wirtschaftswissenschaften) verschiedene As-
Pazifil Zusammenhang mit Migration im Süd-
C. y antersucht wurden und werden. J. Connell und
bon • ^'Graf (“Towards Autonomy? Gendered Migra-
M. ^lr\ Bacific Island Countries”) sowie M. Mohant,
^ und V. Naidu (“International Migration, Hu-
cific, TaPital Löss, and Development in the South Pa-
tüati0n *~ase op Fiji”) analysieren die besondere Si-
(H, jyj^. 1 (dschis. Zwei Artikel beziehen sich auf Samoa
^eäs ,Cp'er: “Unwanted Neighbours: Implications, Bur-
ins r Instramentalization of Migration. Rela-
^arnoa’^tWeen American Samoa and the Republic of
’ F). Gough: “Mobility, Tradition, and Adap-
Uthn
°Pos 103.2008
tation: Samoa’s Comparative Advantage in the Global
Market Place”).
Der ausgezeichnete Artikel von C. Macpherson (“Pa-
cific Peoples in Aotearoa/New Zealand: From Sojoum to
Settlement”) beschreibt die Geschichte von Migrantin-
nen und Migranten aus dem Pazifik in Neuseeland über
die letzten fünfzig Jahre. Als Beispiel wählt er die mitt-
lerweile drei Generationen samoanischer Einwanderer.
Er stellt nicht nur das ethnographische Beispiel anschau-
lich dar, sondern gibt auch viele Hinweise auf ethno-
logisch und soziologisch relevante Fragestellungen, die
eine Basis für weitere Forschungen darstellen. So be-
schreibt er etwa verschiedene “soziale Identitäten” von
in Neuseeland geborenen jungen Samoanern. Auch die
besondere Situation der so genannten Afakasi, der Nach-
kommen aus samoanisch-neuseeländischen Ehen, reißt
er an. Er schreibt: “Europeans have increasingly incor-
porated these part-Samoan children into their family net-
works. The achievements of this afakasi population are
highly visible and are routinely ‘claimed’ by both ‘sides’
of their family” (121). Über Nachkommen aus transkul-
turellen Ehen gibt es bislang wenige empirische Untersu-
chungen und auch keine vergleichenden Arbeiten.
R. Bedford und E. Ho schildern aus der Makroper-
spektive Ein- und Auswanderung nach und von Neusee-
land. Eine Darstellung, die sich auf historische Verhält-
nisse bezieht, fügt D. Oxley dem Sammelband mit ihrem
Artikel “Peopling the Pacific with Prisoners; The Trans-
portation of Women to Australia” hinzu.
Insgesamt werden sehr viele Fragen, Sichtweisen und
Themen aus dem Bereich der Migrationsforschung ange-
sprochen, ohne dass sich neben der regionalen Eingren-
zung ein innerer Zusammenhang der Argumente oder
Ausrichtung ergibt. Für einen ersten Einstieg in Frage-
stellungen, die sich aus der hohen Mobilität der pazifi-
schen Bevölkerungen ergeben, ist das jedoch nicht ne-
gativ.
Wirklich problematisch ist die schlechte Betreuung
durch den Verlag, dem es offensichtlich nur darum
ging, schnell und viel zu produzieren. Grobe Fehler wie
die doppelte Abbildung einer Graphik (109), der Ab-
bruch eines Textes mitten im Satz am Ende der Seite
(144) oder die Wiederholung eines Fußnotentextes im
Text (169) hätten durch eine Korrektur leicht beseitigt
werden können. Bettina Beer
Goltenboth, Natalie: Kunst und Kult in Kuba. Ber-
lín; Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 2006. 234 pp. ISBN 978-3-
496-01360-0. Preis:€ 49.00
Centrada en el punto de intersección de arte y reli-
gión, y a partir de la exploración del concepto de arte en
teorías etnológicas, en la estética y en el arte moderno,
esta monografía analiza los mitos y figuras sacrales afro-
cubanos en el culto y en el arte. La parafemalia ritual
afrocubana consiste en parte en objetos de fabricación
industrial (estatuas de santos, “el indio”, muñecas, etc.),
que se hallan en el centro de las reflexiones de Gólten-
both, en cuanto son vehículos de transmisión de mitos y
contenidos sagrados, cualquiera sea el origen y la fabrica-
256
Rezensi°nen
ción de esos objetos. Esta característica presenta un para-
lelismo con tendencias del arte moderno y postmodemo
a nivel mundial, en el cual un objeto trivial puede conver-
tirse en una obra de arte (por ej., los “ready-mades”).
El trabajo se divide en cuatro grandes bloques temá-
ticos: a la discusión teórica sobre el concepto de arte y
estética, sigue la presentación de las tres tradiciones re-
ligiosas: la “Santería” (origen Yomba), el “Palo Monte”
(origen Bantú) y el espiritismo de raíz kardeciana, que en
Cuba se practica con ciertas diferencias con respecto a las
doctrinas de Alian Kardec (la otra tradición religiosa es el
vodú, una tradición rural difundida entre los descendien-
tes de haitianos, practicada en el oriente de la isla, y es-
pecialmente en el medio rural). El tercer bloque temático
analiza la práctica ritual y las perspectivas propias de tres
santeros creadores de arte, que conjugan ambos ámbitos,
ya que, si bien no son santeros tradicionales tampoco son
artistas modernos. La tematización de temas religiosos
afrocubanos en el arte tiene como iniciador al gran pintor
cubano Wilfredo Lam, que alrededor de la década del 40
del pasado siglo, incluyó en sus cuadros objetos rituales,
máscaras y diseños religiosos. En este sentido, Gólten-
both explora la obra de tres artistas cubanos contempo-
ráneos (Martha María Pérez Bravo, Eduardo Garaicoa y
Bernardo Prieto), cuya obra tematiza motivos y mitos de
la santería. El texto está acompañado de numerosas fotos
de la autora, que apuntalan e iluminan acertadamente el
discurso.
Una de las características de estos cultos es que for-
man parte de la vida cotidiana y son visibles a simple
vista, tanto en los altares como en las viviendas de los
practicantes. Goltenboth señala que una de las razones
de la utilización de “ready-mades”, puede haberse visto
influenciada por la dificultad de obtener ricas telas y por-
celanas, lo cual ha coadyudado a desarrollar la tendencia
a la improvisación y a la invención. Si bien la autora exa-
mina distintos objetos de la parafemalia ritual, un tema
central en su argumentación es la presencia de muñecas
de fabricación industrial en salas y altares, y que son
asiento de personajes míticos o “muertos”. Si bien las
informaciones de la bibliografía anterior ya apuntaban a
mostrar que las muñecas no son un elemento decorativo,
aquí se analiza en profundidad el proceso por el cual
una muñeca comprada, que en principio no se diferen-
cia de otras, se transforma en un objeto sacral. Esto se
logra por medio de la “preparación” de la muñeca, que
consiste en un atado con distintos ingredientes; tierras,
plantas, polvo procedente de huesos de muerto, que se
introduce en la cabeza o en el vientre de la misma. (Según
la experiencia de esta comentarista, algunos sacerdotes
no conocen en detalle el contenido de la “carga”, ya que
ésta ha sido preparada por los padrinos respectivos.) Así,
la muñeca es un continente para distintas figuras míticas,
ya que por medio de la “preparación” es provista de aché.
Aché es un concepto central en las tradiciones religiosas
afrocubanas, que se suele traducir como “fuerza vital”,
presente en lo animado y algunos objetos inanimados.
(El aché ha sido analizado recientemente in extenso por
M. Holbraad [The Power of Powder. Multiplicity and
Motion in the Divinatory Cosmology of Cuban Ifá (or
mana, again). In: A. Henare, M. Holbraad, and S. ^aS g
(eds.), Thinking through Things. Theorising Art6^
Ethnographically; pp. 189-225. London 2007].) Si
la muñeca así preparada no se diferencia en su asp :
exterior del que tenía anteriormente, la diferencia s£^o¡l
lia en su significado y el mensaje que conduce- ^
“otra vuelta de tuerca” argumentativa, Goltenboth se ^
tra en las muñecas Barbie, y muestra que tamp°c° s
el mundo occidental las famosas muñecas son ob)
neutrales, sino vehículos de “mitos” occidentales, r ,
clonados con el consumo, la esperanza de la ^lClgn0
a través de la mercancía y la visión del ser huio
perfecto. . St
El tratamiento de las distintas tradiciones relig10
relativamente breve, es convincente, por ej., en 1° s
rente a los distintos tipos de muertos y las relaciones 4
se establecen con ellos - un tema, por lo demás,
investigación apenas ha comenzado. Querría destaca1-’
embargo, dos opiniones erradas y que responden a ^
tendencia bastante difundida en los estudios sobre
se
des
,taca
temática.
Entre la parafemalia del “Palo Monte ^ ^
la llamada nganga, un caldero de hierro de tres P ^
que contiene, además de otros ingredientes, trozos ^
hueso de un muerto, que obedece al practicante-^
autora afirma que no se trata de un muerto identifica ^
conocido, sino de un muerto del pasado, generalmente^
la época colonial (135). Esta es una aseveración °Pu^aS
a los resultados de obras centrales sobre estos _te ^
(por ej., E. Dianteill, Des dieux et des signes. InitU
écriture et divination dans les religions afro-cuba1^
Paris 2000: 166, lamentablemente sin recepción en^d
monografía), ya que, sin conocer el nombre y la iden eS
concreta del muerto que reside en el caldero, n°
posible realizar ninguna acción ritual. Esto coincid j
lo demás con los resultados de obras más reciente8 Q
Figarola, La brujería cubana. El Palo Monte. Sañ ^
de Cuba 2006) y también con las observaciones
comentarista. 7 ^
Goltenboth critica asimismo la caracterización
hace Stephan Palmié del muerto como el coinp0' ^
más importante del caldero (Das Exil der Góttet-
schichte und Vorstellungswelt einer afrokubanischef1 ^
ligion. Frankfurt 1991), ya que supone que se tra ■ ^
la fascinación que crea, en quienes no están inicia je
el elemento espectacular que representa el espirl ^,\
un muerto (132). Sin embargo, son los practican ^ 6j
Palo Monte mismos quienes afirman que el rnuerí0^^
componente esencial del caldero, pues puede faltar s
ingrediente, pero no él. ¿A qué pueden atribuir86 s
resultados diferentes de Goltenboth con respecto a ^
autores? Teniendo en cuenta la finura de su anah8 ^
respecto a estos temas y la importancia que oto b
aspecto émico, no se trata seguramente de una sup e
suya, sino proveniente de los practicantes con jg
habló. Por un lado, dado que la obtención de hue te
muerto es una actividad penada por la ley, eviden ^ ^
prefirieron evitar el tema. Por otro, y este aspecto, ^
más relevante, el tema del “muerto en el caldero ^
cómodo para los practicantes urbanos e intelectua
103-200»
Anthropos
Pensionen
257
nes se han mantenido en este caso la mayoría de las
c°nversaciones.
I 'Jít^énhoih señala que en Cuba los santeros visitan a
Sj artlstas en sus ateliers y discuten con ellos, y que los
los ^°Sl0s s°bre los cultos afrocubanos no se hacen sobre
yacente y practicantes, sino junto con ellos. Esto,
c; Se§uramente es una característica peculiar de la so-
a ad cubana en el ámbito sobre todo urbano, transmite
del ldea erraba be la práctica de estos cultos en gran parte
idea*aiS' * ^uba” es utilizado como una etiqueta que da la
Us& • Una homogeneidad que no existe en la realidad.
p0^l diferencias existentes entre las ciudades de mayor
re ación (La Habana y Santiago) y el resto del país con
^Qri ° a 'a Práctica be estos cultos son considerables,
des 6Scasas excepciones - por ejemplo, las investigacio-
Sch Sobre Cuba central de Jesús Fuentes Guerra y Armin
£>i 'Vegler, Lengua y ritos del Palo Monte Mayombe.
y £.Sj6s cubanos y sus fuentes africanas. Madrid 2005;
dfri Vlna d"esta> La “lucumisation” des cuites d’origine
de ?aine a Cuba. Le cas de Sagua la Grande. Journal
>dv ,a.^OCíeíe de Américanistes 2005/1: 113-138 - los
l0sesti§adores se concentran en el ámbito urbano y en
resiSanteros de los estratos intelectuales y proyectan los
l<w ab°s obtenidos a todo el país. ¿Pero es esto metodo-
tiga , j^ente correcto? Uno de los principios de la inves-
y djjl0n antropológica es la identificación de las fuentes
(jp c°ntexto en el cual se obtuvieron las informaciones,
blan aS° bUstrativo son las interpretaciones de una santera
cCm a Santiago de Cuba, que se refiere a un tema
r6pr be esta monografía: los objetos de plástico que
abicheUtan a beidades (98 s.). Esta comentarista conoce
Sea a Santera’ Y cree que el hecho que además de serlo,
me ^hién licenciada en historia colonial es absoluta-
Poqb j <ai^no be mención. Una santera rural hubiera hecho
prac . erTlente otros comentarios, ya que generalmente los
nj D antes rurales ni visitan a los artistas en sus ateliers
edto 1ClPan en simposios. Con respecto a Cuba sucede
el pajs6s clUe La Habana representa pars pro tota a todo
reCü S’ que produce una homogeneidad artificial y
en °tro orden de cosas, lo que sucede con Ale-
Up em’ bonbe Baviera es presentada para el turismo como
Hst 'erna b£ todo el país.
tíiet0f16 tmbaJO, que suma a su original punto de partida
°§ic° un estilo excelente, no habitual en mono-
c¡a ^tropológlcas, se ve enturbiado por la negligen-
te^ ° reberente al uso del español. Las citas poseen
falta de°lL?rrores posibles: ortográficos, de acentuación,
PoS”) n (incluido algún caso infeliz, como “cumplea-
aqoj ja -Í°s be tratarse de casos aislados, los errores son
barpe noruia, y en algunos casos alcanzan involunta-
tríoni >? ^a caricatura (“chefe” por “jefe”, “moncha” por
tJa L
Piepte s Carencias lingüísticas se reflejan dramática-
¡0s pa^n 'a bibliografía. En Cuba, como en la mayoría de
ProCedees Centro - y sudamericanos, existe la costumbre
tebio y nte be España, de utilizar ambos apellidos (pa-
Nte l?atemo)’ en primer y segundo lugar respectiva-
biblj0g desconocimiento de este hábito hace que, en la
lrrtecon • ^OS nombres de autores cubanos sean a veces
°Clbles: por ej. el apellido Duharte Jiménez apa-
thr°P°s 103.2008
rece como Duharte, y el apellido Jiménez aparece como
nombre de pila. Si bien esto permite al menos hallar al
autor en la bibliografía, esto no es posible en los casos
en que se cita a un autor por su segundo apellido, fun-
cionando el primero como nombre propio (Julio Corbea
Calzado se convirtió así en Calzado, Julio Corbea). No
atribuible al mayor o menor conocimiento de la autora
del español es que en algunos casos a un autor se lo
cite sólo por el apellido (Nuñez-Molina) y que algunos
autores mencionados en el texto falten en la bibliografía.
(Si no me equivoco, el lector tampoco se entera en qué
años la autora recogió los materiales que presenta, recién
en la página 101, se lee en una nota a pie de página que
una de las estadías en Cuba tuvo lugar en 1999.)
Se halla lejos de la intención de esta comentarista el
pretender que no se cometan errores en una lengua que
no es la materna (lo que bien conoce con respecto al ale-
mán), pero se trata de carencias fácilmente subsanables
de haber mediado una consulta con español-hablantes,
que seguramente no faltan en Munich. Estas carencias
muestran también la actitud descuidada de la editorial
responsable, que nos tiene desde hace años acostumbra-
dos a la publicación de manuscritos tal como son entre-
gados, es decir, a la falta de lectorado (hay que hacer
la salvedad que, con excepción de este caso, se trata
siempre de monografías escritas en alemán). Es lamen-
table que sean justamente las editoriales dedicadas a las
ciencias sociales las que se conviertan en empresas cuya
tarea se reduce a formatear el texto y vender el producto
terminado.
Si bien la peculiar relación existente en Cuba entre
arte y religión era ya visible anteriormente, el valor de
esta monografía radica justamente en el análisis profundo
de las influencias mutuas y el enriquecimiento que surge
entre los dos términos de esta relación. En opinión de la
comentarista, esta obra, entregada como disertación en la
Universidad de Munich, es la más original de las publica-
das en Alemania hasta la fecha sobre temas del Caribe. El
que sea asimismo una “declaración de amor” a la gente
de Cuba, como escribe su autora (25), no aumenta quizás
su profundidad investigativa, pero la empatia profunda
que se desprende de cada página y de cada retrato de un
santero enriquece indudablemente el análisis e inspira la
admiración del lector por un libro escrito también desde
el afecto. María Susana Cipolletti
Grabner-Haider, Anton (Hrsg.): Kulturgeschichte
der Bibel. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007.
487 pp. ISBN 978-3-525-57309-9. Preis: € 39,90
Kulturgeschichte behandelt nicht einen Teilaspekt ge-
schichtlichen Geschehens. Sie ist deshalb nicht der Ge-
schichte von Politik, Krieg, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft
gegenüberzustellen; sie versteht sich vielmehr als eine
Synthese, der es darauf ankommt, Geist und Lebenswelt
einer Gesellschaft und Epoche sichtbar zu machen. Aus-
gegangen wird dabei von der Lebenswelt, wie sie von
der Kulturanthropologie erfasst wird. Soziale Schich-
tung, Verhältnis der Geschlechter, Formen politischer
Herrschaft, Formen der Wirtschaft, Weisen der Welt-
258
Rezensi°neíl
deutung und moralischen Orientierung stehen demge-
mäß im Vordergrund. Ältere Vorbilder dieser Zugehens-
weise sind etwa Alfred Bertholet, “Kulturgeschichte Is-
raels” (1919); Ludwig Köhler, “Der hebräische Mensch”
(1953) und Carl Schneider, “Kulturgeschichte des Helle-
nismus” (1967, 1969).
In neuerer Zeit ist besonders Gerd Theißen mit Wer-
ken zur Kulturgeschichte des frühesten, im Neuen Tes-
tament greifbaren Christentums hervorgetreten. Solche
Werke weisen ein unterschiedliches Niveau theoretischer
Integration auf; am einen Ende stehen Werke, die ver-
schiedene Aspekte nebeneinander stellen, am anderen
Ende Versuche, den Stoff mit Hilfe einer einheitlichen
Theorie zu durchdringen und darstellbar zu machen. Das
vorliegende Buch bewegt sich auf einem mittleren Ni-
veau, so dass der Stoff weder nur in Einzelteile zerfällt,
noch eine streng durchgeführte Systematik erreicht wird.
Dadurch bleibt der Leser gewissermaßen frei - er wird
weder zu sehr gelenkt, noch bleibt ihm die Deutung ein-
fach selbst überlassen. Der alttestamentliche Teil, gip-
felnd in den schönen Kapiteln “Kulturgeschichte Israels”
und “Herrschaft und Heilsversprechen”, ist etwas deut-
licher integriert als die neutestamentlichen Teile, doch
auch hier bieten die Kapitel “Jüdische Kultur im 1. Jahr-
hundert” und “Christliche Lehre und Lebensform” in-
terpretatorische Höhepunkte. Mehrere Schwerpunkte der
Interpretation treten deutlich hervor; “mosaische Unter-
scheidung” und “mosaische Wende” (in Anlehnung an
Jan Assmann formuliert) sowie “christologische Diffe-
renz”.
Den größten Teil der fünfundzwanzig Kapitel hat der
Grazer Religionsphilosoph Anton Grabner-Haider selbst
geschrieben; kleinere Teile stammen von anderen Auto-
ren: Peter Haider schreibt über das alte Ägypten, Karl
Prenner über Persien, Johann Maier über Entstehung und
textliche Bezeugung der Bibel und Karl Matthäus Wo-
schitz über das johanneische Korpus des Neuen Testa-
ments. Das von Grabner-Haider geführte Autorenkollek-
tiv hat gute Arbeit geleistet. Ich kann mir gut vorstellen,
dass ein Werk wie das vorliegende innerhalb der euro-
paweit an den Universitäten einzurichtenden Bachelor-
und Magister-Studiengänge sehr gute Dienste leisten
wird. Der kulturgeschichtliche Ansatz, die Berücksich-
tigung gerade auch neuerer Forschung, und nicht zuletzt
die angenehme und verständliche Sprache prädestinieren
die “Kulturgeschichte der Bibel” dafür, als Lehrbuch zu
dienen. Bernhard Lang
Grinev, Andrei Val’terovich: The Tlingit Indians
in Russian America, 1741-1867. Lincoln: University of
Nebraska Press, 2005. 386 pp. ISBN 978-0-8032-2214-4.
Price: £35.95
This ethnohistorical work concerns transformations
of the Tlingit indigenous culture that occurred in the
course of the colonial period, in particular during the
Russian rule of Alaska. Although the history of the Rus-
sian colonization of Alaska has been relatively well re-
searched, many aspects of the intercultural contact in
that region still remain to be clarified. Grinev’s book,
which is based on a wide range of published and u
published sources as well as on the existing schoU
works, addresses and partly fills those lacunae. AssU ’
the book is a contribution to the steadily growing ®
of professional and popular literature on the sub)66
something that became possible due to the better acc
sibility to Russian archives after the Cold War. Some
those works, however, contain striking factual and n1^
pretative inconsistencies, which Grinev’s book is &e
to address and correct.
Structurally, “The Tlingit Indians in Russian
АШеГ'
ica” is divided into introduction, in which Grinev t 0
oughly discusses his sources, and three extensive d1
ters divided into 5-7 subchapters. The internal org
zation of the first and the third chapter, devoted to
“traditional” and the postcontact culture of the Tling1^ „
spectively, follows the division of culture into “mated ^
“social,” and “spiritual.” Chapter 2 recounts the histou
the European exploration and colonization of the Tn Ъ
territory. -g
In a manner of many ethnographic monogdT ^
Grinev begins his discussion of the precontact cuitar6
the Tlingit by placing it within its geographical con
He thus identifies the geographical location of that
digenous group at the end of the 18th century - tbaf s
at the onset of the Russian exploration - and descd
the environmental characteristics of that part of lNJ .
America. The author then turns to more particular m1
ters, such as the “anthropological type” of the T'111'^
their linguistic affiliations, internal divisions, and de
graphical issues. Although Grinev’s analysis of the SV a
cific” racial features of that indigenous group seeIinjc
little obsolete, his analysis of the dynamic of interet
frictions, expansions, and assimilations - and hence
mation of new ethnic units that cannot be classified1
neatly-cut categories - is particularly interesting 111 p,
part of the book. The next three sections of the firstc ^
ter concern the “material” aspects of the “tradih0 ^
Tlingit culture - that is, their economic activities,te -
nology and tools, clothing, food production, dwel^y
and settlements, but above all the “prestige econo
- the phenomenon found also among other indig611 ^
peoples of the Pacific Northwest. Surprisingly, °n
this subchapter Grinev presents the theoretical prernl jSt
of his work by giving the reader a brief lecture on
historical materialism. Q-
The discussion on the prestige economy is simm „
ously an introduction to the section on “social cm ■
Here, Grinev describes the social structure and the 1 ^
tution of family among the Tlingit, and analyzes th6c0l)-
of war in that society. He intends to reconcile two ^
tradicting opinions on that last topic (war was ess ^
for the local economy vs. minimal economic fancy ^
war), and concludes that although the Tlingit were in
bellicose, their society lacked war-related instituti
such as permanent warlords. ^ фе
In the section concerning the spiritual aspect о ^
Tlingit culture, Grinev covers such diverse topics aS
conceptions about the structure and nature of the un1
and its phenomena, personal names, morals, and
,2oo8
Anthropos
103
259
*e2ens
Ionen
lore
• Unfortunately, like in the case of his discussion of
do ter*a*” ancl “social” dimensions of culture, the author
UteS n0t s^ow h°w ad ri1086 “spiritual” components are
jjj . c°nnected, for instance, how Tlingit morals reflect
fe lr ldeas about the universe. He links, however, some
res of the moral conduct to prestige economy,
of TaaPter 2 deals very systematically with the history
W ln§d'Uuropean contacts, beginning with the first,
^conjectural, encounters with Japanese and Chi-
w Sadors and with the better documented contacts with
Panish
conquistadors in the 16th century. The mem-
f0U °1' Ihe latter still survives in folklore. These were
ex ^Wed by sporadic expeditions undertaken by French
Mii °rers’ British merchants, and American fur traders,
°n rtf’ doweveF did not produce any significant impact
'Cali 6 Tlingit. Far more important politically, econom-
U and culturally was the coming of the Russians,
lhat ^ ^atCS ^ack to tde Second Kamchatka Expedition
lionsreached Alaskan shores in 1741. The remaining sec-
that f°^ cdaPter 2 are devoted to historical developments
ence ° °Wed that “founding event” of the Russian pres-
12q ln North America. And what followed were almost
Hot 'Vears colonization fueled by fur trade and marked
riativ11^ ^ smadPox pandemics that wiped out scores of
rev .es’ and by numerous armed clashes or even all-out
a s .s ~ hke, for instance, the one of 1802 that presented
stan l0Us threat to the Russian settlers - but also by in-
^ last^ hitermarriage, compliance, cooperation, and
the S ^Ut not least - conversion to Christianity due to
Chu^c missionary endeavor of the Russian Orthodox
dec h- The chapter ends with a recount of the final
Ucte 68 °1 the Russian rule in Alaska that were char-
<*ed by an increasingly ubiquitous commercial and
led . aU American presence in the area, which eventually
t° the
the
purchase of the territory by the USA in 1867
Withdrawal of the Russians.
awcii ui Liic ivuaMdiia.
r0peaie last part of the book concerns the impact of Eu-
and S’ Particularly Russians, on “material,” “social,”
Uentio^ritual” culture of the Tlingit, although Grinev
lhat Qj.ns also some instances of Tlingit culture affecting
Ptoce t^le c°lonists, like, for example, the methods of
UcC()rr|'Sln§ and storing fish. The most significant change,
fact r‘n§ t0 *6 author, occurred in the area of trade. In
alys’t QJ'lnev argues that trade was the most important cat-
aierciai Cultural innovations. This includes both the com-
\vitjj, exchange with colonists and the one conducted
Cons e nelghboring indigenous communities. Another
Tli^i^cntial transformation took place in the way the
by ^ celebrated potlatch. This was marked primarily
cide(ji P’ esence of European goods, although some de-
c°hol" ,ne§ative innovations, such as consumption of al-
°r§ania S° °ccurred. On the other hand, the Tlingit social
°f thisZa^°n’ which Grinev discusses in the next section
lhe Co chaPter, did not undergo major evolution during
Jdcrea aial period. One important exception was the
status p number of slaves - the chief marker of social
ar rnore important was the demographic change,
to in term 6 ^radual growth of the mestizo population due
rieas arriage, and the decline of population in some
°ught about by diseases and warfare in which
AtHh;
r°P°s 103.2008
firearms, another dubious cultural innovation, were being
used.
The closing subsections of chapter 3 describe changes
wrought by Europeans and Americans in the realm of
the “spiritual.” Here, Grinev examines transformations
of “religious beliefs” (a dubious category in the case
of indigenous cultures in which the “religious” and the
“profane” are hardly, if ever, separable) as well as “arts
and games.” The author also shortly discusses the impact
of literacy, which - in turn - cannot be seen apart from
the work of the Russian Orthodox missionaries. He ar-
gues that because of the economic independence of the
Tlingit and their access to abundant sources of food, the
missionaries were able to influence their views only to a
limited degree. This, however, seems to be contradicted
not only by some other scholars, for instance, Sergei Kan,
whose important work on the cultural role of Russian Or-
thodoxy in Alaska (1999) Grinev cites, but also a critical
reading of his own account.
The book deserves praises in the first place for its doc-
umentary value and the thorough use of archival sources
by the author. The appendix containing some of those
sources is certainly valued by all students of the indige-
nous cultures of Northwest. Numerous and exact charts
and maps (the latter could be larger though) support
Grinev’s ethnographic account very well.
On the other hand, the vision of culture sharply di-
vided into “material,” “social,” and “spiritual” blocks
- one of the dogmas of the Soviet era ethnography in
which, by the way, I was also trained - is simplistic and
leaves such issues as, for example, social aspects of re-
ligion or the symbolic dimension of spatial organization
of settlements out of this conceptual framework. Proba-
bly because of these particular methodological premises,
Grinev also tends to downplay some of the factors that
stimulated cultural change among the Tlingit and extol
others. On p. 213, he states that “trade was the basic
channel through which European culture penetrated In-
dian society.” Still, one can argue - even on the grounds
of Grinev’s book - that the missionary activity of the
Russian Orthodox Church transformed Tlingit culture
not less thoroughly than the fur trade and epidemics.
Traders come and go and missionaries, no matter how
much an anthropologist may detest them, stay in native
communities full time, and because of this permanent
presence, they are in the position to affect native culture,
for better or for worse, more than other culture brokers.
Darius J. Piwowarczyk
Harison, Marie Aimé Joël: Vier Jahrzehnte Un-
abhängigkeit Madagaskars. Eine Bilanz der politischen
Entwicklung 1960-1998. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2006.
238 pp. ISBN 978-3-631-55516-3. (Europäische Hoch-
schulschriften; Reihe 31: Politikwissenschaft, 538) Preis:
€42.50
Madagaskar zählt zu jenen Ländern, die in unse-
rer medialen Berichterstattung üblicherweise nur Beach-
tung finden, wenn sie von Naturkatastrophen, Hungers-
nöten oder Bürgerkrieg heimgesucht werden. Politische
260
Rezensi°nen
Hintergrundinformationen, zumal in deutscher Sprache,
sind rar gesät. Umso begrüßenswerter das Unternehmen
Marie Aimé Joël Harisons, die politische Entwicklung
Madagaskars seit der formalen Unabhängigkeit im Jahr
1960 in einem umfassenden Bericht darzustellen.
Das Buch ist in fünf größere Abschnitte eingeteilt,
der erste davon ein “Überblick der Geschichte Madagas-
kars bis 1960” (15-30). Dieser Überblick ist sinnvoll, da
bis heute andauernde Konflikte, z. B. der Antagonismus
zwischen Hochland- und Küstenbewohnem, in der Ko-
lonialzeit bewusst geschürt wurden, und auch die erste
madagassische Republik, begründet zwei Jahre vor der
Unabhängigkeitserklärung, weitgehend unter französi-
schem Einfluss stand.
Dieser ersten Republik (1958-1972) ist das zweite
Kapitel gewidmet (31 -64). Es enthält Unterabschnitte zu
der Verfassung, der regierenden PSD und den Oppositi-
onsparteien und analysiert die Konflikte, die zum Auf-
stand von 1972 und zum Ende der Regierung Tsiranana
führten.
Es folgt ein Bericht über die “Übergangsphase - Mi-
litärregierung (Okt. 1972 - Dez. 1975)” (65-77), eine
Zeit der Neuorientierung auf eine wirkliche nationale und
kulturelle Unabhängigkeit hin, die mit der Ermordung
Richard Ratsimandravas und der Machtübernahme durch
Didier Ratsiraka endet.
Die “Zweite Republik”, die Demokratische Republik
Madagaskar (79-134), wurde beherrscht von der Ein-
heitspartei AREMA, die einen Sozialismus madagassi-
scher Prägung propagierte, und der Person Ratsirakas.
Sie dauerte an bis 1991, als die Bevölkerung mit einem
Generalstreik und der breiten Unterstützung der auch von
den Kirchen getragenen “Forces Vives Rasalama” gegen
Armut, Misswirtschaft und Korruption protestierte. Mit
der Eröffnung des Feuers auf friedliche Demonstranten
am 10. 8.1991 machte Ratsiraka seine Position unhaltbar.
Das fünfte Kapitel des Buches (135-180) beschreibt
die Entwicklungen der Dritten Republik seit 1992 bis
etwa um die Jahrtausendwende: die jeweils durch Volks-
abstimmung verifizierte Verfassung von 1992, 1995 und
1998, die wieder- und neugegründeten Parteien (eine
Auswahl von 25 aus etwa 150), die Regierungszeit Albert
Zafys von 1993-1996 und die Rückkehr Ratsirakas an
die Regierung im Jahre 1997.
Marc Ravolomanana, der derzeitige Präsident Mada-
gaskars, findet noch keine Erwähnung, auch dessen neo-
liberale Politik hat der Autor, trotzdem er in seiner Zu-
sammenfassung (181-187) beklagt, dass der Markt seit
Beginn der 1990er Jahre die Politik beherrscht und dem
Staat seine frühere Legitimität nimmt, nicht vorhergese-
hen. Doch das, was Aufgabe der aktuellen Berichterstat-
tung wäre, kann ein Buch wie dieses nicht ersetzen.
Harisons Darstellung ist ausführlich und detailgenau,
er versucht, in seiner Unterteilung der einzelnen Kapi-
tel die komplizierten politischen Vorgänge überschaubar
zu machen. Auch die Zeittafel (199-222), die Kurzbio-
graphien der politischen Führer (223-236) und ein Ab-
kürzungsverzeichnis (237 f.) im Anhang tragen sehr zur
Übersichtlichkeit bei. Ein Personen- und Stichwortregis-
ter vermisst man gelegentlich, es wäre nützlich, um et-
wa den Werdegang bestimmter Politiker oder Institut^
nen durch die verschiedenen politischen Epochen na
zuvollziehen. Was sich allerdings zwischen den Zel
herauslesen lässt, ist die alltägliche Tragödie eines E
des nach der Kolonialzeit auf der Suche nach der n
en eigenen Identität, das unter importierten Ideolog1 ’
ausländischen Interessen, Vetternwirtschaft und Korr F
tion kaum eine Chance zu haben scheint, die sich ste^
verschlechternden Lebensbedingungen zum Besseren
wenden. Christine Paul86
Hawkes, Kristen, and Richard R. Paine (eds ): ^
Evolution of Human Life History. Santa Fe: Sch°
of American Research Press; Oxford: James Curr Z
2006. 505 pages. ISBN 978-1-930618-72-5; ISBN 9'
0-85255-170-7. (School of American Research
vanced Seminar Series) Price: £ 19.95
To a cultural anthropologist, a life history allows
Ad'
on6
еГ
to appreciate the major events that an individual has ^
perienced across his or her lifecycle. In contrast, N <
evolutionary biologist, a life history is a species’ evo ,
trajectory of growth, development, reproduction,
senescence. Life history traits are fundamental speC
descriptors and include characteristics like growth r
age and body size at maturity, litter size, birth spa61
mortality rate, and lifespan. Many features of the hu
life history are unusual. Humans grow slowly and d6^
reproduction until the second or third decade, gre .(6
stretching the period of preadult dependency.
intensive investment of time and resources in offsp1^ 7j
human females manage to space their births closer
achieve higher fertility than other great apes. Huiuat\^
males are also unusual for shutting down reproduc ^
at the menopause, often several decades prior to the
of life. Explaining how and why this unusual huinan
history strategy evolved is a source of perennial de
among biological anthropologists. 0\
This edited volume is the output of a 2002
of American Research seminar devoted to this flueS f6)
A few chapters review material that is covered elseW ^
while many are unique to this volume. All bear direct y
indirectly on how the human life history strategy eV^ ^
and a number of the chapters foreground one moi
human life history evolution in particular: the gr<;‘ f
mother hypothesis (GMH). The GMH holds that,
the menopause, human females contribute to repr° ,
tion indirectly by provisioning their daughters and g1
offspring, thereby boosting the fitness of their c^°secrLleS
As the key proponent of this model, K. Hawkes ar^ty
that the consequent evolutionary pressure for long6 ^
in females has been the driver of the evolution 0 ^
human life history, and that many other unusual n 6
life history traits - such as our extended childhood "
merely come along for the ride.
• n (W1
In addition to coauthoring the introduction f
coeditor Richard Paine), Kristen Hawkes is an aU. a[_
of the first 3 full chapters, which provide emp' 0f
historical, and theoretical background to the stu i
life history evolution. “The Derived Features of
itU
103.2
Anthropos
Wc/ aiSO consider the nutritional drain of growing a
- 6 bram, which might have favored a slower pace of
^c growth in humans and nonhuman primates.
Pensionen
rev History” (with S. L. Robson and C. R van Schaik)
ews how the human life history diverges from the
Sati aI*an °r Pr^mate template> emphasizing early ces-
n of reproduction in females and provisioning as a
fj^Ver °f higher fertility. In “Life History Theory and
^'Vo^uP°n’” Hawkes reviews the history of the
file ’Wltb covera§e °f seminal early contributions by the
file68h°f ^ou^ s (1977) “Ontogeny and Phylogeny.” In
hird background chapter, “Slow Life Histories and
an Evolution,” Hawkes outlines Chamov’s invari-
eVi^aPProach to mammalian life histories, and reviews
t|U ence that these “assembly rules” not only apply to
thans, but beg deeper questions about what drives, and
N n °bows’ tn life history evolution. In a later chapter,
fii Urton Jones reviews ethnographic evidence for life
Cfi ^ Variation in hunter gatherers, and concludes that
arnov’s model applies to humans.
lea n t^le following chapter C. P. van Schaik and col-
•rtin 68 ta^e a cPfferent approach, as they argue for the
fijg bailee of the brain as both a driver and outcome of
fiian °W bistory that characterizes primates and hu-
brain ** note’ f°r instance, the correlations between
tv SlZe and other life history and behavioral traits,
^hey also . • -
r§i
S0Ql
ft x
eVol ‘ login’s chapter summarizes his thinking on the
sta& l0n °fi childhood as a unique human life history
fion ^1S cbaPter’ and D- W. Sellen’s on primate lacta-
reDr burnan complementary feeding, emphasize the
sfiiff Ucbve benefits to the mother of weaning early:
file ln* ^rom breast milk to provisioned foods distributes
Sib|,nUtriti0nal burden of offspring across relatives and
^hilit allowing shorter interbirth interval and higher
fio a *^e*r chapter, L. W. Königsberg and N. P. Herrmann
ti0n Q discuss data of direct relevance to the evolu-
skei° ^Urnan Hfe histories. Instead they use prehistoric
Ierps Secluences to walk the reader through the prob-
tfiese reconstructing demographic characteristics from
t,SamPles’ w^b discussions of Bayesian inference
foil e Rostock approach to paleodemography. In the
tfie hfln^. cbapter, R. R. Paine and J. L. Boldsen model
late VjC history impact of epidemic mortality during the
fife e es°lithic in Western Europe, and question whether
%actPectancaes might have been higher prior to their
Mth ar1’ b dinner and B. Wood round out the coverage
for xelPful synthesis of the paleontological evidence
thors I?ln^n life history variation. Like many other au-
a°te ;h ey bo not take a stand on any given model, but
low at lt occurred in mosaic fashion with different in-
tHillioriris erner§in§ independently during the past several
°Usly j- years. They approach these questions simultane-
Pfiyi0o 0rn the perspective of “lumping” and “splitting”
fifil j °enetic models, which are described in helpful de-
OnnaPpendices.
fifile lsWhole> these are well-written reviews, and the vol-
fion js a;cely edited and produced. The volume’s limita-
at it fails to fully capture the major points of
^tfirnn
Pos 103.2008
261
tension within the field. Reading this volume alone, one
would not appreciate the lack of consensus, or the chal-
lenges to the GMH that have been proposed. Compared
to the tuber-based Hadza which inspired recent versions
of the GMH, male provisioning is important in forag-
ing populations that rely heavily upon hunting. Although
rich, the original Hadza data demonstrating grandmother
provisioning came from 8 women, not all of whom were
technically grandmothers. Much of the subsequent hu-
man evidence for fitness benefits of grandmatemal pro-
visioning has come from sedentary agricultural popula-
tions. In addition, some biologists do not see a need to
“explain” cessation of reproductive maturity in human
females, but instead point to evidence for constraints on
the upper age of viable follicles.
These and other perspectives continue to inspire de-
bate within the field. Here, coverage of such competing
viewpoints is fairly light. As a conclusion to chapter 4,
Hawkes rightly notes that the major models of human
life history evolution all “... recognize human longevity
as an evolved trait - with help from elders, not to them
- the source of the distinctive age structure of human
populations” (126; italics in original). Whether it was
specifically provisioning by grandmothers that drove the
evolution of this strategy is not settled, and I’m guessing
the advocates of competing models could muster data to
challenge some of the arguments presented here.
Despite its failure to fully live up to its title, this is cer-
tainly an excellent introduction to one prominent model
of human life history evolution. Hawkes’s overview of
the history of the field, and of Chamov’s revered but
challenging work on mammalian life histories and life
history invariants, are a great service. The contributions
by the remaining authors nicely complement this cov-
erage, even if the chapters do not always speak to the
predictions of the GMH or alternatives, or in other cases
- such as Bogin’s emphasis on provisioning by kin more
generally and van Schaik and colleagues’ focus on the
brain - propose explanations that are not entirely consis-
tent with it. As the most comprehensive articulation yet
of the GMH, this volume is certain to make a contribution
to the field and its debates. If balanced by coverage of
competing models, it would also serve as an excellent
teaching resource for graduate and advanced undergrad-
uate students. Christopher Kuzawa
Hendricks, Alfred (Hrsg.): Prärie- und Plainsindia-
ner. Wandel und Tradition. - Prairie and Plains Indians.
Change and Tradition. Münster: Westfälisches Museum
für Naturkunde, 2005.135 pp. ISBN 978-3-924590-83-3.
Preis: € 15.90
The Westphalian State Museum of Natural History
in Münster has reopened an exhibition on Native North
Americans from the Plains and Prairie culture area, and
published an accompanying volume for this exhibition as
it has for its temporary exhibition on the Northwest Coast
(see Anthropos 102.2007/2: 622L).
The structure of the Prairie and Plains volume is very
similar to that of the Northwest Coast book. Neverthe-
262
less, the first of a number of chapters written by the edi-
tor, “ ‘Indians’ - Dreams and Reality,” focuses on a new
theme, viz., the various stereotypes circulating on Native
North Americans. The next chapter, “Diversity in Nature
and Culture,” however, not only has the same title as the
corresponding part of the Northwest Coast volume, but
an almost identical content, with only one exception: the
Northwest Coast myth has been replaced by a painting of
a Blackfoot artist which includes mythological aspects.
This general chapter on North America is followed by
an introduction into the Plains and Prairie culture area,
which mainly covers the same topics - geography, cli-
mate, flora and fauna, history - as its equivalent in the
book on the Northwest Coast, but it briefly mentions
further aspects such as the annual life circle and religion
as well.
In “Food - Gift from Nature” Hendricks gives a short
overview of traditional food, nutrition changes during the
early reservation period, and today’s food. As hunting
and gathering food afforded much traveling, it made
sense to include the chapter “Mobility - Mobility Means
Survival” the thematic range of which reaches from the
times when the dog was the only domesticated animal to
the introduction of the horse and ends with contemporary
journeys to powwows. A further aspect of mobility is
presented in “Tipi - Used as a Home”; the description
not only demonstrates the former way of living in this
transportable shelter, but also explains the importance of
the tent for Native North Americans today.
“Clothing and Jewelry - An Expression of Individ-
uality and Identity” deals with indigenous adornment
and dresses - how they were made, when people wore
them, and how they changed by the growing contact
with and the influence of Euro-American culture. Al-
though parts of the bison were used for clothing and
other items, it seems a bit odd to place the chapter
“Bison - Vitality and Strength” here instead of deal-
ing with this topic in the general part on food. How-
ever, the chapter provides the reader with information
on the biology of the animal, the hunting methods used
by Native North Americans, the indigenous usage of al-
most all parts of the bison’s body; a myth and a modern
sculpture reflecting the overall importance of the ani-
mal to the Plains Indians, as well as a few words on
its near extinction are also included. The latter topic
would also have been a suitable subject for the next
section titled “Disasters - Expulsion, Illness, Starvation,
Death.” Nevertheless, this part still comprises enough
themes which have to be mentioned under this heading,
e.g., devastating epidemics, negative aspects of the trade
with Euro-Americans, massacres committed by the U.S.-
Army, and the forced Christianization and “civilization”
of children at boarding schools. Special room is given
to the subject of land loss in “Treaties - Fraud and Its
Consequences.” After having given some general infor-
mation the editor uses historical events concerning the
Dakota - from the signing of the Fort Laramie Treaty
in 1851 to the massacre at Wounded Knee in 1890 - as
examples for treaty violations committed by the Euro-
Americans.
onen
Rezensi'
Annika Hendricks contributes the following tvV
chapters. The first one, “Indian Resistance Moveme
- Search for Identity,” mainly centers on the Amen
Indian Movement (AIM), which is well-represented
data on its foundation, aims, provocative actions, ^
aid programs; other organizations are only mentione ^
passing. In “Native American Church - An Identity
Religion” she provides a short overview on this 8УпсГ
religion including basic information, e.g., on the his
of the use of Peyote and the resulting controversy, the
variants of the ceremony and its order of events.
John and Manuela Well-Off-Man discuss “The Lo „
of Traditional Norms and Values - Causes and ResU .
When the indigenous Plains and Prairie people fin
had to accept life on reservations, because the 8саГ
of game made them dependent on the food rations
tributed there, they came under pressure to exchange t
norms and values against those of the Euro-Arne11^,
society, which were often contradictory to their own-
instance, whereas generosity, the well-being of the gl0 .
and cooperation were important values for Native J>
Americans, Euro-Americans favored values such aS
dividual well-being and competition. Thus, corrupt1 ^
nepotism, and mismanagement could start to sprea
reservations. Another example: How can children 1
traditional values such as the veneration of elders an
importance of the family when adult family member8
addicted to alcohol and drugs? The authors expre88
opinion that the situation will only improve if these ^
ative social attitudes can be changed, and furthermore^
dealing with poverty problems on reservations, that
business ideas by tribal members need more comm11
support, and that traditional values can give a fresh m V
tus to overcome these difficulties. jj.
The last chapter is written by the editor. It 18 ¿
cated to “Life Today - Balance between Preservation
Change,” and hence, is a thematic continuation 0 .u
previous essay. It focuses on the improvements ^ 0
are taking place and have the potential to strenc ^
Native North Americans’ identity, self-confidence,
self-determination, rather than on the existing pr°b ^
Just as the volume on the Northwest Coast, this P ^
lication also includes a bibliography with referenc
popular-science as well as academic literature and p j
credits. The Prairie and Plains book is as well-ibuS ^
as its equivalent on the Northwest Coast; old and m°
indigenous works of art and craft, natural environm^
old and contemporary photos of persons create a ^ a
balanced visual picture of the culture area. To pr®s 0,
somewhat unsharp photo from the National Ant ^
logical Archives, Smithsonian Institution, which18 ,
to depict Crazy Horse (57), although no authentic a
tograph of him is known, would at least have req1
further comment. ^0li,
As there are numerous illustrations the texts are ^
but nonetheless informative. Like the Northwest ^
volume this edition is bilingual. Although the Ь
text was translated by Manuela Well-Off-Man w
did most of the translations in the book on the Hot ^
Coast, the English version of this publication doe
103-
2008
Anthropos
263
^ezens
Jonen
oL
part Senera^ shortcomings criticized in its counter-
q ’ °ne of a few exceptions is the translation of the
t^rillan term “Biinde” as “bands” (72) instead of using
scientific equivalent “societies.”
the n ortunately> a translation can only be as good as
lak °ri^ma^ text, i.e., the German part contains some mis-
the6S an<^ mtsleading passages. For example, concerning
est ^Pread of the horse, it is stated that “The Spanish
the 1S^e<^ ^ar8e corrals near Santa Fe, New Mexico, in
fJ?th century. The Comanche who lived there, got
hre Ular^ze<^ with the horses and became skilled riders,
tsi ners- anc^ horse traders. Through the commanches
horses spread north. The result was that ca.
true Prairie and Plains tribes had horses” (32). It is
had ^at Comanche strongly participated in the horse
ai)cje’ ^ut first, they were not the only horse trading tribe,
ar 8ec°ndly, they only reached the New Mexican border
the beginning of the 18th century.
Cc°rding to the editor, the early reservation period
hfirtf ^aVe keen a vei7 Qdict time: “Furthermore, the
pr , !§rants forced Indians to live on reservations and
Werelbltec* traditional and religious ceremonies. Indians
c0Ur not flowed to speak their own languages” (36). Of
With86’ obviously mixes the situation on reservations
Wer ^at in schools during this period, where children
Punished for speaking their native languages.
Was oitionally, Hendricks mentions that a tipi cover
Wjj^PPorted by ca. 20 poles in the pre-horse time (38),
f{0 l^e tents were smaller and afforded fewer poles.
2q Ven a comparison with other sources reveals that
aSed 68 rather was the approximate number of poles
****** horses were available to carry larger loads.
Plamsernt°re, the editor describes the clothing of South
a ca Wornen as a two piece dress - a leather skirt and
the nv ~ hut this attire went out of fashion before
the * ^th century. He also mentions the massacre at
ladi °Un(led Knee Creek as belonging to the period of
estabf Wars’ although in 1890 (88, 92), peace had been
tshed in the area for more than a decade.
texts 6 'atter examples might be due to the fact that the
spaceare rather short, but nonetheless, a minimum of
Which s^°uld be available to give correct information,
sages the book, of course, comprises despite the pas-
0lUrti Cn^ctzed. Hence, the publication can only be rec-
in to readers who already have some knowledge
Dagmar Siebelt
in p0?°Per? Steven: Pacific Encounters. Art and Divinity
PreSs ^esia, 1760-1860. London: The British Museum
üic ’ p2006- 288 pp., illus. ISBN 978-0-7141-2575-6.
25.00
k<Cl*c Encounters” ist der Titel der Begleitpubli-
Saijlsb 2Ur gleichnamigen Ausstellung im renommierten
(2] ^ Centre for Visual Arts im englischen Norwich
rektor q ^ - 13. 8. 2006). Autor ist der langjährige Di-
^ast A 6r.^atnsbury Research Unit an der University of
seiner a Ur,h Kurator der Ausstellung. Im Mittelpunkt
*Vnesie Ü°. ation stehen ethnografische Objekte aus Po-
t’ hie in der Zeit zwischen 1760 und 1860 ihren
r°Pos 103.2008
Weg nach Europa gefunden haben und heute überwie-
gend in Museen aufbewahrt werden. Die Publikation ver-
steht sich als Einführung in die polynesische Kunst, die
auch Fachleuten durch die detaillierten Dokumentatio-
nen der abgebildeten Objekte Möglichkeiten für eigene
Recherchen eröffnen will. Dem Katalogteil sind drei Ka-
pitel vorangestellt, die neben Informationen zur Religion
und zur politischen Kultur der Region auch Hinweise zur
Sammlungsgeschichte der im Buch abgebildeten Objekte
liefern. Auf diese Weise soll den verschiedenen Kontex-
ten Rechnung getragen werden, in denen diese Kunstwer-
ke - als solche möchte Hooper die polynesischen Ethno-
graphica gewürdigt wissen - Bedeutung erlangt haben.
Hooper liefert mit dem 194 Seiten umfassenden Ka-
talogteil zu “Pacific Encounters” ein kenntnis- und de-
tailreiches Nachschlagewerk zur Kunst Polynesiens aus
dem benannten Zeitraum. Ausgewählt wurden Objekte,
die sich durch große Sorgfalt in der Herstellung auszeich-
nen, davon viele hier erstmals publiziert. Neun Regionen
Polynesiens werden gegliedert, womit nicht auf die heuti-
gen politischen Unterteilungen der südpazifischen Insel-
region verwiesen wird, sondern Inselgruppen zusammen-
fasst sind, die kulturelle Gemeinsamkeiten aufweisen.
Jeder Region ist neben einer Karte ein kurzer Überblick
zur Geschichte der Besiedlung und des Kontaktes zwi-
schen Europäern und Polynesiern vorangestellt. Auf eine
breite Darstellung der Kulturen wird verzichtet, dafür
dem Leser Literatur benannt, die über Kunst, Religion
und Geschichte der jeweiligen Region Auskunft geben
kann. In den Begleittexten zu den Objekten, gleichfalls
mit Literaturangaben versehen, finden sich Hinweise auf
ikonografische Besonderheiten, Material und Formge-
bung, wobei auch Überlegungen zu möglichen überre-
gionalen Einflüssen dargelegt werden. Weitere Informa-
tionen betten das Objekt in seine mögliche Rolle im
kulturellen Leben der Polynesier ein. Soweit mög-
lich werden Quellen europäischer Reisender herangezo-
gen, auch wenn sich direkte Bezüge zwischen einer in
Reiseberichten dokumentierten Sammlungssituation und
einem konkreten Objekt kaum finden lassen. Die Ob-
jektbeschreibungen werden durch die Dokumentation der
Erwerbungsgeschichte mit entsprechenden Quellennach-
weisen eingeleitet.
Der Katalogteil ist außergewöhnlich gut gestaltet, mit
hervorragender Bildqualität und Bildpräsentation, wobei
für viele Objekte zusätzliche Detailansichten bereitge-
stellt werden. Die häufig dunkle Hintergrundgestaltung
bei Objektabbildungen in vielen Katalogen fehlt weit-
gehend. Möglicherweise wollte Hooper damit dem Zu-
sammenspiel von Helligkeit und Göttlichkeit entgegen-
kommen, dem die Objekte im polynesischen Kontext
verbunden waren? Es überrascht nicht, dass “Pacific En-
counters” als bester in Großbritannien publizierter Aus-
stellungskatalog für einen Preis nominiert wurde. Viele
Informationen sind in Form von Listen und Übersichten
aufbereitet. Besonders erfreulich ist die von Karen Jacobs
zusammengestellte alphabetische Liste von Sammlern,
Händlern und Institutionen, die im Buch Erwähnung fin-
den und die generell für die Sammlungsgeschichte von
ethnografischen Objekten aus diesem Raum von Bedeu-
264
Rezension0
tung sind. Ein kurzer biografischer Abriss und Literatur-
verweise zu den meisten Einträgen machen Jacobs’ Liste
auch für spätere Recherchen wertvoll. Eine umfassende
Bibliografie, Index, Abbildungsnachweise - die Leihge-
ber der Ausstellung waren bis auf wenige Ausnahmen
Museen in Großbritannien und Irland - bilden den Ab-
schluss dieses gelungenen Ausstellungskatalogs.
Die Ausstellung fokussierte auf der Verbindung von
Kunst und Göttlichkeit. Die im Katalog abgebildeten
Objekte konnten, folgt man den Ausführungen Hoop-
ers, in bestimmten Situationen zu “Gefäßen” des Gött-
lichen werden, das Göttliche verkörpern, oder sie stellten
auf andere Weise Verbindung zu höheren Mächten her,
auch wenn sie dem heutigen Betrachter von ihrer äuße-
ren Form her nicht als Götterbildnisse erscheinen. Daher
lassen sich ohne Kenntnis der religiös-rituellen Vorstel-
lungen der Polynesier, die Grundlage wiederum ihrer so-
ziopolitischen Ordnungen, die Ethnographica nicht ver-
stehen. Hoopers zentrales Argument verbindet Religion
und Politik mit der Wirkmacht {agency) von Objekten,
vermittels derer Menschen gefahrlos mit den Göttern
im Austausch um lebensspendende Kraft, Fruchtbarkeit
oder Erfolg in Beziehung traten. Religiös-kosmologische
Vorstellungen waren eng mit der zentralen politischen In-
stitution der Polynesier, dem Häuptlingtum, verflochten,
dessen Repräsentanten selbst zur Verkörperung des Gött-
lichen werden konnten. Versehen mit Tatauierungen oder
in Tuche aus Rindenbast, Pandanusmatten oder Flachs
gehüllt, mit Brustplatten aus Muscheln oder Walknochen
geschmückt, den Kopf mit einem Federhelm oder ei-
nem Turban aus weißem Rindenbaststoff bedeckt, stellte
ein Häuptling selbst ein Objekt dar, das göttliche Kraft
(,mana) beherbergte. Gleichzeitig kontrollierten die ge-
wöhnlichen Menschen dieses mana, da sie die Objekte
applizierten. Hooper gelingt der schwierige Akt, der kul-
turellen Heterogenität der Bewohner Rechnung zu tra-
gen, deren politische Hierarchien im 18. Jh. unterschied-
lich ausgeprägt waren. Es gab und gibt keine einheitliche
polynesische Kultur, doch die Ähnlichkeiten in Sprache
und Kultur der Bewohner des Dreiecks zwischen Neu-
seeland, Hawaii und den Osterinseln ist so groß, dass ein
gemeinsamer Ursprung der von Südostasien eingewan-
derten Polynesier (in mehreren Besiedlungswellen zwi-
schen 3000 v. Chr. und 1100 n. Chr.) zu vermuten ist.
Das umfangreichste Kapitel (“Collecting Polynesia”)
folgt dem Weg der Objekte von ihren Ursprungsorten
in Polynesien zu ihren späteren Aufenthaltsorten in ei-
ner europäischen Sammlung. In den Jahrhunderten vor
1760 waren die Kontakte der Polynesier mit Menschen
außerhalb ihrer Region selten. Hooper macht an dieser
Stelle deutlich, dass Polynesien dennoch vor dieser
Zeit keine in sich geschlossene kulturelle Welt darstell-
te. Gerade in vielen ihrer kunstvollen Ethnographica
wird dies deutlich. Material für Ritualgegenstände wur-
de über weitreichende innerpolynesische Tauschbezie-
hungen herangeschafft, polynesische Handwerker und
Künstler immigrierten auf andere Inseln und brachten
ihre Vorstellungen über Form und Gestaltung mit. Als eu-
ropäische Schiffe ihre Gewässer erreichten, zeigten Po-
lynesier großes Interesse an Tauschbeziehungen mit den
europäischen Schiffsbesatzungen, wobei sie nicht №
schließlich an Objekten nichtpolynesischer Herkunft 1
teressiert waren. Häufig wollten sie auch Objekte han ’
welche die Europäer von anderen polynesischen ms
mitgebracht hatten.
Warum sammelten Europäer polynesische
stände? Hier unterscheidet Hooper drei mögliche
deutungen. Es gab das eher wissenschaftlich gelel
Interesse an “Kuriositäten” (“curios”), ein zu darnaftr
Zeit durchaus positiv besetzter Begriff, der interessa
und wohl gestaltete Gegenstände meinte. Die WigS
schaftler auf den großen Expeditions- bzw. Forschung
schiffen, die in diesen Jahrzehnten die Südsee erkun^
ten, sammelten im Sinne der Ziele und Methoden
Aufklärung mehr oder weniger systematisch auch na
kundliche und ethnografische Gegenstände zu klassm ^
torischen Zwecken. Daneben wurden viele Objekte
Seeleuten, Walfängern und frühen Siedlern zur Enn
rung (“souvenirs”) gesammelt, während mit zunehm
veränderten Machtverhältnissen Europäer die Ethnog
phica als Trophäen (“trophies”) betrachteten und da
als sichtbare Zeugnisse von Eroberung und Unter
fung. Hier waren im Untersuchungszeitraum beson
Missionare aktiv. Hooper liefert anschauliche Darstel
gen der Begegnungen zwischen Polynesiern und e ,
päischen Schiffsbesatzungen, wobei er sich überwieg ^
auf englische Reisende beruft. Aus seinen Ausführung
wird damit deutlich, dass das Sammeln von ethnog^
fischen Objekten im gesamten Untersuchungszeim1
wenig systematisch vonstatten ging, da man das na ^
was man von den polynesischen Tauschpartnern an^
ten bekam. Mögliche Kriterien für eine Auswahl ftn ^
sich nicht in den Quellen. Viele Objekte wurden
im Laufe der Reisen zerstört oder auf anderen Inseln
gen andere Dinge wieder eingetauscht. Für viele
stände, die nach Europa gelangten, ist es schwer,
weiteren Weg zu verfolgen, da kaum ein Reisender s
Sammlungen dokumentierte. Die meisten Ethnograf t
ca wurden erst Jahrzehnte später katalogisiert, und n
immer lässt sich überprüfen, ob die Zuweisung über ^
kunft, Sammler und Zeitpunkt der Erwerbung wlIßea
den Tatsachen entspricht. Daher legt das Buch gr<^,
Wert darauf, die abgebildeten Objekte mit einer zuve
sigen Dokumentation zu versehen, um Museumsku
ren Vergleichsmaterial zur Identifikation anderer Sa
lungsbestände an die Hand zu geben. ^
Hooper liefert ein eindrucksvolles Bild nicht nur
komplexen Beziehungen zwischen Europäern und P
nesien in einer Schlüsselperiode ihrer gemeinsame11 .
schichte, sondern macht dem Leser auch sehr dcu
wie schwer es heute ist, für ein einzelnes Objekte
Nachweis zu führen, dass es einst von einem bestimm
. Acpei'-
Schiff nach Europa gebracht wurde. In einigen
ten bleibt Hoopers Einschätzung der Sammlung81 ij,
keit der Expeditionsschiffe vor 1860 jedoch unbet
gend, zumal das Buch als Ergebnis eines ambition^,^
Forschungsprojektes vorgestellt wird (“Polynesian
al Arts. Meanings and Histories in Pacific and Eur r g
Cultural Contexts, 1760-1860”; Arts and Huma11^
Research Board; Förderzeitraum; 2003-2006). Er s
103.300«
Anthropos
265
tezensi
Ionen
Sjc^ wirklich Neues zum Thema vor. Das Buch befasst
Send 6lna^e ausschließlich mit englischsprachigen Rei-
(Sn 611 ^°n ^en §r°ßen Expeditionen anderer Nationen
C’en, Holland, Frankreich, Russland, USA), die im
erh erw^nt werden, sind offenbar nur wenige Objekte
ße- en, woraus Hooper wiederum schließt, das britische
cheSen<^e ^ie aktivsten Sammler waren (56). Die Tatsa-
w’.. ass sich Objekte nicht erhalten haben, bedeutet aber
Vet-ty St nur’ dass s^e möglicherweise nicht ordentlich
2. ß a^rt wurden. Warum sollen sich die Begegnungen
ben ‘ französischer Reisender soviel anders gestaltet ha-
t)je^ s die ihrer britischen Kollegen zur gleichen Zeit?
^ra§e stedt sich unweigerlich, wird aber nicht be-
H
syst wird leider nicht klar, ob seiner Aussage eine
^ erTlatische Untersuchung der fraglichen Expeditionen
det n<ae Fegt oder sich möglicherweise darauf begrün-
ben ass Museen keine Objekte in ihren Beständen ha-
ar^’ 16 au^ diese Expeditionen verweisen könnten. Zum
enr^ren bleiben die komplexen Sammlungsstrategien der
H Pichen Akteure diffus. In einer Fußnote verweist
Schaf ^ ZWar darauf, das der Begriff “curios” das wissen-
ter . lche Interesse jener Zeit kundtat, ohne jedoch wei-
s’ch ;auf elnzugehen, welchen Erkenntnisgewinn man
arT|als von den Objekten versprach. Sie wurden
der ,^er Rückkehr der Reisenden offenbar nicht mit
ObipL en Sorgfalt klassifiziert wie die naturkundlichen
San. e (67). So bleibt der Begriff des “systematischen
te R-.p ns unklar, deren Beginn Hooper für die zwei-
te ^6S Jhs. ansetzt. Man hätte sich hier mehr
das Jfd 'm Umgang mit Begriffen gewünscht, zumal
Schaf 6lria "Hammeln” seit vielen Jahren die Wissen-
anScu S§eschichte beschäftigt. Seine Ausführungen sind
u|lch und informativ, doch es findet sich keine
dert > S^10n darüber, wie sich möglicherweise in den hun-
botienaren d£s untersuchten Zeitraums Strategien, Inten-
f*ers ,Ur|d Situationen des Sammelns aus europäischer
Sche p1 Ve veränderten, ein Zeitraum, in dem polynesi-
erR dnographica z. B. auch ökonomische Bedeutung
des ein Aspekt, den Hooper ausspart. Zu Beginn
Gegeri' 'frs. nämlich sammelten Schiffsbesatzungen die
Um sjeStande nicht allein aus Neugierde, sondern auch,
täteil auP dem sich etablierenden europäischen Kuriosi-
arkt zu verkaufen. Anette Schade
’ Thede, Michael Metzeltin und Mihai-Razvan
descu e^nu (Hrsg.); Rumänien. Raum und Bevölkerung,
Und pQplte Und Geschichtsbilder, Kultur, Gesellschaft
V dik heute, Wirtschaft, Recht und Verfassung, His-
LRe§ionen. Wien: Lit Verlag, 2006. 976 pp. ISBN
b^nm 8-0069-7. (Österreichische Osthefte, Sonder-
Hasreis: € 59-90
v°riiegende Werk ist gewichtig. Aufmachung,
S°W’e Titel- und Umschlagtext vermitteln dem
sPrucR fr£ser unmittelbar den enzyklopädischen An-
§estric, 6S ^Uches. Dieser wird im Geleitwort beraus-
ch e- en und nicht nur mit der aktuellen Notwendig-
Anfani> ^ umfassenden Werkes zu einem Land, welches
Ö07 in die Europäische Union aufgenommen
r°Pos 103.2008
wurde, begründet, sondern mit der Tatsache, dass es im
deutschsprachigen Raum kein vergleichbares Werk jün-
geren Datums zu Rumänien gibt. Das ist richtig und man
kann den Herausgebern und Autoren/Autorinnen nur gra-
tulieren.
Dieses Buch stellt in mehrfacher Hinsicht eine Be-
sonderheit dar. Es vereint in sieben Großkapiteln, die
bereits im Titeltext gelistet werden, Beiträge der derzeit
wohl kompetentesten Regionalexperten. Auffallend da-
bei ist die große Zahl rumänischer Autoren, die zusam-
men mit denjenigen aus dem deutschsprachigen Raum
durch unterschiedliche Annäherungen eine differenzier-
te und vielschichtige Sichtweise auf die behandelten
Aspekte ermöglicht. Da eine nicht geringe Zahl rumäni-
scher Historiker, um einen Fachbereich herauszugreifen,
nach wie vor eine ideologisch geprägte und von revi-
sionistischen Gedanken, vor allem gegenüber den nicht
rumänischsprachigen Minderheiten im Land, bestimmte
Haltung einnehmen und vielleicht gerade deshalb rumä-
nische Historiker auch (noch) nicht den gebührenden
Stellenwert außerhalb ihres Landes erlangen konnten,
lag ein Augenmerk des Rezensenten auf der Rezeption
und Interpretation der rumänischen Geschichte im vor-
liegenden Buch. Es gereicht dem Buch zur Ehre, dass
hier eine sachliche Darstellung der durch zahlreiche Brü-
che, Fremdherrschaft und äußere Einflussnahmen ge-
prägten rumänischen Geschichte gelungen ist, frei von
jeglicher Vereinnahmung und verzerrter romantisieren-
der Erklärungen, wie man sie ansonsten im Land lei-
der noch manchmal bei einschlägigen Diskussionen er-
leben kann. Ereignisse wie der legendäre Konflikt um
das Denkmal des ungarischen Königs Mathias Corvinus
in Cluj (Klausenburg) und dem Verhalten eines dortigen
rechtsextremen ultranationalistischen Bürgermeisters in
diesem Zusammenhang in den Jahren 1992-2004, der
alle ungarischen Spuren zu tilgen versuchte, sowie die
Rezeption dieser Ereignisse durch mehrere rumänische
Historiker zeigen, dass für Rumänen und insbesondere
für einen Teil der rumänischen Geschichtswissenschaft
noch ein beschwerlicher Weg zu einer unvoreingenom-
menen Auseinandersetzung mit der eigenen Geschichte
zurückzulegen ist. In diesem Sinne ist dieses Buch ein
entscheidender Beitrag in die richtige Richtung und man
kann nur hoffen, dass die Inhalte auch eine Wirkung nach
Rumänien selbst entfalten können.
Ähnliches gilt auch für Teilbereiche der anderen
Großkapitel. Das Bemühen um eine möglichst vollstän-
dige Darstellung ist ersichtlich und weitgehend gelungen.
Dass nicht alle Aspekte, welche die vergangene und ge-
genwärtige Entwicklung Rumäniens betreffen, vollstän-
dig und in gleicher Weise abgehandelt werden können,
wird von den Herausgebern Thede Kahl und Michael
Metzeltin im Vorwort eingeräumt und ist nachvollzieh-
bar. Tatsächlich ist eine Fokussierung auf Hauptaspekte
vorgenommen worden. So wird beispielsweise im Bei-
trag über die ethnische Struktur von Peter Jordan und
Thede Kahl neben den Rumänen auf die Volks- bzw.
Sprachgruppen der wichtigsten Minderheiten in Unterka-
piteln eingegangen. Kleingruppen bzw. solche, die histo-
risch eine Rolle spielten und erst durch die Homogeni-
266
sierungspolitik Rumäniens seit 1919 und insbesondere in
der Ceausescu-Zeit marginalisiert wurden, werden aus-
geblendet. So werden weder in diesem Kapitel noch im
restlichen Buch die im rumänischen Teil der Karpaten le-
benden Huzulen erwähnt. Diese Gruppe, deren größerer
Teil heute in der Ukraine als Minderheit anerkannt und
dort sichtbar ist, hat im gebirgigen Grenzgebiet Nordru-
mäniens zwischen östlichem Maramures-Gebiet und der
südlichen Bukowina, nordwestlich von Suceava auch ei-
ne in Rumänien ansässige Bevölkerungsgruppe, die heu-
te, zugegebenermaßen, klein ist. Dies ist auf die rigi-
den Maßnahmen der rumänischen sozialistischen Politik
zurückzuführen, die “unangepassten” Huzulen von den
Bergen “herunterzuholen” und in den Städten (insbeson-
dere in der Region Suceava, Sereth) anzusiedeln und zu
assimilieren. Auch Kurt Scharr, der über die historische
Region Bukowina in sehr anschaulicher Weise schreibt,
erwähnt die Huzulen mit keinem Wort.
Der hier gemachte Einwand soll das Buch aber nicht
schmälern. Selten ist so ausgewogen eine Gesamtschau
eines Landes gelungen. In fast allen Beiträgen wird der
Bezug zur Gegenwart hergestellt. Ausgehend von den
räumlichen Strukturen Rumäniens werden die Demogra-
phie, Migration und die räumliche Entwicklung beleuch-
tet, gefolgt von raumplanerischen Erfordernissen für eine
umweltschonende Regionalentwicklung. Im Großkapitel
“Geschichte und Geschichtsbilder” ist insbesondere der
Beitrag von Harald Heppner herauszustreichen, weil die-
ser das bisher existierende und sich nun deutlich verän-
dernde Geschichtsbild (siehe Erwähnung oben) und die
sich wandelnden und heute umstrittenen Parameter der
Vergangenheitsdeutung hinterfragt und neu gewichtet.
Die Beiträge zum Themenblock “Kultur” zeigen ein-
mal mehr den außerordentlich großen Beitrag Rumäni-
ens zur gesamteuropäischen Kultur und beleuchten dabei
spannende Entwicklungsrichtungen, die im Rumänien
der ersten Hälfte des 20. Jhs. die vielfältigen Identitäts-
krisen des Landes widerspiegeln. Dabei werden im Ka-
pitel von Marta Petreu bisher ungenügend behandelte
Aspekte angesprochen, die über bekannte Namen wie
Cioran und Eliade und deren Beitrag zur abendländi-
schen Philosophie weit hinausgehen. Die Darstellungs-
weise ist dabei sachlich und an einigen Stellen fast schon
zu verschämt distanziert, so z. B. bei der Beschreibung
von Mircea Eliades enger Verbindung und Verwicklung
in die in den 1930er Jahren in Rumänien von Nae lones-
cu geführte christlich-faschistische Legionärsbewegung.
Es wird nicht erwähnt, dass Eliade 1937 dieser Bewe-
gung tatsächlich beigetreten war und dass er 1938 wegen
seiner Agitationstätigkeit dafür mehrere Wochen im Ge-
fängnis saß. Auch der Begriff der “Eisernen Garde” wird
in diesem Zusammenhang nicht erwähnt und erklärt.
Das Kapitel “Gesellschaft und Politik heute” hat si-
cher zentrale Bedeutung, auch und vor allem für all jene,
die derzeit (Geschäfts-)Interessen in Rumänien wahmeh-
men. Dieses und auch die folgenden Kapitel vermitteln
ein Rüstzeug, um, mit den wesentlichsten Aspekten des
Wirtschaftslebens, des Rechts und der rumänischen Ver-
fassung vertraut, Erklärungen für die rezenten Entwick-
lungen im Land finden zu können. Ebenfalls begrüßens-
ioneI1
Rezensi
"hPf
wert ist das letzte der sieben Großkapitel, jenes
historische Regionen. Hier wird auf die im allgemel ^
Sprachgebrauch nach wie vor präsente Begrifflichkei
bestimmte Regionen eingegangen und deren partiku
historische, ökonomische und soziale Entwicklungir
parent gemacht.
Den Herausgebern ist für ihr Unternehmen zu dan
Alle drei sind ausgewiesene Kenner Rumäniens. 1
Kahl ist Geograph und Balkanologe am Österreichise ^
Ost- und Südosteuropa-Institut, Mitglied der Bai
kommission der Österreichischen Akademie der Wis
schäften. Michael Metzeltin ist Vorstand des Ins'1 ^
für Romanistik der Universität Wien und MitgÜ® . •
Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. M1■
Razvan Ungureanu war Regionalgesandter des Sta
tätspaktes für Südosteuropa sowie Staatssekretär unü
Dezember 2004 bis März 2007 Außenminister Rurn^eJ)
ens. Er ist Historiker mit Spezialisierung in Jüdisc
Studien. .
Neben den Literaturverweisen, die am Ende Je j
Beitrags angegeben sind, gibt es ein eigenes Kap*
mit ausgewählter weiterführender Literatur zu RulTl
en. Zahlreiche Karten, Tabellen und Statistiken ergän
die Texte, Bilder finden sich vor allem im Kapitel zur
mänischen Volkskultur von Thede Kahl. Ein detaim6
Index ermöglicht die schnelle Auffindung von Thei*
Personen und Orten. Der für ein Werk dieses
gerechte Preis hält hoffentlich keine Interessierten
Kauf ab. Dieses Buch kann nachdrücklich empf° p
werden, hat zu Recht den Charakter eines Standard^6
und darf in keiner Bibliothek zum südöstlichen Eu ,ßf
fehlen. Hermann Mnc
an°
Keane, Webb: Christian Moderns. Freedom ^
Fetish in the Mission Encounter. Berkeley: Universi
Prpcc 9007 999 nn TQR1M
California Press, 2007. 323 pp. ISBN 978-0-520
2. Price: £ 13.95
tu^y
This is not a typical ethnographic/historical s
of how the Calvinist mission on the island of Sa t
Indonesia, profoundly reshaped religious life m {0
place. That particular story is a slim empirical p° ,Q,
which Keane tethers a wide-ranging theoretical e F^,
ration of the relationship between Protestant Chris ■
ity and modernity. As in his previous book, he is ^
nated by the relationship between words (or things'
meanings. People’s understandings of this relation ^
are what Keane terms semiotic ideology, and
shows how different semiotic ideologies of the Date
the Sumbanese underlay different conceptions of
and moral freedom. Widely comparative, this book ^
far beyond “local knowledge.” Keane frames ^ch
banese as players on a world-historical stage m . je
modernity - as a concept - was finally as inein
for them as it was for Europeans. The missionaries F ^
ceived the Sumbanese across a religious frontier, ^g,
Sumba grew increasingly Christian through time, {0
them dichotomy began to blur. “It makes no se ^
speak in terms of ‘two sides’,” Keane observes (33f \
Sumbanese and the missionaries created and partidP
103.200*
Anthropos
ezensionen
267
. Sether in modernity. Certainly the missionary effort
in tet^ ^rom *ts relationship with the colonial state, but
and 6 ^ecacies-long exchanges between Dutch Calvinists
0j- C Sumbanese, neither side was “in full command
he terms of the discourse” (9).
st . e Calvinists who planted the Gospel on Sumba
1 ln§ at the very end of the nineteenth century were
Self ^ Unsuccessful for several decades. The agency of
'Satisfied natives thwarted the missionaries’ plans, but
haif *S always a slippery concept in Reformed Chris-
cjj where God’s omnipotence overshadows human
ies 1Ce‘ hasn’t the almost fruitless toil of the missionar-
anv'n smalh out-of-the-way place also God’s will? In
Ces^86’ raissionaries did not expect overnight suc-
t0 S' in this era, missionary ethnographers attempted first
(^Understand the language and culture through which
.Jhanfiy mjghi; he naturalized over time into volks-
%i n’ that is, churches thoroughly at home within
Slan Cu^ural settings. They wanted to preserve a sub-
ety lal cultural foundation as underpinning for a seei-
ng Un(lergoing change, but eliminating only those ele-
HantS thought and practice that conflicted with Chris-
cu.^hefs demanded surgical precision at times. The
ing erige still exercises Christian Sumbanese, whose liv-
tiire u'n rnorPh into revered ancestors and whose signa-
n0t houses model the cosmos. The local languages did
din narne a discernible realm called religion, and tra-
SUm?a^ Sumba lacked scriptural texts and creeds. The
tj0 anese missed “even a proper sense of the distinc-
betWeen humans and inanimate things” (39). The
Sao mption that power inhered in ancestral heirlooms and
itsejf 1&1meat’ indeed, that power flowed from language
•titr W^en spoken ritually in rhythmic couplets, stood
thj/hsigently against the worldview of the Protestant
paries.
Calvinist missionaries saw their struggle
1^ ht^a as analogous to that of the Reformation itself,
a Ration is a process of “purification,” Keane writes,
ing t,Cess °f separating, making distinctions, and reorder-
^sav 6 Wor^- Fifteenth-century Protestant reformers had
of ^ °Wed that the Eucharist effected a transubstantiation
e(jib|Cad and wine into actual flesh and blood; the token
TL es Merely symbolized the sacrifice of Christ’s body.
ref°nners’ renunciation of iconic representation, of
Cfirj Sa clergy ar>d their liturgical “magic,” had rendered
Who„lanity in its modem (Protestant) form an almost
Vgj. ^ interior matter. Now the scriptural Word in the
l^lar shined the light of meaning into the dark of
filtlaj Mysteries. Small wonder, then, that Sumbanese
at^v- Speaking and other practices seemed positively
fe^s|St’c to the Calvinists. Native preoccupations with
heij.| an<^ with exchanges of meat and the hallowing of
iess°0rtls seemed misplaced, fetishistic. The missionar-
to e^§ht to purify all that by persuading the Sumbanese
^ race European conceptual distinctions,
eldg .6 c°nversion story of one man, Umbu Neka, an
^as j ^^al specialist in the 1980s when the old religion
Pr0ce ready well into its decline, distills the long social
Hiie S ky which Sumbanese society was transformed
lesisting transformation. If the term “conversion”
ir°Pos 103.2008
implies a precise crossing point in a person’s mind and
being, it is hard to say just when Umbu Neka crossed
that Rubicon. Summoned to embrace the new religion by
a voice speaking to him out of the darkness, he staged
a final nightlong oration and dance to put away the old
and accept the new. Regaling his audience, both seen
and unseen, with couplet-laden speeches, he portrayed
his conversion as a powerful act of reshaping the world.
Then the spirit audience had a chance talk back about this
momentous change through auguries. In Umbu Neka’s
memory, or at least to hear him tell it a year later, his
magnanimous feast had been the impetus for “everyone
else” to accept the Christian message.
The Calvinist missionaries and the Sumbanese shared
different semiotic ideologies, to be sure, but was that
difference any more basic than so many others, such as
the material and political resources to which each side
had access? And why was the gulf of misunderstanding
gradually but ultimately bridged, to the extent that it was?
“Christian Modems” left those questions open. Call me
old-fashioned. I delighted in the details of Umbu Neka’s
story and other such thick description (such as it was) but
was not greatly enlightened by the author’s theoretical
ventures into the well-worn territory of modernity and its
relationship to Protestant Christianity.
Rita Smith Kipp
Keller, Eva: The Road to Clarity. Seventh-Day Ad-
ventism in Madagascar. New York: Palgrave Macmillan,
2005. 286 pp. ISBN 978-1-4039-7076-9. Price: £ 14.99
In recent years there have been a series of efforts to
retheorize the awkward relationship of anthropology to
Christianity, as well as an emergent group of compelling
ethnographies of Christian practice around the world.
Eva Keller’s excellent new monograph “The Road to
Clarity. Seventh-Day Adventism in Madagascar” is a
welcome addition to this growing set of discussions,
one that has much to offer both the anthropology of
Christianity and the anthropology of Madagascar.
Based on her dissertation fieldwork in Maroantsetra,
a small town on Madagascar’s northeast coast, and Sa-
hameloka, a village located up river from Maroantsetra,
Keller’s book is an in-depth study of what Seventh-Day
Adventism means to its practitioners and what it feels
like to live as a Seventh-Day Adventist in semimral
Madagascar. This is no small issue as most Malagasy -
particularly in rural settings - form their social identities
and moral commitments via their relationships with their
ancestors. Like many fundamentalist movements, how-
ever, Seventh-Day Adventist doctrine forbids adherents
from participating in the practices through which local
people communicate with ancestors, interpreting them
as the work of the Devil. Given the inevitable tension
between being an Adventist and living in community
where “the ways of the ancestors” are central to everyday
life, why do people join the Adventist Church? More
central to Keller’s concerns, why do they stay? What does
Seventh-Day Adventism give them that other forms of
Christianity - which have deep roots in Madagascar dat-
268
Rezensi°nen
ing back to the 19th century - do not? How do they nego-
tiate their identities both as Adventists and as members of
a Malagasy community where relationships constructed
through ancestors remain central? And what might the
answers to these questions contribute to our knowledge
of fundamentalist Christianity in Madagascar or else-
where? Keller’s answers to these questions shift the focus
of analysis away from conversion, which has dominated
much of the literature, to an “ethnography of religious
commitment” or why Adventists choose to stay. At the
same time, it moves beyond an analysis of Seventh-Day
Adventist doctrine and church ceremonies, to concentrate
on the everyday practice of lay practitioners.
In section one, Keller provides the social and histori-
cal context for the study, including the general history of
Christianity in Madagascar, and the history of Seventh-
Day Adventism in particular. The section ends with a
chapter on profiles of various people who have converted
to Adventism, a chapter that is particularly important be-
cause it helps to make a crucial analytic point; Adventists
do not share a common socioeconomic background or
social status. What they share is a religious commitment
to Seventh-Day Adventism.
It is the nature of this commitment that is the fo-
cus of part two, which is the ethnographic heart of the
book. Keller peels away, layer by layer, the reasons why
converts find Adventism so compelling. In her analysis
of Bible study, what one lay leader calls “the heart of
the church,” she shows the Socratic, dialogic nature of
Adventist practice. In study sessions at both church and
at home, Adventists learn to read Bible lessons and in-
terpret them as they apply to their own lives. This is no
somber, wrote kind of memorization. Rather, as Keller
(114) writes, “Bible study was of a dialogical, discursive,
and participatory nature, and involved much intellectual
engagement and critical thinking for those taking part.”
It is also clearly fun. Yet despite the intellectual bent,
Adventism is not exactly like science - or rather it is
both more and less like science than one might suppose.
Keller suggests that Adventist practice is similar to what
Kuhn called normal science, in that a paradigm exists and
people try to match their information to that paradigm.
The following chapter places this Adventist enthusi-
asm for books and learning within the context of Mala-
gasy beliefs which link studying and learning with the
acquisition of potency. Yet once again, it isn’t just any
kind of potency - for example, the desire to achieve eco-
nomic power - that these Adventists seek. Instead, the
potency acquired from studying is closely linked to the
knowledge that everything that has happened in the past,
is happening now, or will happen in the future is a result
of the struggle for power between God and the Devil. The
potency gained by studying is a potency to “see clearly”
and according to God’s plan, rather than be tricked by the
Devil.
The catch, however, is that according to Adventist
doctrine, many of the practices through which Malagasy
in this area construct their relationship to their ancestors,
particularly reburials and cattle sacrifice, are thought to
be the work of the Devil. The last third of the book, then,
deals with the contradictions that Adventists face, tryn ^
to negotiate between their identities as Adventists an
Malagasy. In contrast to studies in other parts of A
which have argued that one of the appeals of Adven
is that it enables practitioners to throw of the helTU\^s
of kin, Keller convincingly argues that these Adven
constantly struggle to reconcile their competing idea , uS
in ways that honor both their kinlinks and their rehg
commitments as Adventists.
the
The intellectual argument of the book (despite
duct
author’s quibbles with that label) is clearly a pro
rn°re
Adventist practice, and I would have liked to know
about how Adventism compares in this respect with 0 ^
kinds of Christianity in Madagascar, particularly %
the historical links between Christianity, literacy, aI1
tellectual endeavor in Madagascar. At the same ^
author’s conclusions regarding the potential insight8
Adventism might give to an “anthropology of discon ^
ity” might have been more developed, particularly P .
that so many aspects of what people found attract^
Adventism seemed (to this reader) so familiarly w t
gasy. Nevertheless, these are minor quibbles. As the
ethnographic study of Christianity in Madagascar,
book has clearly set the standard for those to follow ,
Jennifer
Kirsch, Stuart: Reverse Anthropology. lndigen ^
Analysis of Social and Environmental Relation8.
New Guinea. Stanford; Stanford University Press, 2
272 pp. ISBN 978-0-8047-5342-5. Price: $ 21.95 jn
In “Reverse Anthropology,” Stuart Kirsch enga^s
a comparative ethnographic project that combines m ^
nous modes of analysis “with more familiar f°rrnS
analysis from the social sciences” (2). In writing
verse anthropology, Kirsch argues that indigenous aa
ses provide alternative viewpoints that allow for in ^
nous critiques of culture, history, and political eC°n°^6-
Moreover, in this frame, ethnographers can media*6 <
tween forms of social analysis that may be more j
specific, and restricted and those that are more ge^ey
and accessible, yet are potentially alienating in that ^
lose the specific context that appeals to wider aU^ie^6ii,
An ethnography based on reverse anthropology*
“can convey the insights of indigenous analysis
evaluating the political factors that may limit its e j,
tiveness” (187). To this end, Kirsch deserves recogU ^
for this refreshing and intellectually stimulating 111
graph- . raiH
The principal setting for this book is a lowlaa
forest region that straddles the border between
New Guinea (PNG) and West Papua, Indonesia- ^
people, the Yonggom, as they are called in PNG* 0
Muyu, in West Papua, share a common language an ^
ture, although colonial history and contemporary
have combined to create radically different sociat ^
ties for the groups on each side of the border. gS,
the Muyu are currently political refugees in P^ ’ -nSt
caping from the Indonesian state in its reprisals ag e
the Free Papua Movement that is seeking indepeo
103.30°*
Anthropos
269
ezensi
ionen
tro
u Indonesia. The Yonggom (along with the refugee
^ bve along the Ok Tedi watershed, one of the
% \x environmentally damaged and polluted rivers in
estem Pacific due to the large-scale Ok Tedi gold
tlearC°PPer mine some 20 km or so upstream from the
est5 Yonggom communities. The political analyses of
tj0n^‘l s book center on indigenous struggles, interpreta-
r6p ’ and responses related to these two cases - political
ssion and environmental devastation.
, lrsch deploys four indigenous modes of analysis -
aHd ’ ntuab magic (primarily in the form of sorcery),
iCal exchange - along three general trajectories - histor-
par ’ Social, and environmental - that structure the com-
tiieVVC Part °P his enterprise. This arrangement situates
lives °°h between two dominant ethnographic perspec-
har^'n Melanesian ethnography. The first perspective
exch nS ^acht0 the earlier classics on kinship, ritual, and
faile^n§e which, while rich in nuanced analysis, often
iCaJ to account for history, colonialism, and local polit-
W0 r°tivations- The second, and more recent, body of
tj0n aas focused on the state, modernity, and globaliza-
cjpjj Signing Melanesian anthropology with larger dis-
persnary concerns. Critique of the second ethnographic
e>:Pe ettlVe’ however, has been to stress change at the
these*186 confinuity- Kirsch’s “objective is to show how
ipgj etw° ethnographic trajectories intersect by ... [mak-
ysis exPlicit the contribution of Yonggom modes of anal-
6pga 0 their ability to comprehend and learn from their
P^f^ms with capital, the state, and global forces that
t have been expected to overwhelm them” (4f.).
lers ‘ °wing the introductory chapter, the first two chap-
anei the book examine Yonggom modes of historical
tere(jnvIronmental analysis. Rejecting a production cen-
ni0cte °f analysis, which favors capitalist metaphors
de^!110^68 of analysis, Kirsch argues that Yonggom un-
ti0ns a<a historical events and human-environmental rela-
^Pd trough perceptions of intersubjective connectivity
cw ClaI relations. Historically, the Yonggom have been
trpde Cted t0 the outside world through a centuries long
ip ]at'n bird of paradise feathers. Moreover, as described
oUtS]?r chapters, Yonggom readily integrated expatriate
as theers ’nto a preexisting mythic cycle that also served
roPrpe ^as’s I°r male initiation rituals. Yonggom envi-
other ntaI relations are predicated on the basis that the
hpVe sPecies they encounter in their surroundings also
dep agency- Through magical rituals and spells the hid-
Vop,v_ri°utes of the nonhuman world are revealed to the
r6Ci
ic0ri|°m- Thus, principles of animism and totemism (as
apd t, gUred by Philippe Descola [Societies of Nature
dipjj .e Mature of Society. In: A. Kuper (ed.), Concep-
Si^!Ty; pp. 107-126. London 1992] and Tim
liVei|h '1 Pe Perception of the Environment. Essays in
fine yn0od’ Dwelling, and Skill. New York 2000]) de-
tfepy ^n§§om environmental practices and beliefs which
ç lsfinction between natural and cultural realms.
v'de the 6Ct'°ns ^etween fbmg8’ people, and places pro-
Me[an e. basis for Yonggom sociality. Similar to other
V the yans’ a focus on exchange plays a central role
°f the °n§§°m in making manifest the inner aspects
Participants of these collective transactions. An-
hr°Pos 103.2008
thropologists of Melanesia have long used the study of
exchange as a window into other kinds of relations in
these societies. Kirsch does so also, but he focuses on a
particularly interesting aspect of exchange to situate his
analyses of mining and refugee politics, namely that of
failed exchange. The consequences of failed exchange
are referred to as “unrequited reciprocity” (80; and the
title of chapter 3). Unlike negative reciprocity with its
“focus on the agentive party rather than the excluded
other,” unrequited reciprocity draws our attention to the
“interpersonal and emotive connotations” (95) of the de-
humanizing aspect of failed exchange that a person expe-
riences when they feel slighted in these settings.
In the case of mining, unrequited reciprocity stems
from compensation claims that the Yonggom feel they
should be receiving for the environmental damages from
the Ok Tedi mine. Granted, the Yonggom successfully
litigated against the operators of the Ok Tedi mine for a
US$ 500 million settlement inl996, but as Kirsch notes,
the Yonggom “reject the assumption that the liability
of the mining company can be limited to material or
economic terms” (126). As a consequence, the Yonggom
interpret the mine’s failure to provide more compensation
through indigenous notions of sorcery. Like a sorcerer,
the mine causes the Yonggom to live in fear of death and
sickness stemming from pollution. Similarly, sorcery is
the antithesis of the harmonious social relations that the
Yonggom seek through exchange.
Sorcery also provides the context for Muyu refugees
to analyze their relationship to the Indonesian state. Post-
mortem sorcery inquests, which determine the identity
of the sorcerer, have in recent years expanded out from
local contexts to “evaluate the actions and intentions of
the Indonesian state and address ... [Muyu] concerns
about political violence” (170). Whereas the shared inter-
pretations and fears surrounding the discourse of sorcery
helped bring political solidarity to the Yonggom in their
struggle against the Ok Tedi mine, the opposite effect oc-
curred among the Muyu by “exacerbating existing social
divisions and increasing mutual suspicion” (184). While
the Yonggom were able to marshal international support
for their struggle, the Muyu have been unable to do so.
Rectifying situations such as this is where ethnogra-
phies of reverse anthropology can assume an activist and
engaged stance. Kirsch writes, “By documenting polit-
ical violence and representing its human costs, anthro-
pologists can amplify indigenous forms of political ex-
pression, bringing the resources of the discipline and the
moral weight of the academy to bear on injustice” (187).
That this work combines such an emancipatory poten-
tial for anthropology with descriptive, theoretically com-
pelling, and well-written ethnography is a testament to
Kirsch’s scholarship and activism. This is a book that res-
onates with ideas and concepts relevant to multiple fields
in anthropology - scholars and students with interests
in cultural theory, environmental analysis, political and
legal anthropology, and Melanesian studies will find this
book innovative and compelling. Jerry K. Jacka
270
Rezension
König, Gudrun M. (Hrsg.): Alltagsdinge. Erkundun-
gen der materiellen Kultur. Tübingen: Tübinger Vereini-
gung für Volkskunde, 2005. 167 pp. ISBN 3-932512-31-
6. (Studien und Materialien, 27; Tübinger kulturwissen-
schaftliche Gespräche, 1) Preis: € 9.60
Der Mensch gebraucht Objekte zur Erreichung eines
Zieles - das kann, mitunter auch bei einigen Tierarten
beobachtet werden -, aber er versucht diesen Hilfsmit-
teln zusätzlich eine schöne Form zu geben, die deren
Gebrauchswert gewöhnlich nicht steigert, aber einen zu-
sätzlichen Aufwand an Arbeitskraft erfordert. Oft ha-
ben die Geräte noch eine weitere Bedeutung, sie können
z. B. Symbol-, Status- oder Prestigecharakter haben. Die-
ses Ringen um eine entsprechende Formgebung können
wir schon bei frühmenschlichen Gebrauchsobjekten, wie
auch bei Artefakten bei Naturvölkern beobachten. Ver-
gleichsstudien bei ihnen ergaben, dass diese alltäglichen
Dinge außer ihrem puren Gebrauchswert noch andere
Wertungen, z. B. magische, religiöse, geschlechtsbezo-
gene haben können, die mitunter jedoch nur in der be-
treffenden Kommunität ersichtlich und relevant sind.
Vorliegendes Buch, herausgegeben von Gudrun M.
König, welches die Referate der Tübinger Tagung “Über
die Dinge des Alltags. Zur Analyse der materiellen Kul-
tur” enthält, befasst sich aus interdisziplinärer Sicht mit
der materiellen Kultur der Alltagsdinge in ihrer vielsei-
tigen Bedeutung und Wertigkeit für den Menschen. Es
bietet wesentliche Einsichten in die in den letzten Jahren
viel diskutierte Problematik der sogenannten Ding- oder
Sachkultur, mit der wir es im täglichen Leben zu tun
haben. Man kann G. Korff beipflichten, dass der bishe-
rige Wissensstand über die Dingkultur, den er in seinen
“Sieben Fragen zu den Alltagsdingen” behandelt (29-
42), nicht gerade imponierend ist. Ein Rückblick auf die
materielle Kultur der Naturvölker wäre hier oft lohnend.
Man ist bei ihnen immer wieder erstaunt, wie selbst
alltägliche Gebrauchsgegenstände künstlerisch gestaltet
sind, obwohl dadurch ihre Nützlichkeit nicht wesentlich
größer wird. Heute beschränkt man sich leider oft mehr
oder minder auf das rein Funktionelle der Dinge.
Das Themenspektrum dieses Buches ist verhältnis-
mäßig groß, da die Problematik der Alltagsdinge aus
unterschiedlicher Sicht, besonders der geschichtswissen-
schaftlichen, soziologischen, ethnologischen und muse-
umskundlichen angegangen wurde. Solch eine multi-
disziplinäre Diskussion bietet den wesentlichen Vorteil,
dass Anschauungen, Forschungsansätze, Standpunkte
und Belange von interessierten Fachgelehrten verschie-
dener Bereiche besprochen werden können.
Die Grundprobleme dieser Diskussion versuchte G.
Korff in seinem schon erwähnten Referat im Sinne der
Sachkultur darzustellen, wobei er u. a. die prinzipielle
Frage stellt, “ob wir so etwas wie Sachkulturforschung
überhaupt brauchen” (30). Von wesentlicher Bedeu-
tung ist dabei für ihn die Klarstellung terminologischer
Grundbegriffe, wie Alltags- und Museumsdinge, Dinge
und Sachen in ihrem Verhältnis zur Kultur, ihre Symbol-
haftigkeit und Affektbesetzung (41).
Nach E. Miklautz ist bei der Analyse und Beurtei-
lung der Alltagsdinge von wesentlicher Bedeutung nicht
so sehr ihr materielles Substrat, vielmehr ihr kulta^
ler Sinn und soziokulturelle Bedeutungsstruktur. Sie
den nämlich “Elemente eines symbolisch vermiß
Sinnsystems”, wodurch sie “einen Teil der interp1®
ven Ordnung der Gesellschaft bilden” (43). Nicht
jedoch werden E. Miklautz’ Ausführungen “zum
mistischen Charakter der materiellen Kultur” zustim
wobei die Autorin auf Dürkheims Analysen zum
mismus zurückgriff, die bekannterweise nicht unM
sprachen sind (44-51). .
Sehr interessant aus kulturanthropologischer v
sind H. P. Hahns Forschungergebnisse in einem at .
nischen Dorf, wo er in einer Fallstudie auf die '/v ^
tigkeit der Bedeutungszuweisung der Dinge im S®?. g
schaftlichen Kontext aufmerksam wurde. “Jedem ^
werden willkürlich Kontexte und Eigenschaften z °
wiesen” (65 f.), die nicht immer ihrem wirklichen m
riellen Wert entsprechen. ^
Nach D. van Laak sollten die Alltagsdinge iß1 . ^
sammenhang mit der kulturhistorischen Alltagsr®3
betrachtet werden. Von diesem Blickpunkt aus sieh
Autor in diesen Objekten Geschichtszeichen, an d6
“mehr als nur die Patina des Alters hängt” (83). ^
M. Scharfe befasst sich vom kulturanthropologlsC j
Standpunkt aus mit den Mensch-Ding-Relationen, ^ j
er sich stark für die materielle Kultur einsetzt und d
den Primat des Leiblichen und Dinglichen befürwort^
Vor nicht geringen Problemen stehen die v0^s'.^ßi
völkerkundlichen Museen bei der Realisierung 1
sammlerischen Aufgaben. Die diesbezüglichen D18 ,
sionen und Theorien lassen viele Ansichten und ^
V
nungsverschiedenheiten erkennen, die u. a. in ihren
schlussreichen Beiträgen die bekannten Museolog®11
Chevallier und U. Meiners erörtern. , ^
Im Abschlussbeitrag würdigte die KulturW18 j
schaftierin A. Hauser die theoretischen Erkenntnisse ^
den Meinungsaustausch bezüglich der Sachkultur
des symbolischen Stellenwertes der Alltagsdinge.
terdisziplinäre Konferenz ermöglichte die “konzen
te Bündelung unterschiedlicher Zugänge zur Aua ^£(]
der materiellen Kultur” und erlaubte, den “momen
Wissensstand über die Dingkultur genauer zu t>eS
men” (139). Das klingt ziemlich optimistisch, d®nn ^
schiedene grundsätzliche Fragen betreffs Definit1® ^
Theorien, Methoden und Konzepte bezüglich der
kultur stehen weiterhin zur Diskussion, u. a. darurm ^
die theoretischen Ausgangspunkte bei den Ausfuhr
oft recht divergent sind. ^
Vorliegende Beiträge geben viele Denkanstoß®’ -
mittein viel Wissen über die Kultur der Alltag8 1 $
stimmen aber auch nachdenklich. Handelt es sich
letzthin um unsere selbsterschaffene Welt und ihr pjg
tumiveau, in der wir uns doch wohl fühlen s°del1' jjt,
Beiträge zeigen, dass man wieder zunehmend ver
die symbolische Bedeutung der Alltagsdinge und ^
kulturelle Sinndarstellung wahrzunehmen, so dass^ ^
in den uns umgebenden Artefakten nicht nur rein® ^
brauchsobjekte sieht, sondern auch Codeträger, dt j
eine Botschaft vermitteln wollen. Auf diese Wei86 ^
sie nicht nur Elemente der materiellen Kultur, 8°n
Anthropos
271
e2ensionen
Wi h*1 aUc^ e*ne geistige Dimension. Die Dinge sollten
den,,er ausserlich und innerlich zugleich gesehen wer-
jj , ^43) und man sollte ihre Symbolfunktion wahr-
hxäsmen Unt* n^c^lt nur '^re konkrete materielle Zweck-
]jeit,f Ohne Berücksichtigung dieser “Mehrdeutig-
ni , üer Dinge würde man dem gegebenen Sachverhalt
2 la vollem Umfang entsprechen. Es muss jedoch
der p6^en werden, dass die Entschlüsselung der Sprache
(j Gegenstände nicht immer einfach ist, da bei einer
pu ^gen Analyse nicht nur die Materialität, Form und
derii tl0n der Gegenstände ausschlaggebend sind, son-
re . auch die Art, wie sie in einem bestimmten Milieu
'^’ert werden.
jS{ bWohl diese Beitragssammlung nicht umfangreich
p. G^ciglicht sie doch tiefe Einblicke in die schwierige
t)eu ernatik der Kultur der Alltagsdinge und erschließt
Ujat ^spekte bei der Betrachtung und Bewertung der
ess^er|ellen Kultur. Es ist ein bemerkenswertes und inter-
n0] ntes Buch, das besonders Kulturanthropologen, Eth-
l^n, Soziologen und Museologen empfohlen werden
Vgj,11 Beiträge sind reichlich mit aktueller Literatur
A*en- Mitunter jedoch ist es etwas schwierig, den
We ürungen zügig zu folgen wegen der bisweilen ver-
§0ris„eten komplizierten Terminologie und des “Fachjar-
Sa-i ' Wünschenswert wäre am Ende ein Autoren- und
^chr,
egister.
Franciszek M. Rosihski
MafUehling, Susanne: Dobu. Ethics of Exchange on a
sity lrn Island, Papua New Guinea. Honolulu; Univer-
of Hawai’i Press, 2005. 329 pp. ISBN 978-9-8248-
Price: $44.00
v1(lesased on many months of fieldwork, Kuehling pro-
tW a detailed contemporary account of the people of
po| s*and, a society well-known to students of anthro-
oa ^ trough the classic work of Reo Fortune. Based
tujj , merous concrete examples, she banishes Reo For-
stereotype of the paranoid Dobuan sorcerer, re-
tio^ & along the way several errors and misinterpreta-
deSc .lîlaüe by Fortune. Kuehling’s detailed and subtle
Wde l0n °t the daily life of contemporary Dobu Is-
liw rs wül be a welcome addition to the ethnographic
Alth6 re8^on-
app a°ugh she does not use Weber’s term, Kuehling’s
isjp Tch shares much with “methodological individual-
's ahing exchange as her vantage, she argues that ac-
acCll e gifts strategically to accomplish personal goals,
archi U ate Prestige, and express emotions. The over-
to a ? theme of social life is one in which actors strive
sanction by authorities and win honor while
a l0l ’ning their autonomy. This, she shows, requires
stru what Goffman would call “face work”; people
avoiçj 6 t0 Present themselves in the best possible light,
her “£C°nÜict, and avoid disclosing their real feelings. In
valnesi)Ii°gue,” Kuehling argues that Dobuans’s cultural
% Cu,are tn fact quite similar to those of modern West-
itas be Ure- While acknowledging that her perspective
its potgn Cfiticized by Marilyn Strathern and others for
the a|t ntlal ethnocentrism, she responds by arguing that
ernative model of the Strathemian “dividual” risks
Sh;
r°P°s 103.2008
essentializing and exoticizing people whom she finds in
the end to be very similar to herself.
In the first chapter, Kuehling begins with an argument
that the Dobuan person is represented as an autonomous
individual. She draws on lexical evidence to show that
inner states and feelings form the basis of the Dobuan
person. She argues that this inner self interfaces with the
social world through the work for others. Working for
others, she says, is a fundamental obligation and an act
of great value. People take on social identities through
their work for others as people who perform certain roles.
Kuehling argues the gift of work is so valuable because
it gives people their reputation. Working, she says, is a
social strategy people use to reveal the valued inner qual-
ities of discipline and generosity. A similar argument is
presented in the second chapter, which deals mainly with
kinship. She argues that lateral ties of kinship provide in-
dividuals with a wide network of people who can provide
support. Kin relationships are maintained by strategically
creating a generous reputation through gifts of help. Con-
versely, kin unceasingly demand each other share what
they have, and Kuehling describes elaborate practices of
hiding one’s possessions and politely parrying people’s
requests.
Having presented her main model of exchange, Kueh-
ling moves into a discussion of subsistence activity and
witchcraft as two domains in which the concept of rep-
utation is expressed. She then shifts to an examination
of different kinds of public, formal exchanges through
which individuals pursue “fame” at home and in a wider
regional world. In one chapter, she discusses Christian
religious practices and business enterprise as two kinds of
modem exchanges and describes how Dobuans evaluate
their moral significance. She then describes the Dobuan
practice of kula exchange of shells. Finally, she describes
the exchanges that make up mortuary feasts. These final
three chapters will be for most readers the most inter-
esting since they address areas of Melanesian society
on which much has been written. In keeping with her
main argument, Kuehling discusses cash earning, kula
exchange, and mortuary feasting as being primarily indi-
vidual endeavors through which actors try to accumulate
fame. Although many of the practices she describes are
by definition cooperative in nature, she argues that their
true motivations are individual and people only accom-
plish major exchange acts when everyone is persuaded to
see how they will personally benefit from someone else’s
success.
The book is notable for the ways Kuehling lets her
informants speak for themselves, as well as how she re-
flects upon her own - apparently at times quite difficult
- experiences of fieldwork. Kuehling’s ethnographic de-
scription is also admirably factual, nuanced, and sensi-
tive. All these features make the book easy and enjoy-
able to read. However, the theoretical framework of her
analysis could have been stronger. She does not discuss
the deep intellectual heritage of a perspective which cen-
ters on individual agency, let alone respond to its sus-
tained critique in anthropology. Additionally, given her
approach, the short treatment she gives to the topic of so-
272
Rezensi°nel1
cial change is surprising. She describes a society in which
mission Christianity, cash earning, and commodity con-
sumption appear to be far more widespread than in For-
tune’s day. Moreover, she cites numerous examples that
suggest people’s cultural orientation has shifted toward
possessive individualism. Yet, Kuehling consistently de-
emphasizes the importance of these data, suggesting that
they are merely recent foreign intrusions imported by a
better educated younger generation and resented by most
of the population. Given her orientation toward the indi-
vidual, one might then think that Kuehling would have
a special interest in grappling with how Dobu culture
is changing, but she avoids any sustained analysis of it.
Despite these limitations, the book will be of interest
to regional specialists and to scholars interested in an
agency-oriented approach to culture.
Ryan Schram
Kuhnt-Saptodewo, Sri: Getanzte Geschichte. Tanz,
Religion und Geschichte auf Java. Wien: Lit Verlag,
2006. 225 pp. ISBN 978-3-8258-8648-6. (Veröffentli-
chungen zum Archiv für Völkerkunde, 11) Preis: € 24.90
Das vorliegende Buch ist aus einer an der Berli-
ner Humboldt-Universität angenommenen Habilitations-
schrift hervorgegangen. “Im Zentrum der vorliegenden
Studie stehen javanische Tänze in ihrer Funktion als Me-
dium zur Überlieferung der Vergangenheit” (1). Gegen-
über der schriftlichen Überlieferung sieht die Verfasse-
rin verbale Traditionen als inzwischen etablierten For-
schungsgegenstand, nichtverbale und selbstverständlich
nichtschriftliche Überlieferung jedoch sei bisher als sol-
cher nicht anerkannt. Dabei sei, das will sie zeigen, ja-
vanischer Tanz nicht nur eine Kunstform, sondern auch
eine Repräsentation der Vergangenheit. Als solche sollte
sie auch historische Quelle sein (können). Zur genaueren
Bestimmung des Gegenstandes werden Merkmale der
sakralen Tänze verwendet und angepasst, wie sie Lynne
Hanna in ihrer Anthropologie des Tanzens entwickelt hat.
Sakraler Tanz kann demnach Veränderung bewirken, wie
in den rites de passage, er kann als Medium wirken, wie
in Trance- und Vorsehungstänzen. Tanz kann reine Ver-
ehrung der göttlichen Instanzen sein, er kann Legitima-
tionsinstrument der Herrschenden sein, und schliesslich
kann er als Mittel der mystischen Vereinigung dienen.
Um der engen Verbindung zwischen den drei ana-
lytischen Feldern Tanz, Religion und Geschichte nach-
zugehen, werden einzelne Teile schwerpunktmässig be-
handelt; anders, als angekündigt (10), geht es in Teil 1
nicht um die in allen südostasiatischen Gesellschaften
anzutreffende enge Verbindung zwischen Tanz und Re-
ligion, sondern um eine Verdeutlichung verschiedener
Überlieferungsformen, allgemein und im malaiischen
Raum. Obwohl es keinen passenden Ausdruck gibt, ist
die Verwendung des Begriffs “malaiischer Raum” un-
günstig, da ein Raum dann mit der malaiischen Gesell-
schaft verknüpft wird, die trotz ihrer Bedeutung nur einen
Teil dieses vielfältigen Nusantara bildet.
Im zweiten Kapitel finden sich dann sowohl Zusam-
menstellungen zu Tanz und Religion als auch ein histo-
rischer Abriss der Einflüsse und Verbindungen zwi»^
den südostasiatischen Herrschaften, die von Indien k
menden Einflüsse eingeschlossen. Von besonderer
deutung hier ist die aussergewöhnlich grosse Beden
der Tänzer und Tänzerinnen an den Höfen, die unter. efl
derem daran abzulesen ist, dass diese bei den zahltet0
Eroberungen häufig als Kriegsbeute mitgenommen
den. Damit wurde die Legitimierungstechnik der Bes
ten ihres Personals beraubt und dieses in neue Legt111
rungsformen eingebaut. ,aS
Die spezielle Rolle des Tanzes auf Java, so heisst
dritte Kapitel, zeigt in dichter Beschreibung die *a
und die Begründungen der Tanztraditionen von Sura ^
ta und Yogyakarta. Wie erst den Schlussbemerkunj^
dieses Buches zu entnehmen ist, war die Autorin sC
■ ich°n
Aus'
itZU»
als Kind in die Traditionsauseinandersetzungen zwts°
den beiden Sultanaten verstrickt. Dass sich diese
einandersetzungen nach dem eigentlichen Machten0
durch die holländische Kolonialmacht verstärkt hai
und zu Intensivierungen in den Bereichen Literatur,
sik, Tanz, Theater und allgemein Hofetikette füh^^
wird kurz, aber zu undeutlich gesagt. Dafür erfährt
viele Einzelheiten zu Tanzformen, Zahlensymbolik)
Bedeutung von Rasa als weit mehr als Gefühl oder 5
mung, sondern als “lebenspendende Energie”.
fährt auch über Prozesse der Tanzgestaltung und 11
einige moderne Tänzer und Choreographen. z6
Um zu zeigen, was denn überhaupt Thema der ° j
sein kann, was also getanzt wird, bietet das vierte Kar
einen Abriss der javanischen Geschichte, auch sch°a^s
di°
Hinblick auf die darstellenden Künste. Dieser Tut
Buches ist als Kernstück anzusehen, werden doch
Notwendigkeit und die Motivationen einzelner Heris(^
und unterschiedlicher Gruppierungen aufgezeigt) st
bestimmter Weise mit Tanz und Theater zu befaS ^
Dass Tanz und Theater hier in engere Verbindung
werden, also etwa dem ostjavanischen ludruk eine he ^
dere Erwähnung zuteil wird, obwohl Tanz hier äus^
selten vorkommt, kann als mangelnde Präzision ^
hen werden; allerdings zeigt sich so das Verhältnis ^
darstellenden Künste zueinander in anschaulicher j
se. Ein durchgehendes Gliederungsprinzip der Zeh
die aus Indien übernommenen yuga-Zeitalter, die so
die Unabänderlichkeit der historischen Phasen bein ^
wie auch die millenaristische Figur des ratu ad1» j,
immer wieder politisch eingesetzte Gestalt des gere^
Herrschers. Der von C. C. Berg einmal aufgewor[ ^
Frage, ob die Geschichten von den Reichsteilungen
ein Topos sein könnten, um die Grösse der Reichs
ger zu betonen, wird nicht nachgegangen. Insgpsa ^
dieser Teil des Buches anschaulich und analytisC
schlussreich. ^6$.
Das letzte Kapitel trägt auch den Titel des ®Uftj0n
Hier stellt die Autorin javanische Tänze in ihrer ^egß'
als Medium zur Darstellung wichtiger historischer ^
benheiten vor. Sie beginnt mit den Zyklen von
Menak, die bei Tanzaufführungen auf Java und a „
hinaus sehr beliebt sind. Obwohl die Panji-Geschi ^
sie ist so umfangreich, dass immer nur kleine Abs
Thema einer Aufführung sein können - eine Gesc
103
.200«
Anthropos
273
<e2ens
Ionen
ist$ ^6r ^eit des vorislamischen javanischen Mittelalters
'vVUr<^e s^e S£hr schnell Instrument der Ausbreitung
des ^aiTL Einerseits gehört zu ihrem Kem das Bild
die recktmässigen und richtigen Fürsten, andrerseits ist
ätid68 durch die notwendige Verkleidung und Ver-
. erung von Personen nahe an Elementen islamischer
che ^ Schon hien at>er auch in der Tatsache zahlrei-
sich re£‘0naier Varianten des Panji-Repertoires, müsste
hier ^ra&e stärker stellen, in welchem Masse denn
Ge Un<^ *n den anderen Tanzvorlagen Begebenheit der
hichte dargestellt werden. Sowohl in den höfischen
a[s°re°§raphien, oft von den Fürsten selbst durchgeführt,
lä aüch in den Gegenentwürfen der allgemeinen, auch
etw 1Caen Bevölkerung, findet sich kaum ein Bezug zu
, as Geschehenem. Ausnahmen bilden die schmerzli-
pr*
die A nnnerungen an Machtverlust, hervorgerufen durch
Sche nsPrdehe und den militärischen Druck der holländi-
ljert n ^ionialmacht. Und so wird auch D. Henige zi-
inte Past ^as happened and cannot change, but the
p^retation ancj understanding of it continues to hap-
Unr will never stop changing” (Oral Historiography.
Mat °n *^2)- So wird die Reichsteilung des zweiten
den T^nt-Reiches immer wieder dargestellt, und dies von
ertretem der neuen Fürstenhöfe. Dass darin auch
die Gef„,
der \/riatlr extremer Verzerrungen und des Weiterführens
^äh ^^iEämpfe auf einer anderen Ebene liegt, wird er-
V" (194), passt aber nicht ganz zu dem versöhnlichen
das ^em das Buch endet, dass das Wesentliche für
s°nd
so,
schl,
getanzte) kulturelle Gedächtnis nicht die faktische,
die erinnerte Geschichte sei. Zweifellos ist das
„Mil er zweifellos wäre ein Bewusstsein der Gefahr der
des.ecMen Nutzung dieser erinnerten Geschichte min-
j^ns ebenso wesentlich.
a0c^ Bublikätion nimmt ein wichtiges Thema auf, das
Sehr an§st nicht erschöpft ist. So Hesse sich der Tanz
lQe; } le^ gründlicher auf seine Bewegungs-, Haltungs-,
G}w angs- und andere Elemente in Bezug auf bestimmte
Miss ktere un<d Zustände, Absichten und Erfolge oder
(i^e hin untersuchen. Aber die wesentliche Frage
Uod Crn Tanzen von entworfener Geschichte ist gestellt,
Mir s’n<d viele aufschlussreiche Antworten gegeben.
le Geschichts- und Tanzforschung Javas ist das
em Gewinn. Wolfgang Marschall
Galina: Conjuring Hope. Magic and
Bq0, nS in Contemporary Russia. New York: Berghahn
haolo ’ 2006- 251 PP-ISBN 978-1-84545-093-9. (Episte-
°f Healing, 1) Price: $ 25.00
. ^utorin ist gebürtige Russin und lebt seit etwa
At)tilr ^ ^a^ren im Westen und studierte hier Ethnologie/
Epcje °P°logie. Derzeit lebt und arbeitet sie in Schweden.
ethn0|0er i 990er Jahre ging sie zurück nach Moskau, um
^rgeb ®1Sc^e Feldforschungen zu unternehmen, deren
eMe .niSse u. a. in dieses Buch mündeten. Damit ist sie
^ie eser “Halfies”, halb “native” halb “non-native”,
^n, -mehr ihren Beitrag zu “ihrer” Ethnologie leis-
aHd da einen anderen Zugang haben als jene anderen
LTer 11 auch zu anderen Erklärungen kommen. Dar-
me in den letzten Jahren und Jahrzehnten hinrei-
°Pos 103.2008
chend diskutiert. Nicht zuletzt darum drehte sich ja auch
die Debatte um “Volkskunde” versus “Völkerkunde”.
Genau hieraus entsteht auch der Reiz und damit die
Stärke dieses Buches. Es wird immer dort richtig span-
nend, wo es semantische Felder untersucht, die im Zu-
sammenhang mit Magie stehen, oder russische Realitä-
ten erklärt, die nicht auf den ersten Blick auffallen. Das
reicht von Diagnosen der Heilkundigen bis zu Gefühlen,
von Geld bis zur Macht (oder von der Ökonomie bis zur
Politik, um es noch mit weiteren Bedeutungsfeldern zu
beschreiben). Der Dreiklang “Professionals, Their Power
and Paraphernalia” wäre sicher ein weiterer guter Titel
für dieses Buch gewesen, das sich mit “Conjuring Hope”
jedoch mehr auf die Seite der Hilfesuchenden oder Pati-
enten gestellt hat.
Theoretisch geht sie von der Peirce’schen Zeichen-
theorie und deren Weiterentwicklungen aus. Einer Be-
schreibung der Begegnung zwischen Heilkundigem und
Heilsuchendem, nein besser: Heilkundiger und Heilsu-
chender - denn die Autorin schreibt nur in der weibli-
chen Form (also immer “she”) - folgt eine theoretische
Einordnung im Rahmen der Semiotik, was das Lesen
mitunter etwas mühselig macht. Der Beschreibung der
Handlungen und Worte wird gleichfalls viel Raum gelas-
sen, so dass sich gut nachvollziehen lässt, was zwischen
den Beteiligten gerade passiert. Denn sie möchte, dass
der Logik der eigenen Interpretationen der Leute gefolgt
wird und nicht irgendwelcher künstlicher oder fremder.
Durch die Auseinandersetzung mit der Zeichentheorie
wirkt das aber hin und wieder etwas gestakst.
Es zeigt sich, dass “postsowjetische” Heilkundige in
der Großstadt Moskau auf ähnliche Verfahren setzen wie
Heilkundige der verschiedensten Fachrichtungen in an-
deren Teilen der Welt: Das Problem wird errochen, er-
tastet, erhorcht und jedenfalls erkannt, dann benannt, be-
sprochen und behandelt und im besten Fall bewältigt. Die
Emotionen und Verhaltensweisen werden verändert, und
damit das Selbst, so dass neue körperliche Erfahrungen
und neue Orientierungen im Verhalten möglich werden.
Lindquist will schreiben über “... the perils and won-
ders of intersubjectivity, and about the experience of liv-
ing in the world where the conditions of being make the
Western analytic term ‘agency’ somewhat inadequate.
It [das Buch] is about cultural tools to change people’s
subjectivity in ways that make their lives livable. It is
about hope, the existential and affective counterpart of
agency that replaces it where channels for agency are
blocked, and presence in the world becomes precari-
ous” (4). Genau hier wird das Buch spannend und die
Leserin kann erfahren, mit welch unsicheren Lebensver-
hältnissen der Großteil der Bewohner Moskaus sich heu-
te herumschlagen muss, nachdem das geordnete Leben
mit der Perestroika fortgeschwemmt wurde. Auch dieses
war mit Sicherheit nicht immer einfach gewesen, aber
mehr oder weniger vorhersagbar und in einem gewissen
Maße auch zu beeinflussen, was heute immer weniger der
Fall ist. Dann gibt es nur noch wenig Hoffnung, aber die
Magie kann helfen, bestimmte Zustände um sich herum
zu beeinflussen und zu verändern, so dass das Leben
wieder lebenswerter wird. Lindquist bezeichnet sie als
274
Rezensi°nen
eine Form der Hoffnung (9), die ja auch im Titel des
Buches extra genannt wird, und mit ihr geht “Macht”
(power) einher, wofür sie eine schöne Minimaldefiniti-
on bei dem Anthropologen André Droogers (Syncretism,
Power, Play. Gothenburg 1994) gefunden hat: “Power is
the ability to get things done” (17). Damit einher geht
die Frage nach dem, was als Moral bezeichnet wird, was
sie heute bedeutet und wie mit ihr umzugehen ist: “In
Soviet times, the moral domain was a muddled ground,
since ‘The Moral Code of the Builder of Communism,’ as
Soviet ideologists referred to morality, was perhaps never
taken seriously by the vast majority. Post-perestroika,
questions of morality are still being sorted out” (27).
Die russische orthodoxe Kirche hat sich hier ihren Platz
erobert, weswegen sie auch für Heiler und Magier eine
gewichtige Rolle spielt und deren Paraphernalia im hei-
lenden Diskurs mit eingesetzt werden.
Lindquist beschreibt die verschiedenen alternativen
Heilformen, die es auch bereits während der Sowjet-
zeit (und früher!) gegeben hat - neben der sowjetischen
Schulmedizin -, die sich z. B. auf “russische Wurzeln”
berufen, auf die Wissenschaft, auf “höhere Seinswelten”
usw. Die verschiedenen Heiler und Magier üben ihre(n)
Berufung) auf unterschiedliche Weise aus, manche ha-
ben sich in der Nähe von Einkaufszentren in Gemein-
schaftspraxen zusammengeschlossen, andere wirken in
speziellen Behandlungszimmern in ihren Wohnungen.
Lindquist gibt dichte Beschreibungen von den Interaktio-
nen zwischen den “magi” und ihren Kundinnen, z. B. von
Tatiana. Diese diagnostiziert “kinship curse (rodovoie
prokliatie)”, ein Missbefinden, das von den Vorfahren
her stammt, verschiedene Formen annehmen und auch in
Zukunft fortbestehen kann. Oder anders ausgedrückt: Ein
Umstand, der von Tatiana nicht behandelt werden kann,
da sie nicht über ausreichende Kräfte verfügt (62). Auch
die Heilsuchenden werden genau in ihrer Problemlage
und ihrem Suchen nach Lösungen porträtiert, so dass
sich die Leserin eine Vorstellung machen kann über die
derzeitige Lebenswelt in Moskau und in Russland.
Wie die Autorin eingesteht (229), war sie nicht darauf
gefasst, so viele und lange Erklärungen über das russi-
sche Alltagsleben abgeben zu müssen. Gerade hieraus
entsteht nach Auffassung der Rezensentin aber die Stärke
des Buches, und ausserdem, wie Lindquist es formuliert:
“The enjoyment was to see how, out of the misery of
historical turmoil and transformations, in situations of
deep uncertainty and lack of control, agency and imagi-
nation conjure up ways for hope to materialise: to con-
geal desire, to balance off uncertainty by providing a
time dimension, to create a tomorrow, a future to strive
for” (229). Wer etwas über das Leben im heutigen Russ-
land erfahren will, in dem “Magie” in ihren verschie-
denen Ausformungen eine zentrale Rolle spielt, sollte
dieses Buch lesen. Und natürlich jene, die sich mit Se-
miotik beschäftigen oder mit Medizinethnologie, die hier
weitere Einsichten über das Mit- und Gegeneinander von
Heilerin und Patientin finden werden.
Katarina Greifeid
Mandala, Elias C.: The End of Chidyerano. A '
tory of Food and Everyday Life in Malawi, 1860-2
Portsmouth: Heinemann, 2005. 347 pp. ISBN 97
325-07020-9. Price: $ 29.95 ld
This is an important and valuable book. It s^oU0f
be read by everyone concerned with the social stud^jl6
Africa. The term chidyerano is a Malawian term f°r
sharing of food by different households within 0116 . y
lage. It is a cultural expression of the value of social
and authority imbedded in a local African comma
Mandala’s innovative and rich study considers the
the consumption of food reflect changing social and .
terial forces within an African area, in this case the 1c jn
Valley of southern Malawi (colonial Nyasaland)- As
in
cuses on
most of Africa, this area is subject to constant prom
the production and distribution of food. Mandate
how these problems change when food beco
scarce. This study revolves around the annual prot) a
of food shortages and hunger in the seasonal agricnl^ .
cycle and in the inevitable, periodic problems of aC t
famine that local people endure about every decade,1 g
more often. The Tchiri Valley provides a compleX
for study since it contains areas of high agricultural F
ductivity affording relatively reliable harvests and al
of far lower productivity where harvests are often ctl
or disastrous due to drought, floods, disease, or 0
misfortunes. Trade and political relations between
different areas reflect complex adjustments and con ^
as harvests fluctuate. Mandala’s study provides rich
complex information on how colonialism, national i
pendence, Christian missionaries, education, mone
tion, capitalism, and the meddling of government bui j
crats have altered for better or worse the strategic® d
Africans employed to survive over the last century
a half.
The idea of chidyerano is complex and decephve• ^
times it represents an idyllic social image, a golden P y
where and when villages showed and felt moral soh
by sharing food. Yet Mandala notes that in faCt
roles of men and women in the production, ProceSf eJli.
and consumption of food as much divide as unite .
Older men dominate food consumption at the e*Pe,jy
of women and children, even though women us ^
provide far more labor in production and processing ^
do men, and pregnant women and children are № ^ip
need of nutrition than men. Despite the tradition
service to venerating the aged, the elderly too aie ^
slighted in food distribution. Mandala is excefle^j
showing how food both sustains and illustrates d
structure and hierarchy while also dividing pe°P .^es
illustrating the fragility of some of these values. ^
of food-shortages, tradition itself is in jeopardy _ ^
without ample food supplies, rituals of birth, initia^ jf
marriage, and death cannot be properly perf°rrrl® ’ 0f
performed at all, and without this cultural inculcah
knowledge and values society cannot be sustained- ^
Mandala points out how food shortages pfOidP^jj
cial conflict: “... peasants rarely blame nature t° ^oSt
misfortunes. They view society as responsible to f]
of their miseries” (83). “Njala [annual seasonal u
103.2«08
Anthropos
Pensionen
275
Poses the Janus face of the rural rich. Every year it
in es.t*lem appreciate their wealth, as hungry villagers,
, acting those who do not normally respect authority,
■ °n their knees for money or food. But, precisely
ins^Use it drives the poor so low, njala creates a state of
hu CUnty f°r the rich as well. In particular, hunger and
js 111'Nation make the poor appreciate that their poverty
caused by the wealth of their neighbors. The rich are
Wd are not only because they have access to good
lab an^ political favors5 but also because they exploit the
this°r an<^ ot^er resources of the poor. Peasants express
°theUn^erStanC^ng w^en th£y define the rich as, among
to r those who employ powerful ntholera magic
las^ce the poor people’s food into their granaries. Vil-
^ rs understand their misery - as well as their joys
erati ^roc*ucts °f their society, so that with the coop-
the °n t^e^r beadpersons, the hungry often harassed
gr^ricb- They would, for example, bum the houses and
Irn aneS ’■be rich, and drive them out of the village,
grants and the wealthy known for their meanness
esPeciaby vulnerable to such acts of violence. Njala
tk. Ses serious strains on the relations among the poor
iSrf’.(123f)-
inte nQa a s material, rich in detail both in terms of
of n?SlVe study of local areas and of contrasting periods
C|es ®nty and want, reports shabby and uninformed poli-
ty ^ both British colonial officials and later African
MaiaUcrats working during the dictatorship of the late
0rdia^an President Banda. All of these officials saw
Mr I!"0' African cultivators as “a pool of cheap labor
atte eir Pet projects” (83). Few if any ever paid any
Cai ntl°n to the knowledge ordinary Africans had of lo-
^ditions or potentials. Mandala considers the two
Mo JH’tPertant contributions of his study to be his turn-
s0u to Peasants as theoreticians, and not merely as a
f0oJCe °f raw data” (239) and his viewing the “history of
Me al°n§ multiple time-scales” (240), and in terms of
locJariety of conditions in diverse and adjoining small
be t . areas. He observes that an actual famine could
efids11 • easily so^veh by a determined government but
and rUh lbe somber judgment that the more pervasive
hun °n§'term far more destructive problem of seasonal
are o r Wl11 never be eradicated unless local governments
Mod bhmtted to radical changes in policies concerning
cash storage, diversification of crops, less concern about
Cred]iCroPping of mono-crops, better availability of local
ar*d other unlikely and more difficult reforms,
auth ^ 0nly serious criticism of this work is that the
transj ernploys too many local African terms without
stantlatl0n m the text itself. The reader must turn con-
Me my to die glossary in the back of the book to translate
truly • anmg of many sentences. Even so, this remains a
M ^lrnP0rtant, innovative, and provocative contribution
tleyejriCan studies and to the understanding of economic
°Pment. I recommend it in the strongest way.
T. O. Beidelman
M
V Christine: Vom Dogon-Land nach Bama-
lskurspraxen zu Gender und Migration am Beispiel
°Pos 103.2008
der Mädchenjugend in Mali. Frankfurt: Brandes & Apsel,
2007. 236 pp. ISBN 978-3-86099-863-2. (Schriften zur
Ethnopsychoanalyse, 6) Preis: € 24.90
In der Reihe “Schriften zur Ethnopsychoanalyse” des
Verlags Brandes & Apsel ist die Dissertation von Christi-
ne Mansfeld mit dem Untertitel “Diskurspraxen zu Gen-
der und Migration am Beispiel der Mädchenjugend in
Mali” herausgegeben worden. In dieser Kombination von
Informationen wird dem Leser die wissenschaftstheoreti-
sche Ausrichtung der Arbeit vermittelt, die aus dem Titel
allein nicht ersichtlich ist. Vielmehr hätte man wohl eine
soziolinguistische Analyse erwartet, die Aufschluss über
das Geschlechterverständnis, Geschlechterrollen und die
Bedeutung von Migration gegeben hätte. Die zentrale
Frage, die in diesem Buch behandelt wird, bezieht sich
jedoch darauf, wie man Artikulationen, im weiteren Sin-
ne von sprachlichen Äußerungen und sozialem Verhal-
ten, von Menschen in kulturellen Zwischenräumen (in
der Kulturtheorie oftmals als Hybridität bezeichnet) ana-
lysieren und verstehen kann. Dabei geht es wesentlich
um die Migration junger Mädchen aus dem ruralen Mi-
lieu - hier insbesondere den 700 km von der Hauptstadt
entfernten Dogon-Dörfem -, die also den kulturellen
Sprung weg von ihren Heimatdörfern in die Metropole
Bamako wagen.
Mit diesem Thema der Sozialisation junger Dorfmäd-
chen in einem kulturell und sozial völlig fremden Mi-
lieu sowie deren prekären Lebens- und Arbeitsbedingun-
gen - sie verdingen sich als Hausmädchen und sind oft-
mals der Versuchung der Prostitution ausgesetzt - hat die
Autorin einen gesellschaftlichen und politischen Brenn-
punkt erkannt und als Forschungsgegenstand aufgegrif-
fen. Mansfeld interessiert sich jedoch nicht gezielt für
die soziokulturellen Bedingungen und Auswirkungen der
Migration in Bezug auf die adoleszenten Mädchen, son-
dern diese bieten ihr eher eine Grundlage für die Er-
forschung von Diskurspraxen von Menschen, die sich
in einem kulturellen Übergangsfeld befinden, zwischen
Land und Stadt, zwischen der Kultur von Schwarz und
Weiß, Westlich und Afrikanisch, zwischen Tradition und
Modernität, Globalität und Lokalität etc. Ihr Blick richtet
sich - wie im Klappentext angekündigt - auf transkultu-
relle Kommunikationsformen, wo oftmals Kommunika-
tionsblockaden in Form von Schweigen oder logischen
Brüchen auftreten, für deren Entschlüsselung Mansfeld
im Verlaufe ihrer Arbeit das analytische Konzept der “Ar-
tikulationsgrenze” entwickelt und dann anwendet.
Wissenschaftstheoretisch, sozial und politisch ist die
Fragestellung nach solchen gebrochenen Ausdrucks- und
Kommunikationsformen umso bedeutungsvoller, als die
Menschen im Kontext der Globalisierung in zunehmen-
dem Maße unterschiedliche Sichtweisen in ihrem Ver-
ständnis der Welt und in der Beschreibung ihres Lebens
zusammenfügen müssen. Und für die Forschung ist es
interessant, eine Verstehensmethode für diese hybriden
neuen Ausdrucksformen zu finden. Die Gruppe der Mäd-
chen in der Phase des Übergangs von der Jugend zum Er-
wachsenwerden im spezifischen Kontext der heterogenen
Stadt Bamako stellt somit ein geeignetes Forschungsfeld
dar. Im Gegensatz zu vergleichbaren Jugendstudien be-
276
Rezension611
schränkt sich die Autorin jedoch nicht auf die Sprach-
weisen der Jugendlichen, sondern sie bezieht auch das
Verhältnis der Gesellschaft zu diesen Mädchen und de-
ren strukturierende, normative Wirkung auf ihr Verhalten
mit ein.
Mansfeld bedient sich für ihre Untersuchung der Me-
thoden der Ethnografie und der Psychoanalyse. In An-
wendung des ethnografischen Instrumentariums basiert
ihre Arbeit auf so genannten dichten Beschreibungen der
ausgewählten beobachteten Situationen, die auch den all-
gemeineren Kontext des städtischen Umfelds mit einbe-
ziehen und multidisziplinär angelegt sind. Die subjektive,
assoziative Betrachtungsweise wird dabei nicht als zu
vermeidende Fehlerquelle betrachtet, sondern stellt viel-
mehr eine notwendige Voraussetzung für eine weitsichti-
ge Interpretation dar. “Es geht darum, Untersuchungsge-
genstände im Rahmen eines Gesamtbildes, in dem eine
Stadt imaginiert wird, ethnografisch und kulturwissen-
schaftlich zu entdecken” (23). Zu diesem Zweck benutzt
die Autorin eine Vielzahl verschiedener Quellen; Einzel-
fallstudien, Gespräche und Interviews, unveröffentlich-
te Dokumente, literarische und mediale Darstellungen,
und sie umkreist den Gegenstand, indem sie sich auf
unterschiedliche Schauplätze begibt und deren - unein-
heitlichen - Perspektiven einfängt. Die subjektiven Re-
aktionen auf die Interviewpartnerinnen werden im For-
schungsjoumal festgehalten und später mit Hilfe einer
multidisziplinären Supervisionsgruppe interpretiert, um
den Sinn des Gesagten freizulegen. Das Textverständnis
greift auf das tiefenhermeneutische Prinzip zurück, das
von der Durchdringung zweier Ebenen, der manifesten
und der latenten, ausgeht und somit auch nach den nicht
unmittelbar sichtbaren Einflussrealitäten Ausschau hält.
Über den tatsächlichen Verlauf der Feldforschung er-
fahren wir, dass diese zu zwei verschiedenen Zeitpunk-
ten, einmal 1997 und dann noch einmal 1999, stattfand,
allerdings fehlen Angaben zur Dauer, die allerdings, so
kann man indirekt aus dem Text schließen, nicht sehr aus-
gedehnt war. Die Autorin beschreibt die Schwierigkeiten,
Kontakt zu jungen Mädchen, insbesondere aus der Ka-
tegorie der Dogon-Hausmädchen, zu bekommen, wofür
kulturelle, soziale und sprachliche Gründe verantwort-
lich sind. Ausführlich schildert sie die Begegnung mit
einer malischen Schülerin, die ihr auf offiziellem Weg
über die Schulverwaltung vermittelt wurde, um an den
beiderseitigen Verhaltensweisen die kolonialgeschichtli-
che Erblast zu verdeutlichen, die das Verhältnis des Mäd-
chens zur weißen Forscherin charakterisiert. Ansonsten
erfolgt keine systematische Einführung in die Interview-
partner, deren Rolle und Bedeutung für die Untersuchung
und/oder die Auswahlkriterien bzgl. der Wahl der befrag-
ten Personen.
Nach den beiden hier zusammengefassten Kapiteln
über das “Ethnografieren in der Spätmodeme” und
“Theoretische Verstehenszugänge und Interpretations-
prozesse kultureller Texte” beginnt der empirische und
damit zentrale Teil der Arbeit, in dem drei Beispiele
transkultureller Diskursformen vorgestellt und im Ein-
zelnen entsprechend dem Verstehenskonzept der Artiku-
lation bzw. der Artikulationsgrenzen diskutiert werden.
1. Als Beobachterin nimmt die Autorin an Erz1
hungs- und Lehreinheiten des katholischen Sozial?
jekts АРАМ (Action Promotion Aide Ménagère) h1 „
mako teil, das die Integration der “eingewanderte^
Hausmädchen zum Ziel hat. Es war entstanden in
Folge eines internationalen entwicklungspolitischen ^
teresses an Frauen und Erziehung und der Bereits
lung von Finanzmitteln, die von lokalen Nichtregierung
Organisationen für die Durchführung entsprechen
Projekte abgerufen werden konnten. Mansfeld besu
Sonntagnachmittagskurse in Alphabetisierung, Stic* ’
Hygiene und Kochen und stellt dabei die in diesem ß
men zum Scheitern verurteilten KommunikationsbeZ ъ
heraus, die aus dem Aufeinandertreffen unter'schiedhc
Werte, Symbole, Praktiken herrühren. Interessant ist
Aufschlüsselung des Schweigens, das nämlich me
re Logiken in sich vereinigt. Aus der Perspektive el
Mädchens, d. h. vor dem Hintergrund ihrer kulture
Identität, kann das Schweigen als Schutz für das eU
ne Selbst verstanden werden, da es mehreren Zugrll f
ausgesetzt ist: der Mutter und Familie, die die Toc
verheiraten möchten und zur Beschaffung ihrer VhU
in die Migration schicken; der Familie des Verlobtem
sich Nachkommen wünscht; dem Sozialprojekt APA_^
das die Hausmädchen an den katholischen Glauben
den will; dem international verankerten bevölkerungsP^.t
litischen Diskurs, mit dem erreicht werden soll, we^t^I1d
die Gestaltung des Sexual Verhaltens zu verändern
die Mädchen dafür aufzuklären (84). In dieser AusV ^
losigkeit entstehen aber dennoch Bahnen neuer КоШ
nikation, die sich eben andere Orte, Zeiten und Eorüß,
suchen und somit die Artikulationsgrenze teilweise
der aufbrechen. ^
2. Das zweite Beispiel stellt Interaktions- und К
munikationsformen an einer Straßenkreuzung in 6111 ^
von Dogon-Zuwanderem zentral angesteuerten Vier ^
Bamako dar, die sich zum einen auf den Migration®
lauf und das Heiratsverhalten einiger Personen aus
dort ansässigen Dogon-Gemeinschaft und zum ano
auf das Verhältnis zwischen ihnen und der Forscn
beziehen. Beide Aspekte sind als Beispiele einer t ' ,
kulturellen Kommunikation gedacht, wobei für deu^g
teren Fall Mechanismen der temporären Überwm
von Sprach-, Kultur- und Hierarchiebarrieren zur P
tischen Anwendung kommen wie z. B. Mimik, ß ^
und Spiel. - Mit Blick auf die ethnografische LÜ^ ^
über die Dogon aus den 40er bis 60er Jahren std g
Autorin die These von der Migration als der Fortsetz
einer Traditionslinie auf, insofern als die Dogon-г f
während des Heiratsprozesses - und schon währenO
frühkindlichen Sozialisation - auf die Loslösung vo11 j6l-
Familie vorbereitet werden, da sie als Ehefrauen 10 ^
Familie des Mannes leben werden. “Strukturiert® g
grationsgeschichten verweisen auf die rituelle Bede о ,ß
der Migration als statusverändernde und statuserho-
iu Maiuöv*" .Q,
Erfahrung bei den Mädchen, die zum Verheiratung ^
zess gehören. Die geglückte Migration der Hausma ^
ist so gesehen ein ritueller Aspekt, der sich in dor y
lokale Perspektiven der Verheiratung einordnet ( ^
Während die Dogon-Mädchen einerseits durch 0 c
103.300»
Anthropos
Pensionen
277
a f^^ftlieh6 Erwartung an Anpassungsfähigkeit gut
ü 16 ^^raticn in die Stadt vorbereitet zu sein scheinen
be Sle dav°n auch materiell und sozial profitieren, erle-
e|rjeSle andererseits in der Wirklichkeit des Stadtlebens
ni h Star^e soziale und kulturelle Desintegration, die aber
c t zur Sprache kommen darf.
^ • Im dritten Fall führt die Autorin uns den Dis-
eines Staatsbeamten und im globalen Diskurs be-
v Werten Berater in Sozialfragen vor, der in sich die
Po faiedenen Erfahrungsebenen aus der internationalen,
kolonialen, europäischen, staatspolitischen und tra-
übirnSbeWUSSten Weh vereint. In seinen Ausführungen
Bar d'e Lage der jungen eingewanderten Mädchen in
St 11 ° Werden Inkohärenzen sichtbar, und zwar an den
dif £n’ Wo er versucht, globale und lokale Wissenstra-
lQnen zusammenzuführen wie im Fall des frühreifen
des Cb*ecdtsverkehrs der Mädchen. Während im Verlauf
tradhionellen Heiratsprozesses die sexuellen Bezie-
ba]ne§en S£hr früh einsetzen, fordert der offizielle glo-
*aal b)^S^Urs elne Verzögerung des Eintritts in die Se-
und ^rax*s- L>ie Gründe für das Verhalten der Mädchen
sie 'Ie ^rsachen für die gesundheitlichen Schäden, die
se av°ntragen, werden jedoch in keinem der Diskur-
off ematisiert- Gerade an solchen sich in der Sprache
bejjnbarenden Bruchstellen wird uns die Unvereinbar-
§en -L°n Welten und Normen im Bewusstsein des Ge-
aber Ö£r Ver§e§enwärtigt. Gleichzeitig eröffnen sich hier
ftir ^esen transkulturellen Räumen Möglichkeiten
|v , le Akteure, Einsichten zu äußern, die im lokalen
die rs tabuisiert werden. Der Sprecher konnte z. B. in
iibenr Situation Kritik am Sexualverhalten der Männer
tat h ’ ^as die Gesundheit und die soziale Integri-
verher J Ur*gen abhängigen und destabilisierten Mädchen
tj0ll an§nisvoll ist. Auch an dem Problem der Prostitu-
ti^^'6 im Milieu der Hausmädchen einen Nährboden
Sprj. ’ zeigt sich wieder die Vieldeutigkeit und Wider-
0e ^achkeit eines sozialen Phänomens, über das in der
tep Schaft geschwiegen wird, aus dem alle Beteilig-
v0p . er einen Nutzen ziehen: rivalisierende Männer sind
Ee& ^Un§en Mädchen verführbar, die Mädchen kämpfen
bra n^efiig um die Gunst der Männer, Frauen/Mütter
iere aen Geld, die jungen Freunde der sich prostitu-
ier^ en Mädchen werden von ihnen ausgehalten. Die
te tfai;ik dieser Lage liegt darin, dass die Mädchen ih-
d(irf abrun§en nicht im öffentlichen Diskurs einbringen
Und es in der Stadt keine gesellschaftliche In-
die regulierend eingreift und sich ihrer an-
faSSg'e Bedeutung dieser Forschungsarbeit, so die Ver-
tu^ liegt in ihrem Beitrag zur Methodenentwick-
sie ü ürn verdichtete Räume des Unterschiedlichen, wie
Pep S durch die Globalisierung immer häufiger begeg-
¿^alysiemn und verstehen zu können.
hocu .^llos wird in diesem Buch ein spannendes,
feiles Thema behandelt, und die intensive Aus-
riep Atzung mit den kulturwissenschaftlichen Theo-
sip^ Me die Anwendung multidisziplinärer Methoden
V? e>ndeutiges Verdienst der Autorin. Dennoch
Pis a as Euch sowohl auf der Ebene der theoretischen
ch der methodischen Aufarbeitung und der em-
°P°s 103.2008
pirisch-inhaltlichen Bewältigung erhebliche Schwächen
auf.
“Die Studie klärt über den gesellschaftlichen Um-
gang mit adoleszenten Mädchen in der westafrikanischen
Stadtgesellschaft von Bamako, der Hauptstadt Malis,
auf”, heißt es auf dem Buchumschlag. Umso unverständ-
licher ist der Umstand, dass es keine Einführung und/
oder Ausführung zu den Schwerpunktthemen des Buches
gibt, die den Rahmen der Diskursanalyse bilden sollten,
nämlich: die spezifische Urbanität Bamakos und deren
Problematik, die Migration und Stadtsozialisation junger
dörflicher Dogon-Mädchen sowie deren aktuelle Lebens-
situation in ihren Herkunftsdörfern, die Lebens- und Ar-
beitsbedingungen der Hausmädchen in der Stadt. Dem-
zufolge lässt natürlich auch die Literaturliste diesbezüg-
liche ethnologische und soziologische Literatur in Bezug
auf Mali vermissen, die übrigens weniger als 10% der
erstellten Bibliografie ausmacht. Eine eingehende Dar-
stellung dieser soziokulturellen Bezüge wäre nicht nur
wünschenswert gewesen, sondern stellt eine wesentliche
Voraussetzung für eine Erkenntnis fördernde Diskursana-
lyse dar. Ohne diese wichtigen Hintergrundinformatio-
nen lassen sich die Diskursbeispiele nämlich nicht richtig
verstehen und in den gesamtgesellschaftlichen Kontext
einordnen, und die Analyse bleibt somit schwer nach-
prüfbar. Den Beispielen haftet somit etwas Anekdoten-
haftes an, und sie vermitteln den Eindruck, nur einige
Momentaufnahmen widerzuspiegeln.
Der Einstieg in das eigentliche Thema wird erschwert
dadurch, dass die Autorin darauf verzichtet, ihre Fra-
gestellung in den einleitenden Kapiteln deutlich und
eingehend zu formulieren. M. E. liegt darin auch der
sprunghafte Umgang des Themas in den Fallbeispielen
begründet, der nämlich zu einem ständigen, nicht ex-
pliziten Lavieren zwischen verschiedenen analytischen
Ebenen führt. So geht es in dem zweiten Fallbeispiel
z. B. um so heterogene Bereiche wie die realen Migra-
tionsverläufe von zwei Frauen und zwei Männern aus
der Dogon-Region, deren Heiratsgeschichten, die erneute
Erläuterung des theoretischen Konzepts der kulturellen
Übergangsräume, die Interaktion zwischen einer Dogon-
Frau und der Forscherin, nachts auf der Straße tanzen-
de Dogon-Mädchen als eine besondere Diskurspraxis
und dann einer ethnologischen Rekonstruktion der Hei-
ratsprozesse bei den Dogon in den 40er Jahren, der aber
nicht in Bezug zu den interviewten Personen oder unter-
suchten Fallbeispielen gesetzt wird. Man hätte aus der
Einleitung auch gerne erfahren, wie der Weg der The-
menfindung aussah, wie die Autorin auf das Problem
gestoßen ist. Gab die kulturtheoretische Diskussion den
Anstoß für die Arbeit, oder war die Lage der Hausmäd-
chen in Bamako die grundlegende Erfahrung, die sie zu
einer Vertiefung des Verständnisses drängte?
Man sucht vergeblich nach Arbeitshypothesen und
einer erklärenden Darstellung der Arbeitsschritte. Hier
muss der Leser selber den Zusammenhang zwischen den
jeweiligen Beispielen und einer gedachten These kon-
struieren. Nichts erfährt man über die Auswahlkriteri-
en für die Fallbeispiele und die Interviewpartnerinnen,
deren Repräsentativität und Aussagegehalt. Warum ent-
278
Rezensi°neI1
scheidet sich Mansfeld für solche ephemeren, unpersön-
lichen Kontakte, anstatt eine kontinuierliche Beziehung
zu einem (oder mehreren) Dogon-Hausmädchen aufzu-
bauen? Auch die in die Dörfer zurückgekehrten Mädchen
bleiben gesichtslos und ihre scheinbar fast zufällig ge-
sammelten Aussagen fade und zusammenhanglos. Wie
lassen sich die Dogon-Männer in das Forschungspro-
jekt integrieren, zumal ihre Erzählweisen nicht unmittel-
bar mit den Erfahrungswelten der Mädchen konfrontiert
werden?
In einem relativ ausführlichen Kapitel stellt die Au-
torin Überlegungen zu den kulturellen und sozialen Mi-
grationsvoraussetzungen der Dogon-Mädchen an und be-
gibt sich hiermit wieder auf die sozialempirische Ebe-
ne. Zur Stützung ihrer Interpretation der Migration als
Fortsetzung der Traditionslinie greift sie auf ethnologi-
sche Untersuchungen zurück, die die Situation von vor
60 Jahren in idealtypischer Weise zum Gegenstand ha-
ben. In der Bezugnahme auf die Arbeit von Parin und
Morgenthaler “Die Weißen denken zuviel” (1963) als
Quellenangabe fehlt die kritische Distanz, die der Aus-
sagekraft der darin protokollierten Gespräche entgegen-
gebracht werden muss. Es handelt sich nämlich um in ei-
nem künstlichen, sozial isolierten Raum geführte, fremd
bestimmte Gespräche, Reden und Monologe, die auch
durch die psychologische Interpretation der Autoren völ-
lig unverständlich und zusammenhangslos bleiben, da sie
weder spezifische ethnologische Vorkenntnisse mitbrin-
gen noch solches Wissen später für ihre Analysen nutz-
bar machen. Fraglich ist auch Mansfelds Argumentation,
die von einer Vergleichbarkeit des Loslösungsprozesses
eines Mädchens zum Zwecke der Verheiratung in einem
benachbarten Dorf einerseits und der städtischen Migra-
tion andererseits ausgeht. Bei der Arbeitssuche in Bama-
ko stellen jedoch ökonomische Interessen bzw. Notwen-
digkeiten die Antriebskraft dar sowie der starke Wunsch
nach Teilhabe an der Modernität.
Äußerst ärgerlich ist die unterlassene Lektoratsar-
beit. Das Buch enthält unzählige Fehler bei der Inter-
punktion, der Wiedergabe französischer Wörter, der Kon-
junktivbildung in der indirekten Rede, der Groß- und
Kleinschreibung, den ethnologischen Bezeichnungen
(Banama-Gesellschaft und Bambana statt Bamana-Ge-
sellschaft) etc. Außerdem ist anzumerken, dass die deut-
sche Übersetzung der französischen Originalgespräche
dringend einer Überarbeitung bedurft hätte!
Das Buchcover wirft ebenfalls ernste Fragen auf: Was
haben die jungen Städterinnen, die sich vor einem Spie-
gel schminken und für eine Modenschau fertig zu ma-
chen scheinen - auf gar keinen Fall handelt es sich um
Dogon-Hausmädchen! - mit dem Inhalt des Buches zu
tun, wo es um die Prekarität und Entwurzelung junger
immigrierter Dorfmädchen und deren sprachlichen Dis-
kurs in einer transkulturellen unsicheren Lebenssituation
geht? - Bei der Danksagung der Autorin vermisse ich
zumindest die Erwähnung der malischen Partnerinnen,
die ihr für die Untersuchung dieses doch auch sehr heik-
len Themas zur Verfügung standen!
Ilsemargret Luttmann
Matory, J. Lorand: Black Atlantic Religion. TU
tion, Transnationalism, and Matriarchy in the Afro-b
zilian Candomblé. Princeton: Princeton University Fr
2005. 383 pp. ISBN 978-0-691-05944-0. Price: £
J. Lorand Matory, Professor für Ethnologie an
Harvard University, hat in der vergangenen Dekade 1
seinen zahlreichen Publikationen einen herausragen
Beitrag zur Forschung über die Verbindungslinien 2
sehen Afrika und der Neuen Welt und über afroaiu^
kanische Religionen im Besonderen geleistet. Seine
beitsweise und Reflexionen werden auch von Ethnol°&^
aufgegriffen, die sich mit anderen Regionen befassen
auf der Suche nach neuen theoretischen und meth°
logischen Impulsen sind. In dem Buch “Black Ada
Religion. Tradition, Transnationalism, and Matriarchy^
the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé” präsentiert Matory
gebnisse seiner Forschung über den brasilianischen ^
domblé in Bahia, die an eine frühere Arbeit über
Geisterverehrung der Yomba in Nigeria anknüpft-
In der Einleitung formuliert der Autor sein äu
gen, den Candomblé aus einer neuen Wissenschaft!10
Perspektive zu betrachten. Anders als die Pionier®
Afroamerikanistik, wie Melville Herskovits, Rog°r ^
tide oder Sidney Mintz und Richard Price, will er nljßf
nach afrikanischen Ursprüngen und Überbleibseln111 ,
Neuen Welt oder Neuformationen am Sklavereist3
ort suchen, sondern zeigen, dass afrikanische und 3
amerikanische Religiosität seit vielen Jahrhunderte11
einem wechselseitigen Austausch- und Befruchtung8"^
zess stehen. Weiterhin möchte sich Matory auf einerVe,
dem sozialen Kontext konzentrieren, indem er .in-
niger mit religiösen Laien der Plantagen oder des ^
terlandes, sondern mit Reisenden, Forschern, Schrift8^,
lern, Pilgern, Händlern und Priestern befasst, die s®1* g,
Mitte des 19. Jhs. die so genannten Volksreligionen
und jenseits des Atlantiks umgestalteten (16).
Das erste Kapitel, “The English Professors °f B^it
On the Diasporic Roots of the Yomba Nation »
eine geringfügige Überarbeitung eines Artikels ßab
schon sechs Jahre zuvor in der Zeitschrift ComparCl ^
Studies in Society and History erschienen ist. V ^
wählt einen historisierenden Ansatz, um sich 0111 ^
transatlantischen Genese der Yomba in Westafrika ^
ihren Abbildern in der Neuen Welt zu befassen,
lieh der Nation der Nagö im brasilianischen Bah|a^r|)
der Lucumi, die heute nicht nur in Havanna, s°a
in zahlreichen nordamerikanischen Großstädten zu ^
ist. Transatlantische Dynastien von Reisenden,
und Priestern, die im 19. und 20. Jh. regelmäßig zWlS
den beiden Ufern des Atlantik hin- und herwandert®1^^
stalteten über essentialisierende Diskurse eine Ide° . ei
der Reinheit und Überlegenheit der Yomba geg®
anderen westafrikanischen Ethnien. tj0p.
Das folgende Kapitel, “The Trans-Atlantic ^
Rethinking Nations and Transnationalism”, behau ^
Grunde eine ähnliche Fragestellung, denn auch
eine transatlantische Nation im Zentrum, die uu ^
gen brasilianischen Candomblé populär ist. Mat ) ^
schreibt hier das Entstehen, zeitweise Verschwind^ ^
Wiederaufleben der westafrikanischen Nation der ^
103
_2008
Anthropos
Pensionen
279
v^j, Anonym, das Mitte des 19. Jhs. für die indigène Be-
Der ^run§ Porto Novos (heute Benin) eingesetzt wurde,
fra verschwand im Zuge der Rivalität zwischen
afriv ^SC^em und englischem Imperialismus in West-
a und wurde durch Fon ersetzt. In den Folgejahren
de \nn ^er Schlangengott Da, der seinen Ursprung in
% pat^°n Gjedji hat, in Brasilien eine enorme Populari-
\y' laubige Händler und Pilger, die zwischen Bahia und
di^Stafrika hin- und herreisten, nahmen die Gottheiten
0n Ser Nation mit auf ihren Wegen und ließen die Nati-
[)je'n Brasilien unter dem Begriff Jeje Wiederaufleben,
.ökonomischen Erfolge dieser Kosmopoliten führten
dj nur zu einer raschen Vergrößerung der transozea-
.en Gläubigengemeinschaft, sondern auch zu einer
Mat erentwicklung der religiösen Inhalte und Symbolik.
{> 0ry verdeutlicht mit diesem Beispiel, dass religiöse
^ ’s irn Zusammenhang mit Sklaverei und Kolonialis-
drii f e^neswegs ausschließlich als Widerstand der Unter-
Üe Kten betrachtet werden kann, wie es vielfach formu-
dko WUrc^e’ sondern auch als Privileg der politisch und
H°misch orfolgreiehen Weltbürger jener Zeit gesehen
vis- en muss. Das Kapitel endet mit einer kritischen Re-
ti0^°n v°rausgegangener Ansätze zu den Konzepten Na-
Un<^ Transnationalismus, denen der Autor vorwirft,
sen,er hie historische Tiefe noch die spezifischen Klas-
meressen der jeweiligen Zeit zu berücksichtigen.
0, f1 Folgenden Kapitel, “Purity and Transnationalism.
Pia ne Transf°nnation of Ritual in the Yorùbâ-Atlantic
K0n^a”, geht es um die Unterschiede von religiösen
tiv der Reinheit und Reinigung in Lagos respek-
ko^ahia. Hier rückt zum ersten Mal die rituelle und
2g ^Phonelle Ebene der Verehrung von Gottheiten ins
Spje]rum der Betrachtung. Anhand verschiedener Bei-
sdrn 6 illustriert, wie strategische Interessen von be-
uten transozeanisch wirkenden religiösen Spezialis-
Über öen 1930er Jahren dazu beitrugen, Auffassungen
“afrikanische Reinheit” der Rituale ebenso wie
^ l§Ungszeremonien besonders in Brasilien und in Ku-
e(leutsam werden zu lassen.
“ç Gegensatz zu den vorherigen Kapiteln befasst sich
°*ea 0rnPid’s Newest Nation: Brazil” nicht mit trans-
es p180*1611 Fragestellungen, sondern mit der Stellung
der ar,dornblé innerhalb Brasiliens und seiner Rolle bei
Sein estaltung eines brasilianischen Nationalbewusst-
blé ^m Verlauf des 19. und 20. Jhs. wurde der Candom-
Iw n Unterschiedlichen Interessengruppen unterdrückt
tiaijs aus§egrenzt ur|d später aufgewertet und in natio-
P0lir|Sche Politiken inkorporiert. Ob Gilberto Freyres
Scbüf ^es Pegionalismus, der Indigenismus, Umwelt-
ler ___ er’ schwarze politische Aktivisten oder Landrecht-
A§e 2ahlreiche Gruppen trugen mit unterschiedlichen
te, en dazu bei, den Nordosten Brasiliens als ande-
ksSgIi warzere und afrikanischere Region erscheinen zu
V,and den Candomblé zum Symbol eines schwarzen
lens zu machen.
apçj ^as fünfte Kapitel, “Para Inglès Ver. Sex, Secrecy,
1erjç?^°larship in the Yorùbâ-Atlantic World”, dient ei-
krjnr|' lschen Prüfung der Arbeiten zweier Wissenschaft-
^ch e,n . f^ath Landes habe in ihrem 1947 erschienenen
Gity of Women” den Candomblé fälschlicherwei-
r°P°s 103.2008
se als matriarchalen Kult konstruiert, in dem Männer al-
lenfalls als “passive Homosexuelle”, die demnach Frau-
en gleichgestellt seien, erscheinen würden. Gemeinsam
mit ihrem Gefolgsmann Edison Cameiro habe sie das
Priesteramt als weibliches Monopol und Bahia als Hort
der Frauendominanz gezeichnet. Landes habe die Prä-
senz von Männern schlicht ignoriert, um, vergleichbar
mit Margaret Meads Arbeiten über Samoa, ein primi-
tivistisches Klischee zu konstruieren (190f.), und ihre
These sei “a plausible but interested and contested con-
struction of ‘tradition’” (209, Hervorhebung im Origi-
nal). Nachdem er seine Sicht auf die Variationen von Ge-
schlechterrollen und die Position von Homosexuellen im
Candomblé erläutert hat, wendet sich Matory gegen die
Thesen der US-amerikanischen Wissenschaftlerin Oye-
ronke Oyewumi, die selbst Yorùbâ ist. Deren Ansicht,
die Terminologien des Yorùbâ seien ursprünglich weitge-
hend geschlechtsneutral gewesen und erst der Kolonia-
lismus habe den Begriffen geschlechtliche Konnotatio-
nen hinzugefügt, versteht Matory als eine Idealisierung
bzw. Erfindung eines westlichen Feminismus, der den
Candomblé für die eigenen Ideologien instrumentalisie-
re. Bedauerlicherweise wählt der Autor in der Beschäf-
tigung mit beiden Forscherinnen eine Sprache, die eher
an Abrechnung als an Auseinandersetzung erinnert und
die den Grundtenor einer mitunter zynisch anmutenden
Verteidigungshaltung hat.
Im Unterschied zu den vorausgegangenen Kapiteln,
die einen starken Schwerpunkt auf die historischen Pro-
zesse legen, geht es anschließend in “Man in the ‘City
of Women’ ” um die religiöse Praxis des Candomblé der
Gegenwart. Das Kapitel knüpft insoweit an das vorherige
an, als es die Folgen der Femininisierung des Candomblé
für das Leben eines bestimmten Candomblé-Priesters,
Pai Francisco, erläutert, der gleichzeitig bester Freund
und spiritueller Ratgeber des Ethnologen in Brasilien
ist (225). Sowohl die Biographie als auch die Darstel-
lung des Verhältnisses zwischen dem Ethnologen und
dem Priester gestalten ein Bild Pai Franciscos, der ein
ehrlicher und begabter aufsteigender Stern im Candom-
blé sein könnte, dessen Rolle und Möglichkeiten jedoch
durch das Wirken der politischen und intellektuellen Eli-
ten, die das Priesteramt als Frauen Vorbehalten ansehen,
boykottiert werden (262).
Im Schlusskapitel setzt sich Matory erneut mit den
theoretischen und begrifflichen Grundlagen unseres Fa-
ches auseinander, wobei seine Innovationskraft primär
darin besteht, frühere Ansätze zu demontieren. In einer
raschen Aufeinanderfolge kritisiert er jene Ethnologen,
die zu Konzepten wie “syncretism”, “survival”, “roots”,
“rhizome”, “diaspora”, “creolization” oder “collective
memory’ ’ gearbeitet haben, um anschließend “dialogue”
als die seiner Ansicht nach treffendere Alternative einzu-
führen.
Das Buch “Black Atlantic Religion” hat viele heraus-
ragende Stärken. Matorys Detailgenauigkeit in der Aus-
wertung historischer Quellen, seine konsequente Suche
nach den Wechselwirkungen dies- und jenseits des At-
lantiks, die Berücksichtigung des lusophonen und fran-
kophonen Sprachraums und auch seine Idee, die politi-
280
Rezension11
sehen, ökonomischen und religiösen Eliten ihrer Zeit zu
fokussieren und damit unseren Blick für die Interessen
und Agenden anderer sozialer Gruppen zu schärfen, stel-
len eine enorme Bereicherung für unser Fach dar.
Bedauerlicherweise bedient sich der Autor einer er-
müdenden und repetierenden Argumentationstechnik,
mit der er der Leserin vermitteln möchte, dass sämtliche
vor ihm da gewesene Ansätze zu Konzepten wie Transna-
tionalismus oder Nation inadäquat oder fehlerhaft waren
und erst jetzt, mit seinem Buch, Licht ins Dunkel der
Ethnologie eindringen kann. Nicht nur die häufig ver-
kürzte Kritik an den Arbeiten von Kolleginnen, sondern
auch die häufig wenig wertneutrale Sprache, beispiels-
weise bei der Auseinandersetzung mit den Geschlechter-
politiken des Candomblé, können die Freude am Lesen
verderben. Weiterhin verwundern einige merkwürdige
Aussprachehilfen, (z. B. OH-REE-SHAH für ôrïsà [19],
kah-BOH-kloosh für caboclos und voh-DOOn für vo-
dum [23]), bei denen man sich fragt, welchen Kriteri-
en die Auswahl unterlag, da das Buch haufenweise mit
Begriffen aus dem Yorùbâ und anderen afrikanischen
Sprachen gespickt ist, deren Aussprache jedoch nicht er-
läutert wird. Auch die Schreibweise irritiert, da sie sich
nicht an den internationalen Ausspracheregeln, sondern
vermutlich an der anglophonen Aussprache orientiert.
Wenn auch etwas mehr Wertschätzung der Leistung der
Kolleginnen und im Gegenzug auch etwas mehr ethno-
graphische Nähe zu den Gläubigen und ihrer religiösen
Praxis wünschenswert gewesen wäre, bleibt das Buch
anspruchsvoll und anregend und sein Gewinn für For-
schungen über translokale Religionen bleibt unbestritten.
Heike Drotbohm
Palmer, John H.: La buena voluntad Wichí. Una
espiritualidad indígena. Las Lomitas: Grupo de Trabajo
Ruta 81, 2005. 386 pp. ISBN 987-22489-0-7.
No cabe duda que, como aseveran los propios Wichí
del Gran Chaco, “se han dicho muchas palabras ya”;
y en lo que a ellos respecta, en las últimas décadas,
numerosos artículos y varias monografías incrementaron
notablemente nuestro conocimiento etnográfico de su
cultura y sus condiciones actuales de vida. Lo asombroso
es que John Palmer, proponiéndose traducir sólo una
palabra wichí (i.e., husék), nos ofrece un libro original y a
la vez, el más completo y depurado que se haya publicado
sobre el grupo.
“La buena voluntad Wichf ’ es la traducción de una
versión corregida de la tesis doctoral que el autor de-
fendió en 1997 en la Universidad de Oxford (“Wichi
Goodwill. Ethnographic Allusions”). Los protagonistas
principales son los habitantes de los territorios de Zlaqa-
tahyi y Lhaka Honhat (provincia de Salta, Argentina). Sin
embargo, el libro no trata únicamente de ellos; mediante
una extensa revisión crítica de la bibliografía, el autor
presenta una síntesis etnográfica con conclusiones que
alcanzan a los Wichí en su conjunto.
Palmer comenzó sus investigaciones antropológicas
entre los Wichí en 1976; más tarde se instaló en una
comunidad - la de Hoktek T’oi - y formó una familia.
Basándose en su larga experiencia, el autor se ^°V°
un objetivo claro: dar una traducción tan adecuada c°^
sea posible de la categoría indígena de husék (buena^
luntad). Se trata de un concepto “difícil de desentraña
y para traducirlo cabalmente se ve llevado a context
zarlo en el marco de la cultura wichí en sentido amp
Cada uno de los seis capítulos del libro aborda un t
relevante de la etnografía del grupo y llega a conclusi ^
ingeniosas que expone con claridad y acompaña c°°
extraordinario caudal de información etnográfica y 1
güística.
El capítulo 1 presenta una síntesis histórica de
;‘las
” SUS'
relaciones de los Wichí con el mundo no indígena
la IUS
tentada tanto en los documentos escritos como en
toria oral del grupo. La erudición del autor en la
le permite hacer demostraciones cruciales a la luz de
conflictos políticos contemporáneos: p. ej., la PaU are|p
usurpación colonial, criolla, estatal, empresarial y 1
glosa de tierras indígenas desde hace al menos 400 a
Más allá de esto, el capítulo se articula con el con)
del libro al proponer como conclusión central que Q
persecución sociopolítica y el agotamiento econo 1
que han sufrido históricamente [los Wichí] no puede8
consolidar su identidad cultural. Al estimular la u
voluntad mutua dentro de la comunidad, esta se ve ua
cada por los abusos foráneos”. jjo
El capítulo 2 “brinda una visión general del ^ ^
ambiente, tal como se percibe a través de la óptica ^
toponimia wichf’. Después de estudiar casi 1000 top
mos, Palmer sostiene que “el sistema wichí de ’dar
bres a la tierra’ no pretende ser tanto un registro
de sus propias victorias y derrotas en situaciones de g
flicto [sino presentar] una serie de incidentes ejernp ^
que, en forma exponencial, ilustran la contienda eu
vida y la muerte en abstracto”. Esta “visión trágica a
[nos dice Palmer] es un sistema educativo que ens ^
enfrentar el sufrimiento ... Al documentar las desv^ e
jas del entorno, ratifica las ventajas del espacio mota.
[los Wichí] crean en el centro del cosmos”. La top°nl
expresa así, una “ecología de la buena voluntad • . je
El capítulo 3 parte del análisis detallado del
iniciación femenina (yenzli atsihna) y del aspecto P
sual del sistema de matrimonio, para terminar ana ¿o
do un amplio conjunto de instituciones y establee ^
las relaciones simbólicas que las entretejen. En t0 Q\
juego de oposiciones y correlaciones - p- cj ’ 6
rito de iniciación femenina y la “metamorfosis’ ¿e\
del chaman (hiyawú), entre la forma y el contení „
espacio doméstico y la regla de residencia uxofl ej
en el que el discurso mítico aparece como urditn &
autor va pasando los hilos que tejen la trama co
del cosmos wichí. de la
Para delimitar el basamento socio-estructura 6j
“buena voluntad” wichí, el cuarto capítulo ^esC ^ la
sistema de parentesco y matrimonio. Allí, se an^ ^
terminología de parientes (ihññj, otros similares)’
cipio de descendencia cognaticia y su relación ^ ^0]
“nombres de parentela”; la terminología de afin68^^-
ta wehnazlamej, otros diferentes); el principio
dad serial” que guía las alianzas exógamas no PreS
103
.2008
Anthropos
281
Merisi
!onen
tas
’ y Ia regla de localidad. La imagen final del capítulo
a sistema de parentesco y afinidad que, combinado
^ a norma de residencia uxorilocal, define a las comu-
“bn aeS como ámbitos socioculturales en donde la
®na voluntad” es la clave de todas las interacciones.
recu CaP'tu*° ^ examina la guerra como el último de los
Sll rsos empleados para defender la “buena voluntad” de
ej c°ntrario: la “delincuencia” (amukweyaj) afinal. Ante
ju Us° verbal o físico, el adulterio o el robo impune, el
Da ni^ca<^° siente “enojo” {yvaq) y reclamará que se le
prQ°Ue valor” {wohayé). Si el agresor no lo hace, se
el« Uce Una situación de violencia social. En todo caso,
1 enojo”
no es “agresividad” (fwüseyaj) y, por lo tanto,
riUerra no atenta contra la “buena voluntad” sino que la
Afirma.
Ce ^Sl se llega al sexto y último capítulo, donde el con-
K, ° buena voluntad” wichí es abordado de lleno.
;Gr Presenta los cuatro atributos que la caracterizan.
cUe v°luntad individual” es el órgano metafísico del
Catiy3° ^Ue conbere SU carácter consciente, comuni-
ej 0 Y motivado; es un ser espiritual que se aloja en
es c°razón. La “voluntad social” (o “buena voluntad”)
d^^ncto de la socialización, que tiene como finali-
zo . e^m‘nar la agresividad” mediante una educación
Kj.^'^ritarin del niño. Ella “transforma a los individuos
*°t0: '
§üti,
©eos en seres morales con capacidad social”. En al-
espgS P°cos casos el individuo desarrollará una voluntad
de Clab la “voluntad chamánica”, poseedora de “fuerza
Od” (qapfwayaj) que “es el poder mágico que
la 0 a v°lUntad • • • para lograr los objetivos que exceden
de Apetencia de una operación física”. La similitud
concepto con el de mana es tema de una crítica
est^°Sa- Con la muerte, la voluntad adquiere un nuevo
0 y se transforma en el “alma del difunto” (ahdt).
Pro n Vaiaas oportunidades Palmer deja sentado que su
y n^Ues,;a de traducir el término husék como “voluntad”
evjta c°mo “alma” no pretende negar este último sino
ipie r utilizar un concepto desacreditado en el pensa-
y rpnt° 0ccidental y, en última instancia, “reformularlo
e] t Itafizarlo”. Por este motivo, en el anexo 2, revisa
l^lit amient0 fiue d concepto de “alma” ha tenido en
y b eratura antropológica clásica (particularmente Tylor
s&l y uno de sus antecedentes en la filosofía
eqt Grna (Schopenhauer). La crítica es sagaz y, a nuestro
%nQ er’ junto con la comparación de qapfwayaj con
q ’ c°nstituye el punto más teórico sugestivo del libro.
Wi^P^Plctan la obra, una selección de literatura oral
vari0seu versión bilingüe (wichí y español) (anexo 3),
Wichf' ^ujos y fotografías, una nota sobre la ortografía
fop * lanexo 1) y el repertorio de topónimos analizados
Ej
ut)ro “cumple un rol implícitamente político [dice
apl.er en la “Introducción”], porque tiene por objeto
los ^ ^a antropología a la defensa y promoción de
ofrecerech°s humanos [del pueblo Wichí]”; y se los
y ^ c°mo un “tributo”. Por su claridad, consistencia
Zptr stancial originalidad es también un tributo para la
Pología del Chaco. Rodrigo M. Montani
Hr,
°Pos 103.2008
Pawlik, Jacek Jan: Zaradzic nieszczçsciu. Rytuaiy
kryzysowe u ludu Basari z Togo. [To Overcome Misfor-
tune. Crisis Rituals of the Bassari People of Togo.] Olsz-
tyn: Studio Poligrafii Komputerowej “SQL” s. c., 2006.
301 pp. ISBN 978-83-88125-45-4. (Biblioteka Wydzialu
Teologii UWM, 31)
The author tackles a very difficult but one of the most
crucial problems in Africa - people’s understanding of
misfortune and ways of dealing with it. The Bassari of
northern Togo are taken as the case study. Pointing out
that the Bassari do not have a general and abstract notion
of illness, the author presents ways in which painful ex-
periences can be perceived and qualified as misfortune.
He emphasizes that not all painful experiences are qual-
ified as such. Only health problems (the author stresses
that for the Bassari these include physical, psychological,
and social dimensions) that cannot be solved by physical
(pharmacological) means are taken into account but not
automatically. There exists an entire process of search-
ing for causes of problems, naming them, and eventually
addressing them practically. The author pays a lot of
attention to the latter aspect, namely practical response
to misfortune. He demonstrates that it is done in rituals,
particularly in crisis rituals. This leads him also to ana-
lyze the perception of rituals, their meaning and effec-
tiveness. He concludes that ritual is a multidimensional
phenomenon in its own right, thus irreducible to only one
or a few of its aspects. Examining significance of ritual
therapies the author tries to assess the effectiveness of
performed rituals and shows that effectiveness is linked
to religious beliefs. Significance of rituals is placed in the
performance of the ritual act, while cathartic effects seem
to be its by-product. Ritual is effective when it brings
fully into being all that is experienced by the participants.
For the Bassari with their very pragmatic approach to life
effectiveness of ritual determines its veracity.
This book is the effect of the author’s meticulous field
research conducted during his several years long stay in
Togo among the Bassari, supplemented with additional
intensive periods of research in later years. The author
already showed his high anthropological competence in
his previous book on the concept of death (Expérience
sociale de la mort. Fribourg 1990). His intensive studies
were augmented by systematic reviewing of publications
on anthropology and Africa for Anthropos. The present
book formed a part of the merit on which the author
gained his habilitation in anthropology in 2007. It sig-
nificantly strengthened the author’s position as one of the
leading Africanists in Poland.
The book consists of seven chapters, introduction,
conclusion, bibliography, 52 colour illustrations depict-
ing various stages of performed rituals, a short Bassari-
Polish dictionary of terms used in the book, three in-
dices (thematic, geographical names, general and per-
sonal names) and resumes in English and French.
The first chapter sets the context in which the Bassari
live. Four chapters (3-6) on rituals, containing material
from field research, are enclosed by two theoretical chap-
ters (2 and 7). The author masterly builds his theoretical
framework for the purpose of his study drawing from the
282
Rezensi°nen
vast anthropological theoretical literature on the subject
of misfortune and ritual studies. In chapter 2 the author
describes the passage from an empirically stated anomaly
or pathology to the stage of considering it as a form of
misfortune. While health is an element of the total har-
mony in which human beings live in the universe, illness
is a form of chaos that disrupts the harmony. Thus, for the
Bassari (and other peoples) the issue of illness includes
another dimension perceived in the West as “religious/
spiritual.” Western readers are reminded that a system of
symbolic notions plays a significant role here. For the
Bassari illness has also a social dimension. Finally, the
author tackles the problem of linking misfortune with
evil, reminding the reader about differences in African
and Western perception of the problem. For the Bassari
the moral dilemma is not considered as a choice between
good and evil but between life and death! They treat all
that destroys life as evil, at the same time trying to find
out to what extent a person attacked by evil is responsible
for bringing it about.
Cultural context plays a significant role in defining
how people perceive and explain misfortune. The book
shows multidimensionality of the problem presenting
misfortune understood as an effect of an unpaid debt
(chapter 3), as a result of taboo transgression (chapter 4),
as a sign of choice (chapter 5), and misfortune due to
aggression (chapter 6). In all of these chapters the au-
thor presents a detailed description of rituals performed
in order to cope with misfortune, or to alleviate its ef-
fects. Needless to say the author observed all of them
personally, giving the reader firsthand material. In chap-
ter 7 the author tries to capture the most elusive aspect
of the whole problem, writing at first about pragmatism
and meaning of rituals. He, then, shows ritual as a pro-
cess and draws the reader’s attention to rituals’ virtuality
that allows for preserving the structures of ritual while
offering possibilities for creativity in forms. Finally, the
multidimensionality of ritual practice is stressed.
The theoretical chapters are very informative. How-
ever, this strength of the book turns at times into its weak-
ness when the reader starts wondering about the purpose
of referring to so many authors and about the way all
these references are going to be applied to the material
from Togo. It has to be stressed that the application is
eventually done, and done very well. Still, the impression
remains - particularly in chapter 7 - that the author tries
to catch too many birds at once.
The challenge posed by the topic was augmented by
differences in worldview between many Africans and
Westerners. Throughout the book the author is aware that
a fair treatment of the topic can only be guaranteed with
paying full attention to these differences and alerting the
reader to them. He successfully achieves that goal.
Generally, the book deserves a high praise and it
should be of interest not only to anthropologists/African-
ists because of its extensive and informative presentation
of the original material from the fieldwork among the
Bassari but also to all those who focus on ritual studies,
philosophers, and theologians who concentrate on the
problem of misfortune/evil. Stanislaw Grodz
Pinxten, Rik, and Ellen Preckler (eds.): RaC^^
Metropolitan Areas. New York: Berghahn Books, 2 ,
190 pp. ISBN 978-1-84545-089-2. (Culture and ?o№
Politics and Culture, 3) Price: $ 22.50 , ^
This collection of essays is third in a series of Pl ^
lications on the relationship of culture and polihcS-
is based on papers presented at a conference on c
and racism, held in Brussels (the introduction negleC
mention when) and sponsored by the Evens Foun
The conference’s - and this book’s - goal was to
dati on-
fulfil
the dialogue between scholars, policymakers, busing
people, and people from the media and art worlds-
collaboration of science and political practice is a
lustrated by the persons of the two editors: Pinxten ^
professor of anthropology at Ghent University,
Seckl6f
referred to as a “junior interface officer,” working
liaison between the city of Ghent and youth movent
Let me begin by stating that providing a frame ^
for the collaboration between social scientists and V
cymakers is evidently a noble effort and potentially ^
important - if it really has a chance of making a ^
ference in the world of policy, is a different matter
beyond the scope of this review - as is the excn
between social-scientific theory and political practi ^
general, and as are the issues of racism in contemp0
societies and the social role of metropolitan areas U
and many other respects. For these reasons al0116^^
book deserves praise simply for the fact that it has
written. Regrettably, however, this seems to be ahe
the best thing that can be said about it. f m
But let us first come back to the description 0 ^
book’s structure. After two brief pages of introdnc ^
the volume is organized in two parts: the first, c ^
“Disempowering through Racism,” presents nine eS ^
that focus on the description and analysis of racishV^
second, “Empowering to Combat Racism,” presents
more essays that aim to describe strategies to intp
racial relations, counter racism, and empower disn j
taged social groups. While those two foci are ,n
roughly reflected in the respective sections’ article8, ^
internal selection of papers appears to be complet j,
random. The intended dialogue between theory an ^
icy evidently falls short of any expectation for the_^
pie reason alone that only one third of the essay8 fS)
others than social scientists. Even the “scientific” PaP ny
some written by well-known anthropologists anu 0f
raising interesting points, are mostly just the leng a
conference presentations and for this reason preCl
sophisticated engagement with the issues at stake- ^
This leads to the main problem of this book: as ,
ference volumes go, the papers are necessarily di
but in this case, it is impossible to discover any co
thread or systematic framework that tries to bine
diverse contributions together in some way. Both r js
and the study of metropolitan areas - the latter the ^ ^
actually hardly theorized at all in the book (claim8 Qile
introduction notwithstanding that it is supposed to
of the book’s foci), which leaves the reader w°nae^
this is a selection of case studies that just happen
dressing urban contexts, or if there is something P
.2 008
103
Anthropos
^en
W
sionen
Su^°ut racism in such contexts - are very wide-ranging
t0 ^cts> and no one can seriously expect any single book
appg t*lem fuP justice- In this case, however, the papers
add ^ t0 more at random than usual, and while they
fro^ess a number of very interesting issues, they do so
caj Such a broad variety of regional and sociohistori-
be C°ntexts (ranging between India, Singapore, Austria,
r^’ BelSium’ ^reat Britain, etc.) that they present
Md '3Ut superficial glances at specific cases from a
eff0 array of different angles. Laura Nader makes an
ing to identify some common themes in her conclud-
ing Raiments, but one would have expected first of all
gen ltQrs to identify some key issues and sketch some
framework of approaches in the introduction -
s°iti aSt kUt not Ieast’ to urge the contributors to make
a differences to these in their papers. Far from being
°§ue, in the current version scholars and policy-
are simply talking past each other (as usual, one
l\y0 Veuture to remark), and neither do the “scientific”
pro lrds of the papers identify some overarching ap-
lt js nes’ which the policymakers could have addressed.
t°okto be hoped that a dialogue between the two sides
sh0WPlace during the conference - it definitely fails to
£Qln Ihe pages of this book.
trap ln fr>e end, the reader is left with a rather frus-
b°ok’ exPerIence ~ and wondering, after all, who the
the k S lnten(led audience might be: to the anthropologist,
staterie^ essays neither tell anything new nor present a
'Of-tfie- ■
raci
lsrti
art overview of how the important issue of
c’al c •ln metr°politan areas is being investigated by so-
lo p lentists. To the general reader and, more important,
rand 1Clans and policymakers, the contributions are too
s°tiie SeIected and too specific to provide them with
a Scie §eneral ideas of how these issues are viewed from
of ^ ntl^c Perspective. The final impression, then, is one
tan | .iaPP°intment. The book addresses a highly impor-
enllsts Ue’ which anthropologists - and other social sci-
in the 7should be called upon to pay even more attention
dear utUre, but it misses an opportunity to make any
befivetatement and to demonstrate how the collaboration
n Scientists and policymakers could work in a joint
and D r° develop a strategy to combat racist ideologies
° lt^Cs- Ingo W. Schroder
et sériÜrCher’ Yves : Politique parade. Pouvoir, charisme
IS^tion. Paris : Éditions du Seuil, 2007. 238 pp
j^8-2-02-089890-4. Prix : € 17.00
sélecti cette splendide galerie de portraits politiques,
^ cha°nn^S ^ans P histoire contemporaine en fonction
Pr0ra^‘Snie’ de la grâce ou de la baraka, le guide nous
Au (j^e avec son crayon laser, sa verve fine et pétillante.
Ut’ ^ean~Paul II et Hassan II ; à la fin : Nicolas,
(lUelqüe^’ et les autres (dont un trublion). Entre ceux-là :
P^rni Marchais, Pasqua, Khrouchtchev ..., coincés
lectüres faciès drolatiques ou pétulants. Dès ce début
Pour | e’ Ie pense avoir retrouvé ma passion de naguère
CamPa Ve^Ve de Philippe Alexandre dans “Paysages de
(Pans ]Qo ou hans “Mon livre de cuisine politique”
y88, Paris 1992).
^Pqs 103.2008
283
Je prends Y. Fourcher à rebours en sélectionnant les
plus beaux pétards de son feu d’artifice royal et final ! Il
ne sait trop comment parler des partisans roses : roya-
listes, que non ! ségolistes, ça sonnerait comme gaul-
listes ; ségolénistes, ça rimerait avec lepénistes. Gazelle ?
Girafe au milieu d’éléphants? “Immaculée conception
du pouvoir ? Nouvelle madone du politique” (225) ? Peu
importe ! Wagner a bien composé, vous souvient-il, “Le
Hollandais volant”, traduit en français par “Le Vaisseau
fantôme”. Oh, le bel air de Senta ! Mais rien à voir avec
le Chœur des esclaves de “Nabucco” entonné par un
baryton, géniteur de Marine ! En face ou à contre jour,
“un Bonaparte impatient comme tous les Bonapartes ...,
Sarkozy agite, secoue, provoque et tire” (227). “Pendant
ces mois de campagne, il nous faut retrouver le sens du
rêve, de l’espoir, de l’illusion et de la grâce. Croire ! Un
peu, rien qu’un peu. Le verdict tombera” (229). Que mon
lecteur Tait entendu ce verdict avant d’avoir lu Touvrage,
ne signifie nullement qu’il n’ait pas à céder au charme
d’un Y. Fourcher, ni dogmatique, ni partisan, ni pétard
mouillé, simplement solide dans son discours et décapant
dans son humour.
Sans me laisser émouvoir par le crâne de Barthez ou
par le cinéma de Reagan, je livre simplement un florilège.
Indira Gandhi ; La différence avec mon père ? Moi, je
suis impitoyable ! (219), Chirac : “un bel appétit : Ah, la
Corrèze, la mairie de Paris, le RPR, etc.” (228). Le Pen,
chef de secte ou grand gourou, “la seule vedette de son
carnaval électoral” (205). Chevènement, pied sur terre
et tête dans les étoiles (200) qui annonce : Chirospin,
le destin programmé ! et qui stigmatise le Chouan à la
voix aigrelette : De Villiers (191). Mamère, lui, en janvier
2002, dépeint : Jospin, Téquilibriste ; Chirac, le VRP du
modèle pompidolien industrialisé ; Le Pen, le candidat
inoxydable du fascisme à la française ; Arlette, la can-
didate toujours présente depuis 1917 (198) ... Ailleurs,
Madame Laguiller brocarde “Rocard dont la réputation
d’intelligence vient de ce que personne ne comprend ce
qu’il dit” (184). De belles sorties en noir et blanc : Noir
comme le Michel de Lyon, Blanc comme le Jacques
de la Lozère (cf. Fourcher, Votez tous pour moi. Paris
2004) ! Ici et ailleurs, des présidents Kennedy, Mitterand,
Clinton sont des charmeurs artistes (150) ! Leçon à Jean
Lacouture entendue de Mitterand : “Vous devriez savoir,
vous qui avez fait de l’histoire, que la politique, c’est une
affaire de bande” (143). Pour Kennedy, parlant à Pierre
Salinger après son élection de 1960, “La télévision est
une boîte sacrée. Nouvelle huile sainte, elle coule sur la
tête des heureux élus. Elle consacre, au moins pour un
temps” (138).
Je joue à vous offrir des amuse-gueule, mais le plat
de résistance est substantiel. Je pars de la fin. “La séduc-
tion n’est pas une arme exclusivement féminine. Chez
un homme, on l’appelle le charisme”, disait Françoise
Giroud (218). Le charisme joue sur trois pôles, selon
Yves Fourcher : T en-haut qui gratifie et donne raison
à l’histoire, Ten-soi de la passion et de l’acharnement,
Ten-nous des groupes et communautés désignant leur
chef (218). Soit le triangle de sustentation du charisme :
les symboles, l’artiste, le public (6).
284
Le début de l’ouvrage nous instruit sur ceux qui font
vaciller les trônes : Savonarole ou Luther : “le charisme,
ça se travaille” (18) et ça peut porter capuche. La baraka,
c’est pour le Maroc, là ou la royauté est d’essence divine.
Mais l’Arabie a plus d’essence que d’autres et ses princes
ont Delage comme carrosse. Sa Majesté Elisabeth II (qui
a la phobie de la pilosité et apprécie le Dubonnet) est
dite rock-star par le Times, bien que son fils Charles soit
jugé trop bateleur. A chacun sa séduction : compétent,
dynamique, fiable ..., en tournée électorale. Certains
gagnent le charisme à partir du Vieux-Morvan, d’autres
battent la campagne corrézienne sur un marché où on
lève les bras, et où les paysans disent : “il nous caresse
dans le sens du poil et on adore ça (59). Pour Françoise
Giroud parlant de Mitterand jeune : “Tout en lui est
net” (52), mais elle et lui ont peut-être changé depuis,
tout comme Giscard d’Estaing “à l’intelligence pure et
claire comme l’eau de source” (155) ... à une époque.
La même, auparavant, avait pensé de Mendès-France :
“Sa vertu n’était-elle pas trop emmerdante ?” (63). Vertu
et séduction ne font pas toujours bon ménage.
Sa typologie des gens au sommet, l’auteur la peaufine
mais s’inspire d’abord de “Management” : le tribun,
le passionné, le visionnaire, la séductrice, le guerrier,
l’énigmatique (66). Certains croient aux forces et non aux
hommes qui les incarnent (75). Pour qui a maintenu la
France sur “Le fil de l’épée” : “Etre grand, c’est sou-
tenir une grande querelle !” (68). Le chef, vu par De
Gaulle, doit aussi “être réservé, grand, solitaire, mais
aussi égoïste, dur et rusé” (125).
Comme tous les sociologues compétents, Yves Pour-
cher a décortiqué la doctrine de ses précurseurs, notam-
ment le charisme selon Weber fait d’attraction rayon-
nante, d’adresse heureuse, de qualités éminentes et de
dons jugés exceptionnels. Comme tous les brillants po-
litologues, il a réfléchi, et lu une masse documentaire
époustouflante de livres, journaux, hebdomadaires de
tous âges. Comme les ethnologues, il a passé du temps
sur le terrain des chefs d’hier et d’aujourd’hui, avec ré-
vérence, en photographiant et filmant, en portraiturant et
statufiant, en instillant la dérision des dictateurs : Musso-
lini massif et tourmenté, Hitler à la parole-mitrailleuse,
Staline, image de terreur. Comme un séducteur lettré, il
ne clame ni sa couleur ni ses appartenances. Dans ce
texte, point de rogatons, ni de cerise sur le gâteau de
tel candidat ! Comme Honoré Daumier, il a une connais-
sance presque tactile de ses bonzes et de ses bronzes : le
Churchill au cigare, les Kennedy en groupe, les Clinton
en couple, et les Giscard en fleur, mais illusionnistes.
Le défilé de haute couture politique (hormis Juquin ou
Lajoinie) de Y. Fourcher sait cependant éviter la perfidie
du peintre-sculpteur marseillais. Il est vrai qu’il examine
les pairs internationaux du Négus et non la stature des
députés de région.
Tournons court pour saluer certes “le pouvoir et la
grâce” des séducteurs d’en-haut, mais aussi le brio de ce
professeur d’université toulousaine tout juste au “Seuil”
de sa carrière. Il n’y a qu’à lire pour s’enchanter. En-
tendons-nous ! Il ne s’agit ni d’un cours de philosophie
politique, ni d’un jeu de massacre pour kermesse commu-
Rezensi°nen
nale, mais seulement de l’analyse de certains théâtre5^
pouvoir, afin de déceler comment certains parvienn ^
subjuguer et comment fonctionne un certain temps1
de grâce. Le public n’est ni d’une crédulité sans ia
ni d’une fidélité à toute épreuve, pas plus que les m ^
d’un moment ne sont dupes de la flatterie, ni sûrs de
leurs promesses. Les organisations partisanes se t
forment aussi vite que se perdent les idéologies aP
coup de pioche à Berlin, virement de cuti pour 1 e
gie, palissement des photos d’après-guerre. Il n’empe
que la peinture des châteaux quichotesques, de 'eurSeli*
cataires et de leurs moulins à parole, permet de
saisir la solennité et le comique de bien des parades P ^
tiques, surtout dans les nouvelles mises en scène d
Fourcher. Claude 8)Vl
Raynal, Guillaume-Thomas: A History of me ^
Indies. A Translated Selection of Writings from
“Histoire philosophique et politique des établisse111
des Européens dans les Deux Indes.” Ed. by Peter Jim
Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2006. 28
ISBN 978-0-7546-4043-1. Price: £ 60.00 0f
This is a selection of passages from the 19 boo
Abbé Raynal’s “Histoire philosophique et politiflue ^
établissements et du commerce des Européens daaS^g
deux Indes.” The editor succeeds in writing not
the title in a correct manner, and he changes
çois,” the seldom-mentioned third name of the autn
fra11'
Francois or even Frangois. Even in the bibliography^
title is not correct, but we leam from the author, ^
“understandably, though unfortunately for the rea ^
this volume, virtually all significant works concerning ^
Histoire des deux Indes are in French” (279).
not consider the English history students unfortunate ^
are not urged to read sources in the original languaêWp
But now at least a selection of Raynal’s work is ^
able to the interested English reader. Jimack traIlS^gO,
from the third edition, published in Geneva m ^
which succeeded the 1770 and the 1774 editi°nS ^
which is considered the best one, due also to the ^
that Diderot contributed to this edition more than ^.f(j
former ones, according to some scholars up to one ^ ^
of the text. This leads to the phenomenon of Rayna
his “History of the Two Indies.” The latter becameaI^ce
mediate success and saw more than 30 editions in “
alone during the first two decades after its appeara aef
There were special editions like “Raynal for the i° ^
Generation,” and there were tens of pirated editi°115
tens of translations into all major European lang
The enormous success of Raynal’s work has
reasons. Raynal, bom 1713 in Séverac in the ' -tal
later studied at the Jesuit college in Rodez, the e r
of the Aveyron. He became an abbé there, but so - ^
terwards left the clergy to become a writer. When, 0f
several books on history, he published “The His
the Two Indies” in Amsterdam in 1770, the volume5
immediately put on the index. This made the pub 1 sqîi
probably even more sought-after, but the major
was the combination of well-known historical ta
103
.200g
Anthropos
285
Nsi0nen
lots Qf’
Whe st°nes and rumours which Raynal heard at parties,
t*1* interrogated people, sometimes to their discon-
arjes Kayn&l sent questionnaires to politicians, mission-
's ’ ?lanters’ and intellectuals alike. Thus he coloured
ery and since he was mainly against the slav-
Prot 6 Was soon considered one of the Enlightenment
Exists. “Dealing with the activities of all the main
^eth^ean c°i°nial powers, France, Spain, Britain, The
trlllc^ands, and Portugal, ... [the ‘History’] reveals
lhe p a^0ut their trading and imperial ventures across
to [i ast indies and Americas, and the effect this was
b0okaVfe 0n both sides of the Atlantic.” It became the
appe 0r the anticolonialist, and when the 1780 edition
|w ed’ which was filled with Diderot’s pungent contri-
s and attacks against colonial exploitation, slavery,
L0l[. ^anny, the reaction was predictable. On behalf of
did tk ^ ^ the Parliament censured the book. The church
M 6 Sartle’ And when the book was burned in public
tfieri ^ 1781, its threatened author fled to Prussia and
q ® the Prussian enclave of Neuchâtel in Switzerland.
Sia„0ethe and Chateaubriand, Mirabeau and Madame de
the
V^lldLC-dLlUl 1 CHILI, IVllidUC/dU. CHILI IVldLldlllC' UC
e ^0nd°rcet and Napoleon Bonaparte belonged to
Wide
“tjjg 7je Clrcle of readers; Napoleon took along a copy of
.fnstory of the Two Indies,” when he went to Egypt.
the ha atever the position of Raynal as author of “one of
Or “j s^c texts for the humanitarian movement” (Jimack)
des deux niondes” (Michelet), there remains
flee ScePticism about the man who, although he had to
nhnued to receive a pension from the king, who
tw- " Was more opportunistic than some of his rarely
l0ned coauthors.
than 5iew of a new edition of a book published more
%
tied-00 yearS ag0 cannot discuss a11 the toPics men‘
for tL.’ rather shall it show which parts were chosen
criterias election. And there one would like to see the
clear Usgd for the selection better pronounced. It is
Kie °Wever, that Jimack selected mainly the eco-
tfle ^ ’ Philosophical, and political discussions, whereas
sage (ny botanical chapters were ignored. And the pas-
PC sh«W be likely to interest the modem anglo-
16 rearW” a_i _4. .....*________j
reader.” And it is true that if you want to read
S0lheth]n
Was . by Raynal (or whoever the author was who
lhe c, en in without being quoted), and you do not have
lflere ariCe t0 look at the English translation of 1783,
kpOty novv a chance to do so. And should you like to
itUth0rfn°re’ an(J read more by Raynal and all his hidden
Phil0 y°u can turn to the five volumes of the “Histoire
Phique et politique des Établissements et du Com-
hy “^•]des Européens dans les deux Indes,” published
Eor « hothèque des introuvables,” Paris, also in 2006.
%h?Se reading neither English nor French, “Die Ge-
e(lited ® heider Indien” (Nôrdlingen 1988), selected and
hseçjy Hans-Jürgen Llisebrink, is an option. Lüsebrink
ah<l ^ translation in 10 volumes, made between 1782
a8ain g by J. Abele and published in Kempten. This
Eik °ws the speed at which Raynal’s work spread.
S of ' Condorcet, Raynal could not support the cruel-
S0üs he French revolution, and thus, in spite of the
*ntitot .Coauthors, and in spite of his humanitarian and
a ltarian attitude, Raynal fell in oblivion. His ideas
Nos 103.2008
were not conform with any Restoration nor with the ex-
panding colonialism and imperialism and the growing
nationalism all over Europe. In many passages “The His-
tory of the Two Indies” is very modern, and for the pos-
sibility given by Peter Jimack to picture this to oneself,
one has to thank the editor. Wolfgang Marschall
Robben, Antonius C. G. M., and Jeffrey A. Sluka
(eds.): Ethnographic Fieldwork. An Anthropological
Reader. Malden; Blackwell Publishing, 2007. 616 pp.
ISBN 978-1-4051-2592-5. (Blackwell Anthologies in
Social and Cultural Anthropology, 9) Price: $ 39.69
Dieser Band ist der neunte aus einer Serie, den
“Blackwell Anthologies in Social and Cultural Anthro-
pology”. Die bisher erschienenen reichen von “Linguistic
Anthropology” bis “Feminist Anthropology”. Drei wei-
tere Bände sind bereits angekündigt. Die Herausgeber
des vorliegenden sind Professoren in Utrecht (Antonius
C. G. M. Robben) bzw. an der Massey University, New
Zealand (Jeffrey A. Sluka). Beide geben an: “PhD Berke-
ley, 1986”, und sie bezeichnen Gerald Berreman als ihren
Mentor (26).
Auf eine allgemeine Einleitung der Herausgeber über
“Fieldwork in Cultural Anthropology” folgen 10 “Parts”
mit insgesamt 38 Beiträgen: Abschnitte aus Aufsätzen
oder Büchern. Jedem dieser Teile ist eine Einleitung ei-
nes der Herausgeber vorangestellt. Es sind; I. Begin-
nings, II. Fieldwork Identity, III. Fieldwork Relations
and Rapport, IV. The “Other” Talks Back, V. Fieldwork
Conflicts, Hazards, and Dangers, VI. Fieldwork Ethics,
VII. Multi-Sited Fieldwork, VIII. Sensorial Fieldwork,
IX. Reflexive Ethnography, X. Fictive Fieldwork and
Fieldwork Novels. Fünf “Appendices” enthalten ausge-
wählte Literatur zu Methoden der Feldforschung, Feld-
forschungs-Erfahrungen, frühen und klassischen Berich-
ten einschließlich Tagebüchern und Briefen. Anmerkun-
gen und Literaturangaben sind nach Kapiteln aufgeteilt,
ein umfangreicher und sehr nützlicher Index schließt den
Band ab.
Zielsetzung und Zielgruppe dieses Readers werden
am deutlichsten aus zwei auf der Rückseite des Ban-
des abgedruckten werbenden Äußemngen; “Ethnograph-
ie Fieldwork is an outstanding volume that will surely
become a virtual bible for students and teachers of an-
thropology everywhere” (Sherry B. Ortner), und: “A
marvelous tool for teaching ethnography!” (Tanya Luhr-
mann). Die Herausgeber schreiben, die ausgewählten
Beiträge gehörten zu den Standardkenntnissen der er-
fahrensten Feldforscher und verdienten es, an eine neue
Generation weitergegeben zu werden. “This reader is in-
tended to help facilitate this goal by providing students
with an historical, methodological, ethical, reflexive, and
stylistic context to fieldwork” (4). Es wird deutlich, dass
Studierende die Zielgruppe sind und Lehrende, die diese
Inhalte an sie vermitteln. - Mehrfach wird betont, dieser
Band sei über “fieldwork in general rather than formal
‘fieldwork methods’ ... ”. Ziel sei, die zentrale Rolle der
Feldforschung in der “anthropology” darzustellen, und
auch ihre weitere Bedeutung im Fach (4).
286
Die Einleitung der Herausgeber gibt einen sehr gu-
ten Einblick in derzeitige Ansichten zum Thema Feld-
forschung im englischsprachigen Raum. Auch hier wird
jeweils von sehr langen Zitaten ausgegangen. Inhaltlich
kann man manchmal durchaus unterschiedlicher Ansicht
sein, etwa zu dem Satz Nancy Howells (Surviving Field-
work. Washington 1990: 4), “Fieldwork is the central
activity of anthropology” (1). Man fragt sich: Sind Da-
tengewinnung oder Auswertung zentral, Aktivität oder
theoretische Einbettung, Forschung oder Praxis, muss je-
der Ethnologe Feldforscher sein?
Es werden dann zentrale Probleme angesprochen. Et-
wa die Frage der Feldforschung als rite de passage. Auf-
gegriffen und eigentlich zentral, aber nicht wörtlich so
benannt, wird der Aspekt der Quellenkritik mit der Be-
merkung, man müsse etwas über den Schreiber eines
Textes, seine Erfahrungen und die Umstände (der Da-
tengewinnung und Auswertung) wissen, um einen eth-
nographischen Text besser verstehen und beurteilen zu
können. Im Weiteren werden dann Entwicklungen der
letzten Jahrzehnte sehr deutlich gemacht. So die Aus-
weitung des “Feldes” auf nahezu jeden Ort, an dem sich
Menschen finden. Noch entscheidender die Feststellung,
Feldforschung sei im neuen Jahrtausend so zentral ge-
worden, dass sie “the only common ground” sei, der die
Disziplin Zusammenhalte. Sollte das der Fall sein, könnte
man kaum noch von einer wissenschaftlichen “Disziplin”
sprechen.
Auch über die Literaturlage zum Thema gibt die Ein-
leitung einen nützlichen Überblick, zudem werden einige
zentrale Termini vorgestellt, von “culture” über “ethnog-
raphy” und “holistic perspective” bis “humanistic per-
spective” und “scientific approach”. Es folgen Abschnit-
te wie “Humanistic and Scientific Approaches: Field-
work as Both Art and Science”, Definitionen von “Field-
work”, ein historischer Überblick über die Entwicklung
der Feldforschung, über subjektive Aspekte, Postmoder-
ne und Feldforschung der Gegenwart.
Erstaunlicherweise erst am Ende dieser Einleitung
(26) fragen die Herausgeber, warum denn nun ein Rea-
der über Feldforschung und nicht über Methoden? Sie
meinen insgesamt, dass nicht die Techniken von Inter-
views oder Feldaufzeichnungen das Problem seien -
wie Studierende ihnen gegenüber offenbar ausdrückten
- sondern die Beziehungen zwischen Ethnographen und
Erforschten. (Hier übrigens ein deutlicher Unterschied
zwischen dem verwendeten “research participants” und
dem im Deutschen meist benutzten “Informanten” oder
sogar “Forschungsobjekte”). Die Herausgeber gehen da-
von aus, dass “insight in the interview experience and
the epistemology of fieldnotes, rather than the technique,
leads to better interviewers and better data” (27).
Es ist hier unmöglich, auf die insgesamt 38 einzel-
nen Beiträge dieses Readers einzugehen. Sie reichen von
Joseph-Marie Degerando (1800) über Boas und Mali-
nowski bis zu Beiträgen aus den Jahren 2002 und 2003.
Dabei überwiegen solche aus den letzten Jahrzehnten.
Es handelt sich für den mit Feldforschungsliteratur Ver-
trauten um bekannte und akzeptierte Schriften von be-
kannten Autoren wie Bateson und Mead, Powdermaker,
Rezensi°nel1
Berreman, Hannerz, Clifford oder Castaneda.
wünschte man sich etwas längere als die durchschoß
etwa 10 Seiten langen Ausschnitte, aber vielleicht W
sie so als Anregung für Studierende, die Originale za ^
sen. Unter den ausgewählten Aspekten, die in jewei
4 Beiträgen in den “Parts” vorgestellt werden, sch f
mir nur zwei zu fehlen: Langzeit-Feldforschungen
Jahrzehnte und Feldforschungen in der eigenen b- s
die auch im deutschsprachigen Raum zunehmen- f
es außer Englischsprachlem offenbar keine Feldfot^j,
und Autoren gibt, ist unter denselben nicht neu- ^
leicht auch deshalb wurde (außer Degerando) kein
trag aus einem anderen Sprachgebiet aufgenomnteh-
paar biographische Notizen zu jüngeren Autoren ^
außerhalb des amerikanisch-englischen Umfeldes
lieh gewesen, angesichts des Themas und der ZieÜ
Studenten auch einige Abbildungen. ejp
Insgesamt sowohl für Studierende wie Lehren ,
nützlicher und vor allem durch die jeweiligen zusam j,
fassenden Einleitungen der Herausgeber auch dida ^
gut auf gebauter Reader zu Problemen und Aspekt®0^
Feldforschung, dem ein weiterer Band zu Methoden
gen könnte und sollte. Hans D
Muslim
Robinson, Rowena: Tremors of Violence. p:
Survivors of Ethnic Strife in Western India. New
Sage Publications, 2005. 262 pp. ISBN: 978-0-'
3408-0. Price: £ 14.99 p(r
The author of “Tremors of Violence” states hel gp£
sition even before the first page of her text when ^
declares the dedication “A society which does n ^
fend all, defends none” (13). Rowena Robinson u°e ^
attempt to establish a position of so-called “s^f^tfi
neutrality” but instead draws upon the ideas of *4 ^gt,
Spivak (Thinking Academic Freedom in Gendered
Coloniality. Capetown 1992) and Beatriz Manz ( ^ofd'
tions on an Anthropologia Compromelida.” In: C-
strom and A. C. G. M. Robben [eds.], Fieldwork
Fire. Contemporary Studies of Violence and Su , pe
pp. 261-274. Berkeley 1995) to engage with a^a0eS
drawn deep inside the lives of her informants. $he J py
one step further than Spivak’s position influeo06
subaltern studies in which she states that freedom
be perceived as the “freedom to acknowledge msff
into responsibility” (14). Spivak regards response1
unavoidable but the author rightly points out that
positions of shared economies of responsibility an ,{y
must transcend common ethnic origins or natio p
Like Beatriz Manz she pursues the goal of an “ant
ogy comprometida” (15) and acknowledges that s ¡j
ticipates with her informants in the experience or uefS
fellow member of a minority community whose m gftS
have felt the impact of violent attacks in various p
the country.
but
oU6
Robinson’s intention is primarily to inform - j§e
cannot read this book easily without feeling the i
to initiate change. Her writing seeks to be critical
of promoting such transformation, but nonetheless’
cal thinking can also be analytical and the book p
103.2«08
Anthropos
287
e2ensionen
4**1* and masterly anthropology of interreligious
l0 ,eriCe inflicted upon Muslims in various incidents that
to a ^*ace *n Bombay and Gujarat. The book attempts
*eir SWer SUC^* q^stions as “how do Muslims construct
act r 'Entities under the conditions of brutalization by
pi a and symbolic violence?” Whilst doing so she ex-
re|-res the role of boundaries, the influence of Muslim
c0nt °US movements that attempt to redefine Islam in the
Rotary context, and the organization of relations
b0 ,een neighbours, communities, and the state. This
Y ueals with the politics and relations of “otherness.”
ery few regular visitors to India who go beyond
lifeei*cial knowledge of its communities and their social
haVeW0Ulci *3e unaware of the degree to which Muslims
^ e been fiercely “othered” and perceived as alien in
theV% (Hindu) discourse and the everyday speech of
r °me and marketplace. This has become far worse
Whi ^ent years but I was surprised at the degree in
W ^UsBms whose national identity has always been
de*n *nce their conversion centuries before are now
lhat ^ator*y labelled as Pakistanis. Robinson informs us
by °nly are the areas of Indian cities inhabited
^ki concentrations of Muslims known as “Little
fUrth^n ’ but identification of Muslim and Pakistani is
hea .r stigmatized by such everyday practices as the
hojjj ^ 'Polluted” and “impure” defecation spaces in
^ki S °r v^lages being labelled by Hindus as “Little
Th
Cqj^ e most disturbing element of the anthropology of
Hot tTlUnal violence is the discovery that such acts are
Thevrand°m but rather that they are carefully selected.
etib °Ccur on top of a layer of discrimination in which
b^d markers of Muslim identity such as henna-died
int0 u ^rayer caPs^ and circumcised penises are brought
<listinne glare of public ridicule and then function to
u*Ulsb those to whom violent acts are directed (20).
fatjv °rr>fyingly, there is a connection between the nar-
°lenCe discrimination and the actual forms that vi-
% ,,ta^es- The making and marking of identity as
p0pul ,ls informed by narratives of Muslim fertility,
So ofatl0n growth, the fecundity of women and attacks
,en occur on women and children, especially the
tUses ter of infants; the cutting out and burning of foe-
ip p ’ dte amputation of male sexual organs left to hang
ritUaj,ilc places, and, of course, rape. Torture is itself
key Sed as the dark or negative opposite to Muslim
*°Sci k°ls of identity. In the realm of space it is the
o.6 and the shrine which are the recipients of real
X b°lic vi°lence- All too often we are told that
W Uri* violence is random and sudden but Rowena
itL, Son’s fieldwork cuts through that myth and leaves
Otters
Of'
^ Merest is her discovery of the different attitudes
't'Ojp s c°mmunal violence amongst Muslim men and
girts Qt' ^Usiim men are more likely to extend the mar-
sUffe.- vi°lence backwards and forwards located in the
'd hiS| s Muslim communities around the world and
^Pr(js <?ry- Although acts of violence are extended hack-
ee p y Muslim women they are much more likely to
lcularized rather than generalized, focusing on the
°Pos 103.2008
displacement or damage suffered by the family than tran-
scendent narratives of a suffering ummah (65). Women
are also likely to feel the impact of a backlash of conser-
vatism that results from communal violence, and to find
their freedoms, already vicarious, further restricted (67).
However, the author is not able to fully explain differ-
ences in women’s narratives from those caught up in the
Mumbai riots of 2003 and those in Gujarat a few years
earlier. This would seem to require further and more de-
tailed investigation.
Robinson points out the ghettoization, the over-
whelming decay and lack of civic services in Muslim
areas of India. They are at similar levels of deprivation as
Dalit communities and she points out that expectations
of violence play an important role in fixing Muslim ex-
pectations at a low level and in maintaining a defensive
cultural profile (28). Indeed, she goes on to conclude
that militancy and the politics of terror are linked to so-
cial, cultural, and economic structures which marginal-
ize whole groups or categories of people (235). This is
a complex issue and economic deprivation cannot fully
explain Islamic militancy. The origins of Indian Muslim
maintenance of defensive cultural profiles and isolation
are also due to internal strategies of resistance developed
in the nineteenth century as a reaction to loss of power
and any explanation needs to consider the historicity of
Indian Muslim religious life.
This book is not a comfortable read but it is a reward-
ing one. The analysis is excellent but it is the testimonies
of the victims of communal violence that contribute so
much to the study of religious violence from the perspec-
tive of the victim. Ron Geaves
Schneider, Arnd, and Christopher Wright (eds.):
Contemporary Art and Anthropology. Oxford: Berg,
2006. 223 pp. ISBN 978-1-84520-103-6. Price: £ 19.99
Unter dem Titel “Fieldworks - Dialogues between
Art and Anthropology” versammelten sich im September
2003 im Londoner Museum Tate Modem rund dreißig
Künstler, Kritiker und Ethnologen. Ziel des Zusammen-
kommens war es nicht, die zeitgenössische Kunstwelt als
eine von vielen (materiellen) Welten bzw. Kulturen zu
bestimmen und der Ethnologie zuzuführen. Ausgangs-
punkt der Tagung war vielmehr die Differenz zwischen
beiden Feldern. In Anerkennung dieser Differenz wollte
man die Schnittmenge zwischen Ethnologie und Kunst
ausloten in der Hoffnung, daraus neue frachtbare Impulse
für das jeweilige Betreiben von Ethnologie und Kunst zu
gewinnen.
Drei Jahre später liegt nun das Ergebnis des Treffens
als Buchform vor. Von den einst dreißig Teilnehmern sind
nur noch dreizehn Autoren übrig geblieben. Ihre Beiträge
bilden gleichsam die Bestandsaufnahme eines Treffens,
dessen Beteiligte wohl schon lange voneinander wissen,
doch bis auf gelegentlich kurze Affären bislang kaum das
Interesse an einer festen Beziehung hatten. Unter dem
Titel “The Challenge of Practice” skizzieren die beiden
Herausgeber in ihrer Einleitung daher zunächst das pri-
märe Anliegen des Bandes. Dergestalt handelt es sich um
Rezensi°nen
eine Art kalkulierte Grenzüberschreitung mit der Hoff-
nung auf gegenseitige Bereicherung und Befruchtung für
das jeweilige Tun. Für die Ethnologie wird dabei die ihr
eigene Textfixiertheit und eine daraus resultierende Iko-
nophobie als Grenze gegenüber der Kunst identifiziert.
Umgekehrt wird das Problem der Kunst in einer oftmals
naiven und orientalisierenden Aneignung des Anderen
gesehen. Die etwas holzschnittartige Gegenüberstellung
reflektiert die Schlagseite des Unternehmens. Nicht die
Künstler sind es, die den Kontakt mit der Ethnologie
suchen. Wie Amd Schneider in seinem anregenden Bei-
trag “Appropriations” zeigt, haben sie dies schon immer
getan. Stattdessen sind es die Ethnologen, die sich von
der (zeitgenössischen) Kunst neue Anregungen für ihre
eigene Arbeit erhoffen.
Die Beiträge von Ethnologen dominieren denn auch
im Aufbau des Bandes. Drei Teile lassen sich unterschei-
den. Die erste Gruppe bilden Ethnologen, die über Wer-
ke von Künstlern reflektieren, zu denen sie aus den un-
terschiedlichsten Gründen eine Nähe haben. So schreibt
Christopher Pinney über die in Kollaboration mit indi-
schen Künstlern entstandenen Bilder von Francesco Cle-
mente, Jonathan Friedman über die Installationen von
Carlos Capelán, Elizabeth Edwards über die Videoarbei-
ten von Mohini Chandra und Susanne Küchler über die
Knotenskulpturen von Brent Collins und John Robinson.
Während die Ethnologen ihr angestammtes Terrain damit
verlassen, verbleiben die Vertreter der zweiten Gruppe
in ihrem Metier. Es handelt sich um Autoren (Denise
Robinson, Michael Richardson), die sich in erster Li-
nie als Kuratoren verstehen. Vorgestellt werden in die-
ser Weise die Arbeiten von Susanne Hiller und Josef
Sima. Beide werden als Repräsentanten einer ethnolo-
gisch inspirierten künstlerischen Arbeit vorgestellt und
diskutiert. Das Verhältnis von Künstlern zur Ethnologie
ist auch das Leitthema der dritten Gruppe von Beiträ-
gen. Es handelt sich um von den Herausgebern geführte
Interviews mit Dave Lewis, Rainer Wittenborn, Claus
Biegert, Nikolaus Lang und Rimer Cardillo - allesamt
Künstler, die sich in ihrer Arbeit explizit mit der Eth-
nologie als Reibungsfläche für ihre eigene künstlerische
Praxis-Arbeit auseinandergesetzt haben.
Eine Sonderstellung nimmt der Beitrag von George
Marcus und Fernando Calzadilla über ihre Zusammen-
arbeit im Rahmen eines vom kunsthistorischen und eth-
nologischen Institut der Rice Universität organisierten
Workhops mit lateinamerikanischen Künstlern ein. Der
Artikel kommt dem offenen und experimentellen Cha-
rakter der Begegnung zwischen Künstlern und Ethno-
logen am nächsten. Die Idee war die Erkundung neu-
er Darstellungs- und Erfahrungsformen im Bereich der
Religion. Aufschlussreich ist die diesbezügliche Schilde-
rung der Arbeit an einer von Calzadilla und Hernández
erstellten Installation, die sich der Praxis der Magie und
des Schutzzaubers widmete. Das Ergebnis geriet - zu-
mindest auf Seiten der Ethnologen - zu einer Mischung
aus Gewinn und Enttäuschung, empfand man doch die
Zusammenarbeit als anregend, doch erbrachte sie nicht
den erhofften Ertrag auf der Ebene der ethnologischen
Theoriebildung. Das in dieser Weise markierte Thema
der Reziprozität ist letztlich auch Gegenstand des
kels von Nicholas Thomas. Am Beispiel der Selbs
Stellungen zeitgenössischer polynesischer TätoWi®
im Medium der Fotografie zeigt Thomas, das sich im .
torischen Verlauf immer wieder neu einpendelnde w
selspiel in der Wahrnehmung von Selbst und And®
Reziprozität, so Thomas, ist möglich, doch auch
gilt, die Praxis der Repräsentation ständig kritisc
hinterfragen. Die visuelle Repräsentation ist nicht P
zipiell besser als die textuelle, die Kunst nicht unpr° ^
malischer als die Ethnologie. Beide sind verstrickt U
Arbeit am Anderen.
Der Beitrag von Thomas kann als ein Dämpf®1- aLJ 6l)
Hoffnungen der beiden Herausgeber des Bandes ge. g
werden. Die von Wright und Schneider in der Einl®1 ^
erwähnte Aussicht, dass aus der Auseinandersetzung
dem jeweils Anderen, sich jeweils auch andere Erk ^
nis- und Darstellungsweisen ergeben würden, hat
lediglich als Option für die Zukunft erfüllt. Oder u j,
der Sprache der oben bemühten Paarmetapher zu
ben: Von der Aufnahme einer engeren Beziehung ^
de vorerst Abstand genommen. Gleichwohl hat sic
Rendezvouz gelohnt. Es ist zu hoffen, dass das Inter^0n
- wie einseitig auch immer - nicht erlahmt. Wenn gC
keine ethnologische Sicht auf die Kunst, vielleicht k® *
ja ein neutrales Feld etwa in Gestalt der zur Zeit 1® ^
diskutierten Bildwissenschaft helfen, stärker zusam ,js
zufinden. Auf das nächste Treffen darf man jccJeO §t
gespannt sein. Peter T
Scott, Michael W.: The Severed Snake. MatS
cages, Making Place, and a Melanesian Christian ^
Southeast Solomon Islands. Durham: Carolina .cC\
Press, 2007. 379 pp. ISBN 978-1-59460-153-B. &
$ 45.00 .jj be
I value this book highly because I sense it w
very useful for all academics and tertiary students j
seek to understand and do intelligent work among c jg
and smaller island cultures in Melanesia. The rea
threefold.
stork
al
First, this monograph is a work of ethnohis
anthropology, taking very seriously the task of r ^
structing precontact Arosi culture on the western^,.,
of Makira Island (eastern Solomons), and of n°w 0f
ing available in print earlier versions of the my^
the severed grandmother snake (Hatoibwari) (see’,^glJeS
285). The author pays full attention to diachronic
throughout his study, and thus to Arosi adjustment
gies to the alien presences of missionaries (esPeCia efltn
Anglicans), gold prospectors, British colonial repr j0-
lives, and other Solomonese who acted for the a
nial Maasina (Marching Rule) movement in the - 0p
Secondly, it is the best book I have come acr°jaI1d,
a Melanesian people’s understanding of holding ^
not just as age-old tenure (see Waita Ben eta " ’or asa
historical precedence (whose canoe arrived first;»
marker of kinship arrangements, or even as the c
place to eat (cf. the Arosi ngau), but overall as a^-0p,
itual connection.” In a process common in the
Anthropos
103
Retisi
sionen
Sürvi
lets 1Va^st inland “lineages” moved from isolated ham-
the lnt° residential units during the second half of
«meteenth century (a shift toward the typical village
v e ihat suited Mission and Administration to help
t^e na§e” disparate and once discordant groups). This
“]a 1 a Weakening auhenua, not °niy meaning the
ton tra(iihonally worked” but places of “primordial” or
P°§°nic significance. Claims to, and associations with,
l\]^nua became confused by the coresidence of lineages
^Previously had little to do with each other.
t|len^ tke Second World War, when the Maasina move-
in f Was Preaching a reinstatement to custom (kastom),
a ’ SUc^ a return was no longer strictly possible for
by r08k The ideal “unity of being” had been replaced
trip at ^C°P calls “heterotopia.” The only auhenua ma-
p|a ^a§es best expressing this unity were very often re-
by a pattern of patri-virilocal residence, whereby
vi0 '“bose to stay on the coast and plant on land pre-
any ^ forked by their fathers. On Scott’s reading, in
tn0 Case’ once they were disturbed from their traditional
coVer n®8, the Arosi have always been concerned to “re-
biijt auhenua,” and in the face of a permanent impossi-
Soii(1 111081 satisfactory solution for them is through
Ujile expressed by the Christian Church. If in old
c0tln tke mother denotes a permanent and inexhaustible
bejn ctl°n to a place or thing by virtue of the unity of
’ahis Wltbm a matrilineage” (251), the church emerges
^story as a surrogate mother.
cau&e e third reason why I value this book is precisely be-
li^; °b Scott’s sensitive approach to Melanesian Chris-
of a ^ *n this he has skilfully combined the disciplines
tpjSs- r°Pology, studies in religion, mission history, and
bee o °§y- Coming to terms with religious change has
rias
ahard
row to hoe for most anthropologists, but the
Very Ve shift of collective allegiance to Christianity (and
fact f^CUrnerbcal expressions of it) is simply too big a
foba £ bfe in the Pacific to neglect. Such scholars as
led thearker, Bronwyn Douglas, and Joel Robbins have
Me]an Way m asserting the patent necessity of placing
^endaSlan Christianity on the anthropological research
htost a ^Cott joins this list, in many respects being the
Peopi^bi-'l of them all. He explores how an indigenous
'ritti j ’ Wiak both a rich autochthonous inheritance, and
leSon nsi§htful missioners of the likes of Coleridge Pat-
PeaCeaab Charles Fox introducing the new message of
§raSp’th ave manoeuvred their lives and relationship to
Mythic u Unity behind the diversity of tensions. As the
serperit riatoibwari, the always unified yet dismembered
triliUea’ Was a metaphor of the related yet separated ma-
rigber *es’ 80 the Church has become the symbol of a
ai ^ ('Llhenna, a lasting means of deep communitas
rec0Ve es 8trangely possible the apparently impossible
'y °f lost, uprooted sacrali ties.
Garry W. Trompf
Vo
C‘heGr;:
1 tKC°mbe, Peter G., and Bernard Sellato (eds.): Be-
''Verity t- —Wl iViyui. nunier-vjauierers oi Dumeu m uic
'^4 pp ’rst Century. Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2007.
1SBN 978-87-7694-018-7. (Nordic Institute of
en Myth. Hunter-Gatherers of Borneo in the
289
Asian Studies, Studies in Asian Topics Series, 37) Price;
£ 19.99
Despite their pivotal interest to an earlier generation
of evolutionist anthropologists, studies of hunter-gatherer
groups using the intensive and informed methods of mod-
em ethnography did not begin to appear much before the
1960s. It was always odd that the benchmark publication
that signaled a change in our understanding for the better,
the “Man the Hunter” volume coedited by Richard Lee
and Irven DeVore in 1968, scarcely mentioned any of the
20,000 or so Bornean hunter-gatherers (usually described
as Penan or Punan); but it is even stranger that index
references are to be found in neither Marco Bicchieri’s
“Hunter and Gatherers Today” (1972) nor Alan Barnard’s
“Hunters-Gatherers in History, Archaeology, and An-
thropology” (2004). Despite the pioneering fieldwork of
Rodney Needham in the early 1950s, Needham himself
- apart from a series of essays mainly devoted to naming
systems - published little, and systematic fieldwork in
Borneo did not really get under way until the 1970s. This
book, therefore, seeks to fill a very real gap. It succeeds
in doing this by providing an overview of existing liter-
ature, and a set of focussed and complementary papers
on different groups. At a stroke, it has become an essen-
tial work of reference, alongside other recent substantial
monographs, such as Carl Hoffman’s controversial “The
Punan” (1986), Bernard Sellato’s “Nomads of the Borneo
Rainforest” (1994), and Rajindra Puri’s “Deadly Dances
in the Bornean Rainforest” (2005), this latter unfortu-
nately appearing too recently to get a mention in the
present volume.
The most useful service performed by this book is to
supply a substantial and considered 50 page introduc-
tion, which, in addition to guiding the reader through
existing work, corrects persisting popular myths about
the Penan and Punan, and brings to our interpretation
of their lives, a twenty-first-century perspective. This is
ably accomplished by Bernard Sellato, a senior anthro-
pologist specializing in this field of study, and the linguist
Peter Sercombe. The rest of the book includes two pre-
viously published pieces (Needham’s encyclopedic sum-
mary, which first appeared in the Human Relations Area
Files compendium, “Ethnic Groups of Insular Southeast
Asia”) and the final chapter on the Eastern Penan of
Sarawak by Brosius from Comparative Studies in Soci-
ety and History. Sellato contributes a general piece on
the Kalimantan Punan, and Stefan Seitz a comparative
analysis of Punan relations with the animal world. Other
chapters focus on particular groups: Bhuket ethnogene-
sis (Shanthi Thambiah), the Tubu’ river Punan of east
Kalimantan (K. A. Klimut and Rajindra Puri), the Ma-
linau Punan (Lars Kaskija), the West Kalimantan Punan
(Mering Ngo), the Punan Vuhang (Henry Chan), and the
Sukang Penan of Brunei (Peter Sercombe and Robert
Voeks). Each of the chapters cover a substantively dif-
ferent subject and reflect various theoretical styles, from
the ethnographic empiricism of Sellato and Sercombe,
through the quantitative ethnobotany of Voeks, to the
postmodern idiom of Brosius. The whole is given further
authority by a foreword written by Kirk Endicott who,
290
Rezensi°ne11
while well-known for his work amongst the Batek of the
Malaysian peninsula, here sets Borneo within the wider
context of hunter-gatherer studies in Southeast Asia.
All contributors are necessarily concerned with issues
of identity and ethnicity, and with the role of nomadic
forest groups in the context of contemporary forest econ-
omy and management. But the book goes well beyond
these themes, to explore the extent to which those people
habitually described by those around them as Penan and
Punan are independent (either in terms of their subsis-
tence or in terms of their social relations), accommodate
a common value system of “immediacy, autonomy, and
sharing,” and exemplify a typical set of cultural practices,
even when they are sedentary. What emerges is certainly
much variation in those strategies deployed in particular
places and at particular times, but also a “common logic
of procurement”; all being part of a historical ecology
that speaks more of complex resource management and
social flux than of simple hunting and gathering. Con-
trary to the comfortable stereotypes - both Western and
local - we learn that Bornean foragers do not always
engage in sustainable extraction, despite being widely
regarded as sensitive to those long-term ecological cycles
that regenerate growth; have fewer words for plants than
their farming neighbours despite being acknowledged as
forest experts; and do not always live up to their pacifist
reputation, by actively resisting the incursions of incom-
ing loggers.
While the editors accept that Penan and Punan may
give us some analogies helpful in understanding South-
east Asian pre-agricultural prehistory (in, for example,
their sago economy), they avoid the reductionism now
familiar from evolutionary ecology, and remain agnostic
as to whether contemporary groups might be remnants
of pre-Austronesian foragers or “secondary” Austrone-
sian specialist forest extractors. Neither do they com-
mit themselves to a particular model based on linguis-
tic or ethnographic data, and competently demonstrate
how what evidence we do have, for the recent past at
least, indicates nuanced and distinctive histories for in-
dividual groups, some entering into relations of trade
and bondage with local agricultural peoples, to varying
degrees of intensity and permanence. All these data chal-
lenge yet again the validity of the conventional category
of “hunter-gatherer,” but most importantly Penan and
Punan are through this collection beginning to speak for
themselves, most clearly through Klimut’s coauthorship
with Puri. Theirs is a dynamic world - one contributor
sees it as inherently unstable - full of paradoxes, con-
forming only weakly to the usual comforting liberal en-
vironmentalist ideology; unquestionably politically and
economically marginalized, and under modem condi-
tions increasingly culturally depleted. But it is a world
nevertheless in which local people actively make deci-
sions about how to pursue their livelihoods, and what
kind of accommodation to reach with their nonforaging
neighbours and the civil states within which they find
themselves. Their means of achieving this include strate-
gically using the stereotypical identities imposed upon
them by outsiders.
It is a common enough observation that many c
lected editions on a single subject lack thematic co
ence and evenness of quality. In the case of this o
such a lack is well enough compensated for by its an
to the tools of scholarship, science, and governan
convenient work of reference on a much neglected P
pie. Strangely though, for a work that adopts a ,
critical and agnostic position on cultural history an ^
bates of common heritage, the editors attempt brave y
persuade us that we should adopt “Pnan” as a comp
mise and all-encompassing term for the often c°I^[1(j
ing, confusing, and controversial ethnonyms “Penan
“Punan.” This may be its shortest-lasting legacy. . n
Roy P11
Soothill, Jane E.: Gender, Social Change, and
tual Power. Charismatic Christianity in Ghana. Lei
Brill, 2007. 261pp. ISBN 978-90-04-15789-7. prl
€ 79.00
the
Ruth Marshall-Fratani’s 1991 essay “Power in ^
Name of Jesus” opened a debate on the question ot
der, social change, and power in African Pentecosta
which has continued down to the present. This t
based on case studies in Ghana is the most 'xXS®°]$r
research on the question to date. Clear, concise, an ^
gantly written, it is a subtle and nuanced analysis 0
gender dynamics in this form of African Christianity^
Jane Soothill is very aware of the difficulties ^
by her position as a female, British scholar, verse
the gender debates of the Western academy. 0f
notes, the “book looks at the lives and experiene ^
‘African women,’ which requires the researcher t0^6
doubly aware perhaps of the relationship between
‘Self’ and ‘Other,’ especially given the history °t
pean women’s engagement with their African cod
parts.” This is something she does very well. ^
Soothill looks at Pentecostalism and gender in a^^y
torical perspective before moving on to contemp ^
patterns. Looking back to the evangelical move
USA, she notes that “on the whole the evangelical ^ ^
ment was not a feminist one” but that “many w°
when they did move from evangelicalism to fo^^t”
took with them the knowledge and skills they had
(55 f.) in their churches. These claims are often jjj
for Pentecostalism in other parts of the world.
examines the work of Salvatore Cucchiari and
Brusco, writing from southern European perspeC |o0K
and Latin American perspectives, while going ont0
in some detail at the claims of Ruth Marshall-Fratam ^
regard to Pentecostalism, gender, and power in At 6<J
was upon much of this material that David l^artin . ^ is
his somewhat ecstatic conclusion that Pentecosta ^
in fact a “women’s movement”; a “sisterhood of s $
experience.” Martin points to the “buried intelHS all<j
who through their involvement in the churches m° f>”
more actively relate to each other and sustain each 0 ^
Jane Soothill is more circumspect and more comp 0f
her analysis, concluding that “the gender diseou t0
Charismatic Christianity are used in multiple W
lO3-30°8
yes
Anthropos
Pensioner!
291
tQa en§e old cultural forms, to create new ones, and
r>e‘~?nerate renewed forms of legitimacy for ‘traditional’
not* if norms ”• She concludes that essentially “[they do]
sw, a 'en§e the structures that reinforce and perpetuate
Ter inequalities.”
p W° remarkable figures in Ghanaian Pentecostalism,
erneCeSCa Duncan-Wilhams and Christie Doe Tetteh,
So v6 *n t^le ckapter entitled “Big Women, Small Girls.”
t[e 1 Was finite clearly impressed (maybe even a lit-
pj^awed) by these “big women.” Soothill feels their
jp fr’ *3ut also feel hers, and their relationship was
marjea a definite tension. For me this was a partic-
le ^ ^ascinating part of the book. She explores the re-
gUe^ip of power between bom-again women and ar-
se S ^at inading female figures such as these exert con-
cha a° 6 auti10I'ity over other women in their respective
%urches- Concluding her marvelous study of these two
ip res foothill concludes: “The new churches appeal to
tUny w°nien primarily not because they provide oppor-
tpj es f°r communal solidarity - though they may do
t0 ^ 0 a hmited extent - but because they provide access
® spiritual power of prophetic individuals” (179).
othe ai 6 “big women” have enormous power,
in t-Bi VV.0rnen can also access it and often do particularly
M,
reiation
to their men. In chapter six entitled “Men,
and Modernity” the author examines the in-
of ^ Ce °f this form of Christianity on the understanding
Pow rfla£e ar,d how “bom-again women access spiritual
rnecjCr ihrough charismatic practices and use it to try to
ç!at.e changes in their gendered relationships.”
Qr 0ln§ back to the late Adrian Hastings and Richard
J, ’ an<f more recently to the work of Paul Gifford and
Afrj ' bcei amongst others, the School of Oriental and
the n ^tudies has made an important contribution to
JajleU^erstanding of Africa Christianity. In this book
Ir^j-. °°thill has made an impressive contribution to that
°n and claimed a significant place in the field.
Patrick Claffey
Stc
Urtej f ?ne’ Linda, and Paul F. Lurquin; Genes, Culture,
tiojj, L‘man Evolution: A Synthesis. With an Introduc-
ili* L- Luca Cavalli-Sforza. Malden: Blackwell Pub-
$44 9§5’ 2007. 314pp. ISBN 978-1-4051-3166-7. Price:
Lh'
turai -'S textb°ok results from the collaboration of a cul-
fietjc■antbr°pologist (Linda Stone) and a molecular ge-
Cavajr ^au' Lurquin), both inspired by the work of Luca
atl int * ^^0rza’ who advised on the book and has written
ati CUCti0n- ^be book lives up to its title. It provides
Eeaet7^0ratmg and well-informed overview of human
diSci and cultural evolution, one that transcends the
full a ",lary boundaries that become an irrelevance to a
riid „ . Standing of where we come from, our nature
Thne8ws-
to ^ range of topics covered is wide, but appropriate
Plain -^bject matter. Starting with a brief outline of the
4 ro0y eas °f genetic evolution and cultural evolution,
fossiles on to what we know of human evolution from
arid material remains. It proceeds to a more detailed
r°P°s 103.2008
exposition of relevant genetic theory, including the infor-
mation available from mitochondrial DNA, what DNA
studies can tell us about human evolution, and the roles of
mutation and natural selection, drift, and migration. Later
comes a chapter on “the prehistory of human genes,”
coalescent theory, and more on the DNA evidence includ-
ing “mitochondrial Eve” and the “Out of Africa” model
(which is supported).
There is an account of theories of cultural evolution,
and gene-culture coevolution. Not surprisingly, given
Cavalli-Sforza’s work in this area, an extended section
considers the correlation of human genes with human
languages. Key human migrations are considered, in-
cluding the peopling of the Americas and the Neolithic
advance in Europe. Later topics include an analysis of
kinship and how it evolved; and, more controversially,
a discussion of the cultural evolutionary processes in-
volved in human religions. The book concludes with a
chapter on medical implications, eugenics, and the evo-
lutionary future of humankind.
It is a well-written book. Concepts are in most cases
carefully explained, with boxes, tables, and figures used
liberally to assist understanding, and a glossary of tech-
nical terms. There are a few appendices (e.g., one for
the Hardy-Weinberg theorem). There is a short summary
at the end of each chapter, further reading, and a few
discussion questions. At the back there are notes for each
chapter; plus key references. The index is satisfactory (no
more), although the absence of a consolidated reference
list (they are segregated into key chapter references) can
be irritating if one wants to see if or how a particular
piece of research has been referred to.
In general, the tone of the book is not dogmatic, and
controversies are made clear. Nevertheless a definite line
is usually taken. In my view the authors succeed well in
expounding the intricate relationships between genetic
and cultural factors. They are careful to avoid genetic
determinism. For example, they point out the genetic
closeness between the Jewish population of Israel and
the Palestinian and surrounding Arabic populations, such
that any explanations of the conflict must be sought in
socioeconomic and political/cultural areas, not in biol-
ogy (156). Of course, in such a wide panorama there
are going to be some areas where readers may disagree.
For example, the authors ask why the United States is
one of the most religious countries in the worlds, and
conclude that this can be attributed to a cultural founder
effect (247 f.), following the fundamentalist beliefs of the
early settlers. This is dealt with in less than one page and
left me unconvinced that this is any explanation for the
situation over 300 years later; but, it could be at least a
useful basis for further discussion of the issue.
In sum, this is a clear and authoritative text for getting
across our current understanding of human evolution,
especially what we know of genetic evolution and of
the beginnings of interplay between genetic and cultural
factors. It also provides an interesting account of further
aspects of cultural evolution (language, kinship, religion,
and other areas) which are more open to discussion or
dispute; and either provides arguably the best account
292
so far (as in language), or at least will stimulate further
debate (as in religion).
The book makes abundantly clear how our knowledge
of our origins has advanced greatly in recent decades.
Despite areas of uncertainty, there are growing areas of
firm knowledge. This might be disputed by some. The
postmodernists, influential in much of cultural anthropol-
ogy, presumably would object to any prioritising of any
particular narrative of human evolution, or to regarding
anything as factual. The authors do not contend with
this view directly in the text (of course, they do so in-
directly), but Cavalli-Sforza does in his introduction. He
describes how the leading postmodernist Jacques Derrida
carefully avoided speaking to him when on two occasions
they both received honorary degrees together! (This at
least is Cavalli-Sforza’s narrative of what happened ...)
Cavalli-Sforza compares the postmodernists to the Greek
sophists, using the emotional power of words and their
ambiguity to undermine belief in reason.
For someone genuinely seeking to understand our
origins, this book is to be highly recommended as a
clear, well-written account of what we know so far in
a broad multi-disciplinary endeavour. There are indeed
some narratives, but also many facts and many very well-
founded theories and arguments. It will be most useful as
a textbook on courses concerned with human evolution,
and as a general resource for those interested in reading
a synthesis of research findings and arguments within the
area. Peter K. Smith
Trefon, Theodore, et Pierre Petit (dir.) : Expériences
de recherche en République Démocratique du Congo.
Méthodes et contextes. Bruxelles : Université libre de
Bruxelles, 2006. 276 pp. ISBN 978-2-87263-006-6. (Ci-
vilisations, 54/1-2) Prix: € 30.00
It is encouraging that social science research is still
being carried on in the Democratic Republic of Congo,
with some involvement of local scholars and institu-
tions, even though most of the initiative and the funding
comes from abroad. The editors of this collection, both
with long experience in the country, insist, however, that
there is fundamentally nothing special about research in
Congo. Their intention is to encourage interdisciplinary
discussion of methods and perspectives, to remind re-
searchers everywhere of the need to show how results
were produced, to guide beginners, and to provide prac-
tical examples for all, especially but not exclusively in
Congo.
Nevertheless, in their excellent introduction, the ed-
itors are obliged to discuss the difficulties of research
in current conditions. Since the collapse of Mobutu’s
regime international agencies have interfered in the coun-
try’s affairs as never before, as invaders, mineral profi-
teers, armed and unarmed United Nations expeditionary
forces, journalists, and nongovernmental organizations
of every description. Add in television and the constant
traffic of goods and people between the homeland and di-
asporic communities in Europe, the Americas, and else-
where in Africa. Congolese now know much more about
Rezensi°nen
the world than they did thirty years ago and have ro&
grounds for suspicion and outright paranoia. Even w ^
there is no immediate physical danger, research can^
very difficult; one anthropologist was arrested for
tural espionage.” ^
An even more serious concern underlined by the
tors is the distortion imposed on results and perspeo
by foreign agencies demanding “quick and dirty ^
search. Crowds of young project managers and rese
experts arrive on tight schedules, believing in sur
and statistics but ignorant of the environment, an*
to advance their careers in the World Bank or UNE
(this reviewer has seen the like in Ghana). Contracts
written in the buzzwords of today’s international so
work: “participatory rural appraisal; project cycle m
agement; empowerment, underprivileged; income & .
erating; capacity building ...” The editors note t
scholars readily learn this language, and that it is
rewarding for them to join a project or a program ^
to write a scholarly paper (16). In addition to what
editors call the NGOisation of research, current con^
tions result in its urbanisation. Rural areas, tradition^
the terrain of the anthropologist’s long-term participa
observation, are now neglected. a
The twenty essays in this volume are written 1
diverse group, from beginners to Léon de Saint ^
who began research in Congo 35 years ago, and Is1
Ndaywel è Nziem, doyen of Congo historians. ^heir
terests include anthropology, sociology, literature, P t
ular culture, public health, emigrants, and churches, ^
all deal with the strategies and experiences of rese ^
None of the issues discussed (notably the relationship
tween quantitative and qualitative research) will be ^
to the experienced social scientist, but the variety ^
immediacy of the reports make for stimulating readi JLy
Wyatt MacGah;
Ubelaker, Douglas H. (ed.): Handbook of ^ ^
American Indians; vol. 3; Environment, Origms, ^
Population. Washington: Smithsonian Institution,
1146 pp. ISBN 978-0-16-077511-6. Price: $72.00 ^
Dieser Band erschien im Herbst 2006 als der 1 • ^
auf 20 Bände angelegten Handbook-Projektes. U
zugleich der letzte Band, den der Herausgeber der |j
William Sturtevant, noch erleben konnte. Sturtevant• s ^
am 2. März 2007 im Alter von 81 Jahren, und dam1 ^
ihm leider nicht vergönnt, sein wichtigstes Lebens ^
mit dem er seit 1965 beschäftigt war, zum Abschi
bringen- vaflt
Im Vorwort der beiden Herausgeber (W. C. $tu jfä
und D. H. Ubelaker), datiert auf den 10. Juli 2006,
die Entstehungsgeschichte des vorliegenden Banh'y’ ^
führlich beschrieben. Die begann 1970 mit der ^
nung von Frederick S. Hülse als Herausgeber, der ] j
1982 von diesem Amt zurücktrat. Ihm folgte Ric
Ford, der 1991 dieses Amt wieder abgab, und erst ge-
wurde mit Douglas H. Ubelaker ein Herausge t .ge
funden, der den Band vollenden konnte. Die tei
30 Jahre alten Manuskripte mussten völlig neu
bearbe11'
103-
Anthropos
Pensionen
293
oder
q .. neue Autoren dafür gewonnen werden. Einer der
het ^ese Ianße Bearbeitungszeit ist sicherlich das
st T°^ene Themenspektrum, das der Band umfasst. Er
der , ,^en Anspruch, die Grundlagen für das Verständnis
fej^nistorischen Indianerkulturen Nordamerikas zu lie-
dje ’ Un,J behandelt daher vier große Themenkomplexe,
[v ünterschiedliche geistes- und naturwissenschaftliche
be? ■ lnen umfassen: Zunächst die als “Paleo-Indian”
Zen 1C^nete frühe prähistorische Phase, danach die Pilan-
te. Un^ Tierwelt Nordamerikas, dargestellt anhand der
10 /^friedlichen Kulturräume. Es folgt die Skelett-Bio-
hejf6, Aussagen über Lebensbedingungen und Krank-
el^ J1 Uen Abschluss bildet die Humanbiologie,
rikan6l^t ^1C Anthropologie der ersten Ame-
djy^ 'brer Einführung weisen die Herausgeber aus-
tj0ll lc^ darauf hin, dass es sich bei der Dokumenta-
dj„ ,v°n Umwelt, Ursprüngen und Population der in-
hanHSchen Urbevölkerung um ein “work in progress”
dpn u Neue archäologische Entdeckungen und Metho-
o a habe
dritti
)en das Wissen seit den 1970er Jahren in großen
ebv 1611 Voranteebracht, und das ist auch in Zukunft zu
Uid^60' E^her betrachten sie den Band nicht als ein
U°dukt, sondern als Ausgangspunkt für aufregende
geklungen, die mit Sicherheit noch folgen werden.
^thr*1 ^ V°n fhähUtorikern, Historikern, Biologen,
fas °P°logen und anderen Naturwissenschaftlern ver-
dem Kapiteln hat man einen besonderen Beitrag mit
deüti- lte' “Native Views of Origins” vorangestellt, der
ljcjle Ca machen soll, dass es außer der wissenschaft-
(jr Betrachtungsweise noch eine andere Sicht auf die
Hetlt Un§e der Indianer auf dem amerikanischen Konti-
Shed^t' E^e Verfasserin ist JoAllyn Archambault, Mit-
tel Un^es Standing Rock Sioux Tribe in South Dako-
Sj^ith Ethnologin im Department of Anthropology der
itidja S°n’an Institution und damit aufs beste geeignet,
1Sche und wissenschaftliche Weitsicht miteinan-
der
Scjju U Verbinden. Nach einem Überblick über die For-
atiQ^^Seschichte von “Origin Narratives” bzw. “Cre-
ter die ^^hs” analysiert sie die wichtigsten Grundmus-
sicb Ser oralen Form der Überlieferung und widmet
hge j2UlT1 Schluss der Frage, inwieweit diese für heu-
le^ dlaner noch eine Rolle spielen. Es sind vor al-
hie d' °^erne indianische Künstler oder Schriftsteller,
Lrer|'e ahen Mythen als Vorlagen für Gemälde, Skulp-
leben (^er Romane nutzen, während sie im Alltags-
spiei 6r Etdianer von heute kaum noch eine Rolle
Edial^ W'Ssenschaftliche Frage nach dem Ursprung der
teps ^r auf dem amerikanischen Kontinent ist mindes-
dass a kornPlex wie die Ursprungsmythen. Die Theorie,
sieded 1Tler^a ausschließlich über die Beringstraße be-
^ie Ur Wurde, wird immer häufiger in Frage gestellt und
^nj^Bglichen Datierungen geraten zunehmend ins
dep ; Uie heutigen Prähistoriker widmen vor allem
Vefnalen Gegebenheiten immer mehr Aufmerk-
der D|a-’ W'e die einzelnen Kapitel zur Geoarchäologie
a ns’ des Südwestens, des Ostens und Westens zei-
Ende dieses Abschnitts wird auch der Frage
§egan
Afith
gen, in welchem Umfang die Indianer selbst
r°Pos 103.2008
an der Ausrottung der pleistozänen Fauna Nordamerikas
beteiligt waren (Stichwort “Overkill”).
Die einzelnen Kapitel zum Thema “Plant and Animal
Resources” behandeln die Nutzung der Umwelt durch
die Indianer anhand der verschiedenen Umweltzonen.
Besondere Kapitel sind den Themen der Domestikation
und Diffusion von Pflanzen (z. B. aus Mexiko) sowie
der Rolle von Tabak, Hund und Truthahn gewidmet. Die
Einführung von Pflanzen und Tieren aus Europa wird in
zwei abschließenden Kapiteln untersucht.
Im folgenden Abschnitt, “Skeletal Biology and Pop-
ulation Size”, wird einführend die Geschichte der For-
schung dargestellt und auch das Thema “Repatriation”
berücksichtigt. Die einzelnen Kapitel behandeln Beson-
derheiten der Skelettbildung in den verschiedenen Re-
gionen, wozu auch die an der Nordwestküste übliche
Schädeldeformation gehört. Gerade bei diesen Kapiteln
wird deutlich, wie wichtig historisches und prähistori-
sches Skelettmaterial ist, um Aussagen über Ernährungs-
und Lebensweise oder Erkrankungen und Verletzungen
früher Populationen treffen zu können. Die beiden letzten
Kapitel behandeln den Niedergang der Bevölkerungszah-
len seit dem Kontakt mit den ersten Europäern und deren
Wiederanstieg seit der Zeit um 1900.
Der letzte Abschnitt “Human Biology” ist verschie-
denen Aspekten der Indianer als biologische Wesen ge-
widmet, darunter Wachstum und Entwicklung, Klima-
anpassung, Blutgruppen und genetische Variationen,
Untersuchungen der DNA und der Chromosomen.
Mit diesem dritten Band des “Handbook” haben Her-
ausgeber und Autoren ein Werk geschaffen, das einige
sehr komplexe und für den Nicht-Fachmann normaler-
weise recht unübersichtliche Themen behandelt. Vor al-
lem für Ethnologen, die sich meist weniger mit der frü-
hen Vergangenheit Nordamerikas oder der biologischen
Beschaffenheit seiner Bewohner beschäftigen, stellt der
Band eine Fundgrube an verlässlichen Informationen dar.
Hier erhält man in einer dicht gedrängten Übersicht alle
wichtigen Fakten geliefert, mit denen sich die zahlrei-
chen Nachbardisziplinen beschäftigen. Jenseits aller ro-
mantischen Indianerklischees entsteht hier ein weit ge-
fächertes Bild der Lebensgrundlagen der ursprünglichen
Bewohner Nordamerikas. Peter Bolz
Ulijaszek, Stanley J. (ed.): Population, Reproduc-
tion, and Fertility in Melanesia. New York: Berghahn
Books, 2006. ISBN 978-1-57181-644-3. (Fertility, Re-
production, and Sexuality, 8) Price: $ 75.00
The centenary of the 1898 Cambridge University
Torres Strait Expedition was thoroughly celebrated in a
series of interdisciplinary essays edited by Anita Herle
and Sandra Rouse (1998) that situated the Expedition in
the history of anthropology. We are now arriving at the
centenary of the 1908 expedition to Oceania, the next
foray into the field by W. H. R. Rivers. The 1908 expe-
dition took Rivers with A. Hocart to Simbo (Eddystone
Island) in the Western Solomons. (It is Rivers’s memories
of this expedition that underlie Pat Barker’s Booker
Prize-winning novel “Ghost Road.”) Though not neces-
* 1 Ol » » > » :
294
sarily designed for that purpose, this new edited collec-
tion paves the way for a similar reexamination of Rivers’s
1908 fieldwork and one of its eventual outcomes, his
contribution to the classic “Essays on the Depopulation
of Melanesia,” published in 1922, the year of his death.
British anthropological fieldwork in that era was di-
rected toward Melanesia and was done with an urgency
prompted by the conviction that the cultures of the Pa-
cific were under severe threat and the populations on the
verge of dying out. After World War I, Rivers edited the
volume of eight essays by missionaries and colonial offi-
cers on this topic. In his own, concluding, paper, Rivers
argued from his field experience in the Solomons that
the primary cause of depopulation was “the psycholog-
ical factor,” a lack of zest for life that led to a decline
in the birthrate. The opening paper in the 1922 book,
written by an experienced missionary of the Melanesian
Mission, W. J. Durrad, did give ample consideration to
other factors, particularly respiratory diseases introduced
by visiting ships.
The volume under review picks up the thread of re-
search in Melanesian demographic history where Rivers
left off. In the middle of 20th century Melanesian popula-
tions rebounded. Studying the local circumstances of the
mid 20th century demographic recovery in conjunction
with new epidemiological and medical knowledge sheds
new light on the postcontact depopulation. A majority of
the ten chapters in the book originated as papers given in
a seminar series in the Fertility and Reproduction Study
Group at the Institute of Social and Cultural Anthropol-
ogy, University of Oxford.
In his opening paragraph, the editor refers to a relative
lack of recent literature concerning population issues in
Melanesia. One of the papers in the volume suggests one
reason for this silence. Postcolonial anthropologists have
been reluctant to present subaltern peoples as passive or
helpless in the path of the “fatal impact” of colonialism.
Considering a group of neighboring societies in Western
New Britain that experienced population decline between
1884 and 1940, C. Gosden recasts the “fatal impact” of
colonialism with a more nuanced view of the agency
of local people responding to demographic change in
the colonial period by changes in settlement pattern and
economy and ritual.
The centerpiece of the volume is a paper by Tim
Bayliss-Smith, Cambridge-based geographer, who dis-
cusses Rivers’s use of genealogical data from the Sol-
omons to study demographic change, particularly the
dramatic increase in the percentage of childless mar-
riages between 1870 to 1908. Bayliss-Smith questions
Rivers’s psychological interpretation of infertility, con-
sidering that infertility is as readily attributable to epi-
demiological effects of introduced diseases, especially
gonorrhea and malaria. From his own field data at a sec-
ond site, Ontong Java, Bayliss-Smith concludes that fetal
and infant mortality rather than infertility were a more
significant cause of population decline there.
Stanley Ulijaszek’s own chapter on the Purari of Gulf
Province, Papua New Guinea (PNG), is similarly bio-
cultural. The Purari population declined steeply through
Rezensi°nen
the early twentieth century and began to recover i11 ^
mid-1950s. Introduced epidemic diseases and sexn
transmitted diseases are implicated, as well as deci
in total fertility rate related to male labor migratl°ofl
Monica Minnegal and Peter Dwyer, adding a chapteT
their fieldwork with the Kubo and Bedamuni of ^es ,
Province, share with Ulijaszek an attempt to unders
fertility differentials partly in relation to the deman
the subsistence labor required of women and child ^
in the context of different social systems. (All th^
these societies depend on palm sago, processed m°
by women.)
Urban migration, and its implications for fertility u,e
ing the period from 1955 to 1994, is a central focus o
paper by Yuji Ataka and Ryutaro Ohtsuka on Perelik
lage in Manus. In contrast with other PNG popular ^
urban migrants from Perelik have maintained high ^
fertility, while fertility in the rural area began to drop
ter 1975 due to the adoption of modem family plaon ^
Each of the four papers discussed above is eXP^.C h-
biocultural, bringing both cultural and biological n
work data to bear on demographic problems. The rem ^
ing papers in the volume fall fully within the disciph^g
social or cultural anthropology, describing belief sysl^a,
related to fertility or reproduction, with little or no ^
tionship to quantitative data on reproductive outco
either contemporary or historical. Melissa Dernian ^
scribes adoption practices on the western Suau coa» ^
Milne Bay Province, PNG. Sean Kingston adds t0
extensive literature on conception beliefs in Mch111
those of the Lak on New Ireland, as revealed in lif® ' e\
rituals. Writing of the Wahgi in highland PNG, Mi° aS
O’Hanlon is also concerned with a system of thoug^.
it is related to reproduction and fertility. Also
of highland PNG, Pascale Bonnemere compares
rituals among the Ankave, Enga, and Duna, as * ^
Lemonier sets the “absence” of fertility rituals
the Ankave and the Anga generally in a cornpaI"a js
context of their South Coast New Guinea and Hign
neighbors.
What is missing that one would expect in a v° ^
of this nature? What would make it a book, rat^e^1iglit
simply a collection of fine original papers that ^
more economically have been published separat : .
various journals? For that, it would need a broad re^jjy
chapter that puts the papers in context by engaging^
with significant earlier research on the demograpn^ ^
thropology of Melanesia. That is missing here, ^
editor’s brief introduction, but there are seeds her6^,
might well grow up into such a work by the time ^
centenary of Rivers’s 1922 “Essays on the Depopu
of Melanesia.” Patricia K. ToWn
• Cana^a’
Vandervort, Bruce: Indian Wars of Mexico,
and the United States, 1812-1900. New York- -cq\
ledge, 2006. 337 pp. ISBN 978-0-415-22472-7- r
£16"
The author of this publication is professor oi ^
European and African History at the Virginia Min
103.2«08
Anthropos
295
Retisi
lorien
realf6’anc* bence,can add some new viewpoints to the al-
his ^ existln§ literature in the field. As can be expected,
contribution, to this topic especially refer to military
^ and comparisons with imperial warfare on other
tio lnents- N°t all conflicts between the above men-
in a states and its indigenous people can be discussed
eXa 6 l * * * V°' Urne’ but unfortunately, Vandervort rather chose
°the ^6S Wb*ch are already well-documented through
Pon i PUblications, viz., the removal of the indigenous
0n a ^on of the southeastern United States, the wars
e Plains, as well as conflicts which concerned the
s°uth
c^^^st of the USA, the north of Mexico, and Yu-
Th
is d is divided into two parts. The first part
^als 1Cate<^ t0 general topics, whereas the second part
Vann W*tb examples from the battlefield. Nevertheless,
Phe erVort lakes the battle of Beecher Island - Northern
v°lu nne’ Northern Arapaho, and Brulé Sioux versus
Armnteers from the frontier under the command of US
territ ° bcers on the Arickaree River in eastern Colorado
t0 ‘<p°ry in 1868 - as a starting point in the introduction
dko art ^ne ” because it provides valuable insights for
^ssion.
ovJhe hrst chapter, “Worlds in Motion,” gives an
W°ri^lew °f historical and political developments in the
ar6as ln general, the Euro-American expansion into the
\r|dmentioned ah°ve’ and the situation of the New
si0n poPulations who were confronted with this expan-
Unifj Asibe from the Crimean War, national struggles for
OttoCatl0n In Germany and Italy, and the decline of the
f0rEuan Empire, the 19th century was rather peaceful
c°nfr r°Pe’ whereas the rest of the world suffered from
j^t8 with European imperial powers,
in a 5nce’ the second chapter presents “The New World
haVe entury of Small Wars.” Those readers who don’t
“S^'Uary knowledge certainly leam that the term
Cq|0 ^ars” goes back to the definition of a British
Confle hrst published in 1896, which designates all
of t^Cts Including nonregular troops from at least one
atw °PPosing sides and has nothing to do with the
the u, . op People actually involved in such a war. But
c°0ce ^ a*m tbis chapter is to discuss various aspects
^84 rpln§ these conflicts in Mexico, Canada, and the
siicf) regarding the Native North American topics
of Motives for war, ways of war, the introduction
in y-jg 0rse and the gun, battle tactics, and logistics are
'^’tieric enter interest, whereas concerning the Euro-
historv a° sihe special problems of “Small Wars,” the
(EiiCrj, °i these armies, and their European models are
l‘\v a
tor’s s Vicws and Fighting Faiths” are the third chap-
ftonts ^6Cts op discussion. Indigenous revivalist move-
VAWhich aiso influenced the White population of
\ide lllerica are among the themes related to religion,
tant fa 011 aiso points out that religion was not an impor-
Prefe in the United States army, because the military
^void t reiigious neutrality or indifference in order to
between the enlisted ranks, who were often
°fficer atholic immigrants, and the mainly Protestant
Corps. In contrast to North America, the Mexican
V,
°Pos 103.2008
opponents were all Roman Catholics, although Catholi-
cism practised by Indians was regarded as crude and in-
ferior. Policies towards aboriginal peoples also differed;
Canada and the USA based their relations on treaties
formally recognizing legal rights; the Spanish regarded
the christianized Natives as inferior and kept them in
dependency or oppression, but they used intermarriage
and assimilation as a means for colonization.
Despite its title “Chiefs and Warriors,” the fourth
chapter not only characterizes the indigenous combat-
ants, but also their Euro-American adversaries. Whereas
the Canadian military was, of course, influenced by the
British, the USA and Mexico relied especially on French
military models. Among the further topics concerning
Euro-Americans mentioned here are officer corps and
other ranks, training - which was rather modest - and
weaponry, among those concerning the Natives are war
leadership and military societies.
The second part of the publication begins with a chap-
ter on “The ‘Great Clearance,’ 1815-42,” which mainly
deals with the wars between the USA and the indigenous
population then living in the southeast of the States as
well as the final removal of most of the Native inhabitants
to present-day Oklahoma. The wars with the Creek and
Seminole serve as examples for armed conflicts of the
period in this area.
The sixth chapter offers room for “Indian Wars in
Mexico, 1821-76,” a period which starts with the rev-
olution against Spain and ends with the dictatorship of
Porfirio Díaz. Mexico’s independence was not welcomed
by two important segments of the population in the new
republic, the Yaqui, who lived in the northwestern state
of Sonora, and the Maya of Yucatán. The former rejected
new ideas such as republican citizenship and private land
property, whereas the latter had hoped that the revolution
would improve their political and economic situation,
which on the contrary grew even worse. Both conflicts
flared up several times, but the one in Yucatán was espe-
cially long and bloody.
“War on the Plains, 1848-77,” which is the subject of
chapter seven, includes many examples of warfare in this
area, which begin with the Comanche raids into Mexico
as well as Texas, and end with the wars on the northern
Plains, where the Dakota and their allies fought their last
famous battle at the Little Bighorn in 1876. Furthermore,
an epilogue briefly mentions the Modoc war ( 1872—
73), the Nez Percé war (1877), and the Wounded Knee
massacre (1890) as the last armed conflicts in this area.
In chapter eight, Vandervort discusses the “Conquest
of Apacheria, 1860-86.” The Apache were extremely
quick in their movements and easily integrated Euro-
American military equipment into their own gear, hence,
this contributed to the fact that the Apache raids took
their time to be terminated. For his presentation of the
topic Vandervort chose a cast of famous characters like,
e.g., Mangas Coloradas, Cochise, Victorio, and Gerón-
imo versus, e.g., George Crook and Nelson Miles as well
as well-known incidents such as the battle of Apache Pass
(1862) and the fight at Cibicu Creek (1881).
In contrast to the previous chapters, the ninth chapter,
296
Rezensi°nen
which is dedicated to the “War on the Canadian Prairies,
1870-85”, mainly describes only two conflicts, both of
which concerned the Métis. When the British colonies
in North America were transformed into the Canadian
Confederation in 1867, the new government convinced
the Hudson’s Bay Company to give up its political and
territorial rights in the western part of Canada through
the payment of a large sum. Hence, the mixed-blood
population feared for their autonomy and land titles,
and proclaimed a Métis Republic in December 1869.
The Canadian government sent troops to the Red River
region, which arrived in August 1870, but found no
opponents to fight against because the rebels had already
left the area. This was not the case during the second
uprising in the region in 1885, when the Métis, who again
feared for their rights and their identity, received support
by some discontent Cree, and were finally beaten.
The tenth and last chapter examines the “Indian Wars
of the Porfiriato, 1876-1900.” It is a thematic continu-
ation of chapter six, i.e., it is shown how the conflicts
of the Yaqui and the Maya of Yucatán further developed
in Mexico under the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz. In
short, although both groups were not defeated at once,
the improved equipment and leadership of the Mexican
army finally brought the desired results for the central
government.
The “Conclusion: Long Shadows,” which is subdi-
vided according to opponents and states, briefly touches
upon rather recent developments, conflicts, and atti-
tudes, which concern Native North Americans and Euro-
Americans alike.
Aside from the questionable fate of the Yaqui military
leader Juan Maldonado alias Tetabiate, who is mentioned
to have died in a battle in 1900 on page 236, only to be
resurrected and killed again in an ambush by scouts of
a former follower in 1901 on page 238, the publication
does not give much reason for criticism. Perhaps not
all the incidents an already well-informed reader would
expect to be mentioned are discussed, but nevertheless,
the material included in the book is very representative
for the topic. Furthermore, Vandervort’s work is well-
written, he gives graphic descriptions of the incidents
mentioned, and his texts are sufficiently supported by
maps. As his publication leaves a solid impression, it
is appropriate to readers with minor knowledge in the
field, but it also comprises details which might be new
to experts, hence, it can generally be recommended.
Dagmar Siebelt
Veur, Paul W. van der: The Lion and the Gadfly.
Dutch Colonialism and the Spirit of E. F. E. Douwes
Dekker. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2006. 859 pp. ISBN 978-
90-6718-242-3. (Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Ins-
tituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, 228) Price:
€45.00
How to review a book of the size and the weight of a
brick stone? Paul van der Veur, the outmost expert on In-
do-European culture in colonial Indonesia, has delivered
such a work with his meticulous biography on one of
the most fascinating personalities in the Netherlands
Indies in the first half of the twentieth century. ^
Ernest François Eugène Douwes Dekker, ^or^jjas
1879 and a grandnephew of Eduard Douwes Dekker
Multatuli (1820-1889, an anticolonial former c0^°^f
administrator to become the greatest Dutch author e
spent his life as overseer in a sugar plantation m .
dog breeder, Dutch volunteer soldier in the Boer ™ t
South Africa, journalist, novel author, founder of the
political party which urged for Indonesian independe ^
educationalist, nationalist leader, and, finally, also ^
inet minister shortly before his death in 1950. $ev
times he got into conflict with various authorities an
subsequently interned three times in Ceylon, the No ^
lands, Singapore, and Suriname between 1902-19 • ^
Indonesia he is remembered as Danudirdjo Setiabu
a name he took at his conversion to Islam in the 1' %
and was labeled as a pahlawan nasional (national
after his death.
,ese
Douwer Dekker’s mother’s mother was a Jav'ar\.^i
Christian, therefore, in the Netherlands Indies col
society he was labeled as Indo-European. Being a s^p
his later career was rather untypical for his social gr
as he later in his life took the side of the local poPu h,
h
and their fight for independence from the Dutcn
erland by becoming a staunch nationalist leader. ^
Europeans, usually called “Indos” in the colony,om ^
were equal in rights and positions to “pure-bl°° ^
Dutch, although in social reality they were often disc ^
inated in Dutch colonial society as second-class cit*2
Factors like “race” counted much in the Netherlands
Indies during the colonial time and were matters ot
discussion in political circles and colonial society.
Therefore many Indo-Europeans started to ernpu ^
their European backgrounds and acted more “Dutch ^
the Dutch.” A literary testimony of this group is tbe ^
acter of the Indo Robert Suurhof in Pramoedya
Toer’s outstanding novel “Bumi Manusia” (l9o Y70gy”
the third part of Pramoedya’s so-called “Buru-Tetra
Douwes Dekker also appeared as historical figure ^
the name of Douwager^Other Indo-Europeans adv°^jted
for the equal status through Dutch newspapers e
in Batavia, Surabaya, Semarang, or elsewhere. D ^ &
Dekker found himself in both of these groups: H® of
strong Dutch nationalist (33) who fought on the s ^
the Boers as volunteer soldier in South Africa and
interned as prisoner-of-war by the British in Cey .^g
search of a mission he entered journalism after re ^
to Indonesia in 1903, writing critical articles on ^
European concerns (142ff.) and Dutch colonial ^
These articles were not published in newspaper Si
Indies only, but also in European journals and mag 0f
among them several well-known German periodi ^
the time like Das freie Wort or Koloniale Rlirl_s
Again there was a change of mood between 190 ^
when he developed a strong sense of independe p
the colony. He then became the founder and first
dent of the “Indische Partij” in 1912 which was t
political party in Indonesia which requested ru
pendence from the mother country. Although ma j
1(0**
Anthropos
297
<e?ensi
lonen
T>8 native nationalists like Soewardi Soerjaningrat,
IV|„ 0 ^angoenkoesoemo, Tjipto’s brother Goenawan
did ^0enEoesoemo or Abdoel Moeis joined his party, it
ISja attract as many members as, e.g., the “Sarekat
ber party> which was founded in the same year and
^6 first Indonesian nationalist mass movement,
Pan 86 Fs t0° stron§ Indo-European element in the
of ^°uwes Dekker already wandered in the footsteps
tjc ls §reat-uncle Multatuli as he also published an an-
Jav °n’a' novel under the title “Het boek van Siman den
lin«- n ln 1908 which was discussed in the Dutch par-
ent (99) F
c°lo *!6 Dutch authorities reacted quickly: although its
or^l Ethische Politick” pronounced a policy more
l90^tec^ on the needs of the native population since
after ’ toe “Indische Partij” was immediately forbidden
Pan a Cr^toal essay written by Soerjaningrat in 1913, its
§0eV6aders Douwes Dekker, Soerjaningrat, and Man-
(to, 0esoemo were interned to Europe. After Douwes
W0._,er Was allowed to return to Indonesia after the First
°dd w
tj0 war, other actors became active in Indonesian na-
bec 1Sni toce the young engineer Soekamo who in 1945
of r toe first president of the independent Republic
ear]v °nesto- Douwes Dekker was still close to many
goek: na^ona^st leaders including Soerjaningrat, Man-
tiatj °es°erno’ or Soekamo, but concentrated his work on
tary°nalist educational matters by founding an elemen-
Wbj Secondary school for native children in Bandung
lute»x named “Ksatrian Instituut” (“Warrior’s Insti-
al}e (487 ff.). It was established in 1924 and formally
^ to 1926, and although it suffered from many fi-
tbe b a . ^toficulties it was ran by Douwes Dekker until
vent ^ning of the Second World War. Douwes Dekker
the ‘UTfed’ tost like his friend Soerjaningrat who found
int0 anian Siswa” school system around the same time,
Hath a Combination of the traditional education of the
Md
j es wnh the modern Dutch education system and/or
Panj tocthing new, namely nationalism to both. He also
Sev/ Wr°te the teaching books and materials himself.
beCai^ former pupils of the “Ksatrian Instituut” later
t* e Well-known Indonesian politicians or diplomats.
this re Cannot toe place to go into deep details of
Mitt^luminous book. Van der Veur delivered a well-
irppo n an(l well-edited biography of one of the most
Ml} ant ^§ures of early Indonesian nationalism which
Whatrertlato authoritative for probably many decades.
lhr0u a^0ut some critical remarks? The reviewer culled
Critj ?1 toe over 800 pages in his search for something to
1Se and found - nothing. Holger Wamk
Vir°nmdley’ Reed L> (ed.): Histories of the Borneo En-
°f Ch Cnt' Economic, Political, and Social Dimensions
^15 an§e and Continuity. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2005.
bet pto ISBN 978-90-6781-254-6. (Verhandelingen van
M 2-|totokJijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkun-
Ove Price: € 35-00
\ ha r ^ast fieca(fe to Southeast Asia, as elsewhere,
bistin 6 wfinessed to a polarization of views on what is
chvely “indigenous” and what is not, benign human
b^Pos 103.2008
ecology versus colonial/national extractive and unsus-
tainable approaches, local trade networks versus global
markets, and so on and so forth. A detailed look at the
environmental history of Borneo is a useful start to move
beyond and away from these simplistic dichotomies. This
volume shows how local communities are embedded
within larger systems at the regional, national, and in-
ternational levels and how their perceptions, as well as
dominant images about them and their environment, have
evolved over the long term in response to new produc-
tion, a more specialized division of labour, population
pressure, the creation of national boundaries, and post-
colonial states policies followed by modernization and
globalization.
It also reveals that we can no longer talk of “hege-
monic” and “colonial” discourses shaping local events,
without taking into account that people’s microresponses,
coping strategies, and forms of resistance are also piv-
otal in shaping state programmes and attitudes. There-
fore, a multidisciplinary approach is required to take into
account the economic, political, and social dimensions
of change and continuity, as well as the multiplicity
of voices and perceptions of local actors through time.
Along these lines, ten well-known scholars coming from
different disciplines (history, anthropology, geography,
social forestry, etc.) have compiled this concise and vi-
brating account of the “Histories of the Borneo Environ-
ment.” The volume covers eleven centuries of histories
and it shifts the focus between local events and wider
contexts, merging together both archival data and field
research.
In chapter 1, Eric Tagliacozzo provides a lucid exami-
nation of the most important trade patterns from premod-
ern to late colonial times with a particular focus on the
impact of Chinese trade. Clearly as it appears, the larger
history of regional commerce could not be fully under-
stood without taking into account the essential and long-
standing role that Borneo has played over the centuries.
Particularly relevant is Bernard Sellato’s (chapter 2) ex-
amination of, and distinction between resources with lo-
cal subsistence value and those with long-distance trade
value. He shows how the commercial exploitation of for-
est products for the external market and with no local use
has led to unsustainable and opportunistic extractivism.
From this it follows that the romanticised image of in-
digenous peoples portrayed as wise custodians of natural
resources needs to be reassessed in the context of external
trade and market demands. This also entails, as Cristina
Eghenter argues (chapter 3), that we should discard those
dichotomous views seeing indigenous people’s practices
either as “destructive” or “conservative.” Her contextual
approach, and the comparison between two historically
distant cases of exploitation (gutta-percha in early 20th
century and gaharu in the 1990s), indicates how social
factors, as well as the choice environment of individuals,
can have significant repercussions on either under-use or
over-use of forest resources.
Prevailing environmental ideas rising from colonial
writings (from 1870 to 1930) are examined by Lesley
Potter in chapter 4. These provide a unique insight on
298
Rezensi°nel1
the symbolic, geographical, ecological, social, and polit-
ical dimensions of colonizers in their attempt of modi-
fying the landscape. This argument is further developed
by Amity Doolittle (chapter 6). She describes how atti-
tudes and the practices of colonizers towards forest and
their uses have persisted until present time, especially
in the context of national politics and policies. Thus,
both colonial and postcolonial states share importantly
common features: an imposition of Western notions of
“private property” over traditional customary practices
and a strong emphasis on commercialization of forest re-
sources benefiting local elites. As Doolittle makes clear,
today - as in the colonial past - forest-dependent people
continue to be blamed for the dramatic changes occurring
in the landscape and for the progressive decline of forest
cover.
Reed Wadley (chapter 5) explores the creation and
maintenance of boundaries as an integral component of
territoriality, with a special focus on the upper Kapuas
River over the last two centuries. Such boundaries do
not only set off a state’s territory from other states, they
also include more intangible boundaries, ethnicity, no-
tions and perceptions of the environment that are con-
stantly being rethought. State boundaries establish rights
of access to land and natural resources, set off national
territories, and are meant to control the movement of
local people, who - nevertheless - tend to ignore them.
On the other hand, challenges to state-level boundaries
may come in the form of inter- and intracommunities
disputes that redesign patters of land use and exploita-
tion of forest products. Interestingly enough, as Wadley
reminds us, “the earlier colonial attempts to divide rival
tribes and kingdoms are still remembered in fuzzy fash-
ion by today’s local people, and they use these memories
in their on-going competition over resource access with
one another” (153).
The colonial construction of knowledge about local
peoples and their environment is further taken on board
by Michael Dove and Carol Carpenter (chapter 7). In
their analysis of the “poisonous” upas tree of the East In-
dies, they show how the shifting image of this plant (seen
in the early colonial era as a metaphor of the challenges
that forest and their people posed to colonial project)
have slowly been modified over the centuries, especially
in response to the changes of nature and direction in the
colonial project.
The volume’s part three is mainly concerned with
the social-political transformations that have taken place
in Borneo in recent historical times. Drawing on his
40 years of research amongst the Rungus of Sabah,
George Appell provides a detailed account of how West-
ern ideologies and a distorted understanding of people’s
cultural practices have led to the progressive exhaustion
of vital natural resources. For the Rungus, the trans-
formation of the landscape has not only produced spa-
tial disorientation, but also the dislocation of memories
of the past - hence badly affecting communities’ inter-
nal cohesion, solidarity networks, and traditional liveli-
hood. Compared to the Rungus of Sabah, the Kelabit
of Sarawak described by Monica Janowski (chapter 9)
appear to have been more successful in coping with
new transformations and externally induced contmg
cies. For instance, they have been able to increasing
adopt permanent wet rice agriculture by migmtmS^
nearby areas best suited for wet rice cultivation whit
ducing the production of upland rice. Overall, this su ^
gic switch has led to surpluses in rice produetton- ^
the other hand, the Kelabit have been able to retain ^
the older symbolic economy of rice (a central cererno ^
ingredient at irau “naming” feasts) as well as a mo
symbolic economy where rice features as cash crop-
both cases, rice is a source of prestige and cultural mP^
duction, and - in fact - its sale allows people to SP°
irau feasts. In his concluding chapter, Graham Sann ^
brings together different points of view and percept1
of the Borneo environment (indigenous, Arab, Chin
and European). As he cautions, there is no doubt that
Borneo environment will continue to change in lU
years and “whether this will be regarded as ‘d®ve
ment’ or ‘exploitation’ will depend largely on one’s P
of view and whether it brings benefits or not to
affected” (289). f0
This scholarly, yet accessible book, will be of va^
practitioners in the social and political sciences, a»
as to informed generalists interested in Southeast .
history and dynamics of change. It is also an esse 1
reading to anyone working beyond academia in the
of development, conservation, and property rights.
Dario Novel1
Whitaker, Mark P.: Learning Politics from Si<t
The Life and Death of a Revolutionary Tamil
in Sri Lanka. London: Pluto Press, 2007. 251 pp-
978-0-7453-2353-4. Price: £ 19.99
Sivaram Dharmeratnam, perhaps the best-k>l0, -
journalist in Sri Lanka under his pen-name
was abducted by gunmen in Colombo on 28 April t)
and found dead the next morning. As a former mm ^
expert on counter-insurgency, founder and editor ^
highly influential TamilNet website, and columnistlil
Colombo Daily Mirror, Sivaram’s uncompromising^
erage of the political and military situation had P ^js
him in particular danger following the emergence °n^
native East Coast of the progovemment Tamil mj ^
led by Colonel Karuna, as a breakaway faction 0 p
Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. Describing him ^
brilliant journalist,” Reporters Sans Frontières reC°' ct,
in its 2006 annual report that “After arresting one susp
police abandoned the investigation.” p’s
Sivaram, who knew all the key figures in Sri La
ethnic conflict and seemed to have sources of lu*d tolri
tion unrivalled by other political commentators, ha ^ ^js
friends that he feared for his safety after police rai
house in 2004, and progovemment media accuse ^
of being a spy for the Tigers. One of those frien
American anthropologist Mark Whitaker, had
ing for years on this unusual book, planned as an ^
lectual history” (3) of Sivaram, but which has Pr°v
the event to be his extended obituary.
103.
2008
Anthropos
299
Merisi
sionen
Siva
larger aram emerges from the book as a very much
sheeHhan'life c^aracter’ Whitaker’s portrayal of the
ij-jg extent of his autodidacticism and breadth of read-
er Str^e some Western readers as overdrawn, but
thereVariety of historical, personal, and economic reasons
Sivarare many such people in South Asia, from whom
teliectm 18 ^frdngo'shable more for the power of his in-
C, ^an f°r the bricolage of his personally-assembled
fes ■ ec*ge. Moreover, his personal “opposition to pro-
scholarship of all sorts” (13) was political rather
Was an enforced response to personal circumstance. It
^So’ to some extent, a rhetorical device - otherwise
hi/ ^ such trouble, over so many years, to ensure that
atiai n°larly scribe took down his political and strategic
^es.in such detail?
had h° lrnPortant questions arise, which I wish Whitaker
Ocj0i hfessed more straightforwardly. The first is meth-
vers°?lcah much of the book comprises “verbatim” con-
24. l0ns culled from meetings and discussions over a
S°JH ar Per'och ar|d while it is made clear that Whitaker
Sion> had his tape recorder running, such occa-
givenare not always differentiated from the times (which,
Vers varied circumstances under which their con-
teCo l0ns took place, must have been many) when he
tw tructed their debates from written notes or from
^ Sivaram was highly articulate and prone to pon-
he s.e' Evcn so, it often stretches the imagination that
cohe U d have presented his verbal arguments quite so
itig nny, especially given the quantities of alcohol be-
H nsurned at the time. A discussion of the problems
^hit m directly transcribing direct speech, and of how
S*er addressed those problems in preparing his text,
nave helped clarify the status of the presentation.
SjVar 6 Second question, far more troubling, is ethical,
apd -arT1 was killed because of his influential opinions,
s ’nvolvement in the events forming the backdrop
to this narrative. Many others who figure at different
points in the narrative have also been killed. Yet Whitaker
constantly names living individuals without ever, as far
as I can tell, concealing their identities. Nor is it clear
whether their permission was sought before exposing
them in this way. It is, frankly, astonishing that such
issues are never raised.
In general, the book is well-written and readable,
though there are some surprising, recurrent spelling er-
rors regarding Sri Lankan names and places. But why
should it be of interest to non-Sri Lanka specialists? The
reasons, I suggest, are two-fold: the first concerns its
distinctive approach to the biographical genre itself; the
second stems from the subject matter.
Whitaker claims with some justification that his book
transcends earlier anthropological uses of biography as a
device intended to “exemplify the life of a ‘typical’ person
of the society under consideration” (14). Furthermore, he
argues, what distinguishes his book from later reflexive
attempts to give their subjects a more active voice, is
that the latter too, in the end, failed to solve “the ...
problem of the motivation underlying the biographical
impulse” (15), which remains exemplary. By contrast,
Whitaker’s book is “subject-led” in a more fundamental
way: its subject is a person “whose work, writings, and
life are obviously more important than the fact that some
anthropologist is writing about them” (17). Which leads
neatly on to the second reason for reading this book: in
an era where so much attention is focused on the strate-
gic, political, and moral no-man’s-land between nation-
alism and terrorism, Sivaram’s distinctive, if ultimately
doomed, attempt to facilitate political resolution in Sri
Lanka through personal action, cannot fail to move and
fascinate all those implicated in similar issues elsewhere.
Anthony Good
Hi
ir°Pos
103.
2008
Karl Josef Rivinius
Im Dienst der Mission und
der Wissenschaft
Zur Entstehungsgeschichte
der Zeitschrift Anthropos
Reihe : Studia Instituti Anthropos, Band 51
Angesichts des im 19. Jahrhundert zunehmen'
den Interesses für Völkerkunde und Sprach'
Wissenschaft dachte P. Wilhelm Schmidt
SVD an die Gründung einer entsprechende11
Fachzeitschrift. Sie sollte den Missionaren d|e
Möglichkeit bieten, darin ihre völkerkundh'
chen und sprachwissenschaftlichen Arbeiten
zu publizieren, außerdem sie zu Forschung60
in ihrem jeweiligen Lebens- und Wirkungsbe-
reich motivieren und anleiten. Schmidt legte zudem besonderen Wert auf den wissen'
schaftlichen Charakter der Zeitschrift, weshalb er von Anfang an Fachgelehrten, Nicht'
katholiken eingeschlossen, die aktive Mitarbeit anbot. ln Februar 1906 erschien das
erste Lieft der neuen Zeitschrift für Völker- und Sprachenkunde Anthropos. Vorliegend6
Studie behandelt die Genese der Zeitschrift sowie ihre wechselvolle Entwicklung in
rem weiteren historischen und situativen Kontext bis zum Jahr 1909.
Karl Josef Rivinius SVD, Jahrgang 1936, Prof, für Mittlere und Neuere Kirchengeschich'
te mit Einschluss der Missionsgeschichte. Von 1976 bis 2004 Lehrtätigkeit an der Phi'-'
Theol. Hochschule SVD St. Augustin. Studium der Theologie, Geschichte und Erzi6'
hungswissenschaften in St. Gabriel, Mödling bei Wien, Sankt Augustin und Münsten
Zahlreiche Veröffentlichungen aus den Bereichen Historische Theologie, Missions- nn
Sozialgeschichte.
352 Seiten, broschiert,
Fr. 75.-/€ 50-
ISBN 3-7278-1528-0
AC™PRESS
FRIB
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^bi
afaf, Rogaia Mustafa (ed.): Female Circumci-
Sl®n- Multicultural Perspectives. Pbk. ed. Philadel-
Pbia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006.
Al|ai7?9 PP- ISBN 978-0-8122-1941-8.
’ Alexander, Jr., and Sonia Alland: Catalunya,
ne Nation, Two States. An Ethnographie Study of
°nviolent Resistance to Assimilation. New York:
^grave Macmillan, 2006. 209 pp. ISBN 978-1-
<“f7440-2.
»Her, Rainer: Zwischen Sklaverei und christli-
er Ethnogenese. Die vorkoloniale Missionierung
Ewe in Westafrika (1847-ca. 1890). Münster:
C^mann Verlag, 2007. 299 pp. ISBN 987-3-8309-
Aru ?64'9-
> *ared: Destitution in the North-Eastern High-
ads of Ethiopia. Community and Household Stud-
ps in Wag Hamra and South Wello. Addis Ababa:
0ram for Social Studies, 2003. 31 pp. ISBN 978-
Aj^ ij4^5-71-2. (ESS Studies on Poverty, 3)
’ Hilarious N.: Change Aesthetics in Anglophone
anieroon Drama and Theatre. Eckersdorf: Bay-
euth African Studies, 2007. 220 pp. ISBN 978-3-
Aijjjt ^61-02-3. (Bayreuth African Studies, 83)
t’ ered (ed.): Going First Class? New Approaches
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j erghahn Books, 2007. 163 pp. ISBN 978-1-84545-
V,r-(EASA Series, 7)
er» Christoph: Was ist den Menschen ge-
nreinsam? Über Kultur und Kulturen. Darmstadt:
Io^Senschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007. 391 pp.
Vr N 978-3-534-20096-2.
ic ^nt*rew: Beyond Words. Discourse and Crit-
0„ Agency in Africa. Chicago: The University
^ Chicago Press, 2007. 171 pp. ISBN 978-0-226-
,
*’ smrley, and Fiona Moore (eds.): Professional
^ entities. Policy and Practice in Business and
1 literacy. New York: Berghahn Books, 2007.
fi 5PP- ISBN 978-1-84545-054-0. (Social Identi-
Ab tles,
t ’ auE Agama Orang Ngadha; vol. 2: Kultus, Pes-
2Qnan Persembahan. Maumere: Puslit Candraditya,
J’ ^25 PP- (Seri Etnologi Candraditya, 7)
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JUNy press, 2007. 192 pp. ISBN 978-0-7914-
^Pp°8'3'
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• Brauchtum und Gebrauch seit dem 19. Jahrhun-
0570Köln: Böhlau’ 2006- 439 PP-ISBN 978-3-412-
> (Kölner Veröffentlichungen zur Religions-
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African Re-Genesis. Confronting Social Issues in
the Diaspora. New York: UCL Press, 2006. 275 pp.
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Hayward, Philip: Bounty Chords. Music, Dance, and
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heit. Eine Herausforderung pluraler Gesellschaf-
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978-3-89913-531-2. (Judentum - Christentum - Is-
lam, 3)
Henrich, Natalie, and Joseph Henrich: Why Humans
Cooperate. A Cultural and Evolutionary Explana-
tion. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007.
267 pp. ISBN 978-0-19-530068-0.
Hertz, Robert: Das Sakrale, die Sünde und der Tod.
Religions-, kultur- und wissenssoziologische Unter-
suchungen. Hrsg, von Stephan Moebius und Chris-
tian Papilloud. Konstanz: UVK Verlagsgesellschaft,
2007. 284 pp. ISBN 978-3-89669-531-4.
Hoff, Ansie: Medicine Experts of the /Xam San. The
!kwa-ka !gi:ten Who Controlled the Rain and Water.
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978-3-89645-147-7. (Research in Khoisan Stud-
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Hostnig, Rainer, etal. (ed.): Actas del Primer Simpo-
sio Nacional de Arte Rupestre (Cusco, noviembre
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mémoires de FIFE A, 12)
Howard, Rosaleen: Por los linderos de la lengua. Ideo-
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Francés de Estudios Andinos, 2007. 426 pp. ISBN
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Im Schatten der Akazie. Forschung in den Wüsten Afri-
kas - In the Shade of the Acacia. Research in the
African Deserts. Ausstellungsbegleiter - Exhibition
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79 pp., Fotos. ISBN 978-3-923158-43-0. (Etimoló-
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kultureller Fremd- und Selbstwahmehmung in West
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lag W. Kohlhammer, 2007. 256 pp. ISBN 978-3-
17-019946-0. (Religionsethnologische Studien des
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Jomo, K. S., and Jacques Baudot (eds.): Flat World,
Big Gaps. Economic Liberalization, Globalization,
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416 pp. ISBN 978-1-84277-834-0.
Jonaitis, Aldona: Art of the Northwest Coast. Seattle:
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Jordan, Manuel: Makishi. Mask Characters of Zam-
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83 pp., photos. ISBN 978-0-9748729-7-1.
Kakar, Sudhir, and Katharina Kakar: The Indians.
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Weiblich - männlich - anders? Geschlechterbe-
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Kapp, Dieter B. (Hrsg.): Älu-Kurumba-Texte; Bd. 1.
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Karjalainen, Mira: In the Shadow of Freedom. Life
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sche Verlags-Anstalt, 2007. 399 pp. ISBN 978-3-
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lichen Orients. 2. Aufl. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz
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Kellner, Alexander: Mit den Mythen denken. Die My-
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8258-0051-2. (Ethnologie, 29)
King, J.C.H., and Christian F. Feest (eds.); Three
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Klein, Dieter (Hrsg.): Jehova se nami nami. Die
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978-0-313-33193-0. |ltb
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of Local-Level Politics and the Disjunction uth
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Soziologie, 8) jjgud'
Krech, Hans, und Matthias Kleiminger (Hrsg ):
buch Religiöse Gemeinschaften und Weitab6
ungen. Freikirchen; Pfingstlich-charismatiscu ^
wegungen und weitere unabhängige Gemmn
Christliche Sekten; Neuoffenbarer, Neuen6 ^
rungsbewegungen und Neureligionen; eS°te^6\Ve'
und neugnostische Weltanschauungen und ^
gungen; Religiöse Gruppen und Strömung6^^
Asien; Anbieter von Lebenshilfe und PsychO( .s-
nisationen. 6., neu bearb. u. erw. Aufl-
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Krischke-Ramaswamy, Mohini: Populäre Km gg-
Alltagskultur. Funktionelle und ästhetisch6 ^
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ISBN 978-3-89669-635-9. -cisrH.
Kugle, Scott: Sufis and Saint’s Bodies.
Corporeality, and Sacred Power in Islam- qq7-
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345 pp. ISBN 978-0-8078-5789-2.
Kunnie, Julian E., and Nomalungelo I. Goduka^^.
Indigenous Peoples’ Wisdom and Power. ^0v
ing Our Knowledge through Narratives. A| 6^g,0'
Ashgate Publishing, 2006. 282 pp. ISBN
7546-1597-2. ^ . eSCb»'
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Par’ Lawrence A., and Stephen K. Sanderson
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caster, Chet, and Kenneth P. Vickery (eds.): The
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W 176'5-
Spu’ A.: Lost Nubia. A Centennial Exhibit of
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Makilam: Symbols and Magic in the Arts of Kabyle
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305 pp. ISBN 978-1-4051-5250-1.
Salomon, Frank: Los Quipocamayos. El antiguo arte
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(eds
Stewart, Pamela J., and Andrew Strathern - gi
Asian Ritual Systems. Syncretisms and
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(Actes et mémoires de 1TFEA, 8) 0yaS'
Taylor, Gerald: Diccionario quechua Chachap
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5, 2006. 146 pp. ISBN 978-9972-623-41-2-
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Q°ssopoulos, Dimitrios (ed.): When Greeks Think
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Berner, U., Einführung: Religionswissenschaft und Re-
ligionskritik (107-110). - Wiebe, D., Criticism of Reli-
gion and Its Import for the Scientific Study of Religion
(111-120). - Barker, E., Social Science as a Comple-
ment to the Historical Perspective. The Case of New
Religions (121-132). - Schliefer, J., “Aufgabe der Phi-
losophie ist, die Vernunft der Religion zu zeigen”. Phi-
losophie als religionskritisches und religionsproduktives
Medium am Beispiel des Hegel’schen Systems (133-
155).
334
Zeitschrift6118*
cl#
15. 2007/1
Auffahrth, C., Theologie als Religionskritik in der Eu-
ropäischen Religionsgeschichte (5-27).
Zeitschrift für vergleichende
Rechtswissenschaft (Frankfurt)
106. 2007/2
Eising, S. H., Konflikte der Rechtskulturen bei der Bei-
legung internationaler Streitfälle (123-140). - Liukku-
nen, U., The Method of Understanding and an Internal
Viewpoint on the Interface Between Comparative Law
and Private International Law (141-157).
Zeitschrift für Volkskunde (Münster)
103.2007/1 abef
Drascek, D., “Die Zeit der Deutschen ist langsam
genau”. Vom Umgang mit der Zeit in kulturverglelC
der Perspektive (1-19). - Hess, S., Transit
Kulturanthropologische Anmerkungen zur Europ e
rungsforschung (21-37). - Kaschuba, W., Ethm ^
Parallelgesellschaften? Zur kulturellen Konstruktiv
Lremden in der europäischen Migration (65-85)-
103.2007/2 s
Heidrich, H., Dinge verstehen. Materielle Kultur aU‘
Sicht der Europäischen Ethnologie (223-236).
103.300*
Anthropos
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Pr
* ^r- Jon Abbink
Pac!uan Studies Centre
4rt555
Ä
nk@ascleiden.nl
^r* Hermann Amborn
str- ?o
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München
e,ihany
arnborn@vka.fakl2.uni-maenchen.de
Itistu ^r' ®ettina Beer
SanriUt fiir Ethnologie
beasse 7
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CPany
1Scher@t-online.de
ÌV. i ~
bep. *• Beidelman
3q, D°* Anthropology, NYU
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C8 mb.spk-berlin.de
r°k Dr. Maria Susana Cipolletti
Weg 6
Bonn
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0 ^etti@uni-bonn.de
D
<aick Claffey, SVD
Mi!lto° Mission Theology and Cultures
kaaejWn institute of Philosophy and Theology
^UKl ;gh
Irelalln6
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ey@milltown-institute.ie
A^thr,
°Pos 103
2008
Jennifer Cole, PhD
Dept, of Comparative Human Development
5730 South Woodlawn Avenue
Chicago, IL 60637
USA
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Prof. Norbert Dannhaeuser
Dept, of Anthropology
Texas A&M University
College Station, TX 77843-4352
USA
ndann@tamu.edu
Dr. Heike Drotbohm
Institut für Völkerkunde
Werderring 10
D-79085 Freiburg
Germany
heike.drotbohm@ethno.uni-freiburg.de
Dr. Roland Drubig
Am Goldgraben 26
D-37073 Göttingen
Germany
ifak@comlink.org
Prof. Dr. Roy F. Ellen
Dept, of Anthropology
Marlowe Building
University of Kent
Canterbury, Kent CT2 7NR
United Kingdom
R.F.Ellen@kent.ac.uk
Prof. Dr. Hans Fischer
Hans-Thoma-Str. 72
D-69121 Heidelberg
Germany
Ha-Fis @ t-online.de
Dr. Adrian Fraser
School of Continuing Studies
University Centre, P.O. Box 610
Kingstown
Saint Vincent and the Grenadines
fraser. adrian @ gmail. com
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Prof. Dr. Ron Geaves
Dept, of TRS
University of Chester
Parkgate Road
Chester CHI 4BJ
United Kingdom
geavesr@hope.ac.uk
Prof. Dr. Peter Heine
Seminar f. Geschichte u. Gesellschaft Südasiens
Humboldt-Universität
Unter den Linden 6
D-10099 Berlin
Germany
peter.heine @ snafu.de
Dr. Philip Gibbs, SVD
Melanesian Institute
P.O. Box 571
Goroka, EHP 441
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Prof. Dr. David Hicks
Dept, of Anthropology
SUNY at Stony Brook
Stony Brook, NY 11794-4364
USA
david.hicks @ stonybrook.edu
Prof. Anthony Good
School of Social and Political Studies
University of Edinburgh
Adam Ferguson Building
Edinburgh EH8 9LL
United Kingdom
A.Good@ed.ac.uk
Dr. Katarina Greifeld
Mauerweg 10
D-60316 Frankfurt
Germany
greifeld@gmx.de
Dr. Stanislaw Grodz, SVD
ul. Jagiellonska 45
skr. poczt. 1110
PL 20-950 Lublin
Poland
stang @ poczta.onet.pl
Matthias Gruber, M. A.
Institut für Historische Ethnologie
Grüneburgplatz 1
D-60323 Frankfurt
Germany
gruber@frobenius-institut.uni-frankfurt.de
Prof. Dr. Hans Peter Hahn
Institut fur Historische Ethnologic
Griineburgplatz 1
D-60323 Frankfurt
Germany
hans.hahn@em.uni-frankfurt.de
Prof. em. John H. Hamer
Dept, of Anthropology
The University of the South
375 University Avenue
Sewanee, TN 37383-1000
USA
jhamer @ seraphl .sewanee.edu
Jerry K. Jacka, PhD
Dept, of Sociology and Anthropology
North Carolina State University
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Prof. em. Dr. Jürgen Jensen
Eppendorfer Landstraße 163
D-20251 Hamburg
Germany
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Prof. Rita Smith Kipp
Provost, Marietta College
215 Fifth Street
Marietta, OH 45750
USA
rita. smith.kipp @ marietta.edu
Dr. Peter Kneitz
Karl-Göbels-Str. 6
D-50226 Frechen
Germany
peter, kneitz @ ethnologic. uni-halle. de
PD Dr. Jacqueline Knörr
MPI für ethnologische Forschung
Postfach 11 03 51
D-06017 Halle
Germany
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Prof. Dr. Ulrich Köhler
Schlossweg 6
D-79249 Merzhausen
Germany
Ulrich. Koehler @ ethno .uni-freiburg. de
Prof. Dr. Godula Kosack
Brockhausstr. 13
D-04229 Leipzig
Germany
g.kosack@ arcor.de
Anthropos
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N0nuOf AnthroPol°gy
l8lo VVestem University
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üs^st°n, IL 60208
ku ^
2aWa @ northwestem. edu
k>e'm aUl J- Lane
Unix/ of Archaeology
Ki/?rs% of York
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k kYOl 7EP
W503@Ìng1dOm
york.ac.uk
KjJi* ?r* Bernhard Lang
lsche Theologie
Warhtät kar Kulturwissenschaften
b Pargerstr. 100
Oer?98 paderbom
ard .Lang @ uni-paderbom. de
Ti
KarrxfSeitlar§ret Luttmann
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0e 9459 Hamburg
ils^aay
rr'argret.luttmann @ arcor.de
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lom 4enmary Avenue #9
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kis ’ ^r* Wolfgang Marschall
Pn n§asse 2
Zürich
gang.marschall @ anthro.unibe.ch
institi; Hermann Mückler
Ptiivß ür Kultur- und Sozialanthropolog
PniverrSltätWien
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Steth"y0fKent
Kent CT2 7NR
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At%,
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Germany
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28, nie du Refuge
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France
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Prof. Dr. Joachim G. Piepke, SVD
Anthropos Institut
Amold-Janssen-Str. 20
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Germany
anthropos. director @ stey ler. de
Dr. Darius J. Piwowarczyk, SVD
Anthropos Institut
Amold-Janssen-Str. 20
D-53754 Sankt Augustin
Germany
piwowarczyk® steyler.de
Dr. Paula Prescod
81, me Vascosan
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France
paula @ vincysurf.com
Dr. Peter Probst
Dept, of Art and Art History
11 Talbot Avenue
Medford, MA 02155
USA
peter.probst@tufts.edu
Prof. Dr. Claude Rivière
49, avenue Gambetta
F-49300 Cholet
France
claude.riviere94@free.fr
Mr. Gerald Roche
Nationalities Department
Qinghai Normal University
Xining, Qinghai
PR China
gjroche@gmail.com
P. Franciszek M. Rosihski
Al. J. Kasprowicza 26
skr.p. 1759
PL 51-161 Wroclaw 8
Poland
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Prof. Dr. Josef Salmen, SVD
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Austria
S almen @ stey 1er. at
Dr. Anette Schade
Schamweberstr. 54b
D-12587 Berlin
Germany
Anette. S chade @ fu-berlin. de
Prof. David Z. Scheffel, PhD
Dept, of Sociology and Anthropology
Thompson Rivers University
Kamloops, BC
Canada V2C 5N3
dscheffel@tru.ca
Mr. Ryan Schram
Anthropology, US CD
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La Jolla, CA 92093-0532
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rschram@weber.uscd.edu
Dr. Ingo W. Schröder
MPI für Ethnologische Forschungen
Postfach 11 0351
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ingowschroeder @ hotmail .com
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UFPE
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Av. Prof. Moraes Rego, 1.235, 13° andar
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Goldsmiths College
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Institut fur Historische Ethnologic
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Dept, of Religious Studies
University of Sydney
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Asian Folklore Studies
from 2008 will change its name to
Asian Ethnology
In 2006 Professor Peter Knecht retired after twenty-six years as editor of Asian Folkore
ies, and a special double issue honoring his scholarly achievements was published in 20°^
Under new editorship from Volume 67 (2008), the name of the journal will change to
Ethnology. It will continue to be produced at Nanzan University through the Nanzan InStl
tute for Religion and Culture. The editorial policy is as follow;
Asian Ethnology is an international, peer-reviewed journal that seeks to deepen un-
derstanding of the peoples and cultures of Asia in its entirety. We seek to facilitate
intellectual exchange between Asia and the rest of the world, and particularly wel-
come submissions from scholars based in Asia. The journal presents
formal essays and analyses, research reports, and critical book re-
views relating to a wide range of topical categories, including: nar-
ratives, performances, and other forms of cultural representation;
popular religious concepts; vernacular approaches to health and
healing; local knowledge; collective memory and uses of the past.
In 2008, the first issue of Asian Ethnology (Volume 67, no. 1) will include articles on
• Chanted Narratives of Indigenous Peoples of the Indian Subcontinent
• Hunting Traditions and the Asiatic Black Bear in the Upland Regions of Japan
Ritual Performers and Sacrificial Enactments in Tamil Nadu, South India
Vol. 67, no. 2 of Asian Ethnology will be a special issue guest-edited by Dr. Laurel Kend ^
the American Museum of Natural History on “The Sacred Life of Material Goods in
temporary Vietnam.”
For information regarding submissions or other queries, please contact the editors:
Benjamin Dorman
Nanzan Institute for Religion & Culture
dorman@ic.nanzan-u.ac.jp
Scott Schnell
The University of Iowa
scott- schnell@uiowa. edu
Asian Ethnology
... carrying on the tradition of Asian Folklore Studies
ANTHROPOS 103.2008/2
ir»ikel
H, jj
tw ’ arnes: The Power of Strangers in Flores and Ti-
E. ; •.............................................
O* Bourdier: Indigenous Populations in a Cul-
Cast a ersPective. The Paradox of Development in South-
Xsia...............................................
ol'thic nathan’ V’R- Rao’ and R. G. Bednarik: Palae-
thgj C Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of
tlsfctç aWas the Andaman Islands...................
^ Spât; Religious Oral Tradition and Literacy
4(1^ Yezidis of Iraq...............................
^Vid'V ^hryock: Thinking about Hospitality, with
X ^ Kant, and the Balga Bedouin....................
Rounet • Valorisation d’objets bédouins et
X 'bons identitaires lors d’un moussem en Algérie .
tity ; Adekunle: The Wasangari. Politics and Iden-
lbrahi °rgU .......................................
Ve -lïla ^°w • Les troubles mentaux au Sénégal. Exis-
V ^ethique et problématique de l’identité..........
Vripeyssens : L’héritage de Santwala. Un récit de vie .
Aq £,111 Votermans: Local and Global Icons of Mary.
Mjgu^graphic Study of a Powerful Symbol............
. Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenpa: Com-
nc*igenous Pilgrimages. Devotion, Identity, and
'VijVf6 in Mesoamerica and North America...........
?igena Usana Cipolletti: “Nostalgia del monte”. In-
S del Oriente peruano segün un manuscrite del
WSa aan Magnin (Borja 1743)........................
&ri und pr'nkel; Forschende im Fokus. Zu den Potentia-
ls^ r°blemen der Wissensforschung in den Kultur-
chaften
343
355
367
393
405
423
435
447
459
471
483
507
527
e,'ichf
aie und Kommentare
Vsy Porth: Friarbird on Roti..................
Xl chifko: Anmerkungen zu einer tätowierten Bä-
Vs ^Ur als Ausdruck eines bikulturellen Neusee-
Sivii- •......................................
3ine . Uen and Ralf Tanner: The Limitations of an
Vujje ^ Language. The Case of Ki-Swahili......
/*Vei 1Vl®re : La gestualite comme marqueur socio-
X Q ..........................................
V{?s^ ack: Anthropology and Missionaries. A Re-
541
545
549
555
560
V
Usio
uen
s
Av'lKat^’ Ro§a*a Mustafa (ed.): Female Circumci-
X,annaGreifeld)................................ 569
:*lneh: Sorrow and Jov among Muslim Wom-
an. Irilneh: Sorrow and Joy among
msökefeld)....................
570
Akakpo-Numado, Sena Yawo: Mädchen- und Frauen-
bildung in den deutschen Afrika-Kolonien (1884-1914)
(Godula Kosack)....................................
Anderson, E. N.: Everyone Eats (Karola Eiwert-
Kretschmer) .......................................
Antweiler, Christoph: Was ist den Menschen gemein-
sam? (Marie-France Chevron)........................
Axinn William G., and Lisa D, Pearce: Mixed Method
Data Collection Strategies (Julia Pauli) ..........
Bamford, Sandra (ed.): Embodying Modernity and
Post-Modemity (Terence E. Hays)....................
Barnes, Linda L.: Needles, Herbs, Gods, and Ghosts
(Ute Engelhardt)...................................
Berger, Peter: Füttern, Speisen und Verschlingen (Lydia
Icke-Schwalbe).....................................
Blakely, Sandra: Myth, Ritual, and Metallurgy in An-
cient Greece and Recent Africa (Detlef Gronenbom) . .
Cabrera Becerra, Gabriel: Las Nuevas Tribus y los
indigenas de la Amazonia (Darius J. Piwowarczyk) . . .
Claffey, Patrick: Christian Churches in Dahomey-Be-
nin (Eugen Nunnenmacher)...........................
Crawford, Michael (ed.): Anthropological Genetics
(Winfried Henke)...................................
Davidson, Jamie S., and David Henley (eds.); The
Revival of Tradition in Indononesian Politics (Holger
Warnk).............................................
Deimel, Claus: nawesari. Texte aus der Sierra Tarahu-
mara (Brigitte Wiesenbauer)........................
Diamond, Jared M.: Collapse. How Societies Choose
to Fail or Succeed (Ulrike Schuerkens) ............
Dieckmann, Ute: Hai||om in the Etosha Region (Alan
Barnard) ..........................................
Engelke, Matthew: A Problem of Presence (T. O. Bei-
delman)............................................
Finnegan, Ruth: The Hidden Musicians (Michael
Schlottner)........................................
Gingrich, Andre, and Marcus Banks (eds.): Neo-
Nationalism in Europe and Beyond (Lien Warmenbol) .
Gravers, Mikael (ed.); Exploring Ethnic Diversity in
Burma (Volker Grabowsky) ..........................
Gronover, Annemarie: Religiöse Reserven (Hanna
Kienzier)..........................................
Hayase, Shinzo: Mindanao Ethnohistory Beyond Na-
tions (Susan Russell)..............................
Janowski, Monica, and Fiona Kerlogue (eds.): Kinship
and Food in South East Asia (Eugen N. Anderson) . . .
Kasfir, Sidney Littlefield: African Art and the Colonial
Encounter (T. O. Beidelman)........................
Klostermaier, Klaus K.: A Survey of Hinduism (Oth-
mar Gächter).......................................
Kulijaman, Mataliwa, et Eliane Camargo : Kaptelo
(Diego Villar).....................................
Largey, Michael D.: Vodou Nation (Silke Straatman) .
Lehmann, Albrecht: Reden über Erfahrung (Rolf Wil-
helm Brednich) ....................................
571
572
573
575
576
577
578
580
580
582
583
585
586
587
589
590
591
593
594
596
597
598
599
600
602
603
604
Lucero, Lisa J., and Barbara W. Fash (eds.): Pre-
columbian Water Management (Mary W. Helms) . . . .
Majnep, Ian Saem, and Ralph Bulmer: Animals the
Ancestors Hunted (Terence E. Hays).................
Malaurie, Jean: Hummocks. Journeys and Inquiries
among the Canadian Inuit (Robert Jarvenpa) ........
Michael, Holger: Kulturelles Erbe als identitätsstiftende
Instanz (Lioba Rossbach de Olmos)..................
Musch, Tilman: Nomadismus und Sesshaftigkeit bei
den Burjaten (Stefan Krist)........................
Musch, Tilman (ed.): Buryat Songs (CD) (Stefan Krist)
Neudorfer, Corinne: Meet the Akha - Help the Akha?
(Jana Igunma)......................................
Nicolini, Beatrice (ed.): Studies in Witchcraft, Magic,
War, and Peace in Africa (Rita Schäfer)............
Nieuwkerk, Karin van (ed.): Women Embracing Islam
(Wiebke Walther)...................................
Petersen, Helga, und Alexander Krikellis (Hrsg.): Re-
ligion und Heilkunst der Toba-Batak auf Sumatra (Peter
van Eeuwijk).......................................
Puri, Rajindra K.: Deadly Dances in the Bornean Rain-
forest (Stefan Seitz)..............................
Ringmar, Erik: The Mechanics of Modernity in Europe
and East Asia (Ulrike Schuerkens)..................
Rothstein, Frances Abrahamer: Globalization in Rural
Mexico (Harald Mossbrucker)........................
Schmidt, Volker H. (ed.); Modernity at the Beginning
of the 21st Century (Ulrike Schuerkens)............
Schuerkens, Ulrike (ed.): Globalization and Transfor-
mations of Local Sociooeconomic Practices (Hans P-
Hahn)..........................................
Solway, Jacqueline (ed.): The Politics of Egalitarianism ^2
(Julie Taylor and Amelia Cook).................• • •
Steiner, Franz Baermann: Zivilisation und Gefahr (UP ^4
rich van Loyen)...................................■ '
Stewart, Pamela J., and Andrew Strathern (eds.): ^
Asian Ritual Systems (Adam Yuet Chau).............■ '
Taylor, Philip: Cham Muslims of the Mekong Delta ^7
(Alexander Horstmann) ............................• •
Thiessen, Ilka: Waiting for Macedonia (Andreas Hem- ^8
ming)..........................................• ■ • 63 0
Toffin, Gérard: Newar Society (Lubomira Palikarska) •
West, Harry G.: Ethnographic Sorcery (T. O. Beidel-
man) .............................................• •
Wolff, Larry, and Marco Cipolloni (eds.): The Anthro- ^2
pology of the Enlightenment (Andrzej Bronk)
Wulf, Christoph : Une anthropologie historique et cul- ^4
turelle (Claude Rivière)..........................• '
639
Neue Publikationen ....................... 553
Zeitschriftenschau ....................... 535
Miszellen ................................• '
Mitarbeiter dieses Heftes ................
Index ....................................
!O3.20°8
605
606
607
608
610
610
612
613
614
616
617
587
619
587
Anthropos
anthropos
103.2008: 343-353
The Power of Strangers in Flores and Timor
R. H. Barnes
SaCfed h ~ Pitt-Rivers notes that the stranger is dangerous and
be ‘-s °ecause he belongs to an extraordinary world and must
Sarjjy . la ised, that is to say secularized, a process which neces-
histon lnv°^Ves inversion.” A striking feature of the traditional
is ^ s °f several local state structures in eastern Indonesia
of pe °lten they maintained ruling authority is in the hands
becarr)^>ns whose ancestors came as strangers and successfully
Just ^¡e ahsorbed into the local communities, often by means of
oUtsi(leSr Sort of inversion. Another recurring pattern is that of the
rbains r taking active leadership, while indigenous authority re-
Ti relatively immobile. This essay looks at several examples
°f statu°r ancl Flores of attempts to cope with the disjunction
With the8 3n<^ Power’ such as Dumont attributed to India, and
aUth0r- c°nstructive dilemma of how to combine legitimacy of
^ whh the prestige of the stranger. [Indonesia, Flores,
a' Timor, stranger king, authority, power]
*.*.B
°f Qxf arnes’ Professor of Social Anthropology, University
conciu'^' bellow of St. Antony’s College, Oxford. - He has
^rr0unded extensive research on Lembata and Adonara and
ir*clude. islands in eastern Indonesia. - His publications
^stem T ^dclang- A Study of the Collective Thought of an
^httoh' ndonesian People” (Oxford 1974); “Lamakera, Solor.
(^1SF>ry of a Muslim Whaling Village of Eastern Indone-
011 a Utr°Pos 1975); “Lamakera, Solor. Ethnographic Notes
Pos ^ "
j^uslim Whaling Village of Eastern Indonesia” (Anthro-
<"6); “Ba Naruq. An Eastern Indonesian Narrative” {An-
2002); “A Ritual Resurgence in Eastern Indonesia”
r°Pos 2005). - See also References Cited.
Stran
^hey^ers a^Ways pose an at least implicit challenge,
be ^ rePresent danger or potential gain and must
lheCo with hostility or hospitality, brought into
how mmunity or expelled from it. The problem of
lo° ea^ strangers Julian Pitt-Rivers (1977)
caHed the law of hospitality. Under this
ihg ^ e discusses a variety of responses, includ-
S fe 0rc^ea^ rules governing sanctuary, obliga-
asting, tests of cultural competence, and in-
vestigations of identity and intention. The law of
hospitality, Pitt-Rivers says, is founded on ambiva-
lence. The stranger is dangerous and sacred be-
cause he belongs to an extraordinary world. “If his
danger is to be avoided, he must either be denied
admittance, chased, or enticed away like evil spir-
its or vampires, or, if granted admittance, he must
be socialised, that is to say secularised, a process
which necessarily involves inversion” (Pitt-Rivers
1977: 101).
Themes
How cultures deal with these ambiguities varies
of course, although the problem is universal. In
eastern Indonesia, strangers who arrive without ob-
viously hostile intent are generally accorded high
status, but not inevitably. What is striking about
traditional histories of several local state structures
prior to the twentieth century is how often they
maintain that ruling authority is in the hands of
persons whose ancestors came as strangers and suc-
cessfully became absorbed into the local commu-
nities, often by means of just the sort of inversion
that Pitt-Rivers refers to.1 This circumstance relates
to another pattern, which has often been described
and has been the subject of a comparative survey by
1 Sahlins (1981) has compared traditions concerning “strang-
er-kings” in Indo-European and Polynesian societies, and
Oosten (1988) has criticized some of his formulations. Nei-
ther, however, has anything directly to say about these issues
in so far as they relate to eastern Indonesia. Some further
relevant comments may be found in Bellwood (1996).
344 R. H. BartieS
van Wouden (1968; see also Scholz 1962), namely
a disjunction of some kind between spiritual influ-
ence, frequently associated with the land, and exec-
utive authority or power. This pattern is often called
diarchy or complementary governance (Needham
1980; 73).
Another recurring part of the pattern at various
levels of government is that of the outsider tak-
ing active leadership, while indigenous authority
remains relatively immobile. For example, Becker-
ing (1911; 173f.) reports that district heads under
the so-called Kakang of Horowura, Adonara (one
of ten such dignitaries subordinate to the Raja of
Larantuka), were not permitted by customary law to
present themselves to strangers nor to travel over-
seas. In an earlier period, several were not known
and when they were called to appear in Larantuka,
they sent a surrogate. Sometimes these surrogates
were then appointed to the office, causing confu-
sion. When in 1910 Beckering toured Horowura
with its Kakang, the Kakang did not know some of
the heads, even in parts of his realm he had visited
in the previous year.
Histories
There is some evidence to suggest that the rU^e^0ji
Lohayong, Solor, where the Portuguese built W1
m the sixteenth century and which became a ^
point in the Dutch struggle to wrest control 0 6
sandalwood trade with Timor from the Portug
in the seventeenth century, were by origin
(Barnes 1987: 219f:). Later the rajas of ^
claimed descent from an ancestor of Seran
who subjected the various parts of his rea
peaceful means (Beckering 1911: 171). ^0-
The core clans of the village of Lamalera, ^
bata, deem themselves to descend from P w--
who travelled through the islands from a ^ jjj
land in Luwuk, Sulawesi. Their itinerary
took
isla11
ds
to Seran, Goran, Ambon, and through t^ie,'cailel
of the south Moluccas back west to a land
Lepan Batan, lying in what is now the str ^
tween Pantar and Lembata. When this land ^ ^eSt,
stroyed by natural disaster, its population fle ^
and many settled in the Lamaholot-speakmg• ata-
munities of Flores, Adonara, Solor, and jera
The group which eventually founded La ^uir
travelled along the south coast of Lembata, e ^ sjte
tering turbulent seas when rounding capes.
J03.20°8
Anthropos
345
p
°Wer of Strangers in Flores and Timor
pitied Bobu , they requested permission to settle. A
^ n sitting in the top of a lontar palm answered that
eV should not come ashore. He deceived them by
^mmg that Bobu was so full that there was no
„ ^ left and that some, like him, lived in the tops
' bees.
^ ^fter further misadventures, they arrived at
the^ ^usa Lela, on the edge of what later became
Ce §reater area of Lamalera. Here they were ac-
ka e<^ an<J five<J peaceably with the local inhab-
it s> who already were subject to the Raja of
antuka and held an office of kakang from him.
ex the strangers assumed this office in an
HiaV an^e which also involved giving the art of pot
fr ln§ to the people of Nusa Lela and receiving
jw / them the knowledge of how to forge iron
tat?°°ns‘ A subsequent move, allegedly to facili-
Prp fishery, brought them further west to the
^ sent village site. Until the 1960s, the Kakang of
a*era administered the wider district or Ham-
^arnalera, although the village had little more
^ than was necessary to accommodate its hous-
lrict ^tritual authority remained vested in two dis-
lQna alep, “lords of the land,” from adjacent
of ^traditionally indigenous villages. The people
hat- :irna'era regarded their home village on Lepan
11 as having been named Lewohajo, a name
Preserved in their travels until settling at Doni
^Uh ^a‘ They also recognized a common history
\yes °ther refugees from Lewohajo who settled in
a^i ^°lor and at Lohayong where the Portuguese
infj ater Dutch fort was located on Solor, and with
tujj hants of the hamlet of Lohayong at Laran-
Vic’ Flores, who are associated with the office of
(1L ^aJa in the Larantuka structure of government
1996:54-61).
thejr Plcture of how the rajas of Larantuka regarded
^aja T°Wn history is given by an account2 which
his h°renso Oesi Diaz Vieira Godinho provided
eXiie°n’ ^e later Raja Servus, during Raja Oesi’s
in jJ31 Java following his deposition by the Dutch
is thg ‘ Among the salient features of the legend
fr0me ^act that the Diaz Vieira Godinho line derives
tk a ^ale outsider and is not the original stock of
a ^ e history begins with a man named Lian Hura,
a)So rtlan named Watu Wele, and a younger woman
Earned Watu Wele.3 Raja Servus later told the
O pendek dari katoroenan radja di tanah Laran-
t(jr a ^Short History of the Descent of the Raja of Laran-
’ ^°Und in the Netherlands General State Arch''“"1'
3 kr Ue’.LeRoux Collection No. 7 (Couvreur 1907).
'Vo
a discussion of the possible reason why there are two
'then
named Watu Wele see Dietrich (1995; 132f.).
r°Pos 103.2008
ethnographer Ernst Vatter (1932: 34) that Lian Hura
and his sister Watu Wele came out of the Hi Mandiri
mountain, that they lived in the forest, and that they
were covered with long hair and had long nails.
Lian Hura married a woman behind Hi Mandiri,
which towers above Larantuka. The older Watu
Wele married a man from Lewoleba on Lembata,
with whom she had the sons Laba and Samon. The
younger Watu Wele married a man named Pati Golo
Arakian from Waihele, Timor (that is Wehale, the
center of the south Belu empire, later destroyed by a
Portuguese expedition from Larantuka). Their sons
founded various important villages and hamlets.
This account clearly stipulates that at that time
there was no Raja and that each district and village
governed itself. One of the sons, Padu Hé Pook
Wele, had a son named Sira Demon Pago Molan
(a name which Vatter or Raja Servus translates as
“Sir Demon, Rich in Magical Power”), who when
he was grown was strong, clever, and brave, to the
point that all districts became afraid of him. (Some
myths say that Padu Hé found Sira Demon, who
was brought down from heaven by an eagle.)
One day Sira Demon heard the sound of drums
from the island of Lembata. When he travelled
there he found Laba and Samon. He said to them,
since you are sounding drums in order to form a
princedom, will you recognize the sovereignty of
Sira Demon or of (the then contemporary) Sira Paji
of Adonara? They answered that they would recog-
nize Sira Demon, but they did not believe him when
he said that he was himself Sira Demon. He then
told them that if in a week they saw no sign from
the mountain Hi Mandiri, then it would mean that
he was not Sira Demon, and as there was no one
else who was Sira Demon, they would need have
no fear. If, however, they did see a sign, they should
bring a buffalo from Lamadua, Lembata. After a
week, Sira Demon climbed Hi Mandiri and danced
so hard that the land around shook as in an earth-
quake and the dust rose like smoke from a volcano.
Everyone became afraid, but Laba and Samon were
the most afraid. Accordingly they caught the buf-
falo and took it to Sira Demon, who divided its
meat among all present. These included Laba and
Samon, plus the heads of Horowura, Lewoingu, Pa-
makayu, Wolo, Mudakaputu, Lewotobi, Lamalera,
and Lewolein (thus making up the ten districts of
the rajadom, each under a district head or kakang).
Each took a piece of buffalo meat home and mixed
it with that of a goat and a pig, which he then dis-
tributed to the population as a sign of subjection to
Sira Demon Pago Molan.
In the version of the legend given by the colo-
nial officer Seegeler (1931:76-80), Sira Demon
346
K h. BameS
travelled to each district in succession before call-
ing the meeting in which the realm was founded.
Another discrepancy is that in Seegeler’s version,
Sira Demon was not descended from Pad Golo
Arakian and was not related to him at all. Pati Golo
Arakian did come from Timor, however. He arrived
in Lewonama (Larantuka) in order to cut sandal-
wood and saw fire on top of Woto, a hill between
Hi Mandiri and Larantuka, where he discovered a
wild woman covered with hair like a monkey. He
married this woman with whom he had Sira Napa.
Sira Demon had a son named Pati Laga Labalu,
who died without offspring. Before Sira Demon
died, he turned control of the realm over to Sira
Napa, who took over without opposition.
Vice-Raja
The Larantuka realm had the odd arrangement of a
vice-raja, spoken of in Malay as raja kedua, “the
second raja.” The family name was Belantran de
Rosari. According to legend, their ancestor was
part of the great diaspora of people fleeing the
destruction of the island Keroko Pukan (the same
as Lepan Batan) to the east, and they settled in
the Larantuka hamlet named Lohayong, adjacent
to Lokea which is associated with the Raja. In the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries, there was much
intermarriage between these two families; and the
Dutch turned on various occasions to the Belantran
de Rosari family to provide a replacement for a
deposed Raja.
According to their legend, after fleeing Keroko
Pukan, they arrived in Larantuka while Sira Napa
was holding a festival at the village temple. When
the person who filled the position of kelen, in a four
officer system central to the ritual structure of the
realm but which cannot be described here, held the
legs of the sacrificial animal, they were unable to
sever its head. The same occurred when others held
the animal. Sira Napa then agreed to call people
from the boat full of refugees. Three persons from
the boat “Pelang Kakatua” came. They were named
Suban Main Kaki, Payong Laga Doni, and Demon
Gawe Lewa. At the temple they were asked who
was oldest, and the oldest was requested to hold
the legs. Suban Main Kaki refused unless he was
recognized as head. Sira Napa then asked him if he
was a prominent person in his own land and if he
had proof. Suban Main Kaki took from his boat two
elephant tusks, a bronze drum (moko), a sharpening
stone, and a Chinese plate. Sira Napa was not sat-
isfied with these objects, whereupon Suban showed
him a rattan baton decorated with a stylized flower.
In the event of a successful sacrifice in which Su
held the legs, Sira Napa promised to make 5
Main Kaki the raja kelen (main kaki is Malay
“play with the legs”). According to Seegeleb ^
objects offered as proof were still in the Pg2).
sion of the family when he wrote (193 L 80^ ^
After Raja Lorenso Oesi was deposed in 19b ’
Dutch replaced him with his father’s sister s ^.j
Dom Luis Balantran de Rosarie, who served a
1906. Dom Joan Balantran de Rosarie held 0
until 1912, when Raja Lorenso’s son Dom J° -
nus Servus Diaz Vieira Godinho took over t
Eerde 1923: 105).
Stranger Kings
№
Dietrich (1995) has analyzed in great detal jjs,
versions of the Lian Hura and Pati Golo no
some of which he has collected himself. He _ ^ t0
quite firmly that the Pati Golo story has noth111 ^ j(
do with the motif of a “stranger king.” ^nS^a0p-
represents the type of origin myth in which m s
position mountain-sea operates. However, he t
subsequently concede that in respect of
(Lian Hura), Pati Golo is indeed a stranger 0f
but he emphasizes that via Wato Wele, the raj $
Larantuka reckon themselves autochthons (n J ^
as opposed to the true stranger king, the seC°n^0ifl
jas, or vice-rajas. In some versions Pati Golo is^ ^
on Flores, but in Dietrich’s interpretation he „
ways a secondary figure, as the rajas stress th ^
tochthonous origins through Pati Golo’s wite gll-
Wele. In relation to the vice-raja, the raja is *
perior authority, autochthonous and associate fy
the mountain, while the vice-raja is a sec $$
authority, a stranger and associated with ^
(Dietrich 1995: 127 f., 137). I am prepared ^ ^
cept this interpretation, but I do wish to str^o is
ambiguity in a patrilineal society of a king
descended ultimately from a foreign prince-
I encountered just this objection in eastern A
concerning the disputed position of a clan ofj-
claims precedence through its autochthon0 s $
gins, whereas the opponents of this claim 8 ^
origin account for this clan that describes 1 p^ti
male ancestor as coming from outside and, 1
Golo, marrying an autochthonous woman
in press).4 It would seem very much in the
4 Dietrich (1995: 128) says that one should not be rh ^ stod
the fact that the origin myth of the royal house e fo
about Pati Golo. The relevant status-legitirnatin^^
the royal house is in the first place (the female) gft
On Adonara the legitimating figure, and thus the 1
347
p
°Wer of Strangers in Flores and Timor
^ the Raja, of Larantuka to distract attention from
8 ambiguity. Perhaps we could look for an ex-
Nation of the odd arrangement of having a sep-
the ^ne which supplies the vice-raja precisely in
K 6 hitiction of removing from the raja the onus of
ein§ the stranger.
Realm of Larantuka
The - i
■0f iealm of Larantuka as described in the records
Co recent period is complex and the result of a
0£ Plicated history. It is marked by a long period
^alliance with the Portuguese and Catholicism.
Iti ^ Center was Portuguese- and Malay-speaking,
k. Raja Dom Lorenso Diaz Vieira Godinho
U0re j.1 J
ine Portuguese title Kolonel and wrote and
dj Ke Portuguese fairly well, although he was ad-
h ed to opium, to which he was introduced by
he^lnese (Francis 1838; 395). At the same time, he
hjs SWay over a Lamaholot-speaking alliance and
f^^lm was shaped by Lamaholot institutions.
^aja also spoke Lamaholot.
f0rc le rajas certainly were able to raise armed
\VRj^e and wage war, which eventually led to conflict
^th ^utch- Dietrich concludes that the Raja’s
> was intangible, however, and did not re-
Sge lrectly from the use of physical force, which
lhefS to the point that the various legends of
bec °Unding of the realm try to make. Sira Demon
by me Raja through his extraordinary abilities, not
did war’ although in Raja Oesi’s version he
rec reaten to do so, if the ten districts did not
% §aiZe his supremacy. Dietrich further feels that
Cere atl0n between the Kakang and the Raja was a
tban °nial, rather than administrative, one. Rather
of rea regular tax, the Raja received from them gifts
stali ?ect on ceremonial occasions, such as his in-
his l0n or in the case of his own funeral. Through
Vn rs°nal esteem, he was able to exercise in-
bis ^locally (Dietrich 1989: 32f.). Furthermore,
Чц ц'°rdy was conceptually a shared authority,
Щ th Posbi°n in the ritual four office system
(SePfv !0и§Ь the relation to the Lord of the Land
1931:43).
aPParently 1873 (see Heynen 1876a: 77),
°f ц e ‘Lord of the Land” (in Malay tuan tanah)
ifl ц ar,tuka converted to Christianity, there was
muka a temple (korke) which served for
0 e realm. This building was taken down by
H
of pUte’ls '•he first male ancestor, thus the precise analogue
'he u1 Gol°' tndeed Dietrich notes that there are versions of
^ pati Golo story which locate his place of origin as the
n'ain (Hi Mandiri).
r°P°s 103.2008
the townspeople in 1874 (Laan 1962-1968, Vol. 2:
336f.). However, Dietrich has observed that Hey-
nen has confused events in the section of greater
Larantuka which shares the name “Larantuka” with
those in the section called Lokea, where the temple
which stood for all of Larantuka in fact stood in the
1870s (Dietrich 1997: 158, n. 151).
The position of the “lord of the land” of La-
rantuka has caused Europeans confusion. Diet-
rich (1989; 29; see Laan 1962-1968, Vol. 2: 333f.)
quotes the Jesuit Metz writing in 1872 as follows:
Larantuka consists in a series of villages ... The vil-
lages belong in part to the Raja’s House; the others have
their own, subordinate village heads ... the villages men-
tioned have their heathen temples, which are served by
the tuhan tanah [lord of the land] or kabellin [Lamaholot
title of prominence, from belen, large, important, etc.],
among whom there are also Christians ... This kabellin
is the most important person in the village. Nothing hap-
pens without his being told or his agreement, and it is
unbelievable how much influence he has. He escapes
the eye of the missionary, but strives in quiet for the
preservation of all the practices and arrangements of the
forefathers ... It is self-evident that we oppose him with
all our strength.
Heynen (1876b: 83 f.) wrote somewhat later that,
“The tuwan-tanah of Larantuka is also the head
of his own village; he does not govern it himself,
but puts in his place a subordinate head. This head
stands in for him also in the council, where he,
however, may say nothing but what the tuwan-
tanah, whose ‘mouth’ he is, has ordered him to do.”
Religion and matters of state in Larantuka, Hey-
nen went on, had always been interwoven. For this
reason, the lord of the land took the first place after
the raja and was called raja tanah or “raja of the
land.” Among the ambiguities suggested by this
statement, and otherwise unclarified, is of course
the issue of the relative positions of the raja tanah
and of the vice-raja. It also brings up the question
what was the appropriate opposition to the land.
Was it the sky? Or was it the sea? Was there any
respect in which in opposition to the Raja Tanah,
the Raja of Larantuka was raja laut, that is, “raja
of the sea,” inherently associated with the outside?5
5 This suggestion goes beyond the available evidence and may
confuse local dimensions of comparison. The Raja of Laran-
tuka is called raja Hi, that is “Raja from the Mountain.” How-
ever, Andaya (1990, especially pp. 9f.) has described a very
similar contrast between the lord of the land and the ruler
who deals with outside trade in the North Moluccas of the
sixteenth century. Writing about Solor, Arndt (1940: 233)
comments, that, “Now frequently there are in a village two
leaders: kepala tana (land leader) and kepala tena (boat
348
K H. Bar**
If so, he would then be in precisely the opposite
position in relation to the Lord of the Land as that
in which, according to Dietrich’s interpretation, he
was placed in relation to the Vice-Raja.
In Heynen’s view the Raja of Larantuka gov-
erned the people, while the Lord of the Land pro-
tected their homeland against evil, mysterious pow-
ers and their effects, as well as against infertility
and disasters, with religious offerings and ceremo-
nies. Whereas the Raja possessed the highest tem-
poral power, the Lord of the Land held the highest
religious power (Heynen 1876b: 79-81). The un-
derlying issue here is did the Raja really have over-
all supremacy, as Heynen says, or was the Lord of
the Land, as elsewhere, the quiet, invisible superior
personage. Was there perhaps a strategic ambigu-
ity about relative status which lay at the center of
Larantuka statecraft or even an implicit agreement
to disagree about the culminating position in the
hierarchy?
There is a legend worth noting in this context
concerning an attempt by the Portuguese to put a
Raja of their own choosing in place during a period
Heynen has estimated at about the middle of the
seventeenth century. They had managed to make
off with a young boy, who turned out to be the
son of the Lord of the Land. Having converted
him and travelled with him through parts of Asia,
they returned him to Larantuka loaded with gifts.
They wished to set him up as the first Christian
Raja, but he refused, since there was already a Raja
and in any case the young man was in the line
of the Lord of the Land, which he later became.
Through his influence it became possible for the
Portuguese to convert Raja Ola, who became Dom
Francisco Diaz Vieira Godinho according to Hey-
nen (1876a: 6-11). There are interesting contrasts
in this story with the situation prevailing in the
nineteenth century. Here it is a Catholic Lord of
the Land who brings a pagan Raja to Christianity,
whereas throughout much of the nineteenth century
it was a nominally Catholic Raja who paired off
with a strictly pagan Lord of the Land.
leader); kepala tana is the actual hereditary leader or chief,
who must be so according to the adat, the customary laws;
kepala téna, the perahu leader, boat leader [is he] who was
appointed by the strangers, the Company [Dutch East In-
dies Company] who came to the land in a perahu.” Dietrich
(1997: 121) has surveyed the existing information about the
Raja Tanah, which he says does not lack for unclarity and
certain contradictions. We are dealing, he says, with different
ideological constructions.
An Historical Confusion
The story is historically odd in several resp^^j
especially in view of Heynen’s dating. A letter t
the Jesuit priest Baltasar Dias, of Decembei J
1559, reported the baptism of a king and seV^a,
hundred of his followers at Lewonama, near
rantuka (Rouffaer 1923-24: 205; Biermann \ ^
186), indicating that there were Christians
near Larantuka and probably Europeans h
there already in the sixteenth century. By the
die of the seventeenth century, Larantuka ha
come the strong point of the Dominican
sometimes armed opposition to the Dutch,
taken the Portuguese fort at Lohayong, Solor,
them in 1613 (Barnes 1987), and in 1630 it ^
visited by the Dominican Vicar-General 0
Rangel. Furthermore, Larantuka was by then ^
the home base of the so-called Black Portug
persons of mixed Lamaholot and European a ^
try, who for a period established themsel^s ^
the dominant military power in the Timor r o
and dealt the Dutch several bloody defeats (b
1947). •
Another historical difficulty about this aC^ollt
is that Portuguese records indicate that m
1645 a Pay ad lived near Larantuka, who was^ ^
ereign and received tribute. Payad no doubt
Malay payung or “umbrella,” a symbol of
eignty and a common given name among triyjCaf
maholot. This personage was baptized by the ^
of the Solor mission, Antonio de S. Jacinth0’
named Dom Constantino. He died in 1661- ^
As Biermann (1959; 267f.) points out, h° ^ 0f
he was already described in a written rep ^
September 20th, 1625, by the Captain of .^0t
tuka. Francisco Fernandes, as “Dom Const f
Payam-King and Lord of the native Christt^^ a
Solor.” The occasion for this mention was
boat containing himself and many of his m
was, while returning from a wedding, surl°nl the
and boarded by a marauding Dutch fleet n0
Solor fort, but was rescued by a ship under th ^
mand of the missionary Luis de Andrada-
(1932: 35) in fact assumes that Dom C°nSta$ef
was the baptismal name of Raja Ola, whorn ^
nen calls Dom Francisco; so Heynen aPPeaI^epd-7 * * * *
wrong at least in respect to the date of the l°c>
56f->
6 Santa Catharina (1733: SOIL), Rouffaer (1923
.24:2:
Biermann (1924: 34). ,Qcu#12
7 Dietrich (1984: 324, .......... .....
IltS
, n. 15) notes that Portuguese f6poi
give Raja Ola’s Christian name as Constantino, Po ^
that Larantuka oral tradition consistently ca pguf6
Francisco. For further discussion of the puzZn iÇ5)-
Dom Constantino see Dietrich (1997; 137f-, 1
¡0}^
Anthropo8
349
p
°Wer of Strangers in Flores and Timor
Authority and Power
j e authority of the raja was not personal but col-
LCtlve. He was more mobile than the lord of the
lj but within the court he had active agents who
s i even greater freedom of movement. Among
u agents were two kapitan from the family sur-
, aied Fernandes. These persons may or may not
(or6 °een descendants of the Solorese Captain Laut
°ft ^0rtlmander at Sea), Francisco Fernandes, who
the^ Provided effective military leadership against
k Dutch in the early and mid-seventeenth cen-
®antes 1987: 226) and who forcibly converted
the Sonba’i on Timor to Christianity and
n destroyed the kingdom of Wehale-Waiwiku
he 7*e south coast of Timor in May, 1642, at the
o a °f a punitive expedition of Portuguese allies
¡Hub
c%:
e hf°rdholt 1971: 164f.). Fernandes is a
f^lrn°n name in Larantuka and held by unrelated
hes. It is remarkable what a shadowy person-
raja is in Portuguese records of the early
^enth century, considering how frequently
P^ttunently Francisco Fernandes figures. It is
c0n°St as though, so far as the Portuguese were
^jCerned, the raja, too, was eclipsed by his exter-
^ePresentatives.
the l£trich concludes generally for Flores rajas that
; ^ do not much resemble a traditional model of
cJ8- Instead of power being concentrated in the
Hte^er’ legitimate authority and power are distrib-
Vari.!10rizontally ar,d vertically among the most
ckai , Corporate groups. Above all there is no
l0us
V
hierarchy of administrative office. The var-
§roups remained, until the Dutch changed
p^b| ’ essentially self-regulating unities, quite ca-
lf)^ functioning without the center (Dietrich
it) u 4bf.). There appears, therefore, to be little
ipst e way of an overt theory of political power.
’ the nature of office is presented through
cere'S °f foundation and through the structure of
0>1 and political positions. According to in-
\ ah°n garnered by Kennedy (1955; 177-179),
^acf°Wer °f lexers from the Raja down to the
pw °f descent groups rests on fear of ancestral
foment. Disobedience leads to illness and mis-
bUt §1Cal power comes mainly from the ancestral spir-
% a is funnelled through the magic stones of author-
a nara] too. The curse power of an adat chief is
Ve^eat- The power of the purely administrative chiefs,
'%[' ’Uple, the kepala kampong, who does not deal with
the kakang, is that of the police, etc. This is
l0n- If they ever tried to put one in who was not
y not so because all of the chiefs are of the proper
Pe°ple would not follow him, or rather they would
do so only out of fear of being sent to jail. Such respect
would be given only halfheartedly.
The power of the chiefs, up to the radja, rests on
their “blood” or legitimate succession, and on the power
of their ancestors, who uphold the proper authority and
punish the disobedient by unseen power (Kennedy 1955:
177-179).
Should a bad man succeed to a post legitimately, the
people would not revolt, but the ancestors would
assure an early death. A succession of bad crops,
illness, and so on might lead the people to think that
something was wrong, that the chief did not have
the right power, but the people would not revolt.
Kennedy says of this power that it is called no ’o ike
(ng), having authority or esteem. It is found in ev-
erything, including rice, iron, and trees. Men have
more and less such power. The raja has a great deal.
It derives from ancestor sanction and indwelling
power which comes with the blood of legitimacy.8
Comparisons
The power of the Larantuka rajas is not different
in kind from that of subordinate leaders. In detail
the makeup of the realm is unique, but the na-
ture of power and authority fits as would be ex-
pected, despite European accretions, with that of
other Southeast Asian dignitaries. There is in this
part of Indonesia clearly a tension between the in-
ternal, spiritual authority and power of kingship and
the external active exercise of power by the ruler.
In certain extreme cases the two become separated.
Especially, lords of the land, who may well not be
nobles in any useful sense of the word and are not
inevitably higher in status than rulers, are neverthe-
less quietly close to the source of their legitimacy
and effectiveness, to the point that they appeared
sometimes as the true secretive power in the realm.
It is not just the Raja of Larantuka’s ancestors who
influence his power. To call him a sacral king is
both to emphasize his ceremonial function and to
downplay that of the lord of the land. Essentially,
however, they are a unity for the ceremonial control
of the realm.
Forman (1977: 103) has argued that the politi-
cal reality of Timor at the early period of Euro-
pean contact was atomistic and centrifugal, with-
out apical kingdoms on the European model and
with effective administration confined to localized
territorial groups. These assumptions are not dif-
ferent from those of Schulte Nordholt, who in an
8 Pampus (1999. 163) translates ika’ as “inner force, charac-
teristic strength, charisma, magical power.”
350
R H. B^eS
attempt to piece together the ruling structures of
the kingdoms of the Atoni and Belu of Timor in-
ferred that before their 1642 destruction, the con-
crete political units within these kingdoms were
the smaller constituent principalities. It was never
true “that decisions affecting the entire realm were
made centrally, except that each part was involved
in the ritual power of the center” (Schulte Nordholt
1971: 391), conclusions which are similar to those
of Pelras (1971) concerning the Bugis principality
of Wajo’ in the Celebes.
The linguistically distinct, but geographically
adjacent, Atoni and Belu regions may once have
constituted an overarching unity of semi-indepen-
dent kingdoms centered on Wehale-Waiwiku (a
Tetun district on the south coast of Timor), with
subordinate to it the realm of Sonba’i, which per-
haps extended over the entire Atoni area. Wehale-
Waiwiku was governed by a “Great Lord,” also
called “Child of God”, Maromak Oan, which can
also be translated “Small Bright One” (Therik
1995:71, n. 12). Although male, this ruler was
symbolically female. According to Fox (1982; 25),
Wehale gave away the power to rule, while re-
taining authority, resulting in a form of diarchy in
which a female center was opposed to a male pe-
riphery; indeed the first “Small Bright One” was
actually a woman who produced the first dry land
from her umbilical cord (for an extended discus-
sion see Therik 1995: 72-109; 2004: 69-99). “To
Wehale belonged dark, silent superiority.” All deal-
ings with the outside were conducted through an
executive lord, the Liurai of Wehale-Waiwiku. The
“Great Lord” was also known as the “Dark Lord,”
while the Liurai was the “Visible Lord.” For out-
siders, such as Europeans, the Liurai appeared to
be the visible representative of Wehale-Waiwiku.
According to Fox, the structure of government
in Wehale-Waiwiku demonstrated a fundamental
principle of Timorese thought, “that power is divis-
ible, but authority, though it may be delegated, is
ultimately one” (Fox 1982: 26). The same pattern
of feminine and immobile supreme rulers acting
as custodians of the sacred objects and counter-
poised by masculine wielders of executive power
continued into the eastern Atoni areas. Further west
the ruler’s femininity became less pronounced. The
shift happens to coincide with a transition from
matrilineal descent groups to patrilineal descent
(Schulte Nordholt 1971; 372L).
Instead of being dispossessed of their religious
prerogatives, which Dumont says is the distinc-
tive characteristic of Indian kingship, the “female”
rulers in central Timor have maintained their reli-
gious functions at the expense of executive power.
This is precisely the same situation which has
described over and over again for the lords o
land at the level of villages in these islands. \
circumstances nevertheless give rise to a disj
tion between status and power which is ana^jja,
to that between the Brahman and the king m ¿¡fre
The Maromak Oan and the Lords of the Land’ ^
the Brahman, perform or direct the rituals
community as a whole. If, however, Heynen is t6
that the Larantuka Lord of the Land is subor 1
to the Raja, then there would appear to be a n o
of variability in this part of Indonesia as to
higher status is vested with religious or exec^of
authority. This particular contrast between ^
and Larantuka is remarkable because of the ^
tion that Pad Golo, the first of the present hn
Larantuka rajas, came there from Timor.
Grijzen (1904:19-23) and Vroklage
148-153) record several Timorese legends w aJ)j
relate that ancestors of the Maromak OaiV ^
of the Liurai of Wehale-Waiwiku travelled ^
Malacca to Macassar and then to Larantnk y
Bauboin (Waibalun, near Larantuka), where^ ^
left some of their party before travelling ^
Wehale-Waiwiku via a series of localities 1,1 up
ing Lamalera, Lembata. Descendants of the g ^
left in Larantuka became ancestors of the KaJ ^ays
the coastal peoples of Larantuka. In some
these legends are a confirmation of the Lm'
tradition, reported by Heynen (1876b: 71) ^ tUp
Golo Arabian, founder of the lineage of Lat . 0f
rajas, was a princely scion of Leverei, the i6,
Wiwikoe on Timor, that is of the Liurai of
Waiwiku. In other words, he was the m k
of the active male leader in the Wehale-wa ^,
scheme of government. He and his offsprin»’ gaja
fore, assumed a position in relation to ■ . $$
Tanah or Lord of the Land of Larantuka whio ^
analogous to the role of the Liurai in respee
Maromak Oan. ulin£
Fox (1982: 24) comments that various ^ &
houses of Timor claim descent from f°aI1 ^
thers who were sent out by Wehale to §
earth,” and that Wehale claims to have £dVjp4L
erything away to them (see Francillon 196 •
111 f.; Therik 1995:255-263; 2004; 154)-
respect, too, the Raja of Larantuka replicatei^at ac'
orese theory of statecraft. Therik explain8 ppr
cording to Wehali folk exegesis the dry *al ^x\ it
duced by the “Small Bright One” expands js
reached its limit at Larantuka, the name o j^t
interpreted, incorrectly, to mean “inside t ^ 0t
(rather than correctly “midway” or “the
the path”). These mutually supporting ^&ca\ cOV
of course, be taken as evidence of histo
,03.2«°8
Anthrop08
'er of Strangers in Flores and Timor
351
Ihe
Pow
ev * ^ey may be interpreted, too, as referring to
p nts that happened long before the advent of the
re°rtuguese and the Dutch. Nevertheless, they are
rioH^ably reminiscent of events during the pe-
^ °f European contact which closely affected the
aP of Black Portuguese influence on Flores
‘hnor (Forman 1977: 101; Dietrich 1995: 133 —
■ '• Among these events are the fall of Malacca
^nd p
he Dutch in 1641 and the expulsion of mestizo
Potions who eventually found their way to Flo-
> after the Dutch took Macassar in 1668.
rule guides about relative status of temporal
u rs and religious authorities exist on other is-
^ s- On Sumba the highest religious authorities
havS0l*e regions usually the Lords of the Land)
Oft6 ^een described as the highest class and by
the^8 as commoners. Forth (1981; 237) thinks that
fr J are most accurately described as standing apart
\yj|n lhe order of classes. This recurring situation,
p* there is no stable interpretation of relative
i^n, suggests that in truth the two spheres can-
^roperly be compared in these terms.
i>m ^ implication, the constructive dilemma of
haje l®Uch as the Maromak Oan and Liurai of We-
ll^ '^aiwiku and the Raja and Vice-Raja of Laran-
of ^ls h°w to combine legitimacy with the prestige
6 stranger. The response of the Maromak Oan
Wjtbto become female, immobile, and associated
fju darkness and the interior, as opposed to the
ijj ^ t- This choice seems colored by the fact that
pfw e]tUri understanding, they drove out a previous
<ati°n (called Melu in Tetun) who had original
of ^ to the land. The princely ancestor of the Raja
iil^ arantuka, however, married into the local pop-
ifi r' ?n and remained primarily external and mobile
Inatl0n to an indigenous Lord of the Land.
exte e4her case, a transfer of reference from the
to e to the internal or vice versa would appear
cW Puasize a different form of superiority. Such a
PersPective is analogous to the reversals
cate ^ Dum°nt (1979:812; 1982:225) says indi-
his , ^hift in levels within an ideology, essentially
Vhefiniti°n °f hierarchy (but see Fox 1989: 51).
tion ^^tbolic reversals especially mark the posi-
I^q. Maromak Oan (Fox 1982; 32; Francillon
Cunningham (1964) has shown, the Timo-
°nCeP^on statecraft closely parallels the
X C l0n between domestic space, where women
lo ecedence, and external space, where men are
JtWf °re- The Maromak Oan has gone farthest in
'0tern supremacy with powerlessness and the
’ female realm of reference. This situation
Of
< yirtue of stressing the relative disjunction
s and power. In this respect the Maromak
'Pos 103
•2008
Oan may approximate the position of the Brahman
in Indian statecraft, whereas the Liurai and the Raja
of Larantuka bear a greater analogy to the Ksha-
triya. By assuming the central, domestic position,
the Maromak Oan appears to obscure the external
origin of Tetun rulers or at least to dispense with
such power and prestige as may derive from for-
eign origins. For the Liurai or the Raja of Laran-
tuka such assets may have remained relatively more
effective. In either case, leadership required cop-
ing with the fact that legitimate authority could be
claimed best by those who could maintain an orig-
inal, indigenous attachment to the realm, and such
a claim was precluded for strangers, or descendants
of strangers.
This essay was originally written for a conference on
“Timor Anthropology. Productions and Language” held
at the Museu de Etnologia, Lisbon, Portugal, on De-
cember 12-16, 1989. The organizers’ plans to publish
the proceeding were not realized. It was presented again
at a conference on “Hierarchy in Eastern Indonesia” in
Leiden, The Netherlands, April 16-20, 1996. The or-
ganizers of this conference also intended to publish the
proceedings, but likewise were unable to do so. I have
revised the essay in light of useful discussions with Ste-
fan Dietrich, some of them held in Larantuka, Flores,
in 1995, and in reference to more recent publications of
immediate relevance. I have not seen and have not been
able to refer to the papers on “Stranger-Kings in South-
east Asia and Elsewhere” held in Jakarta, Indonesia, June
5-7, 2006 (Somers Heidhues 2007).
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X
p0s 103.2008
... for a critical and concerned anthropology
SOCIAL ANALYSIS
The International Journal of Cultural and Social Practice
Editor-in-chief: Bruce Kapferer, University of Bergen
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engagement with the humanities and other social sciences. In
forming a critical, concerned, and empirical perspective, the journal
encourages contributions that break away from the disciplinary
bounds of anthropology and suggest innovative ways of challenging
hegemonic paradigms through 'grounded theory,' analysis based in
original empirical research.
The journal invites contributions directed toward a critical and
theoretical understanding of cultural, political, and social processes.
It is available for the publication of information and discussion by
active ethnographic researchers into the forces involved in the
production of human suffering, poverty, prejudice, war, and violence.
The main thrust of the journal is toward publishing material that
presents a critical and concerned anthropology.
RECENT SPECIAL SECTIONS
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Latin America, edited by Edward F, Fischer
The Cultural Politics of Education and Religiosity: Contesting the
Boundaries of the Secular State, edited by Amy Stambach
Empowering the Body and Noble Death, edited by Michael Roberts
and Arthur Saniotis
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Middle East and North Africa, edited by Allon Uhlmann
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edited by Bruce Kapferer
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NEW YORK • OXFORD
ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 355-366
Indigenous Populations in a Cultural Perspective
The Paradox of Development in Southeast Asia
Frédéric Bourdier
that ~ ^ew development workers are genuinely convinced
cu,tür °raye new world has much to learn from minor material
Perf0 s’ aPart from museum exhibitions, exotic dances, and folk
0lltdat ances- The idea of learning from “the other” appears
^eve| a and is seldom founded on a notion of mutual exchange.
^egot°fment implicitly pursues a process of homogenisation.
fhshio,a«0n with “beneficiaries” is stipulated as a courtesy. The
Pfe^ii a°'e idea of “putting people first” does not fit well with
Ps socioeconomic imperatives, in spite of such concepts
&ion th1ClPation and empowerment which give the false impres-
, Vel°pment is in people’s own hands. [Southeast Asia,
<W°^’ Laos, Vietnam, highlanders, ideologies of change,
t^Patient ‘nten’entions, cultural perfusion, counterfeit par-
^eaux p ®0urdier, Dr. in anthropology (University of Bor-
S cje rance); permanent senior researcher at the IRD (LTns-
Hi, p ^cherche pour le développement), Unit 200, France. -
^Opai !cati°ns include: “Sexualité et sociabilité en Inde méri-
§r^ti0^' Antilles en péril au temps du sida” (Paris 2001); “Mi-
s'da en Amazonie française et brésilienne” (Cayenne
^4), p le Mountains of Precious Stones (Ratanakiri, Cambo-
V^oUsSSa>:s 'n Social Anthropology” (ed., Phnom Penh 2006);
articles and different co-editions. - See also Ref. Cited.
ueyej
, perspectives in northeast Cambodia,
hrP Laos, and the central highlands of Vietnam
^e^^her of sensitive concern for local govern-
regjQ as well as for international agencies. This
which geographically corresponds to the
*kse ^^ntainous middle part of the Indo-Chi-
1^UePeilinsula’ Predominantly inhabited by high-
ly s who, for years, have attracted particular at-
te** development agencies mainly because of
^eri strate§ic reasons. In official agendas,
a aod economic improvements are promoted
as vectors for a better quality of life than that which
traditionally prevails in indigenous societies. The
importance of material and economic status as in-
dicators of well-being has systematically been, and
still is, strengthened by a dominant idea stipulating
the need to change vernacular outdated life condi-
tions.
The article explores the current modes of inter-
vention prevailing in the above region, with special
attention to Ratanakiri Province in Cambodia (in
the northeast). Some concepts, diplomatically wel-
comed, have enriched theories of social develop-
ment and transformed classic top-down approaches
in more comprehensive ways. But the forms in
which those new ideas have been understood and
effectively applied remain little discussed, at least
in the region under consideration.
Our personal investigation tends to demonstrate
that the alternative bottom-up and grassroot ap-
proaches initiated in the seventies and in the eight-
ies by Amartya Sen (1970,1999), Robert Chambers
(1983, 1995) and Michael Cemea (1991), and con-
sisting in “putting people first,” does not fit well in
the new architecture of aid, in spite of such con-
cepts as participation, empowerment, and other
keywords that give a false impression that develop-
ment is in people’s own hands. With a few remark-
able exceptions, international aid agencies recog-
nize that they have no choice but to comply with
1 We call highlanders the indigenous populations sharing a
similar historical and sociocultural foundation in contrast
with the neighbouring people (Khmers, Laos, Kinhs).
356
globalisation, global governance, and, last but not
least, policy reform promoting liberalisation, pri-
vatisation, and market mechanisms as the instru-
ments of growth and efficiency. Agents of devel-
opment subsequently face a certain incongruity in
the process they entertain; once being aware of the
local contexts and the social dynamics going on,
and even once in favour of readjusting their orienta-
tions, many of them - not in the reports but through
confessions or out of the office’s time schedule -
deplore the mainstream in which they are caught. In
other words, development workers face difficulties
distancing themselves from the unilateral trends
to which they have to conform, even if they are
strongly encouraged to show participatory methods
along with other nonmonetary indicators.
In order to illustrate such discrepancy generating
development workers’ schizophrenic attitude, this
research article scrutinizes the prevailing tenden-
cies shaping the new negotiation roads which are
supposed to accompany most of the interventions,
and examines how these tools have been concretely
implemented to date. Attention is given to the way
the recent development concepts shaped the design
and implementation of initiatives by development
practitioners and some of the respective responses
given by native populations. Short empirical case
insights will be presented to elaborate on our argu-
ments, also referring to other general studies with
this goal in mind.
1 Successive Changes in the Conception and
Application of Development
A plethora of books written by development pro-
fessionals and social scientists from various disci-
plines have already prompted considerable reflec-
tion about the aims, relevance, and outcomes of
socioeconomic development in southern countries.
Manifestations and controversial ideologies have
highlighted the necessity of development, with-
out always clearly explaining its meaning. It has
generally been understood as a quest for facilitat-
ing economic growth, social welfare, political free-
dom, and, more recently, ecological sustainability.
Certain authors, particularly socioanthropologists,
have pointed out the acuity of the approach when
dealing with indigenous populations (Smith 1999),
who are frequently referred to as minority groups
even if they still constitute the demographic ma-
jority in a given territory.2 * It is on the other hand
2 This is the case in Ratanakiri Province in Cambodia, but also
in southern Laos and in the central highlands of Vietnam.
reasonable to assume that most of the
Frédéric Bout 1
p°pulati10ai-
in the South are similarly, but not identically» c^
lenged by development. The purpose is not.tofan(J
into the ongoing debate concerning technical ^
social methodologies for development. There lS
need to philosophize whether external interven
in the southern world should occur or not. They ^
already happening, and it is impossible to revewjtb
the past. The critical question is how to deal
such intruding phenomena. . {0
Thus, two aspects of development are goin^v6
hold our attention; firstly, we dissect SPecUi/est'
statements, which, though primarily based on
emized visions of the world, have become
itly integrated within some of the leading l^e° ^
of development (including those which have la £ ^
remained theoretical). Some neglected areas, w
are either given little importance or have ^een tjs
gotten, are also considered. Second, develop*11 ^
a process which includes a chain of actors, sU^0ll-
international experts, national planners, dec1
makers, nongovernmental organisations, and, ^
recently, representatives of local communit165’
these social actors - and we refer to them aS^i
ther social or political actors - affect the 6 ^
and direction of development practice acC<^avid
to their convictions, ideologies, and actions. g
Mosse once challenged a common sense dec ct
that models of project cycle management con ,
the implementation phase as a domain of ^
a world of rule-following subordinates that t ^
tween the main acts (2005; 103). To put itin a ^
words, he argued that the involvement of
tions, either local or international, is more 1 ^
diately shaped by what the author called t^el^oJial
system goals (that takes into account organisa ^y
maintenance and survival) than by formal P1 ^
goals of the programs supposed to impr° jgf
well-being of the beneficiaries. In the region ^ $6
consideration below, it can be interpreted as^
so-called target indigenous populations turn
forgotten peoples.
Development Concepts Currently in
in Relation to Indigenous Groups
Vogue
■eh
The ideas detailed in this section are not m6^ ^
restricted to the realm of the “improvement
indigenous people in forest areas. Notions 0 ^
ticipation and empowerment, for example» ar6 ^
rently promoted everywhere in the South» ^
urban cities to rural areas. Nonetheless, the Pr^^
article concentrates its attention on the dev s
ment ideologies and their associated interven
103.2°°8
Anthropos
*§enous Populations in a Cultural Perspective
^ich dominate amongst a number of indigenous
hab]etles which have sociocultural affinities and in-
jj 11 a particular geographical area. The territory
te rfr Scrutiny in this work will occasionally be ex-
b ed to show similar scenarios elsewhere: expe-
ces in other locations with indigenous or local
Pnlations can be instructive,
father than formulating an exhaustive list of
e ^inpnient-related concepts, the analysis aims at
,honing concepts which have become fashion-
c e m Ratanakiri Province, a place selected which
°f el rePreseniative of a general situation in terms
the eVe^°Pment processes, but also a place, mainly
for Centrai plateau, which has been the location
dlerrecent academic research (J. White 1996; Bour-
tnte and a tremendous amount of external
if, rventi°ns for the last ten years. Four prevail-
tevi n°^ons associated with development will be
e^ed: sustainability, self-governance, empow-
eat, and participation. A relative consensus has
Hist estat>lished amongst development protago-
s around these four notions which thus consti-
Provthe “hardcore” of development strategies in the
2.1
Sustainability
Wi
ith
de regard to the first concept, the argument is that
Orj .Pment interventions should be sustainable,
tp^ally, the notion of sustainability emerged as a
gro^8 criticizing the predominance of economic
as a development goal. It proposes a so-
is/ alternative3 perspective of development that
n()r ll,her exclusively linked with economic growth
prQ V' lth a productive model that automatically im-
abipes quality of life (Toussaint 2006). Sustain-
p^r ^ has been primarily understood as a new
10 . Ql§m to human development, founded on eco-
awareness and the urge to protect nature. It
Pton ^ emerged in the early sixties, convincingly
Q**ed by experts (such as those who joined the
°f Rome) and scientists, such as René Du-
ip ’ whose compelling work on Africa resulted
be e argument that the future of the planet will
sjd - ^Promised if economic growth remains the
/e Priority. From the beginning, sustainability,
ever, had different definitions, from technical
357
inputs aimed at minimizing ecological losses, to the
“extreme” notion of sustainability as presented by
staunch ecologists (Le Bras 1994). In the analysis
that follows it can be understood as an objective
of perpetuating a process, be it economic, social,
cultural, or environmental. Sustainability implies a
form of development which enables present genera-
tions to fulfil their needs without compromising the
capacity of future generations to meet theirs. Apart
from the fact that the formula can be interpreted
as inexorably true, evidence of small-scale sus-
tainability remains partial and tenuous, depending
largely on processes and opportunities, as defined
by Sen,4 rather than on the “convincing” evidence
of outcomes.
In a “domino effect,” in places such as north-
east Cambodia, central Vietnam, and south Laos,
sustainable development systematically and com-
pulsorily appeared within official documents, and
became a mainstream approach for international
agencies, NGOs, and national governments that un-
derstood that they were required to be “environ-
mentally correct” in order to receive funds and re-
ceive worldwide endorsement. As such, the concept
of sustainability relies instead on a rough set of
indicators that are not clearly articulated nor ad-
equately measure sociocultural dynamics. Hence
the question: What is it that is to be sustained? Is
it the population or the project? In some contexts
this question is less ambiguous. For example, the
anthropologist Joanna White (1996: 28) mentions
another definition of sustainability which she often
comes across in Cambodia: for project benefits to
be sustained after external support has been with-
drawn.
Otherwise, definitions are often vague and elu-
sive. Is sustainable development something aimed
at benefiting all people, or only some? Do spe-
cific interventions transform social dynamics in a
way which is welcomed by villagers or, conversely,
result in the extended duration of projects which
maintains a control over the population,5 under the
pretext of supporting, monitoring, and evaluating
beneficiaries? As Mosse pointed out, are projects
rendered sustainable primarily to benefit “develop-
ers” (2004), with the implementation phase going
on forever in order to maintain the developers’ pres-
ence (1994)?
e scientists argue that it is properly speaking not “alter-
as it has already existed earlier in some societies. In
(and naany developers and even scientists have mindlessly
able j0rnet'mes cleverly) parroted the discourse of “sustain-
Poi
e development” as it is a trendy issue which scores people
nts f0r
using It.
r°Po
s 103.2008
4 Sen’s view of freedom includes both the processes that
allow freedom of action and decision-making, and the actual
opportunities that people have, given their personal and
social circumstances (1999: 17).
5 Although this “control” is often the outcome, it is question-
able whether it is a preconceived “aim” as such.
358
It is not certain that a society can intuitively
properly understand and accept the notion of sus-
tainability, in the form which is often introduced
by development workers, if the latter do not have
a proper cultural understanding of the local set-
ting. Let us give one example not related to the
environmental concerns with which sustainability
is frequently associated but that demonstrates the
primordial importance of cultural context. Once,
in a number of Tampuan and Kreung villages in
Ratanakiri (Cambodia), sustainability through self-
reliance was dictated by development actors in an
attempt to reduce people’s dependence on the poor
quality of local health services. As the state system
functioned poorly, it was argued, villagers should
learn to manage their own health care. Native peo-
ple, both men and women, were required to learn
basic elements of hygiene that, according to wel-
fare specialists, was seriously lacking in the local
setting. The first reaction was a certain perplex-
ity amongst villagers whose knowledge and tra-
ditions were completely destabilized by this pro-
cess. Most of their cultural beliefs were regarded
as mere superstition by development practition-
ers. Both Tampuan and Kreung wanted to continue
to perform sacrifices and observe their religious
ceremonies for pacifying the spirits of the forest
who, as they believed, were causing disease. Their
own perception of sustainability was firmly rooted
in this cosmology; their everyday lives were in-
trinsically founded upon the maintenance of rela-
tionships with cosmological and spiritual forces.
They live in a world where their physical envi-
ronment - the forest, water, rocks - is living and
spiritually powerful, while in the Western modes
of thought these facets of nature may be consid-
ered as something potentially valuable, but are per-
ceived to be external and inanimate. Consequently,
most villagers were unwilling to modify their be-
haviour and traditional practices as part of a process
whereby they were supposed to learn about disease
prevention and treatment. According to their in-
digenous beliefs, good health could not be achieved
by the Western model alone. The causes of disease
were fundamentally linked to social order and kin-
ship relations, not merely with a lack of hygiene.
Otherwise, as villagers argued, why do certain dis-
eases affect this person and not another? The repre-
sentation of health amongst such local people was
socially rather than medically centred, which par-
tially explains why people were happy to utilize
also an external health institution that would, in
all likelihood, treat the symptom but not the cause.
Under such circumstances, indigenous people did
not want to rely exclusively on themselves, as was
Frédéric Bourdie
being promoted by development specialists. On ,
contrary, their priority was for the formal me
infrastructure to provide improved and more aC
sible services. They preferred to delegate asp
of health treatment which they did not rnana
well (provision of drugs, medical diagnosis, P ^
ical check up) to this system, while maintai
control of the other, most important aspect 0 ,
origin of the sickness, which involved reestaD
ing equilibrium with the spirits through sacri ^
appeasement. On the one hand, they wanted to
tinue following their traditions - a preference g .
erally frowned upon by outsiders who consti
traditional beliefs nothing more than superstiti ^
and obstacles to development that deserved to ^
eradicated. On the other hand, villagers were ,
ing to strategically accept certain benefits of
by modernisation. The lesson is that a proper
plementation of a viable project should have
ticulated those two existing considerations. A ^
same time, while development experts thought ^
creating “self-reliance” would solve the proble ^
both sides (for natives and the development e*P.
themselves as they would look politically c° Qf
for enacting this measure), it backfired becau
this lack of vision.
2.2 Self-Governance
With regard to the second concept, self-govefI1^66n
is a politically correct approach which has
promoted with the aim of minimising extern t
terference and control. To the worst, it mean8 y
populations should reappropriate their d ^ j
through collective decision-making and eho ^
options. At the micro level in Cambodia
Vietnam, the situation is more than arnbig ^
specifically in the region predominantly l0joVr
ited by “primitive people,” whose territory
land Khmers and Vietnamese have long
(Guérin et al. 2003). With the concept o ^
governance comes the notion of endogam0 gij
velopment. While the concept is often sUP^ j iti
by project documents, it is scarcely supp°r ^cSs
practice in Ratanakiri, or in neighbouring Pr° q0^
and countries inhabited by indigenous Pe°P f otfi of
dominas (1957, 1971) and Dournes (1980),
whom lived amongst ethnic groups in the 0fl'
highlands of Vietnam for extended periods,
strated that in the absence of any federation p urljt
the village was the highest political and s°<-■
amongst indigenous communities. Even w vvith*0
travillage sociopolitical relationships exist
groups such as the Jarai (Doumes 1977),
103.2°°*
Anthropos
ëenous Populations in a Cultural Perspective
b°iic
" rh ^0Wer attributed to charismatic individuals
the 6 ^ree sadet - could not be compared with
So .c°ncept of political power prevalent in other
*>es. Indeed, the village as an autonomous
t coherent unit still persists in remote areas in
diei-S ^on(Iominas 1965) and in Cambodia (Bour-
titi/ Moreover, this atomised structure is not
(C]^Ue to t^le re§i°n but existed in South America
ar,dastres 1974), the Pacific Islands (Sahlins 1980),
ph],ln many other Asiatic territories such as the
t0 lPPines (Conklin 1957). It is more appropriate
syst 6 Past tense to describe these autonomous
sid GrilS because they have been placed under con-
§ov Pressure by colonial powers and national
^merits to become integrated within the ad-
^tive structures of a wider society. They
e frequently obliged to conform to an organi-
c°lo na^ Process that was used to “pacify” them in
to drees, and thereafter “domesticated” them,
(jçw^rev a phrase from McCaskill and Kampe
tatio ' 1’ under the pretext of an effective implemen-
frnder
socioeconomic improvements,
such circumstances, how can develop-
ofs Professionals continue to promote the idea
°Pni r ^0Vernance (regardless of indigenous devel-
c0trieat Which is another issue) if they have been
to
hiiïii
re attempts by state and bilateral agencies
the V]lsh the previous strength and autonomy of
of Vj], a§e as a coherent unit? Indeed, the autonomy
p0ss h 68 Was alwaYs their strength. While it is not
the 6 to rewrite history, it is worth noting that
Cç^^tereâtic undermining of village autonomy
Wlnues- In the province of Ratanakiri, many vil-
best aave been virtually erased from the map or, at
S°'C uaVe survived merely with the remains of the
ershi e<^ development initiatives devoted to “lead-
P Programs” which have not resulted in the
%fnce of authentic leaders devoted to the com-
irpp ^ but, rather, in the appearance of corrupted
lej-ppt °rs- As a result of such initiatives, most at-
c t0 strengthen villages have been futile, if
ings Unterproductive. Creating artificial gather-
li^anising village group meetings, and estab-
Ple lntervillage networks amongst selected peo-
PioSl ae|ther logical nor attractive propositions for
eV lagers’ excePt for those who may be able to
SoCiaj Pers°nal prestige, economic advantage, or
Partir ^ognition from such undertakings. In one
fries a ar district, it was directly observed that fam-
Prfrile a ln(fryiduals who managed to obtain such
tfrejr by no means represented the interests of
a reS(Jjt a£e- Thus, a social rupture was created as
fr)e a . °f Promoting presumed self-governance.
fw10ns of individuals who are provided with
0Pport
urety to enhance their power as village
359
“representatives” have been counterproductive to
the general welfare of their community and, on
many occasions, have strengthened the privileges
of either their own relatives and clan or families
with whom they have economic and ceremonial
connections.
2.3 Empowerment
Empowerment is a further consideration. It is an
esoteric and fascinating word, associated with ca-
pacity-building. It will never be rejected because
it symbolizes the opposite of vulnerability and is
considered a prerequisite for participation. It gener-
ally appears as a first step in development projects
which claim to act against discrimination and mar-
ginalisation. It is regarded as a nonmonetary indica-
tor of well-being. Theoretically, the empowerment
of an endangered society would represent an ideal
stage of realisation of its own condition (J. White
1996). In Ratanakiri we observed that other so-
cial functions have been promoted under the aus-
pices of empowerment: capacity-building and so-
cial strengthening. Deeper scrutiny is required in
order to understand how a consensual concept can
be diverted from its original intention.
An example: In a village, near the small capital
of Ban Lung, there was an attempt to explain to
local residents how to protect their land, and on
what basis villagers could either prevent or allow
outsiders to cut trees in their communal forests.
This exercise was totally justified, as land issues
are one of the most sensitive topics in the province.
The alarming extent of land appropriation has been
highlighted by local human rights groups, and by
the main NGO monitoring land evolution on an
annual basis (NGO Forum 2006). It was, there-
fore, completely reasonable to inform the indige-
nous population about their rights and to make them
aware of whom they could turn to in situations of
conflict. Meetings were arranged, and those who
attended were able to ask questions. The assembly
was supposed to represent the village, and atten-
dees were expected to share the information which
was imparted to other villagers who, for various
reasons, were not in position to attend. In fact,
the group was not as representative as planned.
Questions related to local governance were appar-
ently neglected. Heads from the government ad-
ministrative system including village chiefs, com-
mune leaders, and district headmen attended, to-
gether with other middle-aged people and young
adults. All of them were farmers who had already
obtained the most coveted portions of land border-
Hn
°Pos 103
•2008
360
ing on, or close to, the main road. With one for-
tunate exception, neither women nor poor farmers
participated. They had simply not been invited. The
encounter could, in fact, be understood as an exclu-
sive meeting, limited to an emerging elite who had
managed to secure new areas of land, frequently
at the expense of the poorest families. Those who
were more in need to be instructed on the basic
procedures to be followed in cases of land expro-
priation, or other inappropriate use of their natural
environment, were not present. Their absence was
not because of their lack of interest but because the
organisers of the meeting, together with some of
the wealthier leaders of the village, considered it
“too late” to include them; while for some lead-
ers, a representative participation was “not neces-
sary.” Hence the regular meetings empowered the
already empowered and widened the gap within the
so-called community. The village was no longer -
and had probably never been - an ideal community
sharing similar ideas, strategies, and perceptions
of life. But any existing tension became exacer-
bated by the selective sharing of information. It was
found that some of the “empowered” villagers were
trying to appropriate areas of forest located in other
villages for their own use. With the information
they obtained during the “empowerment” activity,
and due to the continuous support they received
from the development staff (probably unaware of
what was happening), they knew exactly how to
manipulate and negotiate with other villagers to se-
cure land without compromising themselves.
This experience is far from unique. Other similar
cases cannot, however, be classified as an internal
issue amongst highlanders. Khmer officials work-
ing in the public sector at district and provincial
levels are sometimes establishing networks with
villagers who are willing to sell land (generally
forbidden since 2001) in exchange for symbolic
privileges, cash, or other material goods. As de-
tailed in a similar case study from India, govern-
ment staff is able to exploit their official role in
their negotiations with village intermediaries. The
latter are more capable of taking advantage of their
fellow villagers or “inmates” (Hildyard et al. 2001),
thereby any development initiative initially aimed
at benefiting all villagers can lead to the exacer-
bation of existing inequalities. Interestingly, some
villagers from Ratanakiri who did not receive any
benefits from the project detailed earlier, yet who
attended some meetings, were surprised that the
empowerment session was evaluated according to
the number of people participating, rather than the
social distribution of the people present or the im-
pacts of this initiative.
Frédéric Bour<Jie
Unsurprisingly, quantitative data are emphasise^
in development because they can easily be tr
formed into the targets and indicators of achi ^
ment required by most donors. The recipic11*8^
funding are obliged to generate data, statistics,
percentages. There are numerous economic and
velopment models which are dedicated to meaS^,jj
ment and evaluation and insist on numbers. We
not digress into these details here, but one 11
wonder whether development agents should be
isfied with such measurements: What does it ^
to have “empowered” more than one hundred a
lescents in four indigenous villages through hte
training, for example, if no comprehensive de
are known about the quality of and concrete ^
comes of this so-called empowerment? Henke1
Stirrat (2001) similarly question the notion 01
powerment as an implicit, liberating motto ^
has recently, and suddenly, been promoted by ^
World Bank, NGOs, and local institutions.
empowerment can be considered as a contr ^
outcome designed by external agents in ord jg)
enhance the capacity of a handful of individ ^
often to the detriment of others. This is cedal .{)
the case of some village administrative leadc
Ratanakiri, who are in command of their actl^p,
and wooed by civil servants, but who do not
(thro11-
resent the interests of the whole village
n ofl'
their sale of land, leasing of village territory t° ^
indigenous people, etc.). The new developme \
thodoxy which stresses empowerment of 111
groups, a distrust of the state, and celebrates tn jt
nous knowledge still begs an important quest* ^
is not important how many people have *r,eenvv,j1at
powered with a particular set of tools, but fa1 p,
purpose? Theories of empowerment cannot be
arated from the application and meaning 0
concept in a specific setting. Of course, other ef
of empowerment have been promoted with ^
success in other parts of the region, in La°s ¡p
Vietnam, but, according to prevailing fieldwo^^,
formation, they are far from homogeneously r st
ing the remote Indo-Chinese territory of Sou
Asia inhabited by more than ten thousand
landers.
2.4 Participation
The best has been kept as a birthday cake jp
end. Participation is nowadays an act of
development, something all practitioners P*° :
ly believe in and rarely question (Cleaver ^ ^
36). The concept is closely linked to that °^eir
powerment. Two social scientists already
103.200*
Anthropos
Venous Populations in a Cultural Perspective
^°^ert Chambers and Michael Cernea, who
Wer ^ ^or t^le World Bank as anthropologists,
ot^e leading pioneers of this notion even if
ti r scientists such as Sen first proposed it some
Prof ear^er (1970). Both devoted much of their
a essronal lives to demonstrating the necessity of
assroots approach in which local people are the
actors. They were instrumental in a monu-
al switch from the classic top-down approach
ies p Prevaile<d in the seventies and into the eight-
p ’ articiPation has even l56611 presented as a new
Mth^gm ^or development (Chambers 1995), but
°f d Care^ul qualifications of which any proponent
the e.Ve^0Pment should be aware if s/he is to avoid
of transforming the message of participa-
lato a tool for manipulation.
tain]1 ^atanakirC the concept of participation eer-
ily merits greater scrutiny. Numerous villages
hanr| attemPted to take their destiny into their own
of .s (and some have succeeded), due to the desire
Qj lagers to work together as a cohesive group.
Parf n traditional village cooperation, the notion of
hjgl_|lClPati°n is not something totally new in the
ar§U anC*S‘ ^ COLdd, as some development agents
more accurately termed collective action
at enhancing social well-being (Smith 1999).
it c°Pective action is prompted by the potential
*prS ^or imProving people’s living conditions
’Hst ten emerges in response to social change. For
tracFnCe’ ^amPuan and Jarai families of all lineages
re}j5l0naPy joined together in social, seasonal, and
stan8 °Us ceremonies. Historical and social circum-
Or a ,es gradually led them to abandon some rituals
appj a mnovative components to their ceremonies
p0ses° '-heir agricultural work. Whatever their pur-
tiCes ’ both these behavioural and spiritual prac-
§UUr are supposed to maintain peace, solidarity, and
c0u,r|niee better living conditions. Other examples
- le be -> i-
the
given in relation to other activities, such
Section of seeds for new plants, cash crop
experimental marketing strategies, the ad-
Coue ent of customary laws to new social contexts,
lati0n 1Ve decision-making, and mobilization in re-
P0pul to ^e improvement of village infrastructure.
Upjte atlons gather together and share ideas. They
lo eooeXChange, and innovate. They can also fail
Peopje^erate; but not always. Hence indigenous
°Pniee ^ave never required the presence of devel-
'o ex actors to enable them to understand and
^hie/0186 w^at outsiders call “participation” (or,
actio’ VV*lat they often really mean: an oriented
In f 'r*Ven hy external forces).
^ipjc.act? development workers, even some aca-
•n,l]()n!ans and decision-makers, have a distinct def-
Participation. Broadly speaking, it relates
°P°s 103.2008
361
to something which can be proposed, articulated,
and organized in cooperation with the local popu-
lation for a specific purpose. It implies, therefore,
a certain level of external intervention. Participa-
tion is generally interpreted by development prac-
titioners as something new for local populations
who are generally considered to be structurally
too weak and/or inexperienced to initiate construc-
tive and innovative activities alone. When looking
more closely, however, participative mechanisms
within people’s daily lives are largely available.
One should have a keen eye and the time to iden-
tify them. Development interventions which are in-
troduced from outside do not occur in a vacuum.
Any culture has the tools to enable innovative ac-
tivities, according to their own sociocultural logic
and context. But these phenomena should be deci-
phered before new forms of behaviour and modes
of thinking, often alien to indigenous mores, are
introduced. Highlanders’ perceptions of participa-
tion are intrinsically linked, but not restricted, to
an existing and well-organized spirit of collective
action such as that which prevails for instance in
northeast Cambodia.
Participation is appealing in the context of the
official development doctrine for two reasons. On
the one hand, development is no longer a unilateral
process but one of negotiation. Target populations
are no longer perceived as mere recipients. Rather,
through the articulation of their views and their
own practices, they re-appropriate their own de-
velopment. It is, however, anticipated that through
the process of negotiation they will ultimately ab-
sorb some development norms. They will under-
stand development as a necessity and, hence, be-
come instrumental in their own transformation. But
as Apthorpe pointed out, such a discourse aims to
persuade rather than to inform (1997). Participa-
tion is an element or tool of the hidden agenda of
deliberate economic and social change which is im-
plemented through a process of persuasion. On the
other hand, it is assumed that participation has a
snowball effect: once people appreciate the advan-
tages of a particular set of successful actions, fur-
ther demands are automatically created. The trick-
le-down effect is implicitly expected. One of the
problems is that the glorification of decision-mak-
ing and actions being in people’s hands is vague
enough to be universally accepted, with yet full of
hypotheses which deserve careful scrutiny. In their
precise questioning of participation as a potentially
oppressive approach, Cooke and Kothari (2001)
highlighted two issues which are well known to
practitioners of participation but generally neglect-
ed in implementation strategies. Systematic partie-
362
Frédéric Bou^’6
ipatory processes can turn out to be manipulative
and may harm those who were supposed to be em-
powered, but who, in fact, become development
mediators. Various examples are cited in their book.
In short, the authors insisted that considering par-
ticipation as a must is a reductive approach. They
do not agree with the preconceived idea that local
populations have a tendency to remain out of the
control in pursuit of their own welfare. In case they
contribute by “participating” according to Western
aid standards, they are not free to do and think as
they please because they lack know-how, and aid
workers have to show them the right direction.
Other severe drawbacks remain, such as the bu-
reaucratic and administrative effects which ham-
per the autonomy and self-determination. In large
projects, indigenous people are requested, if not
compelled, to participate in whatever external de-
cision-makers would like them to do, even if the
benefits are not always clear. While some authors
and most of the multilateral agencies have pro-
claimed the virtues of participative processes, with-
out any scrutiny or discussion, a revealing analy-
sis in Lesotho confirmed what had already been
analysed elsewhere, namely, the futility of partic-
ipatory development activities once they reach “the
field” in comparison to the heavy logistical opera-
tions devoted to organizing a very abstract notion of
development that hardly reaches stakeholders (Fer-
guson 1990). Paradoxically, participation becomes
the central concern of development agencies, which
enables them to demonstrate that they are appro-
priately involved in contributing to the well-being
of others and also ensures continued funding for
their work.
An illustration of the perversion of participation
brings us back to Ratanakiri, where many of the
errors outlined above occurred in a huge project
launched in 1995 under the auspices of UNDP, in
partnership with the national government. One of
the purposes of the project, in which some employ-
ees were Khmers, yet where the majority of man-
agers and advisers were foreigners, was to change
natural resource management practices, deemed
degrading the environment, and to create an aware-
ness of sustainability issues amongst the local pop-
ulation, regardless of their ethnic background or
their geographical origin. The ambition of the in-
ternational organization, in its collaboration with
the provincial authorities, was to prevent the mo-
nopolization of land, to preserve indigenous culture
by attempting to eliminate what was “threatening”
to development, to improve the status of women,
promote better healthcare, and to support improved
infrastructure.
After conducting an extremely rapid and sup
ficial social evaluation of various selected zone5
the province (with Rapid Assessment Precedin' ’
several pilot villages were chosen. The evalua
that aimed to appraise the situation of each vn ^
was conducted by a team of fifteen people ,
arrived in each hamlet in a Land Rover, ar
with a battery of questionnaires which were use
ask people about their needs, aspirations, probie
and frustrations. Highly conceptualized cornru
cation techniques were adopted in order to co ^
as much information as possible in a short Pe*^e
of time and to stimulate communication with 5
chosen villagers. Cultural factors were, of c° ^
a concern for the development actors involve >
the sense that some cultural aspects of indigen t
life could be perceived as obstacles to develop11^ ^
and, thereby, had to be rejected in the inter6 ^
and for well-being of the target populations ■ ^
integration of cultural issues in project plan ^
was vague and inscrutable, reflecting a lack ° ^
derstanding on the part of the outsiders. ^orse^/j1at
can well imagine that any attempt to identify t
was “good” or “bad” in relation to develop111^
was rather adventurous and would lead to
tificial separation of values whose meaning5 ^
not fully understood. It is also not certain that
in charge of the project were informed about ^
ditional perceptions and knowledge pertaim & ,
the local use and management of nature. Rhet
statements, aimed at promoting ecological k ,
edge as a “cultural heritage” were prominent,
ever, and the use of fashionable and catchy atu'
(unity in diversity, preservation of indigenous a
ral wealth, legacy from the past...), which pt c
donors and opened an illusory door for a ^
cratic provincial government, was encouraged t
fortunately, words alone proved to be insum Q
Development actors and civil servants may ^
been aware that it is not advisable to ign° .^g
traditional knowledge of indigenous people
in forest areas; long-term scientific reseat ^
already demonstrated the need to incorp r;2>‘
cal populations m any system of eco-mana» ^
(Hladik etal. 1996). But there is an inevitam ^
between awareness and the capacity to app ^0p-
awareness to the practical purposes of a o
ment program. Astonishingly, time and
frequently cited as limiting factors (it is not re ^
or cost-effective to devote too much time t° ^ 0ji
people’s values); instead, attention was foe
what had to be achieved, and methods ot ^
implementation were emphasized in order
the support of local people. In other w°*"
objectives of the project were predefined an
103-200*
tltf
w
Anthropos
'gen°us Populations in a Cultural Perspective
^mentation took the form of a normative strategy,
^ °ut any genuine possibility of questioning or
passing the underlying ideology,
th ^°ne^e^ess> everything was carried out under
anner of participation. In one instance it took a
thelC^ tUm’ w^en villagers in the northern part of
province were displaced “for their own sake”
the- ^0rce(l t0 construct a small road connecting
rj.lr new and inappropriate location to a nearby
w This activity was classified as a “food for
Wn i Participatory initiative from which people
a *4 obtain significant benefits. In fact, the road
he] ctecl non-indigenous traders, and it has been
»w loggers to reach primary forests containing
^ous trees.
pi ais long and costly development initiative em-
ab]^e<^ many development agents, and hence prob-
tb<ey Provlded financial return benefits, at least for
livi e lndividuals. But after a number of years of ac-
g0aies’ the program scarcely achieved its intended
eVaiS’ Pe8pite the lack of proper oversight and
ered at^0n’ It may, without any doubt, be consid-
altn a ^a^ure’ as the indigenous people involved
gj. °st unanimously recognize that their lives pro-
graSSlVely deteriorated during the course of the pro-
Route to a Recurrent Process
%
the links between development and social
lyst §e> Karl Polanyi had been one of the first ana-
t^le 1940s to highlight the political and eco-
lhe C 0r*§lns of the great transformation that led to
thaiCOv!lapSe 19th-century civilisation. He argued
erner§ence °f an international market that
forc f°rce human beings to adjust to economic
burn ^ Coul(l not take place without eradicating the
dest n and natural foundations of society, without
ing^ln§ the essence of mankind and transform-
sis , e environment into a desert (1983). His analy-
rn0(j °Wever, does not fully capture the impact of
%emization^ an(l he could not foresee the devel-
it pr^nt Policies as inherent part of the game, but
temD 1C*es a Prophetic vision if applied to the con-
men ,rary world; a global and irreversible move-
^ , as been created.
lyp^ting what can be called Polanyi’s apoca-
tfie c analysis, other innovative theories related to
0pm ncept of complex systems classify the devel-
siss 1 movement into four successive phases: cri-
have L>tUre, resilience, and equilibrium. Such ideas
c°tint een ta^en into account in Southeast Asian
c&nt les’ an<f even exceedingly applied in the re-
Past by totalitarian regimes. The proposition
363
is that the responses of indigenous societies to so-
cioeconomic change could also be viewed accord-
ing to this theoretical continuum. Interestingly, this
apparently recent theory is not new: it is rooted in
the Hindu conception of the evolving life cycle,
whereby deconstruction leads to another form of
advanced creation. Contemporary scientists and de-
velopers are, therefore, rediscovering ideas which
were meticulously shaped by philosophers more
than three thousands years ago. On the other hand,
the concept of complex systems validates the con-
troversial shock doctrine of neoliberal economist
Milton Friedman who argues for the need to im-
pose rather than to deliberate and strive for a global
consensus (Klein 2007). According to Friedman,
whose statements became - and still constitute -
the “Bible” for powerful countries and regimes,
a solution, whatever its purpose to save all of hu-
manity, will never be accepted by all societies and
cultures, unless the latter are in a state of shock.
In other words, populations will accept a deal re-
lated to a particular orientation of development, for
instance, only if they have previously suffered a
socioeconomic disaster and are in a state of panic.
In some cases, such debacles have to be provoked in
order to generate an agreement. But these so-called
accommodating responses that other scientists have
disguised behind the phenomenon of “resilience”
leading to a further equilibrium are ethically diffi-
cult to justify. And they are far from the esoteric
and attractive Hindu and Buddhist notion of life
evolution.
Besides, and coming back to the appealing in-
clination of integrating the indigenous populations
in their own development, the notion of national
governance is an essential component with which
outsiders have to deal carefully. Multilateral agen-
cies and NGOs cannot operate unilaterally, even if
sometimes they would, in fact, prefer to work with-
out the permanent control of local governments.
The “golden age” of independent operations is over,
as some of the development actors active in Cam-
bodia and Laos reported with regret. International
agents now have to negotiate with local planners
and public servants. Each country, therefore, has its
own particular “filter” whereby its national institu-
tions reappropriate and reorient foreign aid. Again,
much can be said regarding the differences which
occur between the absorption and the use of for-
eign assistance in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia.
It stems from complex institutional interactions in
which diplomatic, bilateral agreements and foreign
policy components are tightly intertwined.
Moreover, development agencies are run by so-
cial actors and, needless to say, the outcomes of
364
Frédéric Bourde
any intervention are conditioned by the nature and
quality of the involvement of these actors. Another
underestimated aspect of development issues is that
certain professionals misuse their position, adding
to the implicit constraints (logistical, monetary, or-
ganisational, hierarchical, and political) which pre-
vail within the institutions employing them. More
than ten years of continuous presence and observa-
tions in southern countries prompted me to put into
question the common discourse calling for develop-
ment actors’ sincere devotion. It is not exaggerated
to perceive their main role as strategic: develop-
ment personnel are frequently driven by their own
ambitions and are more concerned with enjoying a
comfortable standard of living rather than devoting
themselves to ameliorating problems of others, as
they should be (Dichter 2003; Hancock 1989). To
a certain point this behaviour is understandable;
everyone likes to live comfortably. But more worri-
some is that - in the hidden agenda - development
actors’ real priority is the pursuit of their own per-
sonal and material well-being (Harvey 2003). For
example, monitoring of certain development activi-
ties in Cambodia has revealed that the exclusive in-
terests of government officials have a major impact
on rural development efforts. Everybody is aware
of this fact, even NGOs and multilateral agencies,
but the subject remains taboo because criticising
institutions and individuals may affect careers and
an agency’s reputation after being accused of ex-
cessive interference. Opportunistic, insincere tech-
nocrats and self-centred officials can be found in
senior positions in many agencies. Not only do they
impede development efforts, but it is also not easy
to get rid of such “experts” because of their solid
underground networks and prestigious positions.
But most of all, aid agencies will systematically try
their best to avoid any exposure of their insensi-
tive practices and behaviours. Such an apparently
inconsistent but, in fact, very well-planned situation
is reproduced throughout the whole ex-Indo-Chi-
nese peninsula.
Unsurprisingly, postdevelopment is now advo-
cated through an emerging network of small organ-
isations willing to implement a real alternative in
the way projects are designed. A shift is suggest-
ed, inspired by Escobar’s theoretical perspectives
(1995), sometimes with another concept of non-
development arguing “let them alone and protect
them from the outside,” but it is unclear whether
this approach, to some extent already taking place
in Brazil with a well-elaborated indigenous policy
model, can encompass the outlook of local peoples.
Again, postdevelopment and, even more, antide-
velopment theories are social constructions elab-
orated by academicians and external actors, Pr
jecting their personal ideologies and convict*0^
They have not been systematically validated by
cal populations. This is not to say that the ^
rowing of ideas is in itself unacceptable, and
brings us back to the initial problem: do
nous people have control over their destiny a
can they retain the freedom to respond to eV^s
occurring in their life? Rather than tackling 1
adopted a
problem in a roundabout way, Rivero
ting
radical but contextual approach (2001) by poin .g
to the relevance of an approach including pe°P j
visions of development. A positive move f°rV^0ll
can, therefore, be undertaken through identifica^g
of some parallel economies, which exist in vafl ^
parts of the world, and attempts to understand .
these are embedded within particular socioculd-tyg
dynamics. Similarly, one of the founders of
school of thought, Wolfgang Sachs, advocated
self-determination (1992). He adopted a deX^ejj
approach, insisting on people’s creativity as ^ ^
as asserting that it is neither realistic nor et^lCceSs
deny people access to the decision-making Pr° .y
in what concerns changes occurring in their soc
It is imperative that local citizens make a Pr fy
contribution to and, thereby, take responsibility
their own future. In that context, the four cone ^
analysed before - sustainability, self-goverfla
empowerment, and participation - may have a
meaning, the one which was once upon a tin16
vocated by Amartya Sen.
legists
I would like to express gratitude to the anthrop01 ^
from the Museum Emilio Goeldi in Belém, BraSl
who
eti'
well as those from IRD and CNRS in France,
couraged the idea op this article. Other colleague8
have been supportive enough to criticize the artlC oned'
review it separately should be particularly mend ^
Chris Lyttletown (anthropologist, professor, Sydney 0,
versity, Australia), Louis Forline (anthropologi8^^
ciate professor, Nevada University, USA), Joanna ^
(anthropologist, researcher, Goldsmiths College,’
and Philippe Schar (geographer, National Center
entitle Research [CNRS] Bordeaux, France).
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Anthropos
Anthropos
103.2008: 367-392
Palaeolithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior
of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G. Bednarik
~ This article considers the limited etic and emic in-
Aji(jart|°n bailable on the art-like productions of the Jarawas,
fitted a° ^ands> India, who have only in recent years per-
adequate contact with other societies to facilitate initial
SQthe S' ^ known history, culture, and art are reviewed, with
lirely re^erence to nearby other tribes, one of which remains en-
Consi^researched. It is noted that the known art of the Jarawas
Vet tjle entirely of nonfigurative or geometric elements, and
'tig jj. is evidence that the Jarawas have no difficulty creat-
Hvg ^ naturalistic figurative images. The correspondence
W* range of their graphic art and the equally limited
^°itth lePertoire of Final Pleistocene to very Early Holocene
ati0n and East Asian art is highlighted. It leads to the consider-
^de • tae possibility that the Jarawas’ artistic inheritance may
from e.d directly from a Late Palaeolithic population separated
ainIanders by the rise of the sea level at the end of the
%;e/,(^ene- [India, Andaman Islands, Jarawas, ethnography,
culture, geometric art, Palaeolithic art]
Sre
\ ore
lca] jTenathan, anthropological linguist with the Anthropolog-
fVey °f India, has worked among the hunter-gatherers of
§toUps n and Nicobar Islands and among the Dravidian tribal
Wores and caste populations of mainland India. His work ex-
e interrelationship between language, ecology, social
6’ and artistic manifestations. He authored books and re-
ticles in English and Malayalam; see References Cited.
V.ft
. H. ft
a °’ Presently head of the Anthropological Survey of
H in 3 S a trained biological anthropologist he is instrumen-
etHar k ^A technology in addressing basic issues
'tlpjM _ ^fiaeolocrx/ ortA rliiraffitii nfifli nultiirol rtr>pmnrn
tita, • "ue°Iogy and diversity with local cultural and environ-
ked
'V°'ke(]lnC*exing 'n tde interpretation of human evolution. He has
K^tte 1 k Vari°us capacities as consultant, chairman, president,
% pr()(j ber °f many national institutions and organizations and
Uced numerous publications.
jHerç ^
tk erat' ’ “ednarik, convener and editor of the International
ae ori'0n °I Rock Art Organizations (IFRAO), specializes in
s °f human constructs of reality and human cognition,
and their surviving externalizations in the form of palaeoart.
Nearly one half of his approximately 1,000 publications ap-
peared in refereed scientific journals; see References Cited.
Scholars have been trying to define art and separate
it from nonart through various models and devices.
Attempts abound to navigate into how, when, and
why the human mind became capable of express-
ing and recognizing art, and how creative processes
actually work (Davis 1986; Hodgson 2000, 2003).
The study of palaeoart is actively involved in this
quest. The origin of art has been traced mainly
through archaeological means, which have gener-
ally focused on “Palaeolithic” cultures. Embedded
in all enquiries on this front is a predisposition to
see Stone Age culture as an entity of the distant
past, which can be recapitulated through archaeo-
logical evidence. The construct of early palaeoart
is thus evidently based on archaeological finds.
These consist of a vast number of art-like mani-
festations, such as nonfigurative engravings, pen-
dants and beads, cupules and linear petroglyphs,
protofigurines, etc., that have been identified as be-
ing of Lower and Middle Palaeolithic provenience
(Bednarik 1992a, 2003a). This massive amount of
evidence underlines that the human capacity to cre-
ate nonutilitarian products dates back hundreds of
millennia.
The present study, however, does not focus on
this archaeological record, rather it taps into “living
evidence” in order to examine the scope of an al-
ternative source for enriching the discussion on the
368
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G.
beginnings of art. In that sense it is hoped that a
consideration of the art of the Jarawas of the An-
daman Islands can contribute to the discussion of
cognitive anthropology.
While the available ethnographic database on art
traditions of indigenous groups by and large in-
vokes a great variety of figurative as well as non-
figurative (non-iconic, geometric) art, the hunter-
gatherer groups of the Andamans exist with a geo-
metric tradition lacking any figurative component.
This evidence may have considerable significance
to understanding the proposed “cultural revolu-
tion” models claiming that modern human behavior
arose suddenly throughout the Old World around
40,000 years ago,1 and that behavioral modernity
first appeared in Africa where anatomically modern
humans are said to have evolved exclusively.2 * * It
needs to be clarified from the outset that, contrary
to the evolutionary model that perceives figurative
palaeoart as conceptually superior to nonfigurative
or “geometric” art, the opposite is true. Whereas
in figurative or iconic symbolism, the connection
between referent and referrer is purely via iconicity
- a relatively simple cognitive factor building on vi-
sual ambiguity (Bednarik 2003b) - the symbolism
of non-iconic art is only navigable by possessing
the relevant cultural “software.”
There are numerous cultures that either restrict
their art completely to non-iconic forms, or use
them for specific purposes, such as highly sacred
imagery. For instance, one of the most sophisticated
megacultures in history, that of Muslim peoples,
employs principally non-iconic art forms, yet this
does not mean that Muslims cannot perceive or
create iconicity. The same seems to be true for
all other cultural conventions lacking iconic art,
such as specific Amazonian tribes or Tasmanians:
they have no difficulty detecting iconic meaning in
pictures or producing them when prompted. This
also applies to the Jarawas. Moreover, numerous
nonhuman animal species can perform the task
of recognizing and correctly interpreting iconicity
in imagery, therefore, it can be assumed that the
cognitive faculties required for this task are less
complex than those involved in interpreting non-
iconic art. Only humans familiar with the relevant
cultural convention can detect meaning in such
nonfigurative art, therefore, of the two versions,
figurative imagery should be seen as the cognitively
more primitive.
1 Davidson and Noble 1989; Noble and Davidson 1996; Mith-
en 1996; Klein 2000; White 1992.
2 Deacon 1989; Henshilwood and Sealy 1997; Barham 1998,
2002; Henshilwood and Marean 2003; McBrearty and
Brooks 2000.
gedn^
However, Bednarik (1993a, 1994a) has P011? t,
out that almost all graphic palaeoart safely attn
able to the Pleistocene period is non-iconic. AP
from the Franco-Cantabrian corpus of the UPF
Palaeolithic, principally of western Europe,
are almost no two-dimensional iconic depic
from this period. For instance, iconic sculptuie
well represented in the Upper Palaeolithic ot .
sia and Siberia, but graphic art is limited ai
entirely to nonfigurative compositions, notably ^
sometimes incredibly complex engravings ^°uri^0p
ivory and bone plaques. These clearly had sym t
ic meanings; they often resemble maps but m
well be mnemonic devices for telling stories. ^
meaning is totally inaccessible to us. Or t0 6
another relevant example: all credibly Pleisto^g
and Early Holocene rock art of Australia se ^
entirely non-iconic, but can be shown to ret ^
very complex, if unexplained cultural practice8-^
the basis of all available credible evidence, lC
art appears in Australia only during the Holnc ,
possibly together with the dingo, an
species, and the small stone tool traditions. ^
renders this particularly relevant is that Ans
was initially colonized by Middle Palaeolithic
farers from southern Asia, and their massive
pus of Middle Palaeolithic rock art is many 1 ^
greater than the body of Upper Palaeolithic
of Europe. In other words, there is more survl ^
Middle Palaeolithic palaeoart in the world than ^
per Palaeolithic, and with one single possib .je
ception (Bednarik 2006), all of the known M1 {0
(and Lower) Palaeolithic graphic “art” aPP^0tif
be non-iconic, and of a quite narrow range oi
elements. t on
It is therefore reasonable to rationalize m ^
current evidence, graphic palaeoart tradifi°nS
menced with a limited repertoire of non-ico ^
ements several hundred thousand years
most of the world’s Pleistocene palaeoart c°a
in much the same form (although the motn ^
toire was extended with time). The Upper gfill
olithic graphic traditions of western Eutop^^
mostly comprised of nonfigurative material,
also figurative imagery, which in a global pe
five is a local aberration that appears to b
endemic to parts of Europe. . of
The structure of the discourses on the
art is layered with the origins of symbolism, .^on-
language, “modem” human culture, and
The discussion on art beginnings has been
dominated by discourses on “prehistoric ’ sqS
;oart of the earliest ? .
most specifically on palaeoart oi me ^^
of human culture. However, the kind °! Vto
ifymg to be regarded as prehistoric (i-e*» P
103.
2(#
Anthropos
Pa,aeolithic Cogniti
itive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
369
an elitist minority defines as History, on
^asis of an irrelevant variable, writing) in this
tra^exh and the extent to which ethnographic art
of altl0ns need to be considered, remains a matter
^nd The prehistoric periods are traditionally
^Urocentrically divided into Stone, Bronze, and
Cali1 ^es- The Stone Age is represented by the so-
ods^ ^ae°lithic, Mesolithic, and Neolithic peri-
pro .e Talae°lithic and Mesolithic periods (food
no CUr|n§ stage) refer to a hunting-gathering and
adic way of life while the Neolithic period is
life a sedentary, food-producing way of
§ioo 0Wever’ ^ ethnography of many world re-
lax S reveals systematic fallacies in this simplistic
qUi^noniy, which itself dates from a period of en-
of significantly predating current understanding
2(we Past; it thus needs to be revised (Bednarik
of f It also involves the assumption that the mode
°ds rv*Val °f the represented groups in these peri-
Hot /lecessarily reflects their visual arts, which is
^°me out by the evidence,
ity , review of all graphic art forms of human-
ly ase(I on the variable of iconicity, therefore,
tr^d- !s tWo streams. One comprises nonfigurative
tiVeltl0ns; other combines these with figura-
^eo°nes' an evoIutionary perspective, it has
hurw sh°wn that nonfigurative marks characterize
pn history until the Holocene, in southwest-
8!000UroPe until 32,000 years ago. During the last
^llh U ^ears’ the latter stream becomes dominant,
*p^h purely nonfigurative traditions do occur
lhat Present. There is a reasonable possibility
HatltSOlIle of these latter cultures might be rem-
S,SUrvivals of the broad Pleistocene spectrum of
icai lc°nicity, most especially in remote geograph-
S^aves or among remnant aboriginal popula-
tiireSolhe early evidence from the Pleistocene fea-
lerris §roupings of lines, geometric shapes, and pat-
iti ^ ’ ail(I there is a universal semblance apparent
lei ]j^Se archaic traditions (Bednarik 2003a). Paral-
Patte es’ sets °f convergent lines, lattices, and dot
tr^Ce ns occur very early and can in some cases be
0V[a . ^ack at least 250,000 to 350,000 years B.P.
they la an(I Mania 1988; Bednarik 1995a). Later
^rid^ suPPlementecI by radial motifs, zigzags or
clude ers’ and circles. More recent examples in-
°f g he Blombos Cave (South Africa) evidence
(he^tric patterns, perhaps 77,000 years old
id the ^w°od et al. 2002). The wide distribution
sdgg World of such simple non-iconic forms
%o S Cognitive universality among the archaic
\%^SaPiens groups involved (Bednarik 1986,
^0lh A^nary stuches °f r°ck art and portable art
Sla as well as other continents undoubtedly
exposed the Pleistocene base of aesthetic produc-
tion. The palaeoart of India has been recognized
as an important strand of the prehistoric aesthetic
tradition of humanity (Chakravarty and Bednarik
1997). Indian palaeoart studies have convincingly
established the Lower Palaeolithic human work-
manship of nonutilitarian products, first at Bhim-
betka (Bednarik 1993b), then at Daraki-Chattan.3 4
Thirty cupules and four engraved grooves from
these two quartzite sites are either of an Acheulian
(Misra 1985) or preceding chopping tool industry,
as conclusively shown by stratigraphy. Other early
evidence occurs in the form of an ostrich eggshell
piece engraved with crosshatched designs from
Patne (Sali 1989) and 25,000 years old (Bednarik
1994a). Although rock paintings in central India
have been suggested to be Upper Palaeolithic (Wa-
kankar 1983), Misra (1977, 2001) describes them
as Mesolithic. Tyagi (1988) also disputes Wakan-
kar’s claims for an Upper Palaeolithic antiquity of
rock paintings in India. However, nearly all known
Asian (as well as eastern European) graphic art of
the Pleistocene is nonfigurative (Bednarik 1993a,
1994a). The intricate patterns observed from cen-
tral Indian rock shelters by Tyagi (1988) are en-
tirely geometric and non-iconic. The Patne eggshell
fragment as well as the Mesolithic core from Chan-
dravati (Sonavane 1991) also bear distinctive geo-
metric decoration. Traditionally models of art ori-
gins have been guided by deference to the west-
ern European paradigm with its overemphasized
zoomorphic depictions. This has led to a false
expectation that Pleistocene art would be found
to consist of naturalistic imageries, particularly of
zoomorphs.
However, evidence of the type archaeology can
provide because it has survived incredible time
spans should not be considered as the initial man-
ifestation of palaeoart, since it has been engraved
exclusively on hard surfaces. Taphonomy sees to
it that most relevant evidence is unavailable, and
none of it if it involves perishable materials (Bed-
narik 1994b, 1995b). Still today, most art produc-
tion would not survive as archaeological finds. Be-
cause of the temporal nature of most art, very little
evidence of early practices can be expected to be
available to us. Therefore, the chronological inter-
pretation of the extremely scanty evidence of such
3 Wakankar 1983; Bednarik 1992a, 1993b, 1994a; Bednarik
etal. 1991; Bednarik and You 1991; Bednarik and Devlet
1993; Gai Shanlin 1986; Li Fushun 1992; Kumar 1996;
Misra 1977; Tyagi 1988; Neumayer 1983, 1993; Hannah
etal. 2005.
4 Kumar 1996; Bednarik etal. 2005; cf. also D’Errico etal.
1989.
X
'Pos 103.2008
370
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R- G.
early practices is entirely contingent upon its severe
taphonomy. Ethnographic art, by contrast, offers a
vastly more secure sample, and one that is some-
times accompanied by credible emic interpretation.
Therefore, we propose that the study of the creativ-
ity of the few remaining traditional peoples of the
world should be of considerable value in informing
palaeoart studies. In this sense, the few remaining
hunter-forager-fisher groups of the Andamans are
of particular interest. Especially the Jarawas can
provide data on verifiable patterns of aesthetic be-
havior, evidence that is testable and scientifically
falsifiable. In this quest we are not simplistically
suggesting that the Jarawas are a “Palaeolithic
tribe,” but rather seek to present observations we
consider relevant to the issue.
The Jarawas of the Andaman Islands are re-
garded as one of the surviving remnants of the
Negritoid substratum of southern Asia. In the con-
text of available archaic geometric graphic evi-
dence, the graphic patterns characterizing their art
can be considered a remnant of earlier traditions. It
would be interesting to establish whether the lack of
figurative representation in Jarawa art is attributable
to a lack of such creative ability or to other rea-
sons. Along with this question, some basic concepts
about the functions of the human cognitive sys-
tem are already emerging. Further, the world trends
in the choice of visual expression lead to another
aspect, that is, cultural transmission beyond space
and time. The universality of geometric graphic art
is not due to proximity, rather it derives from a
cognitive context in which creative expressions of
humans evolved. To assess the underlying causes
that motivated humans to favor geometric mark-
ings, we propose that an evaluation of the art of the
Jarawas may open the way to a fresh understanding
of elementary associative processes.
The Pleistocene archaeological evidence has fig-
ured prominently in palaeoart studies, which some-
times attributed false age to the evidence (Bednarik
1996) and is always limited by its inherent weak-
nesses in assessing the cognitive faculties of pop-
ulations to which any emic access is impossible.
This article contrasts with palaeoart approaches and
the difference is found not in aims but in method.
The limitation of having to reconstruct past cultures
and correlating them with “cognition” and “sym-
bolism” of modern humans renders a great deal
of speculation inevitable. Whilst it remains essen-
tial to build on the empirical basis of the archae-
ological evidence, the complexity of the evolution
of the concept-mediating role of symbolisms de-
mands an eclectic approach involving both neuro-
science and ethnography. Our study represents no
radical paradigm shift; rather it advocates a coll^
orative approach that reconciles the past with tn
present. This, in turn, opens up not only a dialog
between the cognitive sphere across cultural tih1
but also presents an aspect of cultural conseAa
tion transcending time. In order to accentuate t
dialogue on cultural conservation back to
olitine” time, we propose that the graphic
palaC'
culWfe
uimm, umc, wc piupusc mat luc - u,
of the Jarawas has to be understood, and the ^
nological status of the Andaman Islanders
be assessed.
needs10
The Area and the People
sit'
The Andaman and Nicobar Archipelagos are ,
uated in the Bay of Bengal between 6° an
northern latitude and 92° and 94° eastern long1 s
(Map). The archipelago consists of 556 srnal
large islands. The Andaman and Nicobar Is ^
are separated by Ten Degree Channel, vvh1 ^
about 144 km wide and 400 fathoms deep- ^
Andaman group of islands extends about j-1 p
north-south, while the Nicobars cover apP1
mately 262 km along that axis. c0ir
The indigenous population of the Nicobars
sists of Mongoloid tribes, that of the Anda^at
of Negritos. The latter are divided into the
Andamanese and Little Andamanese groups- j,
of the ten territorial language groups of the 0
nally most numerous Great Andamanese have f t0
ished in the 19th and early 20th centuries nn
the impact of British colonization. Comprisir%0i,
Bea, Balawa, Puchikwar (Bojigyab), Juwau ^
Bo (Tabo), Cari (Cariar), Kede, Yereva/Jer^.p,
Kora (Radcliffe-Brown 1948; Man 1932 i1 -^g
they now number only 53 individuals occu■ 6ph
3 km2. Their decimation was hastened wh ^
demies of pneumonia in 1868, measles i*1 .^j-
and influenza in 1896, and subsequent a
lation.” The Little Andamanese language
consists of the Onges, Sentinelese, and Jara ^
The Onges have been similarly marginalize ^
now number only 94 members, although °ccU^ siy
700 km2. The Sentinelese occupy and v^°^caliy
defend North Sentinel Island, permitting praC
no entry by outsiders. They are believed to
about 100. Even in recent years, they repel e^ ^
attempt to land on their island. For instance, i0
wake of the 2004 tsunami it was en<teaV°
land with a helicopter to check how the Sen 1 ^
had fared. A hail of arrows and spears gree
aircraft and the landing had to be fab2nl°,?r
The Jarawas, the remaining of the four
remnants of the Andaman Islands, inhabit
2008
103
Anthropos
371
^ala(
e°lithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
. * tp».
Western region and coastal belt of South and
j 6 ^ndaman Islands. Their current population
^ fii]]S ^0u§ht to be around 300 and they have led
Hi tk traditional hunter-forager-fisher existence
rePut end of the 20th century.5 Through their
atl°n as fierce warriors and uncompromising
20()| ^2; Radcliffe-Brown 1948; Sarkar 1990; Sreenathan
*Pos
*03.2008
defenders of their territory they have been able to
maintain their way of life despite encroachment
on their forests since the British established a pe-
nal colony in the 19th century, and later through
Japanese occupation. In July 1996, a Jarawa boy
named Enmay, who had fractured his leg after get-
ting caught in an animal trap, was taken to a Port
Blair hospital. After his recovery and return, the
hitherto hostile Jarawas began making friendly con-
372
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G.
tact since October 1997 with the mainstream pop-
ulation, Bengali and Tamil immigrants from the
Indian mainland. In September 1999, a measles
epidemic affecting 48% of the then 350 Jarawas
decimated the tribe (Das etal. 2005). In 2001, an
outbreak of febrile illness among the Jarawas, who
had apparently never experienced malaria, led to
a malariological survey that detected Plasmodium
falciparum in the bloodsmears of 30 of the 179
tribes people examined. It appears that malarial par-
asites are recent arrivals for these people, a result
of the current fading of their long social and geo-
graphical isolation.
Both Andamanese linguistic groups seem to
have evolved from a single language group, but
their respective timescales differ. For instance,
among the Great Andamanese, there were two dis-
tinct major groups. One was recognized as the
Bojingiji group (Bea, Balawa, Bojigyab [Puchik-
war], Kol, and Juwai) and the group was named
after their closeness of language; the other was the
Yerewa group (Cariar, Kora, Bo, Jem, and Kede)
who shared a common kind of canoe (yere). Each
of the communities had further been socially rec-
ognized either as eremtagas (jungle dwellers) or as
aryotas (coastal dwellers). Despite differences in
environmental niche and ecology, eremtagas and
aryotas of each ethnic community maintained the
same language identity. That is to say, intracommu-
nity differentiation has not caused linguistic splits
while intercommunity differentiation is reflected
in language differences. However, apart from their
individual linguistic identities, both major Great
Andaman groups - Bojingiji and Yerewa - were
linguistically closer. But they were not as close
with the Onge group. This suggests that the split
between the Great and Little Andaman languages
occurred much earlier than the split between the
Bojingiji and Yerewa groups. The fission between
the subgroups followed later again.
The Little Andaman group had also split into
the Onges, the Jarawas, and the Sentinelese. Each
of these groups maintains separate linguistic identi-
ties, but they are cognates. The Little Andamanese
languages survived mainly because of the greater
isolation, and perhaps the extreme hostility to out-
siders of their respective speakers, still maintained
by the Sentinelese today. The nonlinguistic cultural
database supports the linguistic divisions, for in-
stance, the canoes, bows, spears, cooking pots, and
baskets of the South and Middle Andaman types
were different from those of the other groups. The
typological comparison of all Andamanese lan-
guages undoubtedly reiterates their common an-
cestry.
Although the languages of the Andaman Islaa
have been studied since the 19th century
torff 1987 [1875]), they remain inadequately^
derstood. Linguistic enquiries on prehistoric
nectivity of the Andamanese languages is sC ^
yet there are some observations that, based on
account of mutual unintelligibility and homo
there are no known affiliations either with m
land language families or other linguistic *a jair
worldwide. Gray (2005) has suggested that ^
guages through history change 20% of then
sic lexicon every 1,000 years. In that senS^’im-
possibility of cognate words between diverge0
guages may be of 1% or less after 10,000 y ^
and the mutual unintelligibility may be of 1 g
This may be the reason why no external c0^6ge
have been detected so far for the Andamai
languages,6 as the existing comparative me qq
will not allow detecting homologies beyond »
years. However, Pagel (2000) has proposed ^
lived cognate words of 20,000 years age. Fu tjc
Dunn et al.’s (2005) study suggests that
structural features do indeed contain histórica ^
reaching back at least 4,000 years. But such l°v'
studies has yet to be applied to yield constr
results from Andaman contexts. ,ygjs
Based on Nichols (1992), a preliminary
of Jarawa language has been conducted P
than 2003). It turned out that the language s ^
no apparent genetic affinity to other existing ^
guages of Southeast Asia or, indeed, the rest e
world, and there is no evidence of outside inn -c
in the form of borrowing or precolonial hng
colonization. In an effort to determine the S ^
space for the Jarawa language, selected tyP01 ^ly
comparison was attempted, which shows th tjy
one feature, inclusive/exclusive opposition ° ^
connects the Jarawas to an Old World PattereCog'
exhibits more typological closeness with
nized patterns of the Pacific and the New
The absence of other traits in Jarawa languag6^ ^
be of great significance that seems to indi ^
evolutionary depth connecting to a Pleistoce
stratum in India. n IS'
The aboriginal populations of the Andame A6'
lands along with the Semangs of Malaysia»
tas of the Philippines, and a few populationS^^ts
of Papua New Guinea, are considered as re
of the Negrito populations of Southeast Asia‘afiesG
ever, with the sole exception of the Anda ^
these Negrito groups have lost their or^^j1e $e'
guages. The original Negrito languages o
mangs and the Aetas are unknown. The JV
____________ a 2 oO ^ ’
6 Radcliffe-Brown 1948; Mancharan 1989; Sreenath
,03.2»°*
Anthropos
Pala,
N,
e°lithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
373
the^t0S sPea^ languages °f the Asian branch of
the Austro-Asian family, a family that dominated
be area until two thousand years ago, but has since
lat replaced on the peninsula, except for iso-
a Pockets by Malay and other Austronesian lan-
s0 /6s‘ traces of extinct Negrito languages found
ese F s^ow no obvious relationship with Andaman-
f*a ’fanc* ProPosals of a connection with the Indo-
Sllnci1C or a hnguistic isolate like the Ku-
tjje a °f Nepal remain unsubstantiated. However,
“a §enetic study by Barik et al. (2008) identifies
M3rare polymorphism shared between M31 and
l*elo ^nea§es [which] suggests that they actually
this t0 a sln§le haplogroup.” It seeks to link
the hypothetical dispersal of anatomically
res ern humans and proposes that the “enhanced
S0l atl0n °f M3 la suggests a back migration from
c^'Hast Asia 20-30 kya, into an area that now
h)H- a!ns most of the Austro-Asiatic speakers of
The antiquity of the Andaman Negritoid
iSo, P.s ueeds to be considered in view of the recent
^hefi10n t^ie m®hlA lineages M31 and M32.
orj . §enetic and linguistic isolation suggests an
iCajl n ln Late Pleistocene populations of anatom-
modem humans that may have reached the
Hw lpelago when it was connected to the Asian
nland.
The
Culture of the Jarawas
consist of huts made of bamboo and palm fronds
and they use crude rafts to cross streams. Other
Andamanese have used outrigger canoes, which the
Jarawas lack. The thuuya, which is a leaf stem of
the thuuya plant, was traditionally used as a float for
swimming. Pieces of polystyrene wafting ashore
are also used these days.
The archaeological evidence (Dutta 1978; Coo-
per 2002) demonstrates that the Andaman Islanders
possessed stone tool technology. Besides lithics,
bones and animal teeth were also used as tools,
which have been dated back to about 2,000 years.
The stone tools found in kitchen midden excava-
tions invite comparisons with stone tool technology
elsewhere, and they may suggest that the peopling
of the islands may have occurred relatively recently.
However, such a hypothesis cannot be tested due
to limitations or lack of relevant evidence, or a
preference for naturally shaped materials. More-
over, archaeological remains of the Pleistocene are
likely to have been submerged beneath the rising
sea (Curray 2005). Thus the available and limited
evidence may not suffice to gauge the time of the
peopling of the islands. Colebrook (1795) observed
that “their arrows are headed with fish bones or
tusks of wild hogs; sometimes merely with a sharp
bit of wood, hardened in the fire, but these are suf-
ficiently destructive.” The fibula of the pig was also
used for the same purpose (Man 1932). The 1901
census of India states:
kltjo^ugh their demise as a viable traditional popu-
may be imminent, the Jarawas remain a no-
iiig tribe engaged in hunting, gathering, and fish-
pig , reenathan 2001). They hunt an endemic wild
a m°nitor lizard, and other quarry with bows
V^s. Unlike the Onges and Andamanese, the
thjs faS ^ept no dogs to help in hunting, although
0|°0, N now changing. Maritime food sources
r0ws ■ lrriPortance, men fishing with bows and ar-
Mth ln d16 shallow water while women catch fish
forQj askets. Mollusks, dugongs, turtles, and so
CoUe«?stitute a major part of their diet, and they
the iat Emits, tubers, and honey from the forest. In
e.r’ ^ey use a plant extract to pacify the bees,
is 0£ eir expertise in the medicinal use of plants
bUc.c°nsiderable interest. Digging sticks, wooden
s (uuhu), and baskets (taaiku) are used in
ipg ciphering, and handmade nets (pootho) in fish-
ily ^Jonathan 2005a). Coastal groups were heav-
^ePerajen^ant uPon shellfish (Cipriani 1966). In
ProCess’. the diet, modes of foraging, and of food
Shfiipt' lri^ (roasting, baking, boiling) and con-
'°n are broadly shared among all Andaman-
UPS- The temporary camps of the Jarawas
Ai)tu
0p°s 103.2008
Stone Implements - The only stone cutting implement
known to the Andamanese is the quartz flake chipped off,
never worked and held between the fingers for shaving
and tattooing, and shells and fish bones are used for the
small blades of the peculiar adze of this people, and
for arrow points scraping and cutting. A cyrena valve is
the ordinary knife and scraper. Hammers, anvils, bones
and oven stones are made of natural stones. They have
never made celts ... the ends of glass bottles for some
years and iron from wrecks for a long time past have
been substituted for the indigenous implements, when
and where procurable. The object of the long series
of murderous raids made by the inland Jarawas on the
outlying parts of the penal settlement proved to have been
made in search for iron implements which on the whole
are coarsely and roughly made (Temple 1903).
The historical record conveys that Andaman au-
tochthons used improvised iron implements during
the days of the British occupation, which began in
1853. Their arrows may nowadays be made of iron
derived from shipwrecks and driftwood. Indeed, the
metal was known to them well before the advent of
the British as shown by its presence in all levels
of the Chauldari kitchen midden (Cooper 2002).
374
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G-
This pattern of adapting a stone tool technology
to newly available materials can be found widely
elsewhere. For instance, the indigenes of Australia
first became acquainted with steel through the con-
tact with Macassans shortly before the arrival of the
Europeans. After contact with the latter, Aborig-
ines began flaking telegraph insulators, bottle glass,
and other introduced materials, and they cold ham-
mered horseshoes into huge “shovel-nosed” spear
points.
The rapid acquisition of such new materials
challenges the traditional Eurocentric definitions of
eras characterized by the materials used. The op-
portunistic use of metal or glass does not change
the underlying ecology of a people, because they
continue to lack the technology of manufacturing
these materials. Over the last few years, the Jarawas
have come into contact with many new materials,
such as plastic, textiles, and paper, but so far their
ecological and economic basis essentially remains
as it has been in the past. Most importantly for our
present purpose, their metaphysical world, their on-
tology or their aesthetic concepts have most prob-
ably not changed to any significant degree since
the time they relied purely on materials supplied
by their immediate natural environment. Their lan-
guage and their art may both be subjected to major
changes now, but so far they have probably retained
their traditional format. The emerging issue is not
to define the Andamanese groups as Palaeolithic
remnant populations, on the basis of their under-
lying technology, but to recognize that traditional
European categorizations are irrelevant to the issue
we wish to address here - the status of Jarawa art.
The material culture of the Jarawas shows a
gender-based organization of crafts, of which there
are broadly two kinds. The primary type is related
to their sustenance pattern and the secondary one to
the making of ornaments. The absence of special-
ized craftsmen/craftswomen obviously marks the
Jarawas as individually self-sufficient. Ornamenta-
tion of material culture related to subsistence was
an obligatory practice among the Great Andaman-
ese while for others it was optional. Jarawa orna-
ments are generally simple and community spe-
cific. Except cloth and wool nowadays, all other
ornament materials are indigenous and there are
no ornaments made of metal. Ornaments are com-
monly fashioned from selected shells, leaves, flow-
ers, and fruits. Permanent ornaments are made of
shells (lelele), epochiimi leaves, pandanus, bark,
and cloth or wool.
The temporary or permanent huts of the Jarawas
are generally thatched with leaves. Temporary huts
have thatched roofs but their sides are open. Dwell-
It
fa^'
of
ing patterns reflect the minimum requirements
individual families or a group of families (com
nal huts) and the close-knit nature of the soc ^
Small huts are arranged in rows facing the se^-g,
the inland, arranged contiguous or keeping a
tance, or the arrangement may be irregular,
be L-shaped or in a straight line, or with huts
to-face.
The architecture of the Jarawas reminds us °
nonhierarchical social structure. No animals n
their dwellings. The parents and their depen^
infants constitute the family. The adults ot ^
sexes may or may not sleep with parents in thes ,
chadda (hut). Unmarried boys and girls are afl° ^
to stay in separate chaddas. Within the chddd*1
space other than the oven space is a sleeping SP j
which anybody within the family can occupy
there is no rigid direction or pattern of s*e aCe
practiced. If anybody sleeps outside, that sP^j
is marked with two sticks. Normally widows
widowers sleep in the open. an;
The people refer to themselves as ong (nu ^
Sreenathan 2001); the word Jarawa is the
given to them by outsiders (Sreenathan 199o)- ^
lowest structural unit in the social organic
among them is the elementary family. Jarav^^
ciety comprises different hunting units (Sreena ^
2001), each of which is composed of intra ^
intergenerational kinfolk. It contains consang
ecus, collateral, affinial, and descendant r®1
They possess an Inuit-type kinship system (
athan 2005b) with nuclear families, mouog ^
and a deme-community organization.
Both P‘
a P'
lineal and matrilineal rulers and exogamy ar®
sent. There are no forms of medical practiti°a
or shamans, and until recently medical car®
entirely by traditional means (Sreenathan 200
There is an almost complete absence of ^ w
cal instruments in the entire Andamans.
exception is a sounding board shaped like a sh1
the Great Andamanese formerly used, well ®
mented with white clay and used for markingJ1 .g
in song or dance. However, the Jarawas aim ^
Onges use no musical instrument. Their songs *
community-specific in nature and all mernb®rS P e
ticipate in the singing. No gender differences
observed. Songs are mainly isorhythmic in s ^s
ture, a single rhythm being repeated. The syl a
are grouped into sequences as in words and ar®
ten repeated. Phonological deviations of the s
of the words from that of their normal l°rrll -zgd
be detected. Such changes are yet to be recog11*
as anaptyxis, metathesis, dissimilation, Pr°c ep-
apocope, synocope, prothesis, vowel harmo11^. ta
ithesis, and epenthesis. The lack of suffi®ieIlt
1O3-2008
Anthrop08
■°lithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
375
f*alae
events determination of whether the Jarawa lan-
ha ^as developed into a poetic dialect. Songs
b e Words and music and may be functional too.
jj athing techniques were unknown to the Jarawas,
ConCe ihey pause any time during singing and then
Song;
!riUe- However, what they mean through these
u Semantically and symbolically is yet to
labHshed.
[j0^e Jarawas have their own performing tradi-
gjJ1' Their intricate and rhythmic dance movements
tjj °^ten monotonous. In a common dance form
jum Stan<^ a row holding each other closely,
rjPln§ or*e step forward and then backward in a
aCc nirac manner. The dancers themselves sing the
p^mpanymg song. Formal dancing is generally
}qe 0rmed as part of important social ceremonies.
and women do not dance together. Children,
f0 leh and unmarried folk dance separately. In-
of. a* dance, however, is a spontaneous expression
c0ljOy- h is performed as part of gift receiving, in
t0 nection with the reunion of hunting groups or
0tl. ark the success of a good hunt. Remarkably,
tan Wornen and children participate in this spon-
their°Us expression by clapping their hands on
da r dfighs. Songs are performed with or without
°Utb» ^t-km- These occasional but spontaneous
Sent^ts of singing are common. However, repre-
not bUOn suPernaturai beings through dance has
200op observed among the Jarawas (Sreenathan
fh
Jarawas possess no system of writing. A
Set
cU; Wavy lines can be observed in some of their
the
>S. It
sea.
is understood that such lines symbolize
^ a "y 111 which case the motif could be defined
Of e PIct°graph. Another design recalls the bone
any . 0r a creeper. Besides these, there are no
iry th°fed patterns observed or recognizable. Even
to e Se cases, the Jarawas are not in a position
tW| 'a^n the iconic relevance because they are
Tbe y Allowing a conventional style and pattern,
they LSe °f such graphics does not indicate that
Picto ave a nonphonological system expressed in
Q&raphs, nor do the Jarawas use ideographs.
Vi** °f the greatest threats to their continuing
^Iticb^ ^eiaves from the Andaman Trunk Road,
area ff)asses through today’s Jarawa Reserve, an
^apre ^m2 dfick forests. In May 2002, the
^ourt °f India ordered that the road be
%[ ^ to general traffic, but so far the order has
executed. There is considerable trespass
ring ln§ In the Reserve through poaching, log-
as ^ the illegal removal of forest produce, such
Cr°ach ^ Iarawas resent this continuing en-
rrient an(f altercations still occur, though no
les have been reported in recent years. Unless
tllr°P°s 103.2008
there is political will to protect these people effec-
tively, it is likely that they will experience the fate
of two other Negritoid tribes of the Andamans as
reported above.
be Art of the Jarawas
The most important aspect of art in the context
of all Andaman hunter-foragers-fishers is that they
never promulgated iconographie art. No animal,
plant, or human figure features in their graphic tra-
dition. The Jarawas practice art only in the form
of geometrical patterns and these are mainly found
as body makeup or as painted designs on the
bow, chest guard, band of the chest guard, wooden
bucket, and on the headband (mahwa). Generally,
these graphic expressions are arrangements of ver-
tical or horizontal lines, at times crisscrossing lat-
tices, zigzag, or wavy patterns. The characteris-
tic feature of their graphic expression, rhythm and
symmetry, establishes and celebrates a balance be-
tween the Jarawas and their environment.
All community members recognize these de-
signs and they are community specific in nature.
Both elementary patterns and combinations of pat-
terns occur. With a limited scope of creative in-
novation at the individual level, patterns are cho-
sen on the criteria of attractiveness. The females
contribute most of the design work. Whitish-gray
clay, red ochre, and the juice of a creeper called
bailatta (Sreenathan 2001) are commonly in use for
the purpose. Whitish-gray clay is mixed with water
and used for ornamental painting of the body. The
red ochre is applied to the person for ornamentation
during ceremonial events.
It needs to be fundamentally appreciated that the
Jarawas do possess the creative potential to produce
iconic motifs. The Jarawa boy named Enmay could
create animated figures from memory (Fig. 1). It is
therefore cultural practice rather than ability that
determined the strict adherence to geometric art
forms. Cognitive capacity and form of artistic con-
vention need not coincide, as we have seen from
other cultures. The same could well have been valid
for many Pleistocene traditions.
Body Designs
Unlike the body paintings of the Onges, Jarawas
have only elementary patterns (Figs. 2 and 3).
Among all Andamanese groups the Onges produce
the most elaborate body painting (see Appendix).
Several linear designs are found on the bodies of
376
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R- G.
, . dr^'illg
Fig. 1: Iconograpnic ^pay-
ability of the Jarawa boy
the Jarawas. Wavy designs (aawaav) are most com-
mon on the face. Aaweed is the crisscross lattice
pattern drawn on breast, chest, and stomach. The
ikkaath or heyaaya parallel lines design is found on
the hands and occasionally on stomach and chest.
Horizontal and vertical lines are found on any part
of the body and are called oppo. Body designs are
generally made by smearing the body with clay and
then scraping out the designs with fingernails or
f stick01
with a small scraping instrument made or a . stiy
pith, or by directly drawing with the finger- ^ js
one paints oneself but the more elaborate
accomplished with the help of others, eS^ piied
wives painting their husbands. Designs are 0fr
irrespective of sex and age. No tattooing 0t
served (Sreenathan 2000, 2001) and corpses a
decorated.
103-200*
Anthropos
°Uthic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
377
P4ae
esigns
the ^tLlral dye of brick red color, extracted from
creer
0>ed
cnatural
^e,reePer bailatta, is used. The surface is always
0^ ed with beeswax before the dye is applied.
Not !i!enting crafts with clay paint is not practiced.
^ti0n crafts are embellished with such ornamen-
§U^rcj‘ ^he bow shaft, wooden bucket, and chest
are the important items on which designs are
tlr°Pos 103.2008
Fig. 4: Decorated chest guard worn by Tarawa man.
commonly found (Figs. 4 to 6). Also to be noted is
that no cultural material object is painted a second
time; whatever designs once made on it will be al-
lowed to fade. These designs provide no distinctive-
ness to one’s possessions as they are community
designs, which all members may practice. Some in-
dividuals produce simple designs while others take
378
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G.
pains to make the designs more attractive. The oc-
currence of both decorated and undecorated crafts
suggest that the decoration is aesthetic rather than
endowed with any spiritual values. Typical motif
forms found on craft items are zigzag lines and
small circles (e.g., onebialile and bethubet
designs on chest guards, see Fig. 7), herring
ladder, and loop patterns (Fig. 8). f the
Pottery is not very developed among ^ ^\\
Andaman hunters, and the Jarawas have only
103.2°°S
Anthropos
le°lithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
379
Fig. 8: Typical Tarawa designs: (a) oppo design on bow shaft,
wooden container, and body; (b) oppohaaneev design and (c)
thothaaleev design, both found on bow shaft and wooden con-
tainer; (d) oppodewevelvel design found on bow shaft, chest
guard, and wooden container; (e) beethobetholev design on
wooden container.
Pots w'tu
Wlth a conical base like those of the North An-
^ an groups. Decorated ceramics are not found
J^r n§ the Jarawas and the Onges, and the limited
Ojj a Pottery is comparatively crudely made. The
if)g s had large pots which they used as cook-
(Basu 1990). Archaeological fragments
aesthreat Andamanese ornamented pottery suggest
§to etlc c°ncems. Horizontal and vertical linear
Pott l11^ as wett as wavy patterns are found on that
tk^' Man (1932) does not state the purpose of
aecoration.
dualizing Jarawa Art
seem
Sign ns worthwhile to consider the intricate de-
lio^. °Und among the Jarawas in the context of the
itig lc°uic geometrical genres of palaeoart. Plac-
Pe\y 6rtl whhin the palaeoart discussions opens a
it1Sta understanding the beginnings of art,
htati ^r°jects the value of anthropological infor-
n tradhional societies in the discussion of
lricateaesthetics °f humanity. The presence of in-
geometric designs and the absence of figu-
rili
r°Pos 103
2008
rative imagery found among the Jarawas bring to
mind the non-iconic nature of Asian Palaeolithic
and probably also Indian Mesolithic art. But the
problem in such comparisons is that the two art
forms, besides being separated by many millennia,
are only known from very different media. An-
cient palaeoart offers geometric engravings only
on hard and deterioration-resistant surfaces that re-
main as archaeological residues, while the evidence
presented here consists of anthropological observa-
tions. Only the pottery designs observed among the
erstwhile Great Andamanese (Man 1932) would
qualify as “archaeological data”.
Of particular relevance is the apparent analogy
of graphic morphology between the archaic and
living evidence. The inherent promise of palaeoart
studies is to illuminate the beginnings of art, and we
propose that the prospects of that quest can be en-
hanced by testing its findings in an anthropological
setting.
The early geometric marks have been explained
from different angles focusing on certain funda-
mental questions pertaining to the “origins of art.”
Such discussions can be defined as being about
380
the initial “motivation,” morphology of form, and
the mechanisms, kinetics, and techniques respon-
sible for the creations, and the early symbolic or
indexical value of non-iconic markings. The pres-
ence in the Lower and Middle Palaeolithic peri-
ods rendered these geometric marks not only rele-
vant in the discussion of the beginnings of art but
also added an expectation that a common innate
cognitive mechanism, valid over huge distances in
both time and space, was responsible for their cre-
ation. These deductions made concerning archaic
graphic markings have been gathered only from
most durable surfaces (Bednarik 1994b, 1995b). It
is not logical, however, to believe that early ho-
minins abruptly started to create engravings on hard
surfaces. Rather, we need to see the earliest avail-
able record as being highly untypical, as being a
taphonomic residue that has been so severely trun-
cated by preservation bias that any simplistic inter-
pretation of it would be doomed to failure. Indeed,
we must assume that nothing at all should have
survived until art-like production became capable
of creating extremely deterioration-resistant forms
that had a remote chance of surviving hundreds
of millennia. It is only from this perspective of
taphonomic logic that the empirical evidence can
be expected to be useful at all; without it, it will
inherently be misinterpreted (Bednarik 1994b).
To understand how, when, and why humans be-
came capable of expressing and recognizing pa-
laeoart, and how the relevant cognitive processes
actually work, we need to consult a biological
model. Human adaptations described as modem
appeared gradually, and along with their univer-
sal presence (Bednarik 2003a), chimpanzees draw-
ing (Tanaka etal. 2003), and the universality of
graphic primitives in the expressions of children7
indicate innate behavioral features. The develop-
ment of palaeoart is crucial to understanding hu-
man cerebral evolution (Langer 1967; Bednarik
1990b, 2003a). Donald (1991) presents the view
that with encephalization (brain enlargement) hu-
mans acquired the capacity for a “self-triggered re-
call and rehearsal loop,” which basically amounts to
the recursive capacity (Chomsky 1968, 1988, 1994,
1997). Psychologists sometimes refer to this pro-
cess as “representational redescription” (Karmiloff-
Smith 1992). The language faculty also has been
recognized as innate by Chomsky and he further
suggests that human language might have resulted
from the integration of a “conceptual capacity”
with a “computational capacity” that could deal
7 Cox 2005; Kellogg 1959; Kellogg et al. 1965; Van Sommers
1984.
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G.
»»
with “discrete infinities through recursive ru ^
(Huybregts and van Riemsdijk 1982). The
tions framed in the domain of the biological ev
tion of language (Jenkins 2000; Plotkin 2003: 1
197) clearly indicate the fundamental problems ^
what constitutes knowledge of art and how itlS .
quired and how it evolves are not only significa
understanding language but also in other cogm
domains. The model proposed by Donald (199
order to understand the human evolution thro
three stages, viz. mimetic symbol use without sy^
bol creation, construction of conceptual space u
language, and the deposition of symbolic proper j
in material culture, capable of intervening in s°^()t
behavior or in communicating meaning, may .g
provide convincing answers in all respects,.but
concept of the external storage of symbolism
great validity in illuminating the role of palae0jveS
Production and comprehension of art mv°. j
several neuropsychological and neuroanatom
steps. These include the ability to trans ^
through extemalization perception from one ne
logical, physiological, cerebral system to ano
governed by crossmodal connectivity in the h ^
On this view the production of art is a process^
crossmodal transfer. Hodgson’s (2006) “nea j
sual resonance theory” is based upon how the
cortex and visuo-spatial areas of the brain fnhc ays
and how different regions of the visual path
resonate or respond disproportionately accord1
the nature of the stimulus. According to the bi g
ical origins theory, certain images elicit reac
that are built into our visual system. ^
Body ornamentation no doubt reflects the^g
thropocentric self-awareness of humans. ^
the Jarawas, wearing certain kinds of orna j
made of shells, bones, flowers, fruits, leaves» ^
threads, painting the body with clay and with a g
(a mixture of red ochre and pig fat), and wea&sgd
the jawbone, skull, or other bone of a dece j.
person are the elements of ornamentation ^
A context-sensitive understanding and cultm a
duction disseminates the semantics of the J ^
ornamentation as a means of establishing h:c
ness (realization, happiness and victory, em ^
indicator, respect for the deceased, saving
spirits). All these point towards the sym
of self-awareness.
5t**?
Perhaps the surface on which humans ^
making marks was their own body. Daum
human body could have been initiated to P^ ^
it from the sun, from cold, insects or oth ^
asites, leading to decorative signification. y
use by hominins can be traced back to the ^
Acheulian in India (Bednarik 1990a) and s
I03.30°8
Anthropos
381
^alai
e°lithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
(Bednarik 1992a, 2003a; cf. Beaumont
pr Initially lines may have appeared as a by-
did UCt smearing the body with clay or ochre (as
int Tasmanians’ f°r instance). This may have
liii ^Uce(I the possibility of intentionally etching
0^s with fingertips. A similar practice can be
erVed on the walls of limestone caves in Eu-
rope
%)o
and Australia, where soft cave deposits of
e^0tlrnilk” (a carbonate precipitate) have been
Cennsively marked with fingertips in the Pleisto-
aj| e ^bednarik 1986). Line markings unintention-
al ^10(^Ucecl by fingers may have prompted visual
syst SaI because they reverberated with the visual
The6*11 bue t0 the arrangement of neural receptors.8
an; reciprocal interaction between cognitive mech-
and regularities of the world (Shepard 1984;
^ and Cosmides 1992) may have resonated
dCa Prornpted repetition and symmetry in geomet-
the exPre§sions derived from the very structure of
tteurovisual system (Pinker 1997).
t0 graphic expression of the Jarawas seems
Spjc aect lines floating in a flat space with a con-
°Us absence of any suggestive orientation. Do
of ^ Perceive space as flat, without comprehension
Wph ^h? Do they experience the material world
^t(l °Ut ^mages5 as a connected geometry of lines
Ind CUrves floating in a flat space devoid of time?
of lhe aerial view is central to the Jarawa view
sensfce- The designs are created from the very
(Wy their social perception of space, perhaps
be .1 ttated by mobility and closeness, and that may
£ve 6 reason to draw clusters of lines and curves,
and ^ta^ng in their space appears to be connected
as sPace remains discontinuous to them as long
sp^S.^n their possession. At the same time island
fore ls bounded and their socialization is, there-
in thereStr^ctecI* In their sociology, also, the family
si0ri S basic unit and their ensemble is an exten-
Cojjj.-0^ h. Casting the family within the space of a
Mob11?1111«1 is manifested in their dwelling patterns,
ai^w 'ty and closeness are correlated in order to
line tbe Jarawas to maintain their social structure.
e*tenH IDatterns are similarly restricted and do not
Jhe • bey°nd the boundaries fixed in the designs.
liriesPlct°rial space is circumscribed and filled with
Unltir;-d curves apparently in movement. Every
]b|e ^ the designs lives within the identical yet flex-
Cent °Undary, as that of family huts. No physical
not n,ls hXed in the design space, as the people do
. lntain such a center in their social life. The
lc collectivity of their life appears to be the
CSV972; Marr t976; Hubei and Wiesel 1979; Hamil-
1986; Felleman and Van Essen 1991; Zeki 1992,
’ t999; Tootell et al. 1998.
°Pos i03
2008
rhythm reflected in the graphic expressions found
in their material culture.
We regard the non-iconic tradition of the Jara-
was as a part of the non-iconic ensemble of the
rest of the world. A core understanding of geom-
etry has recently been recorded in an Amazonian
tribe (Dehaene et al. 2006), reinforcing the notion
of innateness of geometrical canons. Most impor-
tantly, we find various of the features of Jarawa
art duplicated in known non-iconic Pleistocene and
Early Holocene traditions, despite the significant
differences in the media used and the very spo-
radic nature of the archaeological record. Having
mentioned above that nearly all graphic art of the
Pleistocene outside of southwestern Europe is non-
iconic, we note that there are few exceptions, which
nevertheless imply that the ability and potential of
producing iconic imagery existed across Eurasia
(as, we have noted, it does among the Jarawas).
If one excludes the few examples that are more
appropriately considered as bas reliefs (such as the
anthropomorphs from Molodova V, Ukraine, and
Kostenki I, Russia; Abramova 1962) or that are
doubtful (such as the rabbit-like engraving from
the latter site, or the iconic elements Marshack
[1989] mistakenly discerns in the markings on the
mammoth tusk tip from Kirillovskaya, Ukraine),
the confirmed iconic figures in the “Palaeolithic”
graphic art of eastern Europe and Asia are lim-
ited to the undated paintings in Kapova Cave (Bo-
riskovski 1984; 226) and Ignatiev Cave (but note
that Steelman etal. [2002] have dated a “Palae-
olithic” “mammoth” figure in that cave to 7370 ±
50 B.P.) and two portable mammoth engravings,
one each from Mal’ta and Berelekh, Siberia, and
perhaps one figure from Hayonim Cave, Israel.
Instead of iconic (to most contemporary humans
figurative) elements, graphic Pleistocene art seems
to have consisted almost entirely of “geometric”
arrangements. In about 97% of the total area of
Eurasia, and in North America, graphic Pleistocene
art, wherever it does occur, is almost entirely re-
stricted to geometric or non-iconic marks. Of par-
ticular interest are the numerous “geometric signs”
on portable objects from Russia (Marshack 1976),
Ukraine, Siberia, and India (Bednarik 1994a). They
are best exemplified at Eliseevichi, Mezin, Kir-
illovskaya, and Mezherich (but also occurring, less
pronounced or in smaller numbers, at Patne, Mal’ta,
Afontova, Kavkaz, Balinkosh, Klinets, Timonovka,
Suponevo, Novgorod-Severskaya, Avdeevo, and
Gagarino), in the first Palaeolithic art discovered
in China, in several engraved objects from the
Levant (especially the Urkan e-Rub II plaque and
an Upper Besor 6 ostrich eggshell fragment), and
382
Fig. 9: Engraved pattern on hematite, Blombos Cave, Middle
Stone Age.
Fig. 10: Engraved pattern on chert core, Chandravati, India,
perhaps Early Mesolithic.
in the 134 engraved plaques from the Gault site,
Texas. The same pattern is earlier found in south-
ern Africa, at Blombos Cave (Henshilwood etal.
2002; D’Errico etal. 2001), and may later have
extended to North America, where it occurs in the
Clovis tradition.9 These palaeoart traditions begin
in the Lower Palaeolithic at Bilzingsleben, Wyhlen,
9 Collins 2002; Collins etal. 1991, 1992; Robertson 1999.
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G
Bednar^
Sainte Anne I, Auditorium Cave, Daraki-Chalt
and perhaps East London in South Africa ^
Bednarik 2003a for details) and Sai Island (
Peer et al. 2003). They continue through the
die Stone Age (e.g., Blombos, Fig. 9), IVIouste^1^
(e.g., La Ferrassie), and Micoquian (e.g-, CM ^
ben) and extend right through to the end °^Si
Pleistocene, often occurring as reticulate pal ^
sometimes of extraordinary complexity (Bedn
1992a, 2003a). This body of evidence reir^jts
largely ignored by mainstream archaeology wl
fascination with zoomorphs. ^
Of particular interest in the present contend ^
those archaeological engravings that feature
ear and geometrical markings. Those of the L°
Palaeolithic are generally very basic, but i11
Middle Palaeolithic specific graphic elements 0
pear, such as the zigzag pattern from Bacho ^ ^
(Bulgaria), the lattices from Blombos Cave, ^
the complex geometric comprehension eVlC7nia)-
the Tata nummulite (Hungary) (Bednarik 20 f
These motif types continue through the
Palaeolithic and Mesolithic (consider, for ^nsiaQits
the few engraved bones Wakankar [1975] xC?c0$
from Bhimbetka) or the engraved Chandravati ^
(Fig. 10). The “intricate geometric patterns 111 ^
dian painted rock art, tentatively attributed tcC. 3
Early Mesolithic period, are also suggestive
tradition resembling the art of the Jarawas.
Discussion
■»ah6
Of the greatest relevance here are the PL jj.
that, like those dominating Tarawa art, are ap-
tained within fixed spatial boundaries. The ^
pear first in the Asian Upper Palaeolithic arl ^
tinue through the Mesolithic, forming a dist1 ^jf
feature of early Asian art systems. Indeed, ^
similarity with Tarawa art is so conspicuous ^
deserves closer attention. Typical example ^s\\
engraved decoration on the Patne ostrich eg£j Qi
fragment, dated to 25,000 years B.P. (Fi&;
the three separate patterns on the only ^elSjnaf^
art object so far reported from China (B® po
1992b). However, this convention can (at
traced back to the Middle Stone Age in №
Blombos Cave). Irrespective of this, it can ia*
described as a dominant factor in the grA ag0
of Asia from roughly 25,000 to 7,000 yea1^ ^
as it is known today. To find this very sa geflte^
highly distinctive characteristic so well rePr ^\\&[
in Tarawa art raises an immediate question- i to
extent could extant Andaman cultures be r
the Late Palaeolithic or Mesolithic of Asia •
103
200^
AnthropoS
-°lithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
383
^alae
Th‘ •
Us is not a matter of naively placing Tarawa
\ve
Ure m these technological pigeonholes; rather,
artsW^h to consider the derivation of their graphic
cohere are only two realistic possibilities con-
K[e ln§ the colonization of the Andamans by
^aft08' ^ey arrived either on foot or by water-
Ojji ‘ the former case, this can have taken place
c6p at times of lower sea level, i.e., in the Pleisto-
Eoj6 latter case, we need to ask why ocean-
ic § seafaring technology is now absent in the
bj]itn(ls- This does not necessarily negate the possi-
li-^ maritime colonization, because we know
lit® Australian example that this continent
peo ^early settled by seagoing Middle Palaeolithic
tp Jje (Bednarik 1999), yet they lacked developed
in ^ lrrie capability in more recent times. However,
Italia this is probably attributable to the local
irpD large bamboo species, which rendered it
to build the kind of vessel Indonesian
h?°S ^ad macle possible. It would be unlikely
iH region to the south of the Irrawaddy Delta,
bee the present Andaman Islands, had not
°Ccupied by humans in the Pleistocene. Al-
p0l3 Certainly it was, although most of the formerly
tbgjj .ated areas may now be under the sea. It is
^ntsltlescaPable that there must have been descen-
0ne °* marooned Final Pleistocene populations,
kfy ernpirical counterargument is that there is pot-
Vn islands, but there are caveats here also.
elseWKdecorated Pottery of the Pleistocene occurs
in Asia (at least in Japan, of the Incipient
We cn culture), but more relevantly, the very sim-
nical base pots of the Jarawas immediately
^Uro t0 ttiiad the Mesolithic pottery of northern
art 0jV ‘ The decorations one finds on Maglemosian
fleets also resemble the art of the Jarawas.
tying to determine the appropriate pigeon-
1 the material culture of the Jarawas in terms
%hr
°Pos 103.2008
of the sequence dominating mainstream archaeol-
ogy we need to strip away material evidence op-
portunistically acquired in recent centuries, such
as the utilization of steel parts from shipwrecks.
The underlying indigenous material culture seems
to resemble a version of what is traditionally re-
garded as an Early Mesolithic technology, or al-
ternatively a Late Palaeolithic economy with some
few subsequently introduced features, notably in-
cipient pottery (conversely, ceramics of the Upper
Palaeolithic are well known from Europe, so it is
false to cite this as a discriminating variable). Ei-
ther way, the graphic art production strongly con-
firms a correlation with cultures traditionally de-
fined as Upper Palaeolithic or Mesolithic on the
nearby mainland.
However, here it needs to be appreciated that
the constructs of these two cultural entities are
themselves problematic. We have no idea whatso-
ever, anywhere, what the cultures or technologies
were of all the coastal people of the world dur-
ing the entire Pleistocene. All the information we
have gleaned comes from mobile inland popula-
tions, yet it is possible that the coastal people were
far more sedentary (due to reliable permanent food
sources), perhaps culturally and even genetically
different. Therefore, what we simplistically read as
the Mesolithic “revolution” in Europe may simply
mark the emerging of the coastal zones and their
populations, brought about by rising sea level. Or
in other words, the perceived differences between
the very Final Palaeolithic and the Early Mesolithic
may be attributable more to taphonomy than to
culture.
In comparing Tarawa art with Asian mainland art
we particularly draw attention to the three highly
sophisticated patterns engraved on the antler frag-
ment from Longgu Cave in China, a little over
13,000 years old (Bednarik 1992b). Their corre-
spondence with graphic elements in Tarawa art,
such as the use of sophisticated guilloche pattern-
ing, is outstanding and should not be brushed aside
as coincidental. While there may be some merit in
the argument that iconic art is limited in its graphic
repertoire (generally anthropomorphs and the range
of animal species of the artists’ ecosystem), the
range of possible non-iconic constructions is al-
most limitless. Yet here we have art traditions, sep-
arated by a short stretch of sea and less than 10,000
years, that feature such astonishing structural sim-
ilarities. By the same token we need to concede
that the palaeoart of all of southern Asia and China
remains inadequately explored.
The Eurocentric obsession with zoomorphs,
when addressing the issue of graphic production
384
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G.
of the Pleistocene and Early Holocene, has been
very detrimental to the development of a balanced
study of early art systems. It almost seems that
mainstream archaeologists simply do not wish to
know how art traditions evolved and developed,
unless they feature pretty animal pictures. Globally,
around 99% of all Pleistocene art motifs are
non-iconic, therefore, this European infatuation
with zoomorphs has retarded palaeoart research
for about a century. Similarly, the restriction of
palaeoart discussions to archaeological specimens
has been just as counterproductive, because
it has
engendered the exclusion of ethnographic mi01
tion (unless it was relegated to confirming sin1? jt
tic etic interpretations). This separation is the reS r
not only of disciplinary specialization but a's° ■
a conscious determination to reify the chrono
cal construct of the perceived phases of what .
rocentric commentators have simplistically c ^
“prehistory.” Here we have sought to contribtd6^
a small way, to a correction of this profound
balance.
Appendix
Cognate Graphic Patterns
The eleven patterns (both carved and painted)
identified by E. H. Man (1932) and R. C. Temple
(1903) from the Great Andamanese are chevrons,
cross lines (close crosshatch), cross lines (wide
crosshatch), parallel lines, parallel lines and zigzag
(parallels and chevron combined), lozenges, plait or
guilloche, fishbone (herringbone), cross incisions
(cross cuts), loops, and Vandykes with scalloped
VjqW
bands and cross lines. It is interesting to see^ ^
many patterns the Jarawas share with them- . je
Temple observed that every manufactured a ^
has its own customary conventional line orn Qi
in one or more of three colors and in 0 jofs
more of eleven patterns approximated. The j
are red, white, and brown, derived from n
earths. For E. H. Man these colors were w 1 ^
gray, burned yellow/brown (ochre) and bnc ^
(ochre). The following analysis shows hoW ,je)
pattern is related to the Andamanese (erst
and the Jarawas.
Patterns
Zigzag
/WW\
Tribe Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body MaterialsUsed^/-
Great Andamanese jobo-tartanga Canoe, paddle, bucket, etc. Body Ochre and wl»u' clay
Jarawas aawaav Bow, chest guard, bucket Forehead/chest Creeper’s julC<f y on crafts, white cM body
Anthrop08
^ala,
e°Hthic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
°Sshatching, narrowly spaced
385
be Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body Materials Used
'at Andamanese ig-yitinga Sounding board, waist belt, chaplet Body Carved with a shell, painted with white clay
atvas aaweed Wooden bucket, chest guard, bow shaft Breast and chest
^hatching, widely spaced
Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body Materials Used
damanese ig-bar’nga Outer surface of basket Body Vertical lines with brick red and oblique line with white clay
aaweed Wooden bucket, chest guard, bow Breast and chest Creeper’s juice in craft, clay on body
Hi li
lines
Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body Materials Used
amánese ig-oi-inga Across handle of paddle Body Ochre and white clay
ikkaath/hechaya Bow, wooden bucket, chest guard Face, stomach/ hands Creeper’s juice in craft, white clay on body
JX¡
as
X
°P°s 103.2008
386
Parallel lines and zigzag
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R-
G. Bed»
ai^
V\Av^W
AAAAAAAAA
YYVYvYVW
Tribe Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body Materials Used^^
Great Andamanese 1. jobo tartanga 2. to’nanga 1. Waist belt; 2. Head dress Not common White clay
Jarawas 1 st pattern onebialile Face, body Clay
Lozenge patterns
>C<XXXXX>0<X
2.
Tribe Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body MaterialsUsed^^
Great Andamanese 1. jobota ’ranga 2. ige’unga Waist belt, head dress, nautilus shell, wooden food tray White clay
Jarawas onebialile Craft Face
Guilloche
Tribe Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body Materialsf^f^-^
Great Andamanese polior-nga Bows and eating trays Body White clay
Jarawas oppodiveel Bow shaft Body Creeper’s juic6, clay onbody_^^^
Fish bone ////////// \\\\\\\\\\
Tribe Pattern Name Used on Craft Found on Body MateriaU^-^
Great Andamanese bar’nga Sling or belt Body Whiteclay^^^
Jarawas oppohaaneev Bow/wooden bucket Not found Creeper^sF^-^
Anthrop»8
103
2oo8
pala,
e°lithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
387
^ss i
^Cisions
Pattern Name
Used on Craft
Found on Body
Materials Used
reat Andamanese
ige-unga
Bows and the
handles of adzes
Not common
Cut by shell
as
bethu oppo
Bow shaft
Not found
Cut by arrow head /
knife (earlier by
shell)
Pattem Name Used on Craft Found on Body Materials Used
idamanese ote ’nga Sea shell used as food tray Not common White clay
bethubethuoppo Chest guard Not found Creeper’s juice
A ab
% °Ve survey reveals that the Jarawas share
ttte designs used by the Great Andamanese,
hw ne exception of tattooing and engraving
Sne- As far as body painting is concerned,
nges and the Great Andamanese practiced it
Pos 103.2008
more intensively than the Jarawas. Instead of hav-
ing commonness there are some patterns remain-
ing exclusive to the particular group concerned.
The following table shows the cognate pattern of
graphic culture.
388
M. Sreenathan, V. R. Rao, and R. G.
Group Body/Craft Materials Used Instrument Used Application Purpose
Erstwhile Andamanese Body Whitish grey (o ’g) mixed with water Palms of hand Smeared thickly over the entire body/ To denote mourn^
Body Whitish grey (o ’g) mixed with water Palms of hand Thinly smearing over the body To protect from spirits/heat
Body (cheeks, body, limbs) Crafts White clay (ta ’la-o ’g) mixed with water Nail of the forefinger Designs are drawn on body and implements Ornamentally
Body (zigzags and strips designs) Burned yellow ochre (ko ’ib) mixed with animal fat Fingertips All over the body 1. Decorating livIIlg and dead 2. Medicinal use 3. Protect from insects
Onges Body Red ochre, red ochre with animal fat (pig/ turtle) Smearing Mourning
Body White clay (alame) mixed with water Fingernails/ scraper (pith) Smearing and scraping all over the body/ mouth/ face 1. Ornamentati011 2. Celebrating victory 3. Protect from spirits 4. Medicinal 5. Insect repelte^
Jarawas Body White clay mixed with water Fingernails/ fingertips/ scraper Smearing and scraping or directly drawing the designs over the body/ mouth/face (mostly designs of face, chest, etc. are found different) 1. Ornamentati011 2. Celebrating victory 3. Protect from spirits 4. Medicinal 5. Insect repelli
Body Red ochre with animal fat Fingernails/ fingertips/ scraper Body smearing and scraping or directly drawing to the body Restrictively apF during cerem°n , t0 (death/other, ne° be clarified)^^^^
Crafts Bailatha juice (creeper) Arrow head Designs are made after smearing a coating of wax Decorative
The above illustrates that the Andaman groups
have a shared graphic culture. It is reflected both in
the absence of figurative production and in shared
graphic designs.
O
The data presented in this article were made possible by
the genuine cooperation of the Jarawas (ong). We greatly
appreciate their inputs and wish to thank them ^rS! ¿¡nil1'
we wish to acknowledge the Andaman Nicobar A
istration for generously extending local supp°rt’ ¡¡fld
suits of the article were part of a project, “Lang°a ;cal
Culture of the Jarawas,” funded by the Anthrop01^ ¡r
Survey of India, Ministry of Culture, Government
dia. We also extend thanks to the scholars of An ^al
logical Survey of India, Andaman and Nicobar
Centre, Port Blair.
&&
Anthropos
alaeolithi
1C Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
389
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Anthropology 21: 537-564.
Zeki, S. Affieri'
1992 The Visual Image in Mind and Brain. Scienti]1
can 267: 43-50. .
1993 A Vision of the Brain. Oxford: Blackwell Scien 1
lications. jn_ ON
1999 Inner Vision. An Exploration of Art and the r
ford: Oxford University Press.
,03.20°®
Anthropos
anthropos
103.2008: 393-403
^ligious Oral Tradition and Literacy among the Yezidis of Iraq
Eszter Spät
~ This article analyses how emerging literacy among
ttli . Urdish-speaking Yezidis of northern Iraq is affecting their
oral tradition. It looks at the issue of canonisation,
r)r nern'sing mythology, discarding elements deemed obsolete
gill n'Scientific, rejecting myth perceived to be of Islamic ori-
nee^and finally, how new myth are constructed to meet new
the ’ ra*sed by modem education and increased contact with
e.>de world. [Yezidis, Kurds, oral tradition, literizing soci-
’ redgion, mythopoesis]
Vw f ..
Cer)| ^Pat, PhD student at Medieval Studies Department,
a* European University, Budapest. The title of her thesis is:
of y tradition and Its Changes in the Middle East. The Case
Mythology and Late Antique Mythopoesis.” - She
fr0 d out field research in the Kurdish region of northern Iraq
20o4^u§Ust 2002 until June 2003, from April 2004 until May
Qn a' and in September 2006. She authored several publications
Yezidis, their religious memory, oral tradition, and origin
See also References Cited.
The ,
Uj ,w°rds “Kurdistan” and “Kurds” conjure up
{j0 llllage of Islam in the mind of most people.
IraWever, not all the Kurds living in Turkey, Syria,
% • an’ ancl the Caucasian states are Muslims,
tiv ,ru Muslims to be more exact. There are rela-
^ ^ Srtiall but important groups among the Kurds,
shll follow creeds that retain religious con-
^flueathed by distant ancestors before the
0 ance of Islam. Yezidis are a case in question.
l(^e a powerful group among the Kurds, if the
the 'Century “Sherefname”1 is a reliable source,
dumber of Yezidis has dwindled considerably
i})(j 0 repeated persecution and forced conversions.
Ly their largest community lives in northern
Pie) c°Unting perhaps between 200-300.000 peo-
hoq ’ ^hile there are about ten thousand in Syria
hte Transcaucasia, hardly a few hundred in
Turkey, and a considerable immigrant community
(most of them refugees from Turkey) in Western
Europe. Yezidis follow their own peculiar religion,
which can be traced back to the faith of the West-
ern Iranian immigrants arriving in this region more
than three millennia ago, though it clearly displays
the influence of all the religions that exerted their
influence in this region in the last three millennia.2 *
One of the many peculiar characteristics of Yez-
idi religion is its oral nature. Until quite recently
the faith of the Yezidis was based on oral tradition.
They had no written texts, in fact, even writing was
forbidden to its followers, with the exception of
one sheikh family. Sacred texts (hymns and myths)
were memorised and transmitted from father to son
by the qewels, the sacred bards of the Yezidis. This
oral nature shaped the structure and nature of Yezi-
di belief system. This oral nature has, however, un-
dergone profound changes in the last few decades,
thanks to the spread of compulsory education, gen-
eral literacy, the interest of outsiders in Yezidi faith,
and the interest of literate Yezidis in what outsiders
had to say about them. As a result, Yezidism no
longer can be called a purely oral religion.
Yezidis have always lived dispersed over a wide
stretch of land, and communities far from each
other had only limited contact while they faced
varying external influences. As a result, consider-
able differences have developed, and it would be
1 “Sherefname” or “Sharafnama” is the famous book of Sharaf
al-Din Bitlisi (Iranian Kurdish historian and poet) (1543-
1599) written in Persian, which is regarded as a main source
on Kurdish history. He wrote it in 1597 in Iran.
2 For more details of the Yezidis see Guest 1993; Kreyenbroek
and Rashow 2005; Spät 2005.
V*unuun
394
Eszter SP»
difficult to speak about Yezidi customs in general,
save for some basic characteristics. Therefore, it
may be assumed that the advent of literacy, though
in itself a general phenomenon, may not have nec-
essarily generated the same changes and reaction
in “every comer of Yezidi land.” This article deals
with the phenomenon of transition from oral to
written culture among the Yezidis of northern Iraq,
more particularly among the Yezidis around Duhok
near the Turkish border (in what functioned as the
Kurdish Autonomy between 1992-2003) and the
Sheikhan region.3
In this region school education is common, es-
pecially among the young and younger middle-
aged generation, and illiteracy is slowly becoming
a thing of the past. With school education many
modern ideas inevitably intrude into the Yezidi
worldview. Even more importantly, educated Yez-
idis, influenced by the demands of the so-called
“written religions” and modem life, started putting
their own religion into writing - something that was
unimaginable not so long ago. The revolutionary
change came in the 70s when two Yezidi univer-
sity graduates managed to secure the permission
of the Yezidi religious leaders to put down Yezidi
religious texts. The first publication was soon fol-
lowed by several others. Many of these publications
are easily available to most Yezidis in the above
mentioned region. (So, for example, Lalish and Roj
magazines, which publish sacred hymns, religious
tales, folktales, and essays on Yezidi religion, can
be found in many Yezidi homes.)
The process of putting Yezidi religion into writ-
ing was further accelerated by the sizeable Yezidi
diaspora living in the West, especially in Germany.
These Yezidis are cut off from all the old forms of
Yezidi religious life, where holiday rituals, visits
to holy places or being visited by religious lead-
ers play a central role. At the same time, living
in close proximity to other religions for the first
time, Yezidis in the West are becoming more and
more acutely aware of the fact that, unlike other
religions, they lack a holy book to which they could
refer or a clear idea of the history of their own
religion. Their children, brought up in a culture of
books and confronted by Western schoolmates or
3 I carried out my field research in the Kurdish Region of
Iraq between 2002 and 2006. Most of my observations come
from the Sheikhan region, east of Mosul. Due to practical
difficulties I could only pay two fleeting visits to the Sinjar
mountain on the Syrian border, this isolated refuge of Yezi-
dis, where the influence of the modern world is less obvious.
It may also be assumed that Yezidis living in other regions,
like Syria, Georgia or Germany for example, are exposed
to different external influences, and therefore their traditions
may see different changes.
friends with more profound religious education*a
increasingly turning to books trying to find in
mation.4 There is also a general wish to be at»
present a holy book, just like other religions. ™ t
in the past even the idea of putting a sacred
into writing would have been anathema, today ^
Yezidi households in the diaspora it is not unusn
for example, to find the two Yezidi “holy teX ’
the “Jelwa” and the “Meshefi Resh,” which con^
genuine oral tradition albeit written down by 0
siders in the 19th century (Kreyenbroek 1995- ■
25). Others claim to have found the original YeZ: ,
holy book in the form of the Zoroastrian
Avesta (Murad 1993: 396).5 The diaspora, in ^
further influences Yezidis back in their home c ^
try. This has all led to a changing attitude to^
books and oral tradition in general, at ^ea^ra 6 *
the Iraqi Sheikhan and in the European diaspu
where the place accorded to oral tradition is faij
coming usurped by books written on and mam y
Yezidis. With this development profound c^aneS^
have appeared, which seem to alter the cenW
old nature and content of Yezidi religion.
The Appearance of a “Canonical” Text
r -ral tfa'
As it is well known for all researchers or °ia -0q
dition, the most characteristic feature of tm 0f
based on orality is the simultaneous existen
4 For example, one of the interviewees of Jasim
Murad
st#0
la«8'
(Murad 1993: 384f.): “when in the German school my
mates would ask me about my religion. I would ¡Sails°f
that I am a Yazidi and then they would ask me the c0ljrse
my religion and I would just remain silent. That o ^
irritated me for these classmates know who Christ is vVpo
history of Christianity and I did not know, for examp ^ for
Sheikh Adi or Ta’us Melek is. Then I decided to se^rark8
the history and origins of our religion. I went to the t
and checked out some books written in German a Q0h
Yezidis. From these sources I learned that we wors ^
and believe in seven angels headed by Ta’us Melep^jlip
found the two holy books Mishaf Rash and Jalwa-^ t#
Kreyenbroek also confirmed in several conversa ^ fo)
the search for identity among the young and the ^ y^d1
books was a strong driving force behind the birth 0 g in
religious literature in Germany. On the role
Yezidi culture m the West see also Kreyenbroek an
(2005: 45 f.) vie#d
5 Murad (1993:396) writes “many informants haV°
the two manuscripts and declare them to be authe ^ p0(#
of their religion. Those informants wrapped the sh#
in silk garment and carefully stored them on a s
beyond the reach of children.” Ir#'
6 The isolated and impoverished Sinjar mountain on fu#8
Syrian border, that has been a refuge of Yezidis fQl^ ^ei»
and was under Saddam’s rule until recently, seems ^ ab°
a more traditional picture at present, though this
change in the near future.
103.20°®
Anthropos
Keii
®10us Oral Tradition and Literacy among the Yezidis of Iraq
different versions of the same motif or story.
*s, or at least used to be, true for Yezidis as
■ as many travellers and researchers of the past
t e noticed. The different versions may even con-
lct each other from time to time, or may at least
v 111 ^logical to a Western observer. As Kreyen-
Orafk ^995: 19) writes “It is well known that, in
< . iterature, it is impossible to identify a single
Ho ^!na^ or ‘true’ version of an account.” There is
°fficial’ form of the faith ... different people
SeVe been taught different things ..., some Yezidis
A1 capable of holding mutually exclusive beliefs
Prey6 Same bme • • • tbe la°k °f written tradition has
Sv eilted the development of a single, monolithic
of beliefs.”
aevv ltb the publication of Yezidi sacred texts a
in . ^evel°Pment appeared. People have started to
0n the written version as the only correct
atomic one. The written version acquires the
ver re and reputation of a holy scripture - all other
is Sl°ns are compared with this and any divergence
theCOrtlrtlented on as, e.g., “It is wrong” “He (i.e.,
W0Jj°Urce) is mistaken.”7 It is possible, though it
oan d be hard to prove, that the wish for “one,
e^sed body of writings” can subconsciously be
p0 n^cted with a wish to refute one of the most
ly ar Muslim accusations against Yezidis, name-
ly- at they have no written scriptures and are
of 0re kafirs, or unbelievers. This accusation is
eye cb a great relevance in Kurdish culture that
Ve?. Christians speak about this characteristic of
ism in a negative way.
c)Uc] ls novel notion of an “authentic version” in-
gin es not only the written text itself, but it is be-
as ^to influence the way sources are viewed
SoCi . The idea, characteristic of all “literizing”
^?4-leS’tbat orality is inferior to literacy (Henige
the t ^) is extended to religious experts. Qewels,
'''hnm 1^0na^ keepers of religious lore, most of
Oq 51 are still illiterate, enjoy ever less respect,
a n e other hand, literate persons, who - due to
Pen ' ber °f factors - have become known as “ex-
Y^Vezidi texts,” that is, they are often quoted
observations were also made by Christine Allison a
8 Durmeearlier (2001: 19).
9ew tr'P to Beshiqe-Behzani, the twin-villages where
eral] V additionally reside, for example, local people gen-
s°ttie ^re^errec^ t0 introduce me to “laymen,” whom for
reUa' reason ihey saw as knowledgeable about the topic of
0wn n’ and accompanied me to meet qewels only at my
that re4uest. Some even expressed an opinion to the effect
(and religious leaders for that matter) were no
Way . Wbat they used to be, and their knowledge can in no
“SUn.e Cornpared to the qewels of the past. In the Yezidi
teacp a/. school” in Beshiqe, a school set up in the 90s to
How t ahren of the twin-villages their religion, children are
§ht from books by laymen and not by qewels.
ntS°s 103 2008
395
in newspaper articles published by Yezidis, are seen
as the only authentic sources when it comes to dif-
ferences between two versions. Yezidis repeatedly
tried to discourage me from trying to interview
other, less well-known persons, on the basis that
“they know less than X.” I have repeatedly met
with confusion and perplexity, when I wanted to
speak with yet another person, after having talked
with a more valued authority, especially if he was
known to “have published” about Yezidi religion.
My explanation that there may be “a different ver-
sion” was even understood to mean that I found the
version already told incorrect.
Such an attitude, which insists on one fixed ver-
sion coming from one accredited source, will even-
tually lead to the weeding out of “non-canonised”
versions and an impoverishment, or at least simpli-
fication of Yezidi lore. But it is not only the mere
amount of differing variants that is being affected
by these changes.
Books on the Yezidis as a Source of Knowledge
Another far-reaching development of literacy is that
the written word has started influencing the self-
perception of the Yezidis, and it has become a
source of knowledge even for so-called religious
experts. Books and periodicals are read enthusiasti-
cally by many these days. The written word enjoys
great respect and is trusted far more than the mem-
ory and knowledge of a living person. (I have even
seen a micawir, or guardian of a shrine, take out
his hand-written collection of hymns - despite the
traditional ban on writing.)
Here I would like to quote a few telling exam-
ples to demonstrate the general interest among lit-
erate (though not necessarily very educated) Yez-
idis in all forms of literature on the Yezidis, their
history, and religion. In Shariya, a collective vil-
lage near Duhok, I was shown the book of the late
American researcher, John Guest, “Survival among
the Kurds.” My host proudly claimed having read
its contents with the aid of a dictionary, and called
my attention to the fact that it contained a number
of sacred hymns. He even offered me the book so
that I could gain from it what he called good infor-
mation on Yezidis and their religion (regardless of
the fact that the book did not belong to him but to
his neighbour, as his mother pointed out). Admit-
tedly, of all Yezidi settlements Shariya is the one
where contact with foreigners has been the most
frequent in the last decade, and where perhaps there
are more people speaking or understanding some
English than in other villages. This is due to its
396
proximity to Duhok, in the former Kurdish Auton-
omy, with its international NGOs and the UN, an
important source of jobs for nearly a decade, and
also to the fact that Shariya was one of the four
Yezidi settlements that foreign researchers could
dream of setting their feet into.
But even if the presence of a piece of Western
scholarship can be called an exception, books and
periodicals written by Yezidis or even by outsiders
in Arabic (provided they wrote of the Yezidis in
a favourable light) have definitely found their way
to many Yezidi households around Duhok and in
the Sheikhan. Just like in the case of Guest’s book,
these writings are often seen by younger people as
the best way to obtain knowledge about Yezidi tra-
ditions. In the course of my field research I was re-
peatedly referred to two Yezidi periodicals, Lalish
and Roj, as the “best sources of information.” In one
case a university undergraduate even painstakingly
translated a folktale, sentence by sentence, for my
sake from Roj magazine. Sheikh Mîrza of Baadra,
who claimed to be the descendant of the 17th-cen-
tury Yezidi hero Ëzdi Mîrza, leafed through a num-
ber of books written in Kurdish to look for his
family tree and other information on his illustrious
forebear. (This is all the more surprising because
according to my experience family and tribal his-
tory generally still belong to the realm of oral tra-
dition among the Iraqi Yezidis.)
This phenomenon poses a new “caveat” for un-
suspecting researchers; one that is known as “feed-
back” among researchers of oral tradition. “Feed-
back may be defined as the co-opting of extraneous
printed or written information into previously oral
accounts” (Henige 1974: 96), and it has been wide-
ly studied among oral groups who came under the
influence of literate cultures. The influence of books
that become sources of a new tradition in their turn,
that is feedback, is not a recent phenomenon among
the Yezidis - it was first noticed when a literate elite
appeared in the first half of the 20th century, though
we cannot rule out an earlier appearance. Lescot,
writing on the book “El Yazdîyya,” by the black
sheep of the Yezidi princely family, Ismail Choi
beg, published in 1934, warned that “l’auteur a eu
connaissance des articles sur la secte édités dans
des revues arabes; il a naturellement accepté toutes
les erreurs qu’ils contenaient et les a fidèlement
reproduites” (1938: 6). Just around the same time,
the anthropologist Henry Field purchased a Yezi-
di book in Beled Sinjar.9 Upon showing it to Fa-
9 The “capital” of the Sinjar mountain that has a sizeable
Yezidi population, and where Yezidi-Christian relations have
traditionally been very good.
Eszter
Sp^
Yezidi
very
ther Anstase-Marie al-Carmali, an expert on
texts, al-Carmali broke out heatedly “this is a
bad joke, an insult... this is a careless translate
into Arabic of my article on the Yazidiyah in
Encyclopedia of Islam” (Field 1975: vii).
With the growing influence of literacy s
uch
for
ex-
backs have become a common phenomenon,
example, on several occasions I was told by
perts”10 that the black xirqe, the sacred garrTl^oj
of the Yezidi holy men, the feqirs, was a sym^
of the original darkness that surrounded the P®4^
that is God himself, before the creation started-
other words, the black shirt symbolises the o
inal garment covering God. This was someth
I have never met before in the literature on Yezi ^
and I considered it, rather proudly, an interes
new piece of information on Yezidi religion. A ..j
only by chance that later on in Gottingen Dr. N
Jindy Rashow (known among Yezidis as She|
Xalil Jindy), a Yezidi researcher presently h ^
in Germany but publishing in Kurdish, heard ^
recorded on my tape. He told me that this ^aS
an original piece of Yezidi mythology but his
idea or interpretation of the black shirt of the/^7 ^
which he had published in the Roj magazm6^
was obviously where my two informants had r .
it and then passed it on as an authentic bit of f„
mythology. (It is worth noting that one of my111 -j
mants was from Behzani, under Saddam’s rule g
recently, which means that Yezidi publication8 ^
reached even there, despite the official P°^C^o
repression of Yezidi identity.) Through those
read Yezidi publications or publications on YeX
usually considered the “local intelligentsia,” m ^
formation is quick to reach others and event11
becomes part of the oral tradition.
Not only do books take the place of oral tram jj,
where gaining concrete information on Yezid* g
gion is concerned, but they have started inflne ^ir
Yezidi identity as well. Thus, for example, &6 t6
glish teacher of the high school in Baadra, ^aI^0iy
Sabah, claimed that the content of the three ^
Books, that is, the Old and New Testament ^ 0p
Quran, can all be traced back to the sacred s
(i.e., mythology) of the Sumerians. At the
time, Sumerian sacred texts (just as later E>a ^
nian and Assyrian texts) mention the
which had been solved to mean “pure souls, ^
who go on the right path.” In other words,
to the Yezidis, who are thus proven to be the 0f
tainhead of Sumerian religion and conseque11
10 These experts were Sheikh Dosti, the guardian of a S
Xanke, and Arab Xidir, a village teacher collecting
texts, see below.
103
,20°8
Anthropos
e%ious Oral Tradition and Literacy among the Yezidis of Iraq
!Je ^ree religions based on the above mentioned
0 y Books. According to Mamoste Sabah, the
urce of his knowledge on this matter was a book
j dtten by Dr. Xalil Jindy Rashow. Unfortunately,
^ ad no way to ascertain the exact content of the
°°k, but this certainly demonstrates the great im-
c*- of the written word (especially if written by
s a°rs well-known to the community) on the dis-
id nation °f new ideas and formation of Yezidi
atity as regards their own religion and past.
s toterestingly enough, some of the books that
id* to have exerted a great influence on how Yez-
view their own mythology and religion were
hen by non-Yezidis. One of them is the Chris-
11 George Habibi whose theory of the Assyrian
y °ln of the Yezidis, also put forward by other non-
ve2ldi authors, enjoys a great popularity among the
ezidis (who quote him or read from his book to
, P!Port their claim of an Assyrian origin). It may
taf6 been ln a simiiar waY that die Sufi interpre-
Orj10n °f Lucifer’s Fall reached Yezidism. Though
penally the Yezidi view of the creation very sim-
ev-j ld not accept the existence of the Devil or any
a Principle, now quite a few Yezidis will repeat
Plot)1 ^aian£ interpretation of the myth that can
Hallably traced back to the Sufi philosopher al-
Cj^ aF According to this interpretation, when Lu-
Qfc/ re^Used to worship Adam, despite having been
10 ered to do so by God, he was in fact just being
vy0r God, who earlier commanded him not to
te/Sbto any other being. Though this is a very in-
[j()^dng interpretation of Lucifer’s Fall, it simply
not fit into Yezidi mythology, where there is
[[ w utely no place for the evil. In all probability,
t0 s from the work of Muslim authors, who tried
\v0r jp. ain the obviously false accusation of Devil
this ■ among the Yezidis, that Yezidis picked up
raapniCe sounding story. Today it is repeated by
OpeJj^ezidis (though not by the most conservative
^ and also by some educated Muslims.
Yezidi Mythology: Scientific
erPretation
^her salient feature of this transition from the
0 the written is a “rewriting,” one could say
Feqir Had, one of the best-known and most
thisLea exPerts on Yezidi religious lore, emphatically denied
O'* and none of those older people who acquired their
ti0riai ec*§e> much or little, on Yezidi religion in the tradi-
Was toral) way repeated this myth. On the other hand, it
on YgUotec* Py a number of people who had read publications
rea(l Zlclls and were obviously influenced by what they had
exarnple,
the
V103,
2008
397
a modernisation, of their own mythology by the
Yezidis. For long centuries, the Yezidi community
was relatively isolated, and had limited contact with
its - often hostile - Muslim neighbours, and even
less with the world outside the Kurdish mountains.
Today there is an ever-increasing contact with the
external world, and what is more important, a grow-
ing participation in it (both in Europe and in Iraq).
This increased contact with the world in large
has led to an attempt at modernisation and simi-
larly at trying to avoid ridicule. Yezidis, who have
attended school and have extensive, everyday con-
tact with non-Yezidis (Muslims or Christians), tend
to modernise or rewrite their legends so that they
conform to the expectation of outsiders and also to
their new found knowledge of history and science.
Some Yezidi intellectuals leading this trend like to
refer to it as “reforming” Yezidi faith.12 As a part of
this process some myths are slowly being discarded
as absurd, while others receive new interpretation.
These novel interpretations sometimes seem to con-
tradict the ethos of Yezidi hymns and tales, while
they are more in keeping with Christian and Mus-
lim notions on the divine and its relationship with
the created world.
An arresting feature of such attempts to make
Yezidi faith “up-to-date” is the wish to give a
modern scientific interpretation to Yezidi legends,
so that they be fit for consumption by people whose
worldview is determined by compulsory school
education. How educated Yezidis of a modem turn
of mind wish to see their own religion, and have
it seen by outsiders, was eloquently demonstrated
by the principal of a school in Eyn Sifni. The
principal, who formerly taught in the Yezidi village
of Baadra (the Kurdish Autonomy), instructed me
to write about the Yezidis in a “scientific way”
(alemi) and not like other researchers. When asked
what exactly he meant by this, he expressed his
distaste for what he called “old men’s fancy” about
people flying up to the sky and similar absurd tales
(or myths as a researcher would call them), and
explained that researchers must call attention to the
fact that Yezidi hymns express scientific truth only
recently known to modem science. For example,
hymns on the creation talk of the world first being
an endless sea above which God was travelling
in a ship, while modern science has only recently
12 Thus, for example, Pir Mamou Othman, at the conference
on Yezidis in Frankfurt (“Yezidism in Transition,” 12-17
April, 2007, Frobenius Institute), talked of the need of “ref-
ormation of religion” and repeatedly referred to the influ-
ence of Martin Luther and the Reformation of Christianity
in Europe, drawing a parallel to the need of a similar “Ref-
ormation” in the framework of Yezidi religion.
398
Eszter Spat
“proven” that water was the beginning of life on
earth. Accordingly, he wanted me to talk about the
ancient scientific knowledge coated in ceremonial
language in Yezidi hymns, instead of what he
viewed as fairy tales, like accounts on incarnated
angels and their miraculous deeds.
His endeavours in a scientific interpretation of
Yezidi religious traditions are not unique among the
educated Yezidis. Arab Xidir, a volunteer collector
of sacred hymns and a teacher at the religious Yezi-
di school in Beshiqe-Behzani, who is known for his
exceptional interest in Yezidi lore, expressed simi-
lar opinions. Rather proudly he related that Yezi-
di hymns contain a hidden, deeper understanding
of the universe which has become known to the
great masses only recently. He quoted a hymn on
the death of Sheikh Hassan, killed by Badradin
Lulu, mentioning a “black star” (stere resh) which
he claimed to refer to the phenomenon known as
“black hole” centuries before Western science re-
alised its existence. The popular tale of Mir Mih,
the young prince looking for a place where no death
exists, who then spends 400 years at the abode of
Fortune as if it were 4, was interpreted by him
as an allegory of Einstein’s concept of relativity.
Similarly he claimed that Yezidi qewls speaking of
the Seven Angels and God prove that Yezidis had
a heliocentric view long before Copernicus. This
ancient knowledge was also indicated by the sema,
a religious dance, as well, where the line of the
seven men circumambulating the sacred fire sym-
bolises the stars turning around the sun. As a further
proof he mentioned that while all other religions
speak of water as the element out of which the
world was created, Yezidi hymns alone name the air
(.ba), which as we now know is the basis of water
(H20) and all other elements. Of course, this latter
information is at variance with the one volunteered
by the school principal mentioned above, but in
both cases we meet the same concept: Yezidi qewls
indicate a divinely inspired scientific understanding
of the universe that is unique among religious texts.
How fast this approach is gaining ground was
demonstrated by a young university student of
physics from the University of Duhok (Iraq). Dur-
ing an interview (concerning the creation of the
world), when she helped me with the translation,
she referred to the divine pearl of the hymns from
which the world was created as “atom,” to the cre-
ation as the “Big Boom,” and the barren period
before vegetation was created as the “Ice Age.”
Typically, she did not really translate what was
said (as I later ascertained listening to my tapes,)
rather she told me her own ideas which were clearly
influenced by her wish to adjust her faith to her
scientific knowledge. Whether such attempt8 a ,
modern, scientific interpretation of ancient saC
texts are culturally influenced by similar attend
among Muslims to find references to all i*10
scientific phenomena in the holy text of the G
(such as rockets for example) is an open quest! •
Not only the content but even the very orig111
these sacred hymns has become a “bone of c
tention” in the quest for making a “scientific ^
ligion” out of Yezidi faith. Some reformist g0^
far as to claim that Yezidi tradition attribute8 ^
authorship of Yezidi sacred hymns to differeIlt -r
man beings, and Yezidis have no tradition ot
sacred texts being revealed by angels or sent I
the sky, despite the clear (and recorded) evidence
the contrary.13 . j.
The other aspect of this rewriting of the my1 ^
ogy is the wish to avoid ridicule in the eye8
outsiders, or even, if I may use an anachron
the wish to be politically correct, that is, not to
things that may be taken amiss by the majority-
best example of this is the fate of the Yezidi oh
myth, the myth of Shehid bin Jerr. Accordingt0 ^
narrative, the Yezidi nation was not created like''
other nations or peoples. This story has severe ^
sions, but they all claim that Yezidis were cr
from the seed of Adam, which symbolised hi8 j,
vine power, and was placed in a jar by the Pea j
Angel. After 9 months a beautiful boy was m j
in this jar, Shehid bin Jerr, who married a 0f
from paradise, and they became the forefam6
the Yezidis. Furthermore, Shehid knew the true ,jS.
ligion of God, which he passed on to the
Other nations were bom in an inferior
through sexual intercourse between Eve and A ^
therefore, they are inferior. Naturally they ® ^
possess knowledge of the tme religion and arc ^
sidered impure. Yezidis are forbidden to marU
inferior creatures. Clearly, such a myth s°un.(j6fS-
ther absurd or insulting, perhaps both, to out81
It is hardly surprising, therefore, that pe°Pie jp
Qewel Suleyman, the head of the qewels, oi\wni
gious singers, at first pretended not to be ta ^
with this story, insisting that everybody wa8 ^id
from Adam and Eve. Arab Xidir referred to b ^
as the first prophet, and while he talked of h|8^0f
ing married a houri, he never mentioned the s ^
the jar. When asked, he claimed that Shehid ^ ^
other than Adam, who was made from waten ^
air, and fire, according to Yezidi mythology
------------- Oih^'1
13 This view was put forward, for example, by Mam°u ^ suA
at the Frankfurt conference. It is debatable, howeve^ №
an extremely rationalist view would be ernbrac to
majority of the Yezidis, especially as they feel t
become a “religion of the book” as noticed above.
Anthropos
103
,2008
£i°us Oral Tradition and Literacy among the Yezidis of Iraq
said, water and earth give clay, which is
fire TPUt to air’ and d *s finaHy cooked in
°f th * residt a Jar- Thus the epithet bin Jerr (son
fr ne Jar) simply referred to Adam as a man created
Shi
> the
same four elements as a jar. Others, like
^eik Alo from Shariya, a former Communist Party
gra ber’ talked about the myth as something “our
firin Cdadlers believed in, but of course today we
^ that we are all from Adam and Eve.”
^amic Origin and Islam as an Alien
this modem “rewriting” of Yezidi lore en-
of another phenomenon, namely, the rejecting
enCe y n°tions of Islamic origin or Muslim influ-
bee- Tezidi-Muslim relations have traditionally
eith rat^er strained, as Yezidis were considered
dev-er as kafirs or as heretics, that is, Muslims who
f ed from the right path, a capital sin in Islam.
Pr0
fac<, this
Pagand
view still holds fast despite the official
a of declaring Yezidi faith the “original
irig 1S^ rehgion.”14 Today, when the understand-
C0,a^ dealing with religion has become more
fiafil0US amon§ the educated, Yezidis seem to be
*fiat tdeir revenge” in a novel way. They claim
larrj an^l^^ng that appears to be connected with Is-
reji a “foreign body” added to the pure Yezidi
of a n either to mislead the Muslims or as a result
Tussive Muslim proselytising.
0i0st ls is best reflected in the way Sheikh Adi, the
tfeat V^PMtunt religious figure of Yezidi faith, is
efed today- Sheikh Adi was traditionally consid-
divine being incarnated in human form, the
c0ck y Manifestation of Tawusi Melek, the Pea-
Ve^ngel, and the head of the Seven Angels.
Many f^Mns even seem to identify him with God.
He a e^ends talk of miracles performed by him.
to
is
mb
central figure of Yezidi hymns and his
for tu1S most important place of pilgrimage
Cejituj6 ^ez^d^s- In the second half of the 19th
Cons ,y’ however, he was identified by the French
bin jyr’ ^ Siouffi, with the historical Sheikh Adi
^fiawjUSa^r’ '•he 12th-century founder of the Sufi
°f tirt^9 0rder, and of Arabic origin. In the course
’ this was confirmed by other researchers
m b-a and could be called a common knowledge
9 today. On the other hand, in the 30s the
■'oiUe D
laieoui^e actually manage to endorse both views simul-
°rigina] ^ Phat is, they proudly claim that Yezidism, the
tianity ^Ur(tish faith, is much older than Islam and Chris-
mat Yg°r even Judaism and Zoroastrianims, while insisting
^atan\Zfd'S Worship the Devil and quoting the Sufi story of
mth,
r°Pos
J03.2008
399
Bedirxan brothers, in their search for a unified Kur-
dish identity came up with the idea that Yezidism
was in fact the original, pre-Islamic Kurdish reli-
gion (Strohmeier 2003: 167). During the struggle
for Kurdish independence in the last few decades,
much was made of this theory, and it was enthu-
siastically embraced by many Yezidis as well, at
least in the Sheikhan region.15 For Yezidis keen
about this “original Kurdish religion image,” the
presence of Sheikh Adi, an Arab and a Muslim,
proved somewhat confusing or even embarrassing.
It was all the more so as the Saddam regime tried
to present the Yezidis as people of an Arab origin,
and Sheikh Adi’s figure was quite useful for this
purpose. As a result, these days educated Yezidis
who wish to distance themselves from any allega-
tion that Yezidi faith is a deviation of Islam not only
reject the divinity of Sheikh Adi but also stress that
he was a reformer, and no more, of the Yezidi reli-
gion. The presence of many elements perceived as
coming from Islam is thus attributed to the outside
influence of Sheikh Adi. The idea of Sheikh Adi as
a mere reformer leads to another curious develop-
ment. There seems to be a new theory among the
Yezidis of two clearly separate stages in the history
of the Yezidis, one before and one after Sheikh Adi.
Sometimes two different versions of the same myth
are being explained as one belonging to the time be-
fore Sheikh Adi and the other to the one after him.
Younger, educated, and secular Yezidis, with a
strong Kurdish consciousness, go even further in
“rejecting” Sheikh Adi. For example, talking of
certain taboos, like not eating fish, one young man
claimed: “these do not have to be followed because
they are not ancient Yezidi ideas but come from
Sheikh Adi, who was an Arab.”16 Even the idea that
Sheikh Adi “corrupted” pure Yezidi faith is voiced
occasionally. For example, they state that Yezidi
hymns are not authentic, as Sheikh Adi used the
old Yezidi texts and mixed them with quotations
taken from the Quran. They base this assertion on
the presence of Arabic words and expressions in the
hymns, the references to Islam and the Sunna, and
some coincidences they claim to see in the Quranic
text and the hymns, saying that the two use the same
words and expressions.
Such a bias against Islam may even lead to the
rejection of legends and hymns which should be
15 1 found that in the Sinjar mountain, for example, the situation
is somewhat different.
16 Similar observations were made by Allison (2001: 39). An-
other solution, among those of a more traditional mind, who
are not willing to deny Sheikh Adi, is to claim that his family
originally hailed from Hakkari and that he was bom among
the Kurds of Lebanon.
400
rightly considered authentic Yezidi legends, as their
content clearly echoes the Yezidi ethos. But these
are still rejected by “modernising” Yezidis - often
with their exact content unknown - as “late inser-
tions,” simply because the heroes of such works
bear the names of Islamic historical figures. The so-
called “Qewle Mezin,” or Great Hymn, is a perfect
example. This hymn on Yezid bin Muawiya was de-
clared a “forgery” by a young university graduate,
who is an editor of the Yezidi periodical Lalish, and
who writes articles on the faith of the Yezidis. He
claimed that the hymn was the product of attempts
on the part of Yezidis to placate Muslims by insert-
ing the name of a Muslim personage, the second
Umayyad caliph, into their system. This view was
shared by Arab Xidir, mentioned above, who was
of the opinion that the Great Hymn itself was an
authentic hymn, but that the name of Yezid bin
Muawiya was inserted into it later on by Muslims.
No attention was paid to the fact that the hymn is
built around the figure and reputation (as a drunk-
ard given to lewd and irresponsible ways) of Yezid
bin Muawiya. Similarly, neither of my informants
seemed to recall that the caliph has never enjoyed
a very good reputation in Islamic history, and the
role attributed to him in this Yezidi hymn is a plain
rejection and mockery of the Islamic shariya and
could have hardly won over any Muslim heart.
New Origin Myths of the Yezidis
The idea of a pre-Islamic origin leads almost au-
tomatically to a tendency to try to relate Yezidism
to other ancient religious movements of the region,
often following the suggestion of non-Yezidi writ-
ers (see also Allison 2001: 36, 40). Naturally, the
notion of the ancient origin of the Yezidi faith is a
traditional one. The above-mentioned Yezidi origin
myth traces the lineage of the Yezidis straight to the
son of Adam. The words “Our faith is old, very old”
is a sentence a researcher is to hear everywhere,
from fellow travellers in shared taxis travelling to
Yezidi villages to university educated Yezidis. Sim-
ilarly, most Yezidis will be ready to tell anyone in-
terested that Yezidis used to be far more numerous
in the past, and their numbers had been reduced
dramatically due to the repeated persecutions and
forced conversions. Today many will even mention
that originally all Kurds were Yezidis, a notion that
enjoys official patronage from the Kurdish state’s
intent on building up a national myth. Of course,
these statements do not lack the historical funda-
ment, as persecutions are still vividly remembered,
and many people, even younger ones have some
Eszter
Spat
idea when and where their tribe came from,1
lowing a wave of massacres and forced c°n ^
m°re.
sions. However, there is a marked difference
tween communal memory regarding past but ^
or less concrete events transmitted by w°r j
mouth, and the new Yezidi myth of an ancient
glorious past that is being constructed by e<^UC^0ut
Yezidis who are writing or reading articles a
their people and religion. While simple peopt£
satisfied with the stressing of the fact that theh^
ligion is very old or the oldest one, and that
used to be far more numerous, educated Yezid ^
to trace the lineage of their faith to the once glofl ^
cultures and religions of the Middle East, the cm ^
of modem civilisation, or what is more, they 111
vindicate a Yezidi origin for these cultures. t0
Yezidis are not the only or the first on ^
try to trace their descent from the long-g°ne ^
pires of the Middle East. Claiming a glorious^
cestry is a source of prestige in the regi°n ,LCK,
son 2001: 36, 41). In a clear instance of feeu^g
Christians identify themselves with the Assy ^
since the 19th century, when European resear<Lfd-
first put the theory of their Assyrian origin *of
Zoroastrian descent is popular among Kurds, ^
others draw their swords to prove that Km ^
no others than the descendants of the Medcs^ ^
Sumerian origin is claimed by all and sundry y
region (including even some Turkish researc
Among Yezidis a disconcerting number of tn
are circulating today. Some talk enthusias >
of the Assyrians, who have long been pllt)
as putative grandfathers of the Yezidis by rlCjent
Western researchers.18 Sumerians and the a
religions” of Mesopotamia are also often ^
tioned (boundaries between different d6111®8 ufe
nations seem to have become somewhat o
here). Others put great energy into discos
erin£
tbe
----------------- i
17 I.e., Turkey, other parts of Iraq, or even, surprising r a
as an older Dina woman of the pir class, origin2 j ^g 1°
Syrian village near the Iraqi border, claimed. A-cC^at Wit-
her, her people originated in Russia, and came fin*11!
once the Ottoman Empire only after a persecuti p0inte
off all the pirs of her tribe. Another young ^eZ1. ^ &orfe(’
out, on a trip to the mountains just next to the Turkic
around Kani Masi, that there used to be many №
less than a century ago, and many settlements sti j 1#
same names as Yezidi villages today more to the, t Ye
no way of checking the truth content of this statejr0portaT
again another Yezidi claimed that Hatra, once an ^ yeZ'^1
town of the Assyrians, well south of Mosul, used to y6zi2'
until its inhabitants were moved to the North,t0 yjjislS
village of Xeter, a few kilometres north of Mos
obviously a case of false etymological reasoning- 0f fi1^
18 Some Assyrian Christians also embrace the n0tlten if №■
Assyrian origin of the Yezidis, though it is hard t°.eratio11'
Ho oo nnt af rrpnninp PAmnr'tian of nr>] itieal consi
do so out of genuine conviction or political -
103
,20°8
Anthrop08
H*.
Oral Tradition and Literacy among the Yezidis of Iraq
f^asw9 or even “Mithrean” origins of their
, • A constructed past needs its own myths, and
ta] e attemPt to prove such relationships the Yezidi
nt for creating myths seems to spring to life
tjj ^ So, for example, I was told in all seriousness
^re were ancient Assyrian pictograms on the
by Lalish sanctuary, only they were covered
je^i *te plaster so that Muslims would not become
^ °ds. On another occasion, I was told that the
bUL^an r°ck carvings on the mountainside above
Ye °k represented the Seven Holy Angels of the
ei&h 18 (actuallY each of the three panels showed
1 figures). The conviction that the legend of Mir
Hfe ’.a y°ung prince who went in search of eternal
Was’ls ln fact the same myth as the Gilgamesh epic
^voiced by several people.
Mth^e of the most ambitious are not satisfied
^Hc' merely tracing the origin of the Yezidis to
civilisations, but rather turn the whole thing
tj0 na and set out to prove that these very civilisa-
haV(!he 'Original Kurds,’
p0 °ncc been Yezidis, has for some time enjoyed
are tKWere in fact Yezidis. The notion that Yezidis
in other words all Kurds
foi
'Ptfiarit
Und£
y not only among Yezidis but - since the
tfie atlon the Kurdish Autonomy in 1991 and
for constructing a national myth - among
C Kurds as well (Allison 2001: 38, 41).21 But
Wi^h u°ot searching Yezidis are no longer content
V: fils and have lately tried to lay claim to more
Quality.”
ten.116 example of Yezidis having provided other
aps,'°ns with their mythology through the Sumeri-
Un as ficen mentioned above. Another one, rather
apC£ lrig for Western ears, is that of Aryan {Art)
Ve?j ,r-v- The notion of the Aryan ancestry of the
lS’ 0r rather of Yezidi faith being the original
i&in^i^fiulterated Aryan religion, seems to have
a surprising popularity.22 I have heard fleet-
fences to such ancestry several times (but
tors°aStrians have a'so been proposed as the putative ances-
^ (l92§| ^ezidis by early researchers like Rev. Empson
Cs are not the only Kurdish heterodox group to seek
KUrd Wlth pre-Islamic cults. The Ahl-i Haqq of southern
cultu stan also “like to emphasize the endogenity of their
lorg”^ anh spirituality, and minimise the Arabo-Islamic
) Musi- nus securing themselves a respected space among the
* It but nationalist majority (During 1998: 111),
buboj n°ted that while Yezidis in the Sheikhan and the
Ve2id. are enthusiastically embracing this notion, Sinjari
fall ()fS lns'st that they are a people apart, and since the
2 breti lhe Saddam regime have managed to infuriate their
I c,nren by stubbornly refusing to be labelled Kurds.
negati^nI.y assume that Yezidis are naively unaware of the
to q e lruages this word, and especially casual references
£%on rnans us Aryans, conjure up in those familiar with
Pean history.
Hi
0p°s 103.2008
401
interestingly, never from Muslim Kurds, though
they belong to the group of Indo-European speak-
ers too). The most coherent picture of Yezidis as
Aryans and Aryans as Yezidis was furnished by
Arab Xidir. He gave a very good example of how
traditional Yezidi mythology and bits and pieces
from modern linguistic and historical writings23 can
be worked into a complex fabric to meet the de-
mands of the new Yezidi self-image. He related
that the “Forty Men,” well-known figures of Yezidi
mythology, who travelled in the boat of Noah, be-
came the forefathers of the Aryan people.24 These
Aryan people, who included, according to my in-
formant, the Sumerians, the Hurrians, the Guti, the
Elami, the Mittani, and a host of other ancient peo-
ples of the Middle East, were all Yezidis, that is
monotheists, “Ezi” being the name of God whose
unity and oneness they worshipped. Here my in-
formant quoted the story of the destruction of the
Tower of Babel, In his interpretation, this tale re-
ferred to the fact that originally all these people
were of the same religion, that is, they worshipped
God and God alone, but then they were dispersed
and lost their original faith. In this way an ancient
myth combined with modem historiography leads
to the birth of a new myth. The story of the Tower
of Babel, adapted from one of the Semitic reli-
gions, is not rejected but retold in a different way.
With time and the arrival of the Semi people and
the Semitic religions, the number of Yezidi Aryans
dwindled and today’s Kurdish Yezidis are their
only descendants. Other Aryans, who once peo-
pled Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Caucasia, and Europe,
have strayed from the path of the righteous religion
(i.e., a sentiment calling to mind the view Islam
takes on the “Religions of Book”). He claimed that
the name of these once glorious peoples survived
among the tribe names of the Yezidis, thus prov-
ing that the Yezidis were in fact the descendants
of these groups, who have once played the role of
protagonists at the dawn of our culture. Thus the
Reshke of Sinjar were the Ashak (??), the Horka
were Horri, the Haweri were Hurin, the Haiti were
Mittani, and the Smokan were Sumeri originally.
Using similar etymological reasoning, he pointed
to the “fact” that Sumerians used a lot of Kurdish
23 Unfortunately, I don’t know what his sources were, though
I managed to ascertain that he read Yezidi magazines like
Lalish and Roj.
24 There are different opinions as to who the Forty Men, or
Chil Mer, to whom a high peak in the Sinjar is conse-
crated, exactly were. According to Feqir Haci they were
companions of Sheikh Adi, but the Baba Sheikh also spoke
of them in connection of the Flood. See also Kreyenbroek
(1995: 100f.).
402
Eszter Sp*
words, a further proof of the common origin. Thus
the name of Gilgamesh means “buffalo.” The name
of Ibrahim Xalil, that is of Abraham, a Yezidi him-
self, was also Kurdish, meaning the “brother of all”
{biray e hemi).
Though in the course of my research, I heard the
most coherent and full exposition of the theory of
Aryan ancestry from Arab Xidir, such ideas were
presumably not all his own, but more likely they
formed a part of the current literature on the Yezi-
dis, for similar opinions were voiced by others as
well in the Sheikhan-Duhok region. While some
contented themselves with a vague reference to
their Aryan descent and their German relatives,
others also spoke of the Mittanis, Hurrians, and
so on. During a debate on the question of mixed
marriages, the fact that a Mittani king gave his
daughter in marriage to the Pharaoh of Egypt was
mentioned as a proof that Yezidis had not always
been opposed to marriage with non-Yezidis. An
article published in the Lalish magazine dispensed
with the Aryan origins but repeated the Kurdish
etymology of Ibrahim’s name, trying to link the
patriarch, an alleged sun worshipper, to the Yezidis,
ancient sun worshippers.
Such academic root searching can eventually
become a part of everyday religious conscious-
ness. The idea that Christians were originally Yez-
idis seems to have gained quite currency, no doubt
partly due to the traditional good relations between
the two minorities. An even more telling example
is the theory that Yezidism originally was a form
of sun worship - a very popular theory if one is
to go by the content of Lalish magazine. So, for
example, the guardian of a shrine in Xanke, Sheikh
Dosti, explained me that Bayazid Bastami, a well-
known Sufi saint of the 9th century, was a Yezidi
and a Shemseni. The so-called Shemseni sheikhs
trace their lineage to Sheikh Shems, a companion
of Sheikh Adi, who lived much later than Bayazid
Bastami. According to Sheikh Dosti’s explanation,
however, the tribe of the Shemsenis is in fact much
older, because it means “sun worshippers.” In other
words, it refers to the Yezidis who were the ancient
sun worshippers of the region. Though vestiges of
sun worship can indeed be found in the Yezidi be-
lief system, it is unlikely that a Yezidi, say a hun-
dred years ago, would have put things quite in this
way. At least, there is nothing in the accounts of
past travellers to imply this. The notion of Shem-
senis as ancient sun worshippers clearly shows an
external influence, that is, how non-Yezidi writings
on the origins of Yezidis eventually come to influ-
ence the self-perception of the Yezidis, which - in
its turn - reflects on the retelling of the mythology.
Conclusion
To sum it all up, while in the past it was the
way of transmitting tradition that shaped *
religion and gave it its peculiar characteristics*
day one can witness the very opposite. The su
appearance of literacy seems to be reshaping
only the way traditions are transmitted throng ^
vehicle of books and publications instead of the s
way, but also the very content of these tr
themselves. While we witness a certain simphn ^
tion of Yezidi lore, as many variants perceive g
“superfluous” are eventually rejected and the s
happens to those myths that would be perceive
ridiculous or unfit to modem, “scientific think ■
new elements are taking their place. These elem ^
are usually the result of “research” on Yezim8 g
first appear in some publications then to bee
a part of the Yezidi lore. They aim at construe
(or reconstructing) Yezidi history and providing
Yezidis with a “modem and scientific” religi^1' -jj
The “modernisation” or “rewriting” of * ^
religious lore can offer us a glimpse not only 0
future but of the past of the Yezidi religion as
This is not the first time in history that the * ^
came to be influenced by “the outside w°r
researchers have pointed out, there are conn
motifs in their mythology and religious poet^aCh
can be traced to the religions that succeeded ^
other in the region.25 It is certain that the o ^
influence has never been as penetrating as itlS
in the age of mass-communication. But we can ^ ^
assume that what we witness today may serve. t0
model for how oral religions in the past manager
incorporate and adapt numerous motifs frolT1
religions. . pf 0'
These days we can watch the mythmakin^ r ^
cess in an accelerated way. Above we have ^
several instances of how certain new elernen ^
become incorporated into Yezidi mythology №
retold as part of the myth itself. The idea t ^
xirqe, or sacred shirt, symbolizes the dar
rounding the original Pearl is mentioned a
a possible explanation of a motif (taken ^
learned article) but as part of the traditi°n' 0
destruction of the Tower of Babel is now
as the end of the primeval monotheism, °yeZjdis
confessed by all Aryans. The concept of the t0
being sun worshippers is apparently on its ^
become a popular motif, and the same is trne^ ^
notions that Sheikh Adi’s advent marke .Q\,
stage in the history of Yezidi religion and ^
ogy. Many other examples could be mention
25 Kreyenbroek 1992, 1995; 45-67; Spat 2002.
103
lOf$
Anthrop08
Helig,
fe;
'10Us Oral Tradition and Literacy among the Yezidis of Iraq
^hile these motifs were probably originally of-
SeFed as explanations or theories, they are no longer
the11 aS mere hypotheses, attempts at interpreting
but ni^0f0gy» or mythical history of the Yezidis,
^ how show all the characteristics of becoming
rec^ntegral part of the mythology. They are being
q!*nted *n exactly tfie same way as, say, the myth
u . hehid bin Jerr or the story of a xas - a holy
§ connected with some sacred place.
18 not unreasonable to assume that the process
0r ad°Pting new motifs and creating new myths,
accrather modifying older myths and mythology
Out0rdmg to new ideas and concepts coming from
ban1<ae’ *s not nftogcff'61' different from what had
- Pened in earlier centuries, even if the vehicle of
tan u 111 ea
^mission -
writing - is a new one.
to Ucle was first written for a lecture I was invited
th^'e at the Kurdish Institute of Paris. I would like to
the Kurdish Institute for its generous support of
rP; rvu
y research.
Hb
e*ices Cited
Ah
I975 LSami Said
he Yazidis, Their Life and Beliefs. (Edited by Henry
. leld.) Coconut Grove: Field Research Projects.
^00i°n’Christine
he Yezidi Oral Tradition in Iraqi Kurdistan. Richmond:
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Jean
^ Critical Survey on Ahl-e Haqq Studies in Europe
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p s-), Alevi Identity. Cultural, Religious, and Social
^rspectives; pp. 105-127. Richmond: Curzon Press.
Wedish Research Institute in Istanbul; Transaction, 8)
^28 °a,.RalPh Horatio Woolnough
ae Cult of the Peacock Angel. A Short Account of the
403
Yezîdî Tribes of Kurdistân. (With a Commentary by Rix-
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1975 Foreword. In: S. S. Ahmed; pp. v-x.
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1993 Survival among the Kurds. A History of the Yezidis.
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1995 Yezidism. Its Background, Observances, and Textual
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Kreyenbroek, Philip G., and Khalil Jindy Rashow
2005 God and Sheikh Adi Are Perfect. Sacred Poems and
Religious Narratives from the Yezidi Tradition. Wiesba-
den: Otto Harrasowitz. (Iranica, 9)
Lescot, Roger
1938 Enquête sur les Yezidis de Syrie et du Djebel Sindjâr.
Beyrouth: Impr. Catholique. (Mémoires de l’Institut
Français de Damas, 5)
Murad, Jasim Elias
1993 The Sacred Poems of the Yezidis. An Anthropological
Approach. Los Angeles. [PhD Thesis, University of
California. Los Angeles]
Spat, Eszter
2002 Shehid bin Jerr, Forefather of the Yezidis and the Gnostic
Seed of Seth. Iran and the Caucasus 6/1 -2: 27-56.
2005 The Yezidis. London: Saqi Books.
Strohmeier, Martin
2003 Crucial Images in the Presentation of a Kurdish National
Identity. Heroes and Patriots, Traitors and Foes. Leiden:
Brill. (Social, Economic, and Political Studies of the
Middle East and Asia, 86)
Hr,
°P°s 103.2008
Karl Josef Rivinius
Im Dienst der Mission und
der Wissenschaft
Zur Entstehungsgeschichte
der Zeitschrift Anthropos
Reihe : Studia Instituti Anthropos, Band 51
Angesichts des im 19. Jahrhundertzunehmen'
den Interesses für Völkerkunde und Sprach'
Wissenschaft dachte P. Wilhelm Schmiß
SVD an die Gründung einer entsprechenden
Fachzeitschrift. Sie sollte den Missionaren die
Möglichkeit bieten, darin ihre völkerkundM'
chen und sprachwissenschaftlichen Arbeiten
zu publizieren, außerdem sie zu Forschungef1
in ihrem jeweiligen Lebens- und Wirkungsbe'
reich motivieren und anleiten. Schmidt legte zudem besonderen Wert auf den wissen'
schaftlichen Charakter der Zeitschrift, weshalb er von Anfang an Fachgelehrten, Nicht'
katholiken eingeschlossen, die aktive Mitarbeit anbot. In Februar 1906 erschien das
erste Heft der neuen Zeitschrift für Völker- und Sprachenkunde Anthropos. Vorliegend6
Studie behandelt die Genese der Zeitschrift sowie ihre wechselvolle Entwicklung in i*1'
rem weiteren historischen und situativen Kontext bis zum Jahr 1909.
Karl Josef Rivinius SVD, Jahrgang 1936, Prof, für Mittlere und Neuere Kirchengeschich'
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Anthropos
103.2008: 405-421
Thinking about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant,
and the Balga Bedouin
Andrew Shryock
tract‘ ~ While doing research on hospitality in Jordan, I be-
lhis 0 n°tice odd affinities between Bedouin understandings of
% wlCept an<^ certa'n trends in metropolitan political philoso-
he ^ , ay> I wondered, does Derrida sound like a Bedouin when
68 ak°ut hospitality? What are “Arab Bedouin” doing in
st0rieS discussion of universal hospitality? By putting Bedouin
illUs, 'nto conversation with European political thought, I will
ditio ate deep, thematic similarities that pervade these tra-
ti°ns SR The similarities, I argue, are based on historical rela-
I but also on a shared desire to locate human interaction in
'de;
in ^LZed spaces that transcend the political and moral systems
H,cCh We i've- [Jordan, hospitality. Bedouin, Derrida, Kant,
CQl theory, oral history]
Shryock is Arthur F. Thumau Associate Professor of
§rapL0P°i°gy at the University of Michigan. He has done ethno-
C deldwork in Yemen, Jordan, and among Arab immi-
ethnic communities in Detroit. Shryock is coeditor
?rean,abeel Abraham) of “Arab Detroit. From Margin to Main-
htpac (Detroit 2000) and editor of “Off Stage/On Display. In-
20()4^ and Ethnography in the Age of Public Culture” (Stanford
See also References Cited.
Xemplary, Moralizing Power
ity °f the last decade I have studied hospital-
si^- Qram) among the Balga tribes of Jordan. My
ersJ ct matter is feasting, the protection of strang-
<§enerosity, the entertainment of guests, and
^e^0^.ractices that define civility and power among
Because these practices entail control
^Ve sPace and a local theory of sovereignty, they
6en *ntense interest to state authorities
°h7, when Ottoman forces invaded the Balga
e age of government” (zaman al-hakumah)
began. Members of the Balga tribes have, since
that time, used hospitality to resist and refashion
Ottoman, British, and Hashemite ideas of what a
centralized state is, holding politicians and public
institutions accountable to a logic of host and guest.
Likewise, government authorities have found hos-
pitality a useful tool for the control of tribal sub-
jects. Ottoman and British officials secured Bedou-
in loyalties through gifts of coin, weaponry, titles,
and food, all of which increased a shaykK s abil-
ity to dispense hospitality (and his need to do so).
King Abdullah I, himself a recipient of British lar-
gess, was a frequent guest in the tents of Balgawi
shaykhs, and he expected these men to entertain
foreign dignitaries in high tribal style. In recent
years, the Jordanian state has cultivated hospitality
as a heritage “all Jordanians can be proud of.” Epit-
omized by the Arab coffee pot and the ample tray of
mansaf - a feast dish of flatbread, rice, and lamb -
“Arab hospitality” has served well as a platform for
touristic development, the establishment of charita-
ble associations, madafa-s and diwan-s (assembly
halls or guest houses), and other social institutions.1 2 * *
Against this historical backdrop, hospitality
emerges clearly as a kind of politics. Yet when
1 See Shryock (2000, 2001, 2004) and Shryock and Howell
(2001) for examples of this work.
2 The importance of mansaf in constructing a uniquely Jor-
danian culture of hospitality is explored in Howell (2003).
The growth of charitable and family associations as alterna-
tives to state-funded social welfare networks is analyzed in
Baylouny (2006). On Bedouin and tourism, see Chatelard
(2005).
406
I told Balgawis that I wanted to study “the politics
of hospitality” (siyasat al-karam), many took of-
fense, claiming that “hospitality is not calculated”
(ial-karam bidun ghayah). My political focus, they
argued, would distort the meaning of karam, a word
that signifies not only the provision of food, shelter,
and security to guests but also the nobility of char-
acter that makes generosity possible. As a virtue,
karam is both a genealogical endowment - some
families have more of it than others - and a moral
obligation akin to piety. “The generous one,” the
proverb tells us, “is beloved of God” (al-karim
habib ullah). It is a compliment to say of a man who
forgets his prayers but treats his guests well, that
“hospitality is his religion” {al-karam din-u). This
alternative “faith” is unapologetically ecumenical.
Jordanian Christians are as committed to hospital-
ity as Muslims; they assume, as do Muslims, that
karam was an Arab virtue long before the advent
of Islam. It is “a burning in the skin” inherited
“from the father and the grandfathers” (harara bi-l-
ijlud/min al-abb wa-l-ijdud). Commonly described
as a physical compulsion, hospitality can lead to
excess. It is “the Arab madness” (hiblat al-carab).
Like saintly figures overcome by divine spirit, peo-
ple famed for generosity are often depicted as ir-
rational. They give away what most of us would
keep; they squander wealth and ruin their families;
and they are widely praised for it.3
There is something at once scandalous and sug-
gestive about karam’s moral power. Its “sacred-
ness” works as a kind of religion and in place
of religion, a quality that explains the seriousness
with which Bedouin pose karam as a solution to
problems more typically addressed to “the law and
the prophets”: namely, the threat of violence, the
redistribution of wealth, the rights of strangers, and
the placing and crossing of social boundaries. The
priority Jordanians give to karam also has uncanny
parallels in elite sectors of metropolitan critical the-
ory, where hospitality is now treated as a moral-
ity that operates beyond politics, or calls politics
into question.4 In the pages that follow, I try to
3 For a subtle investigation of this interplay of ir/rationality
and generosity, focusing specifically on Arab Muslim soci-
eties, see Dresch (1998).
4 This specific trend belongs to a kind of political theory, very
popular at the moment, which constructs highly complex
critical discourses out of what appear to be old and simple
ideas. Hospitality is one of a related set that includes “the
neighbor” (Zizek etal. 2005), “friendship” (Derrida 1997),
and “bare life” (Agamben 1998). Issues of sovereignty dom-
inate these experiments, which rely heavily on Schmitt’s
(1996) analysis of “the political” as a quality rooted in the
distinction (again, a deceptively simple one) between enemy
and friend. Resort to classical Greek and Roman intellec-
Andrew Shry0
make sense of these thematic similarities. In ca!l
ranging from Bedouin law to discussions of m1 .g
gration and the rights of citizenship, hospital*1^ ^
granted an exemplary, moralizing power that
pends on (or is generated by) its peculiar loca
in time and space. I will describe this location*
now, as “remote.” It might also be describe ^
idealized or impossible. It is always ahead oi
or behind us, or beyond our reach. j
Because hospitality is conspicuously orie ^
toward issues of mutual respect, it is import^ ^
understand why, in rhetoric and in practice,
best hospitality is so often thought to be elsewn
In Jordan, Balgawi Bedouin have challenged
ethnographic prejudices by insisting that I fina ^
ram not in the abundant generosity they show .
as their guest, here and now, but in the past (w ^
people were genuinely hospitable) or in
away from us (in the eastern desert, perhaps, ^ e
Bedouin are still generous). Is it mere coincid ^
that theorists such as Kant, Mauss, Derrida, ^
Benhabib, when they invoke hospitality, refer
concept whose critical appeal is rooted in its ay ^
ent distance from the political world in whic
live?
Goodness and Blessing
I first met Fawzi al-Khatalin in 1990, at his
ture showroom in Salt, capital of the Balga ^
ernate. An electrical engineer by training an-sje,
upstanding member of the Jordanian hour
Fawzi is also a proud descendant of Ibn Kn^,^,
the first paramount shaykh of the c Abbad jjS,
I was encouraged to visit Fawzi by other cAt> ^
who told me he owned a trunk filled with ^j^yid
documents and poems composed in honor ot .^d,
Ibn Khatlan, the last paramount shaykh of CA ^d
who died in the 1870s. Fawzi assured me n to
none of these things, but he did not want ^
leave empty handed. The Khatalin are fam0^
their generosity, and Fawzi, after taking me
house and serving me a fine meal, told t0
of hospitality that was clearly intended as a &
a researcher in need. j jus*
Fawzi insisted that I tape his story. We a ^ jjiS'
finished a long conversation about doing 0 ¿gS
tory among cAbbadis, about what kinds . ,
people tell, or conceal, and how to distingms
scrip
tura
tuai capital is common, and Jewish and Christian^^^ ^ex-
traditions predominate. This essay attempts t° .. ¡paw
fixations, which facilitate many insights, yet
others.
103.2°°*
Anthrop05
407
Hi:
^king about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin
°rthy narrators from unreliable ones.5 The testi-
fy I had recorded by that date (about forty hours
°rth) dealt mostly with violent conflict. Fawzi’s
c c°unt was a critique of this discourse. In form and
ntent, it was highly peculiar. It took place apart
c0rri the political events that had shaped the Balga
federation of tribes. Few of its central charac-
s Were Balgawis. Odder still, Fawzi did not use
^ fry or genealogy to bolster the truth value of
testimony. He offered no isnad, no “chain of
^srnitters” by which he had received the story.
u ls ^ck of authoritative sourcing would have trou-
a *r most narrators, whose stories were lodged in
K^nse, mnemonic web of pedigrees and verse.
en hospitality, my narrators relied on
^filiar motifs: how tribal wars of the 19th century
p re sparked by insults and acts of treachery per-
()f fed at feasts; how ancestors became members
Balga tribes through specific acts of food
and protection; how generous shaykhs piled
p; f high on platters and kept coffee fires burning
l0 ^ and day. Fawzi’s story made scant reference
Per Se kernes. Its didactic emphasis on moral
jp ection, gained not by dominance but through
of j sty and sacrifice, removed it from my archive
tp °Cal histories and placed it in a realm, familiar
e from childhood, of parables, allegories, and
fay school lessons.
deyond this awkward association - indeed, be-
Cail;
Pse
sev,
Se of it -1 did not know how to make analytical
°f Fawzi’s tale. It sat in a box of cassettes for
en years, seldom listened to, never transcribed.
hospitality of Ibn Khatlan
hlk Si!^e °t our tribe you know about, that the old men
“Tjj. b°ut, is the side of raiding, and plundering, and war.
tt)e . °ne made war on that one, or raided that one.” But
in, fe We, the descendents of Ibn Khatlan, take pride
§o0dat We prize as his family and lineage, is the side of
^ ess, the side of blessing, the side of generosity.
^as anyone told you anything about this side of us?
Plnn ,n khatlan said: After the business of raiding and
Ppa erin§ was done, after the time of wars, there rose
apq 8°n °f Ibn Khatlan, whose name was c Abd al-Gadir,
He d-18 'Abd al-Gadir grew to be a very generous man.
ah the wealth, all the lands his father had
’ and gave them to his followers and allies: “You
this 1 18 ^an(h You there, take this land. And you take
fit . And so he came to be known as a generous
lhere bls Was his fame. If he was wearing a cloak, and
he 'Vas a man without a cloak, or who needed a cloak,
thd take off his cloak and give it to him. So they
results of this research are on display in Shryock (1997).
lr°PO;
s 103.2008
called him, “The Naked,” because he was always without
clothes.
His reputation spread into the desert by way of poetry,
by way of verse. They would compose poems and sing
them on their spike fiddles. The poets began to sing
poems in honor of Ibn Khatlan.
And these poems made their way to whom? To Ibn
Rashid, of the Rashid tribe who live in the Arabian Penin-
sula. He heard that this Ibn Khatlan was very generous,
and perhaps even rivaled him in generosity, and this Ibn
Rashid was also a generous man.
So they were sitting together; they would convene as
a council, whenever there was a formal occasion; they
would call a meeting of poets, and they would recite
verses. About whom? About the generous ones. The
horsemen. The courageous ones in all of Arabia. And
the name of Ibn Khatlan was mentioned in one of their
poems.
Ibn Rashid said; “Who is he, this Ibn Khatlan?”
The poets said; “Ibn Khatlan is a generous man.
There’s no one more generous.”
He said: “By God, I want to send a delegation of you
poets to Ibn Khatlan, and you bring me a reliable report.
If he’s more generous than I am, God will protect you. If
he’s not more generous, I will kill you all for this talk.”
Sure enough, the delegation rode off, on camels, on
horseback, and headed where? Toward Syria. Greater
Syria. They came to Palestine, to Jordan: “Where is Ibn
Khatlan? Where is Ibn Khatlan?”
Finally they found him, and he was not a man of
substance. He was a simple man. His house was a goat-
hair tent, isolated, standing off by itself. He didn’t have
many livestock. Just a few goats, a few sheep, a horse
tethered up. There was nothing.
The delegation were upset.
They said: “Eh! We’ve gone to all this trouble, we’ve
come to this country, just to see a man who owns noth-
ing? Well, let’s go ahead and enter his house and sit.”
So they went into his house, and as you know, the
Arabs, through the ages, have hosted a stranger for three
days and a third before asking his name. So the dele-
gation entered, and Ibn Khatlan did for them what was
expected. He fed them dinner; he fed them supper. The
second day, he fed them dinner, he fed them supper. On
the third day, the time of hospitality ended, and toward
evening a poet from the delegation took up his spike
fiddle and recited a poem. I haven’t memorized the poem,
but the meaning of what he said was:
If only I’d not left my country
Not exhausted myself in this journey
Not defeated myself, and come all this way
I fear it will all end in nothing.
Ibn Khatlan heard this; he heard the poet recite these
words. He came to them and said: “Don’t weep; don’t
weep because you’ve come to my house.”
They slept the night with Ibn Khatlan, and in the
morning they wanted to leave. One of the poets was
without a horse; it had died along the way.
Ibn Khatlan said: “Ride! Ride my horse. Take it!”
He put his saddle on the horse and brought his chil-
408
dren, his son and his daughter, and he put his son in the
right saddlebag, and he put his daughter in the left saddle
bag.
The poets said: “What’s this?”
Ibn Khatlan said: “Take them and go!”
They said: “What do you mean, ‘go’?”
Ibn Khatlan drew his sword and said: “If you take
them out of the saddlebags, I’ll cut off your heads. That’s
it. Go!”
So they went, and when they went they traveled up to
the city of Salt. The Balga region, and all this country,
was desert back then, and Bedouin tribes. The poets
stopped to eat with a party of Bani Sakhr tribesmen, who
saw the children and said; “Who are these children?”
They said: “By God, these are the children of Ibn
Khatlan.”
The tribesmen said; “What’s your story?”
They said: “Our story is this, that, and the other.”
The tribesmen said: “We must have those children.
What do you want for them?”
They said: “By God, we want their weight in gold. If
you take them from us, you’ll have to give us their weight
in gold.”
And indeed they gave them the girl’s weight in gold,
and left the boy in the saddlebag. Who did this? The Bani
Sakhr. The greatest of the Balga tribes.
So they traveled on to another tribe, and the same
thing happened, and they traded the boy for his weight
in gold. Why did they do this, the tribes? Because they
wanted to return Ibn Khatlan’s children to him.
They said: “This is a noble and generous man. How
can we allow him to lose his children?”
So they bought them and returned them.
And those poets, when they sold the children, they
would write up a document. And who would sign it? The
tribes, so they could take proof to Ibn Rashid, because
Ibn Rashid would not believe that someone would part
with his children in this way. So they wrote up the first
receipt for the people who bought the girl, and the second
receipt for the people who bought the boy.
So they returned to the Najd, and Ibn Rashid convened
the same council, the same council of poets who gathered
in his diwan.
He said: “Now I will see what my poets have discov-
ered on their journey.”
The poets arrived and swore by their right hands that
all these things had happened to them, and they showed
their documents, and said: “Indeed Ibn Khatlan is more
generous, and nobler. This man is so hospitable that he
will give his own children to honor his guests.”
Ibn Rashid was overcome with jealousy. He said: “I
must slay this Ibn Khatlan!”
Do you understand this?
He rallied the horsemen of his tribe and rode to the
West. Why? To kill Ibn Khatlan. When they came to the
Jordan Valley, Ibn Rashid saw Ibn Khatlan, the way he
really was, and said to him: “I came wanting to kill you,
but now ... you don’t deserve to be slain by me.”
So they became friends, companions, and allies. All
because of the hospitality of Ibn Khatlan.
Andrew
Shry°(
ck
And we, the sons of Ibn Khatlan, take pride id
more than we take pride in war and raiding and kn
From this story, Ibn Khatlan became famous. This s
... its age ... is older than 186 years. It comes
the time of cAbd al-Gadir, the Naked. To this very ^
nothing has ever been written about it in a book. Bee ^
the people themselves transmit it and already kn°vV
Every elder in Jordan, in Saudi Arabia, in Syria, in Bp
in Palestine, if you asked him, he would know it- 6
one publishes it in stories and research, even though
story has incredible significance for us. Someone sh
make a book or a TV series about this, because it sh
our good qualities, not our bad ones. We should ^
stories that do not give a false image, and this storylS
a make-believe story. It is the truth.
v ft'"
If historical truth claims were central to riv
search, why did I find this story problematic-
hyperbole and neat symmetry are not surpris|^(
Balgawi oral traditions are rich in both. The
that the story takes place circa 1803, when the -j
Rashid dynasty was not established in Hail v
1836, is even less a concern; chronological
ing is a recent and predictably inaccurate addi
to these stories. Still, improbability is
sential to Fawzi’s account; he wants it to he
able and incredible, whereas most narrators ^
to be reliable. Ibn Rashid’s poets, too, tnS*st0ju
veracity - demanding signed documents and
oaths - because they know, as Fawzi does, . |y,
events they describe are exceptional and unii ^
Yet these events are perfectly consistent wn
value cAbbadis ascribe to karam. It is good to
that someone (might have) behaved this way- ^
The story also puzzled me because its
which Fawzi saw as positive and uplifting,lS
ifest in themes that would make Balgawi n0^,
of karam seem Other - at best fabulous and
loric, at worst barbaric - to almost any reader
might encounter the story in English trans* ^ &
What anti-Arab stereotypes are undermined ^
story in which a father gives his children aV^0st
strangers, generosity provokes death threats, a g6
threatens to cut off the heads of guests w^° i^old,
an inappropriate gift, humans are bought an ^ g0
and the line between friendship and hornicid
easily crossed? mty
The profound truth of Fawzi’s story - the 4* ^
that makes it attractive even to Balgawis w
not believe it - lies not in its exaggerated ^go-
to “goodness and blessing” but in its d°sf
th6
lg guuuiicaa anu uit^oiug uui m
ciation of those qualities with the risk or {
The demands of hospitality create danger L
form of jealousy and trespass) and overcome ^
ger (through gestures of welcome and co
Fawzi’s account is neither a “model of” nor a
,03-200»
Anthropos
409
Th
lnk>ng about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin
el ,,
t r proper behavior. He gives little attention
etiquette of hosting, which he refers to in
passing as “the expected,” nor does he suggest that
^°ple should try to emulate Ibn Khatlan today.
e story’s ultimate goal is to inspire a reverential
ude toward karam, a respect for its miraculous
^tial, to which the Khatalin are heirs. In telling
a story as he did, Fawzi al-Khatalin accomplished
the^6 historical reenactment. He cast himself in
* *le of Ibn Khatlan and me in the role of fact-
audmg poet, whose task now is to tell a faraway
^e],lerice - you, my readers - something hard to
I will leave Fawzi’s story for now. Its signifi-
0 Ce will emerge more clearly if I comment first
^ ^n°ther setting, not as far from the Balga (or the
of, °um) as it might seem, in which the demands
0spitality are now being keenly felt.
°f(p
rench) Hospitality
ilg106 mid- 1990s, the word “hospitality” has
c prominently in European, especially Fran-
le \!°ne, social and political theory.6 Derrida was a
Pit i*11^ aniniator of this trend. His work on hos-
tr .ltV is distinctive (and for many readers frus-
t0?n8). in the way it jumps from Greek drama,
1 blical narrative, to the metaphysics of Hei-
ic^r and Lévinas.7 These interpretive acrobat-
^are rendered timely by Derrida’s provocative
of n°ns t0 state sovereignty and the recognition
t^ers‘ The Others in question are, in France
jyj throughout Europe, mostly Arabs, Turks, and
icj? lrns (most of them Arabs and Turks), who crit-
taj-e their “host” societies in languages of hospi-
that would be familiar to my Balgawi hosts.
** Undocumented immigrants {clandestins and
of s'PQpiers) seek sanctuary in churches - a rite
Vicrtefu§e intelligible to Muslims (and to readers of
tpfpi?r ^u§°) everywhere - and when Franco-Arab
Actuals describe the racism and restrictive leg-
lls prominence, as it evolved in the 1990s, is insightfully
grazed by Rosello (2001), who follows the trend into lit-
rese
lre and film. More recent accounts of social science
be on hospitality, and ongoing contributions to it, can
(200!
Glit-
sampled in volumes written and edited by Anne Gotman
2004). Work that adapts French scholarship on hospi-
£'uyto Anglophone intellectual concerns is already diverse.
(SOn^68 include Dikeç (2002), Kandiyoti (2004), Rundell
T), Kearney (2002), Barnett (2005), and Hudson (2006).
(20n^a cata^°gs his own work on hospitality in “Rogues”
5: 172f.). His most detailed and evocative arguments
L-Pear in “Of Hospitality” (2000), “Adieu to Emmanuel
nes(aas” (1999), and “On Cosmopolitanism and Forgive-
(2001).
islation directed against immigrants as a failure of
“hospitality,” the language being spoken has, to my
ears, distinctly French and North African inflec-
tions. In “French Hospitality,” a blistering assault
on France’s relationship to its Maghrebi “guests,”
Tahar Ben Jelloun embraces Derrida’s work as if
it were a near dialect of his own critical speech
(1999: 3).
Jacques Derrida may have been thinking of Mediter-
ranean hospitality when he said: “Being a host means go-
ing beyond the abilities of the self and giving more than
I think I’m giving. My guest is more important than my
home.” He agrees with and quotes Emmanuel Levinas,
who writes in Totality and Infinity. “To approach another
through discourse is to welcome what he expresses quite
apart from any notion of deriving ideas from it. So it
means entertaining the Other in a way beyond the abil-
ities of the Self. More precisely, it imparts an idea of in-
finity. But it also means learning something” ... To give
more than one has. How often, in the countries south of
the Mediterranean, does a peasant secretly go and borrow
the wherewithal to give a guest a worthy welcome!
Like Ben Jelloun, I suspect that Derrida - who
was born and raised in Algeria and described him-
self, (in)famously, as “a little black and very Arab
Jew”8 * - shared a way of thinking about hospitality
with other North Africans. A study of his writings
on hospitality reveals his persistent attraction to
themes of welcome, trespass, sacrifice, risk, sub-
stitution, lack of calculation, harboring the name-
less guest, giving hospitality without reciprocity in
mind, as the unexpected act, surprising and self-
less, that transcends politics and overcomes the
law. With the story of Ibn Khatlan fresh in mind,
it hardly requires elaborate exegesis to see how
thoroughly these motifs pervade cAbd al-Gadir’s
encounter with the poets, the tribes who ransom
his children, and Ibn Rashid, his potential-killer-
turned-friend.
Like Fawzi al-Khatalin, Derrida makes claims
that seem both impossible and true. In his oddly
titled essay, “Hostipitality” (2002), Derrida says the
host must be prepared to receive the guest with-
out expecting the guest, without acting out of duty
yet feeling obliged to feed and cover the guest: “If
I welcome only what I welcome, what I am ready to
welcome, and that I recognize in advance because
I expect the coming of the hote (guest) as invited,
there is no hospitality” (2002: 362). Though con-
tradictory, these statements aptly correspond to a
wide range of empirical circumstances. They de-
scribe apprehensions that race through the mind of
8 To be exact, “un petit Juif noir et très arabe” (quoted in
Anidjar 2002: 33).
410
a middle-class Parisian couple preparing, but try-
ing not to give the impression of over preparing,
or hardly preparing, a dinner party for colleagues.
At the same time, Derrida’s formulas capture per-
fectly - indeed, they describe better - Ibn Khat-
lan’s reception of his unexpected, uninvited guests.
Upon first reading “Of Hospitality” (2000), I was
amazed by the directness with which Derrida spoke
to the elemental concerns of Fawzi al-Khatalin’s
story: (1) the transformative relationship between
hospitality as “the expected” and hospitality as the
unexpected; and (2) the predominance of the pater
familias in upholding both forms of welcome by
showing his willingness to sacrifice his family (his
own house) to meet and exceed the laws of hospital-
ity. These tropes, Derrida argues, are “intermediate
schemas” that emerge to resolve the irresolvable
tension “between unconditional hospitality and the
rights and duties that are the conditions of hospital-
ity” (2000: 147).
A threshold - the doorway, the open tent flap,
the international boundary - must be crossed be-
fore hospitality is possible; hence, the figure of
“the outsider” is essential to talk of hospitality. In
contemporary Europe, the Arab/Muslim immigrant
is spoken to and spoken about in this language,
usually in a tone of advocacy or complaint, usually
as a commentary on political work that remains
to be done. When conceptualized as “guests,” im-
migrants become outsiders who belong to another
place, even if they are born “here,” a vexed status in
which signs of welcome and trespass begin rapidly
to merge and disturb each other. Derrida uses hos-
pitality motifs to intensify this situation and play
with its contradictions.
“I should try to open my space,” he argues,
“without trying to include the Other in my space,”
without insisting that the Other “learn my language,
or adopt my religion or become English or become
French” (1997).
[That’s] the prevailing left-wing discourse, “we are hos-
pitable to the immigrants to the extent that they become
French citizens, respect secularism, that they learn the
French language,” assimilation. We call this integration
... But that’s a double bind, on the one hand I should
respect the singularity of the Other and not ask him or
her that he respect or keep intact my own space or my
own culture ... [but on the other] ... I have to accept
if I offer unconditional hospitality that the Other may
ruin my own space or impose his or her own culture or
his or her own language. That’s the problem: hospitality
should be neither assimilation, acculturation, nor simply
the occupation of my space by the Other. That’s why it
has to be negotiated at every instant, and the decision
for hospitality, the best rule for this negotiation, has to
Andrew Shry0
be invented at every second with all the risks inv°'v^
and it is very risky. Hospitality, and hospitality is a ^
general name for all our relations to the Other, haS
be re-invented at every second, it is something wlt
a pre-given rule (Derrida 1997).
In its spontaneous, highly negotiated forms, hosp
tality disrupts the “imagined communities” (An
son 1991) and “stranger publics” (Warner 2002)
which contemporary political society is based,
guest Derrida describes can only be a foreigner 1 ^
one who should enjoy open access to “my space.
and the space of hospitality, insofar as it is a
open to insiders and outsiders, cannot be boun
or sovereign in exclusive ways (but should be
in inclusive ways, such that “my space is y j
space”). This paradoxical representation is stan
fare in Derrida’s writings and public talks on .
subject of hospitality. He used it as a conce? cal
wedge to separate political constraints from etn ^
ones, a tactic that, he believed, revealed the V
sibility of “another international law, another ^
der politics, another humanitarian politics, m
a humanitarian commitment that effectively °P ^
ates beyond the interests of Nation-States” (De
1999: 101). ioI1
There are sound reasons to reject a d)scUtjO0-
of immigration that privileges hospitality. A na ts
state is not a house, and seldom do imrnrgr g
enter national space as guests enter a home- 1 ^
are formal distinctions many scholars and
tors would insist on. In “Postcolonial Hosplta
The Immigrant as Guest” (2001), Mireille R°s ^
suggests that metaphors of guest and host c
grossly misapplied to immigrants, obscuring g
fact that the reason they were ‘invited’ had no ^
to do with hospitality ... The unskilled $
who helped build French suburbs, or banheU ^gts
the 1950s and 1960s were not regarded as g j
in a house; they were hired” (2001: 9). The ^
obligations of the employer/employee relati° ^
and the political protections built into citize
relations, Rosello argues, are precisely w .
and guest cannot offer one another: “hospitati ? g6
metaphor blurs the distinction between a dis ^
of rights and a discourse of generosity, the lan» ^
of social contracts and the language of exce
gift-giving” (2001: 9). ^ I
Keeping these reservations in clear ^
would argue that ideas of hospitality can $ 0f
ful in thinking about and reconfiguring rn°joCatc;S
“citizenship,” precisely because hospitality
the outsider in a space of welcome - and,
cation, m a zone of trespass - where it is P ^y
to supersede the moral conventions that de
103.2°°8
Anlhropos 1
411
Th:
inking about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin
form
D-rrn °f membership or belonging. Spaces of hos-
ofallty, even those filled with karam, are not free
theC°ntractual obligations, nor are they bound by
a P1- They are, to use Rosello’s imagery, morally
lit P^bcally “blurred.” Perhaps this is why po-
^lcal theorists who speculate on the potential of
the^11 community beyond (or before or despite)
of ,nab°n-state are repeatedly drawn to concepts
c a°st’ guest, house, and gift. Hospitality was
shi Sl^ere<^ an essential aspect of global citizen-
0|. P tvhen Enlightenment ideologists first dreamt
D .^ modern forms. The “rights of strangers” are a
‘lpI1ClPal theme, for instance, in Immanuel Kant’s
^ erpetual Peace,” a canonical text of European
^ ^srno)political theory. Bedouin - and their camels
,° crucial work in this essay; indeed, the “Bed-
Oj 11 Arab” is as central to Kant’s critical agenda as
e Arab/Muslim immigrant is to Derrida’s.
^ ® Spherical Planet
the Privilege of Foreign Arrivals
Wrote “Perpetual Peace” in 1795. During the
t0 . s, it experienced new popularity,9 due largely
subject matter, a future in which humans live
Wn i Ut war (and without standing armies) in a
d where “the civil constitution of every state
be°ald be republican” and “the law of nations shall
% °Unded on a federation of free states.” Kant’s
^ Plan vision fits conveniently into a variety of
V >?Urses’ celebratory and skeptical, concerning
tra European Union and other attempts to establish
Rational political structures. What I find most
“c ln^ ab°ut Kant’s treatise, however, is his final
sj0 nuition” for perpetual peace, in which he envi-
citf8 a cosmopolitan political identity shared by all
of “free states” and expressed in the right to
cjtj ersal hospitality. Kant’s decision to link world
is ^ensbip to a very specific form of hospitality
<< Pecufiar for the strict - one is tempted to say
^ doming” - limitations he places on how for-
O ought to be received and why such a right
\v0 ^sPitality should exist at all. The passage is
lhg reading in its entirety (1957: 20-23). I urge
app^eader to be watchful for Bedouin; when they
be^ar: they will not resemble the Bedouin I have
discussing in this essay.
of pCal °T this literature are Habermas’ essay, “Kant’s Idea
^ e(Petual Peace. At Two Hundred Years’ Historical Re-
t W (1998), and the edited volume, “Perpetual Peace,
b aJs on Kant’s Cosmopolitan Ideal” (Bohman and Lutz-
achmann 1997).
r°Pos 103.2008
Third Definitive Article for a Perpetual Peace
“The Law of World Citizenship Shall Be Limited
to Conditions of Universal Hospitality”
Here, as in the preceding articles, it is not a question of
philanthropy but of right. Hospitality means the right of
a stranger not to be treated as an enemy when he arrives
in the land of another. One may refuse to receive him
when this can be done without causing his destruction;
but, so long as he peacefully occupies his place, one
may not treat him with hostility. It is not the right to
be a permanent visitor that one may demand. A special
beneficent agreement would be needed in order to give an
outsider a right to become a fellow inhabitant for a certain
length of time. It is only a right of temporary sojourn,
a right to associate, which all men have. They have it by
virtue of their common possession of the surface of the
earth, where, as a globe, they cannot infinitely disperse
and hence must finally tolerate the presence of each
other. Originally, no one had more right than another to a
particular part of the earth.
Uninhabitable parts of the earth - the sea and the
deserts - divide this community of all men, but the ship
and the camel (the desert ship) enable them to approach
each other across these unruled regions and to establish
communication by using the common right to the face of
the earth, which belongs to human beings generally. The
inhospitality of the inhabitants of coasts (for instance,
of the Barbary Coast) in robbing ships in neighboring
seas or enslaving stranded travelers, or the inhospitality
of the inhabitants of the deserts (for instance, the Bedouin
Arabs) who view contact with nomadic tribes as confer-
ring the right to plunder them, is thus opposed to natu-
ral law, even though it extends the right of hospitality,
i.e., the privilege of foreign arrivals, no further than to
conditions of the possibility of seeking to communicate
with the prior inhabitants. In this way distant parts of the
world can come into peaceable relations with each other,
and these are finally publicly established by law. Thus the
human race can gradually be brought closer and closer to
a constitution establishing world citizenship.
But to this perfection compare the inhospitable ac-
tions of the civilized and especially of the commercial
states of our part of the world. The injustice which they
show to lands and peoples they visit (which is equiva-
lent to conquering them) is carried by them to terrify-
ing lengths. America, the lands inhabited by the Negro,
the Spice Islands, the Cape, etc., were at the time of
their discovery considered by these civilized intruders as
lands without owners, for they counted the inhabitants
as nothing. In East India (Hindustan), under the pretense
of establishing economic undertakings, they brought in
foreign soldiers and used them to oppress the natives,
excited widespread wars among the various states, spread
famine, rebellion, perfidy, and the whole litany of evils
which afflict mankind.
China and Japan (Nippon), who have had experience
with such guests, have wisely refused them entry, the
412
former permitting their approach to their shores but not
their entry, while the latter permit this approach to only
one European people, the Dutch, but treat them like
prisoners, not allowing them any communication with
the inhabitants. The worst of this (or, to speak with the
moralist, the best) is that all these outrages profit them
nothing, since all these commercial ventures stand on the
verge of collapse, and the Sugar Islands, that place of the
most refined and cruel slavery, produces no real revenue
except indirectly, only serving a not very praiseworthy
purpose of furnishing sailors for war fleets and thus for
the conduct of war in Europe. This service is rendered to
powers which make a great show of their piety, and, while
they drink injustice like water, they regard themselves as
the elect in point of orthodoxy.
Since the narrower or wider community of the peoples
of the earth has developed so far that a violation of
rights in one place is felt throughout the world, the
idea of a law of world citizenship is no high-flown or
exaggerated notion. It is a supplement to the unwritten
code of the civil and international law, indispensable for
the maintenance of the public human rights and hence
also of perpetual peace. One cannot flatter oneself into
believing one can approach this peace except under the
condition outlined here.
Kant’s “third definitive article” unites my themes
in a single, global framework. His theory of cos-
mopolitan citizenship is made of hospitality, state
boundaries, individuals and populations in con-
stant motion, and even an outer lining of Bedou-
in tribes. Though obviously antique in its reason-
ing and phraseology, Kant’s treatise is disturbing
in its resemblance, across two centuries, to views
dominant in metropolitan centers of power. Many
philosophers, not to mention state officials, live to-
day in a world where (republican) nation-states and
enterprising citizens who travel across their borders
are threatened by political fringe dwellers. The lat-
ter are no longer Barbary pirates or camel-raiding
Bedouin, but they remain, for the most part, Arabs
and Muslims, and they still mark the limit of civi-
lization.
The durability of this worldview deserves an
essay of its own. What I would like to address
instead is the location of universal hospitality in
Kant’s scheme. It exists in the future, of course;
and it exists by virtue of the spherical shape of
the earth, which makes interaction (or collision)
inevitable, given the continued growth and expan-
sion of human populations, which Kant assumed
was inevitable. The round earth he imagined was
filled with “unruled regions,” with deserts, oceans,
and frontiers. These unruled regions were not with-
out people; more to the point, they were without
republican government and licit economies; their
inhabitants, organized for plunder, lived in defiance
Andrew Shryo^
of natural law. If hospitality was not to be found
deserts, or on pirate ships, neither did Kant see evi
dence of it in the policies of Europe’s imperial V°
ers, whom he portrayed as brigands of far gran ^
dimensions, whose crimes could be measured on
planetary scale. g
Kant’s universal hospitality exists in the fn
- that is, not in his time or ours - but it also
ists in empirical contradiction to the conduct^
hosts and guests in the “unruled regions” of ^
earth. European travelers had discovered, even
fore “Perpetual Peace” saw print, that the desert
Kant’s spherical planet, especially those filled ^
Bedouin, were indeed without institutions ot
state, yet they were governed by hospitality, by £
giving, feasting, and elaborate procedures ot .
cort and refuge. In the century following “Perpet^g
Peace,” the Bedouin of European travel litera ^
emerged as exemplars of generosity and “the °P.^
hand.” They were portrayed as a martial society* ,
veterately opposed to government, inclined t0^jf
blood feuds and opportunistic thievery, but ^
most serious forms of violence - camel raiding
tribal warfare - were portrayed as game-like rtta ^
often comical to behold, which posed little rlS1 ,
noncombatants (or to regimented and well-af
Europeans). w0|.
Writing in the 1780s, Constantin-Fran^ois
ney, a French traveler, laid the groundwork f°r
resentations of the Bedouin of Greater Syrta-
doae
scribing the same tribes with whom I have
most of my fieldwork in Jordan, he defended t
character against charges of exactly the sort
leveled against them, and he builds his de e
around notions of hospitality.
• spirt1
The Arabs have often been reproached with this
of rapine; but, without wishing to defend it, we. ntiy
observe, that one circumstance has not been sulllCwards
attended to, which is, that it only takes place t0^ ^e
reputed enemies, and is consequently founded 0 ^
acknowledged laws of almost all nations. Among
selves they are remarkable for a good faith, a dism t
edness, a generosity which would do honor to the t
civilized people. What is there more noble than tha
of asylum so respected among all the tribes? A s ^yj,
nay, even an enemy, touches the tent of the y _ jt
and, from that instant, his person becomes invio
would be reckoned a disgraceful meanness, and in^se of
shame, to satisfy even a just vengeance at the exp afld
hospitality. Has the Bedouin consented to eat bre ^
salt with his guest, nothing can induce him to betr j to
The power of the Sultan himself would not be ys
force a refugee from the protection of a tribe, b
total extermination. The Bedouin, so rapacious ^ ye
his camp, has no sooner set his foot within lt’ogseSseS,
becomes liberal and generous. What little he p
103.2«08
Anthropos
413
Thi
‘nking about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin
he is
to 6Ver rea(ly to divide. He has even the delicacy not
wait til] it is asked: when he takes his repast, he affects
himself at the door of his tent, in order to invite
not Passen§ers; his generosity is so sincere, that he does
the °°k uPon h as a merit, but merely as a duty; and he,
obs e 0re> readily takes the same liberty with others. To
SelverVe manner in which the Arabs conduct them-
p0 es towards each other, one would imagine that they
4l3^ed all their goods in common (Volney 1798: 411 —
ty^Ptte countless individual experiences at odds
tL lb this way of writing about Bedouin - in
(je Subsequent works of Burckhardt (1822), Con-
c^r (1883), Merrill (1881), and many others - be-
e So authoritative that Western travelers who
ty PQt receive the gracious treatment they expected
to h actually Clte literature” in an attempt
Hill 1116 t^le^r negHsent hosts. In 1890, Mrs. Gray
v ’ detained for several days by the shaykhs of
hu > who wanted more money for escort than her
Sp and was willing to pay, wrote the following
her C^’ w^°h was read aloud for the edification of
CaPtors (Hill 1891: 225):
\Vg h
Ve traveled amongst Beduins before, and have been
ben to believe, as those who went before us have
that from the time of our father Abraham until
h0sn- ^ ,anyone came as a guest into their tents their
to p aality would be full and true. But we have lived
Sbe^ r?Urselves mistaken. We have entered the tent of
b ^^halil, broken bread, and drunk coffee with him,
hnd Cen treated outwardly like welcome guests; but we
Se°)UrSelves r°bbed and kept as prisoners. Is this well
S\v
eet
Harakis hailed the speech as “clever, beautiful,
llijj"1' They swore by their heads that Mr. and Mrs.
^ase^^d come to no harm, but they did not re-
^hem until they received their 100 Napoleons.
version of cosmopolitan citizenship is based on an
unresolved paradox.
The right of hospitality entails a moral claim with poten-
tial legal consequences in that the obligation of the re-
ceiving states to grant temporary residency to foreigners
is anchored in a republican cosmopolitical order. Such
an order does not have a supreme executive law govern-
ing it. In this sense the obligation to show hospitality to
foreigners and strangers cannot be enforced; it remains a
voluntarily incurred obligation of the political sovereign.
The right of hospitality expresses all the dilemmas of the
republican cosmopolitical order in a nutshell: namely
how to create quasi-legally binding obligations through
voluntary commitments and in the absence of an over-
whelming sovereign power with the ultimate right of en-
forcement (Benhabib 2004: 29; emphasis added).
When I first read this passage, I was convinced
I had encountered it before. In fact, I had encoun-
tered Benhabib’s paradox many times. First, I knew
it as a problematic embedded in the history of social
anthropology. Theorists such as Evans-Pritchard,
Fortes, and Radcliffe-Brown asked this question
long ago, but of societies located on the opposite
end of a temporal(ized) scale of political complex-
ity.10 In paraphrase, their question was put as fol-
lows: “how do stateless societies order themselves
in the absence of centralized government?” It is
telling that Benhabib’s ungovemed spaces are not
“primitive” or “tribal” but “cosmopolitan” and “in-
ternational.”
Second, I recognized in Benhabib’s wording a
slightly older and better known question posed in
terms so similar to hers that reading them side by
side creates a moment of epiphany.
In primitive or archaic types of society, what is the prin-
ciple whereby the gift received has to be repaid? What
force is there in the thing given which compels the recip-
ient to make a return?
If
0ïlleïit of Recognition
in s “unruled regions” were not inhospitable
that n Way thought them to be, the hospitality
traveiId PrevaiI there was neither the ideal of the
n°r ^ truly impossiblu generosity of Ibn
Unru,^' Kant misrepresented the politics of the
to ty, . regions, but even more telling is the extent
Uttrui misidentified the ultimate location of
regj0_ ed regions” on his round earth. The unruled
rie n^s °I greatest importance to “Perpetual Peace”
afe i0 ^°se found among “Bedouin Arabs.” They
Pit^ated in the utopian space of universal hos-
aSsess ltseIf. Seyla Benhabib, in her insightful re-
rrtsnt of “Perpetual Peace,” argues that Kant’s
Hr,
°P°s 103.2008
The words belong to Marcel Mauss (1967 [1925]:
1), whose analytical reflections in “The Gift” were
focused on societies he was reluctant to call “back-
ward,” but which he clearly associated with social
forms that predate the modern state and capitalism.
10 This approach encompasses most social anthropology of the
mid-20th century. Reduced to the genre of collected es-
says, its best exemplar would be “African Political Systems”
(1940), edited by Evans-Pritchard and Fortes, with a pref-
ace by Radcliffe-Brown. The climax form appeared eigh-
teen years later, in “Tribes Without Rulers” (1958), edited
by Middleton and Tait, with a preface by Evans-Pritchard,
now playing the role of “tribal elder.” For a decidedly un-
sympathetic assessment of this tradition, see Kuper’s “The
Reinvention of Primitive Society” (2005).
414
A quick hybridization of Mauss and Benhabib, fac-
toring out incompatible notions of time, and fac-
toring in the gift that most directly concerns us,
produces the following:
In the absence of a sovereign power with ultimate rights
of enforcement, what is the binding principle that obliges
us to offer hospitality to others? What force is there in
hospitality given that compels the recipient to make a
voluntary return?
Mauss believed that something of the giver is car-
ried in the gift: “whatever it is, food, possessions,
women, children, or ritual, it retains a magical and
religious hold over the recipient. The thing given
is not inert. It is alive and often personified, and
strives to bring to its original clan and homeland
some equivalent to take its place” (1967 [1925]:
10). The story of Ibn Khatlan is a textbook verifica-
tion of this argument. Ibn Khatlan’s gift was hardly
inert; in its personified forms, it squirmed, kicked,
and (no doubt) cried in the saddlebags of the mys-
tified poets. These little “gifts” longed to return to
their donor, and they soon did, sending their equiv-
alents (in gold) to Ibn Rashid, who was compelled -
not by the gold but by the sight of Ibn Khatlan - to
respond with friendship. This outcome was never
intended by Ibn Khatlan, whose only wish was to
protect his guests. The reciprocity was uncalculated
and miraculous. It was not ordained by a state, by
any formal obligation of law, or even by God. The
story’s distance from external coercion, and from a
knowing manipulation of events, makes it peculiar.
It is not a magical narrative, only an excessive and
surprising one - qualities Derrida, in his critique
of “The Gift,” associated with the gift itself, “if
there is one” (1991) - and this is the source of my
lingering sense that Fawzi’s story is true (even if it
did not happen) and impossible (even if something
like it did).
To amplify these uncanny resonances, one could
mix Benhabib with Mauss yet again, this time us-
ing terms of modem governance that Kant would
accept as given and Derrida would want us to take
apart:
What living thing, what viable aspect of the person, of
the person as citizen, of the state as personified host,
must be voluntarily given up, or given away, in order
for hospitality to function as a right and an obligation of
inter/national law?
The obvious answer is that the state must give up
a portion of the sovereignty that defines it (and
makes such a gesture “official”), while the citizen
must relinquish the right to “belong” insofar as
that right denies access to nonmembers (which it
Andrew
shry°'
always will). A sense of paradox remains, an
is intensified when analysts privilege the state
the brute entity “between” the simple past of e
nology and the utopian future of political nte
- instead of looking through the state (and its
product, the citizen) to focus on the continuities
give Bedouin storytelling, German Enlighten10
thought, and French deconstmction the “family
semblance” I am trying to draw out in this essa^
What are these continuities? Obviously, /
are not discernible in the mechanics of reed
guests. The latter vary greatly across our cases,
we can assume that Kant, Derrida, and Ibn K°a ^
would find each other puzzling as hosts. The c .g
tinuities are recognizable in the way hospital1 y
framed. In all three cases, hospitality is:
1
itlS
al
a critical alternative. Posed as corrective
discussed in idealistic terms, suggesting a111 ^
superiority that is apparent but cannot be
tained.
2. a test of sovereignty (of control over space
boundaries). Failing this test brings danger’j.{y
olence and death are what acts of hosplta
ultimately prevent and sometimes provoke-
3. an exception. Although expressible as la^ ^
exercise of hospitality typically requires bf a
ing rules or creating jurisdictions in wm
“higher” law prevails. pi-
4. a voluntary yet obligating commitment. B j
tality compels action on the part of hosts ^
guests, often against their will and contra y
their expectations. r o1fi
5. a virtue whose best forms are located ^
present space and time. Equating it with
social forms often comes across as forced,1 y
equate, or contrary to the “spirit” of hosp
itself. ' ^
This final point explains Derrida’s reject!0^ ^
Kant’s attempt to “reduce” hospitality to a ^
guaranteed (and limited) by law. It also expla1 ^ a
ambivalent relationship between the Bedouim
social type, and the traditional culture of we ^ t0
they are said, on behalf of the Jordanian nab
represent.
Harmony and Hospitality
In 2004, UNESCO (the United Nations Edu^dU
al, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) av^^p
its first international Harmony Prize to B e§s
Hospitality.” The award was accepted by E
Basma (sister of the late King Hussein of
in the name of Bedouin everywhere, but esp
I03.20°8
Anthropo8
415
Thi v
n^ng about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin
pr0se living in Jordan. Winners of the Harmony
are described, on UNESCO’s website, as “tra-
tri^°nal or innovative cultural practices that con-
ute significantly to improving the quality of life
and
a , lritegrating the cultural dimension in economic
^ social development” (UNESCO 2005b). The
v ard was received on the campus of Jordan Uni-
j s«y. near a mock-up of a Bedouin tent, with
thj an^an soldiers in Bedouin-style garb pouring
^les of black, cardamom-spice coffee for vis-
lud^ ^^Earies. The elaborate stagecraft was pre-
t0 e.to big dollar investments in development and
j0 ^lst Projects sponsored by Princess Basma, the
r anian state, and the NGO sector,
in iUCcorcbng t° Harmony Prize selectors, “Bedou-
in? °sPitality” consists of enthusiasm for entertain-
tio ^Uests? elaborate coffee rituals, and the protec-
ts °f travelers in a harsh, arid environment, “Bed-
de*n hospitality” (UNESCO 2005a), a brochure
M to publicize the Harmony Prize, is filled
t0u . lrtlages that correspond nicely to what Western
t0 rists expect Bedouin to look like.11 The pho-
0r aPds - we are not told where they were taken,
Coff aen ~ show desert-dwelling nomads preparing
frQ ee 0ver hot coals (not gas stoves) and pouring it
(X. °1(1 brass pots (not plastic thermoses made in
h^)- These Bedouin live in goat-hair tents (not
tfie made of cinderblock or poured cement);
sp/f^e camels (not Toyota pickup trucks) and
w , their evenings sitting around open fires (not
the^g satellite TV). Amid the romanticism of
ViCe ^ESCO brochure, one finds the following ad-
Hize says a great deal (about the Harmony
and its principal sponsor, Integral Develop-
to Asset Management, a French firm dedicated
rr^j finable development in the “financial do
dev i ^ businesses aiming to promote sustainable
ditj °dlT|ent have a great deal to learn from this tra-
ple n hospitality. Indeed, welcoming other peo-
of ’ aether employees or clients, is the mainspring
his °d communication: there are still far too many
20^ deserts in the business world” (UNESCO
Th
ls. wisdom is part of a trend - call it “the
out tutlcati°n of tribal virtues” - popular through-
tfie m e Arab world. Elsewhere, I have analyzed
Vra> contradictions that arise when “Bedouin
ified adty” is packaged as heritage and commod-
(SPrJ11 interests of tourism and development
ck 2004). Hosts are reconfigured as propri-
Jhe
ty0/.^oto8raphs are drawn mostly from Saudi Aramco
ter Qj. ' ^0rne were taken in Jordan, some in the Empty Quar-
ano „ au<1' Arabia; others are hard to place. Camels, tents,
and dunes are the dominant motifs.
etors, guests as customers, houses as restaurants
and hotels. Bedouin themselves re-appear as actors
in folkloric costume. The Harmony Prize is part
of a sustained effort to hurry these transformations
along. In 2005, UNESCO again honored “Bedouin
hospitality,” this time declaring it, and the entire
“cultural space” of the tribes of Wadi Rum and
Petra, to be a “Masterpiece of the Oral and Intan-
gible Heritage of Humanity.” According to Farah
Daghestani (Director of the Jordanian Hashemite
Fund for Human Development), the UNESCO dec-
laration will “help local communities to create “liv-
ing Bedu museums,” “heritage houses,” and more
sophisticated displays, including light and sound,
documentary films, and other audio-visual materi-
als,” a virtual(ized) arsenal of folkloric materials
to be deployed in “festivals of Bedu culture” that
“celebrate poetry, rababa, dance, song, storytelling,
traditional medicine and the craft of tent making,
and will welcome visitors from Jordan and abroad”
(Jordan Times, 12/1/2005).
This vision of Bedouin culture is at odds with
the tradition of hospitality it attempts to promote,
for two rather obvious reasons: (1) karam is not
something that should be exchanged for cash and
(2) karam should not be confused with treating
guests well, pouring coffee for them, or guarantee-
ing their safety, all of which are wajib (duty). Gen-
erous people exceed these gestures, and they do so
in ways that expose host and house to danger. With-
out this sense of risk, hospitality loses its moral
power. “The guest is prisoner of the host” (ad-dayf
asir al-mucazzib), says the proverb: “The host must
fear the guest. When he sits [and eats your food]
he is company; when he stands [and leaves your
house], he is a poet” (lazim al-mucazzib yikhaf min
ad-dayf. Luma yijlis, howa dayf. Luma yigum, howa
shadr). Only by opening one’s space in potentially
threatening ways is protection for host and guest
fundamentally secured. On one occasion, my host
surprised me by insisting, after he had fed me well,
that I should not make too much of his generosity.
“There is no karam today,” he explained, because
“public security” has eliminated the need for it!
The logic of this claim - the logic of the “open
house” - figures prominently in a story told to
me by Hajj cAli Muhammad Badr al-cAdwan. The
story is well known among cAdwanis, but it held
special meaning for Hajj cAli, whose brother had
recently been killed in a drive-by shooting, the cli-
max of several years of conflict between his fam-
ily and a neighboring cAdwani clan. The conven-
tions of tribal law that should have contained the
dispute had repeatedly broken down, and “public
insecurity” prompted many tellings of this story.
Anthr,
°Pos 103.2008
416
Andrew SW»*
Each was an exercise in social criticism. Reliance
on law and disrespect for law were the simulta-
neous objects of critique; karam was the tool that
could “fix” these problems. Muhammad Hamdan,
an ‘Adwani historian (and a party to the conflict),
arranged the telling I record below. Muhammad
thought Hajj ‘Ali’s version would help me under-
stand why the violence between the families had
spiraled out of control; he also believed that the
story would teach me the proper meaning of karam,
a lesson he feared I might never learn if the example
of living cAdwanis was the only evidence I had to
consider.
Once again, the story is displaced to a remote
time (“in the beginning”) and a faraway place (the
coast of Yemen). In unintended homage to Kant,
Hajj cAli’s story begins with a camel raid.
The Story of Fawwaz al-c Adwan
Andrew: OK. First I want to see if my voice is audible ...
c Ali; Go ahead.
Andrew: Good. First, what is your full name?
cAli: My name is cAli Muhammad Badr al-cAdwan.
Andrew: OK.
cAli: In the beginning of this story ... the c Adwan
were living in a country called the Tuhamah, along the
Red Sea, west of the holy city of Mecca, where our
Prophet lived, upon him be prayers and peace. In that
time, the Arabs raided one another. The c Adwan raided
a group called the Sbayh al-cAmir, from the country of
Taif. And when they seized the livestock of that tribe,
the c Adwan were very few in number, and the Sbayh
al-c Amir came back around and recaptured a part of their
herd and took one of the cAdwan prisoner. This prisoner
was a famous man. A brave man, a warrior, and generous.
And the custom of the Arabs is that when they take a
prisoner, a man of renown like this one, they show him
hospitality. They do not abuse him or treat him like an
ordinary captive. They treat him like a man worthy of
respect.
So they took him prisoner, and everyone invited him
to eat with them. Every afternoon he would have dinner
with someone. Every evening he would have supper with
someone else. And one day, his eye fell on a young
woman. When he saw the woman, she pleased him. He
wanted to marry her. So whenever he sat down next to
someone, he would press his elbow into the other man’s
arm, hard, and if the man flinched, he wouldn’t bring up
the topic. He would go sit somewhere else. One day, he
sat next to the fiancé of this young woman - and this man
was an only son - and the young woman, too, was her
father’s only child - and this fiancé invited the c Adwani,
who was named Fawwaz al-cAdwan, to eat with him.
When he invited him, the c Adwani sat next to him and
dug his elbow into the man’s arm, but the Sbayhi didn’t
then»'
flinch. He pressed harder, and harder, and harder,
didn’t flinch. „
The c Adwani said: “I want something from yoU-
The Sbayhi said: “Tell me what it is, so I can take c
of it for you.” oV6f
He said: “I want the girl who went into the ten
there.”
He said: “Do you know her?”
He said: “I don’t know her.” aI)Cl
He said: “Is there any relationship between y°u
her?”
He said; “No.”
If he had said there was a relationship between
they would have killed her. .
He said: “No. I’ve just seen her, and the sight o
pleases me. It pleases me greatly.”
He said: “Fine.”
He did not say: “She is my fiancé.”
Nor did he say; “That’s my paternal cousin and We
going to be married in less than a week.” V’
He said: “Fine. You can have exactly what you
When night fell, they went to the Sbayhi’s fat^0(} if
the son said: “I want to give the girl to the guest,
you resist me, I will kill myself.”
They couldn’t refuse him. So they arranged a we jj
contract, and set up a small wedding tent for theim ^
the c Adwani entered. When he entered, what did t
say? . , to *s?
She said: “You, man, why did God bring yoU
I am the cousin of the man who gave me to y°u' ^0u
week, we were supposed to be married. And then
came along. What are we to make of you?
He said: “That’s how the matter stands?”
She said: “Yes.”
He said: “Fine. Don’t worry about it.”
So he slept, and he put his sword between
He kept the sword between them until morning- ^
morning, he got up and left. He divorced her. He
touch her. t the
Muhammad Hamdan; Explain to Andrew w
sword means.
cAli: There was no sex.
Andrew: Yes. I know. I understand. ^6re-
cAli: The next day they said to him: “C°m^
What do you want? Whatever you want from
i caU1'
d
for it.”
He said: “I don’t want anything from you but a
a water skin, and a rifle.”
They said; “Fine.”
He said: “My name is Fawwaz al-cAdwan, fro111 t
country of Tuhama. If you come see me someday-^ ,-
ask for me. I am a well known man among the Pe°^ pu-
So he got his things together and returned to t f,
hama. To his country. And the Sbayhi married his P^.
nal cousin and begot three sons. She bore him three
Twenty years passed. . j^at
Then came a great drought - famine; scotching^.
- in the region they lived in, near Taif, and ^^ad-
reduced to nothing. They couldn’t even make
There was not even bread.
Anthrop08
417
Thi
llriking about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin
Wh ^ Sa^: “We ^ave no choice but to go to the men
o live with that 'Adwani. He is well known. God
1 *ng, we will find charity with him.”
tw ° ^ey went looking for him. They went alone, with
his Cartle^s’ an(l no supplies. The Sbayhi left the camels,
th ^e’ anh his three sons behind a hill, then approached
^ ^dwani’s tent. When he saw him, he recognized
said; “What is your problem?”
said; “This and that happened. And my wife and
ns are with me.”
% rrirnecliately, the c Adwani sent his sons out to receive
Ihr01’ anc* '■hey brought back the Sbayhi’s wife and his
^ s°ns and their camels.
“jyj he 'Adwani said to his wife (he had two wives):
§iv0Ve out of this tent, you and whoever else is in it, and
" to our [female] guest.”
t|e ^ e Wanted to honor them and offer them hospitality,
panted to do what he said he would do when he lived
'he Sbayhi. It was the proper thing to do. So he
his wife out of the tent. This wife had a son. He
in tJWenty years old, more or less. He would come home
th.
'he middle of the night. He was a hunter. He hunted
ate.
Th
ere’ Woman sa'd f'° 'he wife of the Sbayhi]: “O Sister,
in iu S Sorne'hing you should know. My son comes home
be e middle of the night. So watch out for him. Don’t
sta ra'd of him. Just tell him. Your mother has gone to
ttt so-and-so’s tent. And this tent is for us now.”
W0 hey were all exhausted from traveling. Completely
fr0rh °u'- So they fell fast asleep. The boy came home
S[);
iW* 'h£ hunt and entered the tent and slept next to the
yhi’s wife, and she was tired, too, so she slept [and
notice him],
cL r*e Adwani and his guest were visiting in the men’s
¡^es her of the tent until two o’clock in the morning. The
a Slr r°se to go to sleep with his family, and there he saw
dre^n§e man sleeping next to his wife. Straight away, he
his sword and cut the man’s head off. He cut off the
°f the host’s son.
ndrew; That’s a disaster!
he, ^h: A disaster, naturally! After he killed the man,
t*eighk 6 UP his wife, and she said, “Oh, no! That’s our
(L Our neighbor’s son. His mother told me this
u mat.”
Sn
Sbayhi went directly to the boy’s father and
^ BY God, man, this and that happened.”
leps 6 Said to him: “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. By God,
^cCarry him, both of us, let’s carry his body to the open
^here the children play.”
We 0 'h® morning, [when the body was found], the peo-
Woa 1116 together and decided to pay damages, blood
uIh to 'h® father of the dead boy. The whole tribe
v°uid
M Pay‘
^l]erU^arnmad Hamdan: ... because the identity of the
'Al^aS not ^nown-
'• Yes. Because they didn’t know who the killer
Wg. h®y paid 80 camels. They said to the father, “These
yours ”
Then the 'Adwani said [to the Sbayhi]: “These are
yours.”
See how far his hospitality extended?
So they lived together for eight years. For eight years
they were neighbors. Then one day ...
The Arabs play seeja. Seeja is like chess. You move.
I move. You move. I move. That’s how the game goes.
One of the sons of the Sbayhi began to pester one of
the daughters of the 'Adwani. He began to annoy her with
his talk. He wanted her. He wanted to marry her. And the
girl put up with this, and didn’t tell her father until she
couldn’t take any more, because she was afraid her father
would kill the boy, then she said to her father: “O Father,
this and that is happening to me. That boy, the son of
the Sbayhi, is harassing me. He follows me down to the
stream and pesters me and tries to chat me up.”
Her father said: “Never mind.”
Later, they began to play seeja, and what did the
'Adwani say to the Sbayhi, as they were playing seeja?
He said: “Move, neighbor. By God, we’ve already
moved.” He kept saying this. He was very clever. And the
Sbayhi understood. He knew there was something wrong.
When the 'Adwani said this two or three times in a row,
the Sbayhi understood.
Later, when night fell, the Sbayhi got his family
together and moved away. They abandoned everything.
They didn’t take their livestock, their possessions, or their
tents. They left like fugitives. The Sbayhi, his wife, his
three sons, and a small flock of sheep. After a day or two,
God knows, the Sbayhi wanted to find out which of his
sons had offended the 'Adwani. The first, the second, the
third? He didn’t know.
He didn’t say: “Which one of you three caused this
problem with our neighbors and forced us to move away
from them?”
So he sent his sons [back to the 'Adwan], one by one,
and to keep them from realizing what was happening,
he sent a sheep with each. He said, “Take this sheep to
our neighbor.” He thought, “If this is the son who did
something wrong, they’ll kill him. And that will settle
the matter.”
He sent the oldest son.
He said: “O son, go to our neighbor and say to him,
my father sends you this sheep.”
And the boy came to the 'Adwani and said: “My
father has sent you this sheep.”
The 'Adwani said: “It’s not enough.”
He said: “It’s not enough.”
The boy returned, and the Sbayhi said: “Send two.”
So now they were two sons, together.
The 'Adwani said: “It still is not enough. It still is not
enough.”
He sent three.
He said: “If the 'Adwani wants to kill all three, then
let him kill them. That will settle the matter.”
He sent the three. Each one with a sheep. The three
did not know what was going on. If they had known,
they would not have gone. They just thought it was sheep
being offered for sacrifice.
r°p0s 103.2008
418
Andrew
When the three sons arrived... the ' Adwani had three
daughters.
He said: “Now. This is good. Three.”
He brought the judge, who married all three, gave
them the sheep, goats, and camels that belonged to them,
and their tents, and told them they could return, and pitch
their tents together, and God have mercy on them.
And that’s the story. From start to finish.
Andrew; Thank you very much.
c Ali: You’re welcome.
Andrew: Great. This is really good.
c Ali: God protect you.
Muhammad Hamdan: Of course, this is evidence that
karam is not just a matter of food and drink. Hospitality is
from the soul; it’s from the blood. It’s giving generously
of your self.
cAli: Yes. Generosity of self. For instance ... I love
Andrew, so I do all I can for him. I sacrifice. I sacrifice
on his behalf. I would sacrifice my own sons, and give
up my own wealth, because of Andrew. This is because
Andrew and I love each other. There’s peace between us.
That’s the meaning.
Andrew; Thank you very much.
'Ali: You’re welcome.
Andrew: I’ve been searching everywhere for this
story.
cAli: By God?
Andrew: I came down to the Jordan Valley just to hear
you.
c Ali: God bless you.
Muhammad Hamdan: Turn off the tape recorder.
The story is appalling and beautiful. It is about
“peace,” but not a perpetual or binding peace; it
is a continually renegotiated peace established in
the face of murder, famine, theft, sexual inequality,
and harassment, with no promise of anything better,
even if individuals are willing to sacrifice what is
most precious to them. This willingness to sacri-
fice corresponds to a morality beyond law, beyond
rights (cosmopolitan or local), beyond “the proper
thing to do.” There is peace between the Sbayhi and
the 'Adwani because they give up what they are
under no obligation to surrender. As in the story of
Ibn Khatlan, “goodness and blessing” are realized
in their proximity to death.
I am quite confident that UNESCO officials had
none of this in mind when they singled out “Bed-
ouin hospitality” as an international exemplar of
“harmony.” cAli Muhammad’s story is offensive to
every model of parenting, gender equality, due pro-
cess of law, free marital choice, equal justice, and
“quality of life” the UN would care to promote. The
world depicted in the story seems morally impossi-
ble even for Hajj'Ali to live in, and (for that reason)
he judged it a better world than the one he now in-
habits, where his family is caught in a cycle of vio-
Shry°cli
lence they cannot escape. I am not equally attract^
to this “ideal” world. I am intrigued, however,
Hajj c Ali’s central idea, “generosity of self” 0car jt
an-nafs). It is a costly virtue, and the actiorlS .
motivates are exemplary because they are uncti
for. The Sbayhi and the 'Adwani embrace the
gers of hospitality, overcoming them not thro .
recourse to law (which they circumvent and ign^(S
but through radical, potentially self-destructive
of forgiveness. ^
I take pleasure in imagining the UNESCO
mony Prize crushed to pieces beneath the imp® ^
truths of 'Ali Muhammad’s story, and I wond
this destructive fantasy is consistent with the st°
moral function.
Conclusion
of
Derrida was also enthralled by horrifying taj?cal
generosity. “Of Hospitality” ends with two bid ^
narratives - Lot’s Guests in Sodom (Genesis)
the Rape and Mutilation of the Levite’s Coned ^
(Judges) - in which men defend the sancti Lje
their households by offering daughters or fe
dependents as living sacrifices, as substitutions
will insure the safety of their (male) guests- ^
we heirs to this tradition of hospitality,” b)e
asks? “Up to what point? Where should we P^j
the invariant, if it is one, across this log10,
these narratives? They testify without end 111
memory” (2000: 155). , c\t-
In the same volume, Derrida makes Frenf|g6ir
izenship, in its in/accessibility to certain
ans, part of this disturbing tradition. Arab x
lims were, to the French, an obstacle to ima&
community, just as Arab Bedouin had earlier V^>s
sented an odd discontinuity in the surface of pg
globe. This limit to national belonging c°UaCtof
overcome by Arab Muslims only through an
sacrifice, a renunciation of their standing aS
lims subject to Islamic personal status la^‘ of
short, they were being offered the hospita.^ up
French citizenship on condition that they £
- in a pattern that is now familiar to us - wn ^5).
thought of as their culture” (Derrida 200 • ^
The singularity of Bedouin tales of h°spita
contrast to the Algerian case, is that ind1 g0jJs,
willingly sacrifice what is dearest to tbern pet'
daughters, wives - in order to redeem anot ,g ^
son. In both stories told here, the sacrifice ^ $6
cepted in ways that return the valued o
donor, accompanied by something more ^ ap-
still: marriage, wealth, friendship, peace- j0uS,
peal of this vision - this possibility of nnra
,03^
Anthropos
419
lït
inking about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin
^calculated, yet abundant reciprocity - is what
Kes hospitality a gift worth giving, even if this
raculous “pay-off” is seldom experienced in ev-
ryday life.
Through imitation and parallelism, one could
^Ply this model of sacrifice to matters of citi-
^hip and statecraft. States (configured as hosts)
serv'
litis
ehle:
Persons (configured as guests) exchange rights,
!v,ces, and loyalties. If we limit our terms in
way, something like a politics of hospitality
^ r§es, and its gestures are predictable. State au-
nties might, at times, forego the right to name
la encapsulate their citizens in return for even
mobile populations. Citizens might agree
^ Relinquish certain cultural differences, as proof
0 be'°nging, only to have other differences rec-
Cly ?ed and celebrated by the state. States and
might give up their claims to territorial
ereignty and individual rights in order to gain
p0 ecti°n or economic advantage. All of these
^Ssibilities have, in recent years, been explored
Ration-states and citizen-subjects. Dual citizen-
iJ^ multicultural citizenship, extraterritorial cit-
J^ip, imperial patronage and control, privati-
l°n> neoliberal devolutions, and population ex-
^§es are consistent with these strategies,
to *et the logic of hospitality fits uncomfortably
tk n these scenarios, even if it can be applied to
jiJP (as, say, Mauss applied his findings on the
^ to the “generosity” of the social welfare state).
L, stories told in this essay, some by Jordanian
u°ain, others by metropolitan philosophers, have
givc°mm°n a displacement in time and space that
^es them a moral power quite distinct from, and
l^etieal to, the power of good social policy. The
ill must privilege rules and empirical constraints
Ve^ays our storytellers cannot. For Kant, the uni-
r-r(j right of hospitality transcends the republican
Vu’ a figment of the theorist’s imagination;
awzi al-Khatalin, hospitality exceeds the re-
fr)r Ability to keep and protect one’s own children;
\ Muhammad Badr al-cAdwan, it cancels out
ii j; bght to take revenge, to marry, to forfeit or save
,^or Derrida, hospitality supersedes any law
Jbight seek to regulate or enforce it.
excessive, sometimes horrible potential is
orated not in the public spaces of nation-states,
ftv y regnant forms of “global” morality. The Har-
\ y Prize is more suited to those settings. Rather,
Of Potential flourishes in the “unruled regions”
stijj°cial fife. In the late 18th century, Kant could
41< °cate these places in the remote areas of
V^rieal planet” that would someday be cov-
\ by republics. Two centuries later, it is obvi-
^at “unruled regions” have proliferated across
and within political boundaries of all kinds. The
emergence of hospitality as a critical rhetoric in
France - or in Jordan, or wherever we hear such
criticism in a world of nation-states - is proof that
a moral alternative is being sought outside domains
controlled by Benhabib’s “overwhelming sovereign
power with the ultimate right of enforcement.” The
infrastructure of this proof was laid bare by Kant
himself. In the final lines of “Perpetual Peace”
(1957: 23), he describes his law of universal citi-
zenship as a “supplement to the unwritten code of
the civil and international law.” This supplement
{Ergänzung), he argues, is “indispensable” to the
maintenance of “human rights.” It must be consid-
ered a necessary addition to cosmopolitan citizen-
ship (and not simply a matter of kindness) because
international law is itself insufficient to guarantee
this status.
Kant’s parting insight suggests that welcome
can be made - it is made possible - only when
sovereignty is given up, or held in abeyance,
thereby creating an “unruled region” in which there
are no permanent residents. Only guests and hosts
can “belong” in this space, and their interactions
- as they spend time together, make demands of
each other, and try to achieve or prevent greater
familiarity - require the constant rearticulation of
more “permanent” identities and identity spaces.
Welcome resembles trespass; it courts and recon-
figures trespass. This quality explains why hospi-
tality is a morally indefinite virtue that exposes us
to the hazards (and the delights) of stepping over
and overstepping human boundaries. Unlike “peace
on earth,” the ambivalent coupling of welcome and
trespass is already perpetual. It engenders all we
dread, and all we desire, as we face each other
across the threshold.
I would like to thank helpful readers and listeners at sev-
eral venues where I have presented this article: the De-
partment of Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania;
the Institute for the Humanities, University of Michigan,
and at “Giving Space, Taking Time. A Workshop on
Hospitality and Generosity,” sponsored by the Geogra-
phy Department of the Open University. Paul Dresch,
Humoud Jabali, Sally Howell, Heidrun Friese, Mustafa
Dikeg, Fawzi al-Khatalin, Luna Khirfan, Yoav Alon, and
cAli Muhammad al-cAdwan have commented helpfully
on the essay or contributed materials essential to it. Sup-
port for write-up was provided, in part, by the Institute
for the Humanities at the University of Michigan.
X
°P°s 103.2008
420
Andrew
Shryock
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185-186
janvier/juin
2008
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L’anthropologue et le contemporain
Autour de Marc Augé
Introduction de
Jean-Paul Colleyn & Jean-Pierre Dozon
Témoignages, études & essais de
Jean-Louis Boutillier • Marc Augé • Jacques Le Goff
Françoise Héritier • Georges Balandier
Emmanuel Terray
Elizabeth Roudinesco • Jean Mounicq
Paul Virilio • Michel Agier
Véronique Nahoum-Grappe • Marc Abélès
Francisco Jarauta • Jackie Assyag • Didier Fassin
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ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 423-434
Valorisation d’objets bédouins et redéfinitions identitaires
lors d’un moussem en Algérie
Yazid Ben Hounet
Ab:
Be***- ~ This article analyzes the public valorization of
the Uln Ejects during a local festival (wacda or moussem) in
/\ti re§'°n of the Ksour Mountains, in the Algerian Saharian
ob
‘as. It
’Jects
aims at showing the place and the role of certain
Eeclo .’ SUch as the tent (khaima), the rifle (mukahla) of the
the vUln Norseman (fursân), the Bedouin tunic (lahbaya), and
'henf Ues t^lat ‘hey have in the process of redefining tribal
that tueS an<3 statutory intertribal relations. The article argues
besto ese objects, most of which are regarded as prestige-
dirtleVVl.nS Possessions, have an important symbolic and political
a re '¡10n' To publicly emphasize their importance amounts to
fte(/0 rrnation of their symbolic and political value. [Algeria,
Posç n’ °bject, Bedouin identity, festival, moussem, prestige
Usions]
l’^coleBen ^ouneL Docteur en Anthropologie Sociale de
braire ^6S ^autes Études en Sciences Sociales ; attaché tem-
vers.;t(J ^ enseignement et de recherche en Anthropologie, Uni-
Paris 8. Il est chercheur affilié au Laboratoire d’An-
Afrj °§‘e Sociale, Collège de France. - Champs de recherche :
..4Ue du '
Cent,
es
Nord, tribu, nomadisme, sainteté. - Publications ré-
0Ues; ' L’Algérie des tribus. Le fait tribal dans le Haut Sud-
fitugi ^ §érien contemporain” (2006) ; “La tribu en pratique. Le
>L
(Uue| , »—
^00?) mûdâwala chez les Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdûb” (Alfa
L aussi Références citées.
'"‘‘'«duction
Asja r ,
^re§ion des Monts des Ksour, Haut Sud-Ouest
octobre 2004. J’assiste à la fête (wacda)
^rien),
en l’honneur de Sid Ahmad Majdûb, le
^hs i°Ca^ Devant moi, trois danseurs excellent
l’Oq 6 style calawi qui est très apprécié dans
de q^st algérien.2 Les musiciens sont au nombre
rQ re- L’un d’entre eux joue de la gasba (flûte
eau). Trois percussionnistes l’accompagnent
avec des galal (petits tambourins, recouverts de
peau de chèvre, qui se portent d’une main). Le
maître de cérémonie, maître de la troupe, tend le
micro au flûtiste et harangue la foule entre deux
morceaux. Les danseurs s’arrêtent. Le maître de
cérémonie invite le public à danser. Un homme
s’avance. Il remet un billet de deux cents dinars au
maître de cérémonie et sollicite un nouveau mor-
ceau de calawi. Avant d’entreprendre sa danse, il
demande à l’un des danseurs de lui prêter sa tu-
nique en tissu (lahbaya, pl. lahbayat). Ce dernier
la retire et la remet au nouveau danseur. Une fois
vêtu, l’homme fait un signe aux musiciens. Ceux-ci
se mettent à jouer. La danse commence. Celui-ci
fait sa démonstration plein d’entrain et de style.
Ses mouvements m’évoquent ceux d’un cheval de
course. Ses pas sont saccadés. Les pieds tapent le
sol et parfois des démarrages soudains provoquent
et accompagnent l’accélération musicale.
Ce n’est pas la première fois que j’assiste à une
démonstration de danse. Quelques semaines plus
tôt, j’étais convié à un mariage à Oulakak, une lo-
calité proche d’Asla.3 Le mariage avait lieu dans
un hangar. Les invités étaient pour la plupart semi-
nomades. Une troupe de musiciens avait été solli-
1 II s’agit d’une localité située à environ 70 km à l’est d’Aïn
Sefra, sur la route d’El Bayadh.
2 Le calawi est à la fois un genre musical et le style de danse
correspondant.
3 Lors de la troisième phase de la réforme agraire entreprise
dans la décennie 70, cette localité était construite et destinée,
à l’instar des autres villages pastoraux, à inciter la sédentari-
sation progressive des nomades de la région.
424
Yazid Ben
citée pour l’occasion. Là encore, les personnes qui
se succédaient enfilaient une lahbaya avant de se
mettre à danser. On me revêtit moi-même d’une
lahbaya avant de me pousser sur la piste. La lah-
baya jouait incontestablement un rôle important
lors de ces démonstrations de danse, comme s’il
était inconvenable, anormal de danser sans ce vê-
tement. Si “l’habit ne fait pas le moine”, il me sem-
blait toutefois qu’ici la lahbaya faisait bel et bien le
danseur.
Lors de la fête de Sid Ahmad Majdûb, et peut-
être ici plus qu’ailleurs, la lahbaya est portée, exhi-
bée durant les démonstrations de danses qui se suc-
cèdent à longueur de journée. Ce n’est pas le seul
objet qui participe de la mise en scène de cette fête.
Mais c’est probablement l’un des plus importants
ou du moins l’un des objets les plus mis en valeur.
Il en existe deux autres, tout aussi importants, si ce
n’est plus, et dont la place et le rôle concourent plei-
nement à l’aura de la fête (et plus largement à celles
des populations qui l’organisent et y participent). Il
s’agit de la tente (khaima pl. khaimat) et du fusil
0mukahla), posé et utilisé lors des fantasias.
Pour comprendre, le rôle de ces objets et plus
largement de la fête dans le processus de redéfini-
tion des identités locales, il faut au préalable pré-
senter brièvement les spécificités de la région des
Monts des Ksour et de sa population.
Les Monts des Ksour et sa population
La région des Monts des Ksour fut le territoire d’en-
tités ethniques (berbères/arabes) et tribales spéci-
fiques dont les identités persistent de nos jours et
qui font encore sens pour ses habitants. Les dis-
tinctions ethniques et tribales demeurent ainsi des
référents identitaires importants. Toutefois, la réa-
lité sociale actuelle de la région est complexe, si
bien qu’une simple présentation de la population
en tribus ou ethnies considérées comme distinctes
et exclusives serait erronée. Si les identités tri-
bales ou ethniques peuvent avoir une valeur heu-
ristique, elles ne sont plus depuis l’indépendance et
même depuis la colonisation (pour autant qu’elles
l’eussent été un jour) les seuls référents en terme de
lien social. Il serait dangereux de voir, en effet, les
habitants de ce territoire sous le seul angle de leur
appartenance tribale ou ethnique, ou autre apparte-
nance unique (Bayait 1996). Les membres d’une
tribu ou ethnie reconnue qui sont aussi citoyens
d’une localité, d’un pays, côtoient des personnes
autres que celles de même origine tribale, etc.
Néanmoins, le Sud de la région (qui comprend
les daïras d’Aïn Sefra, Sfissifa et Moghrar) est per-
Hounet
çue comme le territoire traditionnel de la confié
ration des 'Amûr4 et la partie nord (celle cotfe
pondant à la région de Mecheria) est vue com
étant celui des Hmiyan. Le territoire des Awlad
Ahmad Majdûb correspond à celui de la daïra-co^
mune d’Asla, située à l’Ouest. Les Awlâd Sid A.^
mad Majdûb, appelés plus communément Mjaû
ou Majdûbî, forment une tribu mrabtin, maran
tique. C’est-à-dire qu’elle possède un certain
tige d’essence religieuse. Dans l’imaginaire coh
tif, elle bénéficie, par voie d’héritage, de la ¿’dh'h
de l’ancêtre fondateur, un saint ayant vécu au a
siècle. 5
Outre ces tribus traditionnellement bédouin^
arabophones et se prévalant d’une origine ara^e^rp
région comprend des populations de diverses
gines, parmi lesquelles existent les Ahl qsar’.
gens des ksour (qsûr). Les ksour étaient habites J
qu’au début des années 1960 par des populan
vivant principalement de l’agriculture et Padaa-
chelha (idiome berbère). Au lendemain de ^
dépendance algérienne, de nombreuses Pers°nj0-
sont parties s’installer en périphérie dans des
gements plus “confortables” ou ont émigro ^
d’autres villes (en particulier à Ain Sefra), °u g
core en France pour trouver un emploi. Que^
familles vivent toujours dans ces ksour, tnais ,
plupart sont à l’abandon (Ben Hounet et Guh1
2007). Par ailleurs, si certains adultes parlent ^
core le chelha, celui-ci est de moins en moins ^
lisé, du fait notamment de la scolarisation de* ^
fants dans les écoles publiques où seul l’arn
les langues étrangères sont enseignés. La dis
tion entre les Ahl qsûr et les personnes se Prevatj0n
d’une origine arabe trace une première démarca
selon un principe ethnique définissant deux ca
ries : les “Berbères” et les “Arabes”. , /f0-
Sur ce point, il convient de remarquer 1 ne t
généité des populations arabophones se VïeSX el>
d’origine arabe. Ibn Khaldoun distinguait, ocj^p
son temps, quatre groupes parmi ceux qul
tèrent successivement la péninsule arabique et *
la dernière a fourni une vaste population af ,g)
une partie considérable de l’Afrique septentr1
comme l’atteste le Baron de Slane dans son in-
duction à sa traduction de l’ouvrage d’Ibn j„
doun (1982). Ces groupes sont : 1. El-Ara
------------- “T nays PaI"
4 De la Martinière et Lacroix remarquaient que : Le P^a et*
couru par les Amour ... avant l’occupation d Ain j,oUesl
1881, s’étendait depuis les environs d’Asla jus<?uJ|r iahvf,
de Figuig et, au sud de cette oasis, jusqu’à Fendu s jers
droite de l’Oued Zousfana, où ils possèdent des p
(1894:250). . ncoreS°üS
5 Près de 25 % des membres de ces tribus vivent
la tente. Leur nomadisme est de type apériodique
103
.2008
Anthropos
425
^alori
sation d’objets bédouins et redéfinitions identitaires lors d’un moussent en Algérie
^ba ; les Arabes arabisants, ou Arabes purs ; 2. El-
rab-el-Mostaréba; les Arabes arabisés; 3. El-
rab-et-Tabéâ-lil-Arab ; les Arabes successeurs des
rabes ; 4. El-Arab-el-Mostadjéma ; les Arabes
erbérisants.
Apparemment, dans ces groupes, Ibn Khaldoun
e compterait pas les Berbères arabisés, dont beau-
°UP se revendiquent pourtant aujourd’hui comme
|Aabes. Il faut rappeler que les conquérants arabes
^ rent peu nombreux, en définitive, sur le territoire
e 1 actuelle Algérie et que la majorité de la po-
*ation ayant constitué l’Algérie serait issue d’un
ads berbère largement arabisé. La question de la
^ Ossification ethnique des populations du Maghreb
saurait en conséquence être simple.6
n Quelques familles shûrfa, de la branche alaouite
ranche qui donna naissance à la monarchie maro-
lne actuelle), habitent la région. Mais elles sont
u Uombreuses. Il y a aussi quelques familles d’ori-
v ne hartani ou serviles et dont les ancêtres seraient
c aus du Sahara en grande partie durant la période
^ °uiale. Enfin, on trouve des habitants originaires
^tres wilayas, en particulier des cadres et fonc-
Unafies venant du nord de l’Algérie et des com-
^erÇants d’origine kabyle. Cette mosaïque tribale
s»] ^tre appréhendée en tant que construit social
cj °n des procédés que les théoriciens de l’ethni-
IQq °nt m^s en exer§ue (Poutignat et Streiff-Fenart
^ . ). Même s’il s’agit de catégories souvent arbi-
I lrÇs, construites et réifiées en particulier durant
jj Période coloniale (Amselle et M’Bokolo 1999),
u î1 eu demeure pas moins que ces catégories tri-
tQ es font encore sens, d’un point de vue social
au moins. Ces groupes tribaux doivent être per-
}n c°mme des types d’organisation sociale (Barth
)• Il ne s’agit plus actuellement, pour autant
fr ^ en fut jamais ainsi, de groupes définis par des
q Obères situées géographiquement, mais d’entités
nies par des frontières sociales.
V0jr Se Concentrant sur ce qui agitau plan social, on peut
dj que les groupes ethniques sont une forme d’orga-
^ lQn sociale. ... Une attribution catégorielle est une
lor ub°n ethnique quand elle classe une personne se-
prg s°n identité fondamentale, la plus générale, qu’on
déterminée par son origine et son environne-
Utés ' ^ans la mesure où les acteurs utilisent des iden-
Pser etbniques pour se catégoriser eux-mêmes et catégo-
desr As autres dans des buts d’interaction, ils forment
l%f0üPes ethniques en ce sens organisationnel” (Barth
•210s.).
Jjj n
t, Pourra notamment se référer à l’article de Françoi
'"‘"Ion (1993).
w
°P°s 103.2008
(Arsh, qabila, farqa, asl ... sentiments
d’appartenance et identités tribales
Dans les Monts des Ksour une question est sou-
vent posée pour situer les personnes : celle portant
sur l’ascendance. Le terme asl (origine, racine, pl.
ûsûl) est largement utilisé dans cette région, celui
de nasab (ascendance) beaucoup moins. L’utilisa-
tion du terme asl présuppose que toute personne se
rattache à une entité précise du fait de son origine.
Le fait de définir son asl permet de se situer et
donc de se positionner vis-à-vis des personnes en
présence. L’importance de cette pratique témoigne
de sa normativité et doit être mise en relation avec
la prégnance de la référence tribale dans la struc-
turation des identités locales. La question du asl
renvoie en effet largement à celle de l’appartenance
tribale, à la tribu (carsh). En Algérie, le terme carsh
(pl. carûsh) est utilisé très fréquemment. Il a des
significations variables dans les dialectes maghré-
bins. Il peut désigner une tribu (dans les Hauts
Plateaux constantinois), un groupe agnatique (dans
le Sahel tunisien) ou une fédération (en Kabylie)
et définit aussi les terres collectives rattachées à
ces groupes sociaux. On parle alors de terre carsh
(Berque 1960). Dans le Haut Sud-Ouest, carsh est
employé d’une manière générique pour désigner
des entités tribales d’ampleur différentes et parfois,
ce qui ajoute à la confusion, il peut être utilisé aussi
bien pour une confédération que pour l’une des tri-
bus qui la compose. Le terme carsh est d’un emploi
général et peut être utilisé à la fois pour les groupes
sociaux englobant et pour les groupes englobés.
Il désigne toute entité faisant corps et dont les
membres se reconnaissent une origine commune.
L’entité que désignera le terme carsh est donc rela-
tive aux positionnements des personnes en interac-
tion et à l’importance des groupes sur le territoire
en question. Par exemple, une même personne se
présentera comme appartenant au carsh des 'Arnûr
à un individu n’appartenant pas à cette entité so-
ciale. Elle précisera si elle appartient aux Swala,
aux Awlâd Salim ou aux Awlâd Bûbkar, si on le
lui demande, ou se définira comme appartenant
directement à ces derniers groupes si la personne
avec laquelle elle est en interaction appartient aux
cAmûr.
Deux raisons concomitantes pourraient expli-
quer l’emploi généralisé d’un tel lexique ; d’une
part, il correspond à des entités qui existent con-
crètement, même si ces entités ont un caractère
mouvant et dynamique; d’autre part, il émane de
et permet d’exprimer un univers qui fait sens pour
les habitants au vu de l’histoire et de la culture
locale. En effet, ce n’est pas parce que les per-
426
Yazid Ben
sonnes font référence à l’univers tribal que celui-ci
existe concrètement. Mais l’emploi généralisé d’un
tel lexique nous incite à penser qu’il répond à des
raisons à la fois idéelles et concrètes. En outre, le
fait de nommer participe au processus de réification
des entités sociales. En un sens, pour qu’une tribu
existe et soit reconnue en tant que telle, encore faut-
il qu’elle soit nommée ainsi par ses membres et par
les habitants de la région. Ce constat amène de fait à
s’interroger sur les raisons de la persistance ou de la
réactivation des sentiments d’appartenance tribale.
La fête (wacda) concoure, entre autre, à l’exaltation
et à la reproduction de ces valeurs et de ces sen-
timents. J’analyserai ici, en particulier, le rôle des
objets lors de la wacda de Sid Ahmad Majdûb.
La walda de Sid Ahmad Majdûb : dimension
de la fête, origine, organisation
La wacda (moussem) de Sid Ahmad Majdûb est
une manifestation d’ampleur nationale, bien que la
majorité des personnes qui y assistent proviennent
des régions de l’Ouest algérien et du Sahara. Elle
fait l’objet chaque année, depuis moins de dix ans,
d’un reportage à la télévision nationale algérienne ;
en 2004, l’allocution d’ouverture fut même pronon-
cée par le ministre du Tourisme.
Il s’agit à la fois d’une fête organisée en l’hon-
neur d’un saint, mais aussi d’une foire économique,
d’un évènement sociopolitique (pour la tribu se
revendiquant issue de ce saint) et d’un moment
de divertissement. Sid Ahmad Majdûb, l’ancêtre
fondateur de la tribu, serait né approximativement
entre 1490 et 1493 de l’ère chrétienne, et serait mort
en 1571. Il appartient à une lignée de saints appelés
les “Bûbakrîyya”, terme faisant référence à leur
ascendance supposée remonter à Abû Bakr Sîdîq.7
La tribu des Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdûb comp-
terait, selon mes estimations, actuellement environ
huit mille personnes. Leur territoire correspond ap-
proximativement à celui de la daïra d’Asla. C’est
d’ailleurs au sein de cette localité que se regroupe
la plupart des Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdûb. Elle com-
prend un qsar (inhabité). Quelques familles ha-
bitent à Aïn-Sefra et à Chellala Dahrania (petite
commune située à environ 15 km d’Asla mais ap-
partenant à la wilaya d’El Bayadh). En dehors de
la localité d’Asla, les Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdûb
sédentaires sont répartis dans des petits douars (re-
7 Abû Bakr Sîdîq est l’un des premiers compagnons du pro-
phète Mûhâmmâd et premier calife après sa mort. Pour la
biographie de Sid Ahmad Majdûb, cf. Boubakeur (1990),
Ben Naoum (1993), Ben Hounet (2003).
Houn6{
groupements de tentes) environnants. Enfin, pr®s
la moitié des membres de cette tribu vit actue
ment sous la tente (khaima), partiellement ou t ^
au long de l’année. Ils évoluent pour la plupart s
le territoire de la commune-daïra d’Asla.
La tribu des Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdûb orgarllS.g
la wacda en l’honneur de l’ancêtre éponyme dep ^
au moins un siècle (1904). Elle a lieu chaque
durant le mois d’octobre (calendrier agraire).
fête constitue le moment privilégié pendant Lu
l’ensemble des membres de la tribu se retrouve (
nomades comme les sédentaires). Elle se dero
sur un large terrain en bordure d’Asla. s
Les Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdûb dressent le^
tentes autour de l’espace public, réservé à la ta t
sia, au souk (sûq) et aux démonstrations de danse^
de chants. Ils se répartissent par fractions. Le s°
(sûq) est composé de commerçants ambulants P
venant de toute la région. Les femmes assistent
fête du haut d’une butte située au Nord, derrLff ^
tribune officielle. L’espace public réservé à la
tasia, au sûq, aux conteurs et danseurs leur est i ^
dit. Chaque fraction délègue quatre membres P
assurer le contrôle des espaces publics et les r
de bienséance. Ils interdisent notamment 1 a g
des femmes à ces espaces ou celui des étraité
dans les douars des fractions perçus comuL.^g
espaces privés, intimes, réservés aux cayla (tarT1
éiargies). in
La tribune officielle est installée face au ^
de la fantasia à l’intention des notables locaux» ^
hauts-fonctionnaires (préfet, sous-préfets, 8
taires généraux, etc.) et les députés et minist
passage. Ces différents personnages sont accU^.ac'
par le maire et certains shaykhs des différentes ^
fions. Les personnalités officielles arrivent je.
les deux derniers jours, les plus animés (prinC y ^
ment le jeudi, la fête se déroulant sur quatre J ^
du mardi au vendredi). Chaque famille saC£L ents
ou plusieurs moutons pour nourrir les dit
visiteurs. La fantasia se déroule l’après-nu •
conteurs et musiciens rythment les journées
soirées. relatiort
La fête et le pèlerinage sont à mettre en
uvcc l’identité mrabtin (maraboutique) de $$6
La fête est consacrée en effet au saint local, a . t0ilt
présumé de la tribu, et les personnes qui Y a
finissent généralement leur visite par un pet 9 g-tué
au tombeau présumé de Sid Ahmad Majdu ’
avec
8 Le choix de la date correspond historiquement a
de transition succédant au retour des tentes du e
dent leur départ vers le Sahara. ¿es à la
9 Pendant le pèlerinage, les visiteurs font des o r . eIjients
rheotel, eCl V
zawïya sous forme de dons en argent, cheptel,
divers ou nourriture.
103-
2008
Anthropo8
dation d’objets bédouins et redéfinitions identitaires lors d’un moussem en Algérie
427
valori
c Près de cinq cents mètres à l’Ouest de l’empla-
(o ifnt réservé à la wa'da. La visite du tombeau
bba) est aussi réglementée. Les femmes s’y
y aent le matin par une entrée annexe, les hommes
ç. Près-midi par l’entrée principale. La zawîya de
i Alimad Majdûb, située à proximité de la qubba
^iron 200 mètres, est un lieu exclusivement
rés CU^n’ ^es femmes n’y ayant pas accès. L’espace
çjj erv^ à l’accueil des étrangers est un lieu de mé-
l0n passant par les hommes.
es °bjets dans le contexte de la fête
^üfih
(te aya (tunique), mukahla (fusil) et khaima
Se*te) Participent de la mise en scène des mous-
jet s *°caux. Pour comprendre la place de ces ob-
rfy °rs de ces fêtes et plus généralement leur
j’ab *^aris construction des identités collectives,
lorSHrderai man^re dont ds sont m^s en exergue
e ^a wacda de Sid Ahmad Majdûb, fête la plus
0rtante de la région et la plus intense (Fig. 1).
*^f*10 de Sid Ahmad Majdûb et plus large-
Phé esvmoussem constituent, selon F. Reysoo, des
rne 0rnènes sociaux totaux, c’est-à-dire des “mo-
c°ncentrés de la vie sociale où les aspects
le t m°Ussems sont appelés wa cda en Algérie. Cependant,
les rrne moussem largement utilisé au Maroc et repris par
tureant^r°P°logues est devenu plus courant dans la littéra-
fem ainthroP°l°gique. Pour des raisons de compréhension,
P oie dans ce papier plus volontiers ce terme.
Hr,
°Pos 103.2008
religieux, économiques, sociaux, politiques, psy-
chologiques et esthétiques d’une société sont ma-
nifestes” (1991 : 201). Les objets y jouent un rôle
essentiel. Ils apparaissent plus volontiers lors de ces
occasions. Plus encore, certains objets sont “mis en
scène” lors de ces moments festifs. De fait, leur
mise en valeur suggère que ces objets participent
de l’affirmation identitaire des groupes en présence.
Comment sont-ils “mis en scène” ? Comment ces
objets ainsi présentés participent-ils du processus
de fabrication et de redéfinition identitaires des
groupes sociaux ? Pour apporter des éléments de
réponses à ces questions, il est nécessaire de donner
plus d’informations sur ces objets.
La tunique, le fusil, la tente : fabrication,
provenance, symbolique
La tunique
La lahbaya est une tunique en tissu, souvent de
couleur blanche ou jaune. Comme vêtement assez
simple, il est très couramment utilisé dans le Haut
Sud-Ouest, surtout par les nomades. C’est une large
tunique monochrome avec un grand col en V, fa-
briquée en popeline, en gabardine ou encore en
coton. La marque de tissu “Tissor”, utilisée pour
la fabrication des lahbayat, est la plus prisée lo-
calement. C’est également la plus chère. Le tissu
importé de France serait le produit de fabricants
dits “juifs”, selon ce que l’on en dit localement.
La fabrication des lahbayat incombait, historique-
428
Yazid Ben
Hounet
ment peut-être, du moins “traditionnellement”,11 12
aux populations des qsûrn de la région, popula-
tions d’origine juive ou berbère. Les Juifs de la
région étant partis, seules les populations d’origine
berbère sont considérées actuellement comme les
“spécialistes locaux” des lahbayat (mais aussi des
burnous et des djellabas), et cela même si des per-
sonnes d’autres origines - et notamment nomades
- se sont lancées depuis quelques années dans la
fabrication de ce vêtement. Mondialisation oblige,
une grande partie des tissus utilisés pour la fabri-
cation des lahbayat est actuellement importée de
Chine ou d’Inde.
En dépit de ces changements, la lahbaya ap-
paraît encore comme l’habit typique de la région.
Elle est très prisée des nomades (en particulier le
modèle appelé localement lahbaya qurtas, ample
tunique à manches courtes), mais elle est égale-
ment portée par les sédentaires (Fig. 2). Bien que
fabriquée “traditionnellement” par une population
spécifique - c’est-à-dire par les habitants des qsûr
- son utilisation très courante a hissé ce vêtement
au statut d’habit spécifique du terroir local : il est
utilisé plus volontiers lors d’événements importants
(Aid, mariage, moussem, etc.) et les personnes in-
vitées, notamment les personnalités officielles lors
des fêtes locales, sont bien souvent revêtues de cet
habit et/ou du burnous lors des cérémonies ou mo-
ments d’accueil. Cet habit est aussi souvent offert
comme cadeau de départ. De fait, la lahbaya est le
vêtement qui, à mon sens, symbolise le mieux les
codes et coutumes vestimentaires de la région.
11 Historiquement peut-être, car je n’ai pas de certitude concer-
nant la véracité de cette assertion répandue localement. Il
n’existe pas, à ma connaissance, de travaux portant sur la
fabrication des lahbayat dans la région des Monts des Ksour.
Isabelle Eberhardt (2003) évoque le statut et les métiers des
Juifs et des Berbères des qsûr dans ses journaliers du Sud
Oranais écrits en 1903 et 1904. Ils y sont plus volontiers arti-
sans, couturiers, forgerons. Pour traditionnellement, j’utilise
les guillemets en ayant à l’esprit les limites du concept de
tradition, largement critiqué en anthropologie. On compren-
dra que derrière la mise en valeur de la dite “tradition” opère
avant tout la légitimation de faits contemporains, une inter-
prétation du passé en vertu de contingences bien actuelles
(Lenclud 1987).
12 Dans la région des Monts des Ksour, les qsûr actuellement
en voie de restauration datent d’environ 9 siècles. Il en existe
une dizaine. Il s’agit de villages compacts fortifiés situés en
bordure d’oueds (cours d’eau). Construites principalement
avec des matériaux locaux (pierre, terre, tout - brique crue
composée d’argile et de paille - et tronc de palmier), les ha-
bitations des qsûr, dans lesquelles vivaient des familles élar-
gies (parents, enfants et petits enfants), s’organisent selon
une logique qui favorise le lien communautaire tout en pré-
servant l’intimité et la séparation entre hommes et femmes.
Fig. 2\ Membres sédentaires de la tribu des Awlâd Sid
Majdûb portant des lahbayat (Asla, septembre 2001).
Outre le fait qu’elle symbolise l’apparterîa^,
au terroir, la lahbaya est aussi utilisée lors dfs t
monstrations de danse, la souplesse du tissu I s
mieux apparaître les ondulations rapides des gt
des danseurs. Lorsque le danseur s’exécute, gt
toute la lahbaya qui vibre et, apparemment, ^g
l’un des vêtements qui met le mieux en vaie
danses bédouines (Fig. 3).
Le fusil
ohj
jet
Le fusil, appelé localement mukahla, est un u^g
assez rare que l’on observe en particulier l°rS^t(js
fantasias de la région, notamment lors des &
organisées en l’honneur des saints locaux, h ^
localement trois formes de fusil : la garda, la
et !e tubji. fie
Le terme garda vient du mot tugrud qui . ^jpsi
“casser” en dialecte algérien. La garda fal qû
référence au fusil qui se “casse”, qui se P
deux, lorsque l’on y met les cartouches. La
terme désignant le “couple”, fait référence
103.2°°*
Anthropos
•fig, 3 . ^
de • Canses lors de la wacda
t0L 1(1 Ahmad Majdûb (Asia, oc-
°bre2004).
^aloi
'risation d’objets bédouins et redéfinitions identitaires lors d’un moussem en Algérie
429
süà
, double canon. Enfin, le tubji est un fusil que
remplit avec de la poudre (baroud). Il s’ac-
v 'ipagne d’un fil de fer, appelé lamqid, qui sert
J^er la poudre.
lem a ^rication des fusils incombait traditionnel-
tef) ent aux forgerons, population sédentaire appar-
ié111 aux groupes sociaux statutairement les plus
tio ^es P^us pauvres ; haratin - ancienne popula-
^**vile-juive et parfois berbère. Les tribus no-
ti,
les -
plus particulièrement les tribus marabou-
^ et shûrfa - apparaissaient comme les groupes
de^üx statutairement supérieurs.13 La fabrication
fusils
siêiii
, à l’instar des lahbayat, se faisait dans les
■su St n0n C^eZ ^eS noma<^es- Toutefois les fusils,
Portes de force tribale, semblent surtout avoir été
ton 68 et utilisés par ces derniers. Les sources his-
h0t^Ues font bien souvent état des faits d’armes des
Irjk a( es’ notamment lors des razzias (ghazw) entre
fitgs ^ °u lors des actions intentées contre les auto-
Iqe rançaises (De La Martinière et Lacroix 1894 ;
de ialer On retrouve par ailleurs l’apologie
y Sq Vle nomade et des valeurs de bravoure qui
(19? associées dans les vers traduits de Belkheir
de A ami et chantre de Sidi Abu 'Amama, leader
Irç resistance dans le Sud Oranais (autre appel-
le ^vP°ur le Haut Sud-Ouest algérien) à la fin du
enCorecle- On le voit chez Belkheir et on l’observe
e l°rs des fantasias : les fusils symbolisent
13^^—-——
trlbus mrabtin revendiquent comme ancêtre fondateur
OjL- ln1, Un marabout, les tribus shûrfa revendiquent une
81ne Prophétique.
AfHhr
la force, la bravoure, la virilité des cavaliers bé-
douins (fursân).14 Ceux-ci effectuent toujours une
parade avec leurs fusils, les brandissant au public
avant et après les démonstrations des cavaleries bé-
douines (Fig. 4). La valorisation de la force phy-
sique (valeur importante du monde tribal) fait ainsi
l’objet d’un rituel surtout lors des fantasias. Les
cavaliers bédouins (fursân), organisés en fractions,
s’y affrontent dans un jeu de charges héroïques
(Fig. 5).
Actuellement, et contrairement aux lahbayat, les
fusils ne sont plus produits localement. Les fusils
utilisés sont hérités de père en fils. Selon mes in-
formateurs, la région n’en produit plus depuis bien
longtemps et une grande partie des vieux fusils en
circulation proviendrait du Maroc où l’artisanat -
la ferronnerie en particulier - a perduré. Contrai-
rement à la lahbaya, tunique traditionnelle, le fusil
(mukahlo) n’est pas un objet qui circule. A l’instar
de la monture, il reste l’attribut du seul cavalier
bédouin. Jalousement gardé, le fusil distingue, lors
du moussem, le fursân des autres personnes. Les
fusils apparaissent donc être de vrais biens de pres-
tige,15 que l’on voit en action essentiellement lors
des moussems.
14 Les cavaliers bédouins appartiennent aux différentes frac-
tions tribales nomades ou d’origines nomades de la région.
15 Les biens de prestige sont des biens matériels ou immatériels
dont la possession ou la circulation ne relèvent ni de leur
“valeur d’échange” ni de leur “valeur d’usage”. Sur la notion
de “biens de prestige” en contexte saharien, cf. Bonte (2006).
°P°s 103.2008
Fig. 5 : Fantasia (Asia, octobre 2004).
La tente
La tente traditionnelle, la khaima, est composée
d’un pilier central (rqaïz) surmonté d’un morceau
de bois appelé hamar. Cette armature soutient une
longue bande en laine qui sert d’axe central. Celle-
ci est appelée triga, terme faisant référence par
ailleurs à la route. L’ensemble est recouvert deflidjs
(toiles en laine de mouton, de chèvre ou parfois de
dromadaire). Des piliers latéraux (kasm) permettent
de tendre les flidjs. Deux longues bandes, moins
larges que la triga, appelées dalha, sont placées sur
les cotés de la tente. Elles renforcent l’armature
!a tente. $
Les tentes des Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdutfi ^ ja
aussi celles des populations shûrfa et mrabtin ^
région, sont recouvertes d’un rij, décoratio11^.^
à partir de laines de chèvre et de drorna
Cette décoration distingue les tentes des P P je-
tions mrabtin et shûrfa de celles des tri b
douines “séculières”16 de la région (Fig- 6)-
16 Ces sont les tribus qui n’ont pas pour ancêtres ¿e
un saint ou qui ne se définissent pas comme ong
Anthropo8
103
.2008
sation d’objets bédouins et redéfinitions identitaires lors d’un moussera en Algérie
431
tr„l^es flidjs (toiles en laine), la triga (bande cen-
et les dalha (bandes latérales), parties de la
br-le fiui demandent un travail conséquent, sont fa-
toq 68 par les femmes nomades. Celles-ci tissent
^ibj aU l’année’ a partir des laines dispo-
Ce es> des morceaux àe flidjs qui viendront rempla-
Co es parties les plus usées de la tente. La tente est
Pla ?0s®e en moyenne de six flidjs dont un est rem-
** tous les deux ans environ. Les khaimat sont
de basses, ne mesurant qu’un mètre cinquante
S[a, auteur en moyenne. Les tentes sont ainsi plus
es en cas de vents de sables, assez fréquents
^ la région.
fe a khaima est faite en grande partie par les
la tIïles' ^es hommes participent à la fabrication de
nte en fournissant la matière première, la laine,
les • aussi en construisant les armatures en bois et
1CiUets qui tendront les flidjs. Le montage de la
leur incombe.
D a tente est l’attribut premier des populations
ades, bédouines, de la région. Elle conditionne
le yande partie le statut de bédouin (badwaya) -
le D ai Bédouin se doit de vivre sous la tente - et
Caies stl§e 9ui lui est associé dans les traditions lo-
darjt/ 0rigine arabe, force, importance de la soli-
6 hibale, prestige de l’ascendance en voie pa-
^i-e, liberté, honneur, etc.
pudiquement, les tribus nomades arabo-
s ont été longtemps majoritaires dans la ré-
est ° ProPhétique. La notion de tribu séculière {lay tribes)
trj^ernPloyée par Ernest Gellner (1969) pour distinguer ces
lls des lignages maraboutiques ou shûrfa.
°Pos 103.2008
gion du Haut Sud-Ouest. Dominées en nombre et
politiquement par les nomades, les populations des
qsûr étaient par ailleurs en relation avec ces der-
niers en raison de nombreux liens commerciaux
(les surplus des produits de l’agriculture et de l’éle-
vage étaient échangés entre ces groupes), mais
aussi, exceptionnellement, du fait d’alliances matri-
moniales. Toutefois, on attribuait aux populations
habitant les qsûr un statut inférieur car celles-ci
n’étaient pas d’origine arabe ou de lignée marabou-
tique. Dans une certaine mesure, cette domination
persiste encore aujourd’hui et les personnes origi-
naires des qsûr sont encore marginalisées du fait
de l’importance numérique de la population d’ori-
gine nomade, bien que celle-ci soit actuellement
largement sédentarisée. A titre d’exemple, à ce jour
aucun maire élu de la région n’est issu d’un qsar.
Puisqu’elle conditionne et en même temps ré-
sulte des stratifications statutaires, la tente est, elle
aussi, un bien de prestige, mais il s’agit d’un bien
qui ne circule pas (elle reste au sein de la famille)
et qui a avant tout valeur identitaire pour les tribus
de la région. En raison notamment de son caractère
sacré, puisqu’elle forme l’espace du haram (de l’in-
terdit, de l’intime), elle fait partie de cette catégorie
de biens exclus de l’échange et des logiques du don
et du contre-don (Godelier 1996) : les tentes ne se
vendent pratiquement pas et ne s’échangent pas.
Elles sont seulement transmises de génération en
génération.
432
Yazid Ben
La part des objets dans la “mise en scène”
de la fête et dans l’affirmation de l’identité
bédouine
Une fantasia sans charge de cavalerie n’est pas une
fantasia ; les cavaliers sans leurs fusils traditionnels
(tubji, zwija, garda) ne sont pas de vrais fursân, de
vrais cavaliers bédouins. Pour qu’une fantasia soit
de qualité, il faut plusieurs éléments : les groupes
de cavaliers doivent être nombreux afin de rendre la
compétition de charge de cavalerie plus attrayante
et ils doivent être des plus resplendissants. Les che-
vaux, la tenue des cavaliers, le chèche, les fusils,
etc. sont autant d’attributs qui distinguent les fur-
sân. Le public y est d’ailleurs très attentif. Sans
aucun doute, la fantasia est l’événement le plus
apprécié des moussems et le maniement des fusils
des cavaliers, chose assez rare,17 * séduit vivement
les personnes qui assistent aux fantasias.
Lors des compétitions de cavalerie, l’esthétique
des fursân est aussi importante que leurs prouesses
de cavaliers. La lahbaya et le fusil participent plei-
nement de l’éclat du fursân. La compétition des
cavaliers n’est donc pas seulement une compéti-
tion “guerrière” mais elle est aussi une compéti-
tion esthétique. Les spectateurs observent et jugent
non seulement la coordination de la charge, mais
aussi les tenues vestimentaires et plus largement
l’attitude des cavaliers. Ils en discutent entre eux.
Les fursân, une fois la charge terminée, se laissent
prendre individuellement en photo ou en vidéo par
les spectateurs, toujours sur leurs chevaux, brandis-
sant leurs fusils.
La fantasia ritualise par ailleurs les logiques
compétitives tribales, les cavaliers étant organisés
en fractions. Dans ce rituel, les objets qui contri-
buent à l’esthétique des cavaliers, en particulier les
fusils et parfois les lahbayat, jouent un rôle de
distinction indéniable. Le fusil, compte tenu de sa
rareté et du fait qu’il définit un groupe particulier
et prestigieux (les cavaliers), est bien évidemment
un bien de prestige qui distingue les fractions tri-
bales disposant historiquement d’une force impor-
tante des autres. La lahbaya, si elle est de qualité
(fabriquée notamment avec du tissu “Tissor”), peut
apparaître comme un objet de grande valeur, no-
tamment économique. De fait, la fantasia est aussi
une compétition d’objets, et certains d’entre eux
apparaissent pleinement comme des biens de pres-
tiges visant à rehausser le statut de telle ou telle
fraction tribale, ou encore de telle tribu. A titre
d’exemple, la tribu des Awlâd Nhar évoluant au Sud
17 Etant donné qu’ils ne sont utilisés que lors d’occasions fes-
tives spécifiques (moussems, célébrations officielles, etc.).
Houne1
de Tlemcen a construit sa réputation actuelle
partie grâce à l’aura de ses cavaliers, lesquels P
ticipent souvent aux fantasias du Haut Sud-D ’
et notamment à celle d’Asla. Toujours bien habi
avec leurs longues capes noires et leurs belles
bayat jaunes, les cavaliers des Awlâd Nhar s
aussi considérés comme les plus coordonnes 0
leurs charges et les mieux fournis en beaux
fusils-
Si la lahbaya peut apparaître parfois connu6,
objet de grande valeur, elle est surtout consid
comme un habit “traditionnel” ayant valeur ide ^
taire. Il s’agit d’un vêtement courant, utilise
volontiers pour les fêtes. Son utilisation Par ^
cavaliers, lors des fantasias, ou par les troupe8
danse m’incite à penser qu’il s’agit d’un vêteiU
ayant avant tout une fonction identitaire. Un s »
du terroir, la lahbaya, et en particulier la la'1 ^
qûrtas (ample tunique à manche courte), &PP
comme le vêtement symbolisant l’identité bédod
et son port fréquent lors de la fête contribu6
processus d’affirmation de l’identité locale, Vf
ment durant les démonstrations de danse. L fg
moigne le fait que l’on revêt souvent les étrang __
de cet habit comme signe d’intégration à la
nauté locale. Par ailleurs, la qualité de la
lahb<.
comme celle du costume en Europe, participe
distinction des individus. Les notables de la ^
et de la région se doivent de porter les laf ^
les plus belles et les mieux cousues, de Pr^ef gUfS
celles fabriquées avec du tissu “Tissor”. P*llS
notables de la tribu des Awlâd Sid Ahmad
m’ont d’ailleurs demandé de leur ramener du
“Tissor” de France. Il s’agissait là du bien 4ul
été le plus demandé par les notables de la tribu'^g.
Il en est de même des khaimat que 1 °a ^ ¡n
pose tout autour de l’espace public réserve
fantasia, au sûq, aux démonstrations de danses»
Les semi-nomades de la tribu des Awlâd N gj
mad Majdûb qui assistent à la wacda, mat8
la
ceux de la fraction des Bâni Uqba, app
tuf6
la'
tentes. Celles-ci sont réparties selon la struC
tribale, chaque fraction disposant de son 6
cernent. Les tentes de chaque fraction form6
campement autonome, notamment dans leur^eIit
tion quotidienne (par exemple, chaque camp6 p,
dispose d’une grande tente pour l’accueil des ^g
gers ; ceux-ci y sont nourris durant la fête)’ ,
liés à ceux des autres fractions puisque les ^
pements sont à proximité les uns des autres- ^.
répartition épouse la structure politique de la
elle indique l’organisation des fractions de
et leur autonomie relative. to0â'
Le fait de dresser les khaimat paraît sy^P.^nS
tique de l’envie de conserver certaines tra
proprement bédouines. Si les raisons pragma
,O3.20°8
Anthropos
433
irisation d’objets bédouins et redéfinitions identitaires lors d’un moussem en Algérie
eiïiportaient sur les raisons symboliques, les no-
068 assisteraient à la fête en logeant chez leurs
t rents d’Asla. Ils ne dresseraient pas - les séden-
res encore moins18 - de tentes autour de l’espace
env°lu à la wacda. Les tentes participent de la mise
scene. En effet, bien que, d’un point de vue
rement pratique, elles ne soient nullement né-
pj Saires, elles sont très présentes et appartiennent
r> bernent au décor de la fête. Elles sont donc en
1]té pius qUe nécessaires, indispensables à cette
Se en scène. Elles rappellent l’identité bédouine,
l^ade, de la tribu. Identité par ailleurs encore bien
^ Sente : les nomades, actuellement moins nom-
Jeux que les sédentaires, représentent cependant
£ e Part non-négligeable de la tribu (environ 40 %).
a 1959, la localité d’Asla comptait près de 75 %
Nomades.19
t Ellfin, les rij, bien observables au sommet des
et h soulignent Ie caractère sacré de ces dernières
Qes familles qui y vivent. Ils indiquent que les
tj CuPants de ces tentes sont de lignages marabou-
es- Les quelques tentes des familles Bâni Ûqba,
j^ctl°n d’une tribu séculière, qui ne sont pas sur-
la H^es nA sont disposées de manière à rendre
ci d'St
mction sociale plus visible encore. Les tentes
d ''ani Ûqba sont en effet installées à l’extrémité
ai CeHes des fractions de la tribu des Awlâd Sid
• mad Majdûb.
sion
b
°PclU|
lier ^ant ^es ^tes Haut Sud-Ouest, et en particu-
tjJ ^Urant celle de Sid Ahmad Majdûb, les fonde-
de l’identité tribale sont mis en exergue. Les
kJet8 nais en valeur ne sont pas anodins. Les tentes,
pw^ai’ les attributs des cavaliers bédouins, et en
bQ. lculier le fusil (mukahla), mais aussi les lah-
i(je Qt apparaissent comme des objets de référence
de at?taire importants. Outre qu’ils sont les attributs
bjen ^entité bédouine, la valorisation de certains
s de prestige - en particulier des fusils et des
et s " contribuent à réaffirmer les statuts sociaux
s Ratifications sociales : les fusils et les tentes
tribi ent Passé et l’identité des membres des
à c s traditionnellement bédouines en opposition
des personnes originaires des qsûr. Parce
es évoquent les faits d’armes des tribus no-
ellef nombreux sont les Awlâd Sid Ahmad Majdûb
Ak entaires qui plantent leur tente lors de la fête de Sid
3^^ Majdûb.
aU Û£S : 'Monographie de la wilaya de Naama, actualisée
ge 7 2/2002”. Direction de la Planification et de l’Aména-
ent du Territoire de la Wilaya de Naama. 2003.
mades de la région (lesquelles se sont illustrées en
particulier lors des fameuses insurrections des Aw-
lâd Sidi Shaykh, mais aussi lors de la guerre d’Al-
gérie), les fantasias réaffirment le rôle qu’ont joué
historiquement les tribus bédouines : bastions de la
résistance à l’expansion coloniale et défenseurs des
intérêts des habitants de la région, y compris ceux
des qsûr (ces derniers ayant été longtemps sous leur
domination).
Les tentes disposées autour de l’espace public
attestent de l’identité bédouine des tribus de la ré-
gion. Visibles mais aussi interdites,20 du fait de leur
caractère sacré (haram), les tentes ainsi mises en
scène, ainsi que les campements répartis en frac-
tions contribuent à signifier à la fois les identités
(appartenance ou non à telle fraction) et les in-
terdits (d’accès à l’espace des familles, cayla, et
notamment l’interdiction de l’hypogamie féminine)
au fondement des rapports sociaux et des stratifica-
tions sociales (interdits qui s’appuient sur et contri-
buent à redéfinir les distinctions sexuelles, ligna-
gères et enfin tribales).21
La mise en scène des objets et des biens de pres-
tige permet de rendre plus visible à la fois l’iden-
tité bédouine et les distinctions statutaires au sein
de cette région du Sud Oranais. La tente rappelle
l’origine bédouine et permet de distinguer les per-
sonnes d’origines nomades de celles originaires des
qsûr notamment. Les rij qui signifient l’ascendance
prestigieuse de telle ou telle tente contribue au sein
du monde nomade (ou d’origine nomade) à spé-
cifier le prestige de telle famille ou tribu sur telle
autre; elles sont le signe en l’occurrence du statut
mrabtin (religieuse) de la tribu des Awlâd Sid Ah-
mad Majdûb. Les fusils, l’esthétique et la prouesse
des cavaliers évoquent la bravoure des tribus no-
mades de la région et les distinctions existantes
entre les différentes tribus de la région (certaines
d’entre elles comme les Awlâd Nhar, les Hmiyan
ou les Trafi étant reconnues comme historique-
ment plus fortes que d’autres). Enfin, au sein de
ce monde nomade et au sein de la même fraction
tribale, la qualité des lahbayat permet bien sou-
vent de distinguer les notables, les kbar (grands de
la tribu) des autres membres de la tribu ou de la
fraction. Ces divers objets font sens et participent
encore aujourd’hui des logiques de distinction entre
les divers groupes (nomades/gw ; tribus mrabtin/
shûrfa!séculières ; tribus guerrières et fortes/tribus
20 On ne peut pénétrer dans le douar des tentes, ou dans les
tentes elles-mêmes, à moins d’appartenir au campement.
21 On observe une endogamie tribale (en particulier au sein
de la fraction) assez prononcée chez les Awlâd Sid Ahmad
Majdûb. Sur ce point, cf. Ben Hounet (2006).
Sh
r°Pos 103.2008
434
Yazid Ben
Hounet
moins fortes ; notables/autres membres des tribus)
et ce faisant de la constitution des identités collec-
tives.
Dans le contexte actuel, où le changement so-
cial est rapide, les moussems et l’intensification de
ces moments festifs en Algérie permettent de réaf-
firmer les valeurs identitaires locales.22 Les objets
et leur mise en scène contribuent indéniablement
à ces réaffirmations et redéfinitions identitaires et
statutaires.
Références citées
Amselle, Jean-Loup, et Elikia M’Bokolo (dir.)
1999 Au cœur de l’ethnie. Ethnies, tribalisme et État en
Afrique. Paris : Éditions La Découverte & Syros. (La
Découverte/Poche, 68) [1985]
Barth, Fredrik
1995 Les groupes ethniques et leurs frontières. In : P. Pou-
tignat et J. Streiff-Fenart ; pp. 203-249. [Repris de F.
Barth (ed.). Ethnie Groups and Boundaries. The Social
Organization of Culture Différence. Bergen : Universi-
tetsforlaget. 1969]
Bayart, Jean-François
1996 L’illusion identitaire. Paris : Fayard.
Belkheir, Mohamed
1976 Étendard interdit. Poèmes de guerre et d’amour de Mo-
hamed Belkheir; recueillis, présentés et traduits par
Boualem Bessaîh. Paris : Sindbad.
Ben Hounet, Yazid
2003 Analyse anthropologique d’un saint maghrébin. Sid Ah-
mad Majdûb ou “l’individu hors du monde”. Insaniyat
21 : 61-85.
2006 Persistance de l’échange matrimonial traditionnel chez
une tribu mrabtin des Hautes Plaines de l’Ouest algérien.
In ; Actes du colloque Sociologie de la famille ; pp. 52-
63. Alger : Éditions OPU.
Ben Hounet, Yazid, et Sandra Guinand
2007 La restauration des qsûr. Institution du patrimoine et
enjeux de mémoire. Espaces et sociétés 128-129 : 151 —
169.
Ben-Naoum, Ahmed
1993 Uled Sidi Esh Sheykh. Essai sur les représentations ha-
giographiques de l’espace au sud-ouest de l’Algérie. Aix
en Provence. [Thèse de doctorat d’État, Université de
Provence-Centre d’Aix]
Berque, Jacques g ;
1960 carsh. In : Encyclopédie de l’Islam. Tome 1 : ^
pp. 681-682. Leiden : E. J. Brill.
Bonte, Pierre taj,
2006 La notion de “biens de prestige” au Sahara Occi e
Journal des Africanistes 76/1 : 25-42.
Boubakeur, Hamza et
1990 Sidi Cheikh. Un soufi algérien. Paris : MaisonneuV
Larose.
Eberhardt, Isabelle onoM’
2003 Sud Oranais. (Les éditions du centenaire [1904- ,
composées par M.-O. Delacour et J.-R. Huleu.)
Éditions Joëlle Losfeld.
Gellner, Ernest n,
1969 Saints of the Atlas. London : Weidenfeld and Nic° s
Godelier, Maurice
1996 L’énigme du don. Paris : Fayard.
Ibn Khaldoun ¿e
1982 Histoire des Berbères et des dynasties musulma^f'
l’Afrique septentrionale. Vol. 3. Paris : Librairie
taliste Paul Geuthner.
Lenclud, Gérard . a :
1987 La tradition n’est plus ce qu’elle était .. ■ Terre“1
HO-123- 6>
<http://terrain.revues.org/document3195.html> 1
2007]
Martinière, H. M. P. de la, et N. Lacroix ^fri-
1894 Documents pour servir à l’étude du Nord-Oues ^
cain. Tome 2 : Le Sud-Ouest Algérien et les rec
limitrophes. Lille : Imprimerie L. Danel.
Mesnier, Capitaine lui?1*'
1914 Monographie du Territoire d’Aïn-Sefra. Oran •
merie L. Fouque. (Bibliothèque du Territoire
Sefra - Cote AOM B//4093)
Pouillon, François iviaitf6/’
1993 Simplification ethnique en Afrique du Nord- à’b
Arabes, Berbères (XVIIIe-XXe siècles). Cahi“r
tudes africaines 129 : 37-49.
Poutignat, Philippe, et Jocelyne Streiff-Fenart
1995 Théories de l’ethnicité (suivi de “Les groupes
et leurs frontières” de Fredrik Barth). Pans
; PUF-
Reysoo, Fenneke
1991 Pèlerinages au Maroc. Fête, politique et échang^,^-
l’islam populaire. Neuchâtel : Editions de l’Instib^0jo-
nologie. (Recherches et travaux de l’Institut d e
gie, 10)
22 Les moussems se multiplient en Algérie. Par ailleurs, les
moussems importants, tel celui d’Asla, prennent de plus en
plus d’ampleur.
103
,2008
Anthropos
Anthropos
103.2008: 435-445
The Wasangari
Politics and Identity in Borgu
Julius O. Adekunle
**** - This article seeks to examine the role of the Wasan-
in ln Providing identity for Borgu, which was a frontier state
stij Precolonial period of West Africa. The Wasangari con-
(hu ,ed a major political group in the early Borgu kingdoms
^ 111°, and Nikki). As descendants of Kisra (the epony-
as (j ancestor of the Borgu people), the Wasangari were known
(lltufna«ic founders who symbolized political identity. As tra-
\Va,, a Worshippers who were anti-Islamic in ideology, the
epit §ar' embodied religious identity. And, as warriors, they
abie, Zec^ military identity. With these, the Wasangari were
H0r 0 s°lve the problem of identity crisis, which had existed in
Sari U before their arrival. [West Africa, Nigeria, Borgu, Wasan
’ ldentity, Dandawa, Wangara, Yoruba, clans, Kisra legend]
hou s Adekunle holds a PhD in African History from Dal-
of University, Halifax, Canada. He is an Associate Professor
PolJ1Can History at the Department of History and Anthro-
^0rkiy' Monmouth University, New Jersey. - He is currently
Pub); n^.0n the subject of religion in politics in Nigeria. - His
Pon -)fb°ns include “Culture and Customs of Rwanda” (West-
reljgj ^7), and various articles on the cultural, political, and
°Us history of Africa. - See also References Cited.
ehc J"11 ^orêu is a frontier society that experi-
icant an identity crisis in its early history. A signif-
itiw. transformation occurred when the Wasangari
kjfant group arrived in the region in the six-
tinct century. The Wasangari provided three dis-
***** of identity for the Borgu: political (by
Is]am1Shlng dynasties), religious (by being anti-
anc* military (by claiming invincibility).
itiCs 1Cally, the Wasangari reconfigured Borgu pol-
t<nci society from a segmented lineage orien-
hiona to.a centralized structure by establishing a
chical and dynastic system. The main Borgu
kingdoms of Bussa, Ilio, and Nikki, and the smaller
chiefdoms founded in the nineteenth century com-
pared in structure with the Hausa states, the Nupe
Kingdom, and the Oyo Empire. In contemporary
political and administrative arrangements, Nigerian
Borgu belongs to the middle belt of the country,
straddling the Niger and Kwara States. Ethnic and
geopolitical identities have been a major part of the
history of Nigerian societies and Borgu is identi-
fied with its past military tradition and anti-Islamic
ideology.
Politics in Pre-Wasangari Borgu
In the Iron Age period Borgu was a “geographical
expression,” without any distinct political structure.
Small communities inhabited the region around the
bend of the River Niger. When these communities
evolved is uncertain, but artifacts, which include
pottery, iron weapons, and terracotta figurines, re-
covered from archaeological sites such as Kagogi,
Monia, Kabigera, and Old Bussa, and dated be-
tween ca. 100 and 700 A.D., attest to the advanced
technology and material culture. They also reveal
the interactions between the people of Borgu and
other communities, presumably from the Nok Cul-
ture (Priddy 1970a, 1970b). The scattered commu-
nities were autonomous of each other and they lay
claims to either an indigenous or migration tradi-
tion. Clan migration into Borgu occurred from dif-
ferent parts of West Africa, especially from Mali
and Songhay. In the southern part, the Yoruba popu-
436
lation was found mostly in the chiefdoms of Ilesha,
Okuta, and Kenu.
Ethnographic data show that the Boko who in-
habited the Bussa region, and of whom Karabonde
was the chief, were the descendants of the Man-
dingo people. Aside from the Boko, other early im-
migrations included the Lam, whose language has
been classified as belonging to the Mossi-Dagomba
group, the founders of Kanibe (Dogon Gari). There
was another wave of immigration of Kiengawa
which settled first at Komi and subsequently at
Wawa (NNAK 1910).
The most important migration, because it trans-
formed Borgu politics and society, was that which
was led by Kisra. Regarded as the eponymous an-
cestor of the Borgu people, Kisra was believed
to have migrated from Persia and his descen-
dants, known as the Wasangari, became dynastic
founders, thereby reconfiguring Borgu politics and
society. The Wasangari have been identified with
politics through the name Kisra, which means the
“Black King” in the Batonu language.1
The predynastic social, cultural, and political or-
ganization of Borgu revolved around the clan and
lineage. Lineage administration and a patrilineal
social system characterized the Borgu society be-
fore the arrival of the Wasangari.2 Some of the clans
included Mora (chiefly), Yari and Mako (drum-
mer), Seko (blacksmith), and Bare, Sesi, and Yari
(commoner). The gari (elders) performed impor-
tant political roles as lineage heads, even though
they were not institutionalized rulers. Because of
the conspicuous absence of a rigid governmental
bureaucracy, the communities fall within the cat-
egory of segmentary societies, which John Mid-
dleton and David Tait (1958) described as “tribes
without rulers.”
In the northern part of Nigerian Borgu, the
Boko, who populated the Babanna (Aliyara) Dis-
trict and the Lopawa (a riverine group), claimed
to be the indigenous population. The Lam who
migrated from Kengakwe in Argungu, established
agricultural communities at Lashibe, Kagogi, Sha-
gunu, Sansani, and Sagwagwui, also claimed that
they inhabited the region “prior to the arrival of
the followers of Kisra [the Wasangari]” (NNAK
1926d). There was a relative peaceful coexistence
among these communities, as ethnographic data in-
1 For detailed information of Kisra as the Black King, see
Julius O. Adekunle (2004: chap. 3).
2 Jack Goody described this type of acephalous organization
as “weakly centralized federations ... [where] the concen-
tration of royal power is accompanied by systems of succes-
sion that are at once lineal and more determinate” (1966: 39).
Julius O. Adekuole
dicated that “villages did not wage war against each
other but remained on terms of friendship” CNN
In the Bussa region where the Karabonde P^!a
claimed to be in situ when the descendants of K1
arrived, the Ba-Karabonde (Earth Priest) and
Bamode (Spiritual head) provided leadership
the community (NNAK 1926a, 1935b). Acting ^
the “political” leader, the Ba-Karabonde reside
Old Bussa but the Bamode lived at Monai- ^
name ba wa kara a bo de, has changed to Ba-Ka „
bonde, meaning “the old man, the one we m
(NNAK 1935b). Since they were the first sett
the Karabonde people claimed ownership 01
land. Because the economy of the Borgu P.„
was based largely on farming, hunting, and risu lQ
earth priests performed propitiatory sacrificeS j
the gods to bless the land and to grant them g
harvest. d
While the indigenous people were conce£jjI1g
about preserving ownership of the land, accor
to Musa Idris (1975b: 144), immigrants, especia^
the Wasangari, were more interested in taking P^y
ical control. Hence, the Wasangari did notinltl
appropriate land from the aborigines. For exa
the king of Bussa did not claim land rights ^
cause it belonged to the Karabonde indigenous P
pie.3 * * This arrangement, however, changed
Wasangari had secured political power and the o
to distribute land to new immigrants. Althoug ^
earth priests retained their sacerdotal power8’ ^
Wasangari assumed the power to distribute la
a symbol of political control over the people-
emerged from the idea that the land and the p
who live on it belonged to the king, and h1 ^
contemporary African economy, political aut
is often associated with control of the land.
The Formation of a Political Identity
of
Richard Kuba is of the opinion that elernen ^
state organization existed in Borgu before the
sangari arrived (1996: 56f.). Evidence of s°?eSLis
and politically interactive clans, and lineage .j,
providing political leadership, give strong
ity to this claim. There was, however, no ee
ized or unified force and no well-preserve ^
system in the pre-Wasangari period. Heilceo]iti'
Borgu region did not have any recognizable P
cal identity.
over
3 NNAK 1926a. The same position of prerogative j
by the early settlers occurred at Wawa, Kaiama, Hesha’
Okuta, all located in southern Borgu.
103
2008
Anthropos
The Wasangari
437
The formation of a well-defined political system
fi institutions began with the Wasangari who es-
^ fished a feudal system in the three main king-
«is and set up numerous chiefdoms over auton-
lj n°us societies that were formerly controlled by
eage heads. The Wasangari might have used mil-
ty force to gain control of some Borgu settle-
Ws. but some lineage heads submitted to the
c w and militarily powerful immigrants. While the
} Wave of Wasangari rulers established the three
^ ln kingdoms and dynasties, the second wave
unded the numerous chiefdoms in southern Nige-
fi Borgu in the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
traleS ^Tey all legitimized their rule by ultimately
Clng their genealogical roots to Kisra. In this
a Se’ Kisra, represented by the Wasangari, became
an?mbo1 ^entity, which both the indigenous
^migrant populations now associate with. As
&ued elsewhere, the Wasangari used their military
er to consolidate a defence system, which ulti-
^ e'y produced the formation of an identity for
(Adekunle 1994b).
ty i° was the smallest of the three kingdoms. It
g s ^ere where Bio Sheru (Aguza), the first Wasan-
Pfig mler, t0°k over leadership from the earth
Sts (Harris n. d.). According to British colonial
p0]Clals who collected ethnographic and anthro-
l °§ical data, the Illo kingdom was established
haly re§*on believed to have “consisted of unin-
thelte<^ kush” before it was occupied by a part of
pi Waye of immigrant Kishira [Wasangari] peo-
b who came from the East at a very early date.
Cuitc% when this occupation took place is diffi-
f0 l0 say, for the chief of Illo puts it at some
v been centuries ago (NNAK 1926b). The Ba-
eartKU^e’ Ba-Ferinde, and Ba-Kwakwa were the
W™ Priests (NNAK 1907; Idris 1975b: 219f.),
as religious leaders were not empowered to
r[ClSe political power and authority. The Wasan-
ruling class filled this vacuum. Accordingly,
p0jSl °f what is known about the early history and
(NKr1Cal stmcture of Illo relates to the Wasangari
1907).
^ussa kingdom overshadowed Illo in mil-
tegi ari(^ political powers. Arriving in the Bussa
s°ti ^ Unc^er tho leadership of Worn (one of Kisra’s
jp0 ■’ ^he Wasangari imposed their political hege-
heacj °n the Karabonde community whose lineage
SU *as relegated to the background. Military
?acy as a result °f the use of iron weapons
of he Karabonde belief in the Wasangari’s use
Was>c may have made it relatively easy for the
^hgari to dominate the Karabonde. An ethno-
ph!c record (NNAK 1937) indicates that:
Authr<
°Pos 103.2008
Before the arrival of Kisra [the Wasangari] the settlement
[in Bussa, along the River Niger] reached as far north as
Shagunu, west to Luma, south to Malali and the Niger
formed the eastern boundary - in fact, the present Bussa
District. This area was a loosely knit federation with two
related families at the head. The more important family
with the Karaburdi [Karabonde] as chief lived at Old
Bussa, Bamode (who is always referred to even now as
the “brother” of Karabondi [karabonde]) lived at Mondi.
The Wasangari evolved a power-sharing structure
in Bussa. They assumed political leadership and al-
lowed the Bamode to provide sacerdotal functions.
Three ruling houses emerged in Bussa, but only one
of them (Gbemusu) produced the longest line of
rulers.4 Marjorie Helen Stewart described the Eteb-
ora as the “super” ruling house, but the line came to
an end with the reign of Kigera I (ca. 1737-1752).
Kitoro I (ca. 1752-1768) established the Kunaide
line when he ascended the throne and the Fuyin
took over from this line. Yerima Ibrahima (1799-
1814) was the only ruler from the Gambui line. In
1814 when Kitoro II (1814-1830) came to power,
he formed the Gbemusu line. The Abobarasu ruling
house emerged under Kitoro IPs successor, Kissan
Dogo (1830-1845). The Gbemusu ruling house
has produced the ruler since the reign of Kigera II
(1876-1892).5
Hugh Clapperton, a Scottish explorer to Borgu
between 1824 and 1827, considered Bussa as the
head of the Borgu kingdoms and its ruler as “The
Lord of Borgu” (Crowder 1973: 29-31). However,
during the famous “Race for Nikki” in 1894, Cap-
tain Frederick Fugard, who signed a treaty of pro-
tection with the King of Nikki on behalf of the
Royal Niger Company (RNC), described him as
“King of Nikki, and of all Borgu Country” (Crow-
der 1973; 30). Thus a controversy existed in deter-
mining which Borgu ruler was chief sovereign. Ir-
respective of their position, all the Wasangari rulers
enjoyed power, prestige, and high political status
before and during the colonial period.
Military Identity
There is no surviving written record or oral infor-
mation regarding Borgu’s military encounters with
its neighbors such as the Nupe and Yoruba be-
fore the arrival of the Wasangari. But because of
4 Rulers were produced in the following order: Gbemusu (8),
Fui (3), Gambui (1); see Stewart (1993: 163).
5 The last Emir is from the Gbemusu ruling house (NNAK
1951; Stewart 1978).
438
the link with the Nok culture, there was the de-
velopment of blacksmithing among the Karabonde,
which suggests that farming implements as well as
weapons were manufactured. The swiftness with
which the Wasangari dominated Borgu supports the
subjugation of the indigenous communities through
military conquest. Leo Frobenius in “The Voice of
Africa” (1968: 917f.), pointed to the military capa-
bility and supremacy of the Wasangari by claiming
that they subjected the whole Borgu. Supporting
this conquest theory, J. D. Page claimed that “Kisra
[the Wasangarij eventually got as far as Borgu ...
conquered the three areas around Bussa, Borgu,
and Yorubaland ...” (1965: 48). This indicates that
the Wasangari were involved in a series of wars of
conquest with the small autonomous communities
before they imposed their political hegemony.
Information gleaned from Nupe and Oyo rec-
ords indicates evidence of warfare in the sixteenth
century. Oral and written Borgu data assert that
since the arrival of the Wasangari no outside in-
vader has ever conquered Borgu. This claim pro-
vided the Borgu with a military identity of invin-
cibility, and the Wasangari rulers and their people
blithely narrate this warrior tradition. E. W. Bovill,
in his “The Golden Trade of the Moors,” affirmed
that “the Borgawa were warlike pagans with long
experience of the great defensive possibilities of
their country. They had never lost their indepen-
dence, in spite of having had to withstand assaults
on it by such formidable warrior kings as Sonni Ali
and Askia the Great” (1995: 182). The Borgu forces
reportedly routed the Songhay army at Gwang-
warake (Hogben and Kirk-Greene 1966: 255). The
Borgu people claim that the series of wars be-
tween the Yoruba and Nupe ended in victory for
the Borgu forces. A particular example of Borgu’s
victory over the Yoruba people has been mentioned
in ethnographic records, which refer to the war
between Kaiama and the Oyo-Yoruba. The war
occurred in the last decade of the eighteenth cen-
tury when Wasangari rulers were reasserting them-
selves and the Oyo Empire was gradually declin-
ing. Leading his 4,000 bowmen and 50 horsemen,
Sabi Agba defeated the Yoruba forces at Gbereg-
buru (NNAK 1933a). Referring to the same war,
Lionel Abson, Governor of the British fort at Why-
dah stated that “... the Iho [Oyoj... have received
two months ago a total overthrow from a country
by name Barrabas [Bariba/Borgu] having lost in the
battle 11 [eleven] umbrellas and the generals un-
der them ...” (Akinjogbin 1967: 164f.). The nine-
teenth century was an era of wars for the Borgu
society and the people remained assured of their
invincibility.
Julius o. Adekunle
The success of the Borgu forces has been
tributed to their mastery of “the arts of am1"
at-
bush
and night attack, and they had a reputation
their knowledge of witchcraft and arrow-pois°n^
(Hogben and Kirk-Greene 1966: 102). In his
counter with the Borgu people in the ninetee
century, Frederick Lugard confirmed their min
prowess and qualities. The military success of
Borgu people has been recorded in songs,
nameS’
and proverbs. For example, they used to sing
the Batonu language: “Yegu gariba yi temana• y
anadare, kaban ka wen kpin, dororo” (You wan
should endure. By this time of tomorrow some P
pie [enemies] will be in long ropes; Shiroku Ab
Nov. 26, 1990). , .
While evidence supports the Borgu people 8
volvement in numerous wars with their neighD
the claim to invincibility has to be critically .
examined. The royal traditions of the Wasang
present a glowing military picture in order no ^
undermine their warrior tradition, but are sileu ^
the defeats the Borgu people suffered. This ^
pect cannot be ignored. After Illo and Bussa ^
founded, a long period of silence exists in ^ ^
little is mentioned about the Wasangari rulers- ^
silence has been attributed to Borgu defeat8 ,
militarily powerful neighbors. The most ret
to example was the invasion of Borgu by ^
Songhay Empire in the early sixteenth century•
his “Sudanese Memoirs” (1928), H. R. Palmer^£j
serted that the Songhay Empire invaded Borg11, ^
Michael Crowder also affirmed that claim, but ^
differed on dates. While Crowder placed the 1 j
sion at 1504, Palmer put it at between 153 ^
1556. Palmer’s information was derived
Saidi who described the catastrophe Borgu su ^
by saying that “Bussa was completely ruine
a great number of persons perished in the ^ ^
nearby [the River Niger]” (Palmer 1928: 8L . ^j,
der 1966; 47). In the encounter, the WasangaF^-
ing houses were not only defeated and overtn
they were also relegated into insignificance. „
sure that the Borgu forces did not organize
terattack, Songhay troops were stationed m Q,
northwest of Nigerian Borgu. The military an aC-
litical humiliation experienced by the B°r& jjy
counted for their silence on this matter, eSP , tj0n8
since such defeats went against the royal tra
of the Wasangari. v jr
Mervyn Hiskett suggested that the Song ^
vasion of Borgu was not politically motiva e\j
driven by the desire to spread Islam to a F at,
and notoriously traditionalist society. ?reA( to
tempts to convert the Borgu people had
yield positive results. Therefore, the Borgu
103-:
Anthropos
439
The
Was,
angari
nemies of Islam and in turn the Songhay Islamic
^TTpire (Hiskett 1984: 126). The Songhay Empire
, a not establish its political dominance on Borgu,
* n was during this period that the Wangara Mus-
nt merchants were able to penetrate Borgu. Even
, °ugh Islam had not become a powerful force in
e Wasangari political system, Muslim communi-
es began to form and mosques were constructed.
y Two interconnected factors contributed to the re-
^ al of the military reputation of the Borgu people
etWeen the late eighteenth and early nineteenth
Juries. The first factor was the flowering com-
^ rce of the Wangara merchants and the control of
e £conomy by the Wasangari rulers. Connected
11 that was the rise of ambitious Nikki princes
0 Were establishing satellite chiefdoms in south-
the ^§erian Borgu. One of the motives behind
e formation of chiefdoms was to divert the trade
(• ,J-es away from Nikki. For example, Sabi Agba
'1 — 1785) of Kaiama became so powerful that
VVas able to defeat the Yoruba forces in 1783.
°> the Tosu royal clan of Okuta grew in politi-
y. aad military influence, fighting a series of wars
k a other Borgu towns as well as the Yoruba and
abomey.
^.Combined with the revival of the political and
krUary rePutation of the Wasangari, was the de-
'vim nati°n to resist spread of Islam and to
tr nstand Muslim forces. This determination was
t^Mted into action in the Ilorin War of 1837 be-
le the Oyo-Yoruba and Fulani Muslims. Events
^ lrig to the Ilorin War began about 1820 when
^°nja, the Oyo-Yoruba military leader, nursed
s^f^bition of carving out an empire for turn-
ip To achieve that ambition, he revolted against
My ^ aabn and sought the military support of the
lrn Fulani. Willing to display their military
and to halt the rapid spread of Islam,
the y asangari readily accepted the invitation of
V0r y°ruba against the Muslims. The Borgu and
the \ coabtion forces faced a common enemy -
^slims. Leading the Borgu forces were Ele-
or jY.^oru Kpera, the king of Kaiama, and Gajere
ftw K| Masa (representing the king of Bussa). In-
Paq-atl0n from Musa Idris’s comprehensive list of
par)*c!Pants suggests that more Wasangari rulers
PuKiClpated in the Ilorin War than mentioned in
b«shed works.6
rhe r—~
As kUSt lnctU(tes: Akpaki Timkpoko (Chief of Parakou),
aru (Wasangari of Ilesha), Bio Damira (Wasangari of
ttlar aT Bio Kura (Wasangari of Gbodebere), Buru Gumuru-
(Cb° t'A'asangari of Darakou), the chief of Ilio, Dalia Sorou
(\y'et °f Kouande), Dagwara (Wasangari of Ilesha), Gajere
Süt1gari of Bussa), Ki-Yaru Iloride (Chief of Kaiama),
H:
r°Pos 103.2008
The combined Yoruba-Borgu forces initially
succeeded in repelling or defeating the Fulani
forces on three different occasions and locations.
The Wasangari experience in the use of night at-
tack, poisoned arrows, and guerilla warfare was
put into effective utilization. However, the Fulani
bounced back, organized, and in a counterattack
inflicted a crushing and humiliating defeat on the
Yoruba-Borgu forces. All the Borgu rulers who par-
ticipated in the war were killed except for Gajere of
Bussa. Hogben and Kirk-Greene were of the opin-
ion that the Fulani were able to defeat the coalition
of Yoruba-Borgu forces because the army general
of the Borgu people was killed and “their morale
collapsed” (1966: 421).
One major outcome of the war was the damage
done to the military reputation and identity of the
Wasangari rulers. This defeat put the pressure on
them to redeem their warrior tradition. Current tra-
ditions, however, fail to recognize the defeat, ratio-
nalizing that the Fulani did not directly attack the
Borgu people; they only assisted the Yoruba people.
In spite of this defeat, the Borgu people continue
to pride themselves in military prowess, and in the
fact that they maintain their political autonomy -
not being controlled by the Fulani who took over
Ilorin, part of Yorubaland. The lasting impacts of
the Ilorin War include the spread and recognition
of Islam, and the institution of the Fulani Muslim
political rule over Ilorin.
Religious Identity
The Wasangari have been identified as traditional
worshipers and their anti-Islamic ideology is well-
mentioned in the Kisra tradition. According to that
tradition, Kisra, the eponymous ancestor and cul-
ture hero of the Borgu people, was a traditional-
ist who, along with his followers, migrated from
Mecca because of his opposition to Islam and
refusal to convert (NNAK 1926c; Stewart 1993:
147). Kisra’s descendants (the Wasangari), found
in many parts of West Africa, have become syn-
onymous with this anti-Islamic sentiment. Arriving
in Borgu where Islam was hitherto unknown, the
Wasangari met communities who practiced tradi-
tional religion, and this provided a good religious
blend.
Ki-Yoma (Chief of Gwette), Koto Gbodokpunon (Chief of
Okuta), Magai Kabe (Prince of Wawa), Mora Lafia (Chief
of Ilesha), Sero Kpera (King of Borgu - commander of the
allied forces), Sonni ali (Chief of Gwanara), and Yoru Yer-
ima (Wasangari of Nikki) (Idris 1975b: 281).
440
With the Wasangari in power, the Borgu people
were able to strengthen their worship of traditional
religions. They became identified as pagans. E. W.
Bovill affirmed that “the Borgawa were warlike
pagans” (1995; 182). Prominent among the several
gods in the pre-Wasangari era were Lashi (god of
fertility) and Jekanna (invoked in childbirth, sick-
ness, and wealth) (NNAK 1926a). Anthropologi-
cal records show that approximately 360 distinct
gods and goddesses existed in Borgu before the
Wasangari arrived (NNAK 1910). The Wasangari
added more including Aganakunbegun (the chief
deity) and Zaka (the god of storms and winds).7
The gods and goddesses that really identified the
Wasangari as pagans were Lata, Manata, Uzza,
Safa, and Maruwa because they existed in pre-
Islamic Mecca.8
The Kisra legend includes the unsuccessful ef-
forts of the house of Bamarubere, sent by the
Prophet Mohammed, to convert Kisra and his tra-
ditionalist group. In spite of their failure, the Ba-
marubere settled in Borgu along with the Wasan-
gari (NNAK 1951). The Dandawa Muslims who
migrated to Borgu from Timbuktu were also inef-
fective in converting the Borgu people. The Dan-
dawa were such devout Muslims, that men were
not allowed to marry nor were women permitted
to be given in marriage until they learn the Qur’an
by heart. One of the reasons for the failure of the
Dandawa was that they did not inter-marry with the
indigenous people. Hence their impact in terms of
conversion was small (NNAK 1933b). The Dan-
dawa belong to the Taruwere clan, headed by the
Ba-kpakpe, and their Dandawan descendants are
now Islamic teachers and mallams.
Aside from the Dandawa, the Muslim Wan-
gara merchants from Songhay and the Fulani from
northern Nigeria also failed to convert the Wasan-
gari rulers. For example, in 1820, under Maga-
jin Mallam (Mohammah, son of Mallam Dendo),
the Fulani unsuccessfully attacked Borgu on two
occasions (Hermon-Hodge 1929; 122). At Kaiama
in 1823, a religious insurrection broke out when
Magajin Mallam began to preach Islam. The Mus-
lim community of Kaiama was very small in 1823
and, therefore, it was not difficult for the mili-
tary under Ki-Taku to quench the revolt. Following
the uprising, Mora Amah (the chief of Kaiama,
7 Others include Gbandi, Gbedidora, Gbera, Gberadi, Gom-
bara, and Miyidi (NNAK 1935, 1937).
8 Al-Lat (sun), al-Uzza (time), and Manat (Venus) were re-
ferred to as “the daughters of Allah,” in what was called “Sa-
tanic Verses.” These names were removed from the Qur’an
and replaced with Sura 53, 19-23.
Julius O.
Adekunle
1810-1827), promulgated some laws to halt t
continued spread of Islam (NNAK 1941).
Rather than convert, the Wasangari devised^
sistance strategies in order to preserve their
Islamic identity. One of the strategies was
observance of the Gani festival, which was
anti'
the
the
both
oh'
most important traditional celebration through
Borguland (NNAK 1951). Gani, a harvest festiv
for farmers and fishermen, was a mechanist
invoke the god of fertility as well as to c°nS( .
date intercommunity relationships. It was a sy
bol of unity. Its weeklong celebration was rnar
9 The
with songs, drumming, and dances, especially
Gidda, Konkoma, Sansanu, and Teke dances
festival survived until the arrival of the Europ1
m
eafl®
uvui oui yiv vu tin m mv uin v ui wi uiv ^ ^
the last decade of the nineteenth century-
cause of their strong opposition to Islam, $u ^
Bello of Sokoto described the Borgu peopE,¿0
“devils and of stubborn nature” (Anene 1965: l ^
a rebellious and disobedient people who fade
embrace the Islamic Faith. s.
Two factors did eventually foster religious tr
formation. They were the loss of an anti-EE
identity and the triumph of Islam in Borgu at
turn of the twentieth century. First, in the late...tafy
teenth century, the Borgu people recorded uu ^
success over their Nupe and Yoruba neighbors ^
had permitted the Wangara Muslim merchau ,
operate in Borgu. As mentioned above, the p j
cution of the Wangara merchants by the Wasa °
was one of the factors that prompted the ^ ^
hay invasion of Borgu between 1500 and ■
When the Nupe and Yoruba controlled Borgu
tories, Muslim clans such as Mane, Taruwere,^^
Ture thrived and were permitted to spread
so that by the nineteenth century, when the > y
gari revived their political and military power, ^
became less aggressive and antagonistic tovV
Islam and the proselytizing activities of
lowers. During this period the influence ot ^
began to manifest on the society. The secou
tor was colonialism. Introducing the Indirect ^
system in northern Nigeria, where the feud
theocratic form of government suited therr jg,
nial administration, the British supported ^
lamization of Borgu. The British even categ0 ^
Borgu as a Muslim region, and adopted t
Emir for the kings of Bussa and Kaiarna^^
were elevated to the position of paramount ,jy
There is no evidence that these rulers were a
Muslims.
9 Oral interview with Shiroku Abudu, Nov. 26,
Shekogobi, Oct. 27, 1990; Worusika Kilisi, Nov.
1990;
10,1»90-
|03-2°°S
Anthropos
441
The
Was
angari
Information garnered from P. F. de Moraes
j^as shows that Ki-Jibirin Kwandara (1916—
^ 44) was the first Muslim ruler of Bussa Emirate.
H Converting to Islam in 1920, Kwandara incurred
anger of the Bussa people because he aban-
^ ne4 their traditional religious identity, which the
F0rgu had assumed for many years. As Moraes
arias put it, Kwandara broke “the compromise be-
^een Islam and traditional religion” (1992: 127f.).
I'Toro Mahamman Gaani, who first ruled from
to 1915, was not a Muslim, but during his
c^e in Ilorin in 1920 he converted to Islam. The
nversion of some Wasangari rulers at this time
^ not mean a widespread acceptance of Islam
y the Borgu people. Reporting in 1922, Hoskyns
rahall (a colonial official) mentioned that “ex-
№ for the Dandawa who were Muslims, and some
ansa merchants, the rest of the Borgu population
ere pagans (NNAK 1933b).
^ The influence of Islam was becoming apparent
^ the time Ki-Toro Gaani became king for his sec-
fh term between 1924 and 1935. The resistance
strat(
aegies had collapsed. For example, the Wasan-
^ri rulers changed the celebration of the Gani
^stlval in order to coincide with the birthday of
c e Prophet Muhammad. This marked a signifi-
triumph for Islam over traditionalism. It also
rked the change of religious identity from an
^Muslim attitude to one of Islamic acceptance.
°Htical Economy of the Wasangari
Th
e indigenous communities of Borgu did not en-
u *e in commercial relations with their Yoruba or
Plo
ausa neighbors. As Richard and John Lander, ex-
rers to Borgu in the first half of the nineteenth
Ht
Ury, indicated:
*crh
e^cK^S no two Pe°ple in the universe residing so near
l0 °ther, differ more widely in their habits and cus-
[y S’ a°d even in their natures, than the natives of Yariiba
liajj uPa] and Borgoo [Borgu], The former are perpet-
tH engaged in trading with each other from town to
War ’ tI)e latter never quit their towns except in case of
> Or when engaged in predatory excursions ...10
et\K^e Wasangari who provided political lead-
f0 niP and identity, it was the Wangara who trans-
H] ^ Borgu’s economy. Between the eighteenth
rjSe Nineteenth centuries, there was a substantial
m demand for kola nuts in Hausaland. This
eJ°pment brought the Wangara merchants to the
(1965: 112). Idris also believed that Borgu people
'vyed no interest in commerce (1975a).
Hr,
°P0S 103.2008
economic frontline of Borgu because they served as
the link between the kola nut producers in Gonja
and the consumers in Hausaland. Establishing a
diversified network of trade routes, the Wangara
passed through many Borgu cities on their way
from Gonja to Hausaland. In this case, they inter-
acted with the Wasangari rulers to whom they paid
tolls, tribute, and gave presents for providing polit-
ical and military protection on their caravan routes.
Nikki became not only a political hub of power,
but also a commercial center and its centrality to
Borgu’s economy manifested in the minting of a
coin called the mithqal (Adamu 1975; 20), which
became the acceptable currency in the complex
trade network. A politico-economic relationship
existed between the Wasangari and Wangara. In
recognition of their political authority, the Wangara
paid tribute and tolls to the Wasangari rulers who
claimed that “the rich man and his wealth belonged
to the king” (Alhaji Musa Mohammad, Nov. 27,
1985). In return, the Wasangari provided the Wan-
gara with political and military protection along the
trade routes. The Wasangari-Wangara relationship
was mutual and relatively peaceful to the extent that
some kings also participated in commerce in order
to boost their economic status (Adekunle 1994a:
1-18).
Another dimension to the economic situation
was the participation of Wasangari princes in ban-
ditry, especially in the early nineteenth century.
In his article entitled “Princes as Highway Men,”
Olayemi Akinwumi identified two Wasangari
groups that were directly or indirectly involved in
banditry. These were the “privileged” and the “less
privileged.” While the privileged used their polit-
ical power and position to control the economic
resources of the land, the less privileged became
warlords and organized the raiding of caravan mer-
chants, thereby making the trade routes extremely
unsafe (Akinwumi 2001). Ironically, the princes
who were supposed to provide protection for the
merchants also became organizers and leaders of
banditry along the trade routes. The brigandage was
not directed toward the agricultural or pastoral peo-
ple but to the Wangara, Hausa, and Yoruba mer-
chants who dominated the Borgu commercial net-
work and economy. The purpose of waylaying the
merchants was to divert the trade routes and in turn
the profits therein to the emerging chiefdoms which
the Nikki princes established and controlled. In this
sense, the Wasangari princes engaged in banditry
for political and economic underpinnings.
During his visit to Borgu between 1824 and
1827, Hugh Clapperton (1829; 67) referred to Bor-
gu as a nation of robbers while Governor Bal-
442
lot of Dahomey called the Batonu people “incor-
rigible robbers” (Hirshiield 1979: 109). As late as
1894 during the “Race for Nikki,” Captain Lu-
gard was informed of the banditry by the Borgu
princes, which prevented traders from neighboring
states from traversing the trade routes. Akinwumi
mentioned how the Wasangari princes engaged
in activities that “dented the image of [Borgu]”
(2001; 333). Banditry has apparently given Borgu
a negative identity. The aspect of banditry caused
a strained relationship between the Wangara mer-
chants and the Wasangari rulers who were unable to
guarantee or provide security. Gradually, the Wan-
gara lost control of the trade, Borgu’s economy wit-
nessed a collapse, and the Wasangari lost economic
power.
Diminishing Power of the Wasangari
By the second half of the nineteenth century, the
power of the Wasangari began to decline due to
some factors. First, the economy had collapsed be-
cause Hausa merchants had taken over control of
the kola nut trade from the Wangara, whom the
Wasangari heavily relied on for financial support.
Second, the establishment of numerous chiefdoms
brought about political fragmentation and competi-
tion for power and recognition. Nikki princes who
established chiefdoms, especially in the southern
part of Nigerian Borgu became autonomous of
the mother kingdoms. Third, village administration
was weak in the northern part, especially in Bussa,
due to the loose political arrangement in which the
Boko and Kamberi were left out of the administra-
tion. In the southern part, the political structure was
stronger due to the considerable Yoruba population
and influence. In both northern and southern Nige-
rian Borgu, however, the multiplication of ham-
lets and farm settlements undermined the political
effectiveness of the larger towns (NNAK 1935a).
Fourth, the coming of the Europeans wiped out the
power and influence of the Wasangari.
The new imperialism of the late nineteenth cen-
tury and the subsequent partition of Africa affected
Borgu’s political organization and identity. As hap-
pened throughout Africa, the partition permanently
polarized the Borgu people and altered their po-
litical identity. Although Borgu did not offer any
particular economic attraction to the Europeans, its
location on the River Niger apparently provided an
opportunity for the British and French to maintain a
balance of power in West Africa. The famous “Race
for Nikki” in 1894 underscores the importance of
Borgu to the two major colonial powers. Represent-
Julius O. Adekunle
ing the Royal Niger Company (RNC), which ha^
been granted a royal charter in 1886, Captain n
gard arrived in Borgu and signed a treaty with La ’
the king of Nikki, on November 10, 1894. Capta1^
Decoeur, the French representative, also sign6' .
treaty with the king of Nikki on November 26, 1
(Flint 1960; 225). The rivalry and competition 0
Borgu was eventually resolved without any mild ^
confrontation. In the Anglo-French Agreement
1898, the British occupied the small portion in 1
western part of Nigeria’s middle belt (politic^
identified as Nigerian Borgu) while the French c°
trolled the larger part now in the Republic of Fe
(identified as French-speaking Borgu). _ .
The takeover of Borgu by the Europeans din^
ished the political and economic powers of
Wasangari rulers. They were relegated, their ^
merly wide political powers were rcduGed, f
they became subordinate to colonial officials. A
prestige also drastically decreased. Musa IdrlS ^
pressed the feelings of the Borgu people a^)0Uttjiat
European domination of Borgu by indicating
:ave the British
“the people of Borgu never forgave
the assault to the territorial integrity of the ^
[Borgu] nation, a thing the Wasangari had defen ^
with their blood since the founding of the Ba
states and had jealously preserved” (1975b: 31 ''
The European presence undermined the wa^ere
tradition of the Borgu people in that they ^
never conquered, but the Wasangari were mote ^
fected by their loss of political power (AdeK ^
2004: 239). The master-servant relationship •
tween the colonial officials and the Wasa o .
rulers showed the extent to which the Wasan^y
rulers had fallen. A clear example of the ^
the British colonial official perceived some 0 ^
Wasangari rulers was recorded in a confident!
port that states:
The Emir of Boussa [Bussa] is a weak and me t6f
ruler unable to deal effectively with any new
which he is called upon to carry out. In fact, P jay
anything in his hands simply means in many cases ^
and constant reference to me before its completion • ■ ^
for initiating on his own account any new policy o ^
he has probably never done such a thing. He is
and has few ideas (NNAK 1911).
The emir referred to here was Sabukki
during
ii In blS
whose reign a revolt broke out in Bussa. , as
own case, the king of Yashikera was descri ^
“a mere farmer and very poor and of no
(NNAK 1911). The report was, however, û
11 For more information on the revolt, see Crowder (1^
103-2008
Anthropos
443
Hsangari
on the emir of Kaiama who was described as
Hnctly intelligent and ready to further any new
,. eme which may from time to time be put before
111 for the development of his country, and this is
the more wonderful because he has not a strong
taff of subordinates” (NNAK 1911).
, The rise and fall of some Wasangari kings and
lefs during the colonial era partly dictated the
p ttem of politics in the postcolonial period. For
ample, the emirs of Bussa and Kaiama, who were
^ Amount rulers under the British rule, continued
enjoy prestige and influence. While the chiefs
^gwarra, Babana, and Shagunnu recognized the
Periority of the emir of Bussa, the chiefs of Ile-
, Kenu, Okuta, and Yashekira refused to accept
e elevation of the emir of Kaiama over them, be-
Use he was considered to have assumed that po-
j^l0n due to an “unmerited favor” from the British.
^ ^e contemporary political system of Nigerian
°r§u, each chief claims to be autonomous and
j. clinches to land ownership and the power to
tribute it. Like in other parts of Nigeria, Wasan-
ri rulers must operate under state laws and reg-
ions. There has been rivalry between the emirs
; ^ussa and Kaiama. Calved out of Bussa, the Ka-
ma Emirate is smaller in size, but the emir claims
°nomy and equality with the emir of Bussa.
delusion
III
e role of the Wasangari in bequeathing political,
tr ltary, and religious identity to Borgu has been
i^endous. The politics of domination became an
^ egral part of the Wasangari’s strategy to provide
c Multidimensional identity for Borgu. In the pro-
iLS’ they enjoyed power and prestige through mil-
^ y might and were able to preserve and defend
Warrior tradition. The political ingenuity of
tie Wasangari in establishing kingdoms and dynas-
s Provided Borgu with a history and identity,
tio Wasangari provided the historical connec-
n and cohesion (through the Kisra legend), which
co^ n,ecessary for Borgu’s political identity. This
Om es^0n also helped Borgu to maintain its auton-
thept times from the Songhay Empire and from
^ ulani jihadists. From every indication, the hall-
\y k of cultural identity for the Borgu and for the
t0 angari rulers was their systematic opposition
'Crything Islamic. In the nineteenth century,
¡Wasangari were able to revive their military
V Clency and to withstand the onslaught of the
i?0jfe and Yoruba who had once subjugated them.
h0 their involvement and success in warfare, the
people continue to be identified as military
Hr,
°P0S 103.2008
geniuses, dreaded by their neighbors. In spite of
the inability of the Wasangari to withstand the on-
slaught of the Europeans, they are still identified
with military and magical power.
The political vicissitude that the Wasangari suf-
fered in the wake of European colonization at the
turn of the twentieth century was not peculiar to
them; it was a general phenomenon throughout
Africa. The policy of “divide and rule,” which
the British adopted, produced interchiefdom rivalry
in Nigerian Borgu. The recognition of the emir
of Borgu and the emir of Kaiama as paramount
rulers, led to further division and rivalry in Nigerian
Borgu’s political system. In contemporary geopo-
litical division, Nigerian Borgu is now divided be-
tween Kwara and Niger states and the emir of
Borgu, with his seat of power in New Bussa, ap-
pears to be the most recognized Wasangari ruler.
Abbreviations
ASR
BORGUDIST
BORGU DIV
COU
DIV
DOB
EOB
HIS
ILOPROF
NNAK
SNP
WAAN
Assistant Resident
Borgu District
Borgu Division
Customs of Upper Borgu
Division
District of Borgu
Early History of Bussa
History
Ilorin Province Files
Nigerian National Archives, Kaduna
Secretary Northern Province
West African Archaeological Newsletter
References Cited
Archival Sources
Nigerian National Archives, Kaduna (NNAK)
1907 Bussa Notes. ILOPROF/5/2907.
1910 Notes on the Early History of Bussa. DOB/ASR/33.
1911 Reports on Chiefs, 1911. DOB/HIS/3.
1926a Anthropological and Historical Report on the Bussawa.
BORGUDIST/SNP/17/K2101.
1926b Illo Independent District, Sokoto Province. 28234.
1926c Kisra Legends. Translated by G. W. Webster. SNP/17/5/
633, Vol. 11.
1926d Wawa District. Bussa Emirate. ILOPROF/2788.
1933a Ilorin Gazetteer. BORGUDIST/DOB/ASR/33.
1933b Notes on the Dandawa. BORGUDIST/DOB/ASR/33.
1935a Bussa Emirate Notebook. Notes of Organisation and
Procedure. 3158B.
1935b History of Bussa. SNP/K/6/1935.
1937 Borgu History, Ethnology, Anthropology. Extracts.
BORGUDIST/DOB/HIS/37.
1940 Gazetteer of Aliyara District. BORGU DIV/DOB/ASR/
28.
444
Julius O. Adeknnl
1941 Borgu Historical Notes. DOB/HIS/41 -42.
1951 Kisra Museum File. New Bussa: Borgu Traditional
Council Office. EOB/COU/2/1.
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Adekunle, Julius O.
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Akinjogbin, Isaac A.
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Akinwumi, Olayemi
2001 Princes as Highway Men. A Consideration of the Phe-
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Anene, J. C.
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Bovill, Edward William
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Crowder, Michael
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1973 Revolt in Bussa. A Study of British “Native Administra-
tion” in Nigerian Borgu, 1902-1935. Evanston; North-
western University Press.
Page, John D.
1965 Some Thoughts on the Migration and Urban Settlement.
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Flint, John Edgar
1960 Sir George Goldie and the Making of Nigeria. London:
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Frobenius, Leo
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Harris, P. G. .
n. d. Sokoto Provincial Gazetteer. [Unpublished manuscnp
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1929 Gazetteer of Ilorin Province. London: Allen and UnvV
Hirshfield, Claire
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, and tb*
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Hiskett, Mervyn
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Idris, Musa Baba ¡n
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1975b Political and Economic Relations in the Bariba
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States-
Univef'
Kuba, Richard n in
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1958 Tribes without Rulers. Studies in African Segme
Systems. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Moraes Farias, Paolo F, de f pus3
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(Borgu, Northern Nigeria) about the “Kisra’ Sto
Origin (c. 1910). Sudanic Africa 3: 109-132.
Palmer, Herbert Richmond prin^’
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[Reprint London 1967]
Priddy, A. J. Proving
1970a Kagoge. A Settlement Site near Bussa, Ilonn -cLjZ
Preliminary Report. The West African Archae°
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1970b RS63/32. An Iron Age Site near Yelwa, Sokoto *^¡ctd
Preliminary Report. The West African Archae°
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Stewart, Marjorie Helen
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ogy 17/2: 169-182. y&V**
1993 Borgu and Its Kingdoms. A Reconstruction o pj-es8'
Sudanese Polity. Lewiston: The Edwin Me e
(African Studies, 32)
ЮЗ.?«08
Anthropos
^asangari
Interviews
Intefviewed Persons
jJhaji Musa Mohammad,
c I?3 (Emir of Borgu),
'03 years
^aa Shekogobi, (Mr.),
’03 years
Location Date Interviewed Persons Location
New Bussa Nov. 27, 1985 Muhammad Omar Tukur, (Emir of Kaiama), c. 61 years
Okuta Oct. 27, 1990 Shiroku Abudu, (Mr.), c. 86 years Kenu
Worusika Kilisi, (Mr.), c. 61 years Boriya
S*
445
Date
Nov. 24, 1990
Nov. 26, 1990
Nov. 10, 1990
r°Pos 103.2008
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Iwrt.
Anthropos
103.2008: 447-458
Les troubles mentaux au Sénégal
Existence éthique et problématique de l’identité
Ibrahima Sow
**** - An individual personality, being oneself with...,
^ as many personal features and idiosyncratic character-
's * S0c'a^ factors. An understanding of a mental illness is
Wh; , °n a variety of representations rooted in the being with...,
fac'i- re<3uires the names of the “existing” beings, and thus
oth *tates encounter within a common world, the world of
rQ^' and hence the real world. Supernatural creatures, such as
all; maraboutage, witchcraft, soul eaters, devils, and Satan are
in§ yflbolic representations that structure the disorders affect-
of e being with... in its multiple aspects. The interpretation
atte Uses °f disturbances and disorders calls for a particular
tUrnntl0n °f the community to observable symptoms, which in
niqu^etermine5 the diagnosis and the therapy, such as tech-
of s°f divination. This article is a contribution to the study
ide dness and identity in their cultural contexts. [Personality,
///^ ry'being with, ethical existence, existing, madness, mental
s> representations, causes, divination]
lb
l0la Sow, Docteur d’État dés Lettres (Philosophie) en
’ a Partir d’une thèse sur le sujet “Divination. Rôle du
gai)” °ut'devin et représentations du destin (l’exemple du Séné-
^ Il est chercheur à l’Institut fondamental d’Afrique noire
Alita Diop (IFAN Ch. A. Diop) de l’Université Cheikh
chef y*!0? de Dakar (UCAD) ; maître-assistant de recherches ;
^■b a U ^Partement de l’Information scientifique de 1TFAN
bQr^.^°p ; rédacteur en chef du Bulletin B et fondateur du La-
H, Jre de l’Imaginaire (2005). - Il a publié : “Paru rab et corn
ou réalité ?” (coédition avec D. H. Zidouemba, Da-
^ido ^ > “La mort dans tous ses états” (coédition avec D. H.
% [jUerr*ba, Dakar 2006) ; “L’espace conjugal. Lieu d’amour
repr(fn:s de famille ?” (coédition avec D. H. Zidouemba) ; “Les
réfé Stations sénégalaises du destin” (Dakar 2007). Cf. aussi
eaces citées.
bd
^dualité et socialité
tureParfaite connaissance d’une société, de sa cul-
et de ses valeurs, est une exigence fondamen-
tale pour un devin comme pour un thérapeute pour
bien y exercer son métier. Pour bénéficier de quel-
ques résultats positifs dans l’art de prédire le destin,
d’interpréter les rêves et dans l’art de guérir des in-
dividus en interrogeant leur personnalité profonde,
il faut avant tout être bien intégré dans leur culture,
c’est-à-dire s’imprégner de leurs réalités.
La personnalité de l’individu est fonction de
multiples paramètres qui ressortissent d’apprécia-
tions individuelles et de caractéristiques idiosyn-
crasiques autant que de déterminations sociales qui
forgent une certaine image que l’individu se fait de
lui-même et que les autres se font aussi de lui. L’in-
dividu est autant le produit d’une culture et d’une
société qu’il en est un élément spécifique, capable,
en certaines de ses expressions authentiques, de se
signifier dans la différence qui le singularise des
autres.
C’est à juste titre qu’Ousmane Silla écrit, s’agis-
sant du monde lebou :
L’individu est le point de rencontre de nombreuses forces
étrangères que traduisent [sic] la diversité des noms ou
des devises : bakk, incantations ; tuur, ancêtre réincarné,
force vitale du clan, ou du lignage, esprit; rab, sang
des procréateurs. Il appartient à un certain nombre de
sociétés de plus en plus larges : famille, lignage, clan,
ethnie, d’une part; associations initiatiques et classes
d’âge, d’autre part. L’individu n’est donc qu’un moment
de la continuité du phylum social. Individu et groupe sont
complémentaires l’un à l’autre (1968 : 79).
L’être-soi, identité individuelle, qui s’institue
dans l’identité collective qui la produit voire la
448
Ibrahima
justifie, se révèle, s’exprime et se constitue dans
la relation au monde et en rapport avec autrui,
avec les êtres et avec les choses. “En effet, la per-
sonne négro-africaine est, verticalement, enracinée
dans sa famille, dans l’Ancêtre primordial sinon en
Dieu ; horizontalement, elle est liée à son groupe, à
la société, et... au cosmos” (Senghor 1997 : 30).
La fonction divinatoire et thérapeutique s’in-
tégre dans la problématique existentielle de la
connaissance d’autrui présent à son monde et au
monde, c’est-à-dire à ses actes, comportements, ex-
pressions, représentations, etc., et tout ce par quoi
est signifiée sa transcendance, en tant qu’il est exis-
tant par lequel le monde est sens ou a sens pour
lui et selon lui. Le thérapeute est confronté, dans
la pratique de son art, à la nécessité de la compré-
hension de l’existant par une approche identitaire
qui est la transcendance par laquelle il s’arrache
au monde “à travers quelque chose de lui-même” ;
“mais ce quelque chose, conduite ou parole, pour
être de lui-même ... exige que l’homme y soit fon-
damentalement présent. ... Je ne puis être en prise
sur l’autre à travers une quelconque de ses expres-
sions que si j’accède en elle au sens de cette trans-
cendance : autrement dit, je ne puis saisir l’autre
authentiquement à ses actes ou à ses paroles que se-
lon lui. Mais comment faire ? Me mettre à sa place
ou le mettre à la mienne ?” (Maldiney 1973 : 50).
L’interrogation questionne toute interprétation
et aussi toute pratique qui a en charge, divinatoire
ou thérapeutique, la compréhension de l’existant,
c’est-à-dire la saisie intime de l’identité d’autrui.
L’art divinatoire qui a en quête la révélation du
destin de l’homme s’institue, à travers ses efforts
d’interprétation, dans un projet de dévoilement de
la transcendance d’Autrui, autrement dit dans cette
tentative de la compréhension de l’existant dont le
dévoilement ou le sens apparaît dans “un monde
commun” (Maldiney 1973 : 51) qui n’est ni celui de
l’interprète ni celui du devin. “Le monde commun
n’est là que dans une situation de communication,
où je perçois l’homme non selon moi, mais selon
nous”, écrit Henri Maldiney (1973:51).
L’homme est saisi dans sa globalité d’existant.
L’individualité, qui est bien reconnue, est une no-
tion qui n’est certes pas absente en Afrique, mais
en elle est chargée une certaine signification pé-
jorative, pis maléfique. Elle est souvent assimi-
lée au danger, au mal, à la rupture, à l’échec, au
désordre. Elle porterait en elle le sceau de la ma-
lédiction. C’est pourquoi la singularité de certains
mythes d’individualité tels que ceux qui sont liés
à la sorcellerie-anthropophagie, par exemple, s’ex-
plicit dans la mise en cause d’une imperfection
structurelle et existentielle de l’être-homme dont
So^
l’échec est chaque fois signifié quand la défaill^c
de “l’être-avec” fait place au privilège accorde
“l’être-soi”, la primauté de l’individu au détrime
de la personnalité sociale, de la société.
Le sorcier-anthropophage, objet de crainte
dont “la chasse” est parfois rituellement réglenj^
tée par la communauté, est représenté comme i
ruption de l’individuel et comme la déviation
l’idéal social et de l’équilibre cosmique. L’indA1 ’
représenté par le dëmm, est la contrepartie ne»
tive de “l’homme de l’avec”, structure qui nom »
l’existant tel qu’il se produit dans la proximité
soi, des choses et du monde. Marginalisé et me
parfois persécuté dans certains cas dans les so
tés africaines, l’individu apparaît comme une m
dans la dynamique de l’existence, dont il repres
l’échec ou du moins une forme primaire. e
L’individu serait celui qui n’aurait pas en
atteint le statut de personne complète, ce qul f
signifié par son asocialité ou, dans certains cas, V
son asexualité. C’est pourquoi, remédier par .
rites à combler cette défaillance conditionne sofl (
tégration existentielle dans la communauté. L 0
de nombreuses initiations est précisément d
ner l’individu à ce stade d’homme réalise- ;
exemples fournis par une multitude de public^,
sur ce sujet sont si nombreux qu’ils dispensent
sister davantage sur ce thème. 0
Le garçon non encore circoncis, la jeune
non initiée et le dëmm sont des êtres spéciuM ^
que leur statut indéterminé relègue en iaai:^0
la société et des échanges de reproduction
car leur individualité n’est pas encore intègre6 ^ gt
une socialité qui la valorise, ontologiqueme .
culturellement. Ces êtres, qui demeurent e
dans la latence, dans une sorte de vie vegei 0
et non encore reproductive, porteraient en ^
mêmes l’ambiguïté fondamentale de l’indm
ciation sexuelle, éthique et ontologique. ^
Êtres de nature mais non encore de culture, t
sés être ignorants du bien et du mal, ils dem $
socialement et individuellement incomplet8^ ^
peuvent ni se marier ni participer aux rites
cultes réservés aux adultes. Individus ne Joa^ 0
pas encore du statut d’existant, le sorcier,
impubère et l’incirconcis sont marginalise^^
exclus des échanges socioéconomiques, car 0
suspectés être porteurs d’une impureté oXX° 0
qui sourd d’un fond nocturne potentielleme ^
gereux, car non encore maîtrisé et civilise v
culture.
103.2°°8
Anthropos
449
es troubles mentaux au Sénégal
lx
ïstence et structure l’avec...
O;
ans un article sur “La notion de folie”, j’écrivais :
U
^ Problématique de la folie doit s’intégrer à la question
e l’existence humaine et de l’être comme constituant
s formes privilégiées de la présence humaine et, tout
nous signifiant dans notre être-au-monde, notre habi-
psychi
eHe doit aussi nous conduire à penser - panser - la
hr.
ratrie non seulement à même sa possibilité de gué-
*hais aussi et surtout à même son projet fondamental
lnterrogation et de compréhension de l’existence hu-
aine, celle-ci fût-elle rencontrée et appréhendée dans la
aladie mentale. Certes, il s’agit pour toutes les sortes de
erapeutes de guérir, de faire que la totalité des actes, des
0 r°les et des expressions du malade se conforme à un
re> à l’Ordre. Mais qu’est-ce que cela veut-dire ? Pour
rrr>aliser le ‘vécu pathologique’, c’est-à-dire amener le
jade à s’adapter ou à adopter le monde commun, ce
tôt°n appelle ‘guérir’, ne faut-il pas d’abord, ou plu-
611 même temps, saisir ce qui, parce qu’en situation
UailS 1’;».___.. _________ i_ ï.i-________j______ •_____
aEre;
ns l’interpellation que la folie nous adresse, inquiète et
le»
sse notre sécurisante ‘normalité’ en ses fondements
flfieux assurés ? Ne sommes-nous pas constamment
lqV°yés à cette question : qu’est-ce qu’exister? (Sow
97:143).
b est évident que l’interrogation qui prend la
ladie mentale comme exemple privilégié, pour
* s disons que j’indiquerai, outrepasse l’aspect
^phiatrique à même “sa possibilité de guérir”, car
e asPect s’intégre dans la réalité qui la fonde qui
la compréhension de l’existence humaine. En
la question de la maladie mentale - peut-être
de toutes les autres maladies dont les di-
. rses techniques d’intervention thérapeutique per-
f0 ttent d’apprécier la nature, les étiologies, les
^rihes et les sens - s’inscrit dans la problématique
tjv a compréhension de l’existence humaine rela-
^ paient à la normalité, à l’ordre et au dés-ordre,
br Apposition ou à l’interaction individu/société,
a la vision du monde.
est avec beaucoup d’à-propos que Maria Tei-
écrit ;
pré rePrésentations de la maladie s’appuient sur les re-
etlv entati°ns du corps individuel et familial au sein d’un
lr°nnernent symbolique et cognitif où se tissent des
invi 1(jns sociales avec les membres de l’univers visible et
b|ja lble •.. Si la bio-médecine soigne la maladie en ou-
ïe J [ Parfois le malade, les médecines du terroir soignent
acle au sein d’une communauté, en s’appuyant sur
tïlen^ass£, sa situation présente et ses aspirations. La di-
Prégn10n sociale des rituels de soins est particulièrement
S°0iliante- maladie renvoie aux notions d’impur, de
Ure> de saleté et de maléfice (2001 : 16).
la
CornPréhension de la maladie est fonction de
Sentations multiples au centre desquelles est
r°Pos 103.2008
la nécessité de la compréhension de l’être-avec...,
qui nomme l’existant dans sa possibilité de rencon-
trer dans un monde commun, le monde des autres
qui est aussi le monde du propre. La structure de
l’être-avec... inclut fondamentalement la relation
avec Autrui, avec l’Autre - Dieu, ancêtres, génies
ou forces maléfiques ou bénéfiques - dont l’affir-
mation de l’identité propre semble plus ou moins
dépendre pour l’instauration d’un équilibre social
et individuel perturbé par la maladie. Toute thérapie
est impossible qui ne s’attache pas à la compréhen-
sion de cette structure de l’existant dont le déséqui-
libre est aussi celui de la relation avec soi, avec les
êtres et avec les choses.
Mon homonyme Ibrahima Sow, psychopatho-
logue d’origine guinéenne, écrit très justement :
Pour tout dire, articuler le statut théorique du trouble
mental revient, essentiellement, à situer ses contenus,
modalités, thèmes et pratiques dans leur cadre anthropo-
logique. C’est ainsi qu’à mon sens, il devient possible de
leur conférer une signification et une cohérence structu-
rale adéquates. Mais ce cadre, permettant l’intelligibilité
optimale du trouble mental, se fonde lui-même sur les
catégories symboliques traditionnelles majeures. On en
arrive ainsi à décrire toute une perspective culturelle spé-
cifique, incluant elle-même des données fondamentales
concernant l’Être et l’Expérience humaine de l’existence,
tant il est vrai que le trouble mental renvoie, en dernière
analyse, à ces deux niveaux ... Selon la conception tra-
ditionnelle, l’homme, en tant que personne individuelle
concrète, est situé et solidement amarré dans un univers
panstructuré (microcosmos, mésocosmos, macrocosmos)
(1977:215).
Dans la conception africaine du moi ou de la per-
sonnalité individuelle, la sphère du proche (l’être-
soi) et la sphère des lointains (Autrui et l’Autre1)
sont originairement liées et interdépendantes, inex-
tricables. Il n’y a d’ici que pour un être des loin-
tains, c’est-à-dire que pour celui qui peut rencon-
trer, en tant qu’être-avec... Rencontrer renvoie à la
possibilité sans laquelle l’identité propre est impos-
sible qui n’est pas d’abord inscrite hors-de-soi-avec
Autrui et avec l’Autre.
La structure de l’être-avec... nomme la possi-
bilité ou la manière d’être de “l’ex-istant” en tant
que son identité est comprise et signifiée dans les
rapports incontournables avec les autres dont son
existence authentique est tributaire, si bien que tout
déséquilibre de cette structure de l’être-avec... est
1 Terme par lequel je désigne le désir métaphysique, le plan
vertical des relations avec Dieu, les divinités, les ancêtres
tutélaires, tels que rab, toutes les puissances spiritualisées,
par rapport à autrui qui nomme le plan des hommes, des
individus ; c’est l’altérité horizontale (sociale).
450
Ibrahima
aussi vécu comme un déséquilibre de l’identité
propre.
Formes de représentations
de la maladie mentale
C’est à partir de cette structure qui est celle de
l’existant que l’on peut saisir les différentes formes
de représentations de la maladie mentale et expli-
citer les causes, les étiologies du déséquilibre re-
lationnel de l’individu. Rab, maraboutage, dëmm,
djinn et seytan structurent des désordres qui af-
fectent l’être-avec... dans ses relations multiples et
différenciées, impossible à restaurer sans la restau-
ration de l’identité existentielle de l’existant, car “la
maladie, désordre par excellence, se définit ainsi à
la fois comme une rupture dans l’équilibre de la
personne et dans les processus des ajustements per-
sonnels et sociaux. Elle est donc vécue avant tout
comme dés-ordre”2 (Thomas et Luneau 1975 : 240)
qui affecte l’être-au-monde, l’habitant qui a lieu
dans un séjour.
Les représentations sociales et culturelles de la
maladie participent de l’agression et de la violence
avec des modes différenciés qui induisent des thé-
rapies appropriées. La culture wolof, en particu-
lier, retient pour l’explication des troubles men-
taux quatre étiologies fondamentales : la sorcellerie
{dëmm), le maraboutage, les esprits ancestraux que
sont les rab et les esprits importés par l’islam que
sont les djinns et seytan. On pourrait en fait ré-
duire ces étiologies à trois, en plaçant dans le même
registre rab, djinn et seytan. Mais il faut préciser
que sorcellerie, maraboutage, rab, djinn et seytan
s’explicitent par leurs symptômes et s’interprètent
à travers des types de liaisons différents. Thomas
et Luneau (1975 : 239) retiennent trois types de re-
présentations étiologiques que l’on peut synthétiser
ainsi : premièrement, “la méchanceté d’un tiers” :
maléfice de sorcier, mangeurs d’âme, sanction d’un
esprit négligé ou courroucé, vengeance humaine ;
ce registre correspond à celui que nous appelions
maraboutage ; deuxièmement, “l’amour d’un tiers”
qui met en scène les rab, correspondant aux agres-
sions extérieures telles qu’elles son causées par les
rab, djinn et seytan ; troisièmement, “la faute de
la victime elle-même”, consciente ou inconsciente ;
nous sommes ici dans le registre de l’anthropo-
phagie.
Les causes ici peuvent s’interpénétrer sans vrai-
ment être nettement différenciées. Beaucoup de
travaux ont été consacrés à ce sujet3 justifiant que
2 Les italiques sont des auteurs.
SoW
T es
nous nous limitions à quelques remarques. ^
trois groupes de représentations peuvent se formu
1er comme suit en fonction des déséquilibres stru^
turels qu’ils informent et instaurent relativement
la constitution de l’être-avec...
Les rab lebou ou les pangol serer, qui resso^
tissent de “la dimension de la verticalité”, de
“spiritualité”, affectent les relations de filiation,
généalogie. C’est dans cet axe que Thomas et L
neau incluent “l’amour d’un tiers”.
Le maraboutage, qui ressortit de “la dimensi
de l’horizontalité”, de “la socialité”, affecte ^eS rg,
lations d’alliances, les rivalités, amicales, pr°r
sionnelles, amoureuses, fraternelles, etc. Cet a
correspond chez les deux auteurs cités à “la 11
chanceté d’un tiers”. .
Les dëmm, qui ressortissent de “la dimens ^
de l’individualité, de l’identité” exclusive de s°^
soi, identité fermée, affectent les relations de
à soi, en tant que menaces de désintégration
propre qui se traduisent par l’angoisse de dev
tion, qui correspondrait dans le schéma tantôt P^
posé à “la faute de la victime elle-même, consci
ou inconsciente”. Je reviendrai plus en détail
ce dernier aspect. Les djinns et les seytan, P ^
sances héritées du fonds islamique, participa11 ^
plusieurs registres et peuvent ainsi être empl™
comme des auxiliaires pour des œuvres de m ,
boutage et comme d’indispensables allies et
juvants pour l’accomplissement de funestes
seins ou de pièges ourdis par les sorciers an
pophages. ioIlS
Ces différentes formes de représenta g
mettent en jeu l’échec de l’être-avec... ^arlSm6rit
relations généalogiques”, qui sont essentiel!6
religieuses puisque consacrant la parenté aveC
ancêtres tutélaires, les génies, le lien avec le ™
et la Loi, dans “ses relations sociales et cornrnn
taires”, sources et lieux des rivalités et des
avec les frères, les amis, les voisins, les c0^e^Lef'
etc., et enfin dans “ses relations identitaires,
sonnelles”, de la relation de soi à soi, dans
mité propre d’une relation “autistique”, °n
nique”, comme dirait Sow. s0nt
Ces trois dimensions de l’existant g0i
l’être-avec-Autre, l’être-avec-Autrui et 1 ^
expriment la totalité unitaire de l’habita ^
n’existe qu’à se tenir hors de soi et dont gr
s’institue dans les relations avec la divinité ^
cré), avec les autres et avec soi-même, en trac0lT1rne
ainsi l’irréductible unité de l’être-avec. • •
Col'
3 Diop (1961); Collomb (1964); Ortigues, 'j,fiflc^
lomb (1964); Zempléni (1966); Gravrand (196 ’2).
m (1977) ; Le Guérinel (!”
103.2«08
(1973) ; Martino et Simon (1977) ;
Anthropos
451
es doubles mentaux au Sénégal
Posibilité éthique. Cette vision unitaire de l’être-
• *“c- • •, telle qu’elle s’informe, dans le sens déjà
ülqué, dans le monde de ses rencontres, est mise
11 lumière ainsi par Sow (1977 : 29 s.) :
E8o
tug ' ‘ ' est con9u comme une totalité ordonnée, et consti-
par une triple relation polaire qui le situe :
erticalement : dimension phylogénétique : par rap-
P°rt à l’être ancestral (pôle majeur) sur “Lui” repose
tout le reste.
^0rizontalement : dimension socioculturelle : par
raPport au système des alliances et à la communauté
élargie _
Ontogénétiquement : dimension de l’Existant : par
raPPort à son individualité étroitement liée à son li-
0 ênage et à la famille restreinte.
l uois dimensions polaires fondamentales (verticale,
pétale l’ontogénétique) permettent de situer, avec
Clsion, la place d’Ego, respectivement dans son être,
lité8 S°n identité et dans son existence. L’être, l’iden-
Con* l’existence définissent la consistance des éléments
tal St,ltUants de la personne-personnalité. Le trouble men-
Unec est l’Ego “violenté” par la rupture, provoquée par
ées agressive, de l’un ou de l’autre des liens, issus
Pôles fondamentaux constituants.
Per °Ur nommer et conceptualiser l’existant, on
^ Ç°it nettement la difficulté évidente de l’auteur
ch ,reuss^r autrement qu’en usant d’une notion psy-
de j °§ique qui se veut la définition de l’expérience
p ^totalité du Moi, Ego. L’existant est remplacé
|p tgo, qui est le rassembleur duquel est possible
Atit -C relation de l’existant avec ses avec - Autre,
d^rül et soi. “La personne-personnalité” ne saurait
njE se définir, dans un des constituants (être,
d> ntlté et existence) sans se réduire dans la clôture
l>e . relation individuelle de la compréhension de
fp ls}ant qu’elle semble ici remplacer, signifier.
S*alité conceptuelle de l’existant s’enveloppe
s0j, ces constituants majeurs de Ego d’être-avec-
°rs de soi, qui exprime son identité, car elle est
avJ°er|due “au carrefour de toutes ses rencontres”,
Véc 1’ *
les 1 Autre (horizontalité), Autrui (verticalité) et
aoses (les étants du monde ambiant).
Mon propos n’est pas ici de décrire des proces-
sus ou des techniques de guérison, mais de tenter
de définir ou de circonscrire, serait-ce là où elle
est en échec ou en déséquilibre, la constitution de
l’existant dans ses relations fondamentales, tel que
celui-ci nous apparaît dans les conceptualisations
sur la maladie mentale et dans les représentations
collectives. Il est donc question, en somme, d’une
certaine manière, de quêter sur le sens de l’iden-
tité de l’existant, de ce que signifie qu’il est celui
qu’il est.
Nous avons vu que les différentes formes de
représentations (rab et djinn, maraboutage, dëmm)
mettent en jeu ou en cause, et l’éclairent, la struc-
ture fondamentale de l’existant dans son être-
avec... qui, parce que vécu en déséquilibre dans
la pathologie, affecte les relations du sujet, dont la
possibilité de vivre son rapport généalogique qui
le lie au divin et aux ancêtres, son rapport social
qui le lie à l’Autrui et à son environnement so-
cial, son rapport individuel, voire personnel qui est
le sentiment intime de sa conscience “identitaire”,
égoïstique.
Chaque fois que le séjour que nous sommes au-
près des autres (Autre et Autrui), c’est-à-dire notre
manière d’habiter le monde, est menacé, c’est un
déséquilibre qui s’instaure dans des formes que
peut revêtir la folie, qui menace donc ainsi l’inté-
grité de notre identité d’existant ouvert au monde
de nos avec... En conclusion à son étude d’un cas
familial en prise à la persécution sorcellaire, Berthe
Lolo écrit :
La maladie est donc due à trois causes principales :
l’Autre, soi-même (Sujet) et enfin Nature. La maladie
la plus facile à soigner est celle causée par l’Autre,
puis celle causée par soi-même dans la mesure où se
remettre en question est souvent difficile à envisager ...
Lorsque le diagnostic de la cause est une maladie due aux
esprits, il s’agit en général d’une maladie chronique sans
issue favorable. Cependant, avec le degré de syncrétisme
actuel, dire maladie naturelle dispense de la recherche
d’un persécuteur responsable et renvoie le malade à la
médecine occidentale (2001 : 108).
mentaux et problématique
^entité
du propre est à l’étranger, ce qu’exprime
,e§§er en définissant l’existant comme “l’être
'Sè°mtains”’ Ce C*Ue stmcture l’avec> phé-
d^s unitaire de la présence humaine, traduit
effort de sa restructuration pour contrer, par
foii ^ e» le péril ou le déséquilibre causé par la
La cure thérapeutique des malades possédés par
un rab, dans les cérémonies de ndëpp, sont des ten-
tatives de réconciliation de la malade à elle-même
et avec tous ses “avec... ” ébranlés, perdus ou non
intégrés dans la conscience vécue individuelle et
sociale. La cure du ndëpp permet donc, à travers
la “thématisation” problématique de la folie, de dé-
crire l’effort de compréhension qui s’informe dans
la tentative de restauration de l’existence en échec,
pour le dévoilement de ce qu’existe.
452
Ibrahim3
Mon intention n’est point de disserter sur la
folie, mais plus modestement, à travers elle, de
questionner la présence humaine. La cure théra-
peutique du ndëpp met en jeu le malade dans ses
relations en l’ouvrant dans un environnement so-
cial et communautaire, car elle ne saurait se pas-
ser de cette intégration aux valeurs culturelles. “Le
problème de la folie est inséparable de la question
posée par l’homme sur son identité”, écrit Mannoni
(1970 : 29), qui est celle que la cure de groupe es-
saie de restaurer en se conformant à un rituel précis
qui engage l’investissement des morts et des vi-
vants, le monde spiritualisé des rab et des ancêtres,
et le malade, les membres de sa famille et autres
officiants.
La tentative de restauration identitaire est autant
spiritualisée et socialisée qu’elle est inscrite dans
l’instance du corps, foyer dynamique de la prise au
monde par lequel le malade possédé est capable de
se libérer ou de libérer l’agent agressif en lui. Le
corps, qui se fait foyer de l’ancêtre, rab, est par
la danse et par le rythme articulé dans la thérapie
comme lieu d’épiphanie pour expulser le rab hors
du malade.
Le ndëpp est un renouvellement de l’alliance
avec les ancêtres “é-loignés” - dans le sens hei-
deggerien du terme. Le malade vivant les morts,
parce que possédé par eux, “déshabité” son corps
dans une proximité étrangère, parfois si intime à
soi-même qu’impossible à vivre qu’en la dansant,
à formuler et à dire qu’en s’évanouissant et à expli-
citer qu’en délirant. “Quel est le proche ? Quel est le
lointain ?”, peut-on s’interroger comme Maldiney à
propos de l’unité d’un tableau de Tal Coat ? “Nous
sommes ici dans le sans distance, dans l’espace
naissant du paysage, sous l’horizon d’une pléni-
tude, ‘et les lointains sont proches et les proches
lointains’” (Maldiney 1973 ; 121).
De la problématique unité du tableau à celle du
malade est en cause fondamentalement la possibi-
lité d’habiter le monde. Le “paysage” intérieur per-
turbé du malade - Ego, est submergé dans “la pléni-
tude” possessive du rab - l’Autre, qui l’habite sans
qu’il soit possible, autrement que par la thérapie
précédée d’une consultation divinatoire, de briser
cette identification perturbatrice et envahissante qui
est vécue dans l’échec des relations. Zempléni écrit
à cet égard, fort justement :
La possession est une inscription vacillante du signifiant
ancestral dans le corps. Tantôt elle est chute dans l’ima-
ginaire narcissique d’un corps à corps (ou plutôt corps
dans le corps) lourd de toutes les menaces de la fusion
primitive, de l’abolition des repères symboliques, de la
perte d’identité. Tantôt elle est état du corps circonscrit
So'v
à ses symptômes - paralysie réversible, asthénie, ^
norrhée, fièvre récurrente - qui demeure un signl ^
monnayable dans le circuit des dons et des dettes j
la famille de la possédée à ses rah. L’effet du rd^cCès
instaure et restaure l’échange symbolique - par 1 à
au nom du rab - n’est pas le même d’une posses
l’autre (1974:38).
Dans le ndëpp la structuration de l’identité pa ^
par “la structuration dynamique de l’image .
corps”, pour reprendre une expression de
Pankow (1969 : 49). Celle-ci s’inscrit dans un^-ve-
talité sociale vécue, individuellement et colle j
ment, s’intégrant à une dynamique rythrruq11^.^
permet au malade de prendre assise sur ses l°ir^ ju
pour habiter le proche, la proximité de soi
monde des vivants réconciliés à celui des j
à même le corps retrouvé, libéré de ses ran
il est que«'
voir a
“é-loignés”.
Mais qu’est-ce que cette identité dont
tion sinon avant tout la possibilité de poUV^”,
nouveau habiter le monde en son corps “récup ^
retrouvé ? L’identité conçue comme une rela 1 ,gSt
soi à soi - d’un soi perdu à un soi retrouve - 6
pas tout à fait satisfaisante pour expliquer la n gSt
de cette relation. Quel est le soi perdu ? Qu. t,jl
le soi retrouvé ? Quelle identité le ndëpp esSâ/ .aI1s
de mettre au jour? Qu’est-ce qui serait v*s^ pii
la fermeture exclusive du rapport de soi a c
dans celle qui, dans l’ouverture de la relatif
l’Autre et Autrui, fonde le but de la thérapie
La question du rapport de l’identité à â
- Autre et Autrui - est essentielle pour â.Qn ci
préhension de l’identité dans leur constiW aI1t
inséparabilité tautologiques. L’aliénation a ^gCte
la relation de soi à soi est une aliénation q^ fioh
aussi la relation de soi aux autres. Toute ah ^ja-
de soi inclut et conduit à un déséquilibre de ofts
tion unitaire de l’être-avec... affectant ses r v
métaphysiques, sociaux et individuels. par
Il faut, comme il en est dans la posses
les rab, avoir éprouvé l’angoisse de ne paS gSari
d’être autre, - comme il fut de ce malade . ne
que j’ai rencontré dans un pencA de s qui
cessait de demander “s’il est lui avec ce c ,, velfi
n’est pas le sien” -, pour savoir ce “qu exas aUtres;
dire, habiter le soi dans la proximité des^ |e s &
Mais que sont ici ces autres dont précisem
4
tutionnaHsp001 C!eS reuraons qui étaient plus ou moins ”
Fann et ani ^ ^ Ie service de Psychiatrie de l’HoP1 .flS)
infirmiers mfenpT™ malades’ anciens maladeS’ \0ot&
sortes où foiic * ’ accornPagnateurs et curieux d
divers’™ peuvem s’exprimer sur des sujets des P
lvers concernant le vécu des malades.
Anthrop08
I03.Z008
453
troubles mentaux au Sénégal
s existe” la proximité et sans lesquels il ne serait
s celui qu’il est : un être-avec... ? Ils nomment
Sl> par les ancêtres et les esprits divinisés et par la
Jhrnunauté sociale des vivants, la spiritualité, Loi
unaée de l’ordre du sacré et la socialité, Devoir
au* coutumes et aux usages culturels.
^ladie mentale et existence éthique
g c r existant tienne sa constitution essentielle, son
Sj e’ “d’un phénomène unitaire” que vise l’expres-
jj.11 1 être-au-monde, cela inclut précisément et
^ssairement que l’existant soit dans “le mon-
Ce • Certes, dans cette expression, ce qui est visé
“ a est point, comme Heidegger l’a montré, une
j,. esistance” à la manière des choses survenant à
ultérieur du monde, bien que l’existant soit aussi
csistant” dans le monde, “dans le sens d’une
^aine subsistance de fait” (Heidegger 1964 : 77) ;
s .^e si, pour Heidegger, cela implique que ne
h ' ^ Pas encore saisies ou perçues les structures
‘<^cifiques de l’être-là - “sa facticité” - en faisant
^ fraction de la constitution existentiale de l’être-
(Heidegger 1964:77).
j)i^a forme de “subsistance” de l’existant, sa ma-
efl re d’être “dans” le monde est autre et spécifique,
^•Ce 9ue l’existant au monde se produit comme
le ür- Pour l’existant, contrairement aux choses,
t0J|)Onde n’est pas un contenant, mais un lieu où
^ réi est offert et où “il se produit comme séjour
^ s ré monde. La manière du Moi contre ‘l’autre’
^°nde, consiste à séjourner, à s’identifier en y
îe Stant chez soi. ... Habiter est la façon même de
’ non Pas comme Ie fameux serpent qui se
c0 en en se mordant la queue, mais comme le
pe^ fiai, sur la terre, à lui extérieure, se tient et
lje ' Le ‘chez soi’ n’est pas un contenant, mais un
je °uhe peux, où, dépendant d’une réalité autre,
k malgré cette dépendance, ou grâce à elle,
® ’ (Levinas 1974 : 7).
I 6tte réalité ontologique est parfaitement mise
raière dans la mythologie dogon de l’origine
anicaParole (Calame-Griaule 1965 ; Sow 1976) qui
c0 le dévoilement de celle-ci et son acquisition
1116 Ie fond duquel les hommes, “d’abord vivant
easir cavemes et de cueillette, se produisent
tiSs e eomme séjour dans un monde habité, en bâ-
3cqU£l ^es maisons, en pratiquant l’agriculture, en
les s rant des techniques, la musique, la divination,
arts, etc.
dimension éthique de la structure de l’être-
le^ , n°mme l’Ethos, à la manière de celui que
flUrijo f0n^e en recueillaiit l’existant dans la pro-
n d’un monde duquel il se produit comme
hr°p0s 103.2008
l’Ancêtre Binou Serou, à la fois comme poète,
devin, musicien, c’est-à-dire comme habitant le
monde. Maldiney écrit :
Ethos en grec ne veut pas dire seulement manière d’être
mais séjour. L’art ménage à l’homme un séjour, c’est-
à-dire un espace où nous avons lieu, un temps où nous
sommes présents - et à partir desquels effectuant notre
présence à tout, nous communiquons avec les choses,
les êtres et nous-mêmes dans un monde, ce qui s’ap-
pelle habiter. C’est poétiquement que l’homme habite ...
(1973 : 148).
L’existant est donc “dans” le monde sur le mode
de l’habiter. Il est au monde. Sa manière de sub-
sister est en relation étroite ou du moins s’institue
dans l’habiter qui s’inscrit dans ce que Heideg-
ger appelle “être-à.Mais que veut dire être-
à... ? L’être-à... ne vise pas “l’inhérence” spatiale
d’étants subsistants, mais bien un séjour, un mode
d’habiter désignant le comment de notre être au
monde. C’est le mode de “facticité” de l’existant.
“Elle est donc l’expression existentiale formelle
qui désigne l’être de l’être-là en tant que celui-
ci possède pour constitution essentielle l’être-au-
monde5” (Heidegger 1964 : 76).
L’être-à... ne désigne en somme rien d’autre
que la possibilité de l’être-là comme être-avec...,
structure fondamentale de la présence humaine
dans le monde et qui consacre, comme l’affirme
Levinas contre Heidegger, le primat de l’éthique
sur l’ontologique, la relation originaire avec Autrui
sur le rapport à l’être. L’être-avec... nomme l’irré-
ductibilité de la relation avec l’étant, dans sa signi-
fication métaphysique, comme être-avec l’Autre, et
éthique, comme être-avec Autrui. “Le là du monde
est un avec”, s’écrie Maldiney (1973 : 307).
La possibilité de l’être-à... est subordonnée à
l’être-avec..., c’est dire le primat de l’éthique sur
l’ontologie. Chez les Négro-Africains, les rites et
les mythologies l’attestent pleinement, la relation
ontologique se subsume dans la relation éthique.
La constitution de l’existant ne peut se concevoir
sans les relations multiples avec l’Autre - dieux,
ancêtres, forces telluriques, etc. - et avec Autrui,
dont il est un élément. Le fond ontologique dans
lequel se meut la vision négro-africaine du monde
est essentiellement éthique.
La dimension éthique, qui nomme le lieu de
l’existant comme être-habitant, ouvre la possibilité
de “rencontrer quelque chose ou quelqu’un dans
le tout et à partir du tout, comme aussi de se
rencontrer avec l’autre et à partir de l’autre dans
5 Les italique sont de l’auteur.
454
Ibrahim3
le Nous. Être avec l’autre, être au monde, exister
son corps comme lieu d’une finitude ouverte, sont
des formes de présence originairement contempo-
raines, dont aucune ne peut défaillir sans la dé-
faillance de toutes. C’est ainsi que dans l’existence
en échec du schizophrène qui ne s’accomplit pas en
présence (en être-hors-auprès-de-soi), la dissocia-
tion du corps propre accompagne et exprime la dé-
structuration des relations inter-humaines” (Kuhn
et Maldiney 1971 : 22). Toute la thérapie africaine
et, en particulier, la psychothérapie africaine tra-
ditionnelle sont axées sur cette réalité fondamen-
tale de la structure de l’être-avec... qui articule, en
s’y informant6, les relations d’intégration existen-
tielles verticales (divinités, ancêtres, esprits), hori-
zontales (autrui et étants - choses) et identitaires
(soi à soi) qui, lorsqu’elles sont vécues en échec,
comme elles le sont dans la maladie mentale par
exemple, consacrent du même coup l’échec de
l’être-avec...
Après l’appréciation et l’interprétation, généra-
lement consensuelles7 des symptômes afin de dé-
terminer l’étiologie de la maladie, ce qui nécessite
le recours à la divination ou à d’autres techniques
exploratoires, il est alors mis en branle par le théra-
peute toute une dynamique opératoire et significa-
tive d’intervention de restructuration des équilibres
de l’être-avec...
L’étape thérapeutique est alors le résultat d’un consen-
sus entre la devineresse et le patient, mais elle est sou-
6 II faut prendre ce terme dans le sens qu’indique Maldiney
(1986 : 27) : “‘Informer’ ne veut pas dire ‘transmettre des
connaissances’, mais ‘donner forme’, une forme à même
laquelle une présence est amenée à soi. C’est là une situation
qui n’a pas d’en-deçà. Là où il s’agit d’être le là du monde,
il ne s’agit pas d’enregistrer des connaissances à son sujet,
mais de co-naître à son événement-avènement. Le propre de
l’événement, c’est d’être irrépétable, de n’avoir pas d’itéra-
tion dans le temps, puisqu’il fonde le temps”.
7 “La mise en forme des troubles que présente le malade et qui
le situe dans la collectivité tout en lui permettant de s’ex-
primer ... suppose, bien entendu, le consensus des parents,
voisins, amis. Le vécu du malade reste au second plan, l’es-
sentiel restant la lisibilité des symptômes par tous confor-
mément à l’histoire et aux valeurs culturelles du groupe.
Le traitement proprement dit s’appuie directement sur cette
interprétation-médiatrice de la cure. Le malade qui adhère
ainsi que ses proches à l’explication du guérisseur ‘reçoit
des preuves et des indices différenciés de l’agent pathogè-
ne’ : crises de possession, aveux du sorcier, objet que le
guérisseur est censé faire sortir de son corps, divination ...”
(Thomas et Luneau 1975 : 244). Voir aussi Sow (1977 : 45-
47) pour l’interprétation consensuelle du conflit, pour l’ap-
préciation de sa résolution éventuelle : “En règle absolue,
l’essentiel est que le consensus (patient - famille - prati-
cien) se réalise nécessairement, avant de passer à l’étape
suivante”.
So"'
vent le signe d’une acceptation de la part des mevà
de la famille du sens donné à l’événement par l 0
ciante. Ceux-ci participent au rassemblement des ta
nécessaires à l’exécution du rituel. Cette solidarité
vêle l’adhésion familiale au verdict divinatoire. La
cision d’entreprendre un rituel de guérison n’est pas
tématiquement subordonnée au soutien matériel de la P
renté ou du conjoint car l’indépendance économique.
quelques uns leur permet de réaliser les rituels sans
de leur entourage ... mais le plus souvent, les soins s
administrés au sein de la famille. La communauté e
personne affligée sont liées dans la démarche de guéri
(Teixeira 2001 : 148).
Nous retrouvons les mêmes idées développa®
chez Alassane Ndaw qui met l’accent, contfa*
ment à la démarche et à la perception occidenta ^
sur la récupération thérapeutique au bénéfice
groupe. Il note :
ipc SU'
D’une maladie vécue au niveau individuel, dans Ie
ciétés occidentales, comme rupture de communie3
les sociétés africaines font une structure de cornmu
tion par un renversement de la thérapeutique. En 0
c’est tout le groupe qui participe au culte et aux cere^
nies de possession. Ainsi, la société communique'
avec ses dieux et avec toutes les instances relig16
bles
L’extraordinaire est que l’individu chargé de ces tr°Utj0n
névrotiques se trouve ‘récupéré’ puisqu’il a une f01^,^
sociale. Ces troubles seront utiles à la société (
1997 :243).
, J
Le processus de guérison est consensuel, fanfilia
social, et non individuel. -eilt
Ce processus de “guérison” quelles qu’en
les causes s’attache essentiellement, par la v ^
lisation et autres techniques rituelles, sacrifie1^,
et corporelles, à jouer sur cette structure de 1 e s
tant qui s’investit et s’articule essentiellement
l’éthique, lieu de toutes les communications ^
soi, les êtres et les choses. “Une fois encore, ^ gt
la socialisation qui guérit”, écrivent Thom - g
Luneau, pour en somme, accorder à la strl^j qui
éthique de l’être-avec... le fondement essent*
est au “carrefour de toutes les rencontres” de . ja
tant, ce que Binswanger aussi, en réponda
question : “de quelle manière la psychom
peut-elle réellement agir exprime avec E ^
grande clarté en disant que “la possibilité^ oU
psychothérapie ne repose donc pas sur un se ^
mystère, comme on pouvait l’enten
sur rien de nouveau ou d’inhabitue ■>
sur un
somme — __________________
au contraire sur un trait fondamental de la st ^ ,
de l’être-homme, en tant qu’être-dans-le-m°
l’être avec et pour l’autre. C’est dans la
où ce trait fondamental demeure ‘retenu ,{âpi6
structure de l’être-homme que la psychot
103.3°°8
Anthropos
455
^es troubles mentaux au Sénégal
e$t possible[8]. Si vous vous posez des questions
SUr ces ‘possibilités d’action’ à l’intérieur de cette
sPhère de l’être-dans-le-monde, ce n’est pas parce
M edes seraient pour vous ce qui est le plus éloigné
°ute plus inhabituel, mais parce qu’elles vous sont
^istentielles, c’est-à-dire qu’elles sont pour vous
trait fondamental de votre présence ou de votre
^dstence ce qui est le plus proche et le plus fami-
r ; car ce qui est essentiellement pour nous le plus
„ °che, c’est-à-dire nous-même et notre relation
ec nos prochains, nous apparaît théoriquement
uJours en dernier lieu seulement” (Binswanger
: 122).
La maladie mentale est au fond, essentiellement,
^ e Maladie relationnelle, une maladie de l’avec...
seulement l’interprétation des causes, des
°übles et du déséquilibre, qui est fonction des
/^Ptôrnes, nécessite une prise en charge com-
e Ulle de la signification et du diagnostic,9 mais
r §age aussi l’issue de la thérapie et préjuge, en
ahon avec les techniques d’exploration divina-
v lre> le pronostic plus ou moins favorable ou défa-
rable, selon toutes ces données recueillies. Dans
} ce processus, l’individu malade est peu solli-
r^e et n’est pas considéré vraiment comme un sujet
^ Pensable et libre, mais apparaît plutôt comme un
№nt porteur d’une sorte de “message” à l’adresse
°ute psychothérapie est impossible qui n’est pas intégrée
ans le carrefour des rencontres, ouverte à l’agora des
Ç°Hcertations et des inspections. Kerharo écrit ; “Comme
e déclare Graverand les consultations préalables sont déjà
üne véritable thérapeutique puisqu’elles apportent deux élé-
^ents d’importance : l’explication de la maladie et le moyen
e guérir. Le Lup réalise ensuite la réintégration à deux
niveaux. Car si le malade est intégré au pâgol qui veut le
Posséder, le pâgol va lui-même être intégré, fixé et civilisé
fu niveau du groupe qui profitera du dynamisme animant
, Malade. Après son ensevelissement et son retour à la
Vif* r
’ ce dernier voit sa maladie reportée et ses culpabilités
ansportées sur l’animal sacrifié. Une nouvelle personnalité
ite désormais en lui. Il n’est plus un malade. Mieux il est
,evenu à son tour un ministre du culte, un yal pâgol, objet
>e c°nsidération publique” (Kerharo et Adam 1974 : 70).
a maladie mentale n’est jamais considérée comme une af-
lre strictement individuelle, mais comme un mal social,
9 e sous-tend et éclaire “la notion centrale de conflit” qui,
^ errie individuel, est ressenti comme une menace sociale
°m la signification doit être tirée au clair. “L’interprétation
trouble mental qui est le moment essentiel de toute cure
mtionnelle répond à la question : qu’est-ce que cela signi-
s,e Pour le patient, pour sa famille, pour la collectivité ? Il
a§ira donc, ici, de l’élaboration du champ majeur dégagé
9üls accepté par les différents intéressés) lors de la phase
°spective. C’est l’étape du véritable diagnostic positif se
ant comme objectif la désignation plus précise du persé-
eur ‘polaire’ qui se trouve au centre du champ conflictuel,
fo treiïlent dit, ce travail d’élaboration consistera, en son
n4 à donner un nom à l’angoisse vécue par le sujet et/ou
afamilie’:
(Sow 1977 :47).
°Pos 103.2008
d’une collectivité ou d’une communauté. Signe de
“conflit basal de relation” (Sow 1977 :43) dont
l’être-avec... est le lieu, la maladie semble plus
l’impliquer dans ses symptômes qu’elle n’est vé-
ritablement le lieu même de l’être-soi. Il est alors
du rôle du thérapeute, pour pouvoir “guérir” le
malade, de ré-structurer d’abord dans et avec le
monde commun de ses relations, l’unité dynamique
de l’être-avec... en déséquilibre, lieu de toutes ses
rencontres, parce qu’il est “le là de tout ce qui a
lieu” (Maldiney 1986 : 26).
Une maladie engage tout un processus qui, or-
ganisé autour du savoir thérapeutique, répond à
une angoisse familiale ; c’est ce qui fait dire à Fé-
dida 1971 : 55) : “Le savoir psychiatrique, en tant
qu’il participe d’une rationalité et d’un pragma-
tisme du ‘bon sens’, répond à ce que la famille
attend.” Seulement “ce que la famille attend” est
une restructuration qui prend en compte l’intégrité
des intérêts et des valeurs autant individuels du
malade que sociaux et spirituels de la commu-
nauté. La thérapie est une tentative de sublimer ou
d’évacuer l’agression et la violence en amenant le
malade et sa communauté, par des rituels précis,
“à abolir l’œuvre du temps, [à] intégrer l’instant
auroral d’avant la création, [à] réintégrer ‘la page
blanche’ de l’existence, le commencement absolu,
lorsque rien n’était encore souillé, lorsque rien en-
core n’était gâché” (Eliade 1989 : 275).
La folie en question
Il semble donc que toute identité est impossible
si “elle n’est pas suspendue hors de soi” (Pan-
kow 1973 ; 185); c’est cet “être-hors-de-soi-avec-
les-autres”, pour reprendre l’expression de Pankow,
qui nomme l’existant, fût-il rencontré dans l’échec
d’un soi-autre, étranger, comme il en est chez le
malade possédé. Seulement le possédé n’habite
pas, il est habité. Il n’a pas ou n’est pas son corps,
mais il est corps d’un autre, “corps dans le corps”.
Son monde n’est pas le sien. Absent à soi, à son
corps autre, il est présent à ses lointains qui l’ha-
bitent, étant là où il n’est pas dans l’étrangeté
d’un corps familier et étranger. “Les lointains sont
proches et les proches lointains”. Cette fascinante
proximité de l’autre en soi se traduit dans l’image
du double, de l’ombre, du dëmm, du andadoo des
Wolof, s’inscrivant dans l’impossible unité de la
familiarité d’un soi étranger et de l’étrangeté d’un
autre familier, ce qui ne peut s’évacuer que par le
déséquilibre de l’être-avec..., dont la folie est une
expression.
456
Ibrahima
Tout comme la mort sous l’espèce du suicide et du
meurtre, la folie est cette étrange violence qui clôt dans
l’intervalle du familier et de l’intime ... ; étrange vio-
lence, en effet, que celle qui se manifeste sous la forme
d’une proximité immédiate, par le corps et par le mot -
ceux-ci n’étant plus protégés par ce qu’il était convenu
d’appeler “rôles”, “dialogues”, “communications” ...
(Fédida 1971:35 s.).
La possession, quand elle est vécue dans le
conflit, ce qui n’est pas toujours le cas, nous l’avons
vu, est la situation qui éloigne le proche et ap-
proche le lointain dans une confusion telle que le
vécu individuel n’est plus socialement intégré dans
une rencontre qui permette d’habiter son corps et
le monde, ce que cherche à restaurer le ndëpp en
fixant le rab par des techniques d’expulsion et en
restaurant la faille de l’image du corps.
Être soi et être chez-soi, habiter son corps et
habiter le monde, vont de pair. Gisela Pankow l’ex-
prime fort justement avec une finesse métaphorique
saisissante ;
Lorsque l’homme est chassé de lui-même, il a perdu
le corps vécu, en tant que pays natal, en tant que mai-
son, en tant qu’enveloppe protectrice ... Mais pourquoi
l’homme qui perd son corps doit-il perdre en même
temps la raison ? Parce que l’homme sans corps ne sait
plus qui il est et qui il n’est pas : il perd son identité
(1969:62).
“Pays natal”, “maison”, “corps perdu”, Pankow
convoque la réalité du corps dans la détermination,
à la fois concrète, symbolique et affective d’un lieu
protecteur, d’un séjour, d’un chez-soi. Le corps ap-
paraît dans une poétique du lieu familier qui donne
accès à une signification toute maternelle, mais
quasi originaire en tant qu’enveloppe protectrice et
foyer dynamique à l’habiter. “La naissance latente
du monde se produit à partir de la demeure” (Lévi-
nas 1974: 130).
La cérémonie du ndëpp essaie d’aménager un tel
chez-soi d’où l’existant se tient ferme à soi et peut
se produire à ses lointains. Il s’agit de structurer
la possibilité de l’accès au corps que la maladie
a perturbé, accès par lequel l’individu a prise sur
le monde, habite et existe, ce qui signifie la même
chose.
Pour retrouver le soi, il faut être hors de soi dans
une rencontre. “Tout est impossible, et d’abord
d’exister, pour celui qui est seulement là. Il faut
partir pour avoir lieu” (Maldiney 1973 : 123), ce
à quoi fait écho, dans la même tension de la dia-
lectique du proche et du lointain pour signifier de
l’existant l’étrange paradoxe qui informe son être,
la remarque de Bachelard :
Sow
Et si c’est de l’être de l’homme qu’on veut déterminer, ^
n’est jamais sûr d’être plus près de soi en “rentrant
soi-même, en allant vers le centre de la spirale ; sou ’
c’est au cœur de l’être que l’être est errance. Paf ^
c’est en étant hors de soi que l’être expérimente
consistances (1974: 194).
Le monde des représentations qui s’inf°rr^
dans l’imaginaire de la mentalité collective
forme certes pas un système clos fermé sur ^
même, dont les réalités seraient théoriquement
rationnellement justifiables, mais demeure c0
tant, parce qu’inscrit dans la mentalité humaine, ^
souci de “rationalisation” qui cherche à fonder
“raison”, pour tenter, en somme, de rendre c.
de l’insensé ou de l’incompréhensible, ce qul.
duit en l’homme les formes de désir de d°nn^
tion ou de sécurité pour évacuer l’angoisse
à l’étrange, au non-sens. “L’homme cherche
caractéristiques parce qu’il a besoin de caract
tiques - parce que sa raison, parce que la iaC.
spécifique de ‘réflexion’ qui lui est propre 1
Cette exigence elle-même ne peut être dérivée, ^
est une force fondamentale de l’âme” (Cass
1973 : 47)- H’intet'
La croyance aux choses s’accompagne u 6
rogations sur le comment et le pourquoi, quiest a6
capacité primaire d’étonnement devant le u1 ^
muet que le langage organise à sa mesure, s .
son monde, “humain, trop humain”. H faLlt jes
l’homme dise les choses, qu’il les nomme ^ ^
domine ; sa domination souveraine est ainsl .
au pouvoir du langage qui consigne et no
qui, en somme, codifie dans des certitudes V ■
ou moins systématisées le comment et le P011.^^
des choses. Le devin, avec son double pouyoh ^
caractérisent le don de pénétration de l’in ^
et a capacité de nomination du non-enco^
mulé, “intimité muette de l’infondable”, Par „ ep
pleinement à la formulation de T “Infor mu la e^ns
lui donnant sens et en consignant les sigueS ^eS,
une parole qui les rende disponibles aux y
Interprète de l’invisible, de l’indicible et de
audible, il est celui qui formule 1’“insensé ^
des schèmes sociaux où il est “dépotentia1 ^
sa charge angoissante, parce qu’innommam ^ je
innommé. La folie et, relativement de ce P^jjtés
vue, la sorcellerie sont essentiellement des
qui participent de l’impossibilité du langag eJjt
assujettir et de les consigner en raison, au ^
que par le biais de leur contournement dou ^
vin, qui use de cette qualité de “dépotentia
du langage, est passé maître. otuelle
Nous avons vu que la thématisation c°nceP ¿e$
de la folie n’était pas tentée dans les approC
103.2«08
Anthropos
troubles mentaux au Sénégal
457
Les
^présentations collectives qui sont plutôt axées sur
es étiologies et sur les techniques de restauration
ü désordre induit, car elles mettent en jeu et s'in-
téressent davantage au sens de l’intégrité identitaire
es patients qu’elles ne cherchent à opérer des théo-
cations sur la folie en tant que telle. Le langage
est sollicité non pour systématiser et abstraire in-
Clectuellement la réalité du monde, mais pour la
Sl§nifier en concrétisant des rapports et en consa-
Crant un pouvoir ; c’est pourquoi c’est davantage la
^ar°le, en tant que pouvoir de dénomination et de
^ruination qui préoccupe les sociétés africaines si
J^agrnatiques, que le langage, en tant que système
Üe signes.
„ Qu’est-ce donc que la folie? La question de la
I le est inséparable de la réalité objectivante du
an§age, dont pourtant elle excède le pouvoir de
dans la mise en retrait qui semble la retenir
I °rs-langage”. Je signifie ainsi l’impossibilité du
ailgage à dire la folie elle-même autrement que de
Cmplir de vide, le vide d’une notion qu’une sou-
et
k
ver;
. raine raison articule, pour pouvoir l’énoncer
^énoncer, comme “déraison”, “désordre”, “anor-
aUté”, “maladie mentale”, etc. La folie, dans et
,ar le langage, demeure captive d’une nécessité de
domination que l’ordre de la raison ou la raison
de
j - ordre, qui fonde aussi la nécessité même du
^dgage, comble de son contraire. La folie dans le
^dgage qui essaie de la dire n’apparaît qu’à travers
^ s formes de sa capture, d’une volonté de capture,
l^ds l’incontournable et indépassable fermeture de
s raison et de l’ordre, dont elle serait comme une
,0rte d’“envers”, - l’autre face. On s’efforce de
j,e)(firper du langage ainsi que l’on s’efforce de
0exfirper de soi dans l’impossible rejet qui en parle
ü 4 justifie.
^aura-t-on jamais pleinement signifier, sans
I ^Ir recours à la raison, ce qu’est en elle-même
e)] °üe ? De même, pourra-t-on jamais, de la raison
e~même, en dire ou en penser la “folie”, tant est
41
ép6 1 0n puisse encore simplement écrire cela sans
ru^re un “non-sens” et sans être piégé dans une
quge raisc)n et du langage ? Graves questions
V£e “folie” nous adresse, serait-ce encore à tra-
1^ raison, et dans l’ordre du langage qui nous
r°be dans le retrait duquel il s’aménage. La
ijj stion du rapport de la folie et du langage est
^.°utoumable. Elle est du même ordre que celui
concerne folie et ordre, folie et raison ; tout cela
Paraît, en définitive, comme un seul et même rap-
re;1 ^ui se fait jour et se dérobe à travers ses diffé-
l0utes formes, en ce que la conjonction et marque,
lati aüssi dieu et en même temps, l’écart que la re-
4e’’11 ^ant et différenciant “folie”, “langage”, “or-
et “raison” de telle sorte qu’il est impossible
de dire et de penser “cela” sans ou bien s’employer
à une déstructuration du langage ou bien objectiver
une annexion de la folie.
L’impossible capture de ce que c’est que la folie
tient lieu dans la clôture même du langage qui en
parle. “La folie est une coupure irréductible. A la
limite, il faudrait dire qu’elle est incompréhensi-
ble” (Delacampagne 1974 ; 189) ; ce qui nous fonde
à penser, répondant à la provocation - plus qu’à
une boutade - à laquelle le langage nous interpelle
quand il s’agit de dire la folie, que la folie, comme
aberration du langage, n’existe pas. Certes cela ne
masque ni n’évacue la réelle existence de ceux qui
sont dits “fous”, qui font, en leur âme et corps, l’ex-
périence d’une violence qui réprime, isole, enferme
et tue. Faute de pouvoir maintenir la folie en un
“hors-langage”, en un pur silence qui la déroberait
à toute forme d’ordre et de raison, on ne peut man-
quer de s’interroger sur la possibilité même du lan-
gage à vouloir ou à pouvoir s’ériger et parler contre
soi-même pour constituer une mesure pour la folie.
Nous sommes renvoyés ainsi au champ et au
registre de la normalisation, lieu de la socialisation,
qui est domaine de la parole commune et du devin.
Si tous se croient en mesure de parler et de disserter
sur les fous, d’en donner des images plus ou moins
acceptées de tous, en s’accordant sur le consensus
d’une raison sociale et en expulsant alors ainsi
une angoisse projetée sur le monde du “non-sens”,
de l’“anormal”, c’est parce que la folie s’excède
dans le langage, à cette impossible détermination
de pouvoir l’instituer dans une rupture qui la ne
fonde point dans une proximité de sens qui ne la
mesure encore à elle, c’est-à-dire pour en somme
signifier le non-sens.
La folie marque l’échec du langage qui ne peut
la signifier sans s’instituer “hors-langage”. C’est
pourquoi il en parle comme son “envers”, dans
des formes réductrices d’une clôture, d’un manque
(maladie, trouble, dérèglement, aliénation)10. Si la
folie est essentiellement “ouverte” et “fermée” “au
jeu du langage, sans qu’il soit possible de déli-
miter ce qui devrait en faire la séparation” (Bassi
1977 : 93) ; la sorcellerie, en revanche, réalité né-
faste et mal social par excellence qui ne souffre
d’aucune ambiguïté quant au désordre et au dés-
équilibre qu’elle instaure, participe davantage du
système de codification éthique et du registre que
le langage peut clarifier et verbaliser, dans les deux
sens du terme.
10 “La folie comme état ne peut-être évaluée que de manière
négative : maladie, trouble, dérèglement aliénation” (Veron
1977 :39).
Sr,
°P°s 103.2008
458
Ibrahiina
Sow
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1997 Préface. In : A. Ndaw ; pp. 7-36.
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1968 Structure familiale et mentalité religieuse des Le
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Fonctions symboliques et significations synrho 4
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Anthropos
103
,2008
Anthropos
103.2008: 459-470
L’héritage de Santwala
Un récit de vie
Rik Ceyssens
saiStract'~The matrimonial life history of Santwala, a southern
thrarnPasu male (ca. 1903-1982) and the repercussions thereof
^ghout at least three generations (from maternal uncles to
fath^8 SOns) called for strict accounting. Santwala and his many
On Crs'’n'law still notched their mutual contractual obligations
m0 ,PalIr' tree stick. Santwala engaged in four different matri-
gennia^ ‘affairs,” as registered on four different sticks. The next
Ration would keep record on paper, mostly in copybooks
used by schoolchildren. [Democratic Republic of the
¡Nally
'°nSo,
southern Salampasu, kinship, descent, marriage, bride
’ Qbduction, free women, deeds and documentai evidence]
'ton ^e^Ssens? licencié en archéologie et histoire de l’art (arts
leUr eur°péens) de l’Université Libre de Bruxelles (1964) ; doc-
sité o* Sc'ences sociales (anthropologie culturelle) de T Univer-
sel atholique de Nimègue (1984). - Il a œuvré dans l’en-
rieur 6nient supérieur à Kananga (R. D. du Congo, Institut supé-
cie iaPpda§°gique, Université Nationale du Zaïre), dans le cadre
tec^ °°pération technique belge. Il a effectué d’importantes
sur le terrain dans les zones administratives de Tshi-
- Qj-’ wiza et Mwene-Diitu. 11 a publié des livres et des articles.
■ aussi Références citées.
1 ïdentité
^82, Santwala-wa-Saakaji (Fig. 1), citoyen
*>laU de zone de Lwiza (Kasayi-occiden-
(gr ’ residait au village Kathunda, dans la chefferie
lien APement ou nganda) des Aka Cyonga (chef-
Seu] a-Madya).1 Santwala doit son identité au
fo(s ‘P6re’ casu à Saakaji personnellement. À la
à “ Prudent et avisé”, le père est censé transmettre
c0n n sang” tout ce qui est runongo. Kunonga :
hoq 1 er’ ^commander, donner des idées, entêter ;
Seulernent les traits physiques (phénotype),
mais aussi le caractère, la personnalité, le nom,
les us et coutumes ainsi que les charmes passent
du père à la progéniture. “Le père est la tête de
l’oiseau” (Taata mutu wa kajila) (J. H. C. Ceyssens
1984 : 302-308, 369). Le patrilignage stricto sensu
étant méconnu, le court terme prévalait en ce qui
concerne la filiation patrilatérale : Santwala ne par-
venait pas à identifier ses ascendants paternels au-
delà de son grand-père.
À l’échelle et dans le contexte de la vie journa-
lière, Santwala affirmait en outre être affilié au ma-
trilignage (iibaka, iithwa) des Eenyi Kafunda. La
mère génitrice est importante dans la mesure no-
tamment où elle permet d’accéder à une paren-
tèle élargie solidaire et distributrice de “richesses”.
Santwala citait nommément ses ascendants mater-
nels jusqu’à l’arrière-arrière-grand-mère (née au
plus tard en 1850), sans toutefois lier celle-ci à la
présumée fondatrice Kafunda ; grâce à cette arrière-
arrière-grand-mère, répondant aux échéances de
1982, Santwala était en mesure d’identifier et mo-
biliser les participants aux transactions matérielles,
de déterminer l’étendue du groupe solidaire. Dans
l’habitat des Salampasu méridionaux (secteur/col-
lectivité Lwatshi), la plupart des matrilignages sont
identifiés par des matronymes, noms qui jusqu’à ce
jour sont portés par les femmes. Exceptionnelle-
ment, un matrilignage est rattaché nommément au
1 Mady a-Mady a et le hameau adjacent Kathunda sont situés
à 22° 33' longitude Est et 7° 41' latitude Sud, dans l’entre-
Lwatshi-Luluwa, au sud-sud-est de la mission catholique de
Maswika (Mashwiku).
460
Rik Ce yssen*
Fig. 1 : Portrait de Santwala-^3
Saakaji. Hameau : Kathunda. M*'
trilignage ; Eenyi Kafunda. Gr°uPf
ment : Aka Cyonga (chefferie o
Madya-Madya).
(EP10.0.13319, coll. MR AC, Ph°t0
Rik Ceyssens 1982, MRAC ©)■
frère de la génitrice de référence. Personne n’a
réussi devant moi à remonter, de génération en
génération, jusqu’à la mère titulaire, pour autant
évidemment que celle-ci soit connue. Apparem-
ment, pour mes interlocuteurs, il s’agit là d’un exer-
cice gratuit sans trop d’intérêt pratique ; la portée
effective de la mémoire est directement condition-
née par la sauvegarde d’intérêts matériels contem-
porains. C’est ce qu’on va voir incessamment (voir
diagramme l).2
La carte d’identité de Santwala mentionne 1918
comme date de naissance ; lui-même prétendait être
né au début du siècle, vers 1903, quand la caravane
d’Edgar Verdick passa du sud au nord, sur la rive
gauche de la Luluwa, une traversée mémorable,
ancrée dans la conscience collective.3 Santwala est
décédé le 7 août 1982. Peu de temps avant sa mort,
malade déjà, il avait “laissé l’héritage” (kusiya ma-
fulowu) en présence des témoins “indiscrets” que
voici : sa sœur Kaavu, son épouse primaire Mbuyi,
ses neveux sororaux Kabunda, Ruvunda, Kaseepa,
2 Seules des considérations d’ordre matériel peuvent pousser
d’aucuns, plutôt rares, à se rattacher au matrilignage du père
ou du grand-père paternel. Les “richesses” étant héritées en
ligne maternelle, les opportunistes peuvent trahir leur “ori-
gine” pauvre au profit du matrilignage paternel plus riche
et plus prestigieux. Aussi l’éloignement physique des ascen-
dants maternels peut-il entrer en ligne de compte : l’identité
d’une femme-esclave, achetée à l’est (ku musongo aa nthu),
sur la rive droite de la Luluwa, sera ignorée, délibérément
effacée, avec l’objectif d’agrandir la famille des acheteurs.
3 Voir Verdick (1898-1903, 1903), la carte dans Question
congolaise (1906), Pruitt (1973:342-362), R. Ceyssens
(1979), J. H. C. Ceyssens (1984 : 94 s.).
son épouse et nièce Kafunda.4 * Le 11 août 1982,
fils du défunt ont organisé la “récapitulation v
blique de l’héritage (cisaaya cya lufu) '■ toUSfua-
créditeurs et débiteurs ont fait le point de la sl^üt
don matérielle laissée par feu Santwala. Et n v.^
mieux que les fils organisent et supervisent PareoI1t
opération, car n’étant pas partie prenante, üs s
au-dessus de la mêlée. „ ^
Voici le calendrier du deuil : après le d¿ceS.jj6
mercredi 7 août 1982, l’inhumation de la ^°ÜQnt
a eu lieu le jeudi. Le vendredi, les endeuillés se ^
lavés, ainsi “enlevant les larmes” (pha ^
samedi, de la nourriture a été enterrée à eote ^
la tombe à l’intention du trépassé (kufundü)- ^
dimanche 11 août, enfin, l’héritage est offic*
et rendu public (cisaaya cya lufu). Les inv‘e oje
téressés ainsi que les curieux apportent à In í ^ ;
endeuillée un “cadeau d’enterrement” (mUza^vieS
de l’argent, du vin de palme, voire des c
Cmaruwu). D’aucuns ont apporté égalent6^
preuves matérielles de leurs “affaires” avec
funt, matrimoniales et autres. cette
Quelques mois auparavant, le 17 avril de ja
même année, j’avais eu le privilège de a ^uS
connaissance de Santwala et, à nous deuX’.sSj0n
avions alors travaillé plusieurs jours à la
de Maswika autour de ses “dettes et profits
moniaux
héritier8
¡es
4 “Laisser l’héritage”, tester, justifier devant les •rn0nialc,s
débits et crédits, notamment les transactions ‘l
en suspens, non encore liquidées. On “laisse ^olirir.
l’occasion de maladies graves, lorsqu’on se sen
,2008
103
Anthropos
héritage de Santwala
Le 27 décembre 1982, à Kathunda, j’ai eu un
b treÜen avec l’héritier principal, à savoir le neveu
^vunda, et les fils Saakaji et Kadiya ; j’ai revu les
ri tiers, les veuves et les amis de Santwala en avril
et en avril 1987, pour les dernières mises au
lnt factuelles du présent reportage.
Au terme de cette section introductive, remar-
^ °ris qUe ies données de base du dossier ont été
^aPtées sur le vif dans les années 1982-1987. L’at-
je ^ment à l’authenticité des souvenirs évoqués et
du . Pect des interlocuteurs ont présidé à leur “tra-
chon”, plutôt qu’une quelconque attitude “cor-
r te ’• Les références bibliographiques jointes ne
nvoient qu’indirectement aux données du terrain ;
s d’une fois, les sources citées ne concordent pas
c notre expérience vécue.
461
v-
Tailles, broches, cahiers
Le •
pj. Vleux Santwala a bien voulu exhiber et ex-
iA^Uer ^evant m°i Iss “enfilades” (cikinda, plur.
lnda) sur lesquelles il avait enregistré sa carrière
rimoniale, plus précisément les valeurs dotales
lü-ees en échange de quatre épouses, acquises pour
(Pi'm5me ou en faveur de ses neveux sororaux
*§• 2a).5 Voilà le vrai début de nos relations.
aHe‘‘ qUC c^nc^a correspond à une dot, mieux, à
nffaire” matrimoniale {mulongà). Chez San-
u ,a’ l’enfilade consiste en une broche pointue
fieu P^ur- nkiïi), provenant de la partie exté-
] re et dure du palmier des marais (iipanda), sur
r^tt !e sont empalées ou embrochées des “bar-
de pS (iipfwa, plur. mapfwa), celles-ci provenant
[Il lntérieur mou des rameaux de divers palmiers
Uwondo, iikadi).
de Ba9Ue traverse ou barrette représente une unité
C°mPte’ à savoir une valeur matrimoniale effec-
t!tleITlerit transférée : soit une “chèvre”, c’est-à-dire
fusilChèvre ou un sudstitut métonymique (mouton,
djtes’ chien6), pour les valeurs dotales proprement
s0n s°it une “poule”, c’est-à-dire une poule ou
tdL ecluivalent, notamment à l’occasion des pre-
^Qv .^s menstrues, “qui surprennent” (ndhumba y a
L t .L Pour autant que celles-ci se manifestent sous
‘ 0lt conjugal (Guillot 1955 : 215s.).7
ç 'j.hant°u commun : *-kind-, “piler, presser, tasser” ; zones
6 le V (Bastin et Schadeberg 2006 : n° 1835-1837).
nian &n °U cb®vre aux riuatre yeux” (mpembi wa meeso
Sar U*S lureUe, une chèvre vaut six poules chez les
aCc mPasu méridionaux. Voilà les deux unités de compte,
et faciles à trouver. D’autres animaux domes-
Pou&S ^importation relativement récente et hors de portée
r L commun n’entrent pas en ligne de compte ; “Quels
• ■.
Fig. 2a : Comptabilité des valeurs matrimoniales. À Kathunda :
broches relatives aux alliances de Santwala. De gauche
à droite ; Mbuyi, Nakapanga, Kafunda, Mbuyi-aa-Ndongo.
(EP.0.0.13314, coll. MRAC, photo Rik Ceyssens 1982,
MRAC ©).
Les cadeaux de fiançailles à la future belle-mère
(brochettes de souris, d’oiseaux, d’anguilles) ne
sont pas consignés de la sorte et pour des raisons
évidentes. D’abord, la réciprocation par la belle-
mère est progressive : le retour (repas cuit) suit
de près l’aller (appât cru). Ensuite, il s’agit d’un
échange de victuailles qui sont consommées im-
médiatement et qui n’ont pas valeur de “richesse”,
c’est-à-dire une valeur conservable et, à terme,
productive, comme la femme elle-même (J. H. C.
Ceyssens 1984:149 s.).
Il en est autrement des “cadeaux de consolation”
(maruwu) offerts occasionnellement aux affins, jus-
qu’à expiration du contrat matrimonial par le di-
vorce.8 Le donneur acte ces cadeaux sur une broche
chevaux et quelles vaches as-tu liés pour moi ?” exclamera
l’épouse en brouille avec son mari (Thubaru thunyi na
ngombi waaswika ?).
8 Kulawula : “consoler”, rendre visite à l’occasion de nais-
sances, de deuils, de problèmes de tout ordre, tout en remet-
tant un “cadeau de consolation, de condoléances, de sympa-
thie”. Dans le contexte matrimonial, les maruwu sont (a) les
cadeaux par lesquels le beau-père sollicite un supplément de
ir°P°s 103.2008
462
RikCeysse«5
séparée et il a tout intérêt à le faire. Car, con-
trairement aux cadeaux de fiançailles, les maruwu
sont des engagements à terme, susceptibles d’être
défalqués ou ajoutés au moment du règlement de
comptes final, à savoir le divorce entraînant inex-
orablement la restitution des valeurs matrimoniales
(Bogaerts 1950 ; 388).
Pour que l’échéance soit moins pénible, certains
beaux-pères prennent les devants et comblent le
beau-fils de cadeaux, équilibrant ainsi, petit à petit,
la balance des comptes. “Le beau-père qui mange
les chèvres [de la dot], c’est lui aussi qui [moyen-
nant les maruwu] restitue les chèvres” {Sakadya
ka mpimbi, sakadaapisa ka mpimbï). D’autres ob-
tiennent un résultat comparable en reportant l’é-
chéance indéfiniment. La femme dont le mari
refuse obstinément de manger les repas, peut re-
gagner la maison paternelle. Le père sera tenté de
renvoyer la fille chez son époux, mais non les mains
vides ; elle repartira chargée de vivres et de bois-
son et avec une ou plusieurs chèvres (kadaapisa
ka mwana). Tout en suppliant le gendre de ne pas
rompre l’alliance, de réaccepter les repas de sa fille,
le beau-père aura soin d’inscrire les chèvres sur la
broche des maruwu.
Les frais exceptionnels occasionnés par une
épouse dans la communauté virilocale, sont comp-
tabilisés, eux aussi. Pour chaque chèvre perdue à
cause d’elle (vol, bagarre ou toute autre bêtise), le
mari, sur la broche des valeurs dotales, glisse une
barrette vers le haut, la séparant ainsi du gros de
la dot. Si sur le boulier compteur ce geste signi-
fie la soustraction, sur le cikinda, il revient à une
addition, alourdissant les dettes du beau-père. En
effet, plus tard, lorsque l’alliance aura fait naufrage,
l’homme réclamera au beau-père les “chèvres de
réparation” (mpembi aa matengisa),* * * 9 comme un in-
vestissement matrimonial supplémentaire. “Cet en-
fant m’a fait gaspiller mes chèvres” (Mwaneyi wan-
dubwisilakayi mpembi zaamï).
À la fois moyen mnémotechnique et preuve ju-
ridique, voilà la double importance des “enfilades”.
D’une part, d’importantes “richesses” sont en jeu,
qui engagent le matrilignage entier. Elles relèvent
de trois circuits d’échange : (1) l’investissement
proprement matrimonial, (2) les cadeaux de circon-
stance maruwu, (3) les frais généraux matengisa,
tous trois fonctionnant en parallèle et n’en finis-
sant jamais. “Sur la fille, c’est comme sur le safou-
tier résineux : le Canarium schweinfurthi n’arrête
valeurs dotales ; (b) les cadeaux de circonstance (deuil, fête,
etc.), donnés par le gendre au beau-père ou inversement par
le beau-père au gendre.
9 Kutenga : “faire” ; kutengisa (suffixe causatif) : “faire faire”.
pas de couler” (Pa mwana, pa mupapfu wa ^
munyi).10 En outre, gardons à l’esprit que l’homtf16
a tendance à s’aventurer dans plusieurs directiorlS
Ckuleepisa mooko) ; il n’a pas qu’un seul beau-p®re'
On ne sait jamais quand surgira un problème ; leS
problèmes sont comme la rosée, elle n’épargne per,
sonne” (Mulonga runkwatyankwati, mulonga
wa ku mashita). “Les problèmes à peine
régl£S
et payés, d’autres surgissent” (.Milonga y a KaZ
kasa tengu-tengu, milonga y a Kazakasa dapi-dar
Rien que pour s’y retrouver dans ce dédale de dr
et de devoirs, une forme de comptabilité sc v
turaire s’impose. ,e
D’autre part, “l’enfilade” corrobore la Par<^
sert de preuve, comme si on s’engageait Pa-
vant notaire. Cette connotation juridique est î
pante dans l’alliance matrimoniale. Généraient
“à la sortie des premières règles” (kasarulc ^
ndhumba), les deux contractants - le mari c
beau-père - établissent chacun leur cikinda, ,
en présence l’un de l’autre et devant témoins,
brochez la souris en présence des curieux et deS
discrets ; témoins privilégiés, les indiscrets en V
leront aux autres” (Thungilaanyi mpfuku ра^1 ^
shumba; mashumba mwakamunakoowu асу
nakwambilamu akoowu)}1 ^ ^
Au nord de Madya-Madya, notamment à ^
dembo, on a affaire à une véritable taille, do ^
valeur documentaire est supérieure à celle ^
broche du sud (Fig. 2b). Les deux contractants ^
lisent une seule nervure de palmier, qui reçod
encoche pour chaque chèvre transférée. Ensu ■>
cikinda entaillé de la sorte est coupé en longd ^
Chaque partie contractante conserve sa moi ^
la taille; au moment de “récapitulations ,qS
transferts complémentaires, les alliés réunisse
moitiés, reconstituant ainsi le cikinda. ¡es
De nos jours, depuis les années 1980
scribes impénitents que sont les habitants u
zone de Lwiza et plus spécialement les Sala tj^,
méridionaux, vivent à l’heure de l’écrit. Abad ^
nant tailles et broches, ils consignent leurs pe|
profits dans des cahiers d’écolier. Même les i
10 “Chez le peuple Basala Mpasu, [la] dot était de 9ul 6rjt
trente chèvres ou moutons” (Clé 1948 : 145). Contrait
à l’affirmation de Bogaerts, l’épouse Kete n’est pas
bon marché (1950 ; 385). Les “Kete” de Kalaala-^ ^
(l’entre-Luluwa-Lwiza) paient la dot la plus élevée ^ ^
contrées. De fait, la dot est en hausse du nord vers le s“ v£fS
Mukelenge-Muloolo vers Kalaala-Diboko) et de l’oLie
l’est (de la rivière Lweta vers la Luluwa). . nS les
11 Les consonnes palato-alvéolaires sont courantes gf*
parlers salampasu (K21/L51), tant les fricatives 9ue^js0jjS
friquées et les occlusives (souvent sourdes) ; nous *eÎ,oUpeZ>
suivre par h pour indiquer la palatalisation (Bastin,
de Halleux 1981 : 173-199).
,03.300®
Anthropos
463
L’h,
éritage de Santwala
* ig, 2k
dertl, * Comptabilité des valeurs matrimoniales. A Kan-
chaQ ° : nervures de palmier découpées avec encoche pour
n°n ^ Unité de compte matrimoniale. Sur la nervure de gauche,
en ;c°upée, le détenteur a inventorié ses réserves actuelles
M{^ApVres (“richesses” non engagées). (EP.0.0.13527, coll.
Photo Rik Ceyssens 1983, MRAC ©).
rCc
leupUrent >d l’écriture et tiennent des cahiers ; dans
0(°ura®e’ il se trouve toujours un “témoin in-
Cret sachant lire et écrire.
Mb
Uyi
S
juSQWala a déniché les quatre broches, piquées
est e6 *a dans la chaume du toit; l’une d’elles
(pjg d°uimagée et de fait brisée en deux parties
pr^ al- Ayant déposé le faisceau à sa gauche, il
celje a üge la plus ancienne dans la main gauche,
ex relative a son alliance primaire, et “lit” et
Pre^v haut en bas. Santwala me parle de sa
Mbere épouse, Mbuyi, preuves à l’appui.
Math Ü^1'Mukinyi était originaire de la chefferie
du ^a (Eenyi Mathumba), plus précisément
eHe a11^6 (iïbdka) de Mutongu. Fillette impubère,
£iuajr^eJ°lnt son époux Sakasenge, également ori-
fïieust6 Mathumba. Elle y a “vu” ses premières
déjàv Ue^’ dûment fêtées d’ailleurs, et son mari a
Se dix-huit chèvres au beau-père, sans doute
hr°Pos 103.2008
la dot convenue, apparemment aussi le montant
payé jadis par le beau-père pour la mère de Mbuyi.
Mais Mbuyi n’a pas encore mis au monde. Elle
est séduite par Santwala, vivant dans les parages ;
concrètement, il va la voir chez la sœur aînée de
Mbuyi. Consentante, la jeune femme plie bagage
et se rend auprès de Santwala; elle sera dès lors
épouse “arrachée” (mukazi wa kucimba ou mukazi
wa kucimbula). L’enlèvement d’une femme se rap-
proche du rapt en ce sens qu’on n’arrache jamais
aux siens, seulement à des étrangers. La femme “ar-
rachée” ou “détournée” n’est pas ravie pour autant,
car elle a rejoint son nouveau mari de son plein gré ;
il y a connivence entre deux amoureux agissant de
commun accord.
À l’en croire, Santwala a joué ce tour à Saka-
senge avant 1935, date de la fondation de la mission
de Mashwiku, et avant les premières routes tracées
sur les crêtes par l’État; les villages étaient situés
alors “plus bas”, “en brousse” (mu ndjamba).12
Quelques jours après l’enlèvement, le mari lésé, es-
corté d’amis, de frères, de neveux se présente chez
Santwala à Madya-Madya. Dans des cas pareils,
un semblant d’amok s’impose. D’abord, en un pre-
mier temps, Sakasenge aurait pu ne pas se présenter
et déléguer ses pouvoirs aux siens. Ensuite, une
fois arrivée à Madya-Madya, la délégation aurait
pu, sans discrimination aucune, voler des volatiles,
abattre des bananiers, détruire.
En réalité, Sakasenge et son escorte se sont
comportés d’une manière passablement contrôlée
et modérée. Ils affichent, bien sûr, la fureur et
commencent par rester debout. Santwala offre trois
volatiles pour que les visiteurs s’asseyent (iishuswa
wa iiwiila dya paasï). Une de ces poules est tuée
sur-le-champ et mangée ; plus tard, elle sera comp-
tabilisée comme “poule de fureur” (iishuswa wa
nkabu).
Pour la forme, sans doute, Sakasenge réclame
sa femme ; de manière tout aussi prévisible, San-
twala refuse. On promet de se revoir. Plusieurs
visites auront lieu, sans qu’on puisse en déter-
miner le nombre, l’intervalle, ni le motif exact.
Cinquante ans après, la mémoire de Santwala n’est
plus suffisamment fiable. Toujours est-il qu’un jour
donné Santwala a dû remettre à Sakasenge dix-
huit “chèvres”, à savoir le prix de l’alliance, et
d’un seul coup encore. Ce même jour, Santwala
et son beau-père, en présence de leurs témoins re-
12 J’ajoute que la carte d’identité de Saakaji, premier-né de
cette union, mentionne 1930 comme date de naissance. Il
n’est pas exclu que Santwala soit effectivement né tout au
début du XXe siècle, si l’on tient compte notamment de l’âge
de mariage tardif des mâles Salampasu.
464
spectifs, ont établi, une fois pour toutes, les deux
broches attestant et sanctionnant la nouvelle al-
liance matrimoniale.13 Signalons en passant que le
précieux “document” de Santwala n’a jamais été
renouvelé ; en 1982, il avait donc plus de cinquante
ans d’âge. Peu après la mort de Santwala, sa de-
meure s’est écroulée et les broches documentaires
ont disparu à jamais dans les décombres. Heureuse-
ment, l’héritage de Santwala se trouve copié dans
les cahiers de ses neveux.
Comment l’historique cikinda de Mbuyi se
présente-t-elle ? En haut figurent sept “poules”, en
bas dix-huit “chèvres”.14
Diagramme 1
- - amende
7 poules - 7
4 moutons
18 chèvres
— 14 chèvres (dont
11 1 fusil)
Voici le détail de l’épisode matrimonial de l’époux
initial. Au départ, Sakasenge a payé cinq volatiles
pour les premières règles que Mbuyi a connues
chez lui. Ils ont été remis à différents destinataires,
dont le beau-père ; Sakasenge les a tous notés dans
l’espoir, en cas de divorce ou d’enlèvement, de
les récupérer chez le mari subséquent. La poule
de maseesi est offerte au beau-père pour avoir
souhaité bonheur et fécondité à la jeune épouse.
Après cessation des écoulements, la première étape
du maseesi consiste en une ablution avec une po-
tion dont les ingrédients favorisent la fécondité. En-
suite, les conjoints et le père-initiateur prennent un
13 À cette occasion également, le beau-père et Sakasenge,
ce dernier ayant recouvré ses investissements, ont jeté les
iikinda témoignant de l’alliance naufragée.
14 Lorsqu’il y a paiement progressif, les “poules” précèdent
les “chèvres” ; si la femme est “arrachée”, la dot de
“chèvres” est payée intégralement et immédiatement, avant
les “poules”.
Rik
Ceyssens
repas composé notamment d’autres produits fécon
dants. Finalement, une feuille pliée de bananier
lukondi, donnant de multiples petites bananes,
étalée sur la couche de la fille nubile.15 *
Après la poule de maseesi et avant la grande te ^
Sakasenge a remis aux beaux-parents le volatil6-n,
“tresses anciennes” ([namaya makuru), que d
nombrables mères ont déjà mangé” (nakadya- ^
dya). La belle-mère exhibe fièrement la PoU^urt
question : accompagnée de ses sœurs, elle parce
le village virilocal, chantant son ancien cache-s
de raphia tressé : “Grâce à la fille engendrée Jaü ’
je mange aujourd’hui.” Finalement, les feu1
préparent et mangent la poule que “tant de m
ont déjà mangée”.16 ^
Sakasenge a également offert une poule ,
tantes de son épouse pour “avoir balayé la c'
(iiishuswa wa ekomba dya pa mwanganu). Des t ^
nonce des règles, toutes les femmes de la falT1
sont tenues à la continence. La fête termine6»
avant de se disperser, les femmes procèdent atl ^
layage de la cour, non pas tant par souci de pr°P^g
et d’hygiène, mais avant tout pour mettre un Ie ,»
à l’interdit. Dans ce sens, la “poule du balaya^f,
(.iishuswa wa ekomba) est aussi la “poule de 1 111
dit” (iishuswa wa iiziru).17
À titre de reconnaissance, Sakasenge a encor6 ^
mis deux volatiles qualifiés de “paniers” (mitarn
respectivement aux délégations de sa propre l'ara^s
et de celle de Mbuyi pour avoir apporté des vl
pour la fête des règles.18
Restent deux volatiles occasionnels, qui s°t4c(r
de l’ordinaire. Il y a, d’abord, l’amende de la ja
1ère” (nkabu), qui ne figurait sûrement paS s
15 Maseesi {ma evumu) ; littéralement, la “peau du baS'venjèr6s
en-dessous de l’ombilic. Dans le contexte des Pre*?jS gd
règles, maseesi signifie en outre : les produits cue| u de
forêt et favorisant la fécondité, ainsi que la leU1
bananier. eS”
16 Au moment du divorce, cette poule des “tresses anCjfnnS le
sera remboursée si la femme n’a pas mis au monde-
cas contraire, on la récupère amplement avec les blleS ¡¿res
de l’union, lorsqu’à leur tour, elles auront leurs Prec0fd£'
règles. Sur le cache-sexe des femmes, composé de ^5),
Jettes noires serti de cauris, voir de Vaucleroy (193
Denolf (1954 :130) et Guillot (1955 ; 123). âü,0
17 De leur côté, les hommes, plus particulièrement le e eant
et le beau-père, mettent fin à la continence en s’écha ..
une “poule de mbungu”. Les deux “volatiles levant ^ ^
dit”, côté hommes, s’annulent et ne peuvent donc ng ^j^r,
la broche. Dans la maison ou dans la chambre à c°.^e \e
mbungu serait le mur contre lequel l’épouse accne
mari, qui, lui, dort “en amont”.
18 Les “paniers” mitamba ne peuvent être considérés co ^j-gs
prix des vivres : les uns n’annulent pas les autres-
ne se payant guère, Sakasenge a eu raison de noter
poules rappelant simplement les vivres reçus.
103-2«°*
Anthropos
465
héritage de Santwala
J^oche initiale de Sakasenge. Est-ce la raison pour
^quelle, sur l’enfilade de Santwala, la barrette de
fureur” a été séparée des autres ? Sakasenge
droit à cette poule : Santwala ne lui a-t-il pas
ofilisé sournoisement son bien ? ! Ensuite, une
u*e pour combattre une maladie (mayeezi), dont
uffrait Mbuyi chez son premier mari.19
En ce qui concerne les dix-huit “chèvres”, l’en-
rage de Santwala prétend que Sakasenge, au
^ ^unt de l’enlèvement, était quitte envers son
^au-père, qu’il s’était acquitté de la dette de dix-
j. 11 Unités de compte, convenue au départ de l’al-
ance.2o Deux arguments plaident en faveur de ce
^lnt de vue. D’abord, Sakasenge ne pouvait exiger
g riVal que ce qu’il avait effectivement dépensé.
ll^suite, Santwala n’aurait jamais accepté de payer
Complément de dot au père de Mbuyi.
s Ue fait, en exigeant dix-huit “chèvres”, Saka-
c^§e a bien spécifié qu’il lui fallait quatorze
. Vres et quatre “moutons” (deux moutons, un
la !fr’Une brebis). Santwala est parvenu à satisfaire
^ aeuiande, mis à part le fusil qu’il a substitué
Une chèvre. Santwala se flatte d’avoir eu toutes
la f richesses” au moment voulu : en accaparant
s> ernrne d’autrui, il savait parfaitement à quoi il
^gageait. Mais, séparons la paille des mots et le
ln fies choses : Santwala, adulte mais amorçant
fait ^è16 aventure matrimoniale, a normalement
aPpel aux “richesses” des oncles maternels et
^ Ireres aînés. Même son propre père aurait pu,
t^ntanément, le dépanner (cf. infra). Il est, en
dj Cas> peu probable que Santwala ait possédé
\/Ult ‘chèvres” à titre personnel.
Plu fi°nc une alliance harmonieuse, qui a tenu
en Un demi-siècle jusqu’au décès de Santwala
liSa- Depuis des années déjà, il ne comptabi-
en PMs les “cadeaux de consolation” {maruwü)
jeté |rectl0n fiu lignage des Mutongu, il avait même
UV a Proche initialement prévue à cet effet. Car il
lavavah aucun conflit en vue. Et d’ajouter : “Qui
voud
Mb.
rait encore, ma Mbuyi ?’
deu buyi lui a donné cinq enfants : trois garçons,
5>ant filles, tous mariés. La dot de dix-huit, que
cUpé fla a versé initialement, sera doublement ré-
Par les deux filles. Mais, puisqu’il les
(^,,riees normalement, autrement dit “vendues”
Uryibisa, kusongisa), Santwala et ses héritiers
20
c0Pres ^buyi-Mukinyi, le devin avait identifié le mal
rnui e ®tant causé par un esprit (ukisi) du nom de Na-
manantanda (Guillot 1955 : 167 s.). La poule grillée a été
f’un|ee par le devin, Sakasenge et la malade,
clésaC aeS dix-huit “chèvres” est censée compenser les
(„jp *rernents causés par “l’urine et les excréments” du bébé
remet 1 Wü ntanc^a ou mPembi wa mayizi) ; le gendre la
au beau-père à l’issue des premières règles.
recouvreront la mise initiale par tranches, progres-
sivement.21 En 1982 encore, Santwala, vu son âge
avancé, ne voulait pas trop insister pour qu’on at-
teigne, de part et d’autre, dix-huit “chèvres” : “Au-
tant laisser quelque chose aux neveux héritiers”,
disait-il. C’est ainsi qu’il devait garder en tout cas le
stick de Mbuyi, point de référence pour les neveux,
en pourparlers pour de longues années encore avec
leurs deux “beaux-frères”, maris de leurs cousines
croisées matrilatérales.22
Saakaji, fils aîné de Santwala et de Mbuyi, a dû
faire appel au père pour composer sa dot primaire.
Plus précisément, il a obtenu la moitié des valeurs
matrimoniales des oncles utérins, l’autre moitié du
père. La part maternelle ne pose aucun problème :
c’est “sa part” et donc non remboursable. Il en est
autrement de la mise paternelle : Saakaji a jugé
opportun de céder à papa Santwala sa première et
sa troisième fille, nées de sa première épouse. De la
sorte, il n’y a plus de “problème” entre le père et le
fils : Santwala a gagné deux femmes - la première
et la troisième fille de Saakaji - au profit du lignage
des Kafunda, Saakaji en a gagné deux - son épouse
et la deuxième fille - au profit du lignage des Mu-
tongu. Chacun a contribué pour 50 % à l’investisse-
ment initial (l’alliance primaire de Saakaji); cha-
cun a bénéficié pour 50 % de son rapport. San-
twala a normalement marié (kushumbisa) ses deux
petites-filles et encaissé le produit de ces unions.
Il va de soi que l’arrangement père-fils relève
de la cuisine interne ; en effet, la belle-famille de
Saakaji n’est pas censée savoir d’où proviennent
les valeurs matrimoniales. Si Saakaji n’a pas pris
note de la contribution matrilatérale, le cadeau “em-
poisonné” de Santwala se trouve bel et bien con-
signé dans les archives. En effet, les neveux soro-
raux de Santwala pourraient voir d’un mauvais œil
le gaspillage de biens à sens unique; n’est-ce pas
21 Santwala aurait proposé sa fille aînée aux beaux-frères, donc
aux oncles utérins de la fille. Ceux-ci n’étaient pas intéressés
ou n’avaient pas de quoi la “racheter” (kukuula). Il l’a donc
fait doter normalement, en dehors de la famille. Plus à
l’ouest, chez les Eenyi Cyana de Sambuyi notamment, le
père doit réserver d’office une de ses filles à la belle-famille.
Les vendre toutes à son seul profit reviendrait, aux yeux des
beaux-frères, à une “liquidation prématurée des semences”
(,kujidisa mbutu).
22 Santwala aurait pu jouer un rôle plus actif. Pour accélérer
la réalisation de la dot de référence au travers de la fille,
autrement dit pour libérer le beau-fils des obligations dotales
restantes, il pouvait confisquer, prendre pour lui une petite-
fille “restituant les chèvres” (kadaapisa-ka-mpembi) ou
“achevant l’affaire de la mère” (kamana ka mulonga wa
mpembï). Le rapport du mariage de cette kadaapisa-ka-
mpembi, en même temps et par le fait même nakamphungu
(cf. infra), serait perdu pour son père et reviendrait au grand-
père maternel ou encore aux neveux sororaux de ce dernier.
Hr,
°Pos 103.2008
466
exagéré de verser et pour la mère Mbuyi et pour le
fils Saakaji ?! On a intérêt à restituer au plus vite la
participation matrimoniale paternelle.23 *
Diagramme 2
O Santwala A = O Mbuyi
------►
A Saakaji A = O
-------►
Fort de cette expérience, Saakaji a marié ses deux
frères avec l’aide des oncles maternels et avec la
dot de sa deuxième fille, mais sans intervention du
père bien-aimé Santwala.
4 Kafunda
Santwala dépose à sa droite le stick de Mbuyi ; à sa
gauche, il prend un autre, celui de sa deuxième
épouse. Kafunda est née dans le matrilignage des
Kafunda, dans la localité de Kasa-ka-Ngamba, dans
la chefferie des Ana Ngoma, vers la rivière Lweta.
En un premier temps, elle passe chez Mashoona,
comme femme libre nambaaz, comme on dit là-
bas. Grand-père maternel de Kafunda, Mashoona
avait remis trois chèvres à Nsaka, l’oncle paternel
de l’orphelin Kafunda. Par après, Nsaka retire Ka-
funda de chez Mashoona, ayant soin de restituer les
trois chèvres (voir Diagramme 3).
Nsaka “vend” Kafunda à son premier époux,
Kamwanga, résidant à Tshaana (Aka Cyana). Ka-
mwanga a déjà payé onze “chèvres”, par tranches,
lorsque Sanga-Muntu, de Mathumba, “enlève” Ka-
funda. Par un versement unique de onze “chèvres”,
Sanga acquiert Kafunda comme épouse légitime.
Homme brutal, Sanga terrorise son épouse, la
pourchassant régulièrement, armé de sa redoutable
épée. De guerre lasse, Kafunda se réfugie à Ma-
dya-Madya, auprès de Santwala, son oncle mater-
nel classificatoire. Sanga-Muntu dépose plainte au
poste Ngadi-aa-Mwanda, devant le Blanc nommé
Ngandu-Kapemba. Santwala, en sus des onze
“chèvres”, paie une amende à l’État. Nous sommes
23 À l’est, près de la Luluwa, une dot paternelle à 100% est
tout à fait exceptionnelle dans le contexte traditionnel. Les
cousins croisés patrilatéraux du bénéficiaire appelleraient
son père : “ton oncle utérin !” Le jour où le généreux bien-
faiteur rend l’âme, ses neveux sororaux ne tarderont pas à
arracher et épouser la femme de leur cousin croisé matri-
latéral, ou bien à vendre sa progéniture, qu’ils considèrent à
juste titre comme étant le fruit de leurs investissements.
RikCeyssen5
maintenant dans les années trente du XXe siècle^
l’État est dorénavant bien implanté, notamment
sud, et la mission catholique de Mashwiku est t°
dée (1935). .
Comment lire l’enfilade de Kafunda ? Les o 1 ^
“chèvres” y figurent, que Santwala a payées
une fois à Sanga-Muntu. Aucune trace de volati ’
et pour cause. D’abord, il semble bien que v
jèfeS
l’ouest, en direction de la Lweta, les prem
règles passent quasi inaperçues, sans faste ni n ^
Ensuite, Kafunda a vraisemblablement connu
premières règles chez l’oncle paternel Nsaka : c
l’affaire du “père”, fût-il “autre”, on ne la met P
sur le dos du futur mari.24 .
Ayant épousé sa nièce sororale classificat° ’
Santwala a payé à l’oncle paternel de Kam
une “chèvre pour rompre le ban, pour lever 1 ^
terdit” (mpembi wa iiziru).25 Irrécupérable et
transférable, cette chèvre n’est pas notifiée $üt
broche de l’épouse Kafunda. Én s’alliant a
apparentée matrilatérale, l’homme doit obligat0
ment “rompre le ban” ; au cas d’une alliance
prochée du côté paternel, l’animal “levant 1 tu
dit” est facultatif (cf. Diagramme 4). La farI1*
paternelle approuve généralement une alfiance
trilatérale : “Nous t’avons mis au monde, mets'n^)
au monde” (Thwakubutakayi, athubutyeku nee ^ .
{Kabutashaana ka kabutashaana), autrement .
“Procrée en faveur de notre matrilignage - 4ul 11
pas le tien.” ^
En récupérant la nommée Kafunda pour 1 ^
trilignage des Kafunda, Santwala a (re-jfaL e
une nakamphungu, autrement dit une te
---------------- - - nr^ni$e
24 Si la fille devient nubile chez ses parents, le pore au
les festivités et iLne peut en aucun cas imputer lgS Q ¿es
compte du futur gendre. En tant que runongo, la
premières menstrues ressortit au père de la fille. ^aSqUe
Autres exemples de runongo : Santwala possédaitun
dénommé Narujaaja, qu’il avait reçu de son pere fils
et qu’il comptait confier en définitive à ses Pr0”, 0üS6
(Fig. 3a). En attendant, le masque était gardé par s°n,-
Kafunda. Narujaaja fait couple avec le masque Sa ^
saanyi (Fig. 3b). La solidarité sous l’étiquette ëe ^ oa
tits-enfants/groupe étendu) du feu” (iizukuru aa kap^^ ^ |a
“gens d’eau” (iizukuru aa meemà) faisant contrepo pa-
parentèle matrilatérale est également transmise en , ¿8 ;
/T) ^ -incn . 201 . T TI /^¿xi/CCPÎlS ky _„CÜ
temelle (Bogaerts 1950 : 381 ; J. H. C. Ceyssens
SalamP
asü
410, note 393). Sur l’organisation des villages
en six, voire dix familles élargies ou “parentèles d ^ eC—f)7)»
(niphanga), voir Jobaert (1925 ; 285), Denolf (l954 : efls
Guillot (1955 ; 202), Pruitt (1973 : 109), J. H. C. Cey
(1984:437, note 767).
,, ..w.w , ,,.
25 Kuzila : “refuser” ; muziru : “personne interdite , ^ 0c
ila : “prendre une personne interdite”. Le père 6t
“interdite” abat l’animal reçu, donne à manger 0
cou au couple incestueux, donne un “bras’ à la
gendre et mange le reste avec les siens.
103.200®
Anthropos
467
L’h,
entage de Santwala
Di
gramme 3
Mutamu- O Kabaali
Saakaji A = O Kadanga
—i
O Nakabanda
Nanga- O Kapemba A Mashoona
Kaavu O Santwala A = O Mbuyi
I---1-------1 r1-!
Kabunda A Ruvunda A = O Mbuyi A A Kadiya
rh
OA
Nsaka A A = O Nkindi O Uzanyi-Esanga
Sanga A ^ O Kafunda A Kaseepa
Saakaji
^ ^ * ^astiues à Kathunda ayant survécu à l’iconoclastie organisée par les ministres du prophète Joseph Tshibwita (1962) :
disque Narujaaja favorisant la fécondité des femmes
M^-^516. coll. MRAC, photo Rik Ceyssens 1983,
b) Le masque Sandji-Musaanyi favorisant les activités éco-
nomiques, telles que la chasse, la pêche et l’agriculture
(ERO.0.13523, coll. MRAC, photo Rik Ceyssens 1983,
MRAC ©).
Hbre”
§qa ’ne dépendant d’aucun homme étranger au li-
cjuj^6' ^ première vue, le destin de la femme est de
à |es siens, de partir au loin pour se soumettre
à p- etrangers, produisant enfants et nourriture
^nts ,a^e et au profit de ces étrangers. Les habi-
à jriVee ces contrées (zone de Lwiza) parviennent
feqw rser le rôle traditionnellement dévolu aux
Pour S’, a les gurder dans leur milieu d’origine,
des ie^U e^es produisent exclusivement au profit
Uoq *,s- Deux démarches mènent à l’émancipa-
11 °gène des femmes : d’abord, refuser la
°Pos 103.2008
dot, garder pour soi des filles non encore mariées
(ikuphungurula) ; ensuite, racheter et rapatrier des
femmes “vendues”, déjà mariées (kukurula).26
26 Kuphunga : “échanger, par exemple des sœurs en vue d’une
alliance matrimoniale” (échange restreint) ; kuphungurula
(double suffixe réversif-transitif) : “remettre, restituer, ne pas
accepter la dot” ; nakamphungu : “femme libre, non asservie
par une dot”. Anakamphungu : “enfants de femme libre, dont
le père géniteur, connu ou inconnu, s’efface et cède le pas au
pater ou père légal/social, qui n’est autre que le protecteur
de la femme libre”.
468
RikCeysse*5
Diagramme 4
A O i A
A alliance avec la cousine A = O alliance avec la cousine
croisée patrilatérale □ croisée matrilatérale
Le statut de Kafunda en tant que nakamphungu
était quelque peu diminué par le fait qu’elle était
liée à un mari, Santwala en l’occurrence, et par
une dot, fût-elle incomplète. D’un autre côté, sa
position était bien enviable, parce qu’elle défendait
les intérêts de son propre matrilignage ; homme et
femme, les deux se réclamaient du lignage Ka-
funda. Malheureusement, nakamphungu Kafunda
n’a jamais mis au monde, elle n’a pas fait fructifier
l’investissement de Santwala. Pourtant, Santwala
ne regrette rien : il estime qu’elle a servi admirable-
ment et fièrement les intérêts du matrilignage. Se-
crétaire, gérant, au courant de tous les secrets,27 elle
s’était “plantée, comme le bananier, dans la fosse
combien fertile” (iikondji dya mu rwina, neeku-
nakayï). Les jours de fête, la nakamphungu, tout en
exhibant les colliers des chèvres (meezi y a mpembi)
et les broches (iikinda) du patron, danse sur un
égrugeoir renversé - foulant au pied la servitude
féminine ?28
5 Nakapanga
Elle est née au village de Muvwanu, dans la chef-
ferie de Mathumba, plus précisément dans le ma-
trilignage de Mukeena. Confronté à un problème,
son père Sakasawu la “fait doter”, la “vend” à
Kafunda-ka-Nambuyi, originaire de Mathumba, lui
aussi, mais d’une autre famille. Nakapanga met au
monde trois enfants, qui meurent tous en bas âge.
Son mari la fait traiter pour qu’elle ne perde plus
ses enfants ; les honoraires du guérisseur s’élèvent
à trois poules.
De l’avis du beau-père, Kafunda-ka-Nambuyi
fait piètre figure comme gendre. En retard sur ses
paiements matrimoniaux, Kafunda arrive pen
ible*
fin
ment à onze chèvres, lorsque Sakasawu met ^
à l’alliance. “Le petit héros, c’est comme le 9
du touraco” (Kabaaji kandendi, mudjila ndzM^a'_
S’il y avait eu des filles, Kafunda aurait pu c°
pléter” la dot (kamana ka mulonga wa rnPein^e
(voir note 22). Faute de mieux, Sakasawu récup ..
sa fille Nakapanga, qu’il s’en va re-présentet
d’autres amateurs.
Santwala, frôlant la soixantaine, se pr°P . s
d’épouser Nakapanga en troisièmes noces. fl ^ s
directement avec Sakasawu, “de bras à bras”- v
l’immédiat, le beau-père réclame onze chèvres
trois poules, payables d’un seul coup ; ayant pr°
qué le divorce, Sakasawu doit remettre integ
ment la dot versée par le “petit héros” Kafunda-
Sur l’enfilade de Nakapanga figurent 0^
chèvres et trois poules, le paiement initial e**e ajg
par Santwala. Depuis lors, Santwala n’a plus Jan^t
versé; d’ailleurs, les échanges de maruwu se
arrêtés depuis belle lurette et le beau-père ^ a
sawu est décédé entre-temps. Le divorce pr°v ;
n’avait sûrement pas enrichi Sakasawu et les s
une mesure pour rien. Du point de vue de San^L a
l’opération a pleinement réussi : Nakapanga u
donné trois filles, dont deux, à leur tour, ont m
monde, sans être mariées toutefois. f6g,
Santwala n’a pas récupéré les onze eh ;
c’est-à-dire qu’il n’a “vendu” aucune de ses
elles sont nakamphungu du matrilignage ^cS0\qS
funda, produisant des vivres et procréant des ^
au profit des neveux de Santwala. Les neve
Sakasawu, au cas où ils se réveillent et ^
viennent, pourraient bien réclamer pour
fille de Nakapanga afin de “compléter
Nakapanga”.
eux
la àot
ck
27 La nakamphungu contrôle notamment les épouses importées
et étrangères au matrilignage.
Autres noms pour la nakamphungu : kampungu, à Ngoma ;
mudanga, à Nkuma et à Ngoma ; nambaaz, à Tshaana.
28 Santwala décédé, la veuve Kafunda a, en signe de deuil,
porté les cordes des chèvres aux hanches. Sens : son patron
était prospère et n’a laissé que peu de dettes. Elle aurait pu
les porter sur la tête ou sur les épaules, signe de sa richesse et
de sa liberté sans entrave. Ou elle aurait pu serrer les cordes
autour du cou, signe de détresse et d’accablement pour une
héritière de dettes excessives, redevenue esclave d’autrui.
6 Mbuyi-aa-Ndongo
Originaire de la chefferie des Eenyi
de la localité de Muvwanu, du lignage
29 Le petit héros a tué peu, le touraco Musop^^nent
n’émet qu’un seul cri; l’un comme l’autre ne
ce dont ils sont capables.
l03-200*
Anthropos
469
L’h,
éritage de Santwala
[°ngO,
Mbuyi-aa-Ndongo est promise à un insti-
teur de Tulume, chez qui elle réside déjà. Trop
^ 0lgnée de ses parents, la fillette ne se plaît guère
diurne et regagne son village natal. Sakasawu,
. de Nakapanga et oncle maternel de Mbuyi-aa-
^ °ngo, “rachète” celle-ci dès son retour de Tu-
j ; en d’autres termes, Sakasawu a remboursé la
1 a l’enseignant, enrôlant Mbuyi comme nakam-
\.^nSu- Remarquons qu’apparemment le père de
^ouyi n’était pas capable de pareil “rachat”. Là-
jj !SUs’ Santwala intervient - nous sommes 1967.
de ,ac^te” Mbuyi en bonne et due forme, qui perd
^ la sorte son statut de “femme libre”, et la passe
(j,s°r> neveu sororal Ruvunda-Lupfunga. C’est là
a'lleurs que Mbuyi - cousine croisée patrilatérale
lw NakaPan§a - “voit” ses premières règles.30 San-
,la paie pour les règles non pas à Sakasawu,
rè 1S a Makala, le père de la fille. Les volatiles des
j^&les sont introuvables sur la broche de Mbuyi-aa-
°ngo, puisque Santwala a traité “l’affaire” matri-
Uiale proprement dite avec Sakasawu et non pas
ÎVec Makala
c- antwala a versé en tout douze chèvres : une fois
c, ,9» Une autre fois six, et finalement une dernière
VueVre- Mbuyi est décédée en 1982, laissant à Ru
üa une fille et un garçon. À l’unanimité, sa
sa\v eSt attrabuée à ses oncles maternels, feu Saka-
]e U et Ie lignage des Mutongo en entier. En 1985,
to^reglements de compte suivaient leur cours. En
lyj^ Cas’ jurent aujourd’hui les Kafunda, la fille de
Peu^! Procréera pour les seuls Kafunda; le fils
ij affilier au matrilignage paternel, tout comme
diati
^ -----------0---i----------,------------
uh tôt ou tard, se réconcilier avec ses oncles
ernels.
épilogue
Résum
prUtl n°ns ce récit de vie. Santwala gérait avec
b0u ?n^,e et sagesse : il mettait “le doigt dans la
traj e (kalamba kabusha munyi mukanu), con-
t0Us **nt aux gaspilleurs “tendant les mains dans
l’aVj es sens” (kuleepisa mooko). Voilà, du moins,
il ^ son entourage, après le décès de Santwala ;
du]. 111 iucombe pas de contester ce jugement in-
ent et un tant soit peu subjectif.
pr rts Parle d’oncles maternels indigents, qui passent leur
mentre Arrime à un neveu (1950:388). Ce qui est absolu-
Pas eXC'U’ me déclarent les informateurs : “On ne couche
l’gDavec sa mère !” Mbuyi ne peut être considérée comme
Si Mt)Se ^antwala’ car eUe “a vu Ie sang” chez Ruvunda.
ci a 71 avait eu ses premières règles chez Santwala, celui-
en ^ 11 c°nsommé l’alliance et, de ce fait, n’aurait plus été
Ure de la passer au neveu.
Authr,
°P°s 103.2008
Pas pauvre du tout (mwelu), au contraire modé-
rément riche (kaseya), Santwala méritait de passer
pour kalamba, “les chèvres et autres richesses n’en
finissant pas” (ka mpembi, ka makuku mazima). Il
a laissé des dettes - souvenons-nous, la veuve Ka-
funda portait les cordes aux hanches (voir note 28)
- et a sans doute toujours eu des dettes. Le bilan à
terme des différentes opérations est sûrement posi-
tif pour le matrilignage des Kafunda. Cette famille
a une réputation de prospérité, grâce notamment à
Santwala, qui, somme toute, a bien mené sa barque.
La paille des mots et le grain des choses ! Entre
le comportement idéal et le comportement modal,
il y a toujours une marge de manœuvre et de né-
gociation permettant à chaque partie contractante
de s’en sortir plus ou moins honorablement, plus
ou moins maîtresse de son sort. Le “cas” Santwala
nous apprend que les lois matrimoniales ne sont
rigoureuses qu’à travers les “richesses” engagées,
telles que représentées visuellement sur les broches
et égrenées verbalement devant témoins. Dans la
pratique, les contingences et les sentences circon-
stancielles prévalent, liées notamment à la varia-
bilité dans l’espace-temps des us et coutumes. Ex-
ogamie oblige ! Et le respect de l’âge, voire la so-
lidarité des générations alternes n’empêcheront pas
les jeunes de faire leur chemin et de se trouver une
raison.
Ne débordant guère la collectivité de Lwatshi,
le réseau strictement matrimonial de S antwala-wa-
Saakaji couvre un petit monde d’environ 20 km2
passablement peuplé autour de Madya-Madya.31
Ses performances matrimoniales, moyennes, ne
révèlent aucune ambition à grande échelle, aucune
participation explicite aux mouvements migratoires
suprarégionaux (long-distance trade). “L’ouest,
d’où viennent les chèvres ; l’est, d’où viennent les
gens” (Ku cibwa aa mpembi ; ku musongo aa nthu)
(J. H. C. Ceyssens 1984 : 224, 229, 371).32 En ef-
fet, Santwala-fils-de-Saakaji, épaulé ou non par les
siens, ne s’est jamais aventuré au loin afin d’y
“ravir” une femme étrangère non consentante ; il
n’a jamais payé rubis sur l’ongle une personne au-
delà de la Luluwa avec l’intention manifeste de
l’aliéner à tout jamais de son terroir et de son iden-
tité parentale.
31 La situation démographique des Salampasu méridionaux
diffère de celle des Salampasu septentrionaux et est géné-
ralement reconnue plus saine (Boone 1961 :200 s.; Boute
1967 :13 ss. ; de Saint-Moulin 1973; 1974: 340; J. H. C.
Ceyssens 1984 : 201s., 454s. ; République du Zaïre 1992 :
117).
32 Contrairement à ce que prétend Pruitt, “musong’antu,, ne
signifie pas “tree of man” (1973:38). *-công-, “mon-
trer, stimuler, inciter, tailler” (Bastin et Schadeberg 2006 :
n° 665-666, 667-668, 669-670).
470
Rik Ce ysse*s
Références citées
Bastin, Yvonne, André Coupez, et Bernard de Halleux
1981 Classification lexicostatistique des langues bantoues
(214 relevés). Bulletin des Séances de l’Académie royale
des Sciences d’Outre-Mer 27 : 173-199.
Bastin, Yvonne, et Thilo Schadeberg (dir.)
2006 Reconstructions lexicales bantoues 3 - Bantu Lexi-
cal Reconstructions 3 (BLR3). Tervuren : Musée royal
de l’Afrique centrale (MRAC), Section Linguistique.
<http ;//linguistics.africamuseum.be/BLR3.html>
Guillot, René
1955 Présentation des Asalampasu du Kasai. 2 vols, b
xelles : Université libre. [Thèse de doctorat]
Jobaert, Alfred ^
1925 Chez les Bassalam Pasu du Haut Kasaï. Bulletin de
Société belge d’Études coloniales 32/5-6 : 280-2"
Pruitt, William Franklin u
1973 An Independent People. A History of the Sala
of Zaïre and Their Neighbors. Evanston : Northwest
University. [PhD Thesis]
Bogaerts, Henri
1950 Bij de Basala Mpasu, de koppensnellers van Kasaï'. Zaïre
4/4: 379-419. [Trad ; Rik Ceyssens, Les Salampasu.
Kananga 1993. (Ponts, 16)]
Boone, Olga
1961 Carte ethnique du Congo. Quart Sud-est. Tervuren :
Musée royal de l’Afrique centrale. (Annales, Série in-8°,
Sciences humaines, 37)
Boute, Joseph
1967 Pré-enquête chez les Basala Mpasu (févr. 1967).
[Manuscrit, pp. 29]
Ceyssens, Joseph Henri Cecil
1984 Pouvoir et parenté chez les Kongo-Dinga du Zaïre.
Meppel : Krisp Repro. [Thèse de doctorat, Nijmegen,
Katholieke universiteit]
Ceyssens, Rik
1979 Akaawand : un ethnonyme manqué (Zaïre). Anthropos
74: 353-378.
Clé (Révérend Père)
1948 Les Basala Mpasu. Missions de Scheut 6 : 143-147.
Denolf, Prosper
1954 Aan de rand van de Dibese. Brussel ; Koninklijk Bel-
gisch Koloniaal Instituât. (Sectie voor morele en poli-
tieke wetenschappen, Verhandelingen, 34)
Question congolaise
1906 La Compagnie du Kasai à ses actionnaires. Rép°n"
ses détracteurs. Bruxelles.
République du Zaïre
1992 Recensement scientifique de la Population, juillet
Kinshasa : République du Zaïre, Institut national
Statistique.
1#
de ^
Saint Moulin, Léon de .
République du Zaïre. Carte de densité de la popuU
Kinshasa : Service du plan de la Présidence.
La répartition de la population du Zaïre en ^
Cultures et développement. Revue international?
sciences du développement 6/2 ; 331 -349.
1973
1974
Vaucleroy, Pierre de
1930 En chasse dans les marais. L’Expansion belge "
205-206.
Verdick, Edgar n I
1898-1903 Journal de route. Manuscrit : 664-VII. Tervlll|^s,
Musée royal de l’Afrique centrale (MRAC), Section
toire coloniale. \0-
1903 Rapport sur la fondation des Postes du sud : ^ $
ration de la Lulua. Manuscrit : 56.106. Tervuren : ^ ¡j-e
royal de l’Afrique centrale (MRAC), Section ÜlS
coloniale.
Anthropos
ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 471-481
Local and Global Icons of Mary
An Ethnographic Study of a Powerful Symbol
Catrien Notermans
tract. - This ethnographic study focuses on the relation-
fJP between ailing Dutch pilgrims going to Lourdes and their
nte Marian icons. Based on an iconographic elicitation
s a°d, it explores how and why people select from and re-
(u to different Marian icons and what personal meanings
Ma ■ aitach to them. Through studying people’s interaction with
rela.an imagery, the article aims to understand people’s personal
5ilj l0nship with Mary and how this relationship empowers the
°ld people to cope with the problems in their present
stage [France, Lourdes, Marian iconography, pilgrimage,
tLiral Anthropology ]
Notermans, cultural anthropologist working as a senior
Ogy archer and lecturer at the Department of Cultural Anthropol-
- ^at the Radboud University in Nijmegen, the Netherlands.
has done long-term fieldwork on marriage, kinship, and
pil stlanity in Cameroon and is currently working on Marian
hrtiage in the Netherlands, France, and India.
k
b e Marian shrine of Lourdes, situated in the
er nch ^yrenees» probably the best-known mod-
ye Parian site in the world. In 1858, fourteen-
,^r'°ld Bernadette Soubirous reported appear-
^ es of a young woman who, throughout a series
^hteen encounters, came to be seen as the Vir-
has Mary. Since then, the small village of Lourdes
Cent Vel°Ped 'nt0 an international religious tourist
receiving an estimated six million visitors
cetit ^Gar‘ t^ie heart of this multifaceted ritual
had er *s '•he grotto where Mary appeared to Ber-
res ette ar,d where a statue has been erected rep-
eyes hng Mary as a young woman with lowered
^bh’ Wearing a shiny white dress tightened up with
Sash, holding a golden rosary, and joining her
8 ln prayer. This dominant image of the shrine
is multiplied in millions of copies and dispersed on
a global scale. The worldwide network of visual
reproductions makes Lourdes devotion reach far
beyond this particular sacred place in France and
joins people and their religious images in a modern
transnational network of Marian devotion.
In his study “The Power of Images,” David
Freedberg (1989: 100) states that the central focus
of every pilgrimage journey is the shrine and the
central image at the shrine that makes miracles
happen. Consistent with Freedberg’s statement, it is
generally thought that the popularity of Lourdes has
to do with the Lourdes shrine and the world famous
statue of the Lady in the grotto. To my surprise,
the ailing Dutch pilgrims with whom I journeyed to
Lourdes in 2004 were not unanimously attracted by
the main icon of the shrine and even took their fa-
vorite local representations along. One pilgrim told
me that the Lady of Lourdes had little appeal for
her, “as she had not been raised with her,” but that
she “intensely loved” the Lady in the chapel next
to her home in the Netherlands. For many, it was
only after the pilgrimage that the icon of Lourdes
became meaningful. Though all the pilgrims were
devoted to Mary and harbored profound feelings
toward her, their motivation to go on pilgrimage
was related not only to the dominant and globalized
image of the Lourdes shrine but also to the images
of Mary that were familiar to them at home, such as
Mary of Genooy, Mary of Geloe, and Our Lady of
Perpetual Help.
This article focuses on the relationship between
pilgrims and their favorite icons. In it I explore how
472
Catrien Notermans
and why people select from and respond to different
Marian icons and what personal meanings they at-
tach to them. From a dominant theological perspec-
tive, Mary is easily seen as always representing the
Mother of God, irrespective of her visual appear-
ance in art and popular culture. In daily devotional
practice, people certainly differentiate between the
numerous representations of Mary, attaching high
emotional value to some and resolutely rejecting
others. Through focusing on people’s interaction
with Marian imagery, this ethnographic study aims
to understand people’s personal relationship with
Mary and how this relationship empowers them to
cope with the problems in their present life stage. In
a world of permanent change, one in which mobil-
ity has become the most powerful and most coveted
stratifying factor, immobility is not a realistic op-
tion (Bauman 1998: 2). It will be argued that the old
and sick pilgrims who are fixed in their localities
relate to icons to situate themselves in the modem,
moving, and globalizing world. While local images
assist in constructing a localized belonging to home
ground and family history, the global images simul-
taneously assist in going beyond the local level and
constructing a nonlocalized belonging to a global
community of ailing, marginalized Marian devo-
tees worldwide.
This argument will be illustrated with qualita-
tive data collected during a Dutch pilgrimage to
Lourdes in 2004 and through in-depth interviews
with pilgrims before, during, and after the pil-
grimage. Unlike place-centered approaches to pil-
grimage and religious images, such as Freedberg’s
study (1989), I have moved between the sacred
site and everyday devotional practice to study the
contextual meanings of local and global images.
I followed the pilgrims to Lourdes and interviewed
them in their homes in the southern province of
Limburg in the Netherlands. During these inter-
views, I used an iconographic elicitation method
that is based on different Marian icons and that
enabled me to draw out speech about responses to
different images and about people’s intimate rela-
tionship with Mary. In the first section of this ar-
ticle, I will elaborate on this iconographic elicita-
tion method and on the Dutch pilgrimage in which
I took part in 2004. In the second section, I will
describe the social context of the Dutch pilgrims
I followed to Lourdes and the problems they face
in their everyday life. Then I will present the stories
of the pilgrims and illustrate how Mary is used in
creating localized forms of belonging and in cop-
ing with limited possibilities in an unlimited world.
For privacy reasons, pseudonyms are used for the
pilgrims.
An Ethnographic Study of Marian Images
Art historian Freedberg argues that a detached icofl
ographic reading of images, which speaks of m1
ages in terms of form, color, handling, and com
position, does not explain why people can be so
moved by them, “even kiss them, cry before them»
or go on journeys to them” (1989: 1). Even whe^
religious images are not considered high art,
states, they evoke emotional responses that must
taken into account and can best be studied with a
close ethnographic method.
To study people’s responses to Marian hnag
in an ethnographic way, I used an iconograpu
elicitation method. For this method, I design^ ^
box containing about thirty cards with differe
visual representations of Mary. I showed these i°
cards to the pilgrims during the in-depth intervic
in their homes. This method helped me in j ,
fof
not
different ways: first, to discover how pilgrims se
from various icons and what reasons they have
loving particular ones “very much” and others
at all”; and second, to overcome the problem
reticence encountered when asking about perS°^e
relationships with Mary. The icons helped both
pilgrims and me to elicit the stories that otherW
would probably not have been told. ,g
Before I started working with the icon ca j
the pilgrims often felt uncomfortable when I ^ y
them to articulate their feelings towards Mary- *
often fell silent or burst into tears, keeping me t ^
asking further questions. Though the meaning5.^
Mary were not disclosed in this way, the weep
pilgrims made me know that Mary moved tn ^
Words, however, failed to express what tb&l ^
for her. These silent reactions to questions a j
the personal relationship with Mary can be clar
in three interrelated ways. One reason is that y
pie’s personal communication with Mary ofterl ^
lacks the words. It is mainly a language of tho
and herewith an inner and silent communica .
Another reason is that when people speak a f
with Mary, they often articulate standard Pf ^
texts such as Hail Mary, and do not look far
words to express their relationship with her. A ^
and most relevant reason is that Marian deV(\es
is an intensely emotional practice. Mary e ^
thoughts that are tightly connected with em ^
or troubles that are mostly silently kept as ^
ily secrets rather than publicly expressed in 6
day life. .cC,no'
To get over this problem, I developed the i
graphic elicitation method. The icons in
represent Mary with different appearances^ ^
independent woman, a mother, and a que
J03-2008
Anthropos
473
^0cal and Global Icons of Mary
Jjifferent kin relationships (with her child, Jesus;
er mother, Anne; her husband, Joseph), and ex-
posing different emotions (happiness, sadness,
self-confidence) and characteristics (humble,
SuPerior, reigning, protective, rich, simple, wor-
^orne, contemplative). The iconographies repre-
among others Our Lady of Lourdes, the Pieta,
^ater Dolorosa, the Holy Family, and Our Lady
. Perpetual Help. When during the research one
P%rim stated decidedly that she did not like the
^ady 0f Lourdes at all but intensely loved the local
ady of Geloe, I decided to add the local and most
miliar icons of Mary to the box. These icons are
°ased in Limburg chapels, such as Our Lady of
£ enooy in Venlo, our Lady of Geloe in Belfeld,
eUa Maris in Maastricht, and Our Lady in the
nds in Roermond. The most significant icono-
°raphic difference is that the Lourdes icon repre-
ms the Lady alone, whereas the local icons repre-
. m her as a mother holding a child. I presented all
ns in sets of five and asked the interviewees to
Piain which particular icon pleased them, which
j P and why. At the end I put all selected favorite
ns together and asked the interviewees how they
uId describe Mary’s characteristics on the basis
these images.
t . 1ef°re I interviewed the pilgrims with the elici-
jul0n method at home, we journeyed to Lourdes in
^ ne 2004. This six-day pilgrimage was organized
2^a ^utch medical insurance company for about
u chronically ill pilgrims. Our group included
te n niling pilgrims and many solicitous volun-
0fr^’ among whom were managers and employees
ne insurance company, priests, medical doctors,
All868, tramee nurses, and me, an anthropologist,
pj, ^e sick pilgrims presented complex clinical
ea Ures> combining different major and minor dis-
the S social isolation, limited mobility, and
All ProsPect °f continuing physical deterioration.
ye na(i gone through a pathological process of ten
ips 0r longer. The pilgrims came from all regions
pre^e Netherlands, albeit mainly from the southern,
Br.,i°minantly Catholic provinces of Limburg and
abant.
25^^ough it was impossible to get to know all
wu Phgrims, I closely followed the ones with
htpg?1 * shared the hotel and, as a result, the daily
aa<J i Pr°§ram- This group consisted of 34 pilgrims
5q t()4 v°lunteers. The pilgrims ranged in age from
the average age being 65, and most of
Cabi Were women (28 women, 6 men). They all
lil§se fr°m the city of Venlo and the surround-
hef0Vl^ages in the midsouthern region of Limburg.
2q pr,e §°ing on pilgrimage I selected a group of
1 Srirns with whom I had in-depth interviews
^thr,
°P°s 103.2008
one week before and several times after the pil-
grimage (from one week to two years afterward).
Among them were 5 married couples, 2 mothers
traveling with their daughters, 2 friends (women),
and 4 women journeying alone. With only six ex-
ceptions, all of them were visiting Lourdes for
the first time. Following the interview meetings at
home, I accompanied some pilgrims on their visits
to local Marian shrines in Limburg.
Being Old, Ill, and Fixed in Place in a Global
and Secular World
Historically, the province of Limburg has been
dominated by the Catholic Church, in contrast to
the rest of the Netherlands, where Protestantism
has prevailed. By the 1950s, the Catholic Church
in Limburg pervaded all aspects of people’s lives,
but a decline in church attendance and member-
ship set in during the sixties and has not stopped
since (Knibbe 2007: 42). The same process of secu-
larization occurred in the other Dutch provinces
(De Graaf, Need, and Ultee 2004). Despite secu-
larization theories, which often consider religion
incompatible with modernity, religion in Limburg
has persisted outside the church. For the people
involved in this study, the meanings of religion
outside the domain of the official churches and of
Marian devotion in particular have to do with social
inequalities based on (old) age, (poor) health, and,
as a result, being fixed in place.
The pilgrims I traveled with claim to be religious
and even Catholic, but not churchgoers. Many say
that they cannot attend church regularly since there
are insufficient priests available to celebrate Mass
every week. What priests there are, are said to be
so old that they often fall ill and consequently do
not show up for services. It has become common,
moreover, for just one priest to minister to sev-
eral parishes concurrently and to celebrate Mass
in each church only once every few weeks. Other
pilgrims, who have to submit to young conserva-
tive priests who occasionally succeed their older
colleagues, describe their nonattendance as criti-
cism of practices and ideologies prevalent in the
church. They often claim to have problems with
the authority and pressure exercised by young con-
servative Dutch priests celebrating Mass, belittling
the elderly people, and expressing arrogance rather
than respect toward them. Despite this attitude to-
ward the churches, the pilgrims deplore losing the
church. They feel very much at home in Catholic
liturgy and ceremonies and recall longingly the
time when churches were full and plentiful and able
474
Catrien Notermans
to meet their needs. When describing their every-
day religious practice today, they cite as the main
features occasional pilgrimages to Marian sites,
frequent visits to local Marian chapels and to the
graves of deceased loved ones in churchyards, the
many candles they light in both local chapels and
their own homes, and regular prayers to Mary.
Discontinuity is felt not only in the churches but
also in the domains of physical health, employ-
ment, and the social network of family and friends.
Because of health problems, all the pilgrims have
had to give up their jobs, and as a result they share
the feeling of finding themselves disconnected from
society. They complain that employers have let
them down and have never shown interest in how
they have managed to live on in a world that has
become more and more restricted. For the pilgrims,
illness is the most radical form of spatial confine-
ment. Their mobility is limited to regular visits to
hospitals and medical practices, where they have
to deal with arrogant medical authorities who, al-
though much younger than they are, are in a po-
sition to dictate what is best for them. Moreover,
at their age, loss of health goes together with the
loss of loved ones. When needed most, relatives
are often no longer available because of ill health
or death. These losses confront the pilgrims with
their own finitude and reinforce their feeling that
everything and everyone falls away and that they
are all on their own.
Besides having no access to global mobility,
since 2003 the pilgrims have encountered large-
scale infrastructural changes in their environment
that facilitate the ongoing movement of others. The
pilgrims’ small villages are now traversed by two
national roads, a railway - which has nearly swept
away the local chapel of Mary - and a highway
within a stone’s throw. The modem world has pro-
duced not only increased speed but also increased
polarization, dividing the globally mobile and the
locality-bound (Bauman 1998). As Bauman aptly
says (1998: 18): “Some can now move out of the
locality, others watch helplessly the sole locality
they inhabit moving away from under their feet.” In
the same way one of the pilgrims lamented: “They
rob us of our home ground, but we cannot profit
from what they give us in return.”
Since 2001 the pilgrims have also gone through
a political reorganization in which their small vil-
lages have been merged with the city of Venlo.
The end of the villages’ political independence has
been politically “celebrated” with an official good-
bye to local history and cultural characteristics. In
this fast-changing society, the localized old and
sick pilgrims no longer feel themselves to be on
solid ground. Being tied to their locality, they are
barred from moving and thus bound to bear paS
sively whatever change may be visited on their en
vironment. “Everything changes so quickly,” °ne
pilgrim says; “nothing is like it was before. Every
thing we are familiar with and that gives us some
thing to hold on to changes or disappears. The on ;
hold I have is Mary, but I’m afraid that one day
people will also take her away by saying that s
diS'
ild
doesn’t exist anymore. With all our certainties
appearing, I don’t know any longer how the wo
will turn.”
While globalization extends horizons for som^
for others the horizons become increasingly ^
ited. Bauman states that “globalization divides
much as it unites,” because not all people eqna *
benefit from globalization. “Some of us bec°n^
fully and truly ‘global,’ ” he states; “some are fi*e
in their ‘locality’” (Bauman 1998: 2). For the P1^
grims I studied, being local in a globalized and sec
ularized world is a sign of social deprivation, degra^
dation, and cultural disempowerment. The pilgrl1 ^
who, due to old age and poor health, are hatfe
from becoming “truly global” try to make m
own local space meaningful in a religious ^ '
Rather than eliminating the meaning of rehg1. '
modernity actually produces the need for refig
(Vasquez and Marquardt 2003). “It is time,” EeV ,
(2004: 16) also states, “we put religion front a v
- - pm;
ngiy
center in our attempts to understand how iden
and belonging are redefined in this increasing
global world.” Globalization and localization^
mutually complementary processes. The imm0^ ^
pilgrims, whose life-worlds have been restrict
home ground and the family, enter the rehg1 ^
domain to root themselves in locality. Being f
and sidelined in the constantly changing and ta ^
moving world, they relate to Mary to get a grlP
the modern world and to create continuity wit
familiar world of the past.
Mary as a Powerful Reminder
of Localized Belonging to Home Ground
and Family History
j ^ ihe
Both during our pilgrimage to Lourdes ano &
elicitation interviews at home, the pilgrim8 nel c[
communicate their bodily pain to Mary nor
from her a miracle that heals them. What they gij
municate to Mary is the pain of being disconn .
and being sidelined and disrespected in s°^ t0
What they expect from her is to be reconnec ^ ^
home ground, to living and dead relatives, a , er,
private family history. Keeping the family t°g
103-300»
Anthropos
475
^0cal and Global Icons of Mary
both in space and in time, is a powerful strategy
0 c°nstruct a localized belonging and to keep afloat
the modern, secular, and globalizing world. For
ne Pilgrims, the most powerful Marian icons ap-
Pear to be those that elicit kinship memories. Peo-
. s responses to the images show that Mary ex-
lsts in kin relationships in various interconnected
ays: in the relationship with the home ground, the
tationship between adults and their mothers, the
re|ationship between husbands and wives, and the
tationship between mothers and children.
Ground
Of
the various images of Mary, the primus inter
res for all pilgrims is the icon closest to them in
p Ce: the icon venerated in the chapel next door.
e°ple in Belfeld, a village now connected to the
V of Venlo, may passionately love Our Lady of
iQe, who is housed in the local chapel, and not
recognize the icon of Our Lady of Genooy,
0 r°ughly looks the same but is housed fifteen
jJ^ters away in Venlo. When a pilgrim from
s .eld was shown the urban icon, she resolutely
p ^ “I don’t recognize her; if you say that it is Our
, a<ly of Genooy, I understand that I don’t know her,
r chapel is too far from here.”
i because of her central role in several related
houses, the local Lady is involved in the joys
t sorrows of a family. This gives her the power
(frC°nnect Ibe family in a “chain of memories”
ar)^rvieu'Leger 1993). Janna, thirty-four years old
the youngest pilgrim in my research group,
ehly visits the chapel of Our Lady of Geloe,
Ij 5re she feels at home, arranges the flowers, and
sl ts a candle. When looking at her favorite Lady,
e tells me,
I fee,
•He f Sa^e because I have grown up with her. She knows
aad r0ln childhood. This is where I came with my parents
s0rr my grandparents. Our Lady has listened to all our
^he°^S anc* Prayers’ that’s why I feel at home with her.
chan • gives me rest- In a world where everything is
Past flnickly, this place enables me to dwell on the
a the^ t0 chcrish the happy memories of my childhood,
the ? ct|aPel, I remember my grandparents, who visited
chapei
rr,y Pet together. They came by tandem bike because
in |r^an dm other was blind. My grandfather was always
See t led no need to travel a thousand kilometers to
hoiK j biidy in Lourdes when my own, familiar Lady is
sed npvt —
next door.
h0^a s b°nd with the Lady of Belfeld illustrates
ahd a Sense °f place is interwoven with kinship
Memory. The local Marian icon places kinship
Anthr,
°P°s 103.2008
memories in their own geography, connecting past
and present, different generations, and familiar lo-
calities of chapel and home. At home, Janna has put
a small copy of the Geloe icon on a wooden shelf
over the dining table. Right next to the icon, two
photographs hang on the wall: one of her grand-
parents and one of her grandparents’ house. The
latter photograph shows the house, Janna explains,
in its original and unaffected state. “It reminds me,”
she says, “of the past, when everything was still
peaceful and untroubled.”
Another pilgrim, Tiene, seventy-six years old,
lost her husband just before the Lourdes pilgrim-
age. In former days, she used to go for a walk with
him to the chapel of Our Lady of Geloe once a
week. There, they lit a candle and just took some
time to be together. “To this day, I love to go there,”
Tiene says; “the Lady makes me think of my hus-
band and his caring and protective company. After
the cremation, we brought all his flowers to the
chapel and offered them to her. Nowadays, when
I come to greet the Lady, it is to remember my
husband.” For all pilgrims, the local Lady is con-
nected with happy memories of kin, ranging from
grandparents, parents, and children to grandchil-
dren. “I regularly take my grandchildren along to
the chapel of Geloe,” Arno, seventy-five years old,
says. “When I pass the chapel just to do some
shopping, the children ask me why we do not enter
the chapel. That’s how much they already associate
their visit to me with a visit to the Lady.”
Global icons such as Our Lady of Lourdes may
also be connected with home ground and family
history in situations where they are appropriated
in domestic space and passed on between gener-
ations. Then they become localized and have the
same power to evoke kinship memories as the icons
in the local chapels do. Whereas Tiene and her
husband had a special relationship with Our Lady
of Geloe, it was Our Lady of Lourdes who was
worshiped in her husband’s family. Her husband
and his sisters inherited their passion for this Lady
from their mother and grandmother. Because Tiene
was suffering from serious illness and finally had
a leg amputated, her husband had been running
the household while caring for her. On behalf of
the family, he went several times on pilgrimage
to Lourdes. During his first pilgrimage he brought
back home a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes, which
got a central place on the television in the dining
room. Since then, the Lourdes icon reminds her of
him and his loving care. “Every time I look at her,
I think of him,” Tiene says. She loves the Lourdes
icon as much as the local icon of Geloe, because
both are powerful reminders. Just after his death,
476
Catrien Noterm arlS
she journeyed to Lourdes with her daughter, and
they took his photograph along to share the expe-
rience with him and to remember him.
Kinship memory is passed on through Marian
devotion and especially through the local and fa-
miliar images of Mary. Joint visits of spouses and of
grandparents and grandchildren to the shrine facil-
itate the transmission of memory between genera-
tions. In this process of passing on kinship memory
a sense of place is important: people express their
links to the past in commemorative practices that
bind them to the places where they live (Carsten
2007). At the center of a network of family houses
and watching over a chain of family members from
different generations, the local image supplies the
worshippers with a feeling of belonging, security,
and continuity of life.
The Mother
People’s favorite icon is often also the icon that has
been venerated and passed on by their mother and
consequently has the power to evoke memories of
her. Roos, fifty-nine years old, states that the icon of
Our Lady of Perpetual Help is her favorite and most
powerful one because of her mother, who venerated
this icon;
Every time I pray, I pray to Mary. I never see God when
I pray, I have never had that experience. I always see Our
Lady of Perpetual Help. My mother also prayed to this
Lady. She had a very hard life. She became an orphan
when she was four years old. She had one brother and
one sister. Her brother had a heart condition and died at
the age of eight. My mother grew up in an orphanage.
From the age of twelve onward, she lived with outsiders.
Formerly, you could hire yourself out and do the house-
keeping or some farm work, just to have some small
payment. Sometimes, my mother was lucky to find a nice
family but she also lived with families who only wanted
her to work. My mother often told me about these hard
times, but only afterward did I really understand her suf-
fering. When I was small, I couldn’t really imagine what
it was to suffer like that, but when I grew old and became
a mother myself, I actually understood what her stories
were about. When my mother married, her life became
better. In the beginning everything was fine. But then the
war took everything away from them and my father got
depressed. He was always sitting under the pear tree. My
mother had to handle it alone and suffered with so many
children. She had many miscarriages and finally even lost
an adult child. My brother died in an accident when he
was twenty-four years old. When I also lost my adult son,
my mother could hardly handle it. She warned me that the
pain would never leave, that it would hurt me forever. My
mother never went to bed before praying to Our Lady of
Perpetual Help. When I was in Lourdes, I bought a stna
souvenir of this Lady. I have put it on my bedside tau
because my mother also prayed to her before going
sleep.
Roos’s story illustrates how the worship of Mary
by one’s mother influences one’s own visualization
of Mary. Mary, representing the mother, bridge8 th
worlds of daughters and mothers, the living and tn
dead, and links memories of suffering and pain be
tween generations. Roos and her mother share tn
experience of having an unsupportive husband an
losing an adult son by accident. This shared exper|
ence converges in the image of Our Lady of Perpe
ual Help and makes the image emotionally strong-
Arno intensely loves our Lady of Lourdes ‘ Ire
ceived my affection for her,” he states, “from tw
mother. From childhood onward, I have seen n ^
praying to this icon, asking her to make us ^
when we were ill. That is why I still present no
trouble to her when I am ill. When I speak to hen
is like I am speaking to my mother.” When look1
at the image, he is moved to tears and says:
When my mother was ill, she looked at her. Now, be1 J
ill myself, I also look at her and feel moved. I think a
my mother and I think about the many people wh° ‘
lost in the family and I miss them so much. My m° >
my father, my parents-in-law, my three sisters who
at a young age, and my brothers who died recently-
only my younger brother and I who are left. Mary 11 r
me to remember the deceased loved ones. I feel in nee ^
this because we lost so many people. They still ^°n^es
the family, they are one of us, but in church, their aa
are lost. The priest no longer remembers them in oJl
like in former days, when he mentioned their nameS
All Souls’ Day. Then, we remembered all beloved
and we felt that they were present with us. The ct\^pt
has done away with all these rituals, but I do not ac ^
that my dead relatives also disappear. When I Pra^6jf
Mary, I think of them, I remember them, and I keep
presence alive.
Amo’s story illustrates how looking at Mary
anc
the commemoration of the dead converge in
]VJarian
convey y 7 atjoh
devotion. The mourning aspect of memoriahz
has profound religious connotations (Winter i
Secularization and the feeling of being dlS
nected from the church threaten people’s co ^
tions with deceased kin. For the people inv0 ^
this is a life stage in which memories of anCf ^eo-
become excessive and overwhelming. The ol F t
pie in ill health who feel uncertain about the p t
and the future develop a vivid concern with th v t0
Now that the churches no longer connect pe°P f0-
their past and their deceased relatives, Mary
vides continuity in the church’s stead. Beingin
Anthropos
°Cal and Global Icons of Mary
lact with Mary is being in contact with a cherished
£ast to which the deceased family members belong.
'Ir°ugh remembering the family, people connect
fast> present, and future and create continuity in
e’r own life, too. Amo’s story reveals this mutual
ePendence between the living and the dead: the
ead need to be remembered by the living, and the
lng need the dead in order to feel wholeness and
conti
ouity in life.
and Wife
^sband
tinker ^arY also present in the conjugal rela-
nship. por three out of five couples the pilgrim-
Se to Lourdes was meant to commemorate their
^ any years of marriage, to thank Mary for still
t^lng together, and to ask her “keep the family
c §ether.” The conjugal relationship of the pilgrims
n t»e characterized as the relationship between a
. °ng, caring wife and a sick, dependent husband.
0 b°ugh the caring wife often has serious illnesses
c c°niplaints, too, it is the husband who comes
hi u division of roles causes problems for both
the ban^ anc* w^e- When looking at the icon card of
fQe H°ly Family, Amo becomes angry, stamps his
°P and says: “That is how I have to be, a strong
f0 n who is responsible for his family and cares
w^e an^ children. But here I am, like a
a aad totally at the mercy of my caring wife.”
the 6,1 *°°hing at the Pieta, showing Mary holding
^rdUffering b°dy of an adult man, Amo takes this
as his favorite one and says:
Thj
lean 'S b°w I feel. I feel like him, like a powerless person,
Wh n§ 0n the lap of my wife. My wife suffers for me.
sheen 1 need help, she is there to help me. Mother Mary,
my mother and my wife, the two caring women in
^ ^rno’ the other ailing husbands also identify
ide .^brist as the suffering child. They do not
W^’fy with a powerful or authoritarian Christ but
tot na ^eathly ill, suffering Christ who has been
l°ok ^ °eaten and is in the hands of his mother, who
iitia S a.ber him. In their interpretation of Mary’s
of of6’, b is not Mary who reminds us of the power
thp rist but Christ who reminds us of the power of
Another.
ic0n e wiyes, for their part, also identify with the
her, the Pieta. Each admits that she cares for
Vears sb&ud as for a helpless child. Leen, fifty-nine
fieui °ld, worries about her husband, who has dif-
even les breathing, is losing weight, and sometimes
aints. “In the hospital,” she says, “they do not
477
allow him to be ill, they send him back home, and
then it’s up to me to keep him alive. My concern
is to feed him, to give him food, good food that
makes him strong. I am always scared that some-
thing will go wrong with him.” Leen also has her
physical pains. Rheumatism, tiredness, and stom-
ach trouble make her constantly feel bad, but being
her husband’s only nurse, she does not give her own
physical condition much attention. “You have to be
strong,” she says. “I am not in a position to com-
plain and show my weakness. The doctors leave it
all to me.” Like the other couples, Leen and her
husband vigorously complain about the doctors’
authoritarian attitude, their arrogance and disinter-
est. When looking at the icon cards, Leen takes the
icon of Lourdes as her favorite one because of her
austerity. She says:
Mary is simple. She doesn’t take a superior position but
stands next to us. I tell her my trouble and show her my
weakness. She is the only person to whom I say what
I feel inside, who knows that I do not always feel strong
enough to keep my husband alive, that I am not the strong
person I seem to be in everyday life. I ask Mary to help
me and she accepts me as I am. She takes me seriously
and listens to me.
Women like Leen, who are self-effacing in the daily
care of their husbands, feel relieved to relate as a
needy person to Mary in their turn. Mary for them
means the strong mother who gives them a shoulder
to cry on and who accepts their vulnerability. See-
ing Mary as a strong woman, even stronger than
they are, these women do not appreciate the icon
of Mater Dolorosa, showing Mary with tears or in
a depressive posture. The women do not interpret
Mary’s sadness as their own sadness, because in ev-
eryday life, they deliberately do not cry about their
trouble but hide their tears in order to be strong.
Mary then also has to be strong and not cry. “When
both of us cry,” one woman said, “who peps us up?”
Hanneke, fifty-eight years old, also seeks sup-
port from the strong Mother Mary when she has to
be stronger than she really is in the daily care of
her husband. She has serious physical problems but
dedicates herself to her husband and her marriage,
which became problematic when her husband fell
ill and had to stay at home:
Sometimes I am very angry at him and even want to leave
him. But we had a very good time together, we have a
son and a grandchild - how can I leave him now when he
is seriously ill and only has a few years to live? I have
put a mask on and now totally efface myself and my
pain in order to care for him. Mary allows me to have
a good cry, to feel my own pain, and she consoles me.
By showing her my own pain, Mary enables me to be
Vh;
ir°P°s 103.2008
478
Catrien Notennans
myself. Before her, I take off my mask and give in to my
own feelings and emotions. Mary makes me recognize
that I am seriously ill, too, that it is not only my husband
who is suffering. She recognizes my suffering.
While women’s husbands relate to their strong
wives as the dying Christ relates to Mary, the wom-
en relate to Mary as her child, seeking comfort and
relief with their strong mother. In this way, Mary
also bridges the worlds of husbands and wives who
often try to make the best of their marriage but sep-
arately suffer their own weaknesses. Mary consoles
and helps to support the restrictions and imposi-
tions of conjugal life.
Mothers and Children
to see me and told me that I had won a pilgrimage t°
Lourdes. Five years after my son’s death, I wanted to
back to Lourdes, to let him go and to find acceptance a a
peace. The people surrounding me do not allow me
express my pain, but in my head, I constantly remem ^
my son’s death. I think of him from morning till eveni o
and I miss him so much. My husband and my oldest s
never express their mourning, as they have come to ter
with their sorrow in a totally different manner. Becai
they mourn in silence, they also tell me to silence ^
pain and to forget it. But how can I forget? The first thin _
my mother told me when I informed her of my s°n
death was, “One never forgets the death of a child.” w
I came back to Lourdes and I saw the statue of Mary
the grotto, I felt the pain, it came up, I felt it coming, n
my toes through my belly, to my head. I imrnedia ^
realized that the pain that was occupying my body ^
Pieter, my dear son. Before Mary, I cried without sha
or reprimands from others.
The pilgrims also identify with Mother Mary them-
selves. Looking at the image of the local Lady of
Geloe, Tiene tells me: “When I pray I always turn
to Mary because she knows how it is to be a mother.
When I pray to her, I am sure she understands
me.” This mutual understanding is explained as the
shared experience of caring for and worrying about
a suffering child. The mothers, often suffering be-
cause of a sick child or mourning a lost child, place
themselves on an equal footing with Mary, saying
that “as one woman to another, they understand
each other, as they know how it is to lose a child.”
“That suffering,” sixty-nine-year-old Andrea says
when looking at the image of the Pieta, “is drawn
from real life,” and she starts to tell the illness nar-
rative of her sick adult daughter, who lives with
her. The image evokes her narrative of pain from
beginning to end. Because the loss of a child defies
the imagination of people who have not suffered it,
both men and women feel relieved to share their
pain with Mary, who experienced the same loss
and knows how deeply it hurts. Fifty-nine-year-old
Roos lost her twenty-six-year-old son in an indus-
trial accident five years before the Lourdes pilgrim-
age. “When I gave my name and physical condition
to the pilgrimage coordinator, I wrote down my
rheumatism and the difficulties I have with walk-
ing, but once in Lourdes, I didn’t even think of it
anymore. I was there to remember my son.” Besides
her special relationship with our Lady of Perpetual
Help resulting from her mother’s bond with this
Lady, Roos also relates to the icon of Lourdes as
it calls to mind a special memory:
It was just after I gave birth to my son that I went to
Lourdes for the first time. When I was in pain, just before
delivery, a friend from the women’s movement had come
Like Roos, many other mothers went to Lour
to cope with the invisible wounds of having l°st
child. The Lady of Lourdes enabled them l0 f.
member these children and to reexperience the Pa^
of this loss. Just as Roos and her mother share
experience of having lost an adult son in an aC
dent, mother Tiene and daughter Joske, forty-m ^
years old, share the experience of having l°s
child during pregnancy. They journeyed together
Lourdes because of their husband and father, ^ ,
brought the Lourdes icon into the family and
just a few weeks before the pilgrimage. 0f
Tiene still keeps the Lourdes statue on top
the television and regularly talks with the iru ^
of Mary about her deceased husband and a
the precious moments she had in Lourdes. As
chain-smoking makes things dirty, she re£uLarlt
bathes the Lady, to restore her fresh and ra g
look. From the bottom of her heart she says: ^
Lady is the most beautiful Lady I know. She is
simple and so tremendously fine, she is the^^
and only for me.” For both mother and daug j
it is the Lourdes icon card that evokes the PaLag
memories of their stillborn children. While 1°°
at her beloved Lady, Tiene says:
I was eight months pregnant when I felt that the baby ^
not moving anymore. I went to the doctor who sal ^ s0
nothing, that I had no reason to complain. But it ^jld
much. During the next visit he discovered that tfic^ ^
had already died, but he sent me back home. I had ^
the bus, and I told it to the bus driver who talked
and calmed me down. The doctor hadn’t said a w ^th-
only obliged me to hold the baby for one more ^ to
He wanted me to have contractions before help111»
get the baby out. It hurt so much. I knew the ba
dead, and it felt like I was carrying a stone in my
103.2°°8
Anthropos
479
^ and Global Icons of Mary
.Pr three weeks, I was in terrible pain, from morning
j evening, but the pain didn’t cause contractions. When
Vlsited the doctor again, I told him that I would not leave
e hospital anymore because of the pain. That day, nine
lr>utes after eight in the evening, my child was bom.
Was July 20, 1964. I never saw my baby. They took
t lrri avvay immediately after delivery. They brought him
Tb ? Cemetery, where he was buried at an unknown spot.
at s what they did in former times; children who had
^ been baptized did not receive a recognized grave. He
§ot
atthe
n° name, no monument. I knew that he was buried
e cemetery of Tegelen and I often went there to look
hu ^UT1, hut there was no grave, no remembrance. My
band and me, we called him Rob. We have never had
'her child again, there seemed to be something wrong
n my womb. When remembering this pain, I always
a to Mary because she knows how it is to be a mother
to lose a child. When I pray to her, I am sure she
me.
unci
Understands
'j'h
i e stories of Roos and Tiene illustrate how the
the^6 Mary brings back memories of pain over
toV°SS a child. While in daily life this pain has
the 6 COncealed and the child seemingly forgotten,
[L ^others want to have their pain recognized and
Posr C^^dren remembered. Mary offers them the
cl. ability to mourn, to remember, and to keep the
1 dren present in the family.
XUlrian Devotion Is All about the Family
The n
, Ilarrated memories elicited by the icon cards
itself^ interviews show that the religious act
bas a memorial aspect (Stier and Landres
u W. People’s responses to images of Mary can
sUa’een as remembering, and Mary’s image, as vi-
t0 fll2ed family memory. The closer an icon comes
ily history and home ground, the more eas-
M People identify with it. This identification gives
c0r) ^ ^e power to stir up family memories and to
thenect’ within families, the living and the dead,
aHd^aSt anc* *be present. Photographs of living kin
in t, ariCestors hanging right next to Marian statues
of jyj homes I visited make visible the convergence
hoUs arian devotion and kinship memory. Both the
of and ds central Marian image act as keepers
Mmories-
tile f arian devotion, in my argument, is all about
re|^t- Mary draws on the intimate histories of
eratio0nships within family worlds. Ancestor
ven-
Pe0pje 18 at the very heart of Marian devotion, as
decga approach Mary to remember and to mourn
c°nti • ^oved ones and to create intergenerational
and s Ulty in times of discontinuity, multiple losses,
Clal and physical disempowerment. Mary’s
At%(
°Pos 103.2008
images function as mediators or “points of encoun-
ter” (Orsi 2005: 49) between generations who make
sure that, as long as the link between the living
and the dead continues to exist, the family lives on.
Marian devotion as a mourning ritual is particularly
meaningful in the context of people’s late life stage
because it reconnects past and present and renews
their view on the future.
Old and chronically ill people are liminals par
excellence, facing unsure futures and existential
uncertainty. Although ritual attention is commonly
given to the different stages in the life cycle, rituals
are generally lacking in old age (Meyerhoff 1984;
308). Discontinuity between adulthood and old age
is especially severe in Western society and has the
degrading effect of reducing old people to non-
people (311). Rituals for elderly people, especially
when they are sick, would diminish existential un-
certainty and anxiety by giving them a foothold and
a sense of continuity and predictability. As church
rituals are also lacking, many older people who are
overwhelmed by memories of past kinship create
their own private rituals of re-membering. Meyer-
hoff hyphenates “re-membering” to distinguish it
from ordinary recollection. “Re-membering,” she
states, “is the reaggregation of one’s members, the
figures who properly belong to one’s life story”
(320). Without re-membering, people lose their his-
tory and themselves, and for this reason, reminis-
cence is an appropriate and healthy activity for the
elderly.
Memory not only offers the opportunity to re-
call the past but also to rearrange and relive it.
Integration through memory with earlier states of
life provides a sense of continuity and complete-
ness that is needed most when one is old, sick,
and disconnected from society. Memory work can
then be seen as a regenerative practice, restoring the
disjunctures of the past (Carsten 2007). Following
Carsten’s work on the place of memory in kinship,
the localization of kinship memories in Marian im-
ages can be seen as “an attempt to anchor a pre-
carious existence” (18). Loss is a prominent theme
in the pilgrims’ lives, and these losses concern the
private field of the body and the family as well as
the public field of the secular and global society.
Having no church, no job, no health, no village, and
hardly any family anymore, they try to face up to
modernity with the help of Mary, who has become
a symbol of resistance and continuity in a life stage
of excessive losses and discontinuities.
Although not all pilgrims were moved by the
icon of Lourdes before the pilgrimage, the image
received new meanings afterward. Our Lady of
Lourdes enabled the sick, elderly people to move
480
Catrien Notent
through Europe, to cross a thousand kilometers
from Limburg to southern France, and to break out
of their limited world and the sickroom atmosphere
at home. This traveling, which was thought to be
impossible given the pilgrims’ poor health and old
age, temporarily permitted them to be part of the
flow of people in the modem world. For a few days,
the Lady made the locals global. The journey to
Lourdes gave them the physical, sensory, and ritual
experience of a living church and spectacular Mar-
ian devotion that put the ailing and marginalized
pilgrims center stage. This sharing in the global
world, along with participation in a transnational
community of ailing Marian devotees, has become
visible in the global images and souvenirs that the
pilgrims brought along from the site. After the jour-
ney, almost all pilgrims felt good when looking at
the icon of the Lady, as this simple modem medium
elicited happy memories of journeying, of being
part of a transnational community and the achieve-
ments of the global world.
Conclusion
Through focusing on the relationship between
Mary, memory, and the family, I have argued that
the power of Marian images is the power to evoke
family memories and to connect living and dead
family members. An image or statue of Mary can
be seen as a “realm of memory” (Nora 1989) in
which kin-related memories may be elicited, rein-
forced, and produced. Connected with the home
ground, Mary keeps the family together across
different generations, from grandparents to chil-
dren and grandchildren. Her presence in the family
makes her a first witness of both joys and sorrows
of intimate family life. This is why feelings of be-
longing, continuity, warmth, and closeness, as well
as pain, suffering, rupture, and loss, come together
in Mary’s devotion. As a venerated mother who
cares for the family but lost her child, Mary’s image
is drawn from life and hence is powerful and fitting
in many people’s lives.
People’s need to re-member the family has been
interpreted in the context of the unequal effects of
the modem globalizing world and in the context
of elderly people’s life stage. Globalization and
localization are two sides of the same coin, but for
the elderly sick for whom mobility is not a realistic
option, localization becomes their main focus of
action. While gradually losing ground under their
feet, they try to become firmly rooted in space
through recollecting family history and re-mem-
bering the living and the dead. This re-membering
can simultaneously be understood as ritual aCtl°,
giving meaning to the liminal life stage of the si
and old people.
In the process of re-membering, the icon of u
Lady of Lourdes has emerged as a particularly V° ^
erful one, linking the local and the global world ^
the pilgrims. In a secular context of disappearing
changing churches, the localized image of the La
of Lourdes assists in constructing a belonging
home ground and family history. As a global ima&
the Lady assists in going beyond the local le '
in broadening one’s horizons, and in construe
a nonlocalized belonging to the modem mov
world, in which Marian devotion appears to be v
much alive. “I discovered during my pilgrimage
Lourdes,” one pilgrim explained to me, “that on
worldwide level she is still there, carefully wa ^
ing over me. And as long as she is not lost, nei
will my family and I be lost.”
I gratefully acknowledge the support of NWO ^ .
Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research)
NORFACE (New Opportunities for Research Fu.
Co-operation in Europe) for subsidizing part of this
search.
References Cited
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1998 Globalization. The Human Consequences. (-a
Polity Press.
Carsten, Janet
2007 Introduction. Ghosts of Memory. In: J. Carsten
pp. 1-35.
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2007 Ghosts of Memory. Essays on Remembrance
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gel»1'
De Graaf, Nan Dirk, Ariana Need, and Wont Ultee
2004 Leaving the Church in the Netherlands. A Comp
sive Explanation of Three Empirical Regulariti6S^egses
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of Religious Change in Modem Industrial S°c*e ' . gd'
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win Mellen Press. (Studies in Religion and Socie
Freedberg, David
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of Response. Chicago; University of Chicago PfeS
Hervieu-Léger, Danièle
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4 Rites and Signs of Ripening. The Intertwining of Ritual,
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(eds.), Age and Anthropological Theory; pp. 305-330.
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Stier, Oren Baruch, and J. Shawn Landres (eds.)
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Anthropos
103.2008: 483-506
Comparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
devotion, Identity, and Resistance in Mesoamerica and North America
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenpa
indStraet. - This article compares pilgrimage dynamics in two
Me!?nous societies of the Americas: the Yucatec-Maya of
frJC0 and the Chipewyan of Canada. The same analytical
text eV>0rk ls US£d to interpret the historical origins, social con-
s0c- ’ Cer£monial climax, and backstage features of two annual
Spe10religi°us gatherings among these people. While their re-
itCcCtlVe pilgrimages exhibit distinctly different approaches to
hegCSs*n§ cosmological or sacred power and to resisting the
ilar ni°n’es °f colonial and state institutions, they follow sim-
tity as vehicles for expressing and renewing native iden-
ter he ethnographic case materials are used to reassess Vic-
centan<^ Edith Turner’s theoretical stance in light of other re-
^fgrimage studies with divergent views. [Mexico, Canada,
s°n r Chipewyan, pilgrimage dynamics, controlled compari-
Urnerian paradigm ]
vej.y^e* Vtor-Aguilera, PhD (University at Albany, State Uni-
Part^ ^ew York, 2004), is Assistant Professor at the De-
2Qq3 6nt °f Religious Studies, Arizona State University, since
' Ee has conducted archaeological fieldwork in Belize
Caten nn°8raphic field research in the Mexican states of Yu-
ancienand Quintana Roo. - His scholarship is concerned with
PoUs A to contemporary Mesoamerican cosmologies, indige-
gi0Us ,1Tlerindian epistemologies, critical analysis of socioreli-
"tejiri ■ e°r*es’and a holistic and interdisciplinary study of Maya
vtews. - See Ref. Cited.
¡*°berf »
tesSor Jarvenpa, PhD (University of Minnesota, 1975), is Pro-
bany al ^he Department of Anthropology, University at Al-
tetd L, uNY, since 1973. - He has conducted ethnographic
1970 . Q0archaeological field research in Canada in the years
ip Al’ 971'72, 1975, 1977, 1979, 1980-81, 1988, and 1992;
1999. ska> 1970, 1988, and 1999; in Finland, in 1979, 1983, and
200o: m Costa Rica, 1989, 1990, 1994, and 2007; in Siberia,
(ter9e’dand 'n the eastern U.S. - Much of his scholarship is con-
te)ns jn^ltd oology, social change, gender, and interethnic rela-
cteions ■ Unter‘forager and agrarian societies. - His recent publi-
teive Et'nclude “Circumpolar Lives and Livelihood. A Compar-
teith Jd ,n°archaeology of Gender and Subsistence” (coauthor
• Erumbach, Lincoln 2006). - See also Ref. Cited.
1 Introduction
This article is a controlled comparison of pilgrim-
age dynamics in two indigenous societies of the
Americas: the Yucatec-Maya of Mexico and the
Chipewyan (Dene) of Canada. The same analytical
framework is used to interpret the historical origins,
social context, ceremonial climax, and backstage or
latent features of two annual socioreligious gather-
ings among these people: the pilgrimages to Xokén
and Patuanak, respectively. While both communi-
ties were subjected to intensive Catholic mission-
izing programs, they developed rather divergent
understandings of and accommodations to Cathol-
icism.
In turn, their respective pilgrimage forms have
followed different trajectories in their manner of
accessing cosmological or sacred power and in re-
sisting the hegemonies of colonial and state insti-
tutions. As indigenous cultural performances, how-
ever, the Mayan and Chipewyan pilgrimages follow
a similar path in using their dramatic presence as
vehicles for expressing and renewing native iden-
tity. These dynamics are largely compatible with
the process of liminality and communitas identified
by Victor Turner. Accordingly, the ethnographic
case materials are used to reassess Turner’s theo-
retical stance in light of other recent pilgrimage
studies which support or reject his views.
Massive pilgrimages of historical depth are well
known in the traditions of Islam (Lewis 1966), Hin-
duism1, Christianity (Jarett 1911; Turner and Tur-
ner 1978), and other world religions. These are
484
noteworthy for their enduring socioceremonial
structures which provide an integrating force within
and between societies of large scale and complex-
ity. As nascent forms, however, pilgrimages offer
unique opportunities for observing the rudiments
of cultural syncretism or hybridity (Métraux 1959)
and, perhaps, understanding the process by which
people attempt to resolve a variety of structural
dilemmas stemming from conflict between local
and supralocal interests and polities.
2 Paradigms and Pilgrimages: Reassessing
Turner
In part, our article is a response to Victor Turner’s
(1974: 227) appeal for more research on the con-
ditions under which local devotional forms be-
come established pilgrimages replete with author-
itative legitimating structures. His theoretical ap-
proach to ritual and symbolism generally, and to
pilgrimages particularly, has been compelling on
several fronts. First, there is Turner’s (1969; 94-97;
1974: 166-170, 202) notion of pilgrimages as lim-
inal phenomena, extending Van Gennep’s ([1909]
1960) idea of social and spatial separation in rites
of passage. A major assumption is that pilgrim-
ages nourish fellowship and openness, or a con-
dition of communitas, and, thereby, become anti-
structural, temporarily freeing individuals from the
roles and hierarchies of their ordinary lives.2 Sec-
ondly, Turner (1974: 174-177,198-200) views the
mutually reinforcing interaction of religious obli-
gation and voluntarism as an additional manifes-
tation of the ambiguity and liminality of the pil-
grimage. Finally, Turner (1974; 171 f., 203) offers
intriguing thoughts on the apparently increasing
popularity of pilgrimage forms in the contemporary
world. They may represent quests for communitas
in complex societies where the self has become
alienated from meaningful community. More point-
edly, perhaps, the pilgrimage may invoke or reac-
tivate cultural forms traditionally associated with
1 Deleury (1960), Feldhaus (2003), Hiebert (1990), and Karve
(1962).
2 Turner conceptualized several types of communitas (existen-
tial, normative, and ideological) to indicate a progression
from spontaneous expressions of fellowship toward more
ethically prescribed and utopian versions of spontaneous
communality. Pilgrimages may evolve along this continuum,
and they are part of the dialectical relationship binding struc-
ture and anti-structure. Moreover, as a momentary expres-
sion of tolerance and forgiveness, the pilgrimage may serve
as a dynamic compromise between the polarities of com-
munitas and conventional structure (Turner 1969: 131-133;
1974: 169).
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert JarvenP
normative communitas during periods of rapid so
cial change. Of no less relevance for our discus
sion is Turner’s (1967: 272f.) recognition that ritu^
action is a process rather than something fixed 0
static in meaning. ^
A number of scholars have profitably employ
Turner’s concepts of liminality and communitas
shed light on a variety of pilgrimage and pilgfU^
age-like phenomena, including Crumrine’s (1"/
analysis of Mayo Indian religious revitalization
Hambrick’s (1979) study of the World Messia11
ity movement in Japan, Martin’s (1982) di§cl^f
sion of Islamic Hajj, Swatos, Jr.’s (2002b) stu )
of Our Lady of Clearwater pilgrimage in FI on £
and with qualification, Leon’s (2004) analyst8
the pilgrimage to the Mexican Virgin of Guadalu? ’
and Hiebert’s (1990) interpretation of South India
village goddess fairs. j
Others have taken issue with Turner. Fade ,
Sallnow (1991: 4f.) contend that his notions ^
communitas and anti-structure inappropriately P
judge the pilgrimage as a subversion of the es
lished social order. His framework, they sugg v
simply inverts functionalist approaches wherein
pilgrimage preserves or legitimizes existing ^
tides, interests, and inequalities in society. & u
and Sallnow offer an alternative perspective V "
views the pilgrimage as an arena of compel .
discourses. Thus, while Victor and Edith Tu ^
(1978: 230) interpret Lourdes as an exarnpif^
communitas in Christian pilgrimage life» &
(1991: 52) argues that “the shrine actually den1 2 j?3
strates the co-existence of numerous oppositi°nS
Fade and Sallnow’s opposition to the
interpretation, while vigorously expressed,
rest upon a false dichotomy. Their skepticisn1
pears to be directed largely at the existent^1 g
riety of communitas which, in theory, °Pelyet,
spontaneously in the absence of structure-
the Turners’ own characterizations of pilgr101
tend to emphasize the normative type of eo j
nitas whereby conventional social structure
power relations are not absent or eliminate g
rather, ameliorated in an effort to create fee
of brotherhood and harmony. It is likely tha
dynamic, the normative rather than the exis ijy
has been widespread in pilgrimage life histo
and cross-culturally. pil-
Oddly, a clear definition of what constituting
grimage has not been offered by those con
3 Sallnow’s (1981, 1991) work in the Peruvian Andes a”'
dVa*
oth£f
der Veer’s (1984) research in north India are aniu‘Jf0uiid
ethnographic studies of pilgrimages which have 110
empirical support for Turner’s ideas.
103.
2008
Anthropos
Co:
^Paring Indigenous Pilgrimages
?Urner and Turner (1978). Stoddard (1997:41),
°Wever, has called for acceptable definitions and
Ossifications of pilgrimage-like behaviors in order
^facilitate comparative studies. Accordingly, we
Iter the following as our own working definition:
p Oaltiday large-scale (by local standards) ceremonial
eat, often annual in occurrence, prescribed or not,
^acted out of devotion with varied motives, consisting
^ aonlocal circulation by numerous individuals, to and
0lTl what may be considered socioreligious space.4
Th‘
ats characterization captures key similarities in
e Mayan and Chipewyan pilgrimage data to be
1Scussed below. We will revisit this definition later
h consider its relevance for broader comparative
analysis.
r Spates, Jr. (2002a: 92-94, 96) notes that while
!l§ious motivation should not be discounted nei-
f should one assume that pilgrimage action must
v l°w “historic theological categories,” as if indi-
auals were of like mind and devotion. One needs
; 7 to consider the everyday life of those practic-
§ Popular religion, to realize that its practitioners
0 1(4e themselves by multiple feelings, rather than
l^lright intellectual competition, which may not
Mutually exclusive. Family and community life,
!ch provide group bonding through repetitively
c^°gnized practice, then, are often the central fo-
re Pilgrimage rather than individual concerns
Fee Voye 2002; 115f., 124, 127f.). In this vein,
^ard (1982:235, 238-240, 247f.) finds that, as
^^rienced by Japanese pilgrims, communitas is
expression of their social identity, whereby the
Coll 1118 make JaPanese traditions individually and
ectively their own.
°nsiderable ethnographic evidence exists,
2^’ to temper Fade and Sallnow’s (1991: 5, 15,
Contj assertions that pilgrimage sites are highly
Sailestec* spaces that lack consensus of meaning.
cjajn°w (1991: 137) seems to overreach with his
n-,e . ^at “when people converge in pilgrimage,
vid^11^8 collide.” Other than assertions, he pro-
str-little convincing data or analysis to demon-
chr e.^0w the different meanings add up to “the
/\n||n‘c cultural schizophrenia” he claims between
p0ja^an pilgrims. What Fade and Sallnow see as
by c°ntradictions may not be viewed as such
e individuals in question. As they (1991: 21)
concur with Blasi’s (2002: 159) view “that one or more
se°Ple travel with the purpose in whole or in part of visiting,
or touching a physical space or thing that is in some
anncr associated with ultimate or near ultimate concerns
jn..c°nceras that can and often vary from individual to
lvidual without contention.”
485
admit, “pilgrims and priests project quite different,
yet overlapping, understandings of the significance
of the shrine.”
In this regard, Badone (2004: 185-187) and
Yoye (2002: 132) comment pointedly about the
need to overcome reductionist Western binaries in
analyzing pilgrimage. Turner and Turner (1978: 37)
stated that religious activity is not exclusive of
the secular, where shared fun and leisure extend a
feeling of belonging. Indeed, it may be this very
combination, as present in the sharing of hard-
ship during pilgrimage, that offers renewed hope
in relationships (also see Turner 1992: 37). While
some pilgrims share an idealistic notion of cama-
raderie, clearly not all pilgrims need explicitly ex-
press this ideal for it to happen. All that is needed
is a sensed inner feeling of benefit obtained (Cole-
man and Eisner 1995: 202; Iyer 1999: vii-xi). We
suggest that it is these inner feelings of content-
ment that make pilgrimage communal bonding pos-
sible. While structural distinctions are not com-
pletely eliminated, their “sting” can be temporar-
ily muted (Turner 1973, 1974, 1992). Turner and
Turner (1978: 3, 32), then, preceded Fade and Sall-
now in allowing that pilgrimage may be about po-
tentiality and transition, where new ideas, being
anarchical, populist, and/or anticlerical, may be put
to the test.
Religions cannot operate in a completely ho-
mogenous manner because all religious action is
based on daily practice and interpretation which
can vary from person to person. As Fade and Sall-
now (1991: 15) half admit, “the ideal - like Turner’s
goal of communitas - is impossible to achieve, but
the resident devotees pursue it as far as the exi-
gencies of life permit.” Can religious behavior and
communitas simply be that which gives individuals
purpose and meaning in life? Preston (1990: 17)
attempts to separate “secular” from “religious” pil-
grimage, but such classifications may rely on un-
duly narrow conceptualizations. Kruse (2003), for
example, demonstrates that he and many others
share pilgrimage bonding, despite varied motiva-
tions, at John Lennon’s Strawberry Fields memorial
in New York’s Central Park. Clearly, pilgrimage is
an exceptionally complex, multifaceted institution.
It is neither self-contained nor insulated, nor is it
limited to religious motivation.
In light of the foregoing comments, we believe
that Victor Turner (1974) and Victor and Edith
Turner (1978) provided a paradigm, however sub-
ject to revision, still viable for pilgrimage study. As
noted by Bhardwaj (1997: 18), the “time has now
come to search for some cross-cultural compar-
isons of pilgrimage behavior.” In our interpretation
AlHhr,
°P°s 103.2008
486
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenp3
of Mesoamerican and North American indigenous
approaches to pilgrimage, we recommend cautious
consideration, if not reconciliation, of the varied
frameworks noted above. Following Fade and Sall-
now, we might ask what are the multiple meanings
and understandings, or indeed “mutual misunder-
standings,” by which various Maya and Chipew-
yan participants construct their pilgrimage experi-
ences? However, heeding Turner we may also ask
whether the Maya and Chipewyan situations rep-
resent restorations of cultural truths or harmonies
which have been compromised? Are their pilgrim-
ages a form of resistance to or management of
further erosive changes? In this regard, Bade and
Sallnow’s (1991:5) critique of Turner’s work as
“a particular discourse about pilgrimage rather than
an empirical description of it,” seems premature
and warrants reexamination. To anticipate and look
for opposition and competing discourses can also
become, in the absence of rigorous ethnography,
a self-fulfilling prejudgement rather than a mean-
ingful assessment of on-the-ground realities.
Map: Locations of the Xokén and Patuanak pilgrimages.
3 Comparative Strategy
In order to assess the usefulness of the foregoing
frameworks, we offer a comparison of two pil-
grimages in indigenous communities in Mesoamer-
ica and North America; the gremio or pilgrim-
age to Xokén, Yucatán, among the Quintana Roo
Maya and the Patuanak pilgrimage or “Feast for
Father Moraud” among the southern Chipewyan
of Canada, respectively (see Map). The former are
descendents of a class-stratified state level society
with a hereditary elite, ranked lineages, and ritual
specialists responsible for ceremonial affairs. The
latter derive from egalitarian hunter-gatherer bands
whose conceptions of power were (and are) based
on individualized relationships with animal-spirit
beings (similar power conceptions as the Maya but
not in a stratified social context). While the Yu-
catec-Maya endured colonization by Spanish in-
terests beginning in the early 16th century, the
southern Chipewyan came under intensive English
and French Canadian influence in the late 18th
century. Despite their distinctive histories and di-
vergent sociopolitical development, however, both
groups experienced the common denominator of
Roman Catholic missionization.
One of our goals is to understand how the fore-
going cultural and historical differences and com-
monalities have played out in the devotional prac-
tices of pilgrimages in recent times. What is the
nature of the pilgrimage experience among contem-
ench
porary Maya and Chipewyan? Indeed, may &
phenomena be regarded as pilgrimages ‘in
Christian tradition?” Or, are they fundamentally1
digenous practices which have reworked the tr V
pings of Catholic orthodoxy for local pufp°s^
Do their ritual anatomies vary despite similar ^
derlying meanings and processes? Or do sifl1 j
surface forms of performance mask different s°
processes? Such issues will be addressed with
grained case materials from recent ethnogfaP ^
fieldwork in the two societies. In turn, a compar ^
of these cases will serve as a means of assessiflS’ _
not reconciling, alternative models of and perSP
fives on pilgrimage life. ^
The two cases were not arbitrarily selc ^
therefore. Over several years of prior discus
about our ethnographic field experiences,
came aware of the range of comparable data^,0
had been amassing on pilgrimage dynamicsin ^
Native American communities. To facilitate j
parison, we have employed the same ana.^age
categories to distill the key features of pilgt1
practice and experience for the Maya and on V ^
yan. In each case, the relevant behaviors and ^
will be presented and discussed in terms or
lowing framework:
1. historical origins;
2. social context;
3. ceremonial climax;
4. backstage or latent dimensions.
103.200»
Anthropos
Co
Sparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
487
^all-scale qualitative comparisons, even between
lsParate societies across the Americas and other
regions, are often compelling because many sub-
eties of behavior and history for each community
4re Well-known and can be useful in understanding
§eneral trends and patterns not always discernible
r°m a single case.5 First, however, the background
°n the Maya and Chipewyan communities will help
^tuate the Xokén and Patuanak pilgrimages within
eir respective cultural and historical contexts.
^ Maya Historical and Cultural Context
Paring the Maya Postclassic era (A.D. 950 - Con-
ct) the site of Xokén was a Kupul lineage village
ustered around the preeminent politically domi-
ant town of Sakiwal, now known as Valladolid,
^ Catán, in the region between Chichén Itzá and
£°ba (see Jones 1998: 13; Roys 1939: 5). Sakiwal
ew tribute from its surrounding villages of which
°tcén and its neighboring Chichimilá and Kanxoc
^efe some of the most important (Roys 1939: 19f.).
°daY, the two villages of Chichimilá and Kan-
c are two of the most important communities
c * r°tate pilgrimage sponsorship of Xokén’s stela-
lQ»SS (Astor-Aguilera 1998; Fernández Repetto
^ A 66-68). Further, Roys (1939:21, 5) states
K- 1 the above-mentioned villages, along with Sa-
i were tributaries to Chichén Itzá and perhaps
^ to Mayapán.
t he first known document that mentions a per-
js ahzed ciyum santa curas, “Lord Holy Cross,”
in u^aiK* acknowledgment dated June 28th, 1814,
si the Titles of Ebtun (Roys 1939: 361-365); and,
Hbt 1^1Cant *n the above, is the close proximity of
Un to Sakiwal and Xokén. The widespread pres-
hy e pre-Columbian crosses was documented
ar? Several Spanish chroniclers.6 Astor-Aguilera
^ es that his consultants’ use of the commu-
Preudn§ cross of Xokén is a transformation of
jri t-olumbian cosmology. For this reason, to the
abn a’ ^e*r communicating crosses rank in priority
]9o^e the Catholic-Christian God (Astor-Aguilera
Redfield and Villa Rojas 1934: 110f., 139).
5Th'~~~----
e scale and logic of our analysis owe a debt to earlier
rls in small-scale, qualitative comparison. These include
aH Thy and Steward’s (1956) classic comparison of “par-
Pyj acculturation” among the Mundurucú of Brazil and the
n °ntagnais of Canada, as well as Eggan’s (1954) pioneering
6 °f “controlled comparison.”
del^r*a (1934), Cervantes de Salazar (1971: 195 f.), Diaz
To7UstiUo d1632l 1956: 9f.), Herrera (1601), Landa (in
189? 1941: 207f-)’ Las Casas (1967: 648)’ Lizana ([!633]
Gó 26~39)' López de Cogolludo (1688: 359), López de
^a (1552), and Torquemada ([1615] 1971).
AtHh,
TOpos 103.2008
Through the colonial period, Maya ceremonies
based on ancient commemorations were enacted
in the vicinity of Sakiwal-Valladolid (Edmonson
1982:39; 1986: 45 f.), a mere 11 kilometers dis-
tance from Xokén and its stone cross. Other such
Maya ceremonies were celebrated near Felipe Car-
rillo Puerto (Edmonson 1986:45), the modern
name given to the village where the “talking cross”
supposedly “appeared” in 1850 (see Reed 1964).
Bums (1983: 6) has noted that Chilam Balam-type
books, native manuscripts that contain indigenous
history and knowledge, are still kept and read in
the village of Tixkakal Guardia, Quintana Roo.
The above continues to the present day not only
at Tixkakal Guardia but at other cross shrines as
well. For example, the shrine at Chuumuk Lu’um,
“center of the earth,” is mmored to have once
held a Chilam Balam-style book that told the his-
tory of the stone cross (Astor-Aguilera 2004; 169).
The ceremonial circuit celebrating Maya commem-
orations mentioned above has been linked to Sa-
kiwal and is also linked to the site of Kochilla.
Roys (1967: 73) mentions that Kochilla is just north
of the Yaxuná-Kobá causeway, and the following
stop, after Kochilla, on the circuit is the site of
lx Xokén (Edmonson 1986: 88), otherwise known
as Tix Xokén or Xokén (see Roys 1967; 73). The
name of Xokén, according to one of Astor-Agui-
lera’s consultants, stems from Xok K’in, which
means “to count and read the days,” as the village
is considered the center of the Maya world where
Itzamná, their ancient patron of religious special-
ists, counts the days and years.
The rebellion known as the Caste War of Yu-
catán, which encompassed most of the Yucatán
peninsula, is considered one of the most significant
indigenous uprisings in the history of Mesoamer-
ica.7 After northern Yucatán was “conquered” by
the Spanish in 1546 there continued to be revolts
and skirmishes throughout the peninsula (Scholes
and Adams 1991: 1), with the last independent
Maya city of Tah Itzá, Tayasal, not succumbing to
the Spanish until 1697 (Villagutierre Soto-Mayor
1983). The “Caste War” began in July 1847 un-
der the direction of several batabo ’ob, indigenous
Maya leaders, who, after finding themselves ig-
nored politically, sought to free their people from
oppression (Rugeley 1996: 185). There were many
factors which led to the revolt of 1847. Though
the intentions of the batabs can only be analyzed
and not thoroughly known (Reed 1964: 55), letters
from the various Maya factions suggest that the war
7 Dumond (1977), Patch (1991: 51), Reed (1964), and Ruge-
ley (1996).
488
began with the coalescence of a series of local in-
surrections and micro revolts (Rugeley 1997b; 43).
While the material motives for the war remain ob-
scure, the abuses the Maya endured at the hands of
Catholic priests, and others in position of power, are
well documented (Press 1975: 38f.). The causes,
then, leading to the outbreak of the war appar-
ently derive from pent-up rage against colonial rule
(Chuchiak 1997: 34).
The Social War of Yucatán officially lasted from
1847 to 1910. History, whether written or oral, has
political spin and the literature concerning the so-
called “Caste War of Yucatán” is no exception. For
the Maya, the war had virtually nothing to do with
caste: the term “Caste War” has generally been
used by politicians in reference to any indigenous
uprising throughout Mexico and Central America.8 *
The Caste War, to the Maya, was not about race
but about social justice and religious autonomy;
indeed, for this reason, Bergunza-Pinto (1997) has
opted, apparently following how the Yucatec-Maya
see it, to use the more apt term of “Social War”
instead of “Caste War” and from here onward I will
follow suit. This war, then, was in part a cosmolog-
ically inspired rebellion by which the Maya sought
to unshackle themselves from further sociopoliti-
cal subjugation and humiliation (Escamilla Mora
1980: 11). While the war officially ended in 1910,
to the Maya the struggle is far from over. However,
the battles are now fought in terms of wanting a cer-
tain amount of control concerning their traditions,
language, and way of life.
The stone cross of Xokén, the focus of a pilgrim-
age discussed in detail below, is but a facet repre-
senting the Yucatec-Maya’s political fight seeking
self-determination. Between 1997 and 1998 Astor-
Aguilera conducted several visits to Xokén and its
neighboring villages. His deep ethnographic field
research in Xokén and other “talking cross” com-
munities began in 1999 (Astor-Aguilera 2004). He
has observed, documented, and participated in the
Kruz Tun pilgrimage on various occasions from
1999 to the present. The data from that fieldwork
constitute a small part of the material presented
here.
3.2 Chipewyan Historical and Cultural Context
In the period between the 1770s and the 1790s,
posts of independent pedlars and those of the ma-
jor fur trading companies were situated near the
8 Careaga Viliesid (1998: 20f.), Rugeley (1997a), and Rus
(1996: 45).
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenpa
headwaters of the Churchill River in what is
northwestern Saskatchewan, Canada (Tyrrell 193
122, 356-367, 472-476). The region soon be-
came part of the contact zone between the Derie
or Athapaskan-speaking Chipewyan and the A
gonquian-speaking Western Woods Créé. A rivalry
between Montreal-based companies and the Ea
glish-controlled Hudson’s Bay Company (hereafter
HBC) was responsible for drawing some ChipevV
yan groups from their forest-tundra environné
southward into the full boreal forest (Gillesp16
1975:368-374; Smith 1975:413). Some of these
southern Chipewyan became known as “Kesye
hot’ine,” or “Aspen House People,” in reference
their major trading fort at Île-à-la-Crosse.
Through the 19th century, both the Chip6"'
yan and Cree developed intimate economic re
tions with a growing class of Eurocanadian 1
trade personnel at the HBC’s île-à-la-Crosse
and its network of secondary outposts. While
nomadic, bush-oriented bands of Chipewyan a°„
Cree served as the hunters or “primary producer
of the mercantile system, an increasingly vlSl
mixed blood or Métis population was occupy11^
niche as fur company servants and laborers. Th
Métis were largely descendants of unions betwe
French-Canadian voyageurs and local Cree won1
(Jarvenpa and Brumbach 1985). ^
The complexity of social life increased in ^
last half of the 19th century with the arrivai
French-speaking priests, of the Roman Catholic
der of Oblates of Mary Immaculate, who cs
fished a mission at Île-à-la-Crosse in 1846 (Nlorr
1912: 301 f.). The impact of the church on the ^
dians was initially negligible. By the 1890s, n
ever, the Chipewyan regularly appeared in fle'a ^
Crosse for the Catholic mission’s Christmas a
Easter services, as well as summer religi°uS t
structional gatherings. The fact that their imp°r ^
trading-provisioning periods at the HBC post
in September and June, therefore, meant that ^
Chipewyan had to stage at least four major ^
nual gatherings in Île-à-la-Crosse. This was p° f
ble only by withdrawing southward from the
range of the Barren-ground caribou, a major
resource, and by shortening their annual trave
cuits (Brumbach and Jarvenpa 1989: 61-67). q
By the last decade of the 19th century the g
was enmeshed in a tangle of economic adversi
that complicated its relationship with the
yan, the Métis, and the Catholic Church, Era^,
in the Île-à-la-Crosse district began strongly a ^
eating treaty negotiations between local nat*v^ \0
the federal government. Although Treaty FJ ^
was not implemented until 1906, the HB
103-
Anthropos
Sparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
hopeful that the potential cash flow from treaty pay-
ants to Indians and scrip payments to Métis would
^vitalize its sagging trade and reduce indebted-
ness among its clientele.9 This turbulent period set
116 stage for a growing conflict between the HBC
a^d the Catholic priests at île-à-la-Crosse regarding
tleir relationship with and control over the Indians,
Particularly the Chipewyan. Throughout the 1890s
into the 1900s, HBC staff believed the Mission
^as conducting a successful sub rosa fur trade in
Edition to its ecclesiastical functions, while church
mcials believed HBC trade policies were jeopar-
JZing the physical and spiritual health of the Chip-
ewyan.10
He-a-la-Crosse’s importance declined in the
early 1900s as both the HBC and the Catholic mis-
Sl°n began decentralizing their operations. In the
Period approaching World War One, the combined
ctors of field-oriented missionization, seasonal
ading outposts, dispensation of treaty rights, and
an embryonic commercial fishing industry spurred
a§gregations of Chipewyan families into tent and
§ cabin communities of gradually increasing size
d permanence. One of these was the Chipewyan
scrve at Patuanak, situated at an old summer fish-
ing site and HBC outpost 60 kilometers north of
e'a'la-Crosse. Patuanak would become one of the
strongholds of the Kesyehot’ine (Jarvenpa
s between 1971 and 1992 Jarvenpa conducted
j0 eral years of ethnographic field research on eco-
j §Jcal and social change in Patuanak and the al-
r d communities of Cree Lake, Dipper Lake, Knee
19« anc* Primes Lake (Jarvenpa 1977, 1980,
j °2a, 1982b, 1987). He observed and participated
the Patuanak pilgrimage on four separate occa-
ri°ns in 1975, 1977, 1979, and 1980, and the mate-
a s from that fieldwork constitute the bulk of the
a for analysis here.
^ücatec-Maya: Pilgrimage to Xokén
Historical Origins
Th,
w, Pdgrimage, which focuses on the village of
call 611 *n Yucatan, corresponds to a set of festivities
the i ^ the Spanish term of gremio (guild) by
^al Maya. This Spanish usage is somewhat
ver eading and requires explanation. Indeed, the
y ambiguity of what the Yucatec-Maya consti-
9HBcX
BCA
^7-283); Jarvenpa (1987).
10 0888-1890: fol. 127; 1897; 1899-1902: fol.214).
0891-!893: fols. 135-137; 1899-1902: fols. 60-
489
tute as gremio was responsible, in part, for spurring
Astor-Aguilera’s initial interest in the pilgrimage
proceedings at Xokén.
The Maya of Xokén are members of neither
a fraternity nor guild comprised of tradesmen or
shopkeepers based on the same social class or
profession. Rather, gremio is used liberally to de-
note a body of faithful worshippers, Catholic or
otherwise, who take on a rotating burden of ser-
vice to a particular saint and/or deity (Fernández
Repetto 1988: 68-70; Fernández Repetto and Ne-
groe Sierra 1997: 4f.). Local Maya adopted the
term gremio, as utilized by Catholic friars during
the colonial period, to indicate the body or congre-
gation of the church and applied it to loosely orga-
nized village acts of devotion through village and
intervillage festivals (Fernández Repetto 1988: 65—
67). Although their structure varies somewhat from
community to community, in contemporary con-
text, gremios, or gremio pilgrimages, are integral to
Yucatec popular folk religion as practiced by Maya
villagers.
The gremio pilgrimages may be viewed, in part,
as vehicles for symbolic cultural resistance by a
group of subaltern Maya. This is evidenced, some-
what, by local peoples’ statements regarding the
considerable antiquity of the pilgrimage to Xokén;
indeed, they claim their ancient ancestors, who
occupied this region preceding the arrival of the
Spanish, instituted the pilgrimage. Perhaps corrob-
orating these “myth histories,” several of the 16th-
century Maya chronicles written by native ritual
specialists refer to pilgrimages in and around the
village of Xokén, which is mentioned by name,
and additionally link these pilgrimages to several
late Postclassic Itzá-Maya centers (Roys 1967; 73;
Edmonson 1986: 47, 82-84, 88). It is interesting to
note, however, in an apparent paradox emanating
from colonial oppression, that these same Maya
do not claim, or appear to have knowledge, that
they themselves may be descendants of the pre-
Columbian peoples who built the ancient cities that
surround them.
Astor-Aguilera suggests, however, that the fore-
going patterns are not a coincidence, especially
when one notes that the focus of the pilgrimage
to Xokén is a large monolith roughly hacked into
the form of a “cross.” Interestingly, this monolith is
eerily much reminiscent of the symbolically plant-
ed, erected that is, stelae by the ancient Maya. Fur-
thermore, the stela-cross is apparently situated at
the end of an ancient Maya causeway that linked
several of the ancient Postclassic cities. Of major
note here is that these same ancient centers were
near or at major sites of rebellion during the Social
Vh:
r°Pos 103.2008
490
War of Yucatán. At what point in history, how-
ever, the communities in this study began actively
participating in the pilgrimage to the stela-cross is
unclear and requires further research.
4.2 Social Context
From a broader perspective, there is a vibrant pil-
grimage tradition throughout Yucatán, much of it
tied to important Catholic celebrations devoted to
the Three Magi and an assortment of Virgins. Such
journeys can be undertaken by lone individuals
or organized groups and can be made on foot or
by vehicle. One may also make a pilgrimage in
spirit by donating money, food, or material goods
to the actual participants; and those contributing in
this manner can later expect to have their names
read in front of the object of their veneration
(Astor-Aguilera 2004). Pilgrimages can be made
to and from adjacent villages in Yucatán, Cam-
peche, and Quintana Roo, or with pilgrims origi-
nating from distant Maya villages in Belize, Cen-
tral America, at the southern end of the peninsula
proper.
There are also pilgrimages nested within an-
other pilgrimage, whereby the venerated object is
taken on a circuit to other shrine centers, and
this activity generates smaller festivities within the
larger pilgrimage festival. As alluded to above, the
gremio pilgrimage of interest in this analysis is
only loosely or informally connected to Catholi-
cism. Indeed, its festivities, dances, and processions
have a rather ambiguous Catholic origin (Fernán-
dez Repetto and Negroe Sierra 1997: 6f.). Accord-
ingly, a Catholic priest is not present at the of-
ferings and rituals conducted in the Maya shrine;
indeed, these particular festivities are not only not
sanctioned by the Catholic Church but, in the case
presented here, key activities are regarded by some
clergy as outright heretical.
The gremio pilgrimage discussed here was made
from the village of X-Kabil, Quintana Roo, to the
village of Xokén, Yucatán, and has been partici-
pated in and observed in the field by Astor-Aguilera
since 1999 to the present. This pilgrimage is made
annually by many villagers in the surrounding re-
gion to venerate the Kruz Tun, “Lord Stone,” which
is the name given the stone cross discussed in the
preceding section. Due to the veneration and ma-
nipulation of ecological beings, as conducted by the
Maya in relation to this stone, this monolith may be
symbolically interpreted as a communicating object
that anchors the Maya’s quadripartitioned world;
indeed, the presence of this ancient monolith is why
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenp3
the shrine site is referred to as u chukukil yok
kaab - “the earth’s center.” f
Prior to departing on this pilgrimage, one 0
Astor-Aguilera’s consultants usually places cone
shells directly in front of X-Kabil’s main entrance
crosses. Placing the conchs by these icons is meat1
to encourage invisible beings associated with the
these crosses to blow and trumpet the shells, an
thereby alerting the chdako ’ob forest dwelling erl
tides who function as the Maya’s rain patrons. Ac
cording to Scheie and Miller (1986; 303), the trun^
peting of conch shells by the ancient Maya allude
to dream-like states and in contemporary YucataU
dreams conch shells are associated with ancestor8’
communicating crosses, the male-likened clou
and their rain, and, notably here, the onset of u1
pilgrimage (Astor-Aguilera 2004). t
Ostensibly, the gremio pilgrimage serves at №
three functions by; 1) creating in practice a
soil'
darity among villagers as it unifies them through
ritualization bond as they prepare for and enact
event, 2) fostering intervillage solidarity throng ^
combined efforts to annually congregate and vetl
erate a stela-cross that symbolizes the Maya the
selves, and 3) establishing lasting friendships tr
previous generations and extending them to preS
offspring and their succeeding descendants. SpeCa§
ically, then, this pilgrimage represents the Maya,
a people, who in venerating their ancient rain
forest patrons, continue to uphold their indigcu
traditions. Indeed, some of Astor-Aguilera’s c
sultants note that they participate in the event
order to keep the earth and sky in balance
this sense the pilgrimage is foremost an indigen
world renewal rite. -a
This pilgrimage, moreover, embodies the so
fact of the necessity of sustenance and the so
context that extends honor and prestige to 1 $
who engage in its rituals, even an outsider
as an anthropologist.11 By participating in the V t
grimage to Xoken, and the ritualization activm g
the stela-cross, symbolic capital and social pr<^
is garnered, legitimated, and expressed simu
ously (see Bell 1992: 221 f.; Bourdieu 1977- ^ ^
In these Maya villages, prestige equals soCia j-jt;
spect and symbolic power based on debt and rn
and, for this reason, the duty and privilege o
------------- i
11 Astor-Aguilera’s standing in both the X-Kabil an ^pa-
communities changed dramatically after repeated P jj6ra
tion in the pilgrimage to the stone cross (Astor ^06
2004). As of this writing Astor-Aguilera recently
kuch, cargo or burden, never before offered to a peb^'
outsider, of helping to cosponsor and coorganize
ary 2008 X-Kabil pilgrimage to the Kruz Tun o
Lu’um.
2008
and
103
Anthropos
c
Sparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
491
§rimage sponsorship is rotated among the various
immunities via their corresponding ritual special-
lsts- In effect, this rotation further binds the villages
id their native “priests” in the annual renewing of
deir quadripartitioned world.
. The contemporary pilgrimage appears to serve a
Slmilar function as the upright stones documented
111 the colonial period (see Landa in Tozzer 1941;
P°T) as well as the ancient practice of dividing the
S1ty from the earth and the quadripartite ordering
df the Maya landscape (Roys 1933: 99f.). Indeed,
ida (in Tozzer 1941; 136 f.) documented that rain
eings as well as other nonhuman entities, that held
the quadripartitioned Maya world, were oriented
0 different world directions and were each asso-
rted with different colors. Furthermore, Taube
^92; 92-99) associates rain entities with Bacab
Ky holders, in relation to a quadripartite nonhu-
r*1, which in turn is associated with clefts, conch
. ehs, and tortoise shells - this entity being des-
ignated by Schellhas (1904: 37 f.) as the so-called
|dod N.” In a similar vein, Redfield and Villa Rojas
• ^4: m_ii5) noted that Maya quadripartition-
§ Was related to cross icons and rain. As discussed
mw, the stone cross which is the focus of the con-
mporary pilgrimage is regarded as the center of
e Maya quadripartite world where the rain entities
c°nverge.12
13
Ceremonial Climax
The
tio ^remi° pilgrimage, held annually in anticipa-
^ n °f each year’s rainy season, ends after four
c °f constant activity. Each day is latently dedi-
a eh to a different world direction associated with
ea^frticular Chak rain patron. Furthermore, with
Ver* Ttual day the four respective rain patrons con-
in f6 at’ over’ an<^ unc^er the stela-cross. Accord-
y, some of the local Maya maintain that the
ext a'Cross grows from the center of the earth and
k ends symbolically upward into the sky while
^ Aching into the four world directions (Astor-
thitt 6ra 2004). Newsome (2001: 169) suggests
“j0 lassie Maya period stelae also recorded the
Cati°n where the directional oppositions of the
Converge: the crossroads of the earth, sky,
Conttour directions.” To reiterate, then, some of the
erriPorary Yucatec-Maya regard the monolith at
aumuk Lu’um as having a very similar function
—
car °n C001: 96f.) projects a center zenith point for the Yu-
Sltean Peninsula, although her interest pertains to the ancient
th v°f lichen Itza, at approximately the same latitude as
^°ken stone cross.
Anth
r°Pos 103.2008
in that this site is where the rain patrons converge
and disperse (Astor-Aguilera 2000).
Each of the four pilgrimage days is sponsored by
one specific village whose duty rotates on a three-
year basis. That village is in charge of their spe-
cific day’s offerings as constituted by prayers, food,
music, and dance - all provided free of charge to
anyone attending - while ostensibly done in honor
of the monolith cross. Since all food and drink
is financially backed by each of the four villages
on their respective assigned days, there is mini-
mal barter or other economic transactions during
pilgrimage time. At the same time, each village
contingent hauls its own foodstuffs, props, sleeping
gear, and other possessions on the trek to Chfiumuk
Lu’um. This pilgrimage, once at the site, involves
continuous offerings to the stela-cross each day and
night, with each new day beginning at chúumuk
k’in, mid-day, when the sun is at zenith. Live an-
imal sacrifice, according to Gann (1918:4), was
offered to communicating crosses during the Social
War of Yucatán and on some days of the contempo-
rary pilgrimage the ritual killing of pigs does occur.
Ordinarily, pigs destined for food alone are killed
on the ground during daylight hours. However, sac-
rificial animals are handled as a proxy-like offer-
ing by throwing them on their backs (see Konrad
1991: 133), just before dawn breaks, and ritually
killed on a raised stone altar in honor of the mono-
lithic cross (Astor-Aguilera 2004).
Each day’s rituals and prayers are concluded, ap-
proximately before the sun sets, with the “Dance of
the Pig’s Head.”13 Performed in honor of the stone
cross, Maya men dance with one, two, or three pigs’
heads while splashing báalche’, a ritual mead-like
drink of low alcohol content, toward the women at
the gathering. The dance involves a movement of
thirteen counter-clockwise turns and, then, a pre-
cise clockwise repetition of the same turns. Indeed,
the clockwise movement must be performed at an
instant in order to “unwind” the energy being fed to
the cross. Some local Maya believe that the ritual
of the pig dance “feeds” the monolith and, if not
unwound, makes the stela-cross much more pow-
erful than it is already. Related to this is the be-
lief that while the monolith can be benevolent, it
can also act harshly toward people if displeased for
some reason or another. Displeasure of the stela-
cross is evidenced, for example, by past droughts
or widespread illness in the villages who attend to it
(Astor-Aguilera 2000).
13 Astor-Aguilera (1998), Fernández Repetto (1984: 83), and
Fernández Repetto and Negroe Sierra (1997: 8).
492
4.4 Backstage or Latent Dimensions
More than 70 years ago Redfield and Villa Ro-
jas (1934: 111) stated in their classic monograph,
“Chan Kom. A Maya Village,” that the Yucatec-
Maya of that time saw crosses everywhere in their
natural surroundings. The same holds true for the
people of the present study, even though Maya
culture is clearly changing under the impact of
North American influence and globalization. This
change brings considerable uncertainty. Arguably,
the Quintana Roo-Maya continue practicing their
forefathers’ religion, albeit transformed, because
not only is the future uncertain but the present as
well. The reduction of Maya power by the Span-
ish led to various revitalization movements with
the Social War of 1847 being the most prominent.
These political struggles have continued in rela-
tion to the Mexican nation-state; indeed, the ritu-
alization activities of the gremio pilgrimage serve
to mediate anxieties generated in the clash be-
tween local and global interests. “Ritualization,”
as used by Astor-Aguilera, incorporates a sense
of nonroutine solidarity production, situational to
specific circumstances, that relate personal expe-
riences through cultural activities as manifest in
individual agency, practice, and symbolic inter-
pretation that seek to transform and thus gener-
ate specific outcomes.14 * Ritual production, in this
manner, then, is capable of generating the kind
of experience which Murphy (1971) said bridges
“the contradiction between norm and action and
mediate[s] the alienation of man from his fel-
low man.”
The pervasiveness of indigenous Maya cosmol-
ogy in this gremio pilgrimage is readily apparent
to Catholic priests in this region of Yucatán, some
of whom have confided to Astor-Aguilera that they
would rather the “pagan” Maya crosses go away.
The condemning view of one priest was expressed
as follows: “These Maya seem to be chained to
ancient customs and those that do not demonstrate
that tendency upfront do the same once the back
is turned.” Despite their generally censorious atti-
tudes, some clergy acknowledge that perhaps non-
Catholic traditional Maya customs serve as a form
of cultural coherence or resistance and, for this rea-
son, they will often look away and ignore those
practices with which they disagree. Another rea-
son the Catholic priests tend to ignore what they
perceive as pagan Indian religious practice is that
the Maya are many and the clergy are few. Fur-
14 See Bell (1992: 92, 140f.), Klass (1995; 32), and Monaghan
(1998).
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenpa
thermore, the Catholic priests are well aware that
the outbreak of the Social War of Yucatán occurre
in and around these same Maya communities. At a
latent or unconscious level, then, gremios opp°se
the hegemony of the dominant Mexican society’
however, opposition, or what scholars often tern1
“resistance,” is usually a culturally coherent practi
cal logic based on the quotidian concerns of the day
(Fernández Repetto 1984; 84f., 1988: 37-48).
Several key social dynamics characterize m
Maya participants in the pilgrimage to Xokeo-
1) despite their proximity to urban towns, they are
not passive recipients of state, national, or glot>
influences but rather selectively accept or reject ex-
ternal ideas and technologies; 2) rather than disin
tegrating through complete assimilation into Me-*
ican society, they conduct their daily existence /
what they consider their traditional mode of h
(anthropological debate of the term “tradition3
notwithstanding); and 3) wage work often
fuels
----------------o/,-----D- -------------- foj,
rather than diminishes the prominence of May31
tivals by providing increasingly larger funds tn
were previously available. While the above dynaI^
ics do not go entirely unnoticed by casual observ
in nearby towns like Valladolid, the compl6*1
of the pilgrimage experience is best understo0
through direct participation in its rituals and de
Ived 111
immersion in the daily lives of those invo
the event.
di'
Values placed upon pilgrimage practice are
chotomized by mainstream Mexican society 1
what is “good” and what is “bad” for the Ma^’
with the latter implying social-psychological
riers to change. Yet, these processes have m
ent paradoxes in that external influences may^
accepted through a process of internalization \
domestication, that is, making another’s sym
one’s own. Some traditional practices are not ea^jy
eradicated because the Catholic clergy histone
“allowed” them in order to facilitate conversion,
this regard, an interesting parallel exists bet ^
Maya and Andean crosses. As with the May3’
dean pre-Columbian cosmologies were subtly
tegrated within the context of Roman Cathoh
ligious expression. According to Urton (19“U, -n,
104), the colonial Catholic clergy’s own limit®
terest and presence in some communities al^eI-e-
central Andean elements to be retained and, ^
fore, are presently visible in rain-bringing
val ritual cycles. In the Andean communitieS^aj
cial cooperation is essential not only for com ^
water management practices supporting ag 0f
ture but also for the ritual-symbolic movem^ ^
agriculture-linked crosses which represent r ^
hail through a linking of the cruciform ic°n
103.20°8
Anthropos
493
Sparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
lntersecting axes of the heavens (Urton 1981: 129-
J5°; 1990: 107).
The Andean crosses are strikingly similar in
^Uction to Maya crosses used for rain petitions.
, Moreover, and paralleling the social cooperation in
lri(%enous Andean communities, gremios in Yu-
Catan are used by the Maya for their own purposes
rpther than those intended by the Catholic Church
emândez Repetto and Negroe Sierra 1997: 5).
\aya pilgrimages may not be employed con-
Sc'°usly to defuse Catholic, state, and federal hege-
JjJonies. However, resistance occurs nonetheless
r°ugh sheer persistence of certain ritual forms
cnd practices. As Bonfil Batalla (1996: 10) has
^mented regarding Mexico’s indigenous peo-
Ples’ way of life;
We
a c°nstantly have in front of us a material vestige,
a ^ay °f feeling and doing certain things, a name, a food,
ace. ah 0f these things reiterate the dynamic continu-
y °r what has been created here over many centuries.
liv-SlStance at tpL*s ^eve^’ then, is a matter of people
j^lng as their parents have lived. Today’s young
.a^a’ however, are likely to become more formally
seated about their past and present history and
^ Us- As more Maya become educated, engage in
f work, and are exposed to other religions, their
tUfes are not as clear.15
Southern Chipewyan: The Patuanak
^grimage
S.l
Historical Origins
c^e Catholic mission in northern Saskatchewan de-
tUr ralized hs operations in the early 20th cen-
gap an^ Personnel based at ile-a-la-Crosse be-
ahd Jrilnistering to groups of Chipewyan, Cree,
0f Wietis in far-flung locales creating a network
churches staffed with itinerant priests.16
§U severai small villages occupied by the En-
tile f ^Ver Band of Chipewyan, Patuanak received
ther ?rcePul attention of the Oblate missionary Fa-
h0odLouis Moraud. He was ordained to the priest-
in , ln 1913 and arrived in northern Saskatchewan
5q Which of Moraud’s career over the next
thf. T^ars w°uld be spent working and living among
he E"glish River Chipewyan.
*5 ' —
the laCant soclal ancl economic changes are now affecting
“taiweart>y t0Wn pepPe Carillo Puerto where the so-called
S0rn cross” supposedly first appeared,
fop 6 t^le material in this section appeared in preliminary
’n Jarvenpa (1990). The present version has been up-
and reorganized for comparative purposes.
16
Aathr,
°Pos 103.2008
As a priest, Moraud was widely admired by
his fellow clergy and his congregation for his sin-
gle-minded devotion to ecclesiastical work and
for his ascetic life. However, his vigilant suppres-
sion of native magico-religious practices, coupled
with a vigorous monitoring of Christian vices such
as gambling and drinking, alienated some parish-
ioners. The conflict was most profoundly felt in
the negative sanctions he applied to traditional rit-
uals of respect for slain animals. Violations of the
delicate material-spiritual reciprocity between hu-
mans and caribou or moose were always a se-
rious matter, and such violations could be exac-
erbated by priestly interference. After Moraud’s
death, these negative feelings were largely over-
shadowed by reverential feelings and the develop-
ment of a lore that romanticizes the priest’s life
of hardships, mishaps, and alleged “miraculous”
powers.17
The Chipewyan were touched by Moraud’s de-
sire to be buried on Patuanak church property ad-
jacent to their reserve. After his death on July 29,
1965 the priest’s grave became something of a
shrine, its physical presence symbolizing the man’s
continuing relationship with the community. The
people began observing the anniversary of Mo-
raud’s death, but what had been ostensibly a sim-
ple commemoration quickly evolved, by the mid-
1970s, into a rather complex ceremonial occasion
known colloquially as the “feast for Father Mo-
raud” or the “Patuanak pilgrimage.”
Father Moraud’s death marked an important
transition in the community. The late 1960s and
early 1970s were a time when many Chipewyan
families abandoned small outlying villages and
gravitated toward new houses, a school, and other
services emerging in Patuanak. Such changes were
fueled primarily by a dramatic rise in transfer pay-
ments from the federal government (Indian Af-
fairs Branch) to the English River Band (cur-
rently known as the English River First Nation).
Gravel road access to the settlement was pro-
vided in the late 1970s paralleling the appearance
of new uranium mining developments in northern
Saskatchewan. Young Chipewyan are part of the
commuter labor pool in this industry, which is
changing the complexion of consumer habits and
general social life in northern Saskatchewan. The
historically familiar subsistence-commercial econ-
17 Ironically, Moraud is fondly remembered for his ability in
“talking” to birds, perhaps striking responsive chords in
the Chipewyan’s conception of animals as spiritual allies.
Accounts of his traversing perilously thin ice or plummeting
through treacherous rapids unscathed, among other feats,
have achieved epic status.
494
omy, based upon seasonally nomadic teams of
hunter-fishermen, persists but in a less pervasive
fashion.18
5.2 Social Context
The Patuanak pilgrimage is one of several annual
festivals which have emerged in Upper Churchill
communities and serve to integrate people from an
extensive region. Most of these occur during the
summer months when economic activity is at low
ebb. At that time many families find themselves in
a state of perpetual travel by skiff, bush plane, and
truck to various recreational festivals and religious
pilgrimages.
By the end of the third week of July, Patuanak
residents are well primed for the pilgrimage expe-
rience since many of them participate in an annual
trek to Lac Sainte Anne in the neighboring province
of Alberta, the site of a Roman Catholic mis-
sion since 1843 (Simon 1995: 10-12). For many
decades it has been the locus of miracles. The sum-
mer pilgrimage there draws thousands of people
from a large catchment area including much of
Alberta and Saskatchewan but also extending to
the Northwest Territories, Manitoba, and beyond.
Nearly 20% of Patuanak’s residents may travel to
Lac Sainte Anne in some years. A long, tiring jour-
ney by bus caravan is simultaneously penitential
and celebratory and is part of the attraction. Typ-
ically, these pilgrims are middle-aged or elderly
Chipewyan. However, they are becoming disillu-
sioned about a perceived decline in healing “mir-
acles” and an increasing secularization and tawdri-
ness in behavior.
The relative novelty, isolation, and small scale of
the Patuanak pilgrimage contrast sharply with Lac
Sainte Anne and make it particularly attractive to its
adherents. While the climax of this event generally
falls on July 29th, the pilgrimage proceedings begin
three to five days earlier with the return of local
residents from Lac Sainte Anne and the arrival of
visiting pilgrims from native communities through-
out northern Saskatchewan. Especially prominent
are Chipewyan from nearby communities such as
Dillon who travel by motorized skiff and, in recent
years, by truck. Chipewyan from more distant set-
18 Presently Patuanak contains over 800 Chipewyan residents,
and nearly three-quarters of them have federal Treaty status.
A somewhat transient “service-oriented” class of about a
dozen White residents is associated with a Hudson’s Bay
Company store (bought out by Northern Stores Ltd. in the
late 1980s), a government-supported school, the Catholic
Church, and a health clinic.
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenp
dements, such as Portage La Loche, Tumor Lake.
Black Lake, and Wollaston Lake, are also heaV! ^
represented. These people most often journey dj
chartered bush planes. Also, there is a sizeable con
tingent of Cree and Metis-Cree pilgrims traveling
by skiff and tmck from the nearby Churchill Riye
communities of ile-a-la-Crosse, Buffalo Narrows.
Beauval, and Pinehouse Lake. t
The arrival process itself is a significant, am
informal part of pilgrimage drama. The bustle
converging bush planes, skiffs, and pickup true
creates an air of excitement and tension. Patuan ^
residents greet relatives and friends they have ^
seen in years or, in some instances, decades-
sense of spectacle emerges as the waterfront a
center of the settlement are inundated with vehic
Some visitors are given lodging in the houses
local acquaintances, but most pilgrims are equipPe^
with tents, bedrolls, and cooking paraphernalia
sprawling tent village soon encircles the chn
grounds and adjacent areas of the Patuanak rese
easily doubling the local population, from a
600 to 1,200 people, for example, in the late 19
Before the culminating day of the pilgrifl^
there is little sense of urgency or formality- 1
viduals and family groups sporadically walk to
church grounds where they pray for Father ^
raud’s guidance and assistance at the latter’s grd. Q
Occasionally, groups of elderly pilgrims meet a
grave site for evening prayer and hymn sesSl ,
Nonetheless, the bulk of each day is spent in ra u
restrained but pervasive socializing on the cn
grounds or near the Hudson’s Bay Company s ^
Middle aged and elderly pilgrims often seek ^g
other out in the shaded sides of houses and G
to relive past experiences and to share the n^
and gossip of recent times. Where such gather^^
are culturally mixed, conversation tends to be
ducted in the common medium of Cree, historlC
a lingua franca between Indians in this area-
A few entrepreneurial individuals from ^
nak have attempted to capitalize on the p°Pul ,,eJ
influx with food concessions. These have m . jft
picnic-style lunches on a back stoop, a ma ^ a
hamburger stand, soda sold from the bac ^ ^.fg
pickup truck, and similar operations. Althoug 0f
and markets have been conspicuous e^emf/fjjdle
Catholic-oriented pilgrimages since the gS
Ages (Turner 1974: 187 f.), the ephemeral ^u^te a
efforts of Patuanak residents do not const|iarlg6-
bazaar or well-organized arena of native eX^
Instead, the church itself maintains contro *
area. The most prominent and well-manag
grimage concession is a booth on church g
selling Catholic religious paraphernalia. 1
103-200«
Anthropos
Co:
'^Paring Indigenous Pilgrimages
^°es a brisk business in medallions, pendants, but-
tons
necklaces, bracelets, and framed photographs
0 Pope. Catalog mail orders are taken for more
ex°tic wares.
, Pilgrims consciously recognize and endorse a
eightened sense of communion. Echoing the com-
ets of many of his companions during the 1975
^grimage, a Chipewyan visitor from the village
y billon observed: “Here people treat you right,
nu can go in anybody’s house, ask for anything,
ney give ^ y0U Share everything.” The clergy
as similar views, and while pleased by the in-
cased visibility and involvement of the church
this time, it underplays its own role while em-
Sizing grassroots forces. For example, during
e 1980 pilgrimage one of several visiting priests
0riunented:
'J'Lj
f ls Pilgrimage is the peoples’ idea. Yes, they started this
-[y father Moraud. Look at all the people gathered here.
^ l°ve to gather together like this. It is their greatest
thi J^ar^’ '-heir hospitality. When they get together like
y S’ tt doesn’t matter who you are, where you are from.
te°u are welcome. You are welcome in any house, in any
■ The people really enjoy this.
^rgUably, the camaraderie and mildly festive at-
c °sPhere, which pervade the Patuanak pilgrimage,
uprise a kind of spontaneous communitas in the
ha§Se meant hy Turner (1974: 169). Perhaps this
a n°t been fully or successfully transformed into
htore socially organized normative communitas.
h J'pl /-V»- 1 • 1 . r* , • 1
chnfl
relevance here is an element of generational
pro lct regarding the kinds of social activity ap-
Un'^riate ^urln§ pilgrimage time. In the interethnic
£yVerse of the Upper Churchill region, Patuanak
tic!PeWyan are known as rather conservative rus-
hus^” Indians and as hardworking churchgoing
eXa^6 ^arvenPa 1982a: 294). Patuanak elders, for
aj *pP^e’ have a reputation for strictness regarding
tl°^Use’ at ^east in °lhcial contexts. Their views
°n on character of a general proscription
inking during the days of the pilgrimage.19
aht r*n^lng still occurs, however, particularly
c0v°n£ Parties of young men. Yet, it is highly
atteert‘ Some adolescents and young adults may
lw PjPt to organize evening dances as a way of
sprung the festive atmosphere in Patuanak, but
offi'.Plans are often thwarted by elders and band
kecClals who often receive support from the clergy.
ther7lng their own personal experiences with Fa-
^oraud and his restraints on behavioral ex-
g recent years members of Alcoholics Anonymous have or-
¡n 12ed meetings, with mixed success, during the pilgrimage
°rder to disseminate their message to a large audience.
495
cess, Chipewyan elders want to promote an air of
somberness in keeping with these memories.
Given the foregoing account, it might appear
that Patuanak pilgrims are journeying toward the
sacral and away from the secular. This is expressed
as an ideal, but it is selectively applied. There is no
attempt to abstain from one of the esteemed pas-
times of the middle aged and elderly, bingo. Bois-
terous, celebratory sessions of bingo attract hun-
dreds of pilgrims during the evening hours. Such
activity is tolerantly condoned by the priests who
comment jokingly about having to compete with
“high bingo.” Sacral and secular elements are in-
deed intertwined, but not in an atmosphere devoid
of dissension. Following Fade and Sallnow (1991),
such conflict might be seen as different visions of
or “competing discourses” about the pilgrimage.
While this interpretation has merit, debates about
festivity and levity also reflect a growing gener-
ational divide within the Chipewyan community
generally.
Other developments suggest movement toward
a more structured and harmonious normative com-
munitas. As with other Upper Churchill recreation-
al festivals, the Patuanak pilgrimage is a form of
mass social contact between Chipewyan and Cree.
These mass visitations are significant because they
occur during periods of publicly sanctioned good
will and, thereby, provide a likely context within
which specific kinds of Chipewyan-Cree coopera-
tive relations play out. This is the case regarding
magico-medicinal curing services. The Patuanak
pilgrimage has become a recognized stopping place
for at least one Cree “medicine man” {manitukasiu
in Cree), and the Chipewyan eagerly await his ar-
rival. They openly express what they feel is Cree
superiority in magical and medicinal knowledge.
Accordingly, a beneficial patron-client system has
developed with itinerant Cree curers receiving pay-
ment from Chipewyan patients for the treatment
of illness (Jarvenpa 1982a: 291-293). These trans-
actions are part of a larger system of interethnic
exchange and identity maintenance which depends
upon the complementarity of cultural differences,
in the sense meant by Barth (1969: 15-19).
Despite the Catholic clergy’s censorious attitude
toward other areas of native religion, they tolerate
the institution of medicine men, curers, and divin-
ers. In part, this may be because the Indian peo-
ple themselves do not view “Cree medicine” or
“old Indian medicine” (jiedi in Chipewyan), as it is
sometimes called, as something incompatible with
or mutually exclusive of other kinds of health care.
They readily avail themselves of Western medicine,
surgery, and medical facilities and, of course, make
AtHh,
r°Pos 103.2008
496
annual pilgrimages to the sites of healing miracles.
Moreover, the church’s reputation is usually en-
hanced by the modality of the miraculous. During
the 1979 pilgrimage an elderly blind Chipewyan
woman from Wollaston Lake had her sight restored
after assembled pilgrims prayed and sang in her
behalf for a full day at the Moraud grave site. Emo-
tionally moved pilgrims quickly spread the news
throughout the community, prefaced by the an-
nouncement: “It’s a miracle! It’s a miracle!” The
episode served to confirm the efficacy and sanc-
tity of Father Moraud, Moraud’s grave, the church
property, and the pilgrimage in general.
5.3 Ceremonial Climax
Catholic clergymen are present throughout the pil-
grimage, but they maintain a relatively low pro-
file for the first few days, conducting rosaries and
evening masses in the church. They become more
visible on the final and climactic day, July 29th,
when a large outdoor mass conducted at Father Mo-
raud’s grave site becomes the focal point and culmi-
nation of the event. On this significant and solemn
day, the local resident priest who normally services
the Patuanak congregation will be assisted by other
priests from the region and the bishop of the dis-
trict, centered in The Pas, Manitoba. Notably, the
bishop adopts a somewhat proprietary attitude to-
ward the proceedings, perhaps understanding and
hoping to foster the kind of intense relationship that
wedded Moraud and his followers.
The bustle of the promenade ceases on this final
day. By noon many pilgrims begin assembling on
the church grounds where they talk quietly in small
groups. A long queue forms outside the nearby
priests’ house to present confessions prior to re-
ceiving Communion at the mass. Many pilgrims
have forsaken everyday work clothes and arrive
for the final mass in formal attire reserved for
such occasions. Middle aged and elderly people
wear beaded moosehide jackets and vests, Siwash
sweaters, old wool suits, cotton print dresses, and
the like. Younger pilgrims prefer stylish jeans, dress
slacks, western shirts and boots, and full-skirted
pastel dresses.
Ushers and their assistants begin hauling pews
outside the church near the rear of the build-
ing where a large log canopy covers Father Mo-
raud’s grave. A few pews are placed directly under
the canopy to accommodate an organist, a small
group of Chipewyan hymn singers, elderly and en-
feebled pilgrims, and the clergy. Remaining pews
are situated outside the canopy, but most pilgrims
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenp
sit contentedly on the ground in a large setnicircte
oriented toward the grave. By midaftemoon hun
dreds of people have amassed at the grave slte'
This is a visually dramatic formation in local terro^
The spectacle adds to the momentousness of 1
occasion. The atmosphere is latent with expec-
tation.
• u flS"
At this point it is customary for a bishop,
sisted by two or three priests, to initiate the
with an opening prayer and announcements de
ered in Chipewyan, Cree, and English. An °Pen1^
hymn follows, sung in Chipewyan and enthustas
cally led by elders of the Patuanak church. Hy
singing is, perhaps, among the most pleasura
aspect of church and pilgrimage life for many Ch "
ewyan and Cree alike. It is an omnipresent fea^
of the caravans journeying toward Patuanak a
other pilgrimage sites. The often repeated reri ^
“Ave, Ave, Ave Maria!,” has a euphoric effect^
the large crowd. Following in quick succession ^
two sets of scripture readings. One is offered j
priest and the other by a local resident, and t
are punctuated by hymns.
The drama of the mass is heightened oq
delivery of the bishop’s sermon. During the A
pilgrimage, in an effort to crystallize the mea .
of the moment, he appealed to analogies a
memorialism:
th6
We go to the grave of the Unknown Soldier because ^
brave fighting men gave their lives in the war so p.
be free. People gather at the grave of President i°^ ^
Kennedy because he was a great leader, and he st0° 0f
peace and dignity. And today we gather at the gr
Father Moraud because he stands for God and he an
for you! His life he gave for you. When he was a
his thoughts were of you, his people. At night he di g6
of you because that’s how much he loved you. • • & af6 a
you are a creation of God. This is a miracle. T°u^ ^
miracle! ... So you must believe in miracles, a1
are here today to give praise to the miracle ot
Moraud’s love for you and God’s love of you.
The attending priests offer additional rneS^^ies
sometimes insightfully codifying universal t
about the relationship between sacrifice an ,e?
munitas. During the 1979 pilgrimage, for exa
one of the priests observed:
- j
Getting together this way is good ano ^aIlt in
Throughout history pilgrimages have been imp0 ^jjjg
Christian life, and it’s good because it gives
of brotherhood and a new awareness of God ^ g0od
Christ. And traveling a long way to come here is ^ p0t
thing too. It would not be a real pilgrimage if t0 ¿o,
feel tired and hungry, eh? If it was something eaS
it would not be a real pilgrimage.
103
.2008
Anthropos
£
0rnparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
After such messages are delivered in the three
^cal languages, additional prayers and hymns fol-
^ interrupted momentarily by the collection of
. nerings. Four ushers, prominent Chipewyan men
the Patuanak church, distribute the collection
°askets. These men also serve as general crowd
^°ntrol specialists throughout the ceremony, direct-
§ Pilgrims to appropriate seats, rounding up stray
§s, and subduing boisterous children. Moreover,
ese same individuals assist the bishop and his
Slslants in the final ritual of the mass, the receiv-
§ of Communion. Under ordinary circumstances
People here are eager to receive the sacrament.
°Wever, hundreds of anxious pilgrims can create
iogistical bottleneck. To accommodate this Com-
union rush, several parallel queues are arranged
ore a phalanx of priests who simultaneously ad-
nister the sacramental wafers,
to Ihe conclusion of the mass is only a prelude
most profound moment of the pilgrimage.
0£ e ckmax arrives as people crowd into the back
the log canopy to be near Father Moraud. His
Sacred
and its immediate environs constitute the
epicenter of the Patuanak pilgrimage. The
^ave is an unprepossessing site marked by a tubu-
steel, railing and surrounded by glistening white
e 11a hauled from a nearby lakeshore. More point-
r /’ the focus of attention is a large commemo-
p Plaque replete with a bas-relief likeness of
ner Moraud. Even though most pilgrims have
ty- e(i the shrine every day, this last visit is filled
ic ernotional intensity. Normal reserve and ret-
are dropped as Pe°ple approach the figure
ha i°raud- They lay their hands upon the bronzed
ka GS plailue- In this manner each pilgrim
eYesS a^nst Father Moraud’s image and, with
qu- elosed tightly in concentration, whispers a
tan • praYer- Some achieve an ecstatic state by this
Phg1^6 grasping of Moraud’s essence or power.
Tansmission is completed in a few seconds,
the n Pers°n crosses himself before relinquishing
^P°t to others.
the ^ encounter with Father Moraud signals
c0ntend °1 the pilgrimage for many people. Others
the nnUe to crowcl about the grave site and observe
thejr ev°tions of fellow pilgrims. Yet others focus
shri attentl°n on a portable feature of the grave
perae’ a small table displaying some of Moraud’s
arn0 nal effects: eyeglasses, hymnbook, and bible,
hej(j ^ others. These relics are gently touched and
***** immersed intensely in prayer. Another
Sanct-f?ant feature of the grave site, and perhaps
^lecl ^ sheer context, are large washtubs
jars .Wltk holy water. An assortment of canning
’ P astic bottles, thermos jugs, and other vessels
497
are filled by pilgrims who later use the water in their
homes for healing and good fortune.
As people depart the grave site the pilgrimage
is effectively at an end. The pilgrims feel renewed,
and their exodus from Patuanak is rapid and dra-
matic. Tents are quickly collapsed, and the com-
munity is enveloped in dust and clamor as trucks,
skiffs, and bush planes simultaneously move out.
The feast for Father Moraud is over for another
year.
5.4 Backstage or Latent Dimensions
However imperfectly or incompletely, the Patua-
nak pilgrimage exhibits both liminality and com-
munitas in the broad sense meant by Turner. In-
terethnic tensions and intercommunity rivalries are
suspended during a sacred time of fellowship. Pil-
grims leave behind a secular world of travails and
sinfulness and, by approaching Moraud’s center of
power, move toward a state of at least temporary re-
demption and renewal. Patuanak’s peripherality, far
removed from Canadian centers of political power
and ecclesiastical authority, is characteristic of pil-
grimage loci in other areas, including Xokén in
Yucatán, Mexico. Such peripherality is a spatial di-
mension of the liminality found in rites of passage
(Turner 1974: 192, 197). Even in the context of
northwestern Saskatchewan, Patuanak is a remote
and somewhat obscure destination. Thus, Indian
pilgrims deriving from elsewhere may be seen as
journeying toward a sort of “limen” or “threshold.”
Nonetheless, the pilgrimage can become an are-
na in which intracommunity schism is expressed.
This tendency may explain why a transition from
a spontaneous toward a more socially organized
normative communitas is not easily achieved. On
the one hand, there is a desire to avoid the sec-
ularly of larger, more established pilgrimages or,
more specifically, to eliminate those secular ele-
ments associated with social disintegration, such as
excessive drinking and violence. On the other hand,
the development of ethical codes and legal rules for
furthering social control is not readily attained in
a community with diffuse leadership. Despite the
presence of elected governments in both Treaty and
non-Treaty segments of the community, a strong
tradition of Chipewyan consensuality and indepen-
dence prevails in the decision making of adults.
Rather than directly controlling the pilgrim-
age community, therefore, elders, band officials,
and other parties attempt to enlist the influence
of church officials. In this manner, the clergy has
gained de facto authority over many aspects of
Anthr,
°P°s 103.2008
498
the pilgrimage. This might seem logically consis-
tent for all concerned since the event’s overt rai-
son d'être, Moraud himself, was of the Church.
However, as we have seen, the clergy is caught
between pressures for expanding its control and its
own characterization of the pilgrimage as a native
product created by and for local people. This con-
tradiction may be appropriately symbolic of a large
share of Indian-Eurocanadian relations.
While more systematic information is needed re-
garding the social composition and conscious mo-
tives of participants, the Patuanak pilgrimage sup-
ports some of Turner’s ideas about the tension be-
tween obligation and choice, and its connection to
liminality, in “pre-state” or “pre-industrial” soci-
ety. The latter must be broadly conceived here, of
course, to encompass subarctic hunting bands that
have been more or less integrated into an industrial
state organization in recent history. On the surface,
the Patuanak pilgrimage is a voluntaristic experi-
ence. Individuals choose to make the journey or
refrain in any given year. Although Patuanak res-
idents are already in situ they may decide as indi-
viduals to expand or contract their involvement in
the proceedings. In view of the event’s short his-
tory, it is not surprising that an obligatory sense of
pilgrimage is weakly developed. Yet, voluntarism
of this kind does not mean that individual salvation
is the only or even the primary motivating factor for
participation.
Many pilgrims are indeed seeking personal re-
demption or relief from illness and other problems.
However, many also pray in behalf of relatives and
acquaintances. There is also an implicit understand-
ing that the pilgrimage is a collection of “families”
rather than individuals. Nuclear and extended fam-
ily units, especially from nearby settlements, travel
and camp together thereby reconstituting, if not re-
newing, their social existence. Indeed, the position-
ing of tents often reflects the arrangement of house-
holds in encampments or villages from which pil-
grims derive. An important social matrix is main-
tained in the midst of an otherwise fluid, ephemeral
aggregation. Divisive elements that may exist under
ordinary circumstances are suppressed so that the
nurturing propensities of families are emphasized.
The good will of such families is transferred to the
pilgrimage community at large, metaphorically the
“big family” within which one expects to give and
receive support. Of course, these forces are tem-
pered by the special tension between the clergy and
laity. As we have seen, the former quietly promotes
the pilgrimage as an extension of its own interests
but not to the extent of formally prescribing modes
of participation. The latter, as ongoing creators of
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenp
a novel devotional form, are establishing their
tradition of attendance and participation which i°
lows some Church protocol but ultimately depen
upon the proclivities and social chemistry of doze
of Chipewyan, Cree, and Métis families. Stated arl^
other way, the Patuanak pilgrimage operates at
intersection of voluntary and obligatory principe8’
The arguments assembled thus far also lend snp
port to Turner’s conception of pilgrimages as qu^
for communitas in situations where the self h ^
become alienated from community. The recent a
relatively rapid transition from self-employed c°
mercial and subsistence hunting families to indiv
ualized contractual wage labor in road construct!
and mining is having a profound impact upon
social and ethical constitution of the southern Cn V
ewyan, especially the younger generation. Co
mitments to one extended family, or to the lar&
universe of one’s bilateral kindred or silot’ine,
seem nebulous and less binding than the rewa
for maximizing one’s own prestige and econo
security in the regional labor market (Jarve V
2004). Seen in this light, the pilgrimage becoh1^
a form of collective resistance to the fragmc11
forces of economic change and a celebration o ^
solidarity of families, kindreds, villages, and la t>
networks of people. jts
There is a compelling ingenuity in this quest'^e
cultural creativity may be seen, for example, in
way that the pilgrimage reactivates and corno ^
structural forms from the recent historical past-
a bustling summer tent community, the pdf ts
age site physically and kinetically resurrects slf ^
sounds, and aromas associated with three fad11
socio-settlement forms:
1) Regional band aggregations of Chip,eW^a§
and Cree at summer fishing stations. This
the primary means, for example, by which s
ern Chipewyan families, kindreds, and local
reaffirmed themselves as a collectivity, as N
hot’ine.
at
2) Annual trade gatherings of native farm ie^
the HBC headquarters in île-à-la-Crosse. Thro ^
most of the 19th century this cosmopolitan |;r*Ljp'
post community accommodated hundreds ot
ewyan and Cree during the summer months. n
3) Religious education meetings at the K ^alf
Catholic mission in Île-à-la-Crosse. For the la ^
of the 19th century, Chipewyan, Cree, and ntg
alike assembled in large summer tent encamp
for eight days of devotional instruction by Pr^jy of
These aggregations were not always spat1 ^
temporally discrete. As the fur trade dec i
the 20th century, and as both mission ^
ing institutions decentralized their ope
ratim18’
103
_2008
Anthropos
Q
^Paring Indigenous Pilgrimages
d*an groups became less mobile and the massive 6 Discussion
^mmer tent encampments withered. Older people
°ndly recall these encampment experiences, how-
^er> and they see their positive qualities recast in
ae pilgrimage: scores of tents situated on a good
ash-
499
lng lake, family hearths abounding with cook-
lrl§ game and a perpetual supply of tea, the luxury
t, ^isure and unhurried conversation with friends,
e spectacle of seldom-seen travelers from distant
Stories, and the expectation of novel encounters
4h whites.
The pilgrimage is, therefore, culturally syncretic
?r hybridic. It resonates with the three historically
miliar socio-settlement forms and, in effect, pro-
°tes three common types of liminal disengage-
ent: festivity, trade, and solemnity (Turner 1974:
1). The festive and trade aspects have been rather
a |"akly developed thus far. It remains to be seen if
alance in these three foci emerges in the future.
The following table provides a tabular comparison
of the key dynamics of the Maya and Chipewyan
pilgrimages. Ensuing discussion highlights major
differences and similarities as a means of drawing
broad implications about pilgrimages as social pro-
cesses.
6.1 Developmental Trajectories
Immediately apparent is the immense difference in
time depth. The Maya pilgrimage to Xoken appears
to have it roots in communicating cross rituals at
Ghuumuk Lu’um sometime in the late Postclassic
period (i.e., A.D. 1200-1530). Whether or not it
was reconfigured in a more contemporary form
during the Social War of 1847 is an open question.
fable-
e: Comparison of Maya and Chipewyan Pilgrimage Dynamics.
^catec-Maya
Hi
Southern Chipewyan
lst°rical Origins
C]°stclassic Ixta Maya pilgrimages to ancient stone stela-
°Ss at site of Chuumuk Lu’um
^Cia' Context
vdfy February gathering of Quintana Roo Maya at
°ken ynrofxn
l> Yucatán
CoP"nsorship of festival days rotated among participating
^mmunities
frjplntenance °f regional intervillage solidarity and
adships
hgj-4'
tr()ri rrnance of world renewal rite focused on rain pa-
rities, via veneration of the Kruz Tun or stela-
eatu
cee(J0llc clergy often condemnatory of pilgrimage pro-
ngs
bj
°nial Climax
uanCe „
to (¡f or Pig’s Head to feed and unwind energy fed
°ne cross
kstage or Latent Dimensions
• ItUral •
itiif., 1 resistance to Catholic church, state and national
l StS
tigfir^ati°n and expression of social capital and pres-
:xPreSsi
Ssi°n of Maya identity
Historical Origins
1965 commemoration of Catholic missionary’s death at
Patuanak
Social Context
3-to 5-day July gathering of Chipewyan, Cree, and
Métis at village of Patuanak
Pilgrimage hosted by Patuanak Chipewyan community
Renewal of regional intervillage and interethnic ties and
relationships
Arena for Chipewyan-Cree magico-medicinal services,
praying for Father Moraud’s assistance, anticipation of
miraculous cures
Presence of Catholic clergy low-key but strongly sup-
portive of proceedings
Ceremonial Climax
Final mass and receipt of Father Moraud’s power at lat-
ter’s grave
Backstage or Latent Dimensions
Resistance to socially fragmenting effects of recent eco-
nomic change
Resurrection of historical socio-settlement forms and
syncretism of Catholic orthodoxy with indigenous cul-
tural themes
Reassessment of foundations of Chipewyan identity
Atahr,
°P°s 103.2008
500
Even so, this pilgrimage, or its antecedent form,
has no less than 500 years of historical develop-
ment. Its longevity and pronounced evocation of
indigenous cosmology and religious practice make
the Xoken experience an emphatically Maya per-
formance. Aside from the usage “gremio,” and the
staging of some rituals in church facilities, the
Xoken pilgrimage seems to operate with the very
thinnest veneer of Catholicism. The fact that this
veneer exists, however, including the occasional
disparaging commentary of Catholic priests, is a
significant oppositional dynamic.
By contrast, the Patuanak pilgrimage has less
than 50 years of development. Indeed, it honors
a missionary who was known personally by most
middle-aged and elderly participants in the pro-
ceedings. Many of the overt trappings of the event,
such as Father Moraud’s grave shrine, prayer and
hymn sessions, rosaries, and masses held in the
local church, coupled with the approving presence
of visiting priests, exemplify an essentially Roman
Catholic event which happens to serve a subarctic
Indian audience. The clergy itself has gained de
facto control over many facets of the event despite
its own characterization of the pilgrimage as an in-
digenous product, created by and for local people.
Here Catholicism is more than a veneer. It is a sig-
nificant part of daily religious practice woven into
the tapestry of contemporary Chipewyan culture.
Nonetheless, it would be erroneous to conclude
that the Chipewyan are passive recipients of official
Catholic doctrine or interests.
6.2 Accessing Power
For the Maya, the “Dance of the Pig’s Head” is
the culminating moment of their pilgrimage, when
energy is cautiously fed to and then unwound from
the stone cross to ensure cosmological balance at
the point of intersection where the rain patron enti-
ties converge. This world renewal ceremony is pro-
foundly social in context, whereby the community
of pilgrims is investing in its own survival as a peo-
ple by restoring and adjusting the forces of nature
and the cosmos.
For the Chipewyan, the final encounter with Fa-
ther Moraud is the climactic episode of their pil-
grimage. While the social context involves hun-
dreds of assembled guest-witnesses, the encounter
at Moraud’s grave becomes an individual quest as
each pilgrim enters the priest’s orbit of power to re-
ceive healing, redemption, or fortune. The physical
suffering of the sick, individual quests for healing,
and expectations of the miraculous are prominent
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenp
themes at many Christian pilgrimage shrines, alb^1
not well studied (Fade and Sallnow 1991:
These themes are evident in the Patuanak pilg11111
age as well, particularly at Moraud’s grave shrink
but they occur in a backdrop of indigenous magic°
medicinal curing services. Given Moraud’s vig°r^
ous suppression of indigenous spirituality dun e
his lifetime, this parallel discourse and practice
native healing becomes a counterpoint to and en
tique of the Catholic Church’s heavy-handed rms
sionizing history.
6.3 Identity Dynamics
The Xokén pilgrimage draws together Maya
vil'
east'
lagers from an extensive catchment area in ^
ern Yucatán and neighboring Quintana Ro° a ’
thereby, reestablishes social ties between these p ^
pie while reinforcing their regional identity aS ,g
Maya people. Identity in a larger pan-Maya senSCaj
also expressed by participation in the world rene^
rites centered upon the Kruz Tun or stone cross-
Similarly, the Patuanak pilgrimage socially in
grates people from a large catchment area of inh *
nous communities in northwestern Saskatche^
Here, however, expression of identity operate^
a more complex or nuanced fashion. The Chip ^
yan people of Patuanak are hosting a multitrm
multiethnic assemblage with guests deriving 1
various Chipewyan, Cree, and Métis commué1 „
In this context, identity as “Chipewyan” or
is underlined by sheer mass social contact ano J
taposition of locals and outsiders, of us and oi ^
and, more emphatically, by the complementan j ^
difference manifested in magico-medicinal cu
al'
services.
The massive summer tent encampment, t
though an historically familiar socio-settle
form, has also become in recent times a prin10 , jjj
characteristic of Chipewyan and Upper Chur^
pan-Indian identity. Recreating the summer ga ”
ing fundamentally distinguishes the “Chip6^^
or the “Indian” from all others and is,
a uniquely cultural interpretation of identity- ^
ever, these cultural meanings were genera
response to radical shifts in local social an
nomic circumstances produced by the №
missionization, government regulation ,f-eS of
fairs, and industrial development. As the read ^
everyday life change, Upper Churchill nativ ^
reassessing the cultural foundation of their i ait,
and this reassessment is being achieved, in^nCeS
through the encampment symbols and expe
of the Patuanak pilgrimage.
103.20°*
Anthropos
“Sparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
501
6.4
Modes of Resistance
n both cases, resistance to the hegemonies of colo-
niM institutions and the state are subtle, if not latent,
asPects of the pilgrimage experience. For the Maya,
^-option or “domestication” of key Catholic sym-
°is, such as the cross, facilitates the world re-
aewal rite which underscores their very identity as
a People, as Maya. In this sense, the pilgrimage to
A°ken is more resistance to than accommodation
Catholicism.
% the same token, increased wage labor em-
PMyment by some Maya provides the capital to in-
ÜSe the pilgrimage with more elaborate foodstuffs
materiel. In this manner, economic change is
Messed by the pilgrimage as a means of resisting
°r Meliorating the impact of that very change.
% comparison, the Patuanak pilgrimage is a
^ore syncretic or hybrid melding of indigenous
colonial European cultural traditions. Clearly,
e Chipewyan have accommodated and embraced
mer than resisted Catholicism. Resistance may
operating on another level, however. The sheer
p ^sical layout of the pilgrimage presents an in-
capable symbolism with its masses of Indian
j^nts Wedged between the Catholic church and the
udson’s Bay Company post. Inadvertent or other-
Se> this “sandwiching” of Indian between trader
a missionary visually captures a fundamental
e emrna of subarctic colonialism. For the Chip-
u ^an, it is a less than subtle reminder of their
^enviable history within HBC-Catholic Mission
ru§gles in the île-à-la-Crosse district. Viewed in
puerai structural terms (Lévi-Strauss 1967), the
primage symbolically recognizes and rejects the
a Moralizing legacy of colonialism and, thereby, is
c°nceptual means of coping with that dilemma.
Conclusion
Wp
ide knowledge that Turner and Turner’s (1978)
ev£as not apply to all pilgrimage action. How-
^ r’ pioneering framework remains among
qj most viable and broad-ranged for its study.
^a% ritual process, including communitas, is
-a thing of harmonious perfection. Predating and
ree1ClPating practice theories, Turner (1967: 271 f.)
beh°8nizeci ^at “society is a process” where certain
th;,avi0rs seldom observed or repeated may never-
tj0 ess be highly significant. Ultimately, then, no-
MaJ ^Hnnality, communitas, and anti-structure
see^ Serve the analysis of pilgrimage better when
ethn aS a Process- In working through our own
°§raphic materials we take this position. The
Xoken and Patuanak pilgrimages are best viewed as
an unfolding process rather than something fixed,
arrived at, or completed.
In a reflexive vein, yet compatible with the inte-
grative position we are advocating, Dubisch (2004:
113) reports that she experienced firsthand the emo-
tional aspects of pilgrimage, liminality, and com-
munitas, that she had previously only observed in
others. It is worth emphasizing here that Dubisch
(2004; 117) recognizes the foregoing dynamics
while not discounting the presence of “tensions
and conflicts.” Tanaka (1988: 21) also interprets
pilgrimage as an assuring behavior that alleviates
common human anxieties by strengthening cultural
bonds and accepted behaviors within particular
groups. And, in a related vein, Feldhaus (2003: 71)
notes that some pilgrimages in India are life fes-
tivals providing geographical areas with an inter-
nal identification, as well as a bringing together of
their villages, and that whatever rivalry exists still
“expresses the unity, however, contentious,” of the
greater region.
Keeping the foregoing insights in mind, tem-
pered by our understanding of the Xoken and Patu-
anak cases, we can return to our working definition
of pilgrimage offered earlier in the article: “a mul-
tiday large-scale (by local standards) ceremonial
event, often annual in occurrence, prescribed or not,
enacted out of devotion with varied motives, con-
sisting of nonlocal circulation by numerous indi-
viduals, to and from what may be considered so-
cioreligious space.” Our concern with circulation
“to and from” is meant to counter the notion that
pilgrimage ends once the pilgrims arrive at their
geographic goal. We have yet to examine system-
atically the return journeys of Xoken and Patua-
nak pilgrims to their diverse home communities, or
their varied preparations during the long interludes
between pilgrimages. However, the issue deserves
attention here as an important problem for future
pilgrimage research at large.20
At the same time, many researchers, ourselves
included, are aware of the multiplicity of responses
and experiences unfolding among individual pil-
grims. Some pilgrims experience profound per-
sonal change while others do not. Some may re-
new or express their faith. Some may strengthen
20 See Frey’s (2004: 95-99) argument for studying pilgrims’
preparations before initial departure as well as their return
or homeward trips. Since individual pilgrims will not share
a common home, of course, they cannot be studied en masse.
In a related vein, Coleman and Fade (2004) develop a “cul-
tures in motion” approach to pilgrimage life which focuses
pointedly upon the behavior and conventions of traveling
rather than upon the pilgrimage sites themselves.
502
their identity, and yet others may simply exhibit
gratitude for renewing or creating friendships. As
one of Astor-Aguilera’s consultants has confided in
discussing this anthropologist’s pilgrimage partici-
pation and recently, as of this writing, as cosponsor,
“We don’t fool ourselves that all interpersonal strife
is eliminated. Our joy in coming here and celebrat-
ing together is fleeting and sometimes superficial;
however this the case may be, what you witness and
feel is very important to us, working towards a com-
mon goal in bringing music and food to the Kruz
Tun makes us, including you, feel like family.” In
the end, it may be the shared communal experience,
per Turner and Turner’s (1978: 3-7, 250) most sig-
nificant aspect of liminality, its capacity to generate
communitas, and not so much religious incentives,
which emerges as the primary motivational factor
promoting pilgrimage. Nonetheless, the sheer com-
plexity and richness of pilgrimage life offer abun-
dant theoretical space for the coexistence of Turne-
rian communitas and Bade and Sallnow’s “compet-
ing discourses.” These will be employed most ef-
fectively as complementary rather than competing
or contradictory frameworks.
A departing thought, then, concerns the more
encompassing manifestations of liminality. Is the
pilgrimage part of an era of symbolic enrichment
which aids in the historical transformation from
one state of society to another - from semiau-
tonomous band enclave to ethnic group and frontier
working class, for example? Crumrine (1977: 151 —
156) suggests such a process for the elaborate rit-
ual drama of Mayo Indian religious ceremonialism,
interpreting it as part of the Mayo’s liminal transi-
tion from a tribal society toward a rural peasantry.
Tentatively, we believe similar dynamics are oper-
ating in Upper Churchill society. Clearly, the Patua-
nak pilgrimage does not embody the millenarian or
messianic qualities that might presage cultural re-
vitalization. Rather, it renews elements of Catholic
religious orthodoxy and creatively combines them
with significant themes and symbols from histori-
cal Chipewyan and Upper Churchill native culture.
This creative tension undoubtedly will be played
out over years and decades to come, since the in-
dustrialization of the Canadian Northlands and the
pilgrimage itself are both in their infancy. In the
case of the Maya, however, the long-lived Xokén
pilgrimage exemplifies continuity more than trans-
formation. While the scale and elaborateness of its
festivities may expand, such change is directed to-
ward retaining fundamental elements of Maya cos-
mology and identity.
Differences in time depth also raise questions
about the longer-run viability of pilgrimages. With
Miguel Astor-Aguilera and Robert Jarvenp3
only 50 years of history, fueled by passionate
involvement of older Chipewyan who personalty
knew Father Moraud, the Patuanak pilgrimage
might seem like a transitory phenomenon, destine
to wither with the passing of the oldest generation
of pilgrims. Yet, this does not appear to be happen
ing. The event has increased gradually in size an
elaborateness, embracing new third and fourth gen
erations of pilgrims who had no direct experience
with Moraud in the flesh but who, nonetheless, n0^
fully experience and partake of Moraud’s spirit^
power and who renew the community’s fund 0
knowledge about the man through the telling an
retelling of his epic life story.21 Arguably, there a
lessons to be learned about ancient gatherings, su ^
as Xoken, by examining the dynamics of nasc
pilgrimages like Patuanak. In this regard, the
tural particularities of the starting point may u
of less interest than the sociopolitical conditm ,
which allowed the devotional form to “take-0
gain momentum, and sustain itself as a multigel1
erational historical force transcending, at least pe-
riodically, divisions of age, gender, class, comm
nity, and ethnotribal status. Modeling such P -
cesses of pilgrimage birth and development .
benefit by further comparative ethnographic a
ethnohistorical research.
iaaya
Astor-Aguilera; I extend my deepest thanks to i
villagers throughout eastern Yucatán and western U
tana Roo, especially from X-Kabil and Xokén, who .
opened their arms to me and made my research PoSSlt6§t
I extend the warmth of my heart to them. The Srea^e
gratitude is given to Don Monico Tuz who made
initial invitation to partake in the pilgrimage that
partial subject of this study. Field research was suppu ^
by the following: the J. William Fulbright Program ^
Foundation for the Advancement of Mesomerican
ies, the Institute for Mesomerican Studies, the B t
olent Society of SUNY Albany, the Graduate Stu ^
Organization of SUNY Albany, the Department o' ^
thropology of the University at Albany/SUNY A
and the Belize Postclassic Project.
Jarvenpa: The people of the Upper Churchill com ^
nities, especially the Chipewyan of Patuanak and t
glish River First Nation, Saskatchewan, made my c°
nent of this project, and many years of related res ^
feasible and rewarding. I am deeply grateful for ^ay
profound guidance and friendship. The Hudson ^
Company kindly permitted me to examine their o »
21 Father Moraud’s grave site and shrine have been uPg^.
in size and adornment recently with the addition of a § ^
Perhaps partly related to increased pilgrimage tra.ffic’
are tentative plans to construct a new, larger Catholic c ^c,
on the site of the present church built under Moraud s
tion in 1937.
103.
2008
Anthropos
c
0rnparing Indigenous Pilgrimages
503
documents in the Provincial Archives of Manitoba, and
thank Shirlee Anne Smith, Keeper, and her staff for
lheir considerable assistance. Field and archival research
^ere supported by grants from the National Endowment
0r the Humanities, the National Museums of Canada,
Research Foundation of the State University of New
^0rk at Albany, and the University Awards Committee of
State University of New York.
Terences Cited
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. B.89/b/14.
j®7 He a la Crosse Report. HBCA B.89/e/19.
S"~1902 He a la Crosse Letter Book. HBCA B.89/b/18.
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Anthropos
ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 507-525
“Nostalgia del monte”
Indígenas del Oriente peruano según un manuscrito
del jesuita Juan Magnin (Borja 1743)
María Susana Cipolletti
theStraC*' ~ Unlike the missions of the Maynas Province, where
Jesuits refused non-Indians the permission to settle, the vil-
Je °f Borja, founded in 1619 on the banks of the Marañen
a er fin today’s department of Loreto, Peru) was inhabited by
th^1Xed population. The until now unpublished manuscript, au-
^ reh ^ the Swiss Jesuit missionary, Juan Magnin, who was
m Pastor in Borja between 1739 and 1744, vividly and metic-
insv describes the life and the strategies of survival of the
chr ®enous inhabitants of that settlement. The document also
°nicles the emergence of social stratification in the indige-
ne p Cornmunities of the area and the gradual appearance of
in^. eruvian colonial society. [Amazonia, Peruvian Rain Forest,
&enous population, Jesuit missions, indigenous resistance]
Susana Cipolletti, etnóloga, Dr. phil. por la Ludwig-
fia lrrahans-Universidad de Munich, catedrática no numera-
da ^°r Bheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universidad de Bonn
et Uto Vil, Departamento de americanística precolombina y
Bxt °®*a^ Editora de BAS (Bonner Amerikanistische Studien).
AudgS°s trabajos de campo en la selva ecuatoriana y en los
las . s ^gentinos. - Campos de investigación: tradición oral de
cipai rras bajas sudamericanas, shamanismo, etnohistoria. Prin-
V[ ,es Publicaciones; “Artifacts and Society in Amazonia” (ed.,
arfib- ^chWaben 2002); “Los mundos de abajo y los mundos de
Pest a’Jnchviduo y sociedad en las tierras bajas y en los Andes.
Gerhard Baer” (ed., Quito 2004); “La tentación del
t0ria !,foria he vida de un shamán secoya (Amazonia ecua-
tamK-a (junto con Femando Payaguaje, Quito 2008). Véase
len bibliografía.
"Hst
Optación, de huirse al monte los yndios, es la mas/
freq a^a’ q [que] padecen los desta Ciud. Sus parios son
a taj en'/ternenle sobre esse punto: q si se huyeran, yrian
que/’ Ytal paraje; a tal, y tal sitio; q assi, y assi vivieran:
Utles a es’ y tales chagras tendrían; tales, y tales bodas:
’ y( tales borracheras” (Magnin 1743: f. 7).
Introducción
Aunque teñidos a veces de subjetividad, otras ve-
ces por la ausencia de rasgos de las sociedades
indígenas, es decir, de aquello que no pudieron re-
conocer en ellas en el momento histórico en que
actuaron, los escritos jesuíticos proporcionan in-
formaciones sin las cuales nuestro conocimiento
del pasado indígena en las tierras bajas al este
de los Andes sería paupérrimo. Además de obras
que transmiten un panorama general de la actua-
ción de los jesuitas entre las sociedades indígenas,
otras ofrecen informaciones precisas sobre un lu-
gar determinado; a ésta última categoría pertenece
el documento publicado aquí, aparentemente por
primera vez. Escrito en Borja en 1743 por el je-
suita Juan Magnin, muestra la situación indígena y
del asentamiento a lo largo de ese año y de unos
pocos años anteriores, y actúa así como una es-
pecie de lupa con la que contemplamos sólo una
parte de un cuadro: si bien la extensión del cam-
po visual es reducida, los detalles son sumamen-
te nítidos. Además de una descripción de la vida
en el asentamiento, este escrito contiene valiosas
informaciones, entre otras, sobre las expediciones
al hinterland, cuyo fin era tanto capturar indíge-
nas que vivían en libertad para proveer de mano
de obra a los habitantes de Borja, como capturar
a los que se habían fugado de allí, y el papel que
cumplían en ellas no sólo los pocos soldados dispo-
nibles, sino también indígenas asentados en Borja,
508
María Susana CipoHettl
cuya crueldad superaba a menudo la de los solda-
dos.
Borja, un asentamiento peculiar
Borja era, según las fuentes, la “cabeza” o “capital”
de la provincia, y ocupa un lugar especial entre los
asentamientos de la provincia jesuítica de Maynas1.
Fundada por pobladores de Loja (actual Ecuador),
su población indígena fue repartida en encomien-
das. Su estatus era diferente al de las misiones, ya
que tenía estatus de curato; el cura a cargo del mis-
mo recibía un sueldo pagado por las Cajas Reales.
Además, era un centro de operaciones para las ex-
pediciones de castigo y “entradas” al interior para
apresar indígenas libres, dado que sus pobladores
actuaban como soldados. El jesuita Maroni escribe
con cierto sarcasmo que en Borja vivían menos de
treinta mestizos pobres, de los cuales uno desempe-
ñaba el oficio de teniente del gobernador y “los de-
más tienen el nombre de soldados” (Zárate [1735]
1988b: 402). La efectividad de los escasos soldados
hubiera sido aún menor de no haber contado con
la ayuda de indígenas maina, xébero y otros, que,
como veremos más adelante, jugaron un importante
papel en las expediciones (véase el tratamiento de
un fenómeno similar con respecto a indígenas de
filiación caribe, en Venezuela y Guayana en White-
head 1990).
En Borja y sus cercanías habitaban en épocas
tempranas de su fundación sobre todo maina2 y
un pequeño número de andoa, con el tiempo se
convirtió en un conjunto multiétnico formado por
algunos individuos de numerosas etnias (ahuarón,
tontón, ñapo, cunivo, xebero, chonchu, cahuamari,
shimigaye, pinche, yucal, urainina, yameo, paño,
jíbaro y sapara; Magnin [1740] 1988: 474). A es-
casas leguas de distancia de Borja se hallaban tres
1 Bajo este nombre o el de “misiones del Marañen” se conocía
la extensa región que abarcaba zonas de los actuales Perú
y Ecuador. Sus límites aproximados eran al oeste los con-
trafuertes andinos, hacia el sur el Pongo de Manseriche. El
río Putumayo marcaba la frontera norte, más allá comenzaba
la Misión de Sucumbíos, a cargo de los franciscanos (Selva
Alegre 1754; 280s.; Veigl 1785: 53). Hacia el este, la misión
de Pebas marcaba la frontera oriental. Administrativamente,
Maynas dependía de la Audiencia de Quito y, por un tiem-
po breve, de la de Santa Fe. En 1802 fue colocada bajo la
jurisdicción del Virreinato del Perú.
2 Para evitar confusiones denomino maina a la etnia, Maynas
a la Provincia. La filiación de los maina no es clara: para
Steward y Métraux (1948: 628) se trata de un grupo záparo,
mientras que Taylor (1986: 280ss.) niega tal posibilidad,
hallándolos muy similares - según los rasgos culturales
con los que aparecen en las fuentes antiguas - a los jíbaro
ribereños.
anexos o asentamientos satélites: en San Ignacio
y Santa Teresa vivían maina tributarios y en uíl
tercero andoa libres (Zárate 1735). En 1743, cuan-
do Magnin redacta el documento aquí tratado, la
población total ascendía a 330 personas (Magnin
1743: f. 12).
La fundación de Borja se debió a Diego Baca
de Vega, un poblador de Loja y más tarde gober'
nador de la provincia, quien solicitó permiso de
Audiencia de Quito para fundar una ciudad a orifiaS
del Marañón. Iniciada en 1619, fue así uno de l°s
asentamientos más tempranos al este de los AndeS
en esta región. Anteriores expediciones, como laS
de Salinas Loyola en 1557-58 y 1564, habían ya
tenido contacto con los indígenas que habitaban eíl
la región, los maina, cuya ropa de algodón cuín
desámente pintada, y sus escudos y lanzas, en l°s
que estaban insertadas plumas de diversos colori’
habían despertado la admiración de los integran
de las mismas.3 En poco tiempo, los maina vief
ocupado su territorio, perdieron su libertad y fuer
sujetos a duros trabajos y malos tratos por Par
de los encomenderos, lo cual inauguró un procc
de violencia y decimación que se prolongó dura
toda la época colonial. Su nombre fue utilizado P^
denominar la provincia jesuítica posterior. .
Para fundar Borja se eligió una amplia Pla
cié, adecuada para hacer chacras, en las cercan ^
del Pongo de Manseriche,4 * * * un estrechamiento &
río Marañón, con peligrosos rápidos que en ePü
de creciente obstaculizaban la navegación 5
y Herrera 1901: 45 s., Magnin [1740] 1988:46
Una tradición maina, recogida en esa época, re ^
la hazaña del primer shamán, que obtuvo de la
dad la parafemalia necesaria para ejercer su on
Para los maina, el Pongo no era un mero accio
orogràfico, según su tradición oral, se había o
nado por el encuentro de dos dioses que surca
el río en direcciones contrarias. En una cueva e
alto del Pongo vivía la deidad, cuya mujer era
boa. Tres antepasados se atrevieron a visitar la
va, uno sólo sobrevivió, y, al regresar, trajo con
todas las medicinas conocidas, que le había
entregadas por el dios (Maroni [1738] 1988; 1
véase también Figueroa [1661] 1904: 234 s.) ^
Dado que la región pertenecía a la Audien ^
Quito, se viajaba hacia ella a partir de esta cí ^
Se trataba de una ardua empresa: después
(3rohs
3 Salinas Loyola [1571] 1897:201, véase también u*-
1974:27, 36ss.; Jaramillo Alvarado 1938; 37ss., lay
1986: 267 s„ 276 ss. #
4 Pongo del quechua punku, “puerta”. Chantre y Helt
(1901) lo llama Pongo de Manzanique. ¿e
5 Con respecto a la situación geográfica de Borja a
diversas fuentes y mapas véase Ulloa (1961:14—16)-
103 20°8
Anthropos 1UJ-
Nostalgia del monte” 509
80 78 76 74
^0rrer algo más de 500 km, se llegaba a Jaén, de
« nde seguían cuatro jomadas de camino hasta un
Puerto” (o sea, un lugar en donde el río era na-
§able); luego se navegaba en canoa dos días y
edio, atravesando el temido Pongo. Si el río es-
- a bajo, remontarlo demandaba unos 12 días; en
cP°Ca de creciente, entre 20 y 40. En épocas de ex-
Slva creciente, no era posible atravesar el Pongo,
r lo cual Borja estaba incomunicada gran parte
e año (Figueroa [1661] 1904: 7).6
j0 ^1 trato que recibían los maina por parte de
s encomenderos se refiere el jesuíta Figueroa,
tr tl§o ocular, como a “injusticias graves”, pues los
aban como esclavos y les quitaban sus mujeres,
c eJ argumento que el matrimonio entre gentiles
^recía de validez (Figueroa [1661] 1904: 10 s.).
y e esta situación, los maina se rebelaron en 1635,
ataron a unas treinta personas, entre ellas nueve
. c°menderos (Chantre y Herrera 1901: 129 ss.;
c^a§nin [1740] 1988: 470). El gobernador, luego de
y el ffar a l°s resPonsables, los condenó a la horca
l0s Usilamiento y como escarmiento ordenó colgar
(jei ^eipos descuartizados en árboles de las riberas
j arañón y el Pastaza.
Solj Ue^° sofocada la rebelión, el gobernador
los Clta envío de misioneros; así en 1638 llegan
ñe .guitas Gaspar Cujía (en ese entonces Superior
büva fisión) y Lucas de la Cueva, a quienes se atri-
\^fia pacificación de la población indígena (Fi-
6
un VJCeS *nc^uso durante más de un año, como en 1709:
errumbe en el Pongo impedía el paso, el camino por
er n.e^0s había sido de tal modo cubierto por la maleza que
lrnposible encontrarlo (Sanna 1707).
Atahr,
°P°s 103.2008
gueroa [1661] 1904: 9s.; Chantre y Herrera 1901;
130s.). Bajo la expresión “pacificación” debemos
entender que, si bien los maina no gozaron de más
libertades que anteriormente, la intervención jesuí-
tica logró suavizar los malos tratos a los que se
los sometía. Sin fuerzas suficientes para resistir el
nuevo orden de cosas, los indígenas optaron por la
estrategia de la fuga, que continuará durante toda
la época colonial. La situación de los encomende-
ros es descrita así por Figueroa ([1661] 1904: 23);
“anocheciendo muchas vezes con encomienda y
amaneciendo sin ella, despojados de herramientas,
canoas y otras cosas, y sin tener quién los substente
y sirba”.
Si bien las fugas al hinterland eran un serio obs-
táculo para el desarrollo del asentamiento, no era
el único. Como otras regiones al este de los Andes,
su situación geográfica descartaba la inserción en
una red de comercio superlocal (Grohs 1974: 39;
Cipolletti 1999b), limitándose al comercio en pe-
queña escala del achiote (colorante, Bixa orellana)
y tabaco (Zárate [1739] 1988a: 460; Echeverría y
Aguilar [1784] 1911:345).
A esto se sumaban las enfermedades que ata-
caban al ganado y las catástrofes naturales. Hacia
1660 las vacas y los cerdos existentes en el lugar
fueron exterminados por “murciélagos” (Figueroa
[1661] 1904: 74, 248).7 Magnin ennumera un ca-
7 Sólo la subespecie Desmodontidae se alimenta de sangre.
Algunos autores dudan que puedan matar a un mamífero
grande, y suponen que la muerte no acaece por pérdida de
sangre sino por las infecciones de las heridas y enfermedades
producidas por las mordeduras (Eisentraut 1979: 130ss.).
510
María Susana Cip°l'ettl
tálogo de calamidades: las treinta vacas que había,
gran parte de los cerdos y las gallinas fueron muer-
tas en el lapso de cuatro años por los “murciéla-
gos”. Una epidemia mató a gran parte de los cuises
{Cavia cobaya). En 1741 comenzó a decaer la pro-
ductividad de las chacras, el año siguiente fue aun
peor, pues los hombres salieron con el gobernador
a las “conquistas”, y sus mujeres e hijos se morían
de hambre. Aún peor, si cabe, fue el año 1743, año
de redacción del documento, pues las crecientes
habían arrasado las chacras y las plantaciones de
tabaco. De once viviendas indígenas que había en
el anexo de San Ignacio quedaron sólo cuatro. La
cacería escaseaba y en medio año no se había lo-
grado pescar nada (Magnin 1743: f. 12).
En cuanto a los pobladores, el número de indí-
genas seguía mermando, mientras que el de “vi-
racochas” (blancos y mestizos) apenas aumentaba
(Magnin 1743: f. 12). Los decesos de indígenas de-
bido a las epidemias de enfermedades introducidas
eran numerosos. En 1639 y en 1642 hubo graves
epidemias de viruela (Chantre y Herrera 1901: 639;
Figueroa [1661] 1904: 25). Un siglo más tarde, otra
epidemia de viruela (1756), cobró la vida de unas
cien personas (Chantre y Herrera 1901: 524), como
consecuencia de lo cual el asentamiento fue trasla-
dado a otro lugar (sobre las epidemias en la región,
véanse Cipolletti 1997: 85-92; Myers 1988).
Otro motivo incidía además en el índice de mor-
talidad: los casos de suicidio entre los maina. Aun-
que no disponemos de cifras precisas, debe haberse
tratado de un fenómeno considerable como para
que lo mencionara un jesuita tan poco dado a los
rumores y de estilo tan escueto como Veigl (1785:
30). Este atribuye a los numerosos suicidios el he-
cho que en 1767, año de la Expulsión, no quedara
prácticamente ninguna familia que descendiera de
aquéllas con las que se había hecho contacto en las
primeras épocas de la evangelización (1785: 30).
La hegemonía que alcanzó posteriormente el
quichua en esta región, y la pérdida de lenguas
indígenas, puede datarse en esta época, ya que se
eligió al quichua como lingua franca para facilitar
la comunicación con grupos de diferente filiación
(Figueroa [1661] 1904: 23). Magnin, el cura del
lugar, se hallaba, según sus palabras, ante un dile-
ma: si predicaba en castellano los indígenas no lo
entendían, si lo hacía en quichua los españoles lo
consideraban una ofensa (Magnin 1743: f. 5). Ha-
cia finales del siglo XVIII ya se veían los resulta-
dos de esta política lingüística: en el anexo de San
Ignacio, los andoa y los maina habían olvidado su
lengua materna y hablaban sólo quichua, sólo los
xévero eran bilingües (Echeverría y Aguilar [1784]
1911:346).
Juan Magnin: de un cantón suizo al este
de los Andes
Dado que en otro texto me ocupé con detención d6
la obra de Jean Magnin (Cipolletti 1998: 452 ss-)»
mencionaré aquí sólo los hechos más sobresaliente8
de su biografía: nacido en 1701 en el cantón suiz°
de Friburgo, ingresó muy joven en la Compañía
Jesús y viajó en 1723 a América. De sus distinto8
destinos, nos interesan aquí los cinco años en Que
vivió en Borja (1739 a 1744), fecha en que regrc8^
definitivamente a Quito, donde se hizo cargo
de Ia
cátedra de Leyes, y donde falleció en 1753 (Bay
1940; Nicoulin 1993). A diferencia de la may0!L
de los jesuitas europeos, cuya vocación les lleva
a elegir para actuar las misiones selváticas, Magn ^
detestaba vivir en una zona tan alejada de los ce*-1
tros urbanos y verse obligado al contacto estrec
con los indígenas (Cipolletti 1998: 454). Su esta ^
en Borja fue, sin embargo, creativa desde el Pul^g
de vista intelectual, pues alí redactó varios de 8
trabajos, el más conocido de los cuales es su “Br
descripción de la Provincia de Quito ...” (Mag
[1740] 1988), y otro escrito que, basándose en eS^j
incluye nuevas informaciones ([1741], en Hen
1993). En 1742 escribió una detallada crónica a<te
ca de una expedición hecha por soldados e “m
amigos” al río Nucuray, cerca del Pastaza, P^Q
traer a los maina fugitivos (Magnin 1742, pubhc
en Cipolletti 1998: 463-469), uno de los d°cUlI^ta
tos más estremecedores escritos por un autor JeS ^
en su reflejo de la violencia ejercida en este tip0 g
expediciones. Redactó, por último, el escrito 4^
presentamos aquí (Magnin 1743), además de 0
documentos menores. En cada uno de estos ca
manuscritos Magnin alude a temas que ha . ^
en los otros, de modo que es la lectura conj ^
la que proporciona una idea cabal sobre Borja y
región a mediados del siglo XVIII. eS-
El manuscrito publicado en el apéndice fue f
crito en 1743, a pedido del Superior, y ^eV^jUd-
título “Relación de las Cosas notables/De la
de San Fran.co de Borja desde/el año de 1740 .
el de 1743”. Se halla depositado en el Archivo
tórico Nacional de Madrid, Sección Clero/Jesa ^
legajo 251-2/N 3. Son doce folios, rubricados t
se lámina adjunta), que tratan diversos lelTL^
tre otros, la participación de la poblad011.
ceremonias y enseñanzas religiosas, las huí
los indígenas al hinterland y los castigos Q
aplicaban. .flC0n
El párrafo inicial compara a Borja con un ^
oscuro y descuidado, que hasta el “mejor P
(o sea, Dios) deja en una esquina poco jm?0scribc
del retablo que ha pintado. A continuación e
103-2008
Anthropos
511
Nostalgia del monte”
la
a enseñanza cristiana y las diferentes fiestas reh-
úsas. La celebración de la misa era diaria, los
omingos se hacía la doctrina para los niños, la
0ctrina para los indígenas tres veces por semana
y Una vez por semana se rezaba el rosario a la
^maculada Concepción. Entre las festividades se
estacaban Navidad, Resurrección y Corpus, ade-
más de cuatro fiestas para los santos patrones (San
Uan Bautista, patrón de las sementeras, Santa Rosa
?°ntra la peste, San Francisco de Borja, patrón de
a ciudad, y la Virgen de la Concepción) (Magnin
'43: f. 2ss., sobre las festividades religiosas en las
Piones véase Chantre y Herrera 1901: 660-668).
Magnin no se refiere aquí a las creencias de los
^ina, que ya había tratado el año anterior en otro
°cumento, al interrogar a los indígenas que habían
^do capturados en el monte (Magnin [1742] 1998).
na excepción es el relato sobre la muerte del cura-
^a del asentamiento anexo de San Ignacio, muerte
4 e se atribuye un joven, quien afirma haber sido
autor del hechizo que mató al curaca, procedi-
lento que había aprendido de su maestro. Magnin
, ^signa la “mala fama” que tenía el maestro, por
^ der estado fugitivo en el monte con los infieles,
ternemente, al haber vivido con los “infieles”
t monte, el supuesto hechicero había estado en
l0 tacto con prácticas religiosas que tenían, ante
^s °j°s de los indígenas obligados al sedentarismo
^ la aldea, el estatus de lo “salvaje” y espiritual-
ej te poderoso. Ya que el castigo impuesto por
fMcta consiste en hacerlo azotar por “mentiroso”
^ agnin 1743: f. 9), parecería que Magnin negaba
^efectividad de los hechizos indígenas. Sin embar-
re'fcSt° Parece ser as* en t caso l°s indígenas
tí°rja, ya que por esos años había escrito una
c ,arta de edificación” a la muerte de su colega Ni-
j as Schindler, que vivía con los omagua de San
qUe4uín,B en la cual deja abierta la posibilidad de
ésto ^C^n(her haya sido muerto por un hechizo de
s> Por los cuales eran conocidos (Magnin 1744).
e ugestivo es su comentario que los indígenas
'untICan cada muerte como resultado de una vo-
qUea^ malévola o hechizo (Magnin 1743: f. 9), ya
h0 Slgnifica que incluso en un asentamiento como
obj- donde la enseñanza cristiana era intensa y
d0 J^toria, la población indígena seguía sustentan-
ral COncePción de que no existe una muerte natu-
> sin° que era causa¿a p0r fuerzas e intenciones
aghas.
ca ^atcer un jesuíta, un colega escribía la “Carta de edifi-
d !°n » que consistía en una biografía breve, en la cual se
(je » consistía en una niograna oreve, en ia cuai se
fia aca'3an °bra y la personalidad y virtudes del fallecido.
a ahora se han encontrado muy pocos de estos docu-
08 sobre misioneros de la Provincia de Maynas.
r°Pos 103.2008
El monte: huidas y expediciones
En mayor o menor grado, las misiones de la Pro-
vincia de Maynas se vieron enfrentadas al aban-
dono del asentamiento por parte de los indígenas
y la merma de población. Golob (1982; 159, 169)
ha demostrado fehacientemente el continuo flujo de
población que se daba en las misiones, y cómo éstas
pudieron seguir funcionando solamente a través de
la captura de indígenas en el hinterland.
A coger estos cimarrones [fugitivos] salen de Borja de
ordinario casi todos los años una y más esquadras, y los
buscan con excesivo travajo por rios, quebradas, pantanos
y espinales, passando demasiadas penalidades y hambres
hasta topar con ellos, en que gastan muchos meses (Fi-
gueroa [1661] 1904: 21 s.).
La huida de los maina y otros indígenas de Borja
comenzó desde su fundación en 1619 y continuó
hasta después de la expulsión de los jesuitas en
1767, es decir que a lo largo de más de 150 años,
los indígenas lucharon por evitar el sedentarismo y
la forma de vida en este asentamiento. Las zonas
de refugio, que parecen haber sido las mismas a
lo largo de unas cinco generaciones, se hallaban
en los ríos Pastaza, Nucuray y Morona. Figueroa
atribuye las huidas al trabajo excesivo y al mal trato
que recibían por parte de los españoles, al hambre,
pues allí carecían de la abundancia que existía en el
monte, y a la forma de vida itinerante: “por ser ellos
criados en la vida ancha y ociosa de los montes,
sin sugecion á nadie, amicíssimos de passearse,
y de andar de unas partes á otras, assí por tierra
como por agua en sus canoillas” (Figueroa [1661]
1904:21).
Otro motivo para huir de Borja era la incompa-
tibilidad en algunos aspectos de la vida privada con
las severas normas del cura del lugar, la obligación
de asistir a misa y ser castigado de no cumplir con
este precepto. En algunos casos se trata de parejas
que huyen al monte, debido a que uno de ellos está
ya casado. Al apresarlos se les castiga, luego huyen
nuevamente. En otros casos, los que planeaban es-
caparse tendían chacras de antemano para preparar
así su futura vida en el monte (Magnin 1743: f. 7).
Pero, además de las expediciones, en las zonas de
refugio los indígenas estaban expuestos a otros pe-
ligros, ya que a menudo eran atacados por otros
grupos a fin de robarles las herramientas de hie-
rro que poseían (Figueroa [1661] 1904: 21; Magnin
1743: f. 10). De ahí que los maina fugitivos intro-
dujeran una innovación con respecto a su patrón
de asentamiento disperso anterior: en las zonas de
refugio levantaban aldeas con defensas, similares a
los asentamientos españoles que habian conocido
512
María Susana CipoOettl
(“estilo q/Ies quedó, de lo que tenían, siendo Chris-
tianos”, Magnin [1742] 1998; 467).
Los resultados de las expediciones al interior
eran por lo general magros, pero incluso cuando
se los consideraba exitosos, o bien los indígenas
volvían a huir, o se enfermaban y morían al poco
tiempo: En 1660 se habían traído a Borja desde
el hinterland más de 340 maina. Algunos eran los
que habían huido después de la rebelión de 1635,
otros habían nacido en el monte. En una epidemia
posterior de sarampión murió un número mayor
de personas que las que habían llegado (Figueroa
[1661] 1904:22).
Posiblemente la entrada de más envergadura fue
la organizada en 1692, en ella participaron no sólo
indígenas de varias misiones, sino también “genti-
les amigos y confederados”, como cunivo (conibo)
y semigay, alcanzando unas mil personas (900 indí-
genas y 100 soldados). En los cinco meses que duró
la expedición, se apresaron casi 400 indígenas, que
fueron enviados a Borja y a Jéberos, aunque la ma-
yoría logró escapar, por lo cual fue considerada un
fracaso (Chantre y Herrera 1901: 303 ss.). También
la expedición de 1737 al río Morona fue un fracaso,
pues si bien se encontraron diez casas de indígenas
fugitivos, no se logró apresar a nadie. Más tarde
se tuvo noticia que se habían unido a otros maina
fugitivos (Zárate [1739] 1988a: 449).
La expedición mejor documentada es la hecha al
río Nucuray en 1742 y que estaba compuesta por 10
soldados y 90 indígenas (50 xébero, 30 cahuapana
y 10 maina). Luego de una orgía de destrucción,
golpes y muerte regresan a Borja con 22 personas,
entre las que no se contaba ningún hombre adulto,
sino los más desvalidos, que no habían logrado es-
capar: un anciano, dos adolescentes, cinco mujeres
y veintidós niños (Magnin [1742] 1998).
En estos ejemplos se observa que la cantidad
de indígenas que participaba en las expediciones
superaba en mucho a la de los soldados. Se trataba
de indígenas de Borja o de otras misiones, que en
parte estaban obligados a participar, en otros casos
actuaban de aliados de los organizadores. Si bien en
algunos casos en el hinterland se dirimían antiguas
enemistades, como entre los xébero y los maina,
el tema de la participación indígena es mucho más
complejo y no puede ser tratado aquí (véase Cipo-
lletti 1999a: 228 s.).
Entre los fugitivos se cuentan en algunos casos
también individuos no-indígenas, que por diversos
motivos tenían una posición comprometida con res-
pecto a las autoridades. Uno de estos casos es el
de una mujer mulata que había mantenido relacio-
nes extramaritales con un blanco. Al quedar em-
barazada, mata al marido, para que no descubra su
infidelidad cuando nazca el niño. Temerosa de U8
consecuencias de su acción, intenta huir río aba]0
al territorio portugués; si bien es descubierta 011
el primer intento y detenida, logra finalmente h°ir
hacia Jaén (Magnin 1743: f. 10s.).
Cargos y castigos
Cabe preguntarse qué medidas tomaban los p°^a
dores de Borja para mantener a la población in°
gena en el lugar y qué castigos se infligían a l°s
que cometían diferentes faltas. La pena de mued^
que había sido un derecho de los gobernadores °
épocas tempranas, fue revocado posteriormente P
la Real Audiencia; a lo largo del siglo XVlH
castigos aplicados eran calificados por las aut°rl
dades civiles y eclesiásticas como “moderado8 /
ligeros”: Por lo común se trataba de 10 a 12 Ia 1
gazos o golpes con una vara, que ascendían a 2
25 en caso de adulterio, y que eran propinado8 ^
público por los alguaciles. Finalizada la golplza’se
castigado debía besar la mano al sacerdote (9uy ,
hallaba presente pero no intervenía en la ejecuci0 ’
y darle las gracias. Las mujeres que atentaban ° ^
tra la honestidad eran azotadas en privado P°r^a
anciano. La pena de cárcel o reclusión se aphc ^
generalmente por unos pocos días; a pesar de est0,£,
privación de la libertad de movimiento era c°nS'
rada por los indígenas como el peor castigo,8
todo si se le agregaba el cepo (Chantre y Hefr
1901:598). loS
El intento de fuga era penado con azotes a
culpables en todas las esquinas del pueblo y ^
el corte de cabello (Magnin 1743: f. 8). Falta*
doctrina se castigaba también con azotes. Un 1
gena acusado dé blasfemia fue obligado a a8P
el humo de ají molido que se quemaba en un i
(Magnin 1743: f.4s.)9 ^
La pena de destierro se reservaba a los con
rados como culpables de delitos graves. B°íJa
seía un presidio y fue un lugar favorito (aunq $
el único) donde se enviaba a individuos deste
de las misiones.10 En las expediciones solían a a
individuos que habían sido desterrados, quizas y
_____________ . *0 c°a
9 Relatos míticos de esta región recogen el ahuraarn
ají quemado del contrincante, ya se trate de seres vafioS
o míticos. El ají es utilizado además aún hoy en eXpri'
grupos para castigar a niños y jóvenes, generalm
miendo unas gotas del jugo en los ojos. <a 6n Ia
10 En 1701, Payoreva, un cacique omagua, se re t pr¡tz■
misión de San Joaquín contra el misionero ^arnujenes 10
Este solicita auxilio de los soldados de Borja, ^ j0gr3 sln
buscan y lo traen preso a este lugar. El cacique.^a a sllS
embargo escapar y regresa a San Joaquín, don
pobladores a la fuga (Fritz 1988; 350).
.2008
Anthropos
103
otalgia del monte”
513
c°ngraciarse con las autoridades, por ej., la cruenta
entmda al río Nucuray en 1742 fue guiada por un
r°arnayna que vivía desterrado en Borja (Magnin
[1742] 1998: 456). El mismo autor (1743: f. 9) des-
erta del pueblo a una pareja que vivía en continuas
Peleas. Si bien no se considera por lo general como
J*n motivo de desarrollo de relaciones intraétnicas,
a Pena del destierro amplió el conocimiento mutuo
ae las etnias de la región, pues ponía en contacto a
Miembros de grupos que sin ella, posiblemente no
Se habrían encontrado jamás.
El orden era conservado en Borja y otros asen-
tamientos por un sistema de cargos desempeñados
P°r indígenas: prioste, mayordomo, sacristán, al-
cacil, fiscal, etc. De cada una de las etnias que
Vlyían en un asentamiento se elegía un hombre
^°mo alcalde, cuya función consistía en velar por
as buenas costumbres, ocuparse de la limpieza de
a aldea e interiorizarse del estado de los enfermos
[Chantre y Herrera 1901:596, 602). Estos cargos
dehen haber ejercido una influencia profunda en la
Gratificación social de estas etnias, ya que quie-
nes los desempeñaban actuaban como jueces de sus
^°ngéneres, lo que facilitó seguramente la alianza
e estos individuos con las autoridades. Lo más
grave fue probablemente que los azotes y los gol-
pes eran propinados a un individuo por otro de su
IíllSrño grupo étnico.
í’l
Uctuaciones de la población
la •
c 1 Opresión que transmiten las fuentes sobre el
^enzo prometedor de Borja y su decaída y es-
(j Camiento posterior es corroborada por las cifras
Población. Las fuentes son autores jesuitas (Fi-
H .r°a> Magnin, Maroni, Zárate), autoridades re-
^ lQsas no jesuitas (Moneada 1740; Echeverría y
j guilaj. [1784] 1911), y autoridades laicas (Itúrbide
s- l Los cuatro censos conservados de 19 mi-
(iQ'?68 MaYnas han sido analizados por Grohs
.'281-300), en ellos incluye Borja, aunque
geria erenciar entre población indígena y no indí-
qü^as cifras siguientes son sólo aproximativas, ya
Pobl °S autores contabilizaban de distinto modo la
bUt ación. Figueroa, por ejemplo, cuenta sólo “tri-
mieari0s”, es decir los sujetos al sistema de enco-
¿v| nc*a’ y calcula tres hijos en cada núcleo familiar.
Pobin°S autores toman en consideración sólo la
Le aC]ón de Borja, otros incluyen la de los anexos.
aho h °S modos^ ^as cifras muestran que en 1619,
alto 6 fundación, el número de maina era muy
terc-^ fine, 40 años después, había descendido a un
°‘ la merma continúa en los años posteriores,
mientras que la población no indígena permanece
estable, y desciende bruscamente en las últimas dé-
cadas del siglo XVIII, cuando la mayor parte aban-
dona la aldea para establecerse en las cercanías de
Jaén (Echeverría y Aguilar [1784] 1911: 344).
1619 700 tributarios (unos 2.800 maina)
(Figueroa [1661] 1904; 15)11
1638 400 tributarios (unos 1600 maina)
40 vecinos y soldados (con mujeres y niños
probablemente un total de 200 personas)
(Figueroa [1661] 1904: 15, 10)
1661 200 tributarios (800 maina)
(Figueroa [1661] 1904: 15)12
1727 62 indígenas (Borja y cuatro asentamientos
cercanos), con españoles y “todo género de
personas” (Itúrbide 1727: 307)
1735 40 tributarios (unas 160 personas?)
30 mestizos (120 personas) (Zárate [1735]
1988b)
1739 14 indígenas en encomienda (64 personas
incluyendo el núcleo familiar) (Zárate
[1739] 1988a: 448)
30 blancos mestizos o viracochas (unas 120
personas)
(Zárate [1739] 1988a: 448)
1740 234 personas, incluyendo blancos, mesti-
zos y mulatos, más 17 personas de distintos
grupos indígenas (Magnin [1740] 1988:
474)
1740 193 personas en total (.Indorum et mixto-
rum) en Borja 98 indígenas en los asenta-
mientos anexos (Moneada 1740: 479)
1743 300 personas en total (Magnin 1743: f. 12)
1769 171 españoles y mestizos (suma la pobla-
ción de Santiago)
(Echeverría y Aguilar [1784] 1911: 345 s.)13
1776 263 indígenas (en el anexo de San Ignacio)
(345 s.)
152 españoles y mestizos (345 s.)
11 Hago este cálculo partiendo de la información siguiente de
Figueroa ([1661] 1904: 15), que calcula que 400 tributarios
eran 2.000 personas, es decir, a cada hombre suma, además
de la esposa, tres hijos.
12 Figueroa atribuye el descenso en el número de tributarios a
que 500 de ellos se habían escapado recientemente.
13 Manuel Echeverría era sacerdote de Latacunga. En 1768
fue nombrado visitador de las misiones por la Audiencia
de Quito, a fin de realizar un inventario de las mismas
en el momento de la expulsión de los jesuitas. Luego fue
nombrado canónigo en la catedral de Quito. Coautor de su
informe sobre las misiones fue F. de Aguilar, vicario de
Ambato (Echeverría 1770).
514
María Susana CipoUettl
En el último cuarto del siglo XVIII, luego de la ex-
pulsión de los jesuitas, Borja había quedado redu-
cida a “unos pocos mestizos misserables, ossiosos,
ebrios, y que poco ó nada difieren de los indios”
(Escobar y Mendoza [1769] 1911: 42). A los pocos
mayna que quedaban se los denomina “mísseras
reliquias destrozadas”, se agregaron en 1762 parte
de los andoa, xevero y cuntinana, que poblaron el
anexo de San Ignacio. En 1756, a consecuencias de
la epidemia de viruela, los indígenas del anexo de
San Ignacio se mudaron a Pucabarranca, frente al
río Cahuapana, llamado también Barranca o Borja
nuevo (Ulloa 1961: 16). Dado que españoles y mes-
tizos no podían subsistir sin los indios, se vieron
obligados a seguirlos y trasladar Borja a este lugar
(Escobar y Mendoza [1769] 1911: 42).
A modo de conclusión
Las informaciones presentadas provienen del siglo
y medio transcurrido desde la fundación de Borja,
uno de los asentamientos más antiguos en la región,
hasta 1780, un período en el que las esperanzas
de progreso y riqueza no se realizaron jamás. Va-
rios factores atentaron contra éstos: la lejanía del
asentamiento de los centros urbanos y con ello la
imposibilidad de formar parte de un comercio su-
praregional, las características del medio ambiente
y sobre todo las estrategias de defensa indígena.
Borja sólo pudo seguir existiendo por medio de las
periódicas entradas al monte en busca de nuevos
pobladores indígenas. Si bien estas expediciones se
dieron en todas las regiones de la provincia de May-
nas y zonas aledañas, aquí parecen haber sido más
numerosas y cruentas, lo cual halla explicación,
en parte, en la función de soldados que ejercían
sus pobladores. Sin embargo, su escaso número no
hubiera sido suficiente para la realización de estas
empresas de no haber contado con la colaboración
indígena, especialmente de los maina y los xébe-
ro. En muchos casos fueron los indígenas los más
crueles verdugos con respecto a los fugitivos. Los
motivos de su colaboración con las autoridades son
de distinto tipo: si bien estaban obligados a tomar
parte en las expediciones, la posibilidad de ven-
garse de sus antiguos enemigos (xébero/maina) y
la fascinación del pillaje también fueron decisivos.
Estas actuaciones les permitían, además, un relativo
ascenso social dentro de una sociedad estamental.
En este documento, Magnin se refiere en detalle
a sucesos ausentes de otras crónicas, que iluminan
procesos históricos-sociales para los que tenemos
por lo general escasos puntos de apoyo con respecto
a las etnias al este de los Andes en la época colonial.
La estrategias de defensa de los maina y las fugaS
al hinterland, sufrieron un cambio producido p°°
su experiencia en el detestado sedentarismo al °ua
se veían obligados en Borja. La experiencia l°s
había mostrado que en pequeños grupos eran presa
fácil de las expediciones que salían en su búsqueda*
de ahí que importaran el patrón de aldea a SLlS
zonas de refugio, tomando a Borja como model0-
Evidentemente la vida en común en el hinterland se
apoyó en alianzas, que en gran parte se establecía11
ya antes de la fuga.
Los cargos que desempeñaban los indígenas y
las penas que aplicaban deben haber conmoví0
de raíz a la sociedad maina: de la administrad00
del castigo físico era responsable un indígena
ostentaba un cargo dentro del sistema, pero,
última instancia, se trataba de un maina que de°
flagelar a otro. El castigo físico de un adulto a 0
es extraño a las sociedades de esta región. Ta°
el sistema de cargos como el castigo a cargo
indígenas sentaron las bases para el surgimiento
una desigualdad interna en el seno de una socie°
hasta entonces igualitaria.
Los maina y los andoa fueron quienes v*vieall,
en contacto más estrecho con los pobladores y
toridades de Borja y también quienes sufrieron
disolución étnica, que comenzó por la pérdida
su lengua materna, ya antes de 1770. No hay 4
esforzar demasiado la imaginación para pensar 4
los maina y los andoa no se extinguieron biol &
camente, sino que se mezclaron con individuos
de
He l°s
otros grupos, sentando probablemente uno ^ <
pivotes que originó la población campesina a°
de la región. En la actualidad hay unos pocos
blantes de andoa en el Ecuador (Duche H°
2005) y en el Perú (Ribeiro y Wise 1978: 63)- gg
los xebero existen escasos trabajos actuales,^81
hace excepción de su situación durante la 6P
colonial (Roth 1997). x ue
Debido a los distintos grupos de poblaci°°
albergaba - descendientes de españoles, m°8 ^ ^
negros, mulatos, indígenas - Borja fue un cris ,
nuevas identidades culturales. Esto se despr
de Ma&
entre otras cosas, de un comentario critico
nin acerca de una bulliciosa boda en la que P , ge
paron tanto “viracochas” como indígenas; afi ^oS
daba evidentemente una coexistencia entre 1° eS
grupos de población ya alejada de las rc'^aC^flCo'
que habían existido entre encomenderos y ^
mendados. Si bien los derechos y situación s ^
de indígenas y no-indígenas no eran equipa0^°g
había tenido lugar cierta igualación entre
grupos. ón 6n
Una breve comparación entre la sitúa
Borja y las misiones jesuíticas en la regí00’
103-
Anthropos
515
Nostalgia del monte”
todo las que comenzaron a formarse a partir de
'20, como las de encabellado (grupos de lengua
*ücano occidental), en el río Ñapo, revela algunas
gerencias significativas: en las misiones no existió
Poéticamente el mestizaje entre indígenas y no-
Odígenas, debido a que los jesuitas impedían la es-
Odía de no-indígenas, con lo cual se dio una perdu-
Oción étnica más marcada, si bien en las misiones
eri que convivían distintas etnias hubo tendencias
este sentido. Los distintos grupos encabellado
üeron, entre todas las etnias de la época, quienes
Se negaron rotundamente a convivir con grupos de
°tra filiación, por razones que no es posible anali-
*ar aquí (Cipolletti 1997, 1999a). No es casual que
^lamente los tucano occidentales son una de las
s°c|edades que conservaron con mayor continuidad
identidad étnica desde la época colonial hasta
actualidad; esto se debió en gran parte, en mi
°Pinión, a su actitud “fundamentalista” en la época
^°l°nial. Por el contrario, la coexistencia en Borja
e núcleos tan disímiles de población provocó evi-
entemente mezclas y uniones.
F*or último, si bien sabemos que la zona de
tügio de los maina fugitivos se hallaba en los
s Pastaza, Nucuray y Morona, sería sugestivo
^alizar, a partir de documentos sobre la situación
otras regiones, qué zonas servían de refugio a
]^s lr|dfgenas que huían de otros asentamientos de
región. Quizás esto nos ayudara a dilucidar en
rte el complejo tema de las identidades étnicas
üales en esta región, algunas de las cuales fueron
c lamente etnogénesis coloniales, producto de la
uv]yencja obligada, tanto en la aldea como en el
hlnterland.
Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (Sociedad Alema-
gacPfra la Investigación), financió en 1994 mi investi-
ci010* er> archivos españoles. El Archivo Histórico Na-
aus a* Madrid me proporcionó el microfilm del ma-
Ot° de Magnin aquí publicado. Agradezco a Peter
c0nvnes la transcripción del manuscrito y las entusiastas
año ersaciones que mantuvimos en Quito hace ya varios
s sobre estos temas.
Apéndice14
[folio 1] Relación de las Cosas notables/De la
Ciud. de San Fran.co de Borja desde/el año de
1740 hasta el de 1743.
Obedeciendo al orden del Superior15 quien man-
da,/ apunte lo mas notable, q [que] en este tiempo
ha ávido en/ esta Ciud de S. Francisco de Borja,
donde resido ya mas de/ 4 años, exerciendo en ella
el officio de Cura, y Missio-/nero, digo en pocas
palabras, q, aunq no sean prodigi-/osos los aconte-
cimientos, ni de tal calidad, q puedan/ equipararse
con otros, q llenan el mundo de admira-/cion, y
espanto; sin embargo, aunq[ue] pequeños, y dignos/
de poco aprecio, y q quisieran mas bien sepultarse
en/ un perpetuo silencio, no dexarán de ser como
sombras,/ y razgos del descuido, q el mejor pintor
suele repartir,/ alia en un rincón, en cada retablo, q
sale de su mano.
llegando pues a mediado del año de 1739 a esta/
Capital de la provincia de Maynas, y queriendo
cumplir/ con la obligación de mi officio, viendo,
y reparando el es-/tado, en q hallaba la yglesia,
feligreses, y Curato; hallé/ a la verdad, (sin agraviar
en esso a mi Antecessor, quien/ con su salida de la
Comp.a, q succedió, como dos años/ después, en
la Ciud de Cuenca, me da licencia para ello)/ todo
brocado, y en confusión: desamparada la yglesia;/
quexosos, y aun escandalizados los Feligreses; y el
Curato/ sin cura, q lo fuesse, como, y de la manera
q lo pide tan/ soberano officio: sin confessiones en
la yglesia; sin pla-/ticas, ni sermones; sin rosario;
sin missa muchos dias;/ y sin aquella asistencia
estricta, q pide el punto tan/ grave de la residencia.
Esso es en lo espiritual, q en/ lo material ni chagras
avia, ni crias, ni pensamiento/
[folio 2] para ello; sin casa, en q vivir, derribada la
q avia, pa-/ra hacer otra nueva.
procurando, pues de acabar la vivienda, y res-
table-/cer en poco tiempo lo material, el principal
cuidado, q/ se puso, fue en lo espiritual, y perte-
neciente ala yglesia;/ distribuyendo el tiempo de
manera, q estuviessen asisti-/dos todos, y no fal-
tasse el Cura, a ser el primero en la/ distribución
de su Ministerio: aviendose desse modo/ puesto en
costumbre de aver cada dia Missa, los viemos en
el altar del Santo Christo; los Sábados en el de la/
14 Magnin abrevia “que” y “porque” en “q” y “porq”. “Ahí”
aparece como “ay”. Desarrollo estos casos sólo la prime-
ra vez que aparecen. Aclaraciones al texto aparecen entre
corchetes.
15 0 bien el P. Nicolás Schindler o bien el P. Guillermo Grab-
mer, ambos de origen alemán. (Schindler había muerto en
1743, y ese mismo año fue elegido Superior el P. Grabmer).
A,
516
María Susana Cipollettl
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Anthropos
103-
2008
517
Nostalgia del monte”
Concepcion, con el Rosario, q a la tarde ay [ahí]
Se reza; y los/ Domingos la Missa conventual, con
a doctrina christi/ana para los pequeños, y platica
oesde el pulpito para/ los grandes; sin faltar la doc-
trñia de los miércoles, viernes, y domingos para los
indios.
En lo qual no se puede dexar de referir la
Püntuali-/dad, cuidado, y diligencia de varios, assi
en las platicas,/ y doctrina; como en las Missas; y
re?o del Rosario, antepo-Vniendo essas sus devocio-
aes a varios urgencias de su familia,/ persuadidos,
^ Sl bien los atrassos, q padecen, y han pa-/decido
este tiempo, son, y han sido extraordinarios,/
1 Unico remedio, q se debe esperar, y pedir, ha
e ser de parte del Cielo. Los Domingos es gusto
Ver’ con q silen-/cio asisten al Santo Sacrificio de la
IjPssa; con q deseo,/ y paciencia oyen la platica, y
cetrina; con q conformi-/dad salen de la yglesia,
^ureciendo sus pechos a mayores/ y mayores tra-
aJos. En dichos dias de obligación solo/ faltaran
. s enfermos, ausintes, y quienes tienen legitimo/
lIUpedimento; y tal qual vez uno, y otro; q entre
puchos buenos no puede dexar de aver algún malo,
y perverso./
En los demas dias de la semana, q no son de
I ardar,/ ay [ahí] es, donde se conoce el verdadero
sPiritu de algunos/ destos pobres, y sencillos; en
Acular de algunas muge/res, y viudos, q aunq,
yan de trabajar en persona todo/ el dia, para tener q
a ^cr una yuca, o un plátano, con/ todo esso faltar
a Missa, les parece gran delito, sin-/tiendo en el
j ^ si, o por precision necessaria, o/ por no oyr
campana, no pudieron satisfacer a esse/ obse-
dí*0 ^Uobdiano. pero el esmero es los viernes, y/
^ ados; los viernes en la Missa del Santo christo/
ce ^a buena muerte, y los Sábados en la Concep-
immaculada de Maria; acuden entonces mu-
S’/ assi hombres, como mugeres; adornándose
^ dichos/ altares con velos, y mazetas de flores;
y 0rribrada con/ flores la yglesia: descubriéndose,
aj1^Ceusando con to-/da devoción las imágenes; y
. u de la Missa rezando/ en el librito, los passos
Sat>a ^ass*on l°s viernes, y los/ gozos de Maria los
y ab°s: dexandose en esso ver/ la piedad, asseo,
de 1. a(M de los Mayordomos, q, aunq/ destituidos
en ?ria<^os’ Y chinos, q les sirvan, van y re-/cojen
Uec a rn^srna montaña las flores, q para entonces/
ej essitan; guirnaldas, q labran, para tenerlos en
loC*l°,/ donde las recebiran con excesso mejores.
a la ^fllerc°ies,/ y viernes embian tanbien a sus hijos
p0r °ctrina,/ como los domingos; acudiendo estos
los evocion al/ tiempo de tocar la campana para
yndios.
tard ^°sario es otro culto, q se da, los sábados a la
e,,/ a la immaculada Concepcion de Maria, don-
Mthr,
°P°s 103.2008
de acuden/ los devotos con frequencia, a venerar,
y invocar a tan/ soberana señora; en q no se debe
callar su industria/
[folio 3] en complir con el preciso numero de cuen-
tas, y granos,/ aunq varios no tengan Rosario, q
es por los dedos de las/ manos, supliendo estos al
poco tiempo, q les duran los ro-/sarios, q si tal qual
vez alcanzan a alguno, teniéndolo/ siempre colgado
por devoción al cuello; succede, q a poco/ tiempo
lo pierden; rompiéndose el engaste, o pudriéndose/
por el continuo sudor, y trabajo, en q se ocupan. El
que/ salga por los calles essa ynsignia de Maria es el
em-/peño, y deseo de todos; pero tal que fue hasta
aora el lugar;/ tan llenos de huecos, agua, y lodo
los caminos; tantos/ los zarzales, [h]ojas, y yerba,
q van creciendo; y tantos los/ aguazeros, q fueron
cayendo, q no permitió, se gozasse muchas vezes
desse beneficio.
passando de las cosas de cada semana a los q
se estilan/ cada año, aqui es, donde se conoce, q
también entre mon/tañas, y soledades tiene D.s sus
devotos, y escogidos: con q/ devoción, y ternura no
se celebran los pasquas, y otras fies-/tas principales,
assi de X.° y Maria, como de otros santos?/ En
pasqua de Navidad todo es alegría, y contento, el
niño/ Jesús en un pesebre pobre (pesebre, no de
primores, de aquellos/ sumptuosos Nacimientos,
q causan mas admiración, q devo-/cion,) sino tal
pesebre, como era el, en q nació Jesu Christo,/ esto
es un techo de [hjojas, y paja, sustentado con 4.
palos al/ ayre, y abierto por todas partes; con flores
por estrellas, y un/ poco de paja verde en lugar
de alfombras; pareciendo/ en medio dessa pobreza
mas hermoso el Niño Jesús, q en/ las salas doradas
de la misma riqueza. En la de Resurec-/cion todo es
edificación, y buen exemplo; y en la del Corpus con
danzas, arcos, flores, procession, y altares un puro
Jubilo.
Donde se esmeran, los q para ello se elijen en
cada/ año es en las 4. fiestas, q se celebran, de 4.
santos, q tienen,/ como patronos de sus necesida-
des; a S. Juan Bautista/ por patrón de las semen-
teras, a S.a Rosa contra la peste,/ a S. Fran.c0 de
Borja por patrón de la Ciud, y a la Con-/cepcion
por patrona de las armas.16 El año, en q se celebra/
el Santo, se hace la elección de los officiales para
el si/guiente; priostes, y priostas; Mayordomos, y
sacristanes,/ assi hombres, como mugeres, teniendo
los electos todo/ el año para buscar, con q celebrar
16 El que la Virgen de la Concepción sea llamada “patrona
de las armas” halla seguramente explicación en que, según
Magnin ([1740] 1988; 470) Borja fue fundada un 8 de di-
ciembre, día de la Concepción.
518
María Susana Cipollettl
a su santo, contri/buyendo todos con cera blanca,
o negra, conforme su/ devoción, tassa, o estilo, q
introduxeron; y la limosna,/ q se pide en el lu-
gar, como presente, q se hace al preste,/ q celebra.
En otros dias es donde, la devoción es ma-/yor, q
nunca; la yglesia con mil adornos de flores,/ pal-
mas, arcos, y plumas; ardiendo en los castillos, que/
llaman, cantidad de velas; sermón, Missa cantada,
pro-/cession, repigues, caxas, y tiros de escopetas;
y a la vispera/ salve, y luminarias: todo es un puro
esmero; en tanta/ manera, q ha succedido, q faltán-
dole a algún official, cera,/ con q contribuir según
su tassa ordinaria, ni encontran-/dola a comprar a
trueque de otro genero, conforme al/ estilo desta
provincia, sacar plata, que es, lo q aqui guar-/dan
como Reliquia, y assi mover al vendedor, a q le
so-/corra en essa precisa necessidad, a q no podia
faltar, mas/ q fuesse gastando lo mas precioso, q
tenia.
En otros dias suele aver confessiones, y Comu-
niones;/ como en varios otros de Xo, la virgen S.a
Maña, y de/ otros santos, donde la vispera a toques
de Campana a-/cuden los devotos a confessar, reci-
biendo el dia siguiente dentro de su alma el dueño
della. Essa diligencia/
[folio 4] procuran hacer todos en tiempo de Qua-
resma, para complir/ con la yglesia, aviendose de
contentar con esso solo varios/ rudos, q por percebir
con aquella perfección, q se desea,/ los cosas del
Cielo, basta, q cumplan con essa obligación/ una
vez al año; y quan eficaz sea la gracia de Ds [Dios],
aun/ en los pechos de mayor cortedad, y rudeza,
se conoce enton-/ces en varios destos, q llegando
el dia de Ceniza, les pare-/ce otro tiempo, el q ha
empezado; todos viven mas com-/puestos, y sobre
si: acuden con mayor frequencia a la/ yglesia: oyen
con mas anzia los exemplos, q se añaden/ cada sá-
bado, y las doctrinas de los domingos: hablan, y/
piden perdón de sus enojos: restituyen la fama age-
na:/ temen mas, y mas callados perseveran; morti-
ficándose en el/ excesso de bevidas, y otros diverti-
mientos; procurando va-/rios, aun en medio de sus
penosas tareas, a ayunar de quan-/do, en quando;
acordándose siempre, q ya se llega al tiempo de/
cumplir con la yglesia.
Antes de Semana Santa, en la Novena, q se hace
a/ N. S.ra de los Dolores, (a cuyo altar en todo esse
tiempo de/ quaresma se reza el Rosario) entonces
es, q ya empiezan/ a resolverse en cumplir, lo q les
insta: acuden a la Nove-/na: examinan su concien-
cia; le piden luces divinas/ a esta Soberana Señora;
q les de un arrepentimiento ver-/dadero de sus cul-
pas, con un proposito firme de la e[n]mien-/da: todo
respira una nueva vida. Y mucho mas entran-/do
la Semana Santa con las processiones, y officios, Q
enton-/ces se hacen: el Monumento, q con cantida
de velas ador-/nan, y guardan; y la passion, q en
dos dias seguidos se/ predica: todo lo qual con c
silencio profundo, q se experi-Zmenta; los golpes de
pechos, q se oyen; los suspiros, y llantos,/ q se per'
ciben; las penitencias, y diciplinas publicas, q se
hacen, respira entre estos bosques, como dixe, una
verda-/dera santidad. Lo qual se percibe mejor 611
sus confessiones,/ q hacen con tal dolor, y coríl
punccion, q causa gusto, y e-/dificacion: fuera de <1
se hallan varios sin culpa grave,/ y todos sin maraua
alguna de sus conciencias; q fuera/ de uno, o otr°
mandamiento, en todos los demas no se/ hallan en
pados; resucitando desse modo con la Gloria/ d
S abado santo a nueva vida.
Esso es en general, lo q hallo, q puedo apum
en el/ presente eserito; en q si dixe las virtud®^
y lo bueno de los/ feligreses, no sera razón ^
occultar lo notorio de sus/ maldades; q todo
mundo es popayan; y donde ay bue-/nos, jalT1
dexan de mezclarse diablicos. y es assi, q/ no pue
dissimular en primer lugar la falta de/ alguu°s
las funciones de la yglesia: tan toscos son/ eSt y
tan mal criados, q lo q no es su casa, trabaja^
cazar, o bever, todo lo demas es perder el
De la/ platica dicen: lo q dice el P.e, ya yo 1° ’
paraq/ yo a oyrlo? mucho muele esse Re, añau ’
paraq/ tanto gritar? q buenas patadas le diera a e
pe./, dixo uno en la yglesia, al oyr actualmente
platica!/ otro sentábase muy de espacio al alar o
yglesia,/ en tiempo della, con su cigarro en la b° ’
esperando/ a q se acabara, para después oir la mi ^
otro, paraq/ he de yr a la yglesia, decia al tieII1L?
q hacia su pesca,/ si Di, [Dios] no me da ua ^
Que D. [Dios] y R? gritaba otro, al/reprehender a
justicia de una embriaguez, en que/ avia
caido* y°
soy mas q D [Dios] y recibió su castigo ade-/fiua ^
mandando el juez, q por semejante blasphenn
encensassen con aji molido de manera, q se ha
[folio 5] después bien arrepentido: preguntando^ ^
a otro de/ los, q viven en los Tambos, la dixo- ^
de verdad ay/ en vuestros borracheras, quan
tais juntos, viendo estrellas/ dais de patadas al te
al Gov.r, y al Ten.te? respondió,/ menos al Q ^
Otro por huir de los derechos de la yglesia,/111
su madre, sin dar parte a nadie, se fue a enter-’• un
en otra yglesia. Que justicia, y justicia? de- c y
tercero, después de muerto el Gov.r, queda
prov.a sin juez, q se recibiesse, haciéndose
de la/ hacienda agena; aora no ay justicia: a ^ q
lo/ mande el pontífice de Roma, no bolvere,^^g
he tomado./ Mas quisiera, q a mi me pegar°n ^QÍ
azotes, q a mi hijo,/ decia su padre, viendo,
103-2008
Anthropos
519
Nostalgia del monte”
feltar su hijo a la doc-/trina, llevaba la corrección
Crecida: y assi de otros,/ rematando algunos, q si
P-e predica en lengua de/ castilla, dicen, q no van
a D platica, porq no oyen la/ lengua castellana; si
Púdica en la del ynga, se pican/ y dicen, q a los
^pañoles no se les predica en lengua/ del ynga.
De ay la mucha pereza, q asiste a varios, es otro/
Panto notorio, q no puede estar escondido: tan para/
son estos, q toda su gloria la ponen, en no
aacer/ nada: ni piensan en sembrar; ni en cuidar
Süs chagras,/ si las tienen; ni en tener; ni en bus-
car: todo su pensa-/miento es en passear, perder
el tiempo, bever, y conten-Ztarse con un plátano,
0 1° q hallan de casa en casa; con-/fiados que el
d°, o el monte les dara, lo q necessitan,/ quando
0 buscaren, yéndose desse modo a perder meses/
euteros en la montaña, perdiendo en esso lo mas del
jlem-/p0, q lograran, trabajando en sus chagras para
a Seguri-/dad del mantenimiento. Otros al contrario
s°n grandes/ trabajadores; y paraq? ellos mismos
0 dicen; para co-/mer, y bever [tachado] lo be-
V°; porq lo trabajo:/ todo el conato es en trabajar
mUcho, para tener, q bever/ mucho; y causar con
esso tantos escándalos, como succe-/den, de peleas,
^os, valentías, bulla, maltratar a sus mugeres,/
^ Util otros peccados: para esso sirve el mucho/
|^assato, y aguardiente de plátanos, q previenen;
e'/niendo poco cuidado de pagar antes diesmos a la
^§tesia;/ q diesmos, y diesmos? q bevemos, dicen,
9 trabaja-/mos. Escándalos de casados rara vez
°yen, siendo tan/ corto el lugar, q no ay cosa, q
Se sepa; y tan zelosos/ ellos, y de tantos bríos, q
Cada rato amenazan con/ la muerte a sus mugeres;
. Usa* q les hace a estas mi-/rar por si mismas:
cante a las solteras, listas andan/ la ronda, y justi-
.as- esso si, rencores, cuentos, chismes,/ y testimo-
y °s’ tantos son, q ya parecen un puro embo-/lismo;
Se^stos de cerca, examinándolos con juicio, to-/do
baila, sin tener fundamento: y esto en particular/
re los yndios, quienes, como niños, oyen mal, y
Suen'/tan peor, lo q oyen; enredándolo todo según
ant°jo,/ o desvario: el remedio es, no hacer caso.
laeXo todo lo/ demas, y passo a otros casos particu-
q han sucedido.
ta i Sea Primero de consuelo> y alegría: apun-
lo/ del modo, q lo tengo en otro escrito, y es,
^0 S O ClmiD*/ /1 nA rmanAr o^miropiATl \ 7
lo
se
no
be i8^0» es el 9 acaba/ de succeder el año passado
San ^ en Borja con Adrián/ Tangoban, natural de
fer '^a§o:17 Este de mucho tiempo aca andaba en-
la t °’- una enfermedad lenta, q empezó a roerle
^tlla de en medio de la nariz: ausente/
se sigue:/ caso de no menor admiración, y
El ~------
asentamiento Santiago de las Montañas.
Vhr,
°P°s 103.2008
[folio 6] estaba el Cura dessa Ciud. el yndio por
no morir sin sacra-/mentos, viendo q su mal no
tenia remedio, vinose de/ proposito a Borja, para
encomendar ay [ahí] su cuerpo a la tier-/ra: tray-
dor era el mal, pero no tal, que lo estorvase salir
de/ casa: recibió con especial devoción todos los
sacramentos;/ pero en el dia de la Extremaunccion
mostró con especia-Zlidad la pureza de su fuego;
como entonces el P.e le con-/solaba, y animaba, a
q se conformara con la voluntad de/ D.s [Dios], por
fin para su consuelo le entrego una cruz de palo,/
diciendole, q con ella, después de muerto, lo traxe-
ran a la/ yglesia: coxióla el enfermo, lleno de jubilo
interior, q/ parecia, q ya el alma se le yba bolando
para el Cielo,/ y abrassandose con ella, mirando al
Miss.ro assi P.e, le dixo, llactaiqui rischac, assi iré
a tu tierra, dando a en-/tender el Cielo, q juzgaba
ser patria de los Missioneros./ Desde entonces por
donde quiera; q yba, llevaba su cruz/ consigo; y
passando a ver la fiesta; q su celebro/ en el Anexo
del Alto,18 el dia siguiente, q era el de Santo Tho-/
me Aposto!, derrepente, abrassado de su cruz, dio
su alma/ al Criador, y se enterró en la yglesia desse
pueblo.
Siguese otro prodigioso [prodigio]; y sino fue
milagro; alome-/nos por tal la pia afficion lo pudo
aver tenido: y fue el/ año passado de 42. el dia S.
Fran.c0 de Borja; acaba-/da su fiesta, como saca-
ron de sus andas al Santo, para ponerlo/ de nue-
vo en su nicho, inclinándolo a un lado, su-/cedio,
q despegándosele la cabeza del cuello, cayó esta
de/ bien alto al suelo; sin hacerse pedazos, aunq
interiormen-/te estaba hueca: solo en la frente se
despegó un pedaci-/to, por el qual, viéndose lo in-
terior de su contextura, cau-/so la admiración re-
ferida. No quiero, q se tenga el caso por/ mila-
gro; pero sin embargo no dexa de conocerse, q el
Santo/ quiso favorecer a sus devotos, q paraq es-
tos no quedassen/ privados desse común asylo, y
amparo, les hizo esse particu-/lar beneficio. Otro
mayor reconoci yo el sabado después,/ q atribuya
o al Santo, o a la Virgen María; o por mejor/ decir
a esta Soberana Reyna, por intercession de aquel
glo-/rioso Santo: y fue, q aquel mismo dia de la
fiesta dicha,/ q caia el miércoles, mande, quitassen
un arco rajado de/ bajareque, hecho de cañas lodo, y
paja, q caia perpendi-Zcularmente sobre el Altar de
la Concepción; q de no, al/ caer, lo haría pedazos:
descuidáronse en executar, lo q a-/via mandado, y
succede, q el sabado, un poco antes del/ tiempo, en
q ay [ahí] se dice la Missa, cayo el arco, partió la/
tabla del Altar, hecho al suelo el Ara, y descom-
puso/ el retablo; un poco mas q huviera durado, al
18 0 Alto de Andoas, donde vivían indígenas de este grupo.
520
María Susana CipoUett*
tiempo/ de la Missa me coxia debaxo, y sin remedio
me huvie-/ra muerto.
Vaya otro: vivia una yndia de estos en continuos/
pleitos, y disturbios con su marido, originados de
la poca/ estimación, q ella a este le tenia; teniéndo-
lo como aparta-/do de si, aunq en la misma casa,
paraq dessse modo pudiera/ ella lograr mejor sus
perversos intentos: todo el dia era/ una pura riña,
gritos, golpes, y palos; partiéndole a vezes/ el a ella
la cabeza: ni avia forma de sossegarlos; por mas/
consejos, reprehensiones; y castigos, q llevaban; y
aun desterran-/dolos a ambos a dos. Quitado el des-
tierro, llegó a tanto/ el enojo del marido, q coxiendo
un dia un cuchillo, em-/pezó a amenazarla, dizien-
do, q la mataría; haciendo el ademan,/ q se lo cla-
varia en el pescuesso: ella enfurecida, se abalanzó
al marido; tiróle este cuchilladas, con q le cortó la/
cara, y llegó a darle otra herida en el brazo: sobre
lo qual/
[folio 7] pidiendo ella apartamiento, por el peligro,
q avia, se em-/bio el marido desterrado; y espe-
cial quando se mandó, que/ se tuviera de la mu-
ger, q quedaba. Parece, q con la mise-/ricordia de
Di [Dios] aprovecho este ultimo remedio: cansada
ella/ de verse con hijos, y sin marido, deseó, q se lo
restituyessen;/ pero avisada de nuevo, q no diesse q
decir de su persona,/ y llevando también su mereci-
do castigo, por fin se lo entre-/garon; y viven aora
en santa paz, y concordia, sin oyrse/ ya los ruidos,
q antes solian ser de cada dia. Añado, q/ queriendo
de nuevo la muger lograr a escondidos, lo q antes/
estilaba con escándalo, persuadió a su marido, se
fuera con/ perros, y todo a una montería, a buscar
para sus hijos al-/gun mantenimiento; pero no lo
pudo ingeniar de manera,/ q la primera noche no
le cayera encima el castigo del Cielo;/ y fue por el
descuido, q tuvo, de algunas gallinas, de encerrar-/
las en el gallinero, q a la hora de venir el Calan
a su casa,/ estando todo lo demas en un profundo
Silencio, tales gritos/ dieron, q despertaron al juez,
q ay cerca vivia: quien sos-/pecho luego, lo q avia,
y al punto cumplió, con lo q le toca-/bas para el
escarmiento:
No succedio assi con otro del pueblo del Alto,
q avia/ dos años, y mas, q esta escondido en la
Montaña, con una/ yndia, q se llevó. Casada era,
y tres preciosos hijos tenia: a/ mas desso Fiscal,
ladino, y muy despierto; tanto q era el mas/ capaz, q
avia en el pueblo. Varias vezes antes de la fuga/ avia
instado, se le quitasse el officio; en tanta manera,
q ya/ causaba admiración la instancia: porq será?
Decia yo:/ no le quería admittir, lo q pedia; antes,
le mandaba, que/ cuidasse con mas diligencia, de
lo q le estaba encargado:/ y esso era, lo q menos
hacia, porq travada mala amistad/ con Dha [dicha]
yndia, todo lo dexaba, yglesia, pueblo, y casa para/
verse en la Ciud. con ella, passando de noche el
rio para lo-/grar su perverso intento: aun en tiemp0
de la missa, en lugar/ de cuidar de su officio, a
vezes se veia con ella. Savido el caso,/ castigúelo»
como lo merecia, haciéndosele la vara del Alcalde/
astillas sobre los espalios, enseñándole a este e
fin de su/ vara, y imprimiéndole a aquel el miedo
de la justicia. Tanto/ se humilló, q pensé, estaría
emendado: pero quando menos/ lo pensaba, tuve la
noticia, q se avia huido con su mance-/ba, llevando
consigo a otra muchacha con el hijo mayor, q/ tenia-
Ella los siguió; este, por no dexar a su Madre, se
hu-/yo, bolviendo al pueblo; lo qual visto dellos» y
q la muchacha/ ya sentia los trabajos, q passaban»
le dixeron se bolviesse a/ su casa, quedándose l°s
dos hasta el dia de oy en esse volun-/tario destierro-
Esta tentación, de huirse al monte los yndi°s’
es la mas/ ordinaria, q padecen los desta Ciud. $uS
parios son frequen-Ztemente sobre esse punto: q
se huyeran, yrian a tal, y/ tal paraje; a tal, y tal sih°’
q assi, y assi vivieran: que/ tales, y tales chagra^
tendrían: tales, y tales bodas: tales, y/ tales borra^
cheras: jardines (como dicen) de antojos, y des va
ríos; q les parece, q en estando solos, tendrán *
do, lo q/ por su pereza les falta en los pueblos-
dho [dicho] fugitivo/ varias vezes avia hablado
mismo modo; y aun un año/ antes de executar,
vivir»
esse
q avia pensado, en aquel sitio, don-/de quena
avia sembrado plátanos, y yucas, sin q/ lo supr
otro ninguno: haragan en el pueblo, sin hacer/ na ’
y alia a escondidas trabajando. Ya q vio, avian
durado sus siembras, entonces se huyó, dexaI^a,
todo, lo q/ tenia, serbretana [cerbatana], toldo,
cha, machete, y cuchillo; q parece,/ q de una ve^uS
avia cegado el demonio. Luego se le aca-/baron
quatro plátanos, y empezando la hambre, de nn
[folio 8] se acerco al pueblo, haciendo varios büít°Q
para su mante-/nimiento. Aun mas: llegó al da ^
del Curaca; y hablando/ con el, le dixo; ya g
no faltara, quien se alegre, q pa-/dezcamos ta
trabajos. No fue possible reducirlo, a q boltodo
embiose varias vezes gente a buscarlos; per0
fue/ en vano: no los encontraron. otra
Aora, al escrivir esto, huvo noticia, de q ^
vez yban/ pareciendo: embiose de nuevo gente^oS
fin después de poco/ encontráronlos, viviend'° ®^a,
mismos azia el pueblo. Pues-/tos en tortura,
raron la maldad, q avian ideado el Curaca/ c0íl^^J
suyos, q este no solo les estorvó a ellos la s ,
teniéndolos todo esse tiempo escondidos; sino
bien, q queda-/ban de concierto; para huirse ^
juntos: y para no ser des-/cubiertos, deterrnm
103
.2008
Anthropos
Nostalgia del monte’
521
9 el sitio fuesse por Pastaza, muchos/ dias distante
desta ciud. la fuga estaba ya concluida: el/ quando
av*a de ser passado un passeo, q pidió el Curaca
ayia/ de hacer en cierto rio: apalabrados assi varios:
°*os solici-Ztados: Todo el lugar estaba lleno, q se
huian: q no tenia/ remedio; y q faltaba poco; pero
n° se creia: todo parecia/ mentira. Por Fin quiso D.
dar a conocer la verdad: al mismo/ dia de la yda del
buraca a su passeo, se le echo mano enci-/ma. Con-
ducidos de la maldad passearonlos por las calles,/
c°n azotes a los fugitivos en todas las esquinas por
^anos/ del verdugo, y quitado después el cabello;
barrados a/ los demas las manos con otros azotes
en el rollo: fuera desso/ desterrado el Curaca, con
otros castigos, q se agravaron a los/ compañeros.
Assi quiso D.s castigarlos, y conservar por su gran/
^sericordia aquel pueblecito, q no faltaba nada,
Paraq/ se consumiesse por entero.
Los fugitivos después no acabavan de dar gra-
£las a D./ de averíos sacado de tantos trabajos, pu-
peando, q pessima-Zmente les avia ydo: todas las
hembras se les perdian: varias/ vezes avian enfer-
mado; y a vezes hasta la muerte; varias/en peligro
Patente de ser coxidos de los tigres: flaccos, y/ en
^°utinuos pleitos el con ella, echando uno al otro
a/ culpa de la desgracia, en q avian incurrido: fue-
ta de re-/conocer el mal estado, en q estaban; el
"°utinuo remordi-Zmiento de conciencia, de vivir
Cu
1 un continuo peccado,/ entregados ya al diablo,
j °n el continuo miedo, q aora,/ aora los coxia, y se
s llevaba. Assi, en particular el varón/ decia, q le
Parecia, q a cada rato detras del yba, quien le/ quería
^har garra, de noche tal era el ruido, q oyan/ en
^ rto, q temblaba la tierra del rancho, en q vivian:
yacumamas quizás, decian con la bocea, son
ejS 9 hacen esso;/ pero el corazón assentia, q era
demonio. Assi mismo los/ extraordinarios gritos,
ahullidos de los monos, ya no eran/ gritos de
tniales, decian; sino les parecia, debian de/ ser los
^lsmos diablos. Una cosa buena hallé en ellos, y/
5 4 nunca se olvidaron de rezar, como christianos;
aunq/ quiza no me avia valido, decia el yndio;
0 con todo esso/ lo q estilaba, como fiscal, en el
ebl°, esso cada dia ay lo/ hacia. Obra sin duda, q
eri m!ro con °J0S de piedad, para/ manifestarles el
^ Safio, en q miserablemente avian caido.
^9ui ay otros, q hizieron lo mismo, a quienes imitó/
inreferido fugitivo; pero todos a una confiessan ser
Ies Urrierables los trabajos, q assi se passan: todo se
tüoP>erde:/ ny yucas crecen, ni plátanos; en perpe-
ess ^e^Sro, de q otros/ infieles los maten; con todo
. 0 no escarmientan. Volver/ solos al pueblo, no lo
Sol6ren ^acer’ Por el miedo, q tienen,/ del castigo.
ento 611 muriendose uno de los dos; o q los co-/jan,
nces buelben. Sin embargo huvo, pocos anos
ha,/ dos dellos, q aburridos de padecer tanto, y
arrepentidos de/ sus peccados, se vinieron ellos
mismos a entregar a la justicia:/ hagan de mi lo q
quisieren, decian: sea el castigo, el q se/ fuere; bien
lo merezco: mas vale padecer en Borja una pu-/
[folio 9] blica vergüenza; q vivir con tantos traba-
jos, sin otros compa-/ñeros q las fieras, y demonios:
q con la emienda, D. nos per-/donará. Assi succe-
dio: vinieron ellos, recibieron de buena/ gana su
castigo, se emendaron del todo, y después, el varón/
murió en mis manos con todos los sacramnentos.
No obstante/ a vista destos exemplares, como di-
xe, no escarmientan todos;/ y como la cabra tira al
monte, assi varios destos piensan,/ q mejor les fuera
alia en essos escondrijos.
No añado, lo q, poco ha succedl° con otro mozo en
el pueblo de S. ygnacio, mozo el, casado con/ una
vieja, quien, enojándose con ella; coxiendola can-
sada/ y dormida, le dio tantos palos, q se vio obli-
gada a pedir/ confession; pareciendo, q seria milla-
gro, sino moría. Escapóse/ el mozo del castigo, q
ya le caia encima, y tirando al monte,/trataba de la
fuga, la qual se evito, saviendo q la enferma/ estaba
fuera de peligro; aunq desde entonces quedo con
dissen-Zteria, que no se save, en q todavia parará.
Ni tampoco di-ré de una criatura, q se desapareció
en el Alto, de poca edad,/ q apenas podia gatear, y
daba tal qual passo; que ni/ pareció viva, ni muerta;
el yaschingo, dicen, q se la cogio,/ cuento dellos,
como lo del coco, con q espantan a los chi-/quillos;
mas valiera echar la culpa a sus descuidos. Ni/ diré
de tantos hechizos, q cuenten, hacen varios; q casi/
no ay quien muera, q no se diga, q es por averie
echo daño:/ y aun desde aqui, decian, que un des-
terrado, q de otro/ pueblo bien lexos avia venido,
mataba a varios, q mo-/rian alia en su pueblo; q a
la verdad en esso no ay quien/ sepa nada: raro, o
ninguno es el verdadero hechizero; va-/rios, si son
unos meros embusteros.
Veese esso al pie de la letra con la muerte del
Curaca/ de S. Ygnacio, q poco ha succedio, quien
teniendo la enferme-/dad, q se le hinchaba y baxaba
la bariga, hizieron juicio,/ q sin duda seria Hechizo.
De nadie al principio se sospechava/ en particular;
hasta q viendo un mozo, q assi cobraría créditos/
y q lo temerían, si declaraba ser el el author del
daño, em-/pezo a decir varias palabras, q indicaban,
savia el hacer/ algo: q viessen, lo q hacian, decia,
(palabras q entonces estilan)/ qño se burlas sen con
el: q alia lo verían; q se acordassen/ de la muerte
del Curaca: q otro tanto les podia succeder:/ bastó
esso, paraq se formara el juicio, q esse era el q avia/
hecho el hechizo. Y para confirmación trayan por
Maestro/ suyo a otro desterrado, q por aver estado
Vh
lr°Pos 103.2008
522
María Susana Cipollettl
con otros infieles fugitivo/ no tenia muy buenos
créditos: este, decian, le avia enseñado/ el referido
hechizo; y para hacer creible el caso, añadian,/ q el
mismo lo confessaba, que se lo avia enseñado; pero
no/ para matar hombres; sino solo para animales.
Averiguado/ uno y otro, todo se hallo mentira: q ni
el uno le avia/ enseñado al otro nada; y q ni el uno,
ni el otro no savian/ nada, llevó por sus palabradas
buenos azotes el jactancioso,/ yñunca mas le dio
gana de ser tenido por Hechizero.
Añado otros casos de Viracochas, con q acabare
el hilo/ del presente discurso. El primero sea de
Fern.do ponce, anciano/ de venerable aspecto, y q
mucho trabajo en estas Missiones:/ este para vivir
con mas sossiego, se retiró a la Ciud de Sant-/yago,
de donde por evitar todos encuentros, y gozar de
una/ paz de un monje, o Anachoreta, continua, e im-
perturbable,/ se retiro con su muger,y familia, solo,
a una isla, distante/ un dia rio arriba, donde vivió
por muchos años, mante-Zniendose con el sudor de
su frente, con sus devociones, rezos,/ y cuidados de
Christiano; viviendo a oyr missa los domin-/gos,
y dias de precepto a la Ciud, piando luego por su
santo/ retiro. Succede, q cargado de años, estando
en la Ciud. su/ muger enferma, le coxió a el alia en
sus isla la ultima/
[folio 10] enfermedad, q no dio lugar, siquiera,/ pa-
ra avisar dello en Sant-yago. Llegó pues la noticia
de/ su muerte junto con su cuerpo; lo qual oydo de
la muger,/ como si solo esso esperasse, para acom-
pañarlo hasta la otra/ vida, dio en esse mismo tiem-
po su espiritu a su Criador, en-/terrandose juntos
en la yglesia, los q tan juntos, y aparta-dos de todos
avian vivido; y aunq murieron sin sacramen-/to, por
la auencia, q huvo, de su cura, con todo esso des-/
pues de tanta paz, y conformidad en este mundo, se
es-/pera, yrian a gozar de la eterna en el Cielo.
El otro es de Sant-yago Soria, vecino desta Ciud.
de/ Borja: hombre bueno, y verdadero Ysraelita, q
no tenia ma-/licia ninguna; viviendo con su esposa
todo el tiempo de/ su vida, como lo pide D.s y la
S.ta M.e yglesia. Este seña-/lado para yr al descu-
brimiento del Nucuray,19 enfermó de/ dyssenteria
llegando al pueblo S. Ygnacio, de donde retr-/oce-
dio para buscar algún alivio: pero todo fue en vano;
em-/peorose el mal, y después de algún tiempo,
recebidos los Santos/ Sacramentos, se murió alia
en su tambo, donde, para alivi-/arse en algo, se avia
transportado. Aqui, como tres meses des-/pues, de
dia claro un cuñado suyo, q ay siento tenia su/ po-
sada, estando en su labor, oyóle clara, y distincta-
19 Magnin se refiere aquí a la expedición que tratara en su
escrito de 1742 (1998).
mente,/ q le decia; Masina, esto es, Cuñado, acuet'
date por Ds, pa-/ra mandarme decir una Missa; <1
mucho la necessito. vino/ el mozo a decirme el ca-
so: dixele la missa; y desde enton-/ces, sin parecer
mas, sin duda yria a gozar de la eterna/ bienaventu-
ranza.
A estos de edificación sigase otro de horror, y
escarmien-/to, en q se vee; q no puede vivir con
sossiego una cons-/ciencia mala, y dañada. Direl°
con las mismas palabras,/ conq en otro escrito 1°
tengo apuntado, y dicen assi: otro/ caso añadirc
de un Mulato, y viracocha, en q se vee coxid°
el hombre en sus proprios lazos, q armaba, para
coxer a/ otros. Armábalos el Mulato al mismo Yhs
sionero, enojan-/dose, q porq tantas vezes predica
ba contra la borrachera?/ convínose para ello con
el viracocha; y sino huviera sido/ por su mugef’
q lo dissuadio, se huviera executado. poco des-
pués succedio illicita amistad del viracocha con es
sa muger/ del Mulato, la qual viéndose preñan »
y rezelosa, q al nacer/ la criatura, la matasse sU
marido, reconociendo en el color/ del niño el d
lito passado: q hace? compactase con el/ viracocñ^
para darle de bever barbasco. Assi se hizo: obró/Q
breve el veneno: tendióse en la cama el mulato: qu ?
tienes, dice la muger? parece, q estas empachad ■
Ea! ayu-/das: y de q fueron? echanselas assi rnis
de barbasco. Corre/ la voz, q se muere el erl1.
mo, y q muere de aquel veneno:/ acude un yn°
con sumo de caña, remedio efficaz para/ el caso» ^
aunq se lo querían estorvar, diciendo, q entone^
acudían con sus embustes, y hechizerias, qua
el moribun-/do ya estaba espirando, sin ernt>a
alcanzó, q le exprimie-/ran en la bocea algunas g ^
tas de aquel sumo, con lo qual/ siendo los dos>
empezaba a bolver en si, solos como esta-/ban cu ^
casa, con un pañuelo, q le enlazaron por el cuc ^
tirando ella por un lado, y el por el otro, ay
confession,/ ni otros sacramentos lo dexaron y
y elado; pagando/ el desdichado con aquel ve
la muerte, q intentó dar al Missionero. 6f
Añado aora lo q aqui obró en dha [dicha]
su mala/ conciencia, vínose, después del succ ^
a esta Ciud, donde/ parió, y bautizó el fruto, ^
su color indicaba su proprio/ peccado: preS ^
banle varios sobre la muerte de su marido;/ y f
no supe de manera callar, q no refiriesse, aun
menudo/
[folio 11] todo lo q avia passado, buscando tan^r¿L
ve delito el respira-/dero de su propria boca, ^
tener algún desahogo. Corrió/ luego la voz, Q ^
misma lo decia, y confessaba; llegó/ a °X j^Qto
juez, quien, desde luego, dixo, q la prenderia^t^
no savia q hazer della, hasta dar parte a o
103.20°8
Anthropos
523
Perior/ justicia. Savida essa determinación, q hace
eha? Engaña/ a un yndio viejo, y se concierta con
eh q la lleve rio abaxo/ hasta los portugueses: todo
estaba ya dispuesto, y por la maña-/na se avian de
^evar los trastes a la Canoa: lo qual savido/ del juez,
^ embarcarse se hallaron frustrados de su intento./
Entonces fueron mayores los sustos: q haré? Aora
^ co-/xen: aora me ponen grillos: aora me ahor-
Can: buscaba/ consuelos, y no los encontraba: a mi
1116 venia a preguntar,/ q haría? Le decia, q viviesse
Segura; q el juez por aora/ no le quería hacer na-
^ q no temiesse. No basto esso para/ sossegar la
Pe*turbacion de su pecho: mudóse por fin a Sani-
ego, donde, por ser juridiccion diversa, pensaba
aaHar el/ sossiego, q buscaba: pero ni aqui lo halló,
teiuiendo siempre,/ le cayesse encima la justicia;
^ Por esso a vezes se escondia/ en el monte, aunq
aadie pensaba en perseguirla, por fin sa-/viendo, q
aVla de passar por essa Ciud. el Gou.r desta prov.V
^ 4 sin duda, (según su juicio della) la prendería,
^ haria/ causa, dexando a sus hijos, y parientes se
embarco fugitiva/ azia el Embarcadero, de donde
aV noticias, q todavia no ha/ escarmentado. El fruc-
0 de la tragedia después murió, y el pa-/dre, q lo
^gendró, sino es verdad, lo q se assigura, que ya/
esu X.° le tomo cuenta; sin duda le espera un rayo
brioso
Esse fue castigo de passo lento, este otro es de
Prornpta/ execucion, y en el mismo hecho del de-
Fue en un dia de/ fiesta, donde sin dypensa-
Cl°n alguna, ni necessidad precisa/ quiso uno oc-
uparse, con otros combidados assi indios, como/
^Pañoles, en obra servil con escándalo de todo el
§ar,/ minga, bevida, bulla, y gritos, q no avian
Para poner/ en tierra la carga, q llevaba por
ri°- No duró mucho/ la boda, al embarcarse en
s^s canoas, medio embriagados todos;/ renovando-
y entonces mucho mas q nunca la bulla, alegría,/
gritos, remando un poco desse modo, se les bol-
0 Una/ canoa an la mitad del rio, con perligro de
^°garse todos,/ en particular un yndio, q llevado
^ *a corriente para abajo,/ sin tener ya esperanza
la Saffar [zafarse], tuvo la fortuna, de que/ uno en
laP%a lo descubriesse, luchando con la muerte, y
U °las de su infortunio: fueron tras del en canoa, y
§ar°n/ a tiempo, para sacarlo mas muerto, q vivo.
^esde entonces es-/carmentaron todos; alómenos
trabajar con tanta bulla/ y escándalo los dias de
aunq para trabajar algo, y/ con ssosiego, y
tie blen Para dexar la missa, parece, q va-/rios no
Co^eri unicho escrúpulo. A algunos, si, los engaña
loq Prec^oso titulo el demonio, quienes passando
el t\ ^ semana ociosos, sin hacer nada, llegando
d;c °mingo, de-/xan la missa, y todo para trabajar,
eih q esso D.s lo manda,/ (como si tuvieran mu-
Authr<
°P0S 103.2008
cha razón,y fundamento) porque de-/masiada es la
neccessidad, q nos aprieta.
Pudiera aqui por remate añadir lo enojado, q se
mues-/tra el Cielo contra este lugar, y sus vecinos,
assi Españoles co-/mo yndios, desde el tiempo, q
vine, hasta el dia presente; que/ todo es de mal en
peor; castigo manifiesto de nuestras culpas/ y pec-
cados. El año de 40. De 30. Vacas, q avia, no quedó
ni/ una por los Murciélagos, q las consumieron, sin
aver podido/ saffar un par, por mas diligencia, q se
puso, los crias/ de cerdo aunq no perecieron todas,
mucho se menoscabaron;/ de las aves, y galinas
muchas murieron; acabando de morir/
[folio 12] con otras pestes cantidad de cuyes. El de
41. empezaron a des-/caecer las chagras, plátanos,
y yucas; aunq no con tanta fuer-/za como el de 42.
donde con la falta q hicieron varios, a-/compañando
en sus conquistas al Gou.r diffunto, quedaron a-/
qui sus mugeres, y hijos pereciendo: pero nunca se
vio el/ lugar con tal estrechez, miseria, y atrassos,
como en este año de 43., donde apenas se halla
un plátano, q comer,/ assolados con los crecientes
del rio las chagras; perdido, en q/ tenian puesta
su esperanza, todo el tabaco: llevándose el/ rio
7. casas de las 11. q avia en S. Ygnacio: Los
yndios/ siempre a menor, sin notable augmento en
los viracochas,/ quedando como imoble [inmóvil?]
el numero de todos juntos, de poco/ mas, o menos
de 330: retirada, y poca la cazeria: el rio/ mas de
la mittad del año sin dar un pescado: frequentes/
las enfermedades; demasiados los aguaseros y con
excesso en las chagras los daños de los animales:
llorando to-/dos, sentenciados a bever agua pura,
los q antes tenian/ abundancia de aguardientes, y
massatos; fuera desso tan-/tos hurtos, q no ay cosa
segura, pero dexo todo esso, esperanzado en D.,
y en su infinita misericordia, q por fin mi-/rara a
estos pobres con ojos de piedad: como también/
nada digo de las 22. almas de infieles del Nucuray,
q traxeron aqui para ser bautizados, por aver ya
remitido/ relación a parte de todo esse successo:
sino, acabo con/ el deseo, q tengo, q lo bueno, q
por acá cultivan, se imite,/ y lo malo, en q caen, se
evite. Borgia y Noviemb. 6. de 1743. A.
Juan Magnin [rúbrica]
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Philipus Tule
Longing for the House of
God, Dwelling in the House
of the Ancestors
Local Belief, Christianity, and Islam
among the Keo of Central Flores
I Collection : Studia Instituti Anthropos,
volume 50
The society of Keo of Central Flores, Eastern
Indonesia, houses pervasive treasures of re-
ligions, culture, and history. Apart from in-
troducing a hitherto undescribed population,
this book, which is derived from the author’s
extended research and living experiences among the Keo, presents analysis on major
issues of religion, culture, identity, and local ideology involving rituals, social organiza-
tion, and marriage alliance within the frame of anthropology of religion. Although, most
of the Keo are Muslims and Catholics, they still perceive their local beliefs and culture as
part of their identity. For the Keo people, Islam and Christianity are not only the practiced
religions embedded in their Holy Books but also the basis for what they believe and do
everyday, how they live in their traditional« house-based » and « basket-based » con-
texts. The monotheistic beliefs acquire certain elements from Keo culture and in turn,
Keo culture adopts and adapts certain elements from both monotheistic faiths and ways
of life. One typical characteristic of Keo society is that the inculturation the interaction be-
tween the monotheistic religions and Keo culture - both in Islam and Catholicism stems
not only from the contextualization and the renewal movement of these monotheistic
religions but also from a deeprooted and continuing subconscious adherence to their lo-
cal beliefs, which produces a harmonious and tolerant culture based on land, settlement,
house, consanguineous and affinal relationships.
Philipus Tuie
tor we house
Dwelling in
e House of the
Ancestors
XXVI-366 pages, paperback,
Fr.75.-/€50.-
ISBN 3-7278-1478-0
acade3ress
FRIB
ANTHROPOS
103.2008: 527-539
Forschende im Fokus
Zu den Potentialen und Problemen der Wissensforschung
in den Kulturwissenschaften
Teresa Brinkei
stract. - The article deals with potentials and problems con-
i'ng scholarly research of the discipline of cultural anthro-
the‘ ^ ^ ^as rarely ^een Practice<J by scholars to examine
lr own disciplinary culture and the youngest history of their
T despite the meaningful chances arising from such a re-
0jorch. One conflict, for example, may be caused by method-
the^1Ca^ Pr°blems during oral history interviews with actors of
a in K^d- Reflecting her own methodological experiences the
the**01 ^'scusses problems such as the “research-up” situation,
tio ^Uesfl°n °f professionalism and consequences of publica-
• She analyzes why researching one’s own field’s history de-
^ nc*s a distinguished and self-reflective approach. Furthermore
Su article introduces ways and possibilities how to deal with
Problems, [cultural anthropoloy, folklore studies, science
spifles’ history of science, oral history, qualitative methods,
*'reflection ]
p^|*.esa Brinkel, M. A., Magisterstudium (2000-2005) an der
ve 'Pps-Universitat Marburg und der Friedrich-Schiller-Uni-
r10j0ltat ^ena (Volkskunde / Kulturgeschichte / Europäische Eth-
Soziologie, Kommunikationswissenschaft). - Seit 2006
Cü]^enschaftliche Mitarbeiterin im Projekt “Perspectives on
pe ffi ^tuc^’es- A. Critical History of the Disciplines of Euro-
t(4ts ethnology and Folklore in Germany and Israel” des Insti-
Aürr Ur Kulturanthropologie / Europäische Ethnologie, Georg-
de/ Üsf'Kniversität Göttingen (http://www.kaee.uni-goettingen.
^ i^jckte/genl/portai.html). - Publikationen: “Von den Herä-
des p ZUm Marathon. Eine kulturwissenschaftliche Betrachtung
rauenlaufsports” (Magisterarbeit 2008).
L^nc^e das, was machen wichtig und ich
5emr aUC^ Gliche Antworten geben. Aber ei-
ieh lCtl ^atte ich mir geschworen, keine Interviews
icv^ r Zu geben. Wissen Sie, da kommen Leute und
erzähle und erzähle und am Ende wird irgend-
was veröffentlicht, was mir gar nicht entspricht.
Da muss ich dann wieder richtig stellen, es ru-
fen mich Wissenschaftler an und fragen, was ich
denn da gesagt habe und wie das sein könne ...”
Diese Aussage stammt von einer Gewährsperson
aus dem Bereich der Kulturwissenschaft, welche
ich im Rahmen des Forschungsprojektes “Perspec-
tives on Cultural Studies”1 zu fachhistorischen
Prozessen befragte. Anhand dieses Zitates lassen
sich sowohl die Potentiale als auch die Probleme
verdeutlichen, die im Rahmen einer Erforschung
des eigenen wissenschaftlichen Feldes mittels oral
history entstehen können. Einerseits lassen sich
Wahrnehmungen zu fachgeschichtlichen Prozessen
und kulturellen Praxen erheben, andererseits be-
steht eine offensichtliche und verständliche Scheu
vor den möglichen Folgen von veröffentlichten
“Fehlinterpretationen”. Eine fachhistorische Stu-
die mittels oral history erfordert ein hohes Maß
1 Das deutsch-israelische Forschungsprojekt “Perspectives on
Cultural Studies. A Critical History of the Disciplines of
European Ethnology and Folklore in Germany and Israel”
wurde gefördert vom niedersächsischen Ministerium für
Wissenschaft und Kultur aus Mitteln des VW-Vorabs im
Rahmen der niedersächsisch-israelischen wissenschaftli-
chen Kooperation vom 1.1. 2006 bis zum 31. 12. 2007.
Die hier verwendeten Zitate sind Interviews entnommen,
die ich mit Fachvertreter/innen im Zeitraum April 2006 bis
September 2007 führte. Die Zitate werden ohne Hinweise
auf Namen, genannte Personen und Zeitumstände sowie
ohne Nachweise angeführt, um die Anonymität der Akteure
im beforschten Feld zu wahren.
528
Teresa Brink6*
an Reflexion, da die Untersuchungspersonen sel-
ber die wissenschaftlichen Methoden kennen und
darüber möglicherweise Diskussionen einfordem.
Vielleicht ist gerade dies ein Grund, weshalb ge-
genwartsnahe Wissensforschung bisher wenig um-
gesetzt worden ist. Eine Ethnographie der eige-
nen Arbeitswelt und jüngsten Fachgeschichte er-
öffnet jedoch eine Chance, die Positionierung des
Faches und dessen Wissensproduktion für Wissen-
schaft und Gesellschaft tiefer zu erfassen. Klare
Fachprofilierungen erscheinen besonders notwen-
dig in Zeiten, in denen wissenschaftliche Institute
von drastischen Kürzungen beeinträchtigt werden
und sich einem zunehmenden Legitimationsdruck
ausgesetzt sehen. Dabei kann Wissensforschung als
(Selbst)anwendung der verfügbaren wissenschaft-
lichen Theorien, Modelle und Methoden auf die
Wissenschaften, Wissenschaftsinstitutionen, Wis-
senschaftsmedien und Wissenschaftler/innen defi-
niert werden (vgl. zur Einführung Feit, Nowotny
und Taschwer 1995).
Der vorliegende Beitrag möchte die Potentiale,
aber auch die methodischen Hürden und Grenzen
exemplarisch aufzeigen, die in einer wissenshisto-
rischen Erforschung der eigenen jüngsten Fachge-
schichte anstehen. Der Beitrag wird zunächst durch
einen kurzen Abriss zur modernen Wissensfor-
schung kontextualisiert. Daran anknüpfend werden
fachkulturelle Studien im internationalen Rahmen
der Kulturanthropologie2 aufgegriffen, um deren
Bedeutung für das Fach herauszustellen. Schwer-
punkt des Beitrages bildet die Diskussion über Pro-
bleme im Forschungsprozess, die anhand eigener
Interviewerfahrungen veranschaulicht werden.
Wissensforschung -
Annäherung an eine interdisziplinäre Praxis
Die Geschichte der Wissenschaft und ihrer ein-
zelnen Disziplinen bildete sich verstärkt im Laufe
des 19. Jahrhunderts heraus. Das Konzept dieser
Wissenschaftsgeschichte wurde bis weit ins 20.
Jahrhundert jedoch als reine “Fortschrittsgeschich-
2 Die folgenden Ausführungen beschränken sich vorrangig
auf die Fachbezeichnungen Kulturanthropologie und Euro-
päische Ethnologie. Damit sind alle kulturwissenschaftli-
chen Fächer eingeschlossen, die aus der ehemaligen Volks-
kunde hervorgegangen sind bzw. auch in interdisziplinärer
Verbindung mit ihr stehen: Empirische Kulturwissenschaft,
Kulturgeschichte, Sozialanthropologie, Historische Anthro-
pologie, Cultural Studies, Folklore etc. Die Verwendung der
Bezeichnung Volkskunde bezieht sich hier nur auf die Zeit
vor der Falkensteiner Tagung 1970 mit den darauf folgenden
Namensumbenennungen.
te des menschlichen Geistes” angelegt. Ein “nal'
ver” Fortschrittsglaube ließ sogar im 2. Weltkrieg
die Überzeugung der “civiling and liberating power
of science” nicht erschüttern (Sarton 1952: 11)- Le'
penies und Weingart machen den Widerspruch ei'
ner solchen Auffassung explizit: “On the one hand'
the traditional history of science was told as a st°'
ry of hero and hero worship, on the other hand **
was, paradoxically enough, the constant attempt to
remind the scientist whom he should better forge*
(1983: ix). Es ist offensichtlich, dass diese Daf'
Stellungen einer Wissenschaft häufig als Projok
tion, Konstruktion und bewusste Geschichtsrnan1
pulation dienten. In Zeiten wissenschaftlicher Pa
radigmenwechsel wurde häufig auf Fachgeschicb*6 *
rekurriert, um entweder neue Positionen zu leg10
mieren und zu stärken oder traditionelle Konzept
weiter zu betonen. Es wurden Genealogien entwot
fen, die die eigenen Standpunkte durch schein*2
historische Tiefe legitimierten. Beispielsweise
hob
der Volkskundler Wilhelm Peßler in der Zeit do
beginnenden Nationalsozialismus die schon v°r
her bestehenden Stammes- und Kulturraurnthc0
rien hervor, die den nationalistischen Impetus o
Wissenschaft unterstrichen (1935; 7). . .
Erst seit den 1960er Jahren wird Fachgeschio ^
te nicht mehr nur als steter Fortschritt bezeichn ’
eine Wende, zu welcher Thomas S. Kuhns
heb'
Structure of Scientific Revolutions” (1962) er
lieh beitrug: Wissenschaft wurde nicht mehr
auf kognitive Aspekte reduziert, sondern auch g
soziales Handeln verstanden. Die Vorstellung* a .
Wissenschaft allein mit universaler Wahrheit
Rationalität gleichzusetzen ist, wurde sukzes8 *
überwunden. Gleichermaßen wurde die Vorsteh
eines stringenten Wissenszuwachses in Frage h
stellt * *.3 Auch die Fachgeschichtsschreibung er ^
teile sich, insbesondere durch eine zunehmen ^
soziopolitische Kontextualisierung. Dieser
lässt sich beispielsweise an einer Gegenüber8
lung von Giuseppe Cocchiaras “Storia del g
lore in Europa” (1952) und Hermann Bausing^,,
wissensgeschichtlicher Einführung “Volksku ^
(1971) markieren. Während sich Cocchiaras
Stellung unstreitbar von zeitgenössischen Fac
schichten abhob (z. B. durch seine vergleiche
europäische Perspektive), blieb er auf einer ^
relativ unkritischer Deskriptionen stehen. Ff
ger hingegen stellte vermeintlich gegebene 6
begriffe der Volkskunde immer wieder in ^
und dekonstruierte auf diese Weise die
tischen Konzepte und Fragestellungen. Fm
____________ ^ j z>
3 Zur Auseinandersetzung mit Kuhns Thesen
Nickles (2003) und Rose (2004).
103-20°*
Anthropos
529
Urschende im Fokus
|es Beispiel in diesem Zusammenhang ist auch
jMlliam Wilsons politische Fachgeschichte zu
Inland (1976), eine Studie, die Zusammenhänge
fischen nationalistischen Bestrebungen und dis-
?1PHnärer Entwicklung thematisierte.
Wissensanalytische Studien blieben in den
^60er und 1970er Jahren vorrangig auf natur- und
sPater technikwissenschaftliche Disziplinen be-
schränkt, da deren Einfluss auf die gesellschaftliche
^twicklung als besonders hoch eingeschätzt wur-
Qe (und wird). Die stärkere Intervention des Staates
111 Hochschulbereiche, die Expansion des Bildungs-
tete Universitätssystems, die rasche Internationali-
S'erung sowie stärkere Rationalisierung in der Wis-
scnschaft veranlassten auch die Sozial- und Geis-
teswissenschaften in den 1980er Jahren zu einem
Intensiveren Prozess der Eigenreflexivität (Feit,
fh)Wotny und Taschwer 1995: 149ff.). Unter dem
cutigen Mantel einer Wissen(schaft)sforschung4
sted unterschiedliche Forschungsrichtungen iden-
tezierbar, wie Wissenschaftssoziologie, Wissen-
Schaftsphilosophie, Wissenschaftstheorie und Wis-
tenschaftsgeschichte. Als Begründer der Wissen-
tehaftssoziologie leistete Robert K. Merton (1973)
. ahnbrechende Arbeit mit seiner Betrachtung von
testitutionalisierten Mechanismen in der Wissen-
^aft, ebenso wie Karin Knorr-Cetina (1984) und
runo Latour und Steve Woolgar mit ihren Labor-
tedien (1979). Darin stellten sie fest, dass Ent-
Beidungen im Forschungsprozess meist nicht auf-
SUind theoretischer Überlegungen gefällt werden,
ndem vielmehr von wissenschaftsexternen Um-
anden beeinflusst werden, wie zum Beispiel vom
rt:)eitsmaterial oder der Arbeitsatmosphäre.
r Zu einer Öffnung der Wissenschaften für selbst-
uexive Prozesse trug in besonderem Maße auch
trauen- und Geschlechterforschung bei. Don-
Haraway, als Vertreterin eines postmodernen fe-
^ testisehen Ansatzes, analysierte in ihrem “Cy-
j^°r£ Manifeste” die Veränderungen von Klasse,
te^SSe Unc* Gender in einer technologisch vermit-
?e.ten Gesellschaft (vgl. Haraway 1995). Gleich-
tüllg versuchte sie den historischen Objektivi-
***pruch der Wissenschaft zu dekonstruieren
eine “Perspektive aus der Position der we-
16 Begriffe der Wissensc/zq/Morschung, Wissenschafts-
Zl°l°gie etc. werden seit einigen Jahren erweitert und zu-
arnrnengeführt auf den Begriff der Wissensforschung, der
^lch nicht auf Disziplingrenzen stützt, sondern von einem
reüen, interdisziplinären Wissensbegriff ausgeht. Der Be-
' der Wissensforschung ist am ehesten mit dem engli-
en Begriff der Science Studies vergleichbar, eine inter-
SZlpUnäre Forschungsrichtung, die wissenschaftliche Ex-
Uisen in einem breiten sozialen, historischen und philoso-
1Schen Kontext betrachtet.
Alahr,
°P°s 103.2008
niger Mächtigen” (1995: 83) einzunehmen. Hara-
ways Ansätze sind ein Beispiel dafür, auf welche
Weise Gender-orientierte Studien mit ihrer Suche
nach neuen Methoden und Theorien sowie ihrer
Betonung von Subjektivität wissenschaftlichen Ar-
beitens neue Impulse für reflexive Wissensanalysen
geben.
Als Erweiterung der Wissenschaftsforschung
geht die moderne Wwsenjforschung von einer zu-
nehmenden Verflüssigung der Grenzen zwischen
den einzelnen Disziplinen sowie zwischen Wissen-
schaft und anderen Sphären der Wissensproduk-
tion aus. Wissen als grenzen- und disziplinüber-
greifend zu definieren, entspricht der modernen
Wissensproduktion mehr als von klar abgegrenz-
ten Wissenschaften mit entsprechenden Bestän-
den zu sprechen. Wissenschaft findet nicht mehr
nur im geschützten akademischen Raum statt, son-
dern verbindet sich verstärkt mit außeruniversitä-
ren Strukturen. Öffentliche und wirtschaftliche In-
teressen beeinflussen wissenschaftliche Fragestel-
lungen, Wissenschaft wirkt umgekehrt auf diese
ein. Das bedeutet auch, dass Wissenschaft “entmo-
nopolisiert” (Beck 1996: 256) wird und für man-
che die Befürchtung entsteht, dass Wissenschaft
an Glaubwürdigkeit verliere. Die norwegische So-
zialanthropologin Marianne Gullestad spricht von
einem Verlust wissenschaftlicher Autorität in der
Öffentlichkeit, bedingt durch sozioökonomische
Prozesse, die Forcierung technologischer Fort-
schritte, prekäre Arbeitsbedingungen von Nach-
wuchswissenschaftler/innen und die Flut leicht zu-
gänglicher Informationen sowohl in der Wissen-
schaft als auch in der Öffentlichkeit (2006:916).
Es werden immense Möglichkeiten geschaffen, aus
einem breiten Feld an unterschiedlichen Quellen zu
schöpfen. Das Rekurrieren auf wissenschaftliches
Wissen ist nur eine davon. Dies zwingt die Wissen-
schaften dazu, sich neu zu positionieren und zu le-
gitimieren. Die Auseinandersetzung mit sich selbst,
die Frage wie Wissen entsteht und auf welche
Weise es verbreitet wird, leistet für eine Selbstle-
gitimation grundlegende Erkenntnisse, wie Bour-
dieu in seinem Werk “Homo academicus” fest-
stellte: Durch “die Objektivierung des objektivie-
renden Subjekts ... vermag das wissenschaftliche
Subjekt seine Strukturen und Neigungen ebenso
theoretisch zu meistern wie die Determinanten, de-
ren Produkte sie sind ...” (1988: 10). Wissensana-
lytische Studien zeigen, dass Wissenschaft heute
von einer stärkeren Rechenschaftspflicht gegenüber
der Öffentlichkeit gekennzeichnet ist. Forderun-
gen nach mehr Praxis- und Anwendungsrelevanz,
das Verschmelzen von Disziplinen durch transdis-
ziplinäre Forschergruppen und auch das Mitwir-
530
Teresa
Brink61
ken nicht-wissenschaftlicher Akteure an Forschun-
gen steigern die Notwendigkeit von Aushandlungs-
prozessen (vgl. als Überblick Nowotny, Scott und
Gibbons 2004; Weingart 2005). Überlegungen zu
den Funktionsmechanismen der Entstehung, Ver-
breitung und Rezeption dieses Wissens sind daher
grundlegend für wissenschaftliche Erkenntnisse.
Potentiale fachhistorischer Forschung
in der Kulturanthropologie
Die Perspektive einer historischen Betrachtung in-
nerhalb kulturwissenschaftlicher Fragestellungen
ist ein wesentliches Element in der Wissensfor-
schung geworden und in vielen Feldern der Kul-
turanthropologie relevant.5 Die Potentiale, die fach-
historische Forschung bietet, sollen im folgenden
Abschnitt anhand international rezipierter kultur-
anthropologischer Studien aufgezeigt werden.
In ihrer Stellung zwischen Universität und Ge-
sellschaft war und ist die ehemalige Volkskunde
eng mit außerakademischen Tätigkeitsfeldern und
soziopolitischen Bewegungen verknüpft und stellt
einen hohen Bezug zu populären Themen und All-
tagstheorien her. Sie vollzog und vollzieht sich
noch heute in besonderer Nähe zur Alltagserfah-
rung, -spräche und -kommunikation, weshalb sich
das Fach immer wieder mit seiner Stellung zwi-
schen Universität und Gesellschaft auseinanderset-
zen musste. Um Fragen z. B. nach Ethnizität und
Popularkultur, Nationalität und Politik zu bearbei-
ten, sind Erkenntnisse über die Abhängigkeiten
und Mechanismen von grundlegender Bedeutung:
Wie wird wissenschaftliches Wissen im öffentli-
chen Raum rezipiert, interpretiert und in bestehen-
de Kontexte eingeordnet? Dan Ben-Arnos legte mit
seinem Plädoyer “A History of Folklore Studies
- Why Do We Need It” (1973) eine Grundlage
für die fachhistorische Forschung, die seiner Mei-
nung nach helfen könne, das Fach Folklore aus
seiner Marginalität herauszuholen. Er argumentier-
te, dass das Fach durch die fast ausschließliche
Beschäftigung mit Methoden und Techniken eher
als “Handwerk” denn als Wissenschaft zu bezeich-
nen sei. Durch selbstreflexive Fachgeschichte kön-
ne man jedoch zu eigenen theoretischen Konzep-
ten und Ideen gelangen, welche das Fach in den
5 Besonders für die kritische Aufarbeitung der Rolle des Fa-
ches im Nationalismus und Nationalsozialismus sowie der
Prozesse nach dem zweiten Weltkrieg liegen viele Unter-
suchungen vor. Vgl. z. B. Bausinger (1965); Bausinger und
Brückner (1969); Emmerich (1968); Gerndt (1987); Jacobeit
etal. (1994); Eichner etal. (1995); Haas (1996); Lozoviuk
und Moser (2005); Krause et al. (2003).
akademischen Diskurs zurückholen würden und
sein intellektuelles Profil schärfen könnten (Ben-
Arnos 1973: 117f.)- Der US-amerikanische HistO'
riker George Stocking initiierte einige Jahre spa'
ter eine kontinuierliche Form des fachgeschich1 *'
liehen Diskurses innerhalb der Anthropologie m1*
der Herausgabe der Reihe “History of Anthrop01'
ogy” im Jahr 1983. Mit einem neuen Bewusstsein?
die Anthropologie dezidiert als historisch gewad1'
sene Disziplin zu verstehen, schaffte er ein Form11
für Historiker und Anthropologen, sich in einem
gegenseitigen Diskurs über die Geschichte der vef
schiedenen Bereiche der Anthropologi *e6 ausein
anderzusetzen. Ausschlaggebend für eine intens1
ve Debatte um Fachgeschichte war die krisenhai
Richtungssuche der amerikanischen Anthropologe
in den 1960er Jahren und die sich daraus entM
ekelnde Frage nach disziplinärer Identität (Stoc
ing 1983: 4). Gerade im ersten Band “Observer
Observed” (Stocking 1983) legte Stocking eine
Grundstein, um die Beschäftigung mit fachhistoh
sehen Fragen zu legitimieren. Die Autoren in
sem Band lieferten Beiträge zur Entwicklung
Feldforschung und boten damit einen ersten
diß'
def
gang, die Geschichte und Tradition der Methode 2
erforschen.
Verschiedene neuere Studien greifen Wissen5
geschichte nicht als chronologische Institution
geschichte oder Biographie einzelner Wiss
schaftler/innen auf, sondern liefern Erkenntm
über die offiziellen und auch verdeckten Median
men in der Wissensproduktion im jeweilig nlS
risch verankerten, soziopolitischen Kontext. ^
solche Perspektive nimmt auch das kürzlich a t
schlossene wissensgeschichtliche Projekt “V°
künde als öffentliche Wissenschaft. Die Wissu _
und Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Berliner
Volk5'
künde 1860-1960” am Institut für Europa18^
Ethnologie Berlin auf. Volkskunde wird hier als ^
ziales Feld verstanden, in welchem sich die dn#
nen Akteure selbst positionieren und von anü
positioniert werden und welches von ^acfüzo-
hältnissen beziehungsweise Hierarchien ^urC.^tjgt
gen ist.8 * An dieses Projekt anknüpfend, bescha
sich aktuell auch das Verbundprojekt “Volks*
6 Stocking griff im Lauf seiner Reihenherausgabe all6
reiche der sogenannten Vierfelder-Anthropologie US-alT1
kanischer Prägung auf (Biologische/Physische Anthrop6__
gie, Kulturanthropologie, Linguistische Anthropolog'6,
chäologie), wenn auch die kulturanthropologischen The
überwogen.
7 Z.B. Bendix (1997); Hasan-Rokem (1998); Afltt°°6
(2005).
8 Vgl. hierzu Dietzsch und Imeri (2005); Dietzsch (2°0
Imeri (2004); Kühn (2007).
103.2008
Anthropos
531
Urschende im Fokus
^ches Wissen und gesellschaftlicher Wissenstrans-
^er- Zur Produktion kultureller Wissensformate im
^0- Jahrhundert” mit wissensanalytischen Fragen.
Ausgangspunkt bildet die Hypothese, dass gera-
in der Volkskunde vielfältige Wissensformate
lrU nichtakademischen Kontext entwickelt wurden
ünd in unmittelbarem Zusammenhang mit gesell-
Schaftlichen Situationen und politischen Bewegun-
§eu standen. Vieles von diesem Wissen musste also
Uicht erst für das öffentliche Publikum “populari-
Slert” werden, wie dies in anderen Fächern geschah,
s°ndem es geriet vielfach “von draußen” auf ver-
miedenen Wegen in die akademische Wissenspro-
^uktion (vgl. Projektbeschreibung in dgv-Informa-
donen, Scholze-Irrlitz 2006).
üie unterschiedlichen Diskursstränge, die über
U!ese Studien veranschaulicht werden, lassen Er-
kenntnisse über die verschiedenen Wissenskon-
*ePte zu und verdeutlichen, wie das Fach seine
Zuständigkeit für Inhalte formt, beziehungsweise
uiszipünäre Grenzen setzt (vgl. hierzu auch Fenske
¿007).
Im jeweils historischen, sozialen und politi-
Schen Kontext sowie unter dem Einfluss individu-
e||er Personennetzwerke erscheinen wissenschaftli-
ue Praktiken nicht als transhistorische Wahrheiten,
pudern als hochgradig lokal und sozial bedingt.
eun der Fokus auf die Rolle der Akteure inner-
pn<I außerhalb eines Faches gelegt wird, können
lublicke in ihre Netzwerke, Selbstverständnisse
p1^ Konfliktquellen die sozialen und kulturellen
. ararneter der Wissensproduktion beleuchten. Wie
j^er soziale Bereich ist auch das akademische Le-
eu durch offizielle und inoffizielle Regeln struk-
riert und von Hierarchien durchzogen: “While
polication constitutes the formal and explicit cri-
ri°n for recognition, there is (here as elsewhere)
^ mformal and tacit dimension which also has to
e laken into account. However important quality
ay be, it is not only what you write but who
. u are and where you come from that counts”
^ echer 1989: 54). Die fachintemen Regeln und
L|rmtionen, der Einfluss einzelner Wissenschaftler
u komplexe Machtprozesse konstituieren Netz-
e- rke und wirken auf Forschungsschwerpunkte
p • Uie Etablierung von Forschungsrichtungen, die
ln Aktion von Wissen und der Wissenstransfer
Öffentlichkeit werden auf diese Weise im-
^ ns beeinflusst. Durch wissensanalytische Stu-
n lasst sich spezifizieren, warum auf eine be-
amte Weise von wem über das produzierte Wis-
^ kommuniziert wird, wer in den Diskurs dar-
gre^ integriert und wer ausgeschlossen wird, wer
u en Einfluss in der Scientific Community hat
wer nicht, das heißt, auf welche Weise Se-
Anthr<
°P0S 103.2008
lektion und die damit verbundenen Mechanismen
stattfinden.
Auch um dem langjährigen wissenschaftlichen
Imperativ der Neuzeit zu widersprechen, For-
schung könne ohne Einfluss des Subjektes betrie-
ben werden,9 sind Erkenntnisse über diese Struk-
turen grundlegend. Ein notwendiger Schritt in diese
Richtung wurde mit den genannten Studien und
Projekten geleistet, es besteht jedoch weiterhin er-
heblicher Forschungsbedarf beispielsweise für die
jüngste Fachvergangenheit.
Im methodischen Zugriff können ethnogra-
phisch arbeitende Fächer einen genuinen Beitrag
zur Wissensforschung und -geschichte leisten. Mit
den “weichen Methoden” der Mikroperspektive
und Akteurszentriertheit, die Hermann Bausin-
ger als Fachspezifikum der Volkskunde deklarier-
te (1980; 17-21), lässt sich ein adäquater Zugang
zu dem komplexen Personennetzwerk, den Wahr-
nehmungsperspektiven, zeithistorischen Umstän-
den und gesellschaftlichen Austauschbeziehungen
schaffen. Hauptquelle für länger vergangene Kon-
texte bilden schriftliche Quellen, wie Korrespon-
denzen und Nachrufe (z. B. in Dietzsch und Imeri
2005), Veranstaltungsprotokolle, Informationsma-
terial und (Auto)Biographien. Einen weiteren Ho-
rizont eröffnen mündliche Überlieferungen, wie sie
beispielsweise mittels der oral history erhoben wer-
den können. Mit oral /Astory-Interviews werden
die subjektiven Erinnerungen (ehemals) beteiligter
Wissenschaftler/innen zum Gegenstand gemacht.
Es werden dabei nicht nur Ausschnitte aus Lebens-
verläufen sichtbar, sondern auch persönliche Verar-
beitungen von Ereignissen, individuelles Verhalten
und Erklärungen sowie eigene Verantwortung in
Prozessen und deren Deutungen. Auf diese Weise
lässt sich Zeitgeschehen in Verbindung mit biogra-
phischen Konstruktionen festhalten. Subjektivität
und Erfahrungen mit Konsens- und Dissenselemen-
ten in der Scientific Community werden mithilfe der
oral history zum Gegenstand der Analyse.
Udo Mischek verweist auf die Notwendigkeit,
sich aus der “Hegemonie der Schriftüberlieferung”
(2005: 73) zu lösen, um bislang vernachlässigte
Gruppen des Faches einzubeziehen, wie beispiels-
weise Studierende oder Personen, die keine An-
stellung im Fach gefunden haben. Gerade diese
Gruppen haben wenig schriftliche Quellen hinter-
lassen, sind aber für den Transport vielstimmiger
Wahmehmungsmuster wesentlich und tragen dazu
bei, die Aussagen der “großen Namen” im Fach zu
9 Vgl. z. B. Karl Poppers wissenschaftstheoretische Ausfor-
mulierung einer objektiven “Logik der Forschung” (Popper
1984).
532
Teresa Brinkei
differenzieren. Obgleich Interviews stark von Se-
lektion geprägt sind, bilden sie ein in sich sinn-
volles und lebendiges Korrektiv zu manchen Ak-
tenbeständen, die beispielsweise für die DDR-Zeit
stark formalisiert sind.10
Trotz eines deklarierten Aufklärungswillens und
Offenheit, stoßen fachhistorische Fragen nicht im-
mer auf eine breite Resonanz innerhalb der Fach-
vertreter/innen. Die in jüngster Vergangenheit un-
ternommenen Versuche, fachhistorische Projekte
durch das Verwehren von Quellenzugängen zu ver-
hindern, zeigen, dass strategische Interessen den
gern propagierten Aufklärungsnarrationen auch
entgegen stehen können.11 Darüber hinaus üben
Dressei und Langreiter Kritik an den Aussagen ei-
niger Studien, die nach ihrer Meinung nicht über
oberflächliche Deklarationen hinauskämen (vgl.
Dressei und Langreiter 2003: 2). Mruck und Breu-
er machen zudem auf den Mangel einer Selbst-
reflexion des Forschers aufmerksam: “Am Ende
selbst vieler explizit unter konstruktivistischer Per-
spektive angetretener empirischer Arbeiten ist das
interagierende, wählende, vorwissende, mitfühlen-
de Forscher(innen)Subjekt zurückgetreten zuguns-
ten eines (Ab-)Bildes des Anderen, des Objekts,
das wieder ein bisschen wirkt wie ein Foto ohne
Kamera und ohne Fotograf(in)” (2003: 4).
Die Beschäftigung mit der eigenen Fachkultur
und -geschickte sowie die Auseinandersetzung mit
der eigenen Forscher/innenrolle bedürfen nach wie
vor der Diskussion. An zentraler Stelle steht da-
bei auch ein Offenlegen möglicher Probleme, die
während einer fachhistorischen oral history-Unter-
suchung entstehen können.
10 Mischek greift einen Gedanken Jan Assmans heraus, der
die mündliche Überlieferung an konkrete Gruppen bindet
(2005: 73). Diese Gruppen versichern sich ihrer eigenen
Identität mit der Darstellung eigener Geschichten innerhalb
eines kollektiven Gedächtnisses. Halbwachs und Assmann
folgend, kommt die Gruppengebundenheit der kollektiven
Erinnerung auch darin zum Ausdruck, dass jede Gruppe ihre
eigenen Regeln aufstellt, wie und was zu erinnern ist. Er-
innert wird also nur das, was in den vorgegebenen Rahmen
passt (Assmann 2000; 39). Diese Selektivität des kollektiven
Gedächtnisses lässt sich auch auf die Geschichte eines Fa-
ches übertragen, in dem es eigene Regeln und Mechanismen
darüber gibt, was erinnert, gesagt und veröffentlicht werden
darf. Oral /Astory-Interviews mit Fachvertreter/innen kön-
nen deshalb auch als Spiegel eines kollektiven Gedächtnis-
ses analysiert werden.
11 Vgl. den Artikel von Regina Bendix (2007) über das ver-
änderte Verhältnis des Instituts für Kulturanthropologie /
Europäische Ethnologie Göttingen zur Enzyklopädie des
Märchens.
Probleme bei der Erforschung
der jüngeren Fachgeschichte
Der folgende Abschnitt thematisiert methodische
Hürden und Grenzen, die im Rahmen von oral
/Astory-Forschungen der jüngeren Fachvergangem
heit auftreten können. Um die Probleme zu veran-
schaulichen, kommen Ausschnitte aus Interviews
mit Fachvertreter/innen zur Sprache, die im Projekt
“Perspectives on Cultural Studies” erhoben wur-
den. Es wird zunächst auf die Spezifität der Feld'
Situation eingegangen und anschließend werden
vier Problemschwerpunkte erörtert: 1.) Research'
Up und die Kontexte der wahrgenommenen Uu
gleichheit zwischen Forscher/in und Erforscht60’
2.) die Spezifik des Expertenstatus; 3.) die Angs
des Feldes vor dem Forscher; 4.) der Kontext un
Effekt von Veröffentlichungen. Schließlich wef
den die Konsequenzen und Möglichkeiten des Um
gangs mit den genannten Problemen aufgezeigt-
Die Europäische Ethnologie hat sich in ihrer1
Methoden und Ansätzen auf die Erkenntnis
des
‘Fremden im Eigenen” spezialisiert. Die zugesp°°
da'
ebene Fähigkeit zur Distanz fordert geradezu
auf, auch das eigene Fach zu erforschen.
zu
entsteht jedoch die ambivalente Situation, dass
die
eigentlich Forschenden nun erforscht werden,
mit sehr differenzierten Überlegungen zur Met°
dik verbunden ist. Die Akteure sind sowohl “Qu
len” als auch Rezipienten, Rezensenten und H
kulanten der sie betreffenden Untersuchung-
ergibt eine komplexe Situation im akadernis
che°
Feld, in welchem der Forschende zudem se
Ibst
agiert und von welchem er abhängig ist. Die eige
Involviertheit birgt sowohl Vor- als auch Nachte^
Zum einen schafft sie eine große Nähe zum
tersuchten Feld, ermöglicht Zugänge zu den Q0^
len und Untersuchungspersonen und erleichtert ^
Verständnis für Strukturen und Mechanismen^
akademischen Milieu. Zum anderen besteht die ^
fahr, dass man bestimmte wissenschaftliche
prak'
lain, uaöö man u^öuiiuiilc; wiaöciiöuiaiuiw*- ^
tiken nicht mehr als solche wahmimmt, da ^
selbst den Habitus des eigenen Feldes übernomm ^
hat. Die eigene Abhängigkeit und Position m
Scientific Community hemmt möglicherweise ^
Auseinandersetzung mit bestimmten Themen
Personen zugunsten der eigenen Laufbahn- ^
Der erste Problemschwerpunkt thematisie ^
erfahrene Ungleichheit im Forschungsprozess
hand des Begriffes Research-Up, der zunäc
seinem Entstehungszusammenhang erklärt
Europäische Ethnologen bezeichneten ^n^lttel
chungen bei Topmanagem (Warneken und
1997) oder Börsianern (Goldinger 2002) a^etrj'
search- Up-Situationen, die von einer asym
103.200*
Anthropos
Urschende im Fokus
533
Schen Machtkonstellation zwischen Forscher und
Erforschten gekennzeichnet ist. Die Erforschten
verfügen demnach über zweierlei entscheidende
Eaktoren; zum einen über die vom Forscher begehr-
ten Informationen und Wahrnehmungen, zum an-
dren über mehr kulturelles, soziales und ökonomi-
Sches Kapital, was nicht ohne Folgen für den For-
Schungsprozess bleibt. Der Begriff des Research-
Üp ist dem des Studying-Up entliehen, der 1974
der US-amerikanischen Kulturanthropologin
Eaura Nader in die Diskussionen um die gesell-
schaftliche Funktion kulturanthropologischer For-
schungen eingebracht wurde. In ihrem Aufsatz
Gp the Anthropologist” (1974) appellierte Nad-
an eine kritische Anthropologie im eigenen
hand, die nicht nur untere Schichten und kleine
^nippen betrachten könne, sondern auch die of-
uziellen und ungeschriebenen Gesetze, Strukturen
Und Netzwerke mächtiger, komplexer Institutionen
^le Banken, Versicherungen und Gerichte. Mit-
tels einer solchen Anthropologie könnten Besitz-
und Machtstrukturen in der amerikanischen Ge-
SeHschaft neu skizziert und demokratische Pra-
sse angeregt werden. Neben überzeugenden Ar-
gumenten, das “gewöhnliche” Studying-Down mit
tudying-i/p-Forschungen zu erweitern, wies Nad-
? auch auf die Probleme und Hürden hin, die
bei
einer solchen Untersuchung entstehen können.
\ UV1V11V1JL VlUCkVllVll IWllUVlli
uders Studierende, die in Feldforschungsprojek-
en erste Erfahrungen mit dem Studying-Up mach-
. sahen beispielsweise ein Hauptproblem dar-
lu, keinen ausreichenden Zugang zu einflussreichen
chichten zu bekommen: “Their [lawyers, T. B.]
esire for secrecy, their paranoid fear of all but self-
ushioned publicity, their refusal to discuss ques-
°ns on their operation, ... all serve to eliminate
free flow of information which should be avail-
^ k to the public forum” (Nader 1974: 302). Diese
^nde werden auch heute noch als zentrale Hin-
entisse angeführt.12 Nach einer Phase der Lande-
rs und Exploration kulturwissenschaftlicher For-
ln den oberen Schichten und in komplexen
sfitutionen griff die US-amerikanische Kulturan-
p r°pologin Diana Forsythe den Begriff Naders auf.
°rsythe reflektierte anhand ihrer eigenen Erfah-
ren die Brüche, welche die traditionelle Feld-
i^hung in die neuen Zugänge führte. Forschung
^komplexen Institutionen der Oberschicht ist in
r r Cultural Anthropology seit den 1980er Jah-
j^n kein außergewöhnliches Unterfangen mehr. In
rem Aufsatz verdeutlichte Forsythe die Konse-
nzen, die für den Feldforscher und auch für
J?1. z. B. die Untersuchung von Heiner Goldinger bei den
Börsianern (2002: 260).
9üe;
die erforschten Subjekte entstehen können. In die-
sem Zusammenhang nennt sie beispielsweise das
Verwischen von Unterschieden zwischen Forschern
und Erforschten, was die gegenseitige Verletzbar-
keit steigere und ethische wie auch politische Pro-
bleme aufwerfe (Forsythe 1999).
Die von Nader und Forsythe dargelegten Pro-
bleme bei Research-Up-Studien betreffen nicht nur
US-amerikanische Oberschichtgruppen wie Ban-
ker oder Juristen, sondern sie lassen sich auch
auf Forschungen in der Wissenschaft selbst bezie-
hen. Wenn Akteure des eigenen Faches zu den er-
forschten Subjekten gemacht werden, lässt sich hier
durchaus von einer Research-Up-¥oTS,c\mng spre-
chen. Der Begriff kann jedoch keineswegs gene-
rell auf Wissenschaftler/innen zutreffen, sondern
ist abhängig von den individuellen Verhaltenswei-
sen der Beforschten und den Wahrnehmungen der
Forschenden. Die hier getroffenen Aussagen sind
lediglich für meine Erfahrungen und die erwähn-
ten Studien gültig. Darüber hinaus wäre eine Dis-
kussion anzustoßen, inwiefern der Begriff des Re-
search Up selbst in Frage gestellt werden müsste,
um als Forscher/in nicht von vornherein verschie-
dene Maßstäbe, Instrumente und Kategorien für up
und down anzulegen.
Für den deutschsprachigen Raum ist zu beob-
achten, dass Projekte zur Wissensforschung häufig
von Nachwuchsforscher/innen und mit Hilfe von
Drittmitteln durchgeführt werden.13 Hier wird die
Ungleichheit hinsichtlich des ökonomischen, sozia-
len und kulturellen Kapitals zwischen Forschern
und Erforschten besonders deutlich und wirkt sich
auf den Untersuchungsprozess aus. Es stehen neue
Probleme und Ängste des Forschers im Zentrum
der Auseinandersetzung, die die “übliche” “Angst
des Forschers vor dem Feld” (Lindner 1981) erwei-
tern. Die möglichen Probleme des Akademikers,
mit denen er in einem fremden Feld konfrontiert
wird, sind während einer Untersuchung im eigenen
Feld anders gewichtet. Während sich der Forschen-
de sonst häufig in einem Konflikt zwischen seiner
Forscherrolle (Universität, Bildungsgrad, Lebens-
verhältnisse) und seiner sozialen Feldrolle (Anpas-
13 Neben den fachhistorischen Untersuchungen im Projekt
“Perspectives on Cultural Studies” (http://www.kaee.uni-
goettingen.de/projekte/geril/portal.html) sind in diesem Zu-
sammenhang beispielsweise folgende Studien zu nennen:
Die Magisterarbeit von You Jae Lee über DDR-Volkskunde
zwischen 1963 und 1973 (Lee 1998), die Studie von San-
dra Beaufays über die alltägliche wissenschaftliche Praxis
(Beaufays 2003), die Untersuchung von Blanka Koffer über
den Verbleib ostdeutscher Volkskundler nach 1989 (Koffer
2007) oder Einzelstudien im Rahmen des Verbundprojektes
“Volkskundliches Wissen und gesellschaftlicher Wissens-
transfer” (http://www.volkskundliches-wissen.de).
AlUhn
°Pos 103.2008
534
Teresa Brinkei
sung, Going Native) befindet (Lindner 1981: 51 ff.),
fallen diese beiden Ebenen bei einer Untersuchung
im eigenen Feld zusammen. Der Forschende ist im
Feld des eigenen Faches nicht fremd. Das Bestre-
ben, sich so gut wie möglich an das Feld anzu-
passen, entfällt, denn er ist bereits Teil des Feldes.
Vielmehr wird hier eine neue Rolle entwickelt. Zu-
dem befindet er sich nicht in der sonst gerne ver-
schwiegenen Position “sozialer Überlegenheit” ge-
genüber seiner Untersuchungsperson. Stattdessen
ist es möglich, dass er beispielsweise mit Desin-
teresse, Machtdemonstration oder “Audienzsitua-
tionen” konfrontiert wird, wie es auch in eini-
gen Research-Up-Untersuchungen nicht unüblich
ist. Selbstverständlich lässt sich eine Forschungs-
situation bei Topmanagern nicht direkt auf Wis-
senschaftler/innen übertragen. Beide Berufsgrup-
pen unterscheiden sich in ihren sozialen, kulturel-
len und ökonomischen Kapitalien erheblich. Aus
Studien, die die eigene Fachkultur untersuchen, so-
wie aus meiner eigenen Feldarbeit gehen jedoch
ähnliche Erfahrungen hervor, die sich durchaus mit
Research- Up-Situationen vergleichen lassen.14
Eine weitere Spezifik an der Untersuchungssi-
tuation im eigenen Feld wird besonders durch die
fachliche Ausgewiesenheit der Beforschten deut-
lich. Die Qualifikation, der Status und Verantwor-
tungsbereich der Beforschten ist häufig sehr hoch,
was die Erwartungshaltung an die Fachkompe-
tenz des Forschenden steigert, so der Soziologe
Trinczek über Experteninterviews mit Managern
(1995: 65). Diese Erfahrung lässt sich im Rahmen
meiner Studie über die Volkskunde in der DDR
bestätigen.15 Häufig gingen die Erzählungen erst
in die Tiefe, wenn umfangreiche Kenntnisse und
Hintergrundwissen demonstriert wurden. Die Frage
der fachlichen Kompetenz schwang während der
Interviews beständig mit, denn häufig wurde die Er-
zählung davon abhängig gemacht, inwieweit ich of-
fizielle, aber auch inoffizielle Kenntnisse - mögli-
cherweise aus anderen Interviews - über bestimmte
Kontexte besaß. In diesem Rahmen kam es nicht
selten vor, dass ich aufgefordert wurde, mein Inter-
viewsample und meine Quellen bekannt zu geben.
Gab ich einen kleinen Teil meines Samples preis,
so stellten die Beforschten sofort Vermutungen an,
14 Studien im Fach Europäische Ethnologie, die sich mit der
eigenen Fachkultur und -geschichte mittels Feldforschung
und oral history beschäftigen, werden aktuell erarbeitet an
den Instituten in Berlin und Göttingen. Die Erfahrungen
der Forscher/innen sind (noch) nicht veröffentlicht, wer-
den aber im Austausch unter den betreffenden Mitarbei-
ter/innen diskutiert und sind in die vorliegenden Ausführun-
gen eingeflossen.
15 Vgl. http://www.d-g-v.org/ver0ffentlichungen/index.html.
was Personen aus der Scientific Community über
sie gesagt haben könnten, und führten ihre Erzäh-
lung dementsprechend fort. Nicht selten entwickel-
te sich dies als Rechtfertigungserzählung, wie der
folgende Ausschnitt zeigt: “Ach, Sie waren bei Per-
son X? Aber wissen Sie, der Umstand A damals
... das war nur ein Missverständnis, aber keine
Absicht. Das wurde von X nur so aufgefasst. Es
verhielt sich nämlich so, dass ... ”. Versuchte rctl
hingegen der Aufforderung zu entgehen, wurde die
Erzählung ebenso davon beeinflusst, da sogleicn
strategische Überlegungen angestellt wurden, weh
che Gewährspersonen man noch befragen könne-
beziehungsweise von welchen Personen abgeraten
werden müsse, wie im folgenden Beispiel: “Pef'
son Z - da werden Sie kaum etwas rauskriegen-
Z lässt sich nicht gerne befragen und außerdeü1
spielen diese Leute sowieso nur die große Opfert0
le.” Die Eigenreflexivität, die Erfahrungen mit ein
pirischen Methoden und Folgenabschätzung der er
forschten Wissenschaftler/innen ist sehr hoch, VaS
die Erzählung immens beeinflusst und bei eine111
Research-Down weniger ausgeprägt ist. . .
Rechnet man beim “Nach-unten-Forschen” vie.
leicht mit einer indirekten Bewunderung oder e|
ner gewissen Distanz gegenüber wissenschatt
chen Verfahren, so muss man während der Erf°r
schung des wissenschaftlichen Milieus mit KJ"1
rechnen. Die Erforschten sind durch ihre Erfahr1^
gen und inhaltlichen Schwerpunkte Experten a
fachhistorischen Gebieten. Werden sie plötzlich rm,
der Situation konfrontiert, dass “Statusniedrigere
sich in “ihre” Wissensgebiete einarbeiten und
gar umdeuten, kann dies Reaktionen hervorriii ^
die der Machtasymmetrie entsprechen. Gerade
fachhistorischen Fragen ist dieser Aspekt bes°
ders brisant, da Fachgeschichte, wie oben darg
legt, variabel und individuell ausgelegt wird-
Aufforderung “Ich möchte aber, dass Sie die
Aspekt so verstehen!” zeigt, dass ich ein Spra .
rohr für die “erwünschte Geschichte” des jeW
gen Gegenübers sein soll, was einer gewissen r
von Instrumentalisierung entspricht. n
Zudem wird bei vergangenen institutione^
und personellen Angelegenheiten, politischer
stricktheit oder ideologischer Anschauung
sucht, der heutigen Political Correctness zu
sprechen. So werden bestimmte Aspekte be
ders hervorgehoben, andere wiederum versCAjbfi'
gen oder “klein geredet”, was durchaus ein ^
ches Merkmal narrativer Interviews ist. In 01
spezifischen Forschungsgefüge ist es in der ^^fik
se schwieriger zu thematisieren, da Interview
und Selbstpräsentation mit der potentiellen a
chen Expertise der Interviewten einhergeht.
103-2008
Anthropos
forschende im Fokus
535
Der/die Feldforscher/in muss diese doppelte Er-
kenntnis der Situation entgegenbringen, was aber
techt von allen Erforschten erkannt wird. Dies kann
2u einem monovokalem Bestehen auf der eigenen
Perspektive führen: Manche/r Interviewpartner/in
^ird beispielsweise keine abweichende Perspektive
dulden. So bekommen Forscher unter Umständen
deutlich vor Augen geführt, dass sie ihr Gegenüber
2ü wenig oder zu viel, falsch oder unpassend re-
2lPiert haben, wie das folgende Beispiel aus mei-
nen Interviews zeigt: “Haben Sie überhaupt meinen
Text gelesen?” oder “Da haben Sie wohl meinen
Aufsatz nicht richtig verstanden!” In dieser “Beleh-
rung” kommt der Aspekt der ambivalent lokalisier-
ten Macht in wissensgeschichtlicher Interviewtätig-
keit deutlich zum Tragen: Die Interviewten betrach-
ten sich nicht als Zeitzeugen, sondern als Exper-
ten und bezweifeln die Expertise des Interviewers,
^iese Ambivalenz wird auch im nächsten Beispiel
deutlich. Mit der Aufforderung: “Sie können mir
iure Texte, bevor Sie sie publizieren, schicken, da-
ten ich da noch mal drüber schauen kann” wur-
ich mit dem unstatthaften Wunsch nach einem
Korrekturlesen” konfrontiert. Dabei bin ich mir
Nachwuchswissenschaftlerin bewusst, dass ich
teich mit meiner Untersuchung selbst gerade zur
Expertin” zu qualifizieren suche, was die Frage
aufWirft,
wer in einer solchen Konstellation eigent-
lch der/die “Expert/in” ist. Diese Wahrnehmungen
fielen in der Interviewsituation latent eine große
K°de und erfordern viel Eigenreflektion und Em-
pathie für das untersuchte Feld.
Tter methodisch übliche Grad der inneren Di-
stenzierung bei gleichzeitiger Nähe intensiviert
pCh erheblich. Einfühlungsvermögen und Flexibi-
te*t musste ich in einigen Fällen auch schon bei der
erminabsprache beweisen, da sich Gewährsperso-
*!eri beispielsweise lange Zeit nicht meldeten oder
eu Termin wenige Minuten vor dem Gespräch
te>ch einmal um mehrere Tage verschieben wollten.
I^evereuxs Feststellung zur “Angst und Methode
Verhaltenswissenschaften” wird in diesem
°ntext umso entscheidender: “Der Forscher kann
le Interaktion zwischen Objekt und Beobachter
tett in der Hoffnung ignorieren, sie werde sich
hon allmählich verflüchtigen, wenn er nur lange
i f/te§ so täte, als existiere sie nicht” (Devereux
1973:19).
. weiteres Problem in der spezifischen Un-
st LUckUngssituation mit Wissenschaftler/innen be-
a ht in den Konsequenzen einer Feldforschung,
de t?rs ausgedrückt, hier manifestiert sich neben
Angst des Forschers vor dem Feld” (Lindner
jy N die “Angst des Feldes vor dem Forscher”,
teses Merkmal ist zwar sicherlich in allen Feld-
situationen vorhanden, doch während ein/e Ma-
nager/in sich nach einer Publikation des Ethnolo-
gen wahrscheinlich kaum mit anschließenden Fol-
gen für seinen/ihren Job auseinandersetzen muss,
muss ein/e Wissenschaftler/in mit einer Publika-
tion rechnen, die Interpretationen über sie enthält
und die von der Scientific Community rezipiert
wird. Eine Publikation kann indirekte oder direkte
Auswirkungen auf Status, Ruf und Netzwerk des
Erforschten sowie des Forschenden haben. Damit
stehen Forscher und Erforschte in einer gegensei-
tigen, komplexen Abhängigkeit, was den Verlauf
der Gespräche deutlich beeinflusst. Der Forschen-
de möchte möglichst viele, komplexe Informatio-
nen aufnehmen, während der Beforschte eventuell
schon die Folgen seiner Erzählungen einkalkuliert
und dementsprechend selektiert. Die Beforschten
selbst haben die nötige Distanz zur Eigenreflektion
ihrer Alltagskultur und wissen sehr gut über die
Prozesse und Konsequenzen einer Veröffentlichung
Bescheid. Dies kann zu erhöhter Vorsicht in den
Aussagen führen.
Dieses Unbehagen scheint umso berechtigter,
wenn Gullestad darauf hinweist, dass Erforschte
die sie betreffenden Studien nicht immer mögen
werden und auch sollen. In ihren Reflektionen über
kulturanthropologische Studien in Norwegen plä-
diert Gullestad geradezu dafür, “relational uneasi-
ness and intellectual honesty” in Untersuchungen
nicht zu vermeiden (2006: 922). Aus diesem Grun-
de sind nicht nur manche Interviewaussagen eher
als “schmal” oder oberflächlich zu bezeichnen, son-
dern es werden in wissensgeschichtlichen Projek-
ten auch Untersuchungen verhindert, Quellen ver-
wehrt und Interviews verweigert. Auch Gullestad
machte die Erfahrung, dass “people with power,
including other academics ... have the power to de-
fend their positions.... They have more to loose by
exposing themselves” (2006; 922). Ein hohes Maß
an Skepsis, Unsicherheit und Befürchtungen bei-
spielsweise vor der Veröffentlichung “unerwünsch-
ter” Probleme, vor der Umdeutung von bestehen-
den Konventionen in der Fachgeschichte, oder vor
der inadäquaten Erwähnung seiner selbst ist mit
diesen Interviews verbunden. In meinen Gesprä-
chen ließ sich beobachten, dass diese Vorsicht in
den Interviews abnahm, je länger und öfter die
Gespräche durchgeführt wurden. Die Gesprächsbe-
reitschaft stieg, sobald sich etwas mehr an Entspan-
nung in der Interviewsituation eingestellt hatte.
Im Kontext der Wissensforschung spielt zudem
die Frage nach dem Umgang mit privaten Doku-
menten, Äußerungen und Handlungen der Inter-
viewpartner/innen eine wichtige Rolle. Wissensfor-
schung ist zwar an den sozialen und kulturellen Kon-
Al>thr,
°P0S 103.2008
536
Teresa Brinkel
texten der Wissensentstehung und -Verbreitung und
damit auch der einzelnen Akteure interessiert, je-
doch nicht an den privaten Umständen der Beteilig-
ten. Die Grenze dazwischen ist aber meist fließend,
häufig werden in Interviews Beschreibungen der
privaten Situation mit beruflicher Praxis verbunden.
Auch ich stehe nun vor der Frage, ob und wie man
diese Äußerungen verwenden kann, wo die Grenze
zwischen Öffentlichkeit und Privat liegt, aber auch
welche Folgen eine Veröffentlichung haben könnte.
Hier wächst die ethische Verantwortung des Wissen-
schaftlers, besonders in der Phase der Auswertung
und Veröffentlichung der gewonnenen Einblicke.
Im Anschluss an diese Beobachtungen wäre
zu fragen, welche Möglichkeiten des Umgangs
den Forschenden in jenen Situationen bleiben. Zu-
nächst einmal sind sie der jeweiligen Feldfor-
schungssituation ausgesetzt. Eine beständige Re-
flektion und Supervision erleichtert den Umgang
mit den gemachten Erfahrungen und gibt Hinwei-
se auf Verbesserungsmöglichkeiten in der methodi-
schen Anwendung. Dabei ist es entscheidend, sich
über den eigenen Einfluss klar zu werden, welche
Rolle Alter, Geschlecht, Herkunft, inklusive Her-
kunftsinstitut und damit verbundene Institutsmit-
arbeiter, Netzwerke und Betreuer/innen der Quali-
fizierungsarbeit spielen. Ich konnte beispielsweise
die Erfahrung machen, dass das Gespräch merklich
offener wurde, nachdem einige Gewährspersonen
erfahren hatten, dass ich nicht aus dem vermute-
ten westlichen Teil Deutschlands stammte, wie das
folgende Beispiel zeigt: “Ach aus E sind Sie! Na
guck mal an! Ach ja. Ich komm ja auch von dort
und habe ...” Alle Aspekte beeinflussen die Unter-
suchungspersonen in ihren Erzählungen, die anders
verlaufen würden, wenn andere Forscher/innen auf-
treten würden. Wichtig in diesem Zusammenhang
ist die Verarbeitung dieser Erfahrungen in den For-
schungsergebnissen. Eine spürbare Machtasymme-
trie sollte von Forschenden weder unthematisiert
bleiben noch als Fehlschlag oder missglückte Un-
tersuchung gewertet werden. Warneken und Wittel
weisen auf die Folgen von unthematisierten Erfah-
rungen mit der asymmetrischen Machtkonstellation
hin, die unter Umständen unkontrolliert und im
Verborgenen auf die Forschung ein wirken. Zu fra-
gen ist beispielsweise, welche Auswirkungen die
im Feld gemachten Erfahrungen auf den zu schrei-
benden Text haben, wie sich Konkurrenzgedanken
oder Auseinandersetzungen im Text widerspiegeln,
ja sogar, auf welche Weise Forschende letztlich ihre
eigene Macht als Autor/innen ausspielen oder miss-
brauchen (Warneken und Wittel 1997: 10).
Aus meinen Erfahrungen schließe ich, dass es
hilfreich ist, sich intensiv in die Thematik und die
Fachbegriffe einzuarbeiten, um fachliche Kompe-
tenz zu zeigen. Der Gesprächfluss wird erleichtert,
wenn man sich als Forschende/r flexibel, offen und
empathisch zeigt. Wie in jeder Feldforschung ist
auch hier eine detaillierte Beobachtung und das
genaue Führen eines Feldtagebuches grundlegend,
um die Komplexität der Wahrnehmungen zu struk-
turieren. Dressei und Langreiter raten zudem, sich
seiner positiven wie negativen Emotionen, seiner
Sympathien als auch Antipathien gegenüber den
Beforschten bewusst zu werden. Es bestehe sonst
die Gefahr, dass der/die Forschende sich zu sehr
damit beschäftige, wie “angenehm” oder “unerträg'
lieh” die Interviewpartner/innen sind, anstatt das
Augenmerk auf die sozialen und kulturellen Kon'
texte der Wissensproduktion zu richten (Dresse
und Langreiter 2003: 8). Die reflexive Auseinan'
dersetzung mit solchen Erfahrungen ist unverzicht'
bar, denn schließlich können die Aktionen und Re'
aktionen zwischen Forschem und Beforschten aucn
als Teil der Ergebnisse verwertet werden. Die Re'
aktionen von Wissenschaftler/innen zeigen, wo un
wie sie sich zu fachgeschichtlichen Prozessen p°s1'
tionieren und sind damit ein wichtiges Deutung8
merkmal in der Untersuchung.
Im Hinblick auf die Aufbereitung der Date11
zur Publikation drängen sich neue Fragen auf,
insbesondere in kleinen Fächern wie der Europa1
sehen Ethnologie von hoher Relevanz sind:
lässt sich mit narrativen und biographischen Ir^r
views in einem Feld umgehen, in dem sich jeCl
zu kennen meint und in dem auch unter Verweb
düng von Pseudonymen jeder weiß, wer gernci
ist? Auf welche Weise lässt sich hier die etl1
sehe Dimension in der Forschung aufrechtem
ten? Bourdieu greift in seinem Buch “Homo aca
demicus” (1988)'auf eine völlige Anonymisier^
und Depersonalisierung mithilfe von Datenkoo ^
rungen zurück. Dressei und Langreiter wenden ^
Veröffentlichungen eine Strategie an, die nur we
Personelles heranzieht und kaum mit Zitaten am
tet, um vom “who is who” des Faches abzulenk
Stattdessen möchten sie Prozesse in das Zentr
der Aufmerksamkeit rücken, die hinter den 111 .
viduellen Seiten liegen (2003: 10). Einen ganz ^
anderen Umgang damit betrieb der hollandis
Volkskundler J. J. Voskuil, der eine gesamte
senschaftlergeneration in einem Roman vera ef
tete. In einem lakonischen Unterton beschrei ^
unter Verwendung vieler Stereotypen den orte
trist, sinnlos und intrigant anmutenden Forschu
alltag des volkskundlichen Forschungsinstitutes^
Amsterdam. Der mehrbändige Roman ‘ Het ^
reau” (1996-2000) basiert auf Tagebucheintrag^
gen des Abteilungsleiters Voskuil, der jedoch sa
2008
103.
Anthropos
537
forschende im Fokus
liehe Gespräche und Interviews mit leicht zu de-
chiffrierenden Namen bloß stellt. Einige Akteure
empfanden dies als Verletzung des Vertrauensver-
hältnisses, was kritische Fragen nach der ethischen
Verantwortlichkeit des Autors aufwirft. Der Roman
landete zwar einen großen Erfolg in den Nieder-
landen, die Art und Weise der Repräsentation von
hachkultur kann Fachvertreter jedoch vielmehr ab-
Schrecken, als dass sie sich für potentielle wissens-
kulturelle Forschungen öffnen würden.16
Sprechen wir von uns selbst!
Schon 1973 fragte der amerikanische Folklorist
^an Ben-Amos “Why do we need a History of
f °lklore? Why should we expose past debates, for-
mten failures, and whished-to-be-forgotten errors,
and air them in print again ...7’ (1973: 114). Um
nicht mit einem schlichten “Because it’s there”
(114) zu antworten, verwies er auf seine Forderung,
Abhilfe der Fachgeschichte diejenigen Ideen, Kon-
nte und Theorien wieder zu Bewusstsein zu brin-
§erh die vor der Instrumentalisierung des Faches
Und den einseitigen Bestrebungen in Sammelme-
hoden stattgefunden haben. Damit sei es möglich
verstehen, welche Ideen und Theorien einer sol-
chen Disziplin überhaupt zugrunde lägen. Das Auf-
§reifen von Umbrüchen in der Vergangenheit müs-
!Le zudem mit modernen Konzepten, Methoden und
acorien verlinkt werden, um damit Möglichkeiten
Zü schaffen, das Fach aus seiner Marginalität und
^inem Theoriedefizit herauszuholen (Ben-Amos
117ff.)- Darüber hinaus verwies Ben-Amos
^üf die Notwendigkeit einer Wissensforschung, um
le direkten Konsequenzen auf die Forschungs-
^agänge bewusst zu machen: Wissenschaftliche
Editionen beeinflussen die Wissenschaft, setzen
orschungsschwerpunkte und konstituieren Netz-
erke, was Auswirkungen bis in die Gegenwart
Seine Forderung nach einer Beschäftigung
. der eigenen Fachgeschichte, den implizierten
lssenschaftlichen Praktiken, kulturellen Determi-
t aten und Selektionsmechanismen steht auch heu-
p noch an primärer Stelle, wie es Katja Mmck und
^raaz Breuer formulieren: “Warum ist es notwen-
p piögfichst präzise und für andere nachvollzieh-
ar von uns selbst’ - von unseren Vorannahmen
p d Wahlen, von unserem Erleben und Handeln im
^schungsprozess - zu sprechen? Weil sonst als
°§ik des Gegenstandes’, als ‘Merkmal von Ob-
emer Reaktion eines Kulturanthropologen auf den Ro-
a^11 vgl. Rooijakkers (2001), zu den unterschiedlichen For-
maien von Wissenspräsentation vgl. Bendix (2008).
AHthr,
°Pos 103.2008
jekten’ erscheint, was vielfältigen Wahlen im Pro-
zess des Forschens geschuldet ist” (2003: 3).
Die Schwierigkeiten in der methodischen Um-
setzung und in den Interaktionen mit den Beforsch-
ten sollten also nicht davon abhalten, Wissensfor-
schung zu betreiben, um die zugrunde liegenden
Mechanismen wissenschaftlicher Strukturen be-
wusst zu machen. Die Interviewpartner/innen sehen
das Interview nicht nur als Problem, wie es durch
die vorliegende Erörterung vielleicht scheinen mag.
Teilweise nehmen sie diese Möglichkeit sogar ger-
ne wahr, gerade weil ihnen dadurch die Chance
eingeräumt wird, über eigene Erfahrungen nach-
zudenken und Erinnerungen in eine ihnen sinn-
voll erscheinende Struktur zu bringen. Pensionierte
Fachvertreter/innen, auf die in der Scientific Com-
munity weniger rekurriert wird, haben mit ihrem
Bedeutungsverlust zu kämpfen, wie der folgende
Ausruf zeigt: “Wir haben fundierte Forschung be-
trieben und heute werden wir nicht mal mehr in
einer Fußnote zitiert!” Das ihnen in einem Inter-
view entgegengebrachte Interesse gibt den Fach-
vertreter/innen möglicherweise etwas an Anerken-
nung zurück. Nicht zuletzt bietet die Erforschung
von Fachvertreter/innen eine besonders bereichern-
de und interessante Erfahrung im wissenschaftli-
chen Alltag von Nachwuchswissenschaftler/innen.
Die Chancen, die daraus entstehen können, liegen
auf beiden Seiten: für die nachwachsende und für
die erfahrene Generation.
Besonders danken möchte ich Regina Bendix und Mi-
chaela Fenske sowie dem Promotionskolloquium des In-
stituts für KAEE für die Kooperationsbereitschaft, kon-
struktive Kritik und weiterführenden Impulse im Rahmen
meiner Arbeit.
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Saskia Walentowitz
Bernadette Tillard
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Berichte und Kommentare
^iarbird on Roti
Gregory Forth
11 a recent article (2007) I revisited a collection
myths from eastern Indonesia which feature a
c°uipetition between two birds. The outcome of the
c°ntest determines the present order of the world,
^orne variants concern the alternation of a brief day
Mth an equally brief night, while others account
0r the origin of death but also the origin of birth
^nd the multiplication of humankind. A minority
Oust three in a corpus of 13) includes both themes.
11 the majority of versions of the myth (11 of 13),
°ne avian contestant - in all but one instance, the
rictor - is a friarbird (genus Philemon, usually the
|*elrneted friarbird). Although most often a pigeon,
ae friarbird’s opponent is by contrast rather more
furiously identified. Variants of the myth have so
ar been collected from different parts of the islands
t Flores, Sumba, and Timor. The present note ex-
euds this range by adding another region, the is-
^ud of Roti, located off Timor’s southwestern tip.
7 the same token, it affords further insight into
. hat is constant and what is variable in this mytho-
°§ical corpus.
Provided by a Rotinese named J. W. Toepoe,
e Rotinese myth was recorded by J. C. G. Jonker
609-611). A summary version also appears
an article by Kleiweg de Zwaan, who cites it in
j. c°mparative essay on Indonesian stories and be-
lets involving animals (1916). The main bird char-
jCter, called koak in Rotinese, is not identified by
.^°uker, who simply notes that in Kupang Malay it
called “morning bird” (boeroeng siang). As sug-
ested by the similarity of the Rotinese name to the
harni
and'pi
es of the same bird found on Sumba, Flores,
Mio
Unor, however, and as confirmed by Verheijen
ann ^1Ves th£ name in two Rotinese dialects as koa
and (1976)’ the sPecies is indeed a friarbird,
le m°re specifically the Helmeted friarbird {Phi-
1710,1 buceroides). Jonker (1908; 241) states there
Aathr,
°pos 103.2008
Fig. 1: Zitting cisticola (Cisticola juncidis) shown perched on a
grass stem. Drawing by Donna McKinnon.
are two sorts of koa, a “white-eyed” (mata-fula) and
a “red-eyed” (mata-pila) variety, but this distinc-
tion appears not to correspond to different species
of Philemon, at least not on Roti.1 The friarbird’s
opponent in this case, a bird Rotinese call tainaük,
is described by Jonker (1913: 609) only as a “tiny
bird.” According to Verheijen, the tai-na’uk (Ver-
heijen’s transcription, which I hereafter employ) is
the species Cisticola juncidis, or the Zitting cisti-
cola, a bird once better known as the “fantail war-
bler.” I say more about this species below. First,
I present a translation of Jonker’s Dutch rendition
of the Rotinese text:
1 The “red-eyed” variety is evidently the olive-brown oriole
(Oriolus melanotis). As a synonym of koa-mata-pila, Jonker
gives koa-kèsek (without any definitive gloss; 1980, s. v.
kèsek), while Verheijen (1976) lists what is almost certainly
the same term as koa-késé and koa kété and specifies these
as names for the oriole in different Rotinese dialects. That
this bird should be classified with the friarbird is consistent
with Coates and Bishop’s (1997) description of it as a “visual
mimic” of the Helmeted friarbird. The calls of the two birds
are also similar; during his visit to Roti, Verheijen himself
mistook a vocalizing friarbird for Oriolus melanotis.
542
Berichte und Kommentare
A Koak and a Tai-na’uk bird were friends. On a certain
day and at a particular time, they challenged one another
to a foot-stamping contest, to see who was able to break
the feet of the other. The Koak said: “If I stamp on your
thin feet, then it will be done.” But the Tai-na’uk said:
“Even though your feet are ten times as big as mine,
if I stamp on them they will break in two.” The Koak
then became angry and said: “Go ahead, if you are a man
(that is, if you dare), just come and smash my feet!” And
the Tai-na’uk spoke: “Very well, if you are also brave
enough, just come and stamp first!” And he stretched
out his feet. Although the Koak trod repeatedly, he could
not break the feet of the Tai-na’uk. The Tai-na’uk then
scrambled about and found a small stone, and he said:
“You have trodden in vain, now I shall take my turn at
stamping.” So the Koak stretched out his feet and the Tai-
na’uk struck them with the small stone, and the Koak’s
feet broke in two. The Koak took flight with his feet
hanging limp. Wherever he went he could not alight; so
he flew directly to the sky to search about for a healer.
He kept flying until he arrived at the house of Boela-kai
[the Moon] and the dwelling of Ledo-horo [the Sun].
He grasped his feet; and he made a sound and raised
his voice all the while weeping, so that all the mucus
came out of his nose and the tears fell from his eyes.
With sadness and in much need, he spoke to the Sun and
Moon, saying: “Boela-kai, who is very charitable, and
Ledo-hdro, who is most merciful, protect me and give
me refuge in your wide shelter and your long shadow,
for I am like someone abandoned and an orphan, I am
one who suffers from distress and defect.” And so it hap-
pened that Boela-kai had pity and Ledo-horo had mercy,
and they protected the Koak in their wide lee and gave
him refuge in their long shadow. They rubbed with the
knowledge inherent in their kind, and straightened out
with the art proper to the land, until the broken legs had
joined together and the smashed muscles were mended,
so that the luck came back and the fortune returned. And
so was the Koak lucky and fortunate.
The Koak then returned to earth in good health and
a state of well-being and his heart remained mindful, in
the knowledge that he would not forget and that he would
retain a memory which he would not discard. And so he
came to consider Boela-kai as a mother who had borne
him, and Ledo-horo as a father who had made him, and
as the one who had created and one who had formed him.
Thus it is that just when the dawn breaks in the east
and the morning comes to the “head” (of the sky, the
eastern horizon), the Koak raises his voice as though he
were going to meet his mother, and as though going to
fetch she who has formed him. And when the day is in
the west and the sun is close to the “tail” (of the sky, the
western horizon), he then cries out singing or chattering,
as if he were taking leave of his father and sending off
the one who created him.
So it has become a proverb which is stated and broad-
cast: the Koak sings or prattles looking for the sun when
it rises, and the civet cat wails seeking the moon when it
appears anew.
The foregoing is a fairly literal translation from the
Dutch text, which itself evidently retains much oi
the parallelism and poetic idiom characteristic es-
pecially of more formal genres of Rotinese ritual
speaking. The term I translate as “foot, feet” lS
mostly Dutch poot. Sometimes, this word is mofe
accurately glossed as “leg,” and in one place &
the text “legs” (Dutch beenderen) are mentioned
specifically. But this is a minor point that does not
affect the purport of the myth, not least because, un-
like what one finds in some other myths, the injury
done to the friarbird does not cause any permanent
alteration in the bird’s physical appearance.
The Rotinese story obviously differs from other
eastern Indonesian myths that feature the friarbird'
particularly as it does not explicitly concern &e
origin of night and day (that is, nights and days 0
present duration) nor indeed the origin of death an
birth. Nevertheless, its connection to these is iu^1'
cated in several ways. Apart from the appearance
of the friarbird (koak) as the central character 0
the narrative, the point of departure is a comped
tion, or contest, between this bird and another bir »
the cisticola, initially described as a friend of tn
friarbird.
In most other eastern Indonesian friarbird st°
ries, the bird wins the contest and defeats its opP°
nent - usually the imperial pigeon - thereby bring
ing about the present temporal alternation of a shn
day followed by an equally short night. In the R°f|
nese tale, by contrast, the friarbird is defeated by 1
avian opponent. Nevertheless, the friarbird is al
the loser in a story from Viqueque in East Tim ^
a Tetum-speaking region which, linguistically;
closely related to Roti. What is more, a sim1
fate partly befalls the friarbird in other eastern
donesian variants; for example, in the Nage (ce
tral Flores) myth, following the friarbird’s del
of the imperial pigeon, the pigeon takes reven#
by selling the friarbird into slavery. The friar
is then later ransomed by the sunbird, a tiny
comparable in regard to its small size, and argua ^
its feisty character, to the Rotinese tai-na’uk. ^ ^
as a consequence of the friarbird’s defeat m ^
Rotinese story (the smashing of its feet), the
becomes associated with, and more particularly
debted to, the sun and the moon. And it is f°r ^
reason that the grateful friarbird comes to ca
those temporal boundaries defined by the app ____
ance or disappearance of these heavenly boo ^
thus the two halves of the 24-hour cycle
presently know. Thus in this version, too, the ^
bird is associated with the alternation of mgn t
day, and comes to be so as the result of a con
with another bird.
.2008
103
Anthropos
°enchte und Kommentare
543
As in other parts of eastern Indonesia, the names
°f the sun and moon on Roti can refer to the Su-
preme Being or divinity. Therefore, the friarbird’s
aPpeal to the two heavenly bodies parallels the
bird’s seeking assistance from the Creator in the
Sdrnbanese variant of the myth (Forth 2007: 511).
^ the same time, mention of both moon and sun
Can be understood as a function of the canonical
Parallelism so typical of Rotinese narrative and or-
atorical composition. In this idiom, the names of
fhe two heavenly bodies can refer to a unity. Yet
u is clear that it is primarily the sun with which
friarbird is associated. Thus, whereas it is first
stated that the bird considers the moon as its mother
and the sun as its father, in describing the bird’s
c°nsequent vocal habits, the two parents are iden-
hfied respectively with the rising sun (its mother)
and the setting sun (its father). The friarbird’s spe-
association with the sun is further confirmed
y the proverb given at the end of the text. Here,
bird is paired with another creature, the “civet
Cat” (probably a reference to the Palm civet, Paro-
d°xurus hermaphroditus), an arboreal and largely
!*°ctumal mammal which, particularly by way of
lts vocalization, is linked with the moon.
. As noted, the friarbird’s opponent is the Zitting
Clsficola, a very small bird about 10 to 11 cen-
lrr>etres in length with relatively long, thin legs. It
|v°uld seem to be mostly the small size and thin
e§s that make it a suitable opponent of the friarbird
the Rotinese myth, at least if the cisticola’s vic-
0ry in the foot-stamping competition is understood
^ an ironic defeat of a larger by a much smaller
dversary. The outcome is of course accomplished
y trickery, a common theme in Indonesian animal
es generally but not in other eastern Indonesian
^yths involving the contesting friarbird. There are
her respects in which the cisticola contrasts with
a e friarbird, a medium-sized bird about as large
s a pigeon. The little bird inhabits grassland and,
^ Cept when it engages in a circling song flight, is
v equently found skulking near the ground. This en-
r°nrnental association is reflected in the Rotinese
..the, which incorporates a form of na’u, “grass”
°nker 1908: 383; tai possibly derives from a verb
^ttmg “to hold onto” or “to hang from”, Jonker
, 8- 586f., perhaps referring to the bird’s habit of
thl C^ng *ts nest on ta^ §rass stems)- Also called
the ^reaked fantail warbler and Fan-tailed warbler,
ituv^d ls named after the way it fans out its tail
c: ai§ht. Its currently more common name, Zitting
tioStlc°la, on the other hand, refers to its vocaliza-
n’ an insect-like “zit-zit-zit” sound also given in
J"1 In all these respects, the cisticola is quite
erent from the friarbird, yet it is not obvious
A*thri
°P0S 103.2008
that any of them motivate or otherwise contribute
to the mythical opposition between the two avian
characters. Again, the opposition appears to be em-
pirically grounded in the cisticola’s small size and
slight build. In this respect, moreover, the bird plays
a part comparable to that of the sunbird in Nage
myth. Another tiny bird, the sunbird does not defeat
the friarbird. However, as noted, it ransoms the fri-
arbird, and to that extent implicitly proves superior
to both this bird and its captor, the imperial pigeon.
While evidently not striking any particular con-
trast to the figure of the friarbird, the cisticola’s tail,
which it fans in flight, may nonetheless point to
connections with other Indonesian myths featuring
contesting birds. The friarbird’s counterpart among
the Tetum-speaking Belu of Central Timor (another
region closely related linguistically to Roti) is a
small, unidentified bird called berliku. Hicks de-
scribes this as a very small bird with a “forked”
tail (1997:200). Morris (1984: 13) identifies the
berliku as the Willie wagtail (Rhipidura leucoph-
rys), a member of the fantail family (Rhipiduridae).
Although belonging to a family distinct from the
cisticolas, fantails - as their name should suggest -
are also in the habit of fanning out their tails. Con-
trary to Morris, however, the Willie wagtail does
not in fact occur on Timor. Therefore, the berliku
must be another sort of small bird, and the focus
on its tail in available descriptions may suggest, as
one possibility, the cisticola, the species Rotinese
call tai-na ’uk. An alternate possibility, of course, is
another species of fantail (genus Rhipidura), such
as the widespread Rufous fantail (R. rufifrons). In
either case, to describe the tail as “forked” would be
equally inexact. Nevertheless, when spread out the
tail feathers of the both fantails and the cisticola (or
fan-tailed warbler), could conceivably, albeit some-
what inaccurately, be described as “forked.”
Possibly taken from an older Portuguese source,
Hull glosses bereliku as “Timorese nightingale”
(2001: 38). Although omithologically quite inaccu-
rate, it is of some interest that the European nightin-
gale (Luscinia megarhynchos), a relatively small
thrush, 16 cm in length, is typically found skulk-
ing near the ground where it also builds its nest,
much like cisticolas. It also possesses a relatively
long tail that is “obvious in flight” (Peterson et al.
1993: 173f.). Morphologically as well, and partic-
ularly in regard to overall shape and colouring,
nightingales and cisticolas are not dissimilar.
Despite its ironic defeat by a much smaller bird,
the fact that the Rotinese friarbird is finally saved
(in this case by the sun and moon) suggests an
overall similarity between symbolic associations of
the species on Roti and values represented by the
544
Berichte und Kommentare
bird elsewhere, particularly on Flores. Owing to the
wounded friarbird’s healing by the heavenly bod-
ies, the bird is declared by the Rotinese narrator
to be “lucky and fortunate.” This recalls the Nage
deployment of the friarbird as a simile for a human
type - “a loquacious but also a ‘lucky’ person of the
sort Nage admire” (Forth 2007:507). As regards
loquaciousness, it is further noteworthy that, in the
Rotinese story, the bird is twice described not only
as “singing” (when it vocalizes at the rising and
setting of the sun) but also as “prattling” or “chat-
tering” (Dutch snappen). These last glosses fairly
characterize friarbird vocalizations, on Flores com-
pared to human speech (Forth 2007: 507). At the
same time, they affirm these as the main percep-
tual feature motivating the friarbird’s association
with both daybreak and sunset, a point previously
demonstrated in regard to the bird’s appearance in
the majority of eastern Indonesian myths relating
the origins of daylight and the 24-hour cycle.
It should finally be mentioned how the Roti-
nese story, although clearly connected with other
stories from the Timor region linking the friarbird
with diurnal-nocturnal alternation, simultaneously
exemplifies another widespread theme in Indone-
sian animal tales. This concerns how injuries re-
sulting from a contest or conflict between natural
kinds ostensibly explain distinctive features of the
species concerned. Friarbird myths from Flores and
Timor provide cases in point, describing the origin
of the featherless head that lends the friarbird its
English name (Forth 2007: 510, 512). As noted, the
Rotinese variant does not function in this way, as
following the friarbird’s hobbling by the cisticola,
its lower limbs are restored to their original condi-
tion by the sun and moon. Nevertheless, in regard
to the particular nature of the competition in which
the two birds engage, the Rotinese narrative is com-
parable to a Moluccan (or Alforese) story (Kleiweg
de Zwaan 1916:458). The following summarizes
Kleiweg de Zwaan’s Dutch version of the narra-
tive:
Meeting in the forest, two birds named Langkou and
Moupou came across a large thick root with a small hole
in it. The Moupou saw that he could place his foot in
this hole, which he did and covered it with moss. The
bird then proposed to the Langkou that they should hold
a contest to see which of them, by kicking at the root,
could make a hole in it. The Langkou went first, but he
was unable to make a hole in the root. Next it was the
Moupou’s turn. He kicked at the spot where the hole
was, which he had covered with moss. Showing him the
hole, he then said to the Langkou: “See, I am indeed
stronger than you.” The Langkou became very angry and
embarrassed and out of envy slammed on the Moupou’s
feet until they broke. Thus it is that, since this time, all
moupou birds walk with a limp.
Although it is unclear which species the names
might designate, the fact that the moupou was able
to put its foot in a small hole suggests that this
bird has small feet and, therefore, presumably small
legs. In this respect it would appear comparable
to the Rotinese tai-na’uk, the cistocola. A further
resemblance lies in the circumstance that both birds
win their respective contests through trickery. ^
the same time, in the Moluccan story it is the trick'
ster, possibly the smaller of the two antagonist8’
who suffers bodily injury.
Conclusion
In relation to other eastern Indonesian myths featur
ing the friarbird, the Rotinese story supports sev
eral general observations. First, it exemplifies ah
other aetiological tale linking this bird with m
alternation of day and night. In this case, the eon
nection is largely expressed by the bird’s assoc1
ation with the sun and moon, an association
that
appears particularly close insofar as, in referene
to its restoration by the two heavenly bodies, t
bird is described as being “created” and “form6
by them, in a way comparable to parents giv| °
birth to a child. Despite the parallelistic invocab ^
of both heavenly bodies, however, the friarbird
specifically connected with the day and the sad
The connection is most clearly demonstrated in
Rotinese text by the recursive replacement of
opposition of sun and moon by the rising and s
ting sun. In other eastern Indonesian variants
the myth, the friarbird’s opponent is more clos ^
associated with the night. The cisticola is not
associated. But this is neither here nor there, f°r ‘
shown by the friarbird’s association with both
and day (or moon and sun), and especially .
their alternation, or points of transition, the friar
represents an encompassing, and its avian opp°n -t
an encompassed value (Forth 2007: 506). Finalv;^
should be noted that the friarbird’s association
nocturnal-diurnal alternation lends further snpP,^
to the conclusion that, in this eastern Indone ^
corpus, it is the contrast of night and day m .
primary, and that the origin of death (or of d ,
and birth) is a secondary theme which is re ^
metaphorically to the first and in all probability
developed by analogy to it (Forth 2007: 507).
I am grateful to Dr. Marie-Antoinette Willemsen ^^ei'
fessor James Fox for providing information from
103-2008
Anthropos
545
ft .
°enchte und Kommentare
Jen’s article on Rotinese birds, access to which I did not
have when I began writing this article.
References Cited
^°ates, Brian J., and K. David Bishop
y^7 a Guide to the Birds of Wallacea. Sulawesi, the Moluc-
cas, and Lesser Sunda Islands, Indonesia. Alderley:
Dove Publications.
2nnth’ Gregory
UU7 Pigeon and Friarbird Revisited. A Further Analysis of
an Eastern Indonesian Mythico-Ornithological Contrast.
Anthropos 102; 495-513.
|^cks, David
"7 Friarbird on Timor. Two Mambai Myths of Avian Ri-
valry. Anthropos 92: 198-200.
RnU» Geoffrey
Standard Tetum-English Dictionary (Revised and Ex-
panded). Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin in association
with the University of Sydney. [2nd ed.]
■looker, J. C. G.
Rottineesch-Hollandsch woordenboek. Leiden: E. J.
19 Brill
3 Bijdrage tot de kennis der Rottineesche Tongvallen. Bij-
dragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 68: 521-622.
j^riweg de Zwaan, J. P.
*6 Dierenverhalen en dieren-bijgeloof bij de inlanders van
den Indischen Archipel. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en
Volkenkunde 71: 447-471.
^•ris, Cliff
Tetun-English Dictionary. Canberra: The Australian Na-
tional University. (Pacific Linguistics, C, 83)
^eterson, Roger Tory, Guy Mountfort, and Philip Arthur
l99?mic Hollom
i Birds of Britain and Europe. London: HarperCollins.
[5th rev. and enlarged ed.]
feeijen, Jilis A. J.
' ° Some Data on the Avifauna of the Island of Roti, Lesser
Sunda Islands, Indonesia. Zoologische Mededelingen
50/1; 1-21.
ftitierkungen zu einer tätowierten
ärenskulptur als Ausdruck
eil*es bikulturellen Neuseelands
^e°rg Schifko
ser verstehen, mehr vertrauen und besser Zusam-
menleben” (Herlitz und Herlitz 2006; 8) sind nahe
dem Brandenburger Tor Bärenskulpturen mit erho-
benen Händen ausgestellt worden, die jeweils ein
konkretes Land repräsentieren (Abb. 1). Die Bären
wurden durchgehend von Künstlern aus dem je-
weils dargestellten Land gestaltet. Deren Aufgabe
war es, einen normierten “Bärenrohling” durch Be-
malen - und bisweilen auch durch Applikation von
Gegenständen - zu einem Botschafter des eigenen
Landes zu machen. Die illustre Runde ist zudem
durch Bären ergänzt worden, die zu einer friedli-
chen Koexistenz aller (Welt-)Religionen bzw. al-
ler Menschen auffordem. Ein weiterer Bär erinnert
auch daran, dass man nicht nur mit Menschen, son-
dern mit allem Leben respekt- und verantwortungs-
voll umgehen sollte.
Das Projekt der “United Buddy Bears” hat je-
doch nicht nur einen rein symbolischen Charakter,
denn regelmäßig werden einige Bären versteigert
und der Erlös an UNICEF und viele kleine lokale
Kinderhilfsorganisationen weitergegeben. Die ver-
kauften Exemplare werden laufend ersetzt und ge-
meinsam mit den anderen Bären um die Welt ge-
schickt. Die Ausstellung der “United Buddy Bears”
war bereits in anderen Ländern Europas, in Asien,
Australien und Afrika zu sehen. Erwähnenswert ist
auch der Umstand, dass die Bären immer in alpha-
betischer Ordnung der jeweiligen Gastlandsprache
aufgestellt werden und sich daraus oftmals neue
und, unter einem politischen Aspekt betrachtet,
sehr interessante Nachbarschaften ergeben (Herlitz
und Herlitz 2006: 9).
Bereits bei einer flüchtigen Betrachtung der Ex-
ponate fällt auf, dass einige Künstler bei der Ge-
staltung der Bären sehr viel mit landesüblichen Kli-
schees gearbeitet haben, die einen hohen Wieder-
erkennungswert versprechen. Dies ist z. B. beim
Irland-Bären der Fall, der dem Betrachter als grün-
gefärbter, mit Kleeblättern (Shamrock) und dem
für Irland typischen keltischen Hochkreuz verzier-
ter Leprechaun1 entgegentritt. Die Benutzung solch
allgemein bekannter Symbole erleichtert zwar sehr
die Zuordnung eines Bären zu einem konkreten
Land, doch geht dies ein wenig auf Kosten des Rei-
zes, der eine intensivere Auseinandersetzung mit
dem Objekt als lohnend erscheinen lässt. Im Ge-
gensatz zu solch “Stereotypen-Bären”, die gera-
dezu einem Fremdenverkehrsbüro entsprungen zu
sein scheinen, gibt es vereinzelt auch Exemplare,
die aus ethnologischer Perspektive viel interessan-
ter sind. So macht z. B. der mit einem Feder-
kopfschmuck ausgerüstete Vertreter Brasiliens als
“Indianer-Bär” ganz explizit auf den Schutz der
Rechte der indigenen Völker aufmerksam. Ebenso
lr°pos 103.2008
wird dem am Regionalgebiet Ozeanien interessier-
ten Ethnologen insbesondere der vom neuseelän-
dischen Künstler Peter Hoffmann gestaltete Bär -
nicht nur wegen seiner geradezu als Blickfänger
fungierenden Gesichtstätowierung - auffallen. Im
Folgenden soll auf die Ikonographie dieses Bären
und der mit ihr einhergehenden Botschaft einge-
gangen werden.
An den Füßen erkennt man zwei Brückenech-
sen (Abb. 2) die sich als sog. “lebende Fossi-
lien”, seit 200 Mio. Jahren kaum verändert ha-
ben. Die Brückenechsen2 sind die letzten überle-
benden Vertreter einer sonst nur aus dem Mesozoi-
kum (Erdmittelalter) bekannten Tiergruppe (Theni-
us 2000: 154). Die archaischen Reptilien erinnern
daran, dass Neuseeland geologisch betrachtet kei-
neswegs ein junges Land ist, sondern einen vor 80
Mio. Jahren abgespalteten Teil des (Ur-)Kontinen-
ten Gondwana darstellt. Die Beine und der Rumpf
sind ausschließlich mit auf Neuseeland endemisch
lebenden Vogelarten ausgeschmückt worden, de-
ren Bestände heutzutage zum Teil sehr gefährdet
sind. Den am linken Oberschenkel abgebildeten
Takahe hielt man sogar für bereits ausgestorben,
bis man ihn 1948 auf der Südinsel wiederentdeckt
hat (Smith 1952; 396f.). Am Bauch befinden sich
zwei Kiwi-Exemplare, der Nationalvogel Neusee-
lands, der auch als Namenspatron für die oftmals
“Kiwi” genannten Neuseeländer fungiert. Das Ei
im Hintergrund steht mit den Kiwis in unmittelba-
rem Zusammenhang, denn diese nachtaktiven und
1 Bei einem Leprechaun handelt es sich um einen Kobold aus
der irischen Mythologie.
2 Bisher sind zwei Brückenechsen-Arten bekannt (Daugherty
etal. 1990: 177; Schifko 2004; 40).
flugunfähigen Vögel haben im Verhältnis zu ihr^r
Körpergröße die größten Eier im Vogelreich (Wob
1991; 7; Taborsky 1995: 107).
Die Abbildungen auf den erhobenen AnüeI!
weisen auf ein bikulturelles Neuseeland hin. ^
dem linken Arm sieht man Neuseeland, wie es "
von geringfügigen Abweichungen einmal abge§e
hen - bereits vom Seefahrer James Cook kad0
graphiert wurde (MacLean 1973: 81), und danebß
steht “New Zealand”, der englische Name der D°Pj
pelinsel, der auf die holländische Provinz Zeelaü
zurückgeht. Am rechten Arm liest man “Aoteaf°a ’
den Maori-Namen für Neuseeland, dessen Übers
zung “lange weiße Wolke” (Reed 1972: 14) bedeU
tet. Ebenso ist er mit einem geschnitzten tiki3 aü§s
geschmückt worden. Den eindringlichsten Hmw
auf die Maori-Kultur bildet jedoch die Tätowier1 2 3)^
(moko)4 * * * * * *, mit der das Gesicht des Bären verzi
wurde. Diesem auffälligen Kulturmerkmal wU .
sogar attestiert, dass es das “most characten
race-emblem of old Maoridom” (Cowan 1921- .2
sei. Während der Künstler Peter Hoffmann für
Darstellung des tiki und einer Schnitzerei am B
3 Ein tiki ist eine menschenähnliche Figur, die einen
ren, einen Gott oder ein anderes spirituelles Wesen
(Barrow 1984: 32). 0O'
4 In Neuseeland entwickelte sich die Tätowierkunst ( ^
ko) zu einer Hochblüte. Dort kam auch eine ^et*1(^iaSta';t
Anwendung, die nirgendwo sonst praktiziert wurde. -n
die Tätowierfarbe mit einem kammähnlichen Instru01
die Haut zu stechen, schnitt man nämlich in Neusee ¿je
Haut mit einem dechselartigen Gerät (uhi) auf und t zlJ-
Farbe in die Wunden ein. Während Maori-Frauen sVeJ.en
meist nur Teile des Gesichts wie Kinn und Lippen tä 0 p-
ließen, war das Antlitz der Männer oftmals zur <^^nZ^.jinete11
nien, Spiralen und einem besonderen als koru beze
Motiv durchzogen (Schifko 2007: 561).
Vbrfrfr
darste
:11t
Anthropos
103-2008
547
Berichte und Kommentare
Äbb. 3: Die Rückseite des neuseeländischen “Buddy Bear” (aus
Herlitz und Herlitz 2006: 184).
2: Die Vorderseite des neuseeländischen “Buddy Bear’
aUs Herlitz und Herlitz 2006: 185).
erk°pf des Bären auf Abbildungen von realen Ar-
k als Vorlage zurückgegriffen hat, war dies
^er Tätowierung erfreulicherweise nicht der
i denn ¿jes hätte eine sehr große Taktlosig-
s- ^ Hargestellt. Bei den Maori ist nämlich die Ge-
p ^tstätowierung untrennbar mit der Identität jener
verbunden, die sie trägt. Daher konnten die
aigenen Neuseelands auf Verträgen Nachbildun-
s , lhrer Gesichtstätowierung als bindende Unter-
verwenden (Schifko 2005: 182). Die Täto-
erungen haben nicht nur in der Vergangenheit
e große Bedeutung gehabt, sondern rücken auch
de Zutage im Zuge einer Renaissance wieder in
Vordergrund, und man betrachtet sie gerade-
Verkörperung der Maori-Kultur (Gathercole
175; Schifko 2007: 562).
Her Rückseite des Bären wird das Thema
^r^kulturahtät ebenfalls aufgegriffen (Abb. 3).
Slnd mehrere Personen, denen man ihre Eth-
Ahth:
r°Pos 103.2008
nizität nicht ansieht, hinter zwei gekreuzten Fah-
nen versammelt. Eine der Flaggen ist die offizi-
elle Fahne Neuseelands, die den Union Jack und
das Sternbild vom Kreuz des Südens in sich ver-
einigt. Diese Flagge erinnert eindringlich an die
Vergangenheit Neuseelands als Bestandteil des bri-
tischen Weltreichs. Die andere Flagge wurde vom
österreichischen Künstler Friedensreich Hundert-
wasser (= Friedrich Stowasser) entworfen und ent-
hält ein zu einer großen Spirale umgeformtes ko-
ru als Hauptmotiv. Beim koru handelt es sich um
ein Motiv, das bei den Maori insbesondere in der
kowhawhai-MalQYQi und in den Tätowierungen oft-
mals aufscheint.5 Die hier abgebildete Gruppe stellt
5 Paradoxerweise schreibt Hundertwasser selbst, obgleich er
sogar explizit vom “koru“ spricht, dieses Symbol nicht ein-
deutig den Maori zu, wie aus einer von ihm getätigten Aus-
sage ersichtlich wird: “Der Koru ist seit urdenklichen Zeiten
548
Berichte und Kommentare
Abb. 4: Das Wappen Neuseelands (aus Hüttermann 1991: 91).
sich somit geschlossen hinter zwei Flaggen, die in
ihrer Symbolik auf zwei Völker mit unterschiedli-
cher Geschichte und Kultur rekurrieren. Durch die-
ses Bild wird angedeutet, dass man gewillt ist die
Zukunft des Landes gemeinsam zu gestalten.
An diesem speziellen Bären ist hervorhebens-
wert, dass er die von den “United Buddy Bears”
vermittelte Botschaft von einer Völkerverständi-
gung und der friedlichen Koexistenz unterschied-
licher Kulturen bereits vorwegnimmt, indem er auf
das bikulturelle Zusammenleben zwischen den in-
digenen Maori und den anderen Neuseeländern,
von zumeist europäischer Provenienz, hinweist.
Dies ist ein Bild, das auch das offizielle Neusee-
land oftmals zu vermitteln versucht. Besonders pla-
kativ tritt dies z. B. im Staatswappen zutage, auf
dem eine weiße Frau und ein Maori in traditionel-
ler Kleidung gemeinsam als Schildhalter fungie-
ren (Abb. 4). Tatsächlich können auf Neuseeland
die britischen Einwanderer für sich beanspruchen,
die Indigenen besser behandelt zu haben als es in
anderen Staaten des Commonwealth der Fall war.
Weder kam es, wie z. B. in Tasmanien (Australien),
zum Genozid an der Urbevölkerung noch war das
Verhältnis zu den Indigenen wie in Südafrika durch
eine restriktive Apartheidpolitik gekennzeichnet.
Allerdings ist auch das Verhältnis zwischen den
Maori und den eingewanderte Europäern nicht im-
mer nur ein harmonisches gewesen. Im Zuge und
in Folge der Landkriege (1860-1872) wurden z. B.
viele Maori ihres angestammten Landes beraubt.
das Zeichen für Neuseeland, schon lange bevor Menschen
nach Neuseeland kamen, lange bevor die Maori und die Eu-
ropäer in dieses Land kamen” (nach Rand 2007: 190).
Auch in rein kulturellen Belangen wurden die Mao-
ri von der weißen Mehrheit unterdrückt und es
wurde sogar der Versuch unternommen, die Maori
kulturell zu assimilieren (Vasil 1988: 1; Bernhardt
1990:55). So war es z. B. Maori-Kindern Jahr-
zehnte lang - auch unter Androhung von Stock-
Schlägen - verboten, sich in der Schule auf Mao-
ri zu unterhalten. Dahingehend hat jedoch inzwi-
schen ein radikales Umdenken stattgefunden und
im Jahre 1987 trat der “Maori Language Act” in
Kraft, der Maori als offizielle Staatssprache an-
erkennt (Binder-Fritz 1996; 59). Heutzutage wird
selbst beim Singen der Nationalhymne “God de-
fend New Zealand” oftmals die erste Strophe au
Maori gesungen und anschließend auf EnglisCtl
wiederholt.
Es wäre schön, wenn Neuseeland den am “BnU'
dy Bear” angedeuteten bikulturellen Weg weiterhin
beschreiten würde. Die kürzlich verstorbene Ma°'
ri-Königin Te Ata-i-rangi-kaahu hat einmal anläss
lieh der Eröffnung einer Galerie, die Kunst <Jef
Maori und Weißen in friedlichem Nebeneinander
zeigt, folgenden Wunsch geäußert: “Möge die_ Na
tur der Kunst folgen” (nach Frank 1999: 32). Äb^
liches könnte man sich auch beim Betrachten dß
hier beschriebenen “Buddy Bear” denken.
Ich möchte mich beim Künstler Peter Hoffmann für l ,
Beantwortung meiner Fragen zu seinem “Buddy
bedanken. Ebenso danke ich Hanni Knoll für ihre
terstützung beim Verfassen des Textes. Ein besonde^
Dank gebührt auch Thomas Hofer, weil er mich erstin
auf die “United Buddy Bears” aufmerksam gemacht
Zitierte Literatur
Barrow, Terence jty
1984 An Illustrated Guide to Maori Art. Honolulu: Unive
of Hawaii Press.
Bernhardt, Johann in
1990 Im Lichte des Pazifik. Menschen und Kultur6
Aotearoa-Neuseeland. Berlin: Frieling.
Binder-Fritz, Christine
1996 Whaka Whanau. Geburt und Mutterschaft bei den
in Neuseeland. Frankfurt: Peter Lang.
Cowan, Janies jig
1921 Maori Tattooing Survivals. Some Notes on Moko-
Journal of Polynesian Society 30: 241-245.
Daugherty, C. H., A. Cree, J. M. Hay, and M. B. Thomps0^
1990 Neglected Taxonomy and Continuing Extinctions o
atara (Sphenodon). Nature 347: 177-179.
Frank, Thomas
1999 Die Queen regiert als Botin des Friedens
Neuseeland: 30-33.
CEOsP
103-200»
Anthropos
Berichte und Kommentare
549
Gathercole, Peter
'988 Context of Maori Moko. In: A. Rubin (ed.), Marks
of Civilization. Artistic Transformations of the Human
Body; pp. 171 -177, 272-273. Los Angeles: Museum of
Cultural History.
Berlitz, Eva, und Klaus Herlitz
2006 Die Buddy-Bär-Story. In: E. Herlitz und K. Herlitz
(Hrsg.), United Buddy Bears. Die Kunst der Toleranz;
pp. 8-9. Berlin; Buddy Bär Berlin GmbH.
Hüttermann, Armin
'991 Neuseeland. Kunst und Reiseführer mit Landeskunde.
Stuttgart: Kohlhammer.
McLean, Alistair
973 Der Traum vom Südland. Captain Cooks Aufbruch in die
Welt von morgen. München: Lichtenberg Verlag.
^and, Harry
907 Hundertwasser. Hong Kong: Taschen.
**eed, A. W.
'972 A Dictionary of Maori Place Names. Wellington; A. H.
and A. W. Reed.
chifko, Georg
904 Überlegungen zur unterschiedlichen Präsentation von
Andreas Reischeks anthropologischer Sammeltätigkeit
in Sterbende Welt (1924) und Weißer Häuptling der
Maori (1955). Ein Beitrag zur Biographieforschung.
0 Baessler-Archiv 52: 37-46.
"905 Das Moko im Spiegel von Jules Vernes Romanen. Ein
Beitrag zur ethnographischen Rezeption und Imagologie
der Maori in der Literatur. Mitteilungen der Anthropolo-
. gischen Gesellschaft in Wien 134/135: 177-190.
97 Anmerkungen zur Vereinnahmung von Maori-Tätowie-
rungen in einem europäischen Spielfilm. Eine ethnologi-
sche Kritik. Anthropos 102: 561-565.
I^*ith, Francis R. V.
■'2 Finding an “Extinct” New Zealand Bird. Rediscovered
by a Persevering Doctor, the Flightless, Colorful Taka-
he, or “Wanderer,” Struggles to Survive. National Geo-
graphic 101/3: 393-401.
i jjWsky, Michaei
Das Geheimnis der Kinder des Waldgotts. Neuseelands
Nationalvogel unter der Lupe österreichischer Biologen.
Stapfia 41: 105-115.
200n *US’Erich
99 Lebende Fossilien. Oldtimer der Tier- und Pflanzenwelt.
Zeugen der Vorzeit. München: Pfeil Verlag.
»5RajK-
ö Biculturalism. Reconciling Aotearoa with New Zealand.
Wellington: Victoria University Press.
Richard
1991
Kiwi. More than a Bird. Auckland: Random Century.
The Limitations of an Ecumenical
Language
The Case of Ki-Swahili
Frans Wijsen and Ralph Tanner
Western social scientists have found the concept of
homogenisation useful in their endeavour to under-
stand cultures other than their own. It made more
sense for them to give the title “The Nuer” or what-
ever to the results of their fieldwork than to give
their work a title such as “Some Aspects of Nuer
Life as Seen through the Cooperation of a Small
Number of Informants and from a Limited Range
of Personal Observations,” which would possibly
be more appropriate.
However, there are no homogenous societies,
except maybe for such rare cases as the inhabitants
of Easter Island and other islands in the Pacific who
became isolated into extinction. But even in the
former case, their current language shows traces of
its Polynesian origin (Diamond 2005: 77-135).
East Africa with which we are concerned here
has never been isolated to a degree which would
have led to cultural homogenisation. Men have al-
ways wandered about beyond their natal areas, and
as far as we know there have been cultural or phys-
ical invasions of Nilo-Hamites from the North and
Bantu from the South. In addition, there have been
substantial internal migrations which account, for
example, for Sukuma communities in the South
as well as many who have worked in the South
African mines or visited Asia in the army during
World War Two.
The concept of homogenisation developed quite
recently by creating geographical boundaries and
giving those inside such boundaries a title, as it was
in the case of the Sukuma of Tanzania who until the
1950s did not consider themselves to be an ethnic
group (Wijsen and Tanner 2002). Large numbers
of Sukuma and Nyamwezi men worked as porters
between the Great Lakes and the coastal ports. And
the coast itself has been influenced by a succession
of seaborne outsiders from India, Indonesia, China,
Portugal, and Oman.
It may well be that those involved within their
natal cultures see themselves in homogenous terms
although it contains innumerable imported ele-
ments. This is the case with the copper bracelet in
Sukumaland which is interpreted by the Sukuma
as an indigenous ornament, whereas historical ev-
idence shows that the copper bracelet was brought
from the coast by Sukuma porters. Of course, the
Vhr,
°pos 103.2008
550
Berichte und Kommentare
social scientist may choose to simply reproduce
the native’s point of view. But it is questionable
whether such an approach can explain the complex-
ities involved in intercultural communication.
We have to accept that any culture is in the con-
tinuous process of being invaded by outside facts
and ideas from visitors, advertisements, newspa-
pers, television, wireless, and so on, over which
people have no objective control. These media do
not have to be used actively to be influential.
We are always dealing with the degrees in which
new ideas and practices are used according to de-
mographic and social factors. Even the simplest and
most commonplace terms will give comprehending
difficulties for those at the lower end of possible in-
tellectual understanding and to those who are recent
immigrants.
Thus, we have to accept that most if not all cul-
tures are composite and that there is an intercon-
nectedness of cultures which Hannerz (1992: 218)
calls the “global ecumene.” There is a constant pro-
cess of communication and translation both within
and between cultures. The aim of this article is to
assess critically the notion of ki-Swahili as an ec-
umenical langue (Mazmi and Mazrui 1995; 1998:
171) in the light of our studies on religion and soci-
ety in Usukuma (Tanner and Wijsen 1993; Wijsen
and Tanner 2000, 2002). According to Mazrui and
Mazrui, the use of ki-Swahili as a lingua franca in
East Africa facilitated convergence between people
of various tribes and religions.
The Constant Inevitability of Translation
Translation is a multistage process which involves
initially the meanings which people attribute to
their natal knowledge. There is a problem already
in ki-Swahili as ecumenical language as there are
only few monolingual ki-Swahili speakers. So to
most ki-Swahili speakers the understandings of
their natal language will undercut the very con-
cept of monolingualism in contemporary Tanza-
nia.
Of course, any language is a hybrid from its very
origins. But ki-Swahili particularly so because not
only is it a Bantu language grammatically but its
first written form was in Arabic script, and much of
its vocabulary is based on Arabic. Of the six nouns
recorded in the dictionary for “belief,” five are
based on Arabic. Currently, English words are used
to circumvent ki-Swahili words which may not
have the same meaning; the word “to develop” has
been turned into a verb kudevelop\ amebenziniwa is
“to be corrupt.”
Many coastal Swahili will have some rehc
knowledge of German and possibly some Hindi*
certainly a substantial amount of English and prob-
ably a tribal language as well, all of which will
become allied to the overall Bantu structure. This
means that the purveyors of ki-Swahili as the lingLia
franca of Tanzania will themselves have been sub-
ject to substantial linguistic influences way outsid6
any basic Bantu semantic understandings.
Those who learn ki-Swahili are creatures
other cultural systems which do not accept or share
the quasi-Arabic understandings of that language’
as they have been brought up in social environ'
ments which have little in common with that ol
native ki-Swahili speakers. An extreme example ot
this would be those who have leamt ki-Swahili as a
professional requirement to the extent that they aI^
accepted as bilingual. However, this is in speeen
and writing but not in understandings. The ways
in which they use this new language reflect then"
own culture. Intellectually and emotionally thd
will still be Sukuma, Haya, or indeed English.
Linguistic Secrecy and Its Individualism
The range of individual thinking is presumably un
limited in how it works for the benefit of humal1
beings. Individuals are only handicapped by P^ys
iological and psychological incapacities of whi
they may not be aware. Thinking is usually in mf
native tongue that is almost certainly more ao
quate for recounting simple facts than for expresS
ing emotions. When it comes to writing, the p°s
sibilities of adequate representation are further re
duced by various personal inadequacies and pr° ^
ably the sheer ifnpossibility of translating men
complexities into words.
While there is always a possible intellectual a ^
sessment of spoken and written words in terms ^
some assumed shared meaning, their importa ^
to the individuals themselves is entirely person
There is a constantly changing “working misun
standing” in which individuals interpret words a^
phrases in ways that satisfy them in their priva ,ß(j
but are often not what the communicator *ntel1. r,
(Tanner and Wijsen 1993). They have been un ^
stood in entirely private ways, which allows i ^
viduals to keep themselves psychologically an gt
dally secure, while at the same time getting at .
some of the advantages that come from assn
conformity. This is not a conscious duphclty je
one of the complex paradoxes which allow P
to exist socially while maintaining their m
uality.
103
,2008
Anthropos
Berichte und Kommentare
The Nature of Abstract Thought
551
It is a fallacy of Western social science to assume
that the thinking patterns of nonliterate or partially
literate cultures and individuals therein are less
implicated and less capable of abstract thinking
than those of cultures which have had literacy avail-
ahle, at least for the elite, for millennia.
The Sukuma traditional songs have short verses
Individually composed and longer choruses which
111 their brevity and symbolic illusions are just as
implicated as the Japanese haiku, virtually impos-
Slble to translate and explain except at great length.
Ki'Sukuma is a complicated tonal language with
110 less than seventeen tenses which, in the ways it
in be used to express personal feelings, must rival
Romance languages (Batibo 1985).
Fernandez’s study of Bwiti religious imagina-
h°n (1982: 528 f.) has two successive sections with
sIgnificant headings; “One Word, Many Mean-
ln§s; One Voice, Many Understandings,” and “El-
uents in Folklore; Edification by Puzzlement.”
I his would suggest - and there are no reasons for
Suggesting that East African thinking is less com-
plex - that rather than appreciating simplicity in
rehgious affairs the Bwiti may well prefer to be
lr,tellectually challenged.
To think in abstract terms may be an individual
ability, and such thinking is provided for in ki-Swa-
mli by the addition of the prefix u to a noun. While
h£re may be the possibility that this particular form
thinking is a result of intellectual development, it
also be a result of having the time to think in-
QePendent of the demands of subsistence farming.
It seems more likely that the Sukuma put consid-
erable symbolic content into commonplace objects,
ail(l that they impute “magical” power to a range
p objects so that they can understand the Roman
atholic dogma of the Real Presence of Christ in
06 mass more easily than other aspects of Christian
ebef. We have to assume that abstract thought in
Umbels is commonplace.
Th
e Transfer of Concepts through Language
Can
11 concepts be transferred from one cultural set-
£. § to another through the medium of language,
trFler sP°ken or written? We can assume that some
.^urtsfer is possible between languages which are
^ *be same linguistic group. Whatever the Arabic
^ackground of ki-Swahili may be, in grammar it is a
diffitU lan§uaSe and theoretically there should be no
la ‘culties in transferring its ideas into other Bantu
nguages but not into the Nilo-Hamitic language
nthroPos 103.2008
of the Maasai or into the “click” language of the
Sandawe. But parts of languages are not transferred
in the abstract; they are communicated. It is a social
process.
We are considering here ki-Swahili, which is
spoken by some fifty million people in various lin-
guistic codes along the East African coast and in-
land, in Uganda, Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, Zam-
bia, and Malawi. This language in its purist form
can be heard and read in Zanzibar where there is
a well-established literature of some antiquity writ-
ten in Arabic script. In Tanzania, it is the national
language developing from its version established as
the language of administration by the German colo-
nial government.
In its purist form it is spoken by the self-styled
Swahili elite living along the coast as shown in
the phrase mwenyeji wa pwani, washenzi wa bara,
which could be translated as “we are the civilised
inhabitants of the coast, and the uncultured live in-
land.” So there is a feeling of cultural superiority
among natal ki-Swahili speakers without any un-
derstanding of its grammar and semantic range.
As it spread inland because of its political, ad-
ministrative, and commercial usefulness, it came up
against an almost endless series of cultures which
had their own linguistic understandings that they
attached to their use of this language. Of course,
some of these cultures are small in terms of pop-
ulation and perhaps insignificant in terms of their
ability to remain more or less intact, such as the
Digo, Zigua, and Sandawe. Others, on the other
hand, are supported by large populations whose
languages are seen as inferior only because their
written forms are confined to recent translations of
the Bible. The Nyamwezi-Sukuma-speaking group
now number at least ten million people, and both
the Haya and the Chagga are not only numer-
ous but contain an increasing number of intellec-
tuals.
So ki-Swahili, as it extends its range, is becom-
ing semantically entangled with other well-estab-
lished languages and cultures. What will then be-
come of this language that is increasingly stressed
politically and which may be seen by many as part
of an assertion of coastal dominance, and with it an
association with Islam?
The Bias of Documentation
Any spoken language is elusive and consists of
sounds which disappear as soon as they have been
spoken. With this their meanings also disappear. Its
ephemeral nature makes it difficult for it to be a fac-
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tor in sustaining political pressure and maintaining
its cultural status overall.
So there is an inevitable focus on what has been
printed, and in the case of ki-Swahili what has
been written are translations of the Bible, religious
and secular pamphlets, poems as well as newspa-
pers, and they all show the influence of the coastal
culture which sustains it as the natal language of
coastal people. Of the fourteen producers of the
Swahili dictionary, only three come from outside
this coastal belt (Khamisi 1981), and yet it is cer-
tainly a lingua franca which has been in wide use
for a century.
People who write and print are usually in the
higher intellectual group, and most of them use
the more formal aspects of ki-Swahili so there can
be little doubt that what is printed will be better
understood in Bagamoyo than in Ujiji on Lake
Nyasa, five hundred miles inland. Between these to
poles, there is substantial differences in how this
language is used and understood.
Translations of the bible into ki-Swahili have
produced a linguistically acceptable document, ac-
cording to the committees of intellectuals who pro-
duced it and their confreres who have read it criti-
cally, but it is not the ki-Swahili which is used and
understood away from the coastal belt that is large-
ly Muslim (Tanner 2005). The equivalent transla-
tion of the Koran by the Ahmaddiya is not regarded
by orthodox Muslims as having the sanctity of the
original which records Allah’s words in classical
Arabic, and these alone are Holy.
The Translation of Secular Understandings
The spreading of ki-Swahili is an official policy,
which involves an immediate concern for national
unity rather than escalations of ethnocentrism that
have hindered development in neighbouring coun-
tries. It has been the language of administration
for over a century, and probably it has been used
for low-level business transactions for even longer.
British administrators were required to be bilingual
as a precondition for their confirmation in the Tan-
ganyika Administrative Service. This has meant the
use of ki-Swahili in schools and the lack of any offi-
cial support for tribal languages even when spoken
by large numbers of people.
So there have been immediate benefits in terms
of political unity, which allowed the use of civil
servants anywhere in the country with no regard
for their tribal origins. Without doubt, it has got the
country over the immediate consequences of inde-
pendence, without any civil war or any overconcem
for tribal balances in political institutions (Mazrui
and Mazrui 1995).
The downside is that this language when it *s
learnt in school leads nowhere. Literature in ki-
Swahili is difficult to read, and there is no rang6
of books which would contribute to national de-
velopment. As such, it is of no use for learning
agricultural, medical, or engineering sciences any
more than Gallic and Welsh languages would be m
Britain. Few if any would think of studying ki-Swa-
hili to improve their careers as it opens few doors
for advancement.
East African society is a mixture of cultur65
which is now more invasively global and accorn'
panied by uncertainties. The retention of som6
quasi-traditional tribal identity provides them wim
the protection against disappointments (Wijsen an
Tanner 2000: 152; 2002).
The cultural consequences of globalisation &Q
complex. On the one hand, people continue to bl611
beliefs and practices of various cultures. On th6
other hand, people define narrow-minded identic65
(retribalisation) and fight a “holy war” against oth6r
tribes. Thus, to what extent can Swahili as a 6cU
menical language de-tribalise religious and ethn|C
affiliations? (Mazrui and Mazrui 1995; 1-7)
Ki-Swahili is part of Tanzanian national id611
tity, but it is not known how long it takes bef°^
individuals give personal priority to their nation
affiliations rather than their regional and tribal pr6
erences. In the meantime, most people, especia .
the men, are bilingual, using ki-Swahili when
has a short-term purpose while expressing their prl
vacies and their domestic lives in their tribal lan
guages. Ki-Swahili may have an overt usefuln^
in their public lives when approaching governm
officials, in locai government externally orient6^,
and within their regions political activity, and,
course, in urban business when they meet pe°P
from other communities. j
The further one goes from the core areas of na
ki-Swahili speakers the more attenuated beco ^
its grammatical content. What was called kisett
Kenya was the language which the settlers use
communicate with their mainly Kikuyu worker^-
was a linguistic code without tenses or the enc ^
of place or noun classes. It grated on the earSj-n,
those who spoke the language correctly, but this^^
guistic code was used to communicate success
with generations of workers. nt
It was also used widely in the Jamaa
(Tanner 1968; Fabian 1971) as well as in the
tary in both Kenya and Uganda where it was tu
into a professional requirement. So formal g
matical ki-Swahili became watered down t0
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553
minimal requirement for material communication,
and it was not used for the expression of emotion
for which it was semantically inadequate.
The Translation of Religious Understandings
There are two aspects to translation. First, there
18 the search for equivalences in traditional lan-
guages and the assumption that these will represent
Patterns of thinking which can then be integrated
^to Western-oriented Christian theology. And sec-
°ndly, the search for equivalences with other major
re%ions, Islam in particular, for which the search
ls based on existing printed sacred or theological
literature.
Since traditional East African religious ideas
and practices are expressions of situations in which
]ndividuals or groups find themselves within the
broad parameters of their cultural understandings,
is both difficult to analyse while at the same
drne relatively easy to find points of similarity with
Christian ideas. What constitutes religion in Africa
18 very much more an individual affair than it might
he in Western cultures. But even this is questionable
^hen we realise how much Western practices and
lcieas vary within denominational orthodoxies.
People move in and out of particular religious
frameworks according to their circumstances and
°cal popularities. They are not used to being ques-
honed about their beliefs or anything else for that
Matter, and most would have a very limited vo-
cabulary to express complicated ideas. As in other
Cuhures, they are likely to have different linguistic
c°des to cope with different situations. How can
y°u search for religious equivalences when Tanza-
nian languages even do not have a word for “reli-
gl°n”? A traditional Sukuma being asked what his
f^hgion is might well reply “I am just a Sukuma”
. Aijsen and Tanner 2002), stating that he has not
Joined any seemingly imported way of relating to
he divine.
The absence of orthodoxy in East African reli-
°us thought and practice is not a sign of its sim-
of,Clty or cognitive inadequacy but a consequence
^ the absence of literacy and printed theology
rgely independent from social functions. It is a
j actical syncretism in which there are geograph-
al and cultic concentrations focused on charis-
1&w *nc^viduals.
While elsewhere religious orthodoxies devel-
cal °n *he grounds of longevity of theologi-
u documentation, with the mass of religious be-
to Vl°Ur being carried out parallel to or indifferent
0rthodoxy, in Eastern Africa individuals create
ArUhr
their own mixture of religious practices and ideas.
Descriptions of this “do-it-yourself” way of dealing
with the divine may be largely a result of social sci-
entists’ looking for a system and in a sense creating
it within their own linguistic and religious param-
eters. To describe religion they use dini, which is
a ki-Swahili word derived from Arabic and associ-
ated with Islam. Fieldworkers may give the heading
“propitiation ceremonies” and list them by descrip-
tive titles. But when such ceremonies are observed,
and most ethnographers will only see half a dozen
ceremonies at most, they find out that they have
little in common except propitiation.
So it seems that these localised and individual
religions do not have systematised practices. To an
extent all their religious ideas and practices are in-
dividual and parallel if not predate the “sheilaism”
of the American sociologists who established that
each person who was not affiliated to a church, syn-
agogue, mosque, or temple, still considered himself
to be religious in his own ways, even though he
felt no need to formulate the specifics (Bellah et al.
1985:221).
Ecumenism as a Need and Ki-Swahili as the Means
Both Christianity and Islam, almost from their start,
have claimed that they are global faiths, and that
there is a potential unity of all men’s beliefs in their
understanding of the Divine. Islam, apart from the
Sunni-Shia divide and the contempt of the ortho-
dox for the Ahmaddiya, has never involved itself in
the complexities of ecumenism since its own domi-
nance is divinely self-evident and aided perhaps by
the clarity and simplicity of the Five Pillars of the
Faith.
Christianity, on the other hand, has been pre-
occupied with denominational divisions and ecu-
menism as the way for healing these morally inap-
propriate theological and institutional differences.
Most of the Christian denominations in Eastern
Africa which are not just tribally based use ki-Swa-
hili in their writings, and this offers the theoretical
basis for unification in a religion which has always
been denominational because it is based on abstrac-
tions which are impossible to define in ways that
parallel the simple and clear requirements of Islam.
Most Christians would probably accept the right
of other Christians to worship in ways that are de-
nominationally different. But ecumenists are for-
getting that for reasons that are not necessarily reli-
gious, Roman Catholics do not want to be Baptists
and Seventh-Day Adventists are not interested in
discussing even the possibility of unity. Ecumenism
'°P0S 103.2008
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Berichte und Kommentare
for most would mean the loss of a socioreligious
identity and security which they appreciate in an
increasingly globalising world.
Ecumenism seems to be an exclusively Chris-
tian activity for the unification of denominations.
Christians assume that there should be some sort of
rapprochement with Muslims and Jews, in which
these other faiths are not particularly interested. It
would appear to be a preoccupation of those with
high institutional religious status who would prefer
to conduct these negotiations in English, which is
the language in which they express their theologi-
cal status. To conduct these complicated issues in
ki-Swahili would seem to them to be retrogressive,
and whatever agreements might be reached would
inevitably mean the expensive retranslating of their
literature and its reprinting; behind theology lurks
the costs of change (Tanner 1973).
The Christian Churches in East Africa have long
based their popularity on a combination of regional
and tribal exclusivities and in the Roman Catholic
Church until Vatican II this was the combination
of Latin, which was understood by very few of
their members, and the use of local languages in
ancillary prayers and sermons.
Conclusion
The change to the use of ki-Swahili is more than
anything else a political necessity, as no social
group wants to be associated with an increase in
or maintenance of tribalism or religionism. But for
reasons given above, it seems likely that people will
use this largely imposed language in ways other
than prescribed by political and religious correct-
ness. Thus, whereas the use of ki-Swahili facili-
tated understanding between people of various eth-
nic and religious backgrounds (Mazrui and Mazrui
1995; 1998: 171), we nevertheless hold that this un-
derstanding is only partial.
There is a working misunderstanding in which
individuals create their own meanings out of words
in correspondence with their needs (Tanner and
Wijsen 1993; Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 34). On the
institutional level the keywords have been defined
in ki-Swahili dictionaries. Their meanings have
been accepted and at the same time ignored be-
cause the traditional ways of thinking about po-
litical and religious matters do not correspond to
the formalised dogmas of religious institutions or
political parties. Whereas the world is a “global
ecumene,” we may not underestimate its complex-
ities in terms of communication and understanding
(Hannerz 1992).
References Cited
Batibo, Herman
1985 Le kesukuma (langue bantu de Tanzanie). Phonologic
morphologie. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisa-
tions.
Bellah, Robert N., et al.
1985 Habits of the Heart. Individualism and Commitment in
American Life. Berkeley: University of California Press-
Diamond, Jared M.
2005 Collapse. How Societies Choose to Fail or Survive. Lon-
don: Allen Lane.
Fabian, Johannes
1971 Jamaa. A Charismatic Movement in Katanga. Evanston-
Northwestern University Press.
Fernandez, James W.
1982 Bwiti. An Ethnography of the Religious Imagination in
Africa. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Hannerz, Ulf
1992 Cultural Complexity. Studies in the Social Organization
of Meaning. New York: Columbia University Press.
Khamisi, Akida ,
1981 Kamusi ya Kiswahili Sanifu (Dictionary of Stands
Swahili). Dar es Salaam: Oxford University Press.
Mazrui, Ali A., and Alamin M. Mazrui r
1995 Swahili State and Society. The Political Economy 0
an African Language. Nairobi; East African Education
Publishers. .
1998 The Power of Babel. Language & Governance in 1
African Experience. Oxford: James Currey.
Tanner, Ralph E. S. ■
1968 The Jamaa Movement in the Congo. A Sociolo^
cal Comment on Some Religious Interpretations-
Heythrop Journal 9: 164-178. aj
1973 Economic Factors in East African Ecumenism. Journ
of Ecumenical Studies 10/1: 51-69. u,
2005 Theology in Swahili. Problems in Developing an c
menical Language. Studia missionalia 54: 195-211-
Tanner, Ralph, and Frans Wijsen . „
1993 Christianity in Usukuma. A Working Misunderstan 1
Nouvelle Revue de science missionnaire 49: 177-1
Wijsen, Frans, and Ralph Tanner
2000 Seeking a Good Life. Religion and Society in Usukn
Tanzania, 1945-1995. Nairobi: Paulines Publican
Africa. fon,
2002 “I Am Just a Sukuma.” Globalization and Identity
struction in Northwest Tanzania. Amsterdam: Edi
Rodopi. (Church and Theology in Context, 40)
103.20«8
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555
La gestualité
comme marqueur socioculturel
Claude Rivière
Emetteur de gestes, l’homme fait appel, comme
te note Marcel Jousse (promoteur de la première
anthropologie du geste”, notamment en milieu pa-
testinien-hébraïque), à tous les registres du mimo-
drame ; corporel-manuel, laryngo-buccal, plastique
et graphique, réaliste et analogique, concret et sym-
bolique. Le fait de s’exprimer surtout par telle par-
de du corps (moue, larme, inclinaison répétée du
buste, embrassade) n’implique pas que le corps
entier n’en soit pas affecté (loi du globalisme de
1 expression humaine selon l’auteur). Donner un
coup de poing, cracher par terre, a des irradiations
dans tout le corps. L’homme engage généralement
tout son être et peut marquer fortement et signi-
ficativement ses intentions par un geste, tel celui
du pape Jean-Paul II embrassant la terre du pays
°ü il atterrit. Le mécanisme fondamental du geste
est la métaphore. Qu’en est-il du geste en général ;
Quelles idées majeures en ont été soulignées et par
fiui ? Sans couvrir tout le champ, quelles variables
c°nsidérer en particulier et comment spécifier ce
(lüi différencie les gestes entre cultures ?
* Le geste en théorie sommaire
nous attachant dans nos développements, aux
sPécificités des gestes entre cultures et sous-cul-
teres (sans fonder une typologie, ni prescrire une
Méthodologie), nous partirons des prémisses sui-
ntes : Mettant entre parenthèses les signes uni-
Versels instinctifs en liaison avec l’état émotionnel :
sourire, grimace, geignements, cris, sanglots ... )
°Us postulons que la plupart des gestes sont com-
firis de manière différente selon l’époque et la cul-
Me (fis sont signifiants et décryptables à l’inté-
heur d’un contexte historico-culturel) ; ils dépen-
des expériences mimétiques des individus ;
Manrnoins, ils ne se limitent pas à de simples pro-
mus d’imitation, de reproduction ou d’empreinte,
^ impliquent des mises en figure singulières ; ils
fichent aussi des appartenances sociales et sont
• es formes d’affirmation d’une familiarité avec des
^dividus et des groupes habitués à les interpréter
a savoir comment y répondre. Dans un compor-
tent d’interlocution, leur importance est capitale,
s^ciés ou non au langage verbal.
u Ecur signification n’est ni toujours explicite, ni
nivoque, ni en rapport immédiat nécessaire avec
AHthr,
°Pos 103.2008
ce qui est dit, et parfois non concordant avec la pa-
role. Certains gestes annulent l’information conte-
nue dans l’énoncé comme avec un clin d’œil. La
gestuelle animale constitue de facto une approche
plus probante des enjeux communicationnels que
le travestissement par les mots. Desmond Morris,
dans “La clé des gestes” (1979), nous l’avait bien
fait sentir, mais nous retombons souvent dans l’illu-
sion d’un langage verbal nécessaire et suffisant à
garantir les échanges communicationnels et nous
nous coupons alors partiellement de nous-mêmes et
d’autrui. Les gestes constituent généralement une
expression de la vie intérieure d’une personne, plus
fiable que ses paroles qui, elles, sont davantage sous
le contrôle de la conscience.
Infra-conscientielle et souvent ignorée, la réfé-
rence étymologique ! Le mot geste vient du latin
gestus qui caractérise en général un mouvement,
une attitude corporelle et en particulier le mou-
vement d’une partie du corps, notamment de la
main. Gestus est le participe passé du verbe gerere :
faire, se comporter ; gerire c’est porter sur soi ; ges-
tare ; porter un enfant, être enceinte ; gesta, parti-
cipe passé neutre pluriel, est synonyme de acta :
actions, comme dans “faits et gestes” ; gestire si-
gnifie faire des gestes violents. En français, gesticu-
ler c’est faire beaucoup de gestes. Nous définirons
la gestualité comme ensemble de gestes expressifs
considérés comme des signes. A propos de Jean
Jaurès, on parlait de son éloquence gestuelle.
Tandis que la geste de Charlemagne ou plus gé-
néralement la chanson de geste (au féminin) ren-
voie à l’ensemble des exploits accomplis par un hé-
ros, le geste (au masculin) se rapporte au corps en
mouvement dans le monde. Aux jeunes filles on
apprend la révérence, aux enfants Tau revoir de la
main, l’acceptation par un mouvement vertical de
la tête, le hochement latéral pour le refus. Victor
Hugo et Jean-Baptiste Millet nous ont familiarisés
avec le geste auguste du semeur et nos copains
d’adolescence avec le bras d’honneur. Souvent le
geste exprime un sentiment (geste de surprise, geste
de piété, geste menaçant) ou en sous-entend. Ainsi
dit-on d’une action qui frappe l’esprit : “En agissant
ainsi, il a fait un beau geste” ou péjorativement :
“cela, c’était des gestes”, c’est-à-dire des manifes-
tations extérieures, des faux-semblants.
Comme les différents états du corps donnent des
informations sur la compréhension d’un message,
sur le contenu, sur le contexte de la communica-
tion, il est intéressant d’interroger ces indices non-
verbaux. Que le geste facilite l’interprétation d’un
message verbal (j’ai pêché un brochet long comme
çà !), ne restreint pas les significations autres que
descriptive et d’étaiement du langage : il exprime
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Berichte und Kommentare
un trait de personnalité, il agit sur l’interlocuteur,
il ponctue un rapport social, il symbolise des adhé-
sions même spirituelles (prostration du sacrement
de l’ordre). Bien qu’il soit difficile de dresser les
limites entre ce qui relève de l’individuel et du
culturel, entre l’efficacité réelle et symbolique, on
considérera le geste comme véhiculant un sens so-
cial à travers les règles auxquelles on se réfère et les
ritualisations codées. En le saisissant comme fina-
lisé par la communication, on exclura de nos propos
des comportements simplement moteurs tels que
se gratter, fumer, boire, changer de posture par fa-
tigue, manipuler sa pipe comme Jean Richard ou
Bruno Kremer dans “Maigret” ..., mais on por-
tera attention à l’ensemble du corps signifiant en
situation sociale : mouvements des mains certes,
mais aussi expressions faciales, regards, postures,
mouvements ..., encore que la fugacité du geste le
rende difficilement traduisible en mots et qu’il soit
encodé de bien d’autres manières que protocolaires.
Jusqu’à présent, les gestes de la danse, du travail,
des rapports quotidiens ont été les plus étudiés.
Nous ne chercherons pas à élaborer une gram-
maire des gestes, forme de langage implicite ou de
langage de l’imaginaire. Nous n’entrerons pas dans
le spécifique (geste d’écriture, geste musical, gestes
respiratoires dans la médecine chinoise diététique),
ni dans le détail gestuel de la danse “tecktonik”,
des styles natatoires, des mêlées de rugby, ni dans
les dits gestes officiels d’un souverain : fiancer un
prince du sang, recevoir le serment d’un maréchal
de France, ou remettre une barrette cardinalice.
Notre propos consiste d’abord à cerner quelques
variables de la gestualité qui servent d’outils pour
l’analyse des marqueurs socioculturels.
2 Des variables contextuelles et sociales
de la gestualité
Méthodologiquement et typologiquement, il n’est
pas inutile de repérer quelques variables contex-
tuelles dont, en général, seulement certaines sont
prises en compte :
1) L’espace ; c’est-à-dire le lieu (restaurant ou
chambre) mais aussi la position et la distance spa-
tiale par rapport à l’interlocuteur (proxémie), le
tracé spatial du geste tel que celui courbe du maçon
selon le taylorisme, et surtout l’espace socialement
et fonctionnellement déterminé auquel sont atta-
chées des valeurs (église, tribunal, hôpital, école).
2) Le temps : celui du quotidien ou de la fête,
matin ou soir, mais aussi temps lié à des habitudes
ou à des normes. Au lento et à l’onction de la sous-
culture conventuelle s’oppose le presto agitato des
parisiens dans les rues et les bouches de métro. Au
temps passé du Moyen Age correspondent des pra-
tiques gestuelles, tout comme au temps des “Mer-
veilleuses” sous le Directoire.
3) L’environnement : avec ses conditions de lu-
mière (réduction des gestes dans le noir), de bruit
(amplification pour surmonter l’assourdissement)»
de silence (gestuelle limitée et codée des monas-
tères), de vie urbaine ou rurale, d’ouverture ou de
fermeture ...
A ces données connues, ajoutons-en de pluS
fines !
4) L’allure ; aspect glissé et buste droit de la dé-
marché de l’Africaine habituée à porter sur la tête
des bassines d’eau et sur le dos son demier-né. P°ur
un garçon, rouler les mécaniques, c’est remuer os-
tensiblement le torse ; pour une fille, c’est se dé-
hancher en produisant des oscillations fessières. Ea
marche chaloupée du brésilien, la ginga, François
Laplantine l’a fort bien analysée dans “Le social
et le sensible” (2005), et Yves Beaupérin a insiste
sur l’enseignement et la récitation juive des œuvres
sacrées en se balançant d’avant en arrière.
5) La nuance : elle est saisie avec finesse dans Ie
langage des sourds attentifs à un exact positionne'
ment des doigts (configuration de la main, empla'
cernent par rapport au corps, mouvement et orien'
tation de la paume) et à l’organisation syntaxique
des signes.
6) L’expression : serment médiéval d’allcge
ance par les mains jointes du vassal dans l^s
mains ouvertes du suzerain, puis embrassade sur
bouche (être un homme de bouche et de mains) ;aC
compagnement d’une parole jurée, au quattrocento
italien, par la main sur la braguette.
Qu’on ne fétichise pas cependant cette taxin°
mie ! L’“Histoire des mœurs”, tome 2, dirigée Pa
Jean Poirier (1991), en présente de multiples, n°
concordantes parce que fondées sur différents
tères : fonction, sens, support, cinématique, etc.,
bien parce que focalisées sur des thématiques
verses : gestes illustratifs du discours, gestes
salutation, gestes du travail, de la danse, etc. .
A l’intérieur même d’une culture, selon les , ^
férences sociales, le sens des gestes est associe
des variables telles que le sexe, l’âge, la professi
le statut, la classe sociale, l’institution.
Sexe
ou de
Ce qu’on estime être un indice de genre u ^
sexe est simultanément un indice culturel et ^
mise en scène. La jeune fille du métro touche^_^
mollet pour tâter si son bas n’a pas filé. Elle c
103.2008
Anthropos
Berichte und Kommentare
557
bas de sa mini-jupe pour faire semblant de ca-
cher ce qu’elle donne à voir parfois. Elle remonte
discrètement l’élastique de sa culotte, ajuste son
soutien-gorge, ouvre son miroir de poche pour une
dernière touche de maquillage et triture une mèche
de cheveux, à moins que ses doigts ne lui servent
de peigne pour renvoyer sa chevelure à l’arrière.
Afrique, rien de tout cela n’est observable en
raison de l’absence (sauf en ville) de certains sous-
Vetements, de maquillage, et en raison d’une struc-
ture du cheveu formellement différente. En France,
les garçons s’engagent plus souvent que les filles
dans les interactions agressives ou dans les jeux
de bousculades, et moins souvent qu’elles dans les
Jeux sédentaires, ou coopératifs. Les filles sourient
et pleurent plus souvent que les hommes.
En outre, ce qu’on juge relever du geste pure-
ment technique porte un message communication-
nel : le bas qui file, ça fait vulgaire ; un ravale-
ment du visage, ça séduira le patron. Jouer avec
Ses cheveux est une variation du narcissisme ado-
lescent. Une dame du XVIe arrondissement de Paris
Se comporte autrement.
Les différences sexuelles dans la façon de s’as-
Se°ir, de porter un livre, de saluer ont aussi été
c°difiées par des peintres tels que Léonard de Vinci
Attitude pudique des femmes, jambes serrées, bras
mpliés joints, tête basse et penchée de côté). En
Accident, l’homme trop à l’aise penche le tronc en
Arrière, écarte souvent les genoux et les bras. On
reconnaît aux femmes une plus grande précocité
les hommes et une plus grande finesse dans la
Action d’un message non verbal.
Age
t >A
a§e différentiel entre personnes s’indique dans la
^lutation et dans les marques du savoir-vivre (cf.
picard 1998). Chez les Wezo de Madagascar, le don
ün objet dans le sens aîné-cadet s’opère d’une
main, des deux mains dans le sens cadet-aîné.
n Afrique, l’enfant et la femme baissent les yeux
eyant un supérieur, père ou mari. Des garçons de
mgt ans amis, au Togo, se donnent la main dans la
e sans que nul ne les soupçonne d’homosexualité.
^r°fession
J est aussi des théâtralisations gestuelles à base
he Hesm°nneEe telles que les expressions exagérées
ouleur d’un footballeur ou d’un skieur dont la
de e SUscite compassion ou rire. Le propre de bien
apprentissages consiste à acquérir la maîtrise
Anthropos 103.2008
des gestes du métier pour qu’ils deviennent des
habitudes.
Statut hiérarchique
Les signes de distinction que les hiérarchies so-
ciales établissent et renforcent, les variations du
goût selon les catégories et les groupes sociaux,
Pierre Bourdieu les a signalés avec précision dans
“La distinction” (1979) tout comme Norbert Elias
a présenté le “procès de civilisation” dans “La dy-
namique de l’Occident” ([1939] 2003) puis dans
“La société de cour” ([1969] 2002). Molière s’était
lui-même au XVIIe siècle bien gaussé des gestes du
bourgeois en quête de reconnaissance sociale, imi-
tant le gentilhomme jusque dans le “menuet”, dans
les manières de parler, de manger, de se présenter.
En Afrique, toute une gestuelle répond à des diffé-
rences de statut et de positionnement du chef dans
un contexte cérémoniel. J’ai vu au Togo le chef du
village d’Agu Nyogbo revenir de ses champs dans
la tenue quotidienne d’un agriculteur avec la houe
sur le dos, passer par l’arrière de sa maison, puis
m’accueillir après une toilette, vêtu d’un long bou-
bou blanc, entouré lui-même de son porte-parole
(tchami) et de son chef de guerre (asafo). Mon geste
a été de lui offrir une bouteille de schnaps (l’eau de
vie du premier colonisateur) pour une brève liba-
tion aux ancêtres.
Institution
Tout autant que sur la gestuelle de différenciation
statutaire, il convient d’insister sur les formes d’ex-
pression spécifiques aux institutions (église, tribu-
nal, hôpital, école, prison) lesquelles imposent leur
pouvoir en exigeant l’accomplissement de certains
gestes (agenouillement, bras croisés, serment main
levée ... ) et en sanctionnant la négligence ou l’ou-
bli. Valeurs et normes s’inscrivent ainsi dans le
corps et deviennent habitudes ou rites comme le
signe de croix devant un calvaire ou sur la miche
de pain qu’on entame. Il est des signes gestuels
d’humilité, de respect, de considération, d’engage-
ment : “c’est la lutte finale”, bras levé et poing
fermé. Même cette gestuelle partisane soumet les
membres adhérents à une volonté normative. On
doit à Michel Foucault, dans “Surveiller et pu-
nir” (1975), une fine analyse de la manière dont
le pouvoir marque le corps de son empreinte et
en contrôle les formes d’expression et de repré-
sentation. “Les ‘gestes institutionnels’ se sont mis
en place au cours de longues périodes et ont pour
558
Berichte und Kommentare
fonction de donner une forme d’expression à la
fois concrète et symbolique aux exigences so-
ciales des institutions et d’y soumettre leurs usagers
par Vadoption de gestes sociaux pr¿formés” (Wulf
2007 ; 48).
3 Marqueur d’identités et signalisations culturelles
ritualisées
Je pense inutile de revenir sur les techniques du
corps (devenues classiques) analysées par Mar-
cel Mauss (obstétrique, soins, initiation, sommeil,
repos, marche, alimentation, pratiques sexuelles)
dont il montrait qu’elles étaient modelées par une
culture et une société données, mais il n’est pas
vain de souligner le rapport perçu entre certaines
techniques et le biotope. Les Européens mangeurs
de grenouilles nagent la brasse, les Indiens et les
Africains nagent sur le côté comme les serpents,
la nage papillon des nordiques, elle, viendrait des
otaries.
Afin de montrer combien la gestuelle matérialise
aussi du préfiguré de l’univers abstrait, on utilisera
quelques exemples togolais : déposer un œuf entre
les racines d’un iroko pour être enceinte, allumer
une bougie devant le “nid” du vaudou qu’on im-
plore, procéder à la libation par terre de quelques
gouttes de sodabi (eau-de-vie) offertes aux ancêtres
avant que les vivants ne consomment le reste de la
bouteille. Multiplier les inclinaisons rapides devant
le mur des Lamentations, la tête couverte de la kipa,
est juif. Fumer silencieusement en solitaire devant
son dieu en pleine nature, c’est élever sa prière vers
les cieux pour un Indien. Faire le signe de croix au
nom de la Trinité spécifie le catholique de l’ortho-
doxe selon la séquence surtout finale du geste. Dans
l’univers hébraïque et chrétien, Fonction du pouce
consacre (le Christ est l’oint du Seigneur) ; elle a
lieu dans le baptême, la confirmation, l’ordination
catholique.
On sait aussi que chaque culture a ses signes
corporels (amplitude des mouvements, distance à
l’interlocuteur, expression des émotions, aisance ou
retenue) qui traduisent chez l’individu son apparte-
nance. Le “geste caractéristique tendra ... à se for-
mulariser, dans un milieu ethnique donné, et consti-
tuera un vocabulaire gestuel propre à ce milieu, en
lequel se reconnaîtront tous les individus de ce mi-
lieu, et qui leur permettra d’échanger entre eux. La
coloration ethnique d’un geste n’exclut d’ailleurs
pas son universalisme et n’empêchera pas pour au-
tant la possibilité de servir de moyen de commu-
nication extra-ethnique” (Beaupérin 2002 : 73). Les
mouvements des juifs émigrés ont moins d’ampli-
tude que ceux des Italiens ; leurs mouvements sont
plus sinueux, angulaires et brusques, la distance du
partenaire plus faible (Feyereisen et Lannoy 1985)-
Tous les moyens gestuels de communiquer forment
un système dynamique et spécifique du groupe so-
cial considéré et de son territoire de vie. Morris
(1979) a aussi montré que selon les régions, leS
mouvements sont accomplis avec des significations
différentes.
En outre, que de différences entre la prodiga'
lité gesticulatoire d’une Italienne et l’impassibilité
touareg, hopi ou mongole ! Que de différences de
signification pour un même geste (pouce leve ^
“super” chez nous, “tu t’es fait avoir” au Moyen
Orient, “j’arrête temporairement le jeu” dans la
culture enfantine) ! Signe de bien manger que Ie
rôt moyen-oriental comme celui du nourrisson oC'
cidental ! Mais les manières de faire ou permis65
ou interdites (roter, cracher) sont aussi socialement
codées et apprises comme la façon de rouler son
pagne autour du corps en Afrique et en Asie.
Révélatrice aussi de l’identité culturelle que J
gestuelle posturale ! Saluer celui qui arrive, sans t
toucher, rester accroupi sur les talons, est une p°se
convenant pour les auditeurs comme pour les 1°
cuteurs au Mali traditionnel. Comme l’agenouille
ment chrétien est signe de respect, d’humilité eta
demande de miséricorde, les épaules à terre dans
lutte sportive désignent le vaincu. Importante ans
la latéralité gestuelle. Après Robert Hertz (19' ''
Jeanne-Françoise Vincent (1991) a montré eh ^
les Mofu du Nord-Cameroun l’importance gauche
droite. Tandis que les élus chrétiens sont places
la droite du Père dans la représentation du Ju&e
ment dernier, les vieux Mofu se disputent pour e ^
à la gauche du chef. L’homme tient le bouchef
gauche. Chez les Ashanti, le kenté (pagne tradih0
nel) est relevé sur l’épaule droite pour l’hornn ’
sur l’épaule gauche pour la femme. En Fran ^
les hommes attachent encore leurs boutons
gauche sur la droite, les femmes de la droite
la gauche. güf
En focalisant l’attention très sélectivement ^
quelques rites profanes, comme mises en scène
l’agir social, on percevra les différences socioe
turelles : _ p
a) dans les gestes de salutation : baisemain, P
gnée de main, tape sur l’épaule en Europe, tr ^
ment du nez chez les Papous, salut militaire
ancien de l’armée en Afrique ; ^,aC,
b) dans les codes de politesse : séquences
cueil et d’adieu selon Goffman (1973), inmfi^ ^
la circonspection ou l’excuse, conformémen
règle de sauver la face et d’acquérir du pre^ ^ ^
Certains gestes ont un statut d’universaux 16
103.2008
Anthropos
Berichte und Kommentare
559
Mondialisation, mais chaque culture y ajoute un
contrôle dans le sens d’une atténuation, d’un mas-
quage ou d’une exagération ;
c) dans les gestes du manger. La manière de
Manger a été maintes fois analysée comme diffé-
Mnciateur culturel et historique. La fourchette n’est
aPparue en France qu’au XVIe siècle et Louis XIV
a toujours mordu à belles dents son poulet cuit qu’il
Mnait à la main. En Extrême-Orient, on emploie des
^guettes pour la même viande débitée en petits
Morceaux. Trois doigts de la main droite suffisent
Pour manger au Maghreb, la main gauche étant
*Mpure. Depuis le Moyen Age et en milieu rural,
[aire chabrot, c’est boire directement à l’écuelle ou
a l’assiette creuse le reste d’une soupe arrosée de
VM, dans un bruit de caprin qui lape.
Que de variantes dans les manières de man-
§er selon les cultures et sous-cultures ! Bras écar-
ts. le nez dans son assiette dans un restaurant du
Coeur, bras serrés au corps, mains sur la table chez
^axim’s, prise de frites à main nue chez Mc Don-
ald’s. La politesse permet au Britannique de mettre
a main gauche sous la table, à l’Italien de sortir
avec un cure-dent à la bouche ;
d) dans les jeux de mains. Index sur la bouche
55 sHence, discrétion. Mouvement de la main pliée
s°üs le menton = refus, je m’en fous. Pouce et index
.n triangle sous le menton = beauté, admiration.
Mouvement du pouce et de l’index sur la bouche
".Manger, avoir faim. Pied de nez depuis le XVIe
p^cle, ou bras d’honneur = moquerie, provocation.
ri§ue, c’est-à-dire pouce entre index et majeur la
^Mn repliée = insulte, outrage, obscénité ou bien
jMpulation (pénis entre lèvres vaginales). Main sur
J*fempe = fatigue, j’en ai marre. Index sur la tempe
", d est timbré. Index branlant sur le nez = vous ne
Jtes pas la vérité. Elévation du majeur = puissance
•Malliqag dans le monde latin (doigt d’exploration
ü vagin). Ongle du pouce heurtant la dent = défi
^ Moquerie. Montrer les dents = agressivité (avoir
ne dent contre quelqu’un). L’émotion a pour lieu
^Mblérnatique la poitrine, d’où la main sur le cœur
crois
reme:
Musulman après la poignée de main, les mains
ées sur la poitrine du chef d’orchestre pour
rcier après des applaudissements.
°ÏÏClusi
ion
On ç’
f() 51 aperçoit, après ces différents exemples de
j Mies de conduite sur la scène sociale, combien
de jpMMissage du geste participe à la socialisation
de lncdvidu ainsi qu’à la genèse et à la structure
trava c°Hectivité. Le sujet social s’expérimente à
ers les expressions gestuelles qu’il donne de
Atlthr,
■°Pos 103.2008
lui-même et, en s’extériorisant, il apprend par les
réactions d’autrui ce qu’il est et comment il est
perçu. Conservés dans la mémoire du corps, les
gestes appris fournissent les règles pour se conduire
sur la scène sociale.
Cet exposé a aussi permis de se rendre compte
de la manière dont chacun joue sa culture et sa
position sociale à travers chaque partie du corps en-
trant dans une gestuelle codée. Tout élément prend
sens par ses relations avec un ensemble. Si un
même comportement kinésique peut jouer diverses
fonctions selon les circonstances, une même fonc-
tion peut être assurée par plusieurs éléments ki-
nésiques : incliner le buste, soulever son chapeau,
faire un signe de reconnaissance de la main, hocher
la tête latéralement pour dire non, ou encore frapper
de sa chaussure comme Khrouchtchev sur une table
de l’ONU pour souligner bruyamment sa désap-
probation ; applaudir à tout rompre une vedette ou
se lever ensemble pour signifier l’hommage qu’on
lui rend.
Terminant sur une note optimiste, je citerai un
passage d’un professeur à l’Université de Berlin,
parlant de la mimésis sociale et de la performa-
tivité. Christoph Wulf explique combien le geste
donne corps aux sentiments et aux états intérieurs ;
“Dans la mimésis gestuelle, les frontières person-
nelles du sujet s’effacent et s’ouvrent au monde
de représentation et d’expression corporelles de
l’autre. Cette expérience de ‘sortie’ du sujet hors
de ses propres structures, pour rejoindre l’espace
d’expression de l’autre, est vécue avec un senti-
ment de plaisir et d’accroissement de soi-même,
elle conduit à une extension du monde intérieur
par l’incorporation esthésique et mimétique d’un
en-dehors de soi. Le processus dont relève une telle
expérience vivante consiste moins en une réduction
des gestes de l’autre au cadre de référence du su-
jet agissant mimétiquement, qu’en une extension
de la perception du sujet aux gestes et au monde
de références de l’autre. Bien que ces deux mou-
vements ne se distinguent pas nettement l’un de
l’autre, c’est l’expansion de la perception mimé-
tique vers le monde de représentation et d’expres-
sion de l’autre qui constitue la dynamique du mou-
vement. Expansion qui s’accompagne d’un senti-
ment heureux d’amplification de la vie, dans lequel
Aristote voyait déjà une caractéristique de la mimé-
sis” (2007 :47).
560
Berichte und Kommentare
Références citées
Anthropology and Missionaries
Beaupérin, Yves
2002 Anthropologie du geste symbolique. Paris : L’Harmat-
tan.
Bourdieu, Pierre
1979 La distinction. Critique sociale du jugement. Paris : Les
Éd. de Minuit.
Elias, Norbert
2002 La société de cour. Paris ; Flammarion. [1969]
2003 La dynamique de l’Occident. Paris ; Presses pocket.
[1939]
Feyereisen, Pierre, et Jacques-Dominique de Lannoy
1985 Psychologie du geste. Bruxelles : Mardaga. (Psychologie
et Sciences Humaines, 141)
Foucault, Michel
1975 Surveiller et punir. Naissance de la prison. Partis : Galli-
mard.
Goffman, Erving
1973 Les rites d’interaction. Paris ; Les Éd. de Minuit. [1967]
Hertz, Robert
1970 Sociologie religieuse et folklore. Paris : PUF. [1928]
Jousse, Marcel
1974 L’anthropologie du geste. Paris : Gallimard.
Laplantine, François
2005 Le social et le sensible. Introduction à une anthropologie
modale. Paris : Téraèdre.
Mauss, Marcel
1950 Sociologie et anthropologie. Paris : PUF.
Morris, Desmond
1979 La clé des gestes. Paris : B. Grasset.
Picard, Dominique
1998 Les rituels du savoir-vivre. Paris : Éd. Du Seuil.
Poirier, Jean
1991 Histoire des mœurs. Tome 2 : Modes et modèles. Paris :
Gallimard. (Encyclopédie de la Pléiade, 48)
Vincent, Jeanne-Françoise
1991 Princes montagnards du Nord-Cameroun. 2 tomes. Pa-
ris ; L’Harmattan.
Wulf, Christoph
2007 Une anthropologie historique et culturelle. Rituels, mi-
mésis sociale et performativité. Paris : Téraèdre.
A Review Essay
Anton Quack
L. Plotnicov, one of the editors of this new, brief
publication, “Anthropology’s Debt to Missionau
ies” (Plotnicov etal. 2007),1 writes in the Preface-
“[the editors] are among those who considered nus'
sionaries to have been inadequately represented
in the construction of anthropology’s history •••
This volume is offered partly to correct and amend
the historical record, partly to recognize that the
ethnographic record and anthropological linguistic^
would be vastly poorer without missionary research
efforts, and because the neglect of acknowledgment
where it is due is unfair” (viii). These words high'
light the purpose and task of this publication as we
as those to whom the book is addressed, in the firs
place those anthropologists who recount the history
of their discipline and in the process address the
issue of the anthropologist/missionary relationship.
They are then faced precisely with the question 0
the contribution which missionaries have made td
anthropology in the development of the history те^
are writing. .
According to the “Acknowledgments,” the boo
is not just the result of the “invited session” he
during the Annual Meeting of the American ^
thropological Association of 2005. Nor does fi1*
publication claim to be the last word on the subje
nor is it a balanced geographic coverage of the t°f^
ic, possibly becáuse many of those invited to
symposium were not able to make it at the time aa
others wanted to publish their contribution e
where. aj
The ten essays which make up this book
primarily with Middle and North America, w
Papua New Guinea, and with India. The time fra^
goes from the 16th century (Las Casas, Sahag
over the 18th century (Lafitau) to the 21st cen 6
(Melanesian Institute). A quick glance over t
essays shows how different they are in size, s У
content, and quality.
John Barker’s “Missionary Ethnography °n
Northwest Coast” (1-22) investigates the с0ГП?^а1
lively meager amount of ethnographic materia
i (ecB-)’
1 Plotnicov, Leonard, Paula Brown, and Vinson Sutlive -
Anthropology’s Debt to Missionaries. Pittsburgh- 9qq7,
ment of Anthropology, University of Pittsburg .
185 pp. ISBN 978-0-945428-14-5. Price: $ 20.00.
103-2008
Anthropos
Berichte und Kommentare
561
was published during the time of Christian mission
work in the 19th century on the Northwest Coast
°f America. Hugo G. Nutini, in all too few lines,
reflects on the great missionaries Bernardino de Sa-
hagún and Bartolomé de las Casas, as well as on
^asco de Quiroga, who is much less well-known,
but who contributed mightily to anthropology long
before this was established as a formal study (“The
Contributions of Mendicant Friars to Mesoameri-
can Ethnography”; 23-29).
The Jesuit Michael F. Steltenkamp, in his arti-
cle “Updating The Jesuit Relations” (31-45), gives
a brief and somewhat superficial description of
tbe double role as missionary and anthropologist
which some Jesuits adopted following the example
°f Lafitau in North America; DeSmet, Craft (he
wus a Jesuit for only a brief time), Buechel, Doll,
^ucko, Starkloff, Steinmetz; the author Stelten-
karnp did not really like to exclude himself from
this
company - a kind of modesty which is not
afl that common anymore! In her contribution “Fr.
°erard Haile, O. F. M., Anthropologist and Fran-
cNcan Missionary” (46-63), Charlotte J. Frisbie
Pays tribute to an exceptional friar and missionary
who rendered outstanding service with his work
and study of the Navaho language and culture. His
abvice was much sought after by the appropriate
authropological circles of his time, as the impres-
se list of names shows (62).
In his article “William Cameron Townsend and
Missionary Linguistics” (64-85), William Svel-
k°e describes the beginnings of the “Wycliffe
ible Translators” (WBT) and the “Summer Insti-
ute of Linguistics” (SIL). This effort has become
'v°rld-famous for its work in ethnolinguistics. He
recalls and discusses three people, who were espe-
eiàlly prominent in promoting this work, namely
p flflam Cameron Townsend, Kenneth Pike, and
Eugene A. Nida.2
Northern India is the area for the decades long
' .15 —1981) activity of the Presbyterian mission-
's William and Charlotte Wiser. Susan Snow
adley gives their story in “William and Char-
te Vaili Wiser. Missionaries as Scholars and De-
velopment Officers” (86-101). “Their influence,”
e Writes, “on anthropology in particular and In-
• an scholarship more generally have been vitally
Portant to the development of Western (and In-
l^aM understandings of caste and village social
v (87). As missionaries already engaged in “de-
^ *°pment assistance” in rural areas of north India,
ey quickly saw how important it was to get a
ttiore on Nida, cf. Shaw 2007.
Authr<
°P0S 103.2008
thorough knowledge of local culture. Out of this
conviction grew many publications, some of them
describing the “jajmani system” (patron-client re-
lationship). This information soon found its way
into the classroom and anthropology textbooks in
the USA.
Mission and anthropology in Papua New Guinea
are the themes for the last four papers in the book.
Nancy Lutkehaus (“The Society of the Divine Word
Missionaries: Late 19th and 20th Century Ethnog-
raphers along the Northeast Coast of New Guinea”;
102-114) pulls together and evaluates the con-
tribution which the SVD missionaries have made
over the past hundred years to anthropology and
linguistics as well as the contribution they con-
tinue to make to the present time. The center-
piece of the article is Georg Holtker (1895-1976),
a trained anthropologist (studied in Berlin, Ph.D.
in Vienna 1930), member of the editorial staff of
the Anthropos (chief editor 1932-1935), Assis-
tant and Full Professor in Modling close to Vi-
enna, Fribourg, Sankt Augustin. From 1936 to 1939
he did anthropological research in New Guinea.
His close cooperation with missionaries working
in New Guinea led to numerous anthropological
publications, which, in turn, made the rich knowl-
edge of many missionaries of the local cultures and
languages available to academia (cf. Holtker 1975).
In his article “Culture and Faith. The Contri-
bution of the Melanesian Institute, Papua New
Guinea” (116-136), Philip Gibbs describes the
“Melanesian Institute” in Goroka, which was estab-
lished in 1969 by three Catholic missionary con-
gregations (SVD, MSC, SM) as “The Melanesian
Social Pastoral Institute” (Brandewie 1970). The
stimulus for this came from Ernest Brandewie, at
the time an SVD, who spent many months doing
fieldwork in the Central Highlands of New Guinea.
In 1966 he received his Ph.D. from the University
of Chicago for his work on the kinship system of
the Mbowamb. The Institute soon opened its doors
to other Christian denominations (for example, the
Anglicans, Lutherans, United Church) and took on
an ecumenical character. According to Gibbs, an
important goal of the institute was, and still is, to
develop an “applied anthropology” for the devel-
opment of mission work. The publications of the
institute (Catalyst, Point series, Occasional Papers)
are an excellent outlet for the anthropologists work-
ing in the Institute.
Stimulated by her experience during her many
field research trips to the Chimbu region in the
Highlands of PNG ever since 1958, Paula Brown,
Professor Emerita of Anthropology at SUNY,
Stony Brook, describes the involvement of some
562
Berichte und Kommentare
SVD missionaries with anthropology (“Mission
Ethnographic and Linguistic Studies of the Chim-
bu”; 138-150). She goes into some detail with Al-
fons Schäfer (1904-1958) and John Nilles (1905-
1993). As the basis of this involvement she cites
Alfons Schäfer, who had written shortly after he
arrived in New Guinea in 1930: “Other mission-
aries and I ... agreed that to be good missionar-
ies we also had to be good ethnologists” (Schäfer
1991; 129). That this thinking in the meantime has
become ordinary common sense is confirmed by
the way Eugene Nida opens his book “Customs and
Cultures” in 1954: “Good missionaries have always
been good ‘anthropologists’” (Nida 1954: xi).
The final article in the book comes from An-
drew Strathem and Pamela J. Stewart, both of them
anthropologists. It is titled: “Ethnographic Records
from the Western Highlands of Papua New Guinea.
Missionary-Linguists, Missionary-Ethnographers”
(151-160). They deal with the notable contribu-
tions of the two evangelical Lutheran missionar-
ies Georg F. Vicedom and Hermann Strauss of the
Neuendettelsau Lutheran Mission. The entire arti-
cle is a plea not to play missionaries and anthro-
pologists off against one another, but rather to put
together their ethnographic and linguistic work and
then evaluate it properly. In effect, this is exactly
what this entire brief book now under review at-
tempts to do.
Unfortunately, this publication in some areas
leaves much to be desired. The unbalanced choice
of topics, which the editor himself laments, has al-
ready been mentioned. More careful editing, type-
setting, and proofreading would surely have caught
some disturbing formal mistakes. For example,
with the (re)formatting of the text many forced,
wrongly split words remain. Much worse is the
incompleteness of the “Bibliography” (161-181).
Some omitted titles can be mentioned here, some
of which are mentioned in the text: Ahrens 2002;
Alter 1975, 1976(7); Anderson 1994; Angrosino
1994; Böhm 1983; Caldwell 1991; Fenton 1974;
Fischer 1919; Fugmann 1984; Hagard 1885; Haile
1926, 1954; Morgan 1877; Roberts 1996; Stanley
1887. More care could also have gone into the al-
phabetical order of the authors. Unfortunately, an
index is missing.
Finally, some inaccuracies were also disturbing,
which a careful check or editing would have caught.
For example, in the article by N. Lutkehaus: the
departure of the first SVD missionaries from Steyl
to China was in 1879, not in 1882 (104). Wilhelm
Schmidt’s opus magnum “Ursprung der Gottes-
idee” (“Origin of the Idea of God”) did not appear
in 1926, but in a total of 12 volumes from 1912
to 1955. What did appear in 1926 was the second
edition of the first volume (105, 177). The citation
referring to Arnold Janssen (106) is not taken frorn
Fisher 1911; it comes from the big biography oi
Janssen by Hermann Fischer (1919: 240). G. Holt'
ker never went to the Philippines as a missionary-
To be sure, he was appointed to the Philippine8’
but never went there. In the same year his appoint'
ment was changed to work on the Anthropos (107>
cf. Saake 1975: 11). Karl Böhm came to St. An'
gustin in 1974 to prepare his book “Das Leben eint'
ger Inselvölker Neuguineas” for publication; Holt'
ker died in 1976, and the final preparation of the
manuscript was then taken over by the Anthrop05
editorial staff (110; cf. Böhm 1975:5, 15). The
Anthropos Institute and the nearby Haus Volket
und Kulturen (Museum of Peoples and Cultures)
are, of course, situated in Sankt Augustin, not U
Bad Driburg, which is more than 200 kilometer
away (103).
II
This book “Anthropology’s Debt to Missionaries
is definitely necessary and deserving. But in sphe
of the fact that this theme has already been a
dressed,3 many colleagues have failed to ackno^
edge this debt and continue to hold on to their hi
with respect to missionaries. Even the many Pu
lications of the last decades related to this relati011
ship have apparently done little to change anything
For the sake of completeness, the most imp°rt
of these publications can be mentioned here on
more: “Missions and Anthropology. A Love/H ^
Relationship” (Hiebert 1978); “Mutual Biases ^
Anthropologists and Missionaries” (Hughes 1 ^1 ’
“Anthropologists versus Missionaries. The In
ence of Presuppositions” (Stipe 1980); “Mission ^
ies, Anthropologists, and Cultural Change” (Wh1 ,»
man 1983); “Anthropologists and Missionafl®
(Salamone 1983); “The Ambivalent Relations ^
between Mission and Anthropology. Criticisms ^
Suggestions (Quack 1986); “The Ambiguity
Rapprochement” (Bonsen etal. 1990); “Anthrop ,,
ogists and Missionaries. Brothers under the 6
(Van der Geest 1990); “Anthropologists and
sionaries. Some Case Studies” (Pickering i j
“‘More Pastoral than Academic ...’ Practice ^
Purpose of Missionary Ethnographic ReS ^
(West New Guinea, 1950-1962)” (Jaarsma 1^
3 Cf. Nida 1954, Luzbetak 1963 and 1988.
103.2008
Anthropos
Berichte und Kommentare
563
At this point I would like to inject myself
into this discussion about “missionaries/anthropol-
°gists” and try to advance the conversation a lit-
tle. I will do this following the maxim of Schafer
and Nida which has already been quoted: “Good
nhssionaries have always been good anthropolo-
gists.” For this purpose I would propose two the-
Ses, the first looking at the issue from the side of
ihe missionary as anthropologist, testing the state-
ment whether the missionary can be as qualified an
mhnographer and anthropologist as anybody else.
The second thesis looks more closely at the dictum
that to be a (good) missionary, he must also be an
anthropologist.4
1. Whether the notion of the link between
Christian mission and anthropology fits some an-
thropologists and missionaries or not, at least now
anthropology and mission are closely related to
each other by their respective history. Long before
amhropology established itself as a science in the
middle of the 19th century, it was primarily Chris-
ten missionaries who had already distinguished
themselves as ethnographers and anthropologists as
these terms are understood today. In this connection
A'e cannot forget people like Wilhelm von Rubruk,
0pM (ca. 1215-1270; Fleming, 1252-1255 at the
¡miirt of the Khan in Mongolia), Bartolomé de
Pas Casas, OP (1474-1566), Bernardino de Sa-
^gûn, OFM (1500-1590), Jean de Lery (1534-
thl3; a French Calvinist missionary in Brazil
r°m 1556-1558), and Joseph François Lafitau, SJ
11681-1746), who, according to Wilhelm Miihl-
mann (1968: 44 f.), became the founder of mod-
em comparative ethnography. In the 19th century,
as modem anthropology developed, Christian mis-
Sl°naries were scarcely involved, because the evo-
tmonary emphasis of anthropology in those years
Vvere generally foreign to Christian thinking. That
^ould soon change.
% the beginning of the last century at the lat-
~st> Christian missionaries once more emerged as
st~rate ethnographers and even influenced anthro-
Pology by their ethnographic publications. The An-
. r°Pos journal, which was founded by Fr. Wil-
t,elm Schmidt SVD in 1906, played a key role in
y.ls process. Several essays in the book under re-
Je\v (“Anthropology’s Debt to Missionaries”) have
tinted this out already. A great number of pro-
h Ur,T contributions to anthropology and linguistics
missionaries can be found in the Anthropos. The
f °f Christian missionaries, who became “pro-
Ssional” anthropologists and linguists in the later
Cf- Quack 1986, 1994, 1995.
AlHhr,
°Pos 103.2008
years of their life and brought their experiences as
missionaries into the discipline is long, which the
index of “100 Years of Anthropos” clearly shows
(cf. Anthropos 2006).
Ethnocentrism is a universal phenomenon, an
obstacle which creates a problem for anybody who
wants to understand people of a strange culture,
whether it is a missionary or an anthropologist in a
typical fieldwork situation. That is why missionary-
anthropologists have always and rightly guarded
themselves from being written off (as anthropolo-
gists) just because they profess to being Christians.
Dominik Schröder (SVD, missionary in China, an-
thropologist) addresses this issue in the following
way: “The author considers himself to be a be-
lieving, religious person. He is aware that differ-
ent ways of thinking can precipitate prejudices and
cause distortions in the objective value of one’s
observations and interpretations. Without address-
ing the question whether a totally supposition free
science is even possible, he believes that a person
of religious experience and convictions will have
easier access to and an understanding of a different,
strange religion than the one who has no experience
of religion at all. However, he must also be aware
that he must be doubly careful and constantly check
himself lest he read into and make interpretations
of his material which are not upheld by the facts.
Otherwise he might force things in order to bring
them into line with his own convictions and pre-
conceptions, which really have nothing to do with
these” (Schröder und Quack 1979: 15). Just as ev-
ery anthropologist, so every missionary also, who
will face the threat of ethnocentrism, must be very
aware and clear about his own position, if he wishes
to write useful ethnographies. D. Schröder, in any
case, tried his best to define his own position and to
keep in mind how this would affect his fieldwork.
One must also test and measure the quality of the
results of missionary-anthropologists. In any case,
they deserve a fair and objective assessment like
any anthropologist, and many of them would hold
up very well under scrutiny.
2. The thesis that missionaries can be good an-
thropologists is relatively easy to substantiate. By
contrast, the thesis that one can only be a good
missionary if one is also a good anthropologist,
formulated in this way, might meet with resistance.
This thesis, therefore, deserves more elaboration.
Inculturation is one of the main objectives of mis-
sion. Mission leads to inculturation. It is absolutely
necessary that the missionary, who preaches the
gospel and proclaims the Good News, must make
his message accessible to his listeners. To do this,
he must take his audience seriously and must try to
564
Berichte und Kommentare
appreciate them in their cultural setting, if he hopes
to reach them and speak to them in a way that they
will understand (cf. Quack 1986; 230). Mission is
largely an intercultural encounter and presupposes
a practical anthropology, which offers the basic atti-
tude which should characterize anybody who seeks
to understand a strange culture. This attitude, then,
should characterize missionaries in their efforts to
communicate with people of another culture.
Missionary life and work in a cross-cultural con-
text is precisely an experiment in inculturation.
This requires of all those so engaged that they
clearly keep separate that which is truly Christian
from its cultural expression (often taken from the
culture of the missionary). This is not easy; indeed,
it is well-nigh impossible if those engaged in cross-
cultural work do not become aware of their own
cultural rooting and setting and keep this clearly
in mind. The critique of the gospel offered to the
particular way of life of a people affects people of
every culture. The inculturation of the Gospel can
also, then, be understood as the process of holding
up and measuring the culture according to the stan-
dards of the Gospel with the purpose of setting all
people free to be truly human. There is no culture
which is once and for all Christian, which does
not need to be constantly re-evaluated according to
the standards of the Gospel. Inculturation must be
ongoing, everywhere and always. As a result, no
one culture can claim to be the one valid standard
for what must be preached as Christian life, indeed,
the only one that defines what is truly human. An-
thropology, the science that studies people of differ-
ent cultures, the science of culture par excellence,
offers essential insights and assistance to all those
who are engaged in mission and in the effort to
“inculturate” the Gospel.
The thesis that one can only be a good mission-
ary if one is also an anthropologist - correct as it is
- can be and is misunderstood by many missionar-
ies. Of course, by this it is not meant that every mis-
sionary must be a professionally trained anthropol-
ogist. What is meant, however, is that anyone who
deals with people of different cultures - and that
is very often the situation of a missionary - should
very definitely be concerned to develop a basic and
sincere interest in the way of life and thinking of the
other. This is an insight which Alexandre Le Roy
formulated over a 100 years ago in the very first
essay in the first issue of the new Anthropos jour-
nal: “The Catholic missionary can also be a mis-
sionary of science. He can be and, in a real sense,
must be. The missionary ... has to develop a work
strategy which, above all else, includes the study
and knowledge of the country and its inhabitants,
the local customs, laws, religions, languages, etc.
This study is part of realizing his task: the better
the missionary gets to know the milieu in which he
works, the less danger there is that he will make
mistakes, while the chances grow that his hard work
will be successful.”5
Ill
As the contributions of N. Lutkehaus, P. Gibbs, and
P. Brown show in “Anthropology’s Debt to Vbs'
sionaries,” the anthropological engagement of the
SVD missionaries over many years in Papua NeW
Guinea was outstanding and exceptional. Equally
outstanding and intensive was the anthropologic
interest of the SVD missionaries working in Qing'
hai in Northwest China. This was true especially
of the time lasting from the middle to the end 0
the 1940s. In the final part of this review essay»
I would like to tell the reader about this very re'
markable chapter related to the theme of missi°n
ary-anthropologist and arrive at a proper evaluad011
of what went on in this mission.
The Qinghai6 mission was staffed by just bare У
18 missionaries. Of these, two, D. Schroder and •
Hermanns7 were set completely free to pursue au
thropological research. The Quinghai missionary
began to publish a kind of German newspaper
circular devoted to an exchange of ideas to wlu
every missionary was invited to contribute. It ^
called “On the Blue Lake.”8 This newsletter )C
really one of a kind: it was written by the d1188*,0^
aries of Qinghai only and no copy was allowed
leave Qinghai. Every missionary could write h
and what he wanted; there was no censorship-
also provided a forum for discussion, where cv
missionary could present an account of his exp
enees, reflections, and ideas and share them y
his colleagues. Over the course of the time
newsletter was in operation, practically every &
sionary had contributed to it. Between 1942 and
takeover by the Red Army in 1949, there aPPea^e
some 32 issues comprising over 2000 pages. As
Communists were approaching, all of the С°Р^,
ready to hand were burned; none survived. The
thing that did survive was a list of titles 0 ^
longer contributions. These titles suggest that
5 Le Roy 1906: 4; cf. Gachter 2005: 194f. ,-nghai’
6 Other ways of writing this, e.g.: Ch’inghai, Ts 10
Tsinghai. 1972-
7 M. Hermanns left China 1947 for Europe; cf. Schro 6 r ^e”
8 The full title was: “The Cross of Christ on the Blue ^jeh
named after the huge lake “Qinghai” / “Koko Nor,
gives the name to the province of Qinghai.
103.2008
Anthropos
berichte und Kommentare
565
dealt mostly with pastoral matters, but were gen-
ially related closely to ethnographic observations.
According to this list, between 1948 and 1949 Jo-
hann Frick had written the following ethnographic
isays for this circular: “The Wages of Field Work-
ers in the Western Valley of Xining,” “Smallpox
Inoculation among the Qinghai Chinese,” “Super-
stitious Beliefs in the Western Valley of Xining,”
‘Magic Remedies Used on Sick Children,” “Be-
trothal Customs in the Western Valley,” “Chinese
tables,” “Punishment for Infidelity in the Prayer of
the Pagans in Qinghai.”9 Frick returned to many of
the themes handled here in later publications.10
Another project of the Qinghai missionaries was
as remarkable as the earlier “On the Blue Lake.”
This was the publication of a book dealing with the
ethnography of Qinghai on the occasion of the 75th
jubilee of the SVD (1950). The title of this book
was simply “Ethnographic Contributions from the
Qinghai Province (China).”11 The idea for this type
°f book surfaced sometime in 1948 and was im-
mediately put into effect. Johann Frick and Franz
Eichinger took over the task of organizing and edit-
lrig the book. Six other missionaries contributed
Articles, which had to be read, improved, some-
hrnes totally rewritten - a tiresome, tedious task
Much consumed many long nights. The two edi-
l°rs themselves contributed more than half of the
text (189 out of 354 pages). J. Frick wrote “Wed-
ding Customs of Hei-tsuei-tzu in the Province of
Qinghai” and “Wage Conditions of Women Farm
porkers in Qinghai.” F. Eichinger is the author of
Elide Preparation among the Tent Dwelling Herds-
men of the Chiamri” and of “Measures to Combat
Childlessness in Folk Medicine.” The two together,
I1- Eichinger and J. Frick, wrote; “Animals in the
Eife of the People.” The rest of the contributions
a°d their authors are; “Family Justice in the House
of Mourning” (Johannes Ternay), “The Emperor in
îfe Thinking of the Ordinary People” (Josef Kube),
The Dog Headed Demon in the Popular Belief of
he Western Valley and of the Contact Region of
hina and Tibet in the Eastern Valley of Kuei-te in
he Province of Qinghai” (Alois Oberle), “National
haracteristics of the Muslims of Qinghai” (Paul
Wik)5 “The ‘shao nien’ Songs in Qinghai” (Josef
Eppner), and “Some Wedding Songs of the Tujen”
0rninik Schroder).12
]Q p1*6 titles given here are originally written in German.
“Magic Remedies Used on Sick Children in the West-
J j ®m Valley of Sining” (Frick 1951); cf. Quack 1994: 11 ff.
Ethnographische Beiträge aus der Ch’inghai Provinz
12 "
ne titles given here are originally written in German.
Anthr
Although the editorial work was finished by the
middle of 1949 and the manuscripts sent off to
the editorial office of “Folklore Studies” in Tokyo,
the book appeared not until 1952. It caused quite
a stir, for it was unique as the common effort of
missionaries all from one area; in addition it proved
to be a piece of outstanding ethnography (Frick
und Eichinger 1952). After their involuntary de-
portation from the Qinghai mission, two of the
Qinghai missionaries made anthropology the center
of their later activity. D. Schröder studied in Fri-
bourg and Frankfurt, where he received his Ph.D.
in 1951 and then worked on the Anthropos jour-
nal; later he taught as professor at St. Augustine’s
(Germany) and Nagoya (Japan). From Japan he did
fieldwork among the Puyuma on Taiwan (Burg-
mann 1975). After his return from China in 1952,
J. Frick studied at the University of Vienna where
he received his doctorate in 1955. Until a ripe old
age he worked with the Anthropos Institute. Much
of his anthropological work, based on the data he
had collected earlier, was published during these
years (cf. Frick 1995; Quack 2003). One of the
last fruits of these missionary-anthropologists to be
published was the essay “The Career of the Gurtum
Lama” (Der Werdegang des lamaistischen Gurtum)
which F. Eichinger and J. Frick wrote, using the
unpublished works of their colleague D. Schröder
(Eichinger etal. 1988).
As an unbiased look into the history of mission
work on the one hand and at the history of anthro-
pology on the other shows, it becomes clear, based
on these examples, that the close relationship be-
tween anthropology and mission is no accident; the
importance of this relationship must not be mini-
mized. For missionaries this holds with no reserva-
tions. On the other hand, many an anthropologist
has, at the least, enjoyed and appreciated the hos-
pitality of missionaries in the area where they have
done fieldwork; in addition, they have often drawn
upon the unmined, rich ethnographic knowledge of
many missionaries.
I thank my friends and collègues Othmar Gachter and
Ernest Brandewie for their selfless support: Gachter for
critically reading this review essay and for many stimu-
lating discussions, Brandewie for the translation of this
essay into English. Whatever help and encouragement
I have received, I take, of course, full blame for all faults
the work may have.
'°Pos 103.2008
566
Berichte und Kommentare
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Anth
lroPos 103.2008
Studia Series
of the Anthropos Institute
Ethnological research has
changed dramatically in
recent years. The unremit-
ting spread of Western
industrial civilization has
lead to a devaluation of
regional and local cultures.
As a result, the Anthropos
Institute has taken on the
task of promoting the
preservation of surviving
cultures and languages,
in order to accentuate the
diversity of creation and to
recognize the basic right
of mankind to cultural
self-determination.
The Studia series would
like to foster and contrib-
ute to the investigation
and preservation of cul-
tures. Works published
in this series are mono-
graphs of ethnological
and religious-ethnologi-
cal character, be they
dissertations or other
independent results of
research. Manuscripts are
welcomed. They will be
read and, if appropriate,
accepted for publication.
Manuscripts should be sent to
Anthropos Institut
Arnold-Janssen-Str. 20
D-53754 Sankt Augustin
Germany
Rezensionen
Abusharaf, Rogaia Mustafa (ed.): Female Circum-
cision. Multicultural Perspectives. Philadelphia: Univer-
sity of Pennsylvania Press, 2006. 289 pp. ISBN 978-0-
8122-1941-8. Price: $ 19.95
In den letzten Jahren tut sich was hinsichtlich Selbst-
bestimmung, auch von Frauen. Selbst die Vereinten
Nationen sprechen nun endlich nicht mehr von “FGM
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]^§ size and shape” (“http://www.labiacosmetic.com”).
Auch mit FGM und FGC wird genau solches bezweckt,
aPerdings in der Regel ohne Zustimmung der betroffe-
ne11 Mädchen, aber ihrer Mütter. Weitere Anbieter und
erfahren finden sich im Internet unter den Stichworten
genital cosmetics” oder “surgical genital alteration”.
emst in “YouTube” finden sich mehr oder weniger
gehaltvolle Videobeiträge zur Beschneidung von Frauen,
‘a- von Aktivistinnen.
Zu den Aktivistinnen gehört auch die Herausgeberin
®s Buches. Rogaia Mustafa Abusharaf will fort von
Qem Patemalistischen, wenn nicht postkolonialistischen
^ ejarnmere über arme afrikanische Frauen, die keine
elbstbestimmung kennen, ja sogar sadistisch oder ma-
rxistisch seien, und die erst durch den internationa-
n’ °der besser abendländischen Aufschrei dazu bewegt
erden konnten und können, von dieser Beschneidungs-
raxis abzusehen. Das vorliegende Buch ist gerade des-
We
aen
§en so spannend und sinnvoll, weil es von Aktivistin-
gemacht wurde, und verschiedene Initiativen in
^aterschiedlichen afrikanischen Ländern (wie Mali, Ke-
la’ Senegal, Burkina Faso, Sudan, Somalia) beschreibt
Aathr,
°Pos 103.2008
und bezeugt. Gleichzeitig geht es im letzten Teil auch
um das Abendland selbst, nämlich um Kanada und die
Debatte um Menschenrechte und Selbstbestimmung -
im engeren Sinne Beschneidung von Immigranten - und
welches Recht höher zu bewerten ist; sowie um den
(juristischen) Fall einer Frau aus Togo, die vor einer
Beschneidung in die USA geflohen war und sich dort
langjährigen Gerichtsverfahren mit Gefängnisaufenthal-
ten ausgesetzt sah, bevor sie bleiben durfte.
Der Sammelband schlägt damit Brücken zwischen
zwei Kontinenten, dem afrikanischen und dem nord-
amerikanischen, und auch zwischen den Aktivistinnen-
gruppen im Norden und im Süden. Es beschränkt sich
aber auch nicht nur auf die Beschneidung als ein von
der Gesellschaft sanktioniertes Set ritualisierter chirur-
gischer Eingriffe, vielmehr erweitern die Autoren ihre
Einsichten “... to glaring gaps in current conceptuali-
zations of thè problem by exploring a concatenation of
issues and processes through which female circumcision
is being transformed in local and transnational contexts
and by describing in detail the indefatigable attempts
of grassroots activists to eradicate these practices in a
variety of African societies” (16). Daher werden zum
Teil sehr detailliert verschiedene Kampagnen vorgestellt.
Diese gründen sich meist auf genaue Kenntnis der ge-
sellschaftlichen Zusammenhänge, da ja die Körper der
Frauen (und auch der Männer) nicht im luftleeren Raum
agieren, sondern Ergebnis der jeweiligen politischen
Ökonomie sind und sich im Verständnis von Intimität
und Verwandtschaft spiegeln.
Das Buch gliedert sich in drei Hauptteile, das im
ersten der Frage nach dem größeren Kontext hinsichtlich
Debatte und Durchführung nachgeht. Fadwa El Guindi’s
Beitrag über nubische Frauen in Ägypten zeigt, wie nach
einer Zwangsumsiedlung bzw. der Landflucht in die
Städte Frauen mit Beschneidung umgehen, wie sie diese
verändern, um sich ihrer Umgebung besser anzupassen,
da sie der Meinung sind, dass dieses Ritual ein wich-
tiger Teil des Lebens einer Frau und ihrer Bestätigung
als Frau ist. Um diese Veränderung zu dokumentieren,
sind intime Kenntnisse des Sujets notwendig, die die
Autorin in ihrer mehr als 40-jährigen Forschung sam-
meln konnte. Der zweite Beitrag in diesem Hauptteil
stammt von Sami A. Aldeeb Abu-Sahlieh und geht der
Frage nach, was denn nun eigentlich den Unterschied
zwischen der Beschneidung von Männern und Frauen
ausmache. Männer werden heute nicht mehr nur aus
570
Rezensionen
religiösen Motiven des Islam, des Juden- und Christen-
tums und bei medizinischen Indikationen beschnitten,
sondern auch zunehmend als Maßnahme zum Schutz vor
einer HIV/AIDS-Infektion, die damit angeblich weniger
wahrscheinlich sei - wie einige Wissenschaftler behaup-
ten, und wie es derzeit insbesondere von großen US-
amerikanischen Geldgebern (Gates-Stiftung und andere)
für das Südliche Afrika propagiert wird. Allerdings wird
damit gleichzeitig das Leben der beschnittenen wie un-
beschnittenen Frauen erheblich erschwert, wenn sie den
Gebrauch von Kondomen zu ihrem Schutz einfordem
wollen, da ja angeblich keine Infektionsgefahr mehr
besteht. Doch diese Debatte führt auf einen anderen
Schauplatz, der auch aufs Engste mit dem Recht auf
Gesundheit, Integrität und Leben verknüpft ist. Abu-
Sahlieh kommt zu der nach Meinung der Rezensentin
einzig richtigen Forderung, nämlich keinen Unterschied
zu machen zwischen der Beschneidung von Frauen und
Männern und sich stattdessen für die körperliche Inte-
grität aller einzusetzen. Dieser Beitrag ist auch deswe-
gen wichtig, weil er den Blick erweitert auf beide Ge-
schlechter, wobei der überwiegende Anteil des Buches
sich wiederum den Frauen zuwendet.
Der zweite Hauptteil versammelt vorwiegend afri-
kanische Aktivistinnen und beschreibt ihre Kampagnen
gegen die Beschneidung - oder, wie es immer wieder
ganz martialisch heißt: ihre Ausrottung (eradication; da
ist dann das Ausmerzen auch nicht mehr weit). Asha
Mohamud, Samson Radeny und Karin Ringheim be-
schreiben “Community-Based Efforts to End Female
Genital Mutilation in Kenya: Raising Awareness and
Organizing Alternative Rites of Passage”, die schon
bereits sehr erfolgversprechend durchgeführt wurden,
indem Frauen einen passenden Ersatz suchten und fan-
den. Anders stellt sich die Situation in einer christlich-
koptischen Gemeinde in Oberägypten dar, die Amai
Abdel Hadi untersuchte. Hier wurde die Beschneidung
aufgegeben, nachdem Frauen besser gebildet waren und
über mehr Ressourcen verfügten, was insbesondere über
eine Entwicklungsinitiative der örtlichen koptischen Kir-
che geschah. Gleichzeitig waren die Männer in großem
Ausmaß auswärts zur Arbeit, was wiederum Verände-
rungen im Dorf und damit auch der Politik zur Folge
hatte. Dieses wie auch das Beispiel von El Guindi
zeigen, dass Frauen mehr Entscheidungen über ihren
Körper und ihr Leben treffen können, wenn sie über
die notwendigen Grundlagen und damit auch über die
Entscheidungsgewalt über ihre Körper verfügen. Nafis-
satou J. Diop und lan Askew stellen “Strategies for En-
couraging the Abandonment of Female Genital Cutting:
Experiences front Senegal, Burkina Faso, and Mali”
vor, die in Westafrika von nationalen Institutionen und
NGOs durchgeführt werden, die eigens dafür gegründet
wurden. Hamid El Bashir stellt im nächsten Kapitel das
nationale Komitee des Sudans vor zur Ausrottung (sic!)
schädlicher traditioneller Praktiken und der Kampagne
gegen Female Genital Mutilation. Shahira Ahmed trägt
die Sicht der “The Babiker Badri Scientific Association
for Women’s Studies and the Eradication of Female
Circumcision in the Sudan” vor, während Raqiya D.
Abdalla aus Somalia in ihrem Artikel berichtet “‘My
Grandmother Called It the Three Feminine Sorrows •
The Struggle of Women against Female Circumcision
in Somalia”.
Alle diese Beiträge sind lesenswert, stellen sie
doch alle fest, dass Beschneidung ein gesellschaftliches
Phänomen ist und in dieser und mit dieser Realität
gestaltet werden muss. Sie zeigen auch, wie Beiträge
zur Veränderung der Situation von Frauen in diesen
afrikanischen Kontexten aussehen können und welche
bisher erfolgreich umgesetzt wurden.
Der dritte Hauptteil wendet sich der Debatte in Ka'
nada und den USA zu und wurde bereits am Anfang
dieser Rezension vorgestellt. Ein Nachwort von L. Am6'
de Obiora mit dem Titel “Safe Harbor and Hornag6
schließt das insgesamt sehr lesenswerte Buch ab. Es
ist vor allem jenen ganz besonders ans Herz zu legen’
die sich hierzulande in Ausrottungskampagnen engag16'
ren oder damit sympathisieren. Es gibt den Blick frel
auf kulturelle Eigenheiten und gesellschaftliche Macht'
gefüge, die im Anschluss an die Lektüre den Bhc
auf die pauschalisierte verstümmelte afrikanische Frau
verbietet. Damit wäre viel gewonnen. ,
Katarina Greifet
Ahmed, Amineh: Sorrow and Joy among Mush111
Women. The Pukhtuns of Northern Pakistan. CalT1
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 199 pP’
ISBN 978-0-521-86169-4. (University of Cambridg6
Oriental Publications, 63) Price: £ 50.00
Amineh Ahmed’s book is a study of Pakhtun woh1
en’s gham-khadi networks; the networks of sorrow a
joy that are woven through extensive visit activities
sad and happy occasions like funerals or wedding8 •
is the second ethnography of gham-khadi, after Berie
dicte Grima’s monograph “The Performance of Emot
among Paxtun Women” (Karachi 1993). While
wrote after long-term fieldwork in the rural (incl
ing the tribal) areas of Pakistan’s North West Fron 1
Province (see also her fieldwork memoir: B. Gn ’
Secrets from the Field. An Ethnographer’s Notes i
Northwest Pakistan. Karachi 2004), Ahmed’s study ^
cuses on urbanized upper-class Pakhtun women» g
pecially in Pakistan’s capital Islamabad. Grima ^
mainly interested in the ritual performance of ern°net-
by Pakhtun women, while Ahmed focuses on the ^
working activity itself, including its implications,
quite large body of ethnographic works on ^akncon-
that almost exclusively looks into male lifeworlds, c
veys the idea that in the strictly gender-segregate ^
male-dominated world of Pakhtuns women arc *ar^-eS)
confined to their own homes. These two ethnograp^
in contrast, show that women are in fact engag eS
large-scale networking beyond the walls of their ^
and enable a fascinating perspective on this asp e
Pakhtun society. According to Ahmed, the mainten^^
of these networks is for upper-class women so de ^ a
ing and time-consuming, that it is conceptualise
kind of work.
103
.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
571
Ahmad studied Bibiane, upper-class Pakhtun wom-
en who have moved with their families from towns
or rural areas of the Frontier Province to the setting
°f “modem” Pakistani society in Islamabad. Her book
devotes extensive space to the discussion of the implica-
tions of the transition from the rural/provincial world to
nietropolitan life in the capital. Urban housing has to be
reshaped in order to accommodate gender segregation
and also the relationships between Bibiane and their
female servants. The distance from the villages of origin
tnakes the maintenance of gham-khadi networks more
difficult and time-consuming, yet even distant relatives
have to be visited on the occasion of weddings or fu-
nerals because any failure to do so is remembered in the
social memory of networks and undermines the respect
that a Bibi can command: “Not to do gham-khadi is
shameful (sharam)\ to do it a burden” (132). Life in the
chy is expensive and is frequently financed by the sale of
village land. Yet this upsets the traditional social order,
as the newly riches, non-Pakhtuns who have earned
nioney through migrant labour in the Gulf states, buy
that land and assume positions that earlier were reserved
f°r landowning Pakhtun Khans. The city also offers oth-
er new influences. Ahmed especially focuses on modern,
formal Islamic education for women that is disseminated
through the Al-Huda-movement. It provides scriptural
knowledge of Islam, replaces oral traditions by a new
orthodoxy,” and challenges the form of some rituals
^hich are part of gham-khadi. Another topic is the sig-
ntficance of women’s networks for arranging marriages
and the challenges that are posed by “love marriages”
resulting from young women and men seeking their own
relationships, for instance through internet chats.
Ahmed’s book is basically an argument for women’s
a§ency in a male dominated society. She opposes
frameworks that, drawing on a distinction of inside-
°uh excludes women’s activities from the public space,
and relegates them to a private world. She argues that
^omen’s gham-khadi activities create a public space
which she refers as a “segregated public” (13).
Jhe segregated public of women’s networks is neither
c°rnpletely separate from men’s relationships nor simply
political. Rather, it supplements male networks and
institutes a female side of Pakhtunwali which hitherto
as largely been conceptualised as a male code of
°nour. “Sorrow and Joy among Muslim Women” is
an important study as it challenges some conventional
•bale perspectives of Pakhtun ethnography and also
c°ntributes to the anthropology of elites in South Asia.
Martin Sokefeld
Akakpo-Numado, Sena Yawo: Mädchen- und Frau-
^ üdung in den deutschen Afrika-Kolonien (1884—
i4). Frankfurt: IKO-Verlag für Interkulturelle Kom-
munikation, 2007. 293 pp. ISBN 978-3-88939-844-8.
reis: €21.90
üb ^6r ^utor ie£f mit dem Buch eine umfassende Studie
er die Mädchen- und Frauenbildung in Togo, Karne-
n’ Deutsch-Südwestafrika (das heutige Namibia) und
Aruhropos 103.2008
Deutsch-Ostafrika (die heutigen Republiken Tansania,
Ruanda und Burundi) vor. Er forscht systematisch in
den verfügbaren Kolonial- und Missionsarchiven und
gibt einen detaillierten Überblick über die Anzahl der
Mädchen und Frauen in den Regierungs- und Missions-
schulen sowie über die Bildungsinhalte, soweit sie aus
den angegebenen Fächern zu erschließen sind. Dabei
stellt er die koloniale und missionarische Bildungspo-
litik nicht nur in den Zusammenhang der Kolonialge-
schichte, sondern sieht sie geprägt von den Einstel-
lungen zur allgemeinen Mädchenbildung im Deutschen
Reich. Nachvollziehbar argumentiert er, dass die weib-
liche Bildungspolitik ein Transfer des einheimischen
Frauenbildes sowie der sozialen Stellung der Frau in
die afrikanische Gesellschaft war.
Dabei haben die Kolonialregierung und die ver-
schiedenen Missionen unterschiedliche Rollen gespielt.
Die Kolonialregierungen förderten nur sehr zögerlich
die Bildung einheimischer Kinder. Sie ließen fast aus-
schließlich Knaben unterrichten, die als Hilfspersonal im
Handel, in der Agrarproduktion und in der Verwaltung
eingesetzt werden sollten und dazu ein Minimum an
Schulbildung brauchten. Die Missionen waren dagegen
scheinbar paritätischer eingestellt. Sie schätzen in den
Frauen diejenigen, die Einfluss auf die Familie ausübten
und die daher mehr als die Männer Garanten für den
Fortbestand des christlichen Weltbildes sein würden.
“Wollen wir nämlich gute Christen haben, dann ist es
notwendig, dass wir gute brave Familien haben und, um
dies zu erreichen, brauchen wir gute, religiöse Frau-
en, denen ein wohlgeordnetes, christliches Familien-
leben Herzenssache ist”, zitiert der Autor den Missionar
P. Grote von der Pallotiner Mission in Kamerun (192).
Die Unterrichtsinhalte für Mädchen waren entsprechend
auf diese den Frauen zugedachte Rolle zugeschnitten:
Religionsunterricht, Lesen (damit die Bibel auch zu
Hause gelesen werden konnte), ein wenig (!) Schreiben
und Rechnen und vor allem Handarbeiten und Haus-
haltsführung. Die Unterweisung “verdienten” sich die
Mädchen, indem sie im Haushalt und in den missions-
eigenen Gärten eingesetzt wurden. Die zu erlernenden
Werte waren Ordnung, Sauberkeit, Pünktlichkeit, Fleiß.
Die schulische Bildung wurde von der einheimischen
Bevölkerung nicht unbedingt begrüßt, ging doch damit
einher eine Entfremdung von den eigenen gültigen Wer-
ten, die vonseiten der Kolonisatoren oft als “abscheu-
liche Sitten” bewertet wurden. Eine Missionsschwester
schreibt zum Beispiel über die Polygynie (172) (andern-
orts auch “die große Wunde Afrikas” genannt [240]):
“Die Beseitigung dieser abscheulichen Sitte kostet unge-
heure Anstrengungen; denn die Vielweiberei dient den
Schwarzen nicht nur zur Befriedigung seiner Leiden-
schaft, sondern er findet in ihr auch das beste Mittel,
sein erworbenes Vermögen praktisch zu vermehren.”
Die frühzeitige Heirat der Mädchen war ein großes Hin-
dernis für die Christianisierung der Frauen durch Schul-
bildung, weshalb auch Pallotinerschwestem angehalten
wurden, jeden Tag auf “Mädchenjagd” (172) zu gehen,
um die einmal gemeldeten Mädchen zu behalten. An-
dererseits gab es Väter, vor allem in der einheimischen
572
Rezensionen
Oberschicht, die eine kurzzeitige schulische Erziehung
ihrer Töchter schätzten, weil diese in manchen Situa-
tionen den Brautpreis anhob. Einen guten Erfolg hatten
die Missionen mit freigekauften Sklavenmädchen, die
in den Missionsstationen ihre Heimat fanden und von
keinen Verwandten zwecks einer Verheiratung zurück-
gefordert, sondern mit Absolventen der Missionsschulen
verheiratet wurden. Auf diese Weise verankerte sich um
die Missionen herum eine christliche Besiedlung.
“Unmittelbares Ziel der missionarischen Mädchen-
bildung war, die einheimischen Mädchen zu tüchtigen
und christlichen Gattinnen, Hausfrauen und Müttern
auszubilden, die dann auf ihre Kinder und Männer einen
christlichen Einfluss würden nehmen können” (240), ist
die These, die als roter Faden durch das Buch führt.
Akakpo-Numado prangert dies als eine “Hausfrauisie-
rung” (248) der einheimischen Frauen an, die in den
traditionellen afrikanischen Gesellschaften eine Vielzahl
von Beschäftigungen auch außerhalb des Hauses bei
der Feldarbeit und im Handel inne hatten. Der kol-
lektive Charakter der Kindererziehung wurde nach eu-
ropäischem Modell individualisiert, die Kleinfamilie zur
primären Sozialisationsinstanz. Die Konsequenz davon
ist weitreichend: “Der Kampf der Missionen gegen die
Polygamie und die Einführung der Kleinfamilie als die
ideale Familienform bestätigten die Männer als Fami-
lienoberhäupter. Nur Männer sollten der Kolonialver-
waltung die Hütten- oder die Kopfsteuer bezahlen. Die
Frauen ... gerieten in die ökonomische Abhängigkeit
von ihren Männern” (248). Statt - wie von den Missio-
nen behauptet wurde - die Frauen aus ihrer “minder-
wertigen, untergeordneten”, “unterdrückten”, “sklavi-
schen, unterwürfigen” Stellung zu befreien (aus Zitaten
auf S. 123), wurde ein neues patriarchales Prinzip eu-
ropäischer Prägung eingeführt, gegen das sich gerade
gegen Ende des 19. Jhs. immer mehr Frauen in Europa
zur Wehr setzten.
Akakpo-Numado befasst sich mit den Mädchen- und
Frauenbildern in der frühen Kolonialzeit nicht nur aus
historischem Interesse, sondern er vertritt, dass bis zum
abrupten Ende der deutschen Kolonialzeit im Jahre 1914
“diese ideologische Beeinflussung im kolonialen sozio-
psychologischen Kontext schon ein gewisses Ausmaß
[angenommen hatte] ... und in den nachkolonialen Re-
gierungs- und Bildungssystemen nicht beseitigt werden”
konnte (272). Dieser Einschätzung könnte allerdings
entgegengehalten werden, dass mit der Missionierung
eine Modernisierung des Erziehungswesens einsetzte,
die in den kommenden Jahrzehnten durch den Anschluss
der afrikanischen Gesellschaften an die übrige Welt
nicht mehr aufzuhalten war. In den vier Kolonien be-
suchten in der relativ kurzen Zeit der deutschen Herr-
schaft 104 594 Schülerinnen und Schüler allgemein bil-
dende Schulen, fast drei Viertel davon waren Knaben.
Knapp 30 000 Mädchen wurden also nach den oben
beschriebenen Prinzipien unterrichtet. Was dadurch ins
Rollen kam, war sicher nicht unerheblich, aber die
Schulen allein hätten nicht ausgereicht, die Rolle der
afrikanischen Frauen neu zu schreiben. Die Bildung
europäischen Stils durch die Kolonialregierungen und
Missionen war insofern einer der frühen Schritte zur
Globalisierung.
Mit dem vorliegenden Buch ist ein Stück bislang
unberücksichtigter Kolonial- und Frauengeschichte ge-
schrieben worden. Das ist ein großer Verdienst des Au-
tors. Es gehört in jede Afrika-Bibliothek.
Godula Kosack
Anderson, E. N.: Everyone Eats. Understanding
Food and Culture. New York: New York University
Press, 2005. 295 pp. ISBN 978-0-8147-0496-7. Price:
$ 20.00
Die Pizza wurde bei ihrer Einführung in den mitt-
leren Westen Amerikas als kommunistisch diffamiert
und in Leserbriefen wurde ihr Verbot vorgeschlagen-
Von Randbemerkungen dieser Art wimmelt es in dem
Buch von E. N. Anderson, Professor für Anthropologe
an der University of California, Riverside. Das Buch
will jedoch mehr sein als eine Kuriositätensammlung- Es
verknüpft anspruchsvoll soziokulturelle, biologische unu
entwicklungspolitische Ansätze und spannt einen weite11
historischen Bogen von der Steinzeit bis heute. Es geh1
der Frage nach: warum essen wir, was wir essen? Es
untersucht die sozialen, biologischen und kulturelle11
Ursachen für unsere Emährungspräferenzen. Es richte1
sich nicht exklusiv an den akademischen Leser, sonder11
versteht sich auch als populärwissenschaftliches Werk-
Die Gliederung folgt den zentralen Themen der Er
nährungsanthropologie: Die Entwicklung des Menscher
zum Allesfresser und sein Nährstoffbedarf im Lau
der Evolution, die Verbindung zwischen Nahrungsvo1
lieben und -Vermeidung mit Geruch und Geschmac -
der Einfluss von Umwelt und Ökonomie auf Anbau u
Durchsetzung bestimmter Pflanzenarten und Tiere,
Variationsbreite der Nahrungszubereitung. Einen breiter
Raum nehmen konsumrelevante Themen ein, wie Na
rungsklassifikation, Identität, Ethnizität, Medizin, Ee
gion, Wandel und Welternährung.
Die empirischen Beispiele beziehen sich auf Chira’
Maya Mexiko und die mediterrane Welt, Regi°ne^
die Anderson aus eigener Forschung kennt. Er zu
explizit keine Beispiele vom indischen Kontinent
von Nordeuropa. Verwundert stellt man fest, dass Aff*
nicht einmal in der Negativauflistung erwähnt ^
Illustriert wird das Buch mit zahlreichen Schwarz-W
Fotografien. a,
Andersons Herangehensweise ist erfrischend un
matisch. Er vermeidet sowohl kulturalistische Erkla 1
gen als auch einen simplifizierenden Materialismus-^
versteht es überzeugend die Interdependenzen zWlS on
Evolution, Biologie, sozialen Bedürfnissen, Sele
und Sozialstruktur aufzuzeigen. r.
Die Leistung des Buches besteht darin, die un^
schiedlichen wissenschaftlichen Disziplinen zu ver ^
ten. Dies gilt aber nicht für alle Kapitel. Zwei
des Buches, die Kapitel, die sich mit den untersc
liehen Facetten des Konsums beschäftigen, wir^e^jeIn
ein durcheinander geratener Zettelkasten. Es geling
Autor nicht, seine eigene Gliederung durchzuha ten-
103-2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
573
Der anhaltende saloppe Stil führt zu vielen Verein-
fachungen. So konstatiert er während der langen Ge-
schichte der Evolution sowohl einen plötzlichen Wandel
der Konsumgewohnheiten als auch ein plötzliches Hirn-
Wachstum. Das Gehirn brauchte jedoch einige Millionen
fahre, bis es seine heutige Größe erreicht hatte. Dann
fahrt er die Durchsetzung des Kaffees zum Frühstück in
Europa auf die Einführung der Stechuhr zurück. Dies ist
faelleicht ironisch gemeint. Man mag jedoch durch die
Häufung dieser Schnoddrigkeiten nicht darüber hinweg
fasen. Es seien deshalb weitere Beispiele zitiert: Es war
facht Parmentier, der die Kartoffelfelder von Soldaten
bewachen ließ, um deren Ansehen aufzuwerten, sondern
Friedrich II. Der Pharmazeut und Agronom Parmentier
bat sich in Frankreich um die Durchsetzung der Kar-
faffel verdient gemacht. Verkürzt führt Anderson die
Durchsetzung von Fast Food auf den Zusammenbruch
*far Familie zurück. Er konstatiert die Auflösung der
faroßfamilie, ohne zu hinterfragen, in welchem Umfang
faese jemals existiert hat. Die chinesischen Konsumen-
ten meiden den Milchkonsum wegen deren Negativ-
assoziation mit den Barbaren. Er verweist nicht darauf,
fass die Meidung vor allem wegen der Laktoseintol-
faranz erfolgt, die er 120 Seiten früher erwähnt hat.
Das gemeinsame Mahl soll für die meisten Familien
auf der Welt eine fast heilige Handlung sein. Hätte er
Slch auch mit den Essensgewohnheiten auf dem afri-
kanischen Kontinent beschäftigt, wäre ihm aufgefallen,
fass das gemeinsame Mahl eine gerade entstehende Sitte
far städtischen Eliten ist. Dies gilt auch für andere
Kontinente.
Ein Buch, das umfassend über Produktion, Verar-
beitung und Konsum von Nahrungsmitteln informieren
fafa sollte die Frauen erwähnen. Aber die Frauen hat
Anderson schlichtweg vergessen.
Karola Elwert-Kretschmer
Antweiler, Christoph: Was ist den Menschen ge-
faeinsam? Über Kultur und Kulturen. Darmstadt: Wis-
senschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007. 391 pp. ISBN
978-3-534-20096-2. Preis: € 59.90
Eine der zentralen Fragen der Ethnologie war von
nfang an die nach dem Allgemein Menschlichen, nach
eiTl Kulturellen an sich, aber auch nach den Unter-
Scfaeden, also nach der Vielfalt der Kulturen. In sei-
neiIi Buch macht Christoph Antweiler den Versuch, ei-
ne umfassende Darstellung bisheriger theoretischer und
fauthodischer Ansätze zu diesem Themenkomplex sowie
aucb einen Einblick in den aktuellen Forschungsstand zu
keben. In einer dreiteiligen Gliederung werden (1) “der
e§enstand” des Buches, das sind die (kulturellen) Uni-
ersalien, (2) “der Kontext”, also die wissenschaftshisto-
'Schen und theoretischen Voraussetzungen, und (3) “die
faternatik”, also die erkenntnistheoretischen und me-
trologischen Überlegungen und Schlussfolgerungen
v Er* ersten Teil des Buches wird die alltägliche “uni-
6rsalistische Rhetorik” sehr ausführlich belegt. Allge-
er|wartige und besonders sichtbare Universalien, z. B.
in der visuellen Populärkultur oder im normativen Be-
reich der Menschenrechte, werden auf gezählt. Besonders
im Fall des “normativen Universalismus” der Menschen-
rechte wird die mangelnde Beschäftigung mit empirisch
nachweisbaren Universalien, also mit stichhaltigen Be-
gründungen erwähnt. Unter dem Titel; “Kulturen unter-
scheiden und gleichen sich” werden wissenschaftliche
Argumente und Definitionsversuche sowie Überlegun-
gen zur Bedeutung von Universalien und zur Vergleich-
barkeit von Kulturen vorgestellt.
Im zweiten Teil des Buches werden diese Betrach-
tungen mit einem “Galopp durch die Geistes- und For-
schungsgeschichte” ergänzt. Obwohl eine Art Ideen-
geschichte der Universalien skizziert wird, ist bald klar
ersichtlich, dass vor allem ein Stand des aktuellen
Wissens zu diesem inter- und multidisziplinären For-
schungsfeld im Überblick vorgestellt werden soll. Er-
klärungsansätze, wie man sie aus der Geschichte der
Ethnologie kennt, werden aufgezählt. Strömungen, grund-
legende Gegensätze zwischen universalistischen und
partikularistischen Richtungen, Begründungsversuche
wie im sog. Biofunktionalismus von Malinowski oder
auch die vielen Versuche von Kompilationen ethnogra-
phischer Daten in komparativer Absicht werden geschil-
dert. Die kulturvergleichende Datensammlung von Mur-
dock im Jahre 1937 und seit 1947 die Human Relations
Area Files (HRAF) bekommen in der Suche nach dem
“gemeinsamen Nenner von Kulturen” einen besonderen
Stellenwert, weil hier zum ersten Mal ein systemati-
sches Inventar von menschlichen Universalien ange-
strebt wurde. Der Strukturalismus mit seinen “univer-
sell wirksamen Gesetzen des Denkens” und die “ethno-
science als frühe Vorläuferin der Kognitionsethnologie”
dürfen nicht fehlen. Dass die Universalienforschung vor
allem in der angloamerikanischen Wissenschaft bewusst
vorangetrieben wurde, zeigt sich an der zitierten Lite-
ratur. Leider sind Angaben zu historischen Fakten in
der frühen oder auch zeitgenössischen deutschsprachi-
gen Ethnologie nicht immer richtig zitiert. Aber es sei
hier auch angemerkt, dass diese Fehler in einer späteren
Ausgabe leicht auszubessern wären und im Hinblick auf
die Argumentationslinie deshalb nicht sinnentstellend
sind, weil nicht näher darauf eingegangen wird.
Zu Recht wird im Hinblick auf die ethnologische
Forschung im Allgemeinen kritisch darauf hingewiesen,
dass zwischen 1960 und 1990 vor dem Hintergrund des
vorherrschenden Partikularismus zwar viele kulturver-
gleichende Studien publiziert, die Universalien in die-
sem Zusammenhang allerdings kaum explizit diskutiert
wurden. Beachtenswert ist die m. E. durchwegs richtige
Positionierung des Autors, der für eine offene, echte
wissenschaftliche Diskussion solcher Themen plädiert.
In Teil 3 des vorliegenden Buches setzt sich der
Autor für eine bewusste Beschäftigung mit der verlo-
rengegangenen ethnologischen Systematik und für eine
Überwindung von falschen Parallelisierungen zwischen
partikularistischen und generalisierenden Ansätzen ein.
Allein die geforderte Kontinuität und Offenheit der For-
schung erscheint hier zielführend. Daher müssen die
Ergebnisse aus neuesten interdisziplinären Forschungen
fath
,roPos 103.2008
574
Rezensionen
berücksichtigt werden, so auch die sich zunehmend
durchsetzende Vorstellung einer “graduellen Einzigar-
tigkeit” des Menschen als Wesen, aber ohne dass - wie
dies oft geschieht - verfrühte Interpretationen und ideo-
logische Auslegungen den Weg zu neuen Erkenntnissen
versperren.
Eine Aufzählung der in der Wissenschaft bisher
postulierten Universalien folgt. Hier ist der Hinweis
auf den vorläufigen Status jeder Universalie sehr zu
begrüßen, weil die im Buch an verschiedenen Stellen
vorkommenden Listen und Aufzählungen für den unge-
übten Leser - trotz der vorsichtigen Formulierungen -
allzu sehr den Eindruck von endgültigen Ergebnissen
vermitteln könnten. Die Liste der postulierten Universa-
lien beinhaltet Universalien in Geschichte und Erzählun-
gen, universelle Aspekte von Weltbildern und universel-
le Elemente des Denkens. Weiterhin werden Universali-
en besonders auch im Grenzbereich zwischen Weltbild
und lokalem Wissen vermutet. Die Hypothese, wonach
das lokale Wissen als einerseits besonders alltagsorien-
tierte und andererseits universal vorkommende Denk-
form betrachtet werden kann, berührt allerdings die alte
Frage, inwiefern in Anbetracht des menschlichen Denk-
vermögens das Vorhandensein von Universalien nicht
als eine triviale Frage betrachtet werden muss. Weitere
Bereiche sind der von Religion und Ritualisierung, aber
auch Kunst und Performanz oder die heute sehr aktuelle
Frage nach einer universalen Typologie von affektiven
Gefühlen. In dieser Forschungsfrage wird sowohl über
die evolutionären als auch über die kulturspezifischen
Faktoren diskutiert. Unterschieden wird zwischen “uni-
versal verbreitet”, das mit “Universalie” nicht gleichzu-
setzen ist, und “kulturvergleichend getestet”.
In Anbetracht der komplexen theoretischen Über-
legungen, welche zur Universalienproblematik führten,
stellen die methodologischen Fragen selbst offene For-
schungsfragen dar. So werden dem Leser im Teil zur
Methodik nicht Sicherheiten angeboten, sondern Fragen
und Lösungsansätze aufgelistet.
Als erste der angewandten Methoden gilt die Auflis-
tung von Universalien. Allerdings werden diese fälsch-
licherweise als erster Schritt der Forschung bezeichnet,
während sie in Wirklichkeit selbst das Ergebnis von
bereits angestellten Vergleichen darstellen. Die Proble-
matik der Universalienliste liegt darin - wie der Autor
selbst bemerkt -, dass sie oft unsystematisch aufgestellt
wurden. Christoph Antweiler prangert zu Recht den un-
kritischen Umgang mit den Listen an und macht hierbei
auf eine Vielzahl von nicht abgesicherten Universali-
enlisten, die im Internet konkrete Verwendung finden,
aufmerksam.
Um die Universalität von Phänomenen empirisch
überprüfen zu können, stehen Vergleiche im Vorder-
grund und daher auch die Frage, ob die von den Wissen-
schaften gesuchten kulturunabhängigen oder -übergrei-
fenden Begriffe überhaupt möglich sind. Denn diese zu
finden, scheitert oft an übereilten Definitionen, wie sich
am im Buch kritisch angeführten Beispiel der Heirat
zeigt. Die Frage nach der Universalität der Heirat hängt
nicht zuletzt davon ab, ob man davon ausgeht, dass
das, was die Institution der Ehe ausmacht, universell
oder nur kulturspezifisch erfasst werden kann. Die Fra-
ge, welche gestellt wird, ist, ob mit diesem Begriff
immer das gleiche Phänomen beschrieben wird, und
weiterhin, ob alle Aspekte des Phänomens universeller
Natur sind. Versuche, die systematische und funktionale
Verknüpfung zwischen soziokulturellen Bereichen rnü
zu berücksichtigen, werden meistens nicht wahrgenom
men, weil das Festhalten an eigenen Kategorien
und
Einteilungen vorwiegt. Antweiler schließt sich daher
der Meinung an, wonach die “gängige Fixierung aU
absolute Universalien” aufgegeben werden sollte.
Dank den empirischen Studien können postuliede
Universalien, deren Gültigkeitsbereich und die even-
tuellen Ausnahmen überprüft werden. Es ist sicher 6111
großes Verdienst des vorliegenden Buches, dass der
Autor so eindeutig auf die Vielfalt der methodischen
Zugänge und beteiligten Disziplinen aufmerksam macht-
Zu beachten ist, dass der Vergleich, der in den vel
schiedensten Wissenschaften angewendet wird, als Me
thode immer eine Entscheidung über die Vergleichs#11
heiten voraussetzt. Vom Autor wird allerdings besonder8
auf die Problematik der unterschiedlichen Erklärung8
ebenen, die oft willkürlich vermischt werden, hingew'16
sen. Eine in der Evolutions- und Entwicklungsbiolog16
seit Ernst Mayr getroffene Unterscheidung zwisch611
proximaten (also aktuellen) und Ultimaten (stamm68
geschichtlichen) Ursachen muss auch in den Human
und Sozialwissenschaften allgemein Beachtung find611’
damit man unterschiedliche Aspekte ein- und dessen
Phänomens auf den verschiedenen Erklärungsebenen
leuchten kann: so z. B. den Ursprung, den Fortbesta1
die Varianz oder die Funktion von Universalien.
Im eigentlichen Kulturvergleich, der eine wich
Erweiterung der empirischen Basis ermöglicht, ist
Bedeutung der intrakulturellen Variation im Ra*111! f
universaler Fragestellungen besonders zu beachten-
Autor plädiert dafür, dass dieses methodische Pr° ^eg
ernst genommen wird, aber ohne das Potenzial
Vergleichs als Verfahren aufzugeben.
Am Ende versucht der Autor eine “Systematik de* $
klärungsansätze” zu geben und kritisiert zu Recht,
manche Disziplinen sich auf einzelne Erklärung8
nen spezialisieren und andere Erklärungsziele abw61 ^
Hier tobt immer noch - in der guten alten Tradm011
ein regelrechter “Kulturkampf’ zwischen Kultura
und Biologisten. ck
Abschliessend lässt sich feststellen, dass dieses ^
wichtige Ergebnisse zum Thema (kulturelle) Um
sahen zusammenfassend darstellt, und damit einen
sentlichen Beitrag zur “Wiederbelebung” eines in jj
zeitgenössischen Ethnologie oft tot gesagten und so
sträflich vernachlässigten Forschungsfeldes leistet-
Dem Anspruch des Autors, umfassend und ers
fend einen Überblick über alle bisherigen Forsc ^ ^
zu diesem Themenkomplex in all seinen Facetten
ben, kann wohl kaum jemand im vorgegebenen ^er£jeJi
eines Buches wirklich ganz gerecht werden. So
denn auch ältere Ansätze kaum zitiert, obwo
vollen Verständnis der theoretischen Frage8
103-2008
zum
Anthropos
Rezensionen
575
Unentbehrlich sind, und wichtige Werke über die Uni-
versalien werden nicht erwähnt, so z. B. pars pro toto die
berühmten Forschungen von Françoise Héritier. Dem
Anspruch auf Vollständigkeit steht entgegen, dass das
Werk sich von vornherein auf den angloamerikanischen
Raum und auf einen Teil des deutschsprachigen Raumes
beschränkt. Auch besteht die Gefahr, dass der nicht in
dieses Thema wissenschaftlich eingeführte Leser man-
ches missversteht, denn viele der aufgeworfenen Fragen
sind nicht nur im Hinblick auf die Erklärungen offen.
Dieses für Spezialisten wirklich sehr empfehlens-
werte Buch ist allerdings auch - wie der Autor selbst
uteint - als “Vorarbeit” für eine größere theoretische
Auseinandersetzung zur Universalienproblematik zu be-
dachten. Das Buch will Überblick und Richtung der For-
schung zeigen: es liefert wertvolle Hinweise auf neuere
Forschungen und einen Einblick in viele noch offene
Fragen. Alles in allem ist es ein wichtiges und mutiges
Ruch. Marie-France Chevron
Axinn, William G., and Lisa D. Pearce: Mixed
Method Data Collection Strategies. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2006. 230 pp. ISBN 978-0-521-
67171-2. Price; £15.99
Over the last decade, the field of anthropological
demography has grown significantly. In the quest to
°vercome disciplinary boundaries the different method-
°l°gical and theoretic perspectives of anthropology and
demography have provided both challenges and op-
portunities. Sociologists William G. Axinn and Lisa
Fb Pearce’s book on “Mixed Method Data Collection
Strategies” has to be situated within these recent in-
terdisciplinary developments. The book is the fourth
ln a series on “New Perspectives on Anthropological
aud Social Demography,” edited by David I. Kertzer
aud Dennis P. Hogan. The book does not explicitly ad-
dress readers with a background or interest in a specific
discipline but rather aims at a general social science
audience. However, since I am a social anthropologist by
brining I will review the book from an anthropological
Perspective.
The focus of the book is on data collection strategies.
SsUes of data coding and data analysis are purposefully
left
out. The authors expect the reader to be already
aiWliar with the methods that are the building blocks of
dte different mixed approaches (xiii). The book’s eight
chapters can be divided into three main parts: introduc-
|'°n (chapters one and two), examples (chapters three
to
seven), and conclusion (chapter eight). The first two
a aPters offer a general discussion on motivations for
design of mixed method data collection strategies.
a ey are followed by five chapters that present various
Plications of method combinations. The examples in
r °f these five chapters are based on two long-term
^ese research projects that have been conducted by
ty- °F the authors, William G. Axinn in cooperation
b other researchers. The concluding chapter eight
c I- Prizes the advantages for using mixed method data
ection strategies and briefly hints at new research
Anthr,
°Pos 103.2008
areas that would benefit from the application of this
approach.
Although the authors expect readers to be familiar
with individual research methods, they briefly review
several methods in the first chapter, i.e., surveys, less
structured interviews, focus groups, observation, and
historical/archival methods, mainly using sociological
literature. The authors encourage their audience to go
beyond the qualitative/quantitative distinction by mixing
methods. They point out that mixing methods, especially
less structured and highly structured methods, offers
opportunities to discover new causal linkages and hy-
potheses and then test these discoveries by looking at
their distribution in a larger population. As the authors
mention, this type of “method balance” is very simi-
lar to Denzin’s triangulation concept (25). Further, the
authors discuss the many advantages of a researcher’s
stronger personal and active involvement in the process
of data collection. For social and cultural anthropologists
Axinn and Pearce’s repeated emphasis on what they call
“introspection” is nothing new. Anthropologists call it
“participant observation,” a methodological framework
which is central to almost all anthropological research.
However, since everyday involvement is virtually ab-
sent in most demographic research significant parts of
the book address and try to convince ethnographically
noninvolved demographers and sociologist to acknowl-
edge, combine, and use different types of methods and
data collection strategies beyond the standard survey
approach. In the second chapter key research design
questions, e.g., which unit of analysis and what type of
sampling universe to choose, are discussed in the light
of the book’s general agenda to combine methods.
The following five chapters form the second part
of the book. They offer detailed insights into possible
method combinations and should be read as inspira-
tions to further develop this important research agenda.
The third chapter gives an example of the “micro-
demographic community study approach” using data
from the Nepalese Tamang Family Research Project.
This project has compared two contrasting Nepalese
communities. Highly structured survey methods, obser-
vations, and less structured interviews were combined.
All methods were part of the same field research phase
and were conducted by both leading field researchers
and local field assistants. Although the team approach
may be unusual for much anthropological research the
overall research design and the results gained through a
repeated, dialectic analysis of less and more structured
methods are familiar to many anthropologists.
The fourth chapter offers a rather novel approach for
anthropological research. This chapter’s method mix is
labelled as “Systematic Anomalous Case Analysis” by
the authors. The discussion is based on the Nepalese
Chitwan Valley Family Study in which 5.271 persons
were interviewed. Statistical analyses were used to dis-
cover deviant cases. Once these cases were identified,
the actual providers of this data were revisited and rein-
terviewed with both less structured and highly structured
methods. Although most anthropologists have in-depth
576
Rezensionen
knowledge of “deviant” cases it is extremely rare that
anthropologists discover these through statistical analy-
sis and then go back to understand why the “cases” don’t
follow a statistical norm. However, many anthropolo-
gists undertake long-term research and collect structured
information, e.g., census data. This chapter might inspire
some anthropologists to employ similar techniques.
The following chapters five and six exemplify two
sides of one “method coin,” i.e., they present the same
approach but vary the research phenomenon. The “Neigh-
bourhood History Calendars” (chapter five) and the
“Life History Calendars” (chapter six) are described as
“new, single hybrid method[s]” (103). Both methods
offer ways to capture past changes and innovations
through retrospective interviews. Similar to chapter four,
data from the Nepalese Chitwan Valley Family Study
is used to illustrate the approach. People from 171
neighbourhoods were interviewed on the inauguration of
different types of infrastructure, especially schools and
health institutions. Data was elicited through a calendar
which includes different categorizations of time (e.g.,
recorded in years, but also significant events like floods).
This information was supplement with expert interviews
and archival records. At the end of the chapter the
authors discuss how geographic information system
technologies were used to analyse the spatial dimensions
of change. This seems to be an especially interesting
extension of mixed method data collection strategies
that also many anthropologists might find promising.
The “life history calendar” presented in chapter six
follows the same logic as the “neighbourhood history
calendars.” Here, the focus lies on capturing changes
within individual life histories. This “hybrid method”
works well to collect life history behavioural data, e.g.,
dates of births, marriages, and years in school. However,
it is very problematic to elicit information on ideational
phenomena, i.e., norms, attitudes, or beliefs (159).
According to the authors, research on such kinds
of phenomena might be part of a “Longitudinal Data
Collection” strategy, the last method mix of the book,
discussed in chapter seven. In this chapter, the U.S.
Intergenerational Panel Study is described. In this study
a group of people bom in 1961 and their mothers were
“followed,” i.e., repeatedly interviewed, for 31 years.
The main point of this chapter is that a long-term scope
allows to include all of the other previously discussed
method combinations into the research design.
Chapter eight concludes by repeating the many
advantages of combing methods, especially less and
more structured methods. In the brief discussion of “new
frontiers in mixed method approaches” some further
areas of application and innovation in mixed method
research, e.g., the use of archival data and geographical
information systems, are mentioned.
The book’s central message that combinations of
methods lead to a much better understanding of social
realities is laudable and important. Further, the five
method combinations discussed in detail will certain-
ly inspire future social research. Much more method
mixing can be imagined! However, the book’s general
agenda would have been even more convincing with
a closer look at anthropology’s many contributions to
mixed method research. It is surprising that the work
of anthropologist H. Russell Bernard is only mentioned
in a brief footnote and that his book “Research Meth-
ods in Anthropology: Qualitative and Quantitative Ap-
proaches,” now in its fourth edition (Lanham 2006), lS
only mentioned in its first edition from 1988. Further,
the journal Field Methods (Sage Publications; editor
H. Russell Bernard), which offers a plethora of example
of mixed method combinations in each issue, is not
mentioned at all. Maybe part of the academic energy
invested into the emergence and establishment of a
subdiscipline like anthropological demography has t°
be devoted into convincing the different fields of each
others theoretical and methodological values. Axinn ano
Pearce have done this in an excellent and detailed
fashion for demographers and sociologists who prefer
to use large-scale surveys to collect data. However, an
anthropologist’s account of the history and current apph'
cations of mixed method research within anthropologic3
demography (and also beyond) still has to be written
For such an endeavour, Axinn and Pearce’s book wi
be a valuable inspiration. Julia PaU
Bamford, Sandra (ed.): Embodying Modernity an
Post-Modernity. Ritual, Praxis, and Social Chang6 in
Melanesia. Durham: Carolina Academic Press, 200
293 pp. ISBN 978-0-89089-476-7. Price: $ 37.00
“This collection of essays considers the relations*1 F
the
two
between ritual, embodiment, and social change m
South Pacific,” according to its editor, addressing
interrelated themes: (1) how has globalization and 1
rise of new social and economic forms influenced
enc®’
do
the
way(s) in which Melanesians think about, expen1
and act upon their bodies? and, (2) in what way8
these new forms of bodily experience contribute to
emergence of new social and cultural identities? yr
themes echoed in an afterword to the book by
Hirsch (283-293).
ally
Geographically, the book’s scope does not act^.fi s
encompass “the South Pacific” and only just q1f fae
for the “Melanesia” of the book’s subtitle. Nine o
ten case studies included derive from fieldwork in ^
New Guinea, and the tenth - Lament Lindstrom s^__
minations on a small personal collection of picture P ^
cards which could have had almost any area of the w°^s
as their subject - only happens to concern Vanuatu- ^
for “ritual, embodiment, and social change,” most o
essays concern “rituals” to some degree, “embodim ^
is a recurrent conceit if only in the sense that all u
life involves the body in some way, and “social cn ^
is a presumed driving force for the situations des
an-
by all of the authors.
Jerry Jacka and Thomas Strong explore the
guished reminiscences of Ipili and Upper Asaro mem
respectively, about a past when initiation cerernonie
ensured male growth and power, both now thought
be on the wane since the abandonment of such ntes-
103
.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
577
Marta Rohatynskyj regards the cessation of tattooing
°f men, with its “localized” associations, as one of the
factors involved in a geographical expansion of Ömie
‘identity,” while Pamela Stewart and Andrew Strathem
see recent changes in Hagen and Duna self-decoration
as being related, somehow, to social change and global-
nation. Sandra Bamford discusses the self-suppression
°f nasal septum piercing of Kamea initiates as an ac-
commodation to mission pressure and, in the process, a
step toward new concepts of the “body/mind” dichoto-
my. Accommodation to changes with missionization is
also the focus of John Barker’s examination of modem
Maisin notions of “personhood,” just as Tony Crook
Perceives Angkaiyakmin regimented work on machines
at the Ok Tedi Mine as both reflecting and influenc-
lng changing notions of the individual’s relationship to
broader social identities. Margaret Holmes Williamson
speculates that Kwoma men’s sense of identity may
even extend to the national level as they distinguish
Europeans from “Papua New Guineans” on the basis of
the latters’ observance of menstrual restrictions. Away
from mainland Papua New Guinea, Karen Sykes con-
siders the impact of Western contraceptive medicine on
traditional definitions of body and agency” for the Lelet
Mandak of New Ireland (211).
The essays’ authors largely depend on what used
be called “memory culture” in their depictions of
traditional” life in the communities they studied, with
historical or earlier ethnographic sources seldom used
Rohatynskyj and Barker are the principal exceptions)
t° document whatever observable changes have in fact
°ccurred in these societies. The younger contributors,
Specially, appear to be practitioners of what is some-
hrnes referred to as the “New Melanesian Ethnography”
barker; 138), with “personhood” and “agency” as the
r°ain topics, often deploying “ethnographic vignettes”
^Erook; 69) rather than empirical evidence to convey
lheir sense of what “modernity” is like in these out-
°f'the-way parts of the world. The title and subtitle of
book warn the reader to expect a certain amount of
Jargon, and a glossary would have been helpful to those
®f us who practice the “Old Melanesian Ethnography.”
erhaps more disappointing is a sense that, apart from
Occasional (and expected) citations of Bourdieu and
°ucault, these essays seem to contribute in no clear
. V to any larger project, such as theories of “modera-
tion” itself or accompanying changes in “identity.”
ne is left, regarding several of the essays, with a sense
at critics’ characterizations of much of (at least Ameri-
Can) cultural anthropology in recent decades as “literary
Criticism” might soon be replaced with “ethnographic
J°Urnalism.” Terence E. Hays
Barnes, Linda L.: Needles, Herbs, Gods, and
°sts. China, Healing, and the West to 1848. Pbk.
■Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007. 458 pp.
^ßN 978-0-674-02397-0. Price: $ 24.95
Ehe umfassende Studie von Linda Barnes untersucht
le bisher eher vernachlässigte Geschichte von Kennt-
Anth
nissen und Vorstellungen über Chinesen und ihre Heil-
weisen in Europa und Amerika. Die Autorin versteht
ihre Arbeit nicht als eine Geschichte der chinesischen
Medizin, sondern als eine Geschichte interkultureller
Wechselbeziehungen, die sich, einem kulturanthropolo-
gischen Ansatz folgend, vor allem auf westliche Über-
setzungen und Interpretationen stützt. Barnes greift
auf ein bis ins 13. Jh. zurückreichendes Spektrum von
Schriften und Korrespondenzen zurück, die von west-
lichen Gelehrten, Kaufleuten und Missionaren verfasst
wurden. Auf diese Weise entsteht eine facettenreiche,
lebendige und vielschichtige Darstellung der Entstehung
und Entwicklung westlicher Vorstellungen von chinesi-
schen Heilweisen. Zugleich wird in diesem Zusammen-
hang deutlich, dass der chinesischen Medizin eine bisher
unterschätzte Rolle in der Entwicklung des medizini-
schen Diskurses im Westen zukommt.
Im Vergleich zu früheren Büchern zu diesem The-
ma, die sich vor allem der Rezeption der Akupunktur
im Westen gewidmet haben (Joseph Needham and Lu
Gwei-Djen, Celestial Lancets. Cambridge 1980; Roberta
E. Bivins, Acupuncture, Expertise, and Cross-Cultural
Medicine. New York 2000), beschäftigt sich Barnes’
Studie außer mit Akupunktur und Moxibustion auch
mit der Anwendung von Arzneimitteln, Körpertechniken
und anderen Heilweisen. Die Medizinethnologin und
vergleichende Religionswissenschaftlerin geht dabei von
einem sehr weit gefassten Begriff von “Medizin” aus,
der nicht nur die genannten medizinischen Methoden
einbezieht, sondern auch religiöse Praktiken bis hin zu
Tätigkeiten wie “das Verbrennen von Papierhäusem und
-möbeln, um sie durch ihren Rauch in die yin Welt der
Toten zu befördern” (4).
Barnes stellt ihr Thema aus der Sicht von drei Haupt-
perspektiven dar, die sie “racializing”, “religionizing”
und “medicalizing” der Chinesen nennt (2). Unter dem
Gesichtspunkt “racializing” zeigt sie auf, wie im Mittel-
alter die christliche Geographie Mongolen und Chinesen
(die in dieser Zeit kaum voneinander unterschieden wur-
den) mit Himmel und Hölle, Gott und Dämonen asso-
ziiert hat (12). Im 16. und 17. Jh. betrachteten westliche
Beobachter die Chinesen als Menschen “von unserer
Qualität” und mit “einer fast so weißen Gesichtsfarbe
wie Europäer” (79). Von der Mitte des 18. Jhs. bis zur
Mitte des 19. Jhs. jedoch wurden weiße Europäer als
überlegene Rasse angesehen und Chinesen entsprechend
mit einer gewissen Verachtung als eine andersartige,
minderwertigere Rasse beschrieben.
Was “religionizing” betrifft, war die Sicht der west-
lichen Welt auf die Chinesen ausschließlich von christ-
lichen Kriterien geprägt und ignorierte die Kosmologie,
die der chinesischen Philosophie, Religion und Medizin
zugrunde lag. So wurden zum Beispiel die Lehren des
Daoismus von dem Jesuiten Matteo Ricci (1552-1610)
rundweg als “Urvater der Falschheiten und Vater der
Lügen” (65) abgetan. Diese Haltung führte zu vielen
Missverständnissen, wie etwa der grundsätzlichen Ab-
lehnung von chinesischen alchemistischen oder exorzis-
tischen Praktiken als reinem Aberglauben.
Bei der letzten Perspektive des “medicalizing of the
lroPos 103.2008
578
Rezensionen
Chinese” geht es Barnes um die Interaktion zwischen
westlichen und chinesischen Heiltraditionen, wobei ihr
besonderes Augenmerk der Frage gilt, wie westliche Be-
obachter die chinesischen Traditionen sahen und darüber
berichteten. Interessant ist in diesem Zusammenhang,
dass mittels arabischer Schriften und Kaufleute viele
chinesische Vorstellungen schon relativ früh und be-
reits vor den Berichten westlicher China-Reisender nach
Europa gelangten (zum Beispiel Kenntnisse über die
Anwendung von chinesischem Rhabarber als Heilmittel,
S. 23). Auch daran lässt sich ablesen, wie westliche
Konzeptualisierungen der Heilweisen Chinas die Hal-
tungen Europas und Amerikas zur chinesischen Kultur
wesentlich geprägt haben.
Um diese drei Perspektiven miteinander zu ver-
knüpfen, hat Barnes das Buch in fünf Zeitperioden und
entsprechende Kapitel unterteilt. Kapitel 1 beginnt mit
der Entsendung christlicher Gesandter, die mögliche
politische Folgen einer mongolischen Expansion im 13.
Jh. erkunden sollten. Kapitel 2 beginnt im Jahr 1492 mit
europäischen Expeditionen nach Asien und Amerika und
reicht bis ins Jahr 1659. In dieser Zeit brachten ausländi-
sche Beobachter relativ detaillierte Berichte über China
nach Europa, die auch Kommentare über chinesische
Heilweisen enthielten. Zwei Unterschiede lassen sich
im Zeitraum zwischen 1660-1736 ausmachen, mit dem
sich das 3. Kapitel befasst. Zum einen verfassten nun
westliche Autoren erste Studien über chinesische Puls-
diagnose, Akupunktur und Moxibustion. Zum anderen
schrieben immer mehr europäische Autoren über chi-
nesische Praktiken, ohne selbst in China gewesen zu
sein, und stützten sich dabei auf Reiseberichte aus erster
Hand. Das 4. Kapitel bezieht sich auf den Zeitraum zwi-
schen 1737-1804, in dem eine verstärkte europäische
Chinoiserie und eine Faszination für alles Chinesische
eine Intensivierung der Diskussionen über chinesische
Praktiken mit sich brachte. In diese Zeit fallen auch
die ersten Berichte von amerikanischen Beobachtern.
Schließlich untersucht Barnes in Kapitel 5 Darstellungen
chinesischer Heilweisen, die zwischen 1805 bis 1848 in
Europa und den USA erstellt wurden.
Die Autorin hat 25 Jahre für dieses Werk recherchiert
und eine beeindruckende Fülle von Material verwen-
det, was sich in der umfangreichen, über 60 Seiten
umfassenden Bibliographie widerspiegelt. Schlaglicht-
artig fügt sie verschiedenste interessante Facetten ih-
rer Untersuchungen zusammen, die sich sehr spannend
lesen, jedoch gelegentlich Systematik und einen roten
Faden vermissen lassen. Dies betrifft vor allem ihre
Ausführungen zur chinesischen Medizingeschichte, wie
z. B. “The Method of the Nine Needles” (25 ff.) oder
“The Question of Immortality” (65 ff.).
Insgesamt ist dieses vielschichtige und faszinierende
Buch über die Rezeption chinesischer Heilweisen im
Westen nicht nur für Kulturanthropologen, Historiker
und Medizinphilosophen eine wahre Fundgrube, son-
dern auch für Anwender von komplementärer Medizin,
die durch Barnes Ausführungen viel über den histori-
schen Kontext ihrer Arbeit erfahren.
Ute Engelhardt
Berger, Peter: Füttern, Speisen und Verschlingen-
Ritual und Gesellschaft im Hochland von Orissa, Indien-
Berlin: Lit Verlag, 2007. 548 pp. ISBN 978-3-8258-
9789-5. (Indus - Ethnologische Südasien-Studien, H)
Preis: € 39.90
Die 2004 vorgelegte und verteidigte Dissertations-
schrift (Gutachter waren Prof. G. Pfeffer, Berlin, und
Prof. F. Heidemann, München) basiert auf insgesamt 22
Monaten ethnographischer Feldforschung im Koraput-
Distrikt des indischen Bundesstaates Orissa. Der recht
umfangreiche Buchdruck, insgesamt 548 Seiten mit
Verzeichnissen und Index, stellt unter dem neugierig
machenden Titel “Füttern, Speisen und Verschlingen
Rituale und Verhaltensweisen in den Mittelpunkt, die
Gesellschaft einerseits nach innen definieren, anderer-
seits nach außen abgrenzen bzw. positionieren. Eme
lange Einleitung (50 pp.) führt sowohl in das Gebiet der
Feldforschung als auch in die methodischen Ansätze uno
theoretischen Grundlagen zur Thematik ein.
Das gesetzte Ziel war es, “eine Gesellschaft durch
das Geflecht ihrer Rituale zu verstehen” (13). Essen
Speisen wird als kulturelles Phänomen betrachtet, ai
eine schaffende und erhaltende Kommunikationsform
zwischen Lebenden, aber auch Lebenden und Toten
Ahnen. Die Speisegemeinschaft wird als soziale VeraU
wortungsgemeinschaft dargestellt (37). Zum Motiv des
“Verschlingens” erhält der Interessierte erst S. 60, arn
Ende der “theoretischen Anmerkungen”, eine Erlällte
rung. Hier wird nicht das zum Leben in spezifisch
Gemeinschaft dienende Verschlingungsritual in lmtia
tionsfesten angesprochen, sondern das Gegenteil v°n
heilsamem Essen, nämlich das zerstörende, gewaltsame
“Fressen”, die Vernichtung unheilsamer “Brocken •
Anlehnung an M. Harris und C. Lévi-Strauss bezem
net Berger unter “Verschlingen” sog. “prekäre BeZie
hungsrituale”. Hierbei geht es nicht um zeitweilig
verschlucken, in-sich-aufnehmen, verschlingen im Sm
von gewaltsam einhüllen - ein in der Ethnologie v
breitetes Phänomen und Motiv, sondern eher um z
beißen, unschädlich machen und ausspeien, was
totemistischen Ritualen deutlich wird (103 f. und spate1
Insofern scheint mir die terminologische Übersetz
des einheimischen Begriffes unpassend konnotiert-
angehängten Glossar taucht kein adäquater Terminus
“Verschlingen” auf. _ t
Die Arbeit ist insgesamt in fünf Kapitel gegfie e
von denen jedes eine eigene inhaltliche Zuordnung
und mit einer “Zusammenfassung” abschließt. E>ie gjn_
pitel sind drei methodischen Teilen zugeordnet: Der ^
leitung (Kap. I mit Aufbau und Thesen als Absen u^g
folgen der erste Teil: Soziale Ordnung des Hochlan
von Orissa, eine “Ethnographie der Rituale” (Kmp- g
der Zweite Teil: Rituale und Feste des Lebenszy
sowie des Jahreskreises (Kap. III, IV) und Schama^
mus und Heilrituale bzw. Abwehrzauber, “sozia e
deutung von Krankheit” (Kap. V). In den “Zusam ^-t
fassungen” bei jedem Kapitel verbirgt sich insofern ^
mehr als der Begriff vorgibt, als dort nämlich m,.^
dische Analysen der vorher ausgebreiteten ^at^r(jen-
und entsprechende Schlussfolgerungen geboten
103-2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
579
üas “Schlusswort” (Kap. VI, pp. 473-480) entspricht
dann eher einer generellen Zusammenfassung, die dann
allerdings unverhältnismäßig kurz und inadäquat neben
den vorangehenden Kapiteln steht. Ein Anhang mit Li-
teraturverzeichnis, einem Desia-Wörterverzeichnis und
einem Index schließt das große Werk ab. Bedauerlich ist,
dass ein Dissertationsdruck üblicherweise nur wenige,
schlecht gedruckte Fotos in Schwarz-Weiß enthält.
Inhaltlich beginnt das Buch mit einer ausführlichen
Quellenkritischen Analyse bezüglich der Informationen
und des Wissens über die Gadaba. Diese ethnische Ge-
meinschaft, die überwiegend im Koraput-Di strikt von
Orissa angesiedelt ist, steht im Zentrum der Feldfor-
schungen von Berger, auf den Spuren seines Lehrers
0. Pfeffer, dessen ethnologische “Domäne” die Gadaba
seit 1980 sind. Berger hielt sich zwischen 1999 und 2003
Wiederholt mehrere Monate lang in Dörfern der Gadaba
auf, wo er mit der Methode der “teilnehmenden Beob-
achtung” in wechselndem eigenem sozialen Status Daten
sammeln konnte, nachdem er sich zunächst die regiona-
le Verkehrssprache Desia weitgehend angeeignet hatte.
Oie territorial entstandene Lingua franca diente dem
^utor zur persönlichen Kommunikation. Wie überall in
Vergleichbaren Mischsiedlungsgebieten Indiens ist sie
aus den Sprachen unterschiedlicher sozialer und ethni-
scher Gruppen mit oraler Tradition neben den staatlichen
Schriftsprachen in einem gemeinsamen Wirtschaftsraum
hervorgegangen.
Die gesamte Darlegung Bergers erweist sich als eine
§rundehrliche und selbstkritische ethnographische For-
schungsanalyse, zeigt die Grenzen und Chancen per-
sönlicher Entwicklung des Forschers auf. In der durch-
gangig geführten Methodendiskussion wird das Feldfor-
schungsergebnis zu einem akademischen Experiment in
öczug auf die rezente Erfassung einer Stammesgesell-
Schaft aus den indigenen Konzepten, die es ermöglichen,
^en “Zusammenhalt einer Gruppe” zu regenerieren oder
Ocib, Leben oder Ernte” zu zerstören, wie im Schluss-
wort zusammengefasst wird. “Alimentäre Prozesse” -
Ottern, Speisen oder Verschlingen - werden nach Lévi-
^trauss und M. Douglas als “strukturierte und struktu-
rierende Bedeutungsträger” verstanden (explizit pp. 38-
L*), Speisen, Füttern vermitteln, M. D. Sahlins folgend,
syntbolische Beziehungen einer kulturellen Ordnung”
pO)- So werden Rituale als gesellschaftliche Struktur-
ormen interpretiert, nicht als substanzielle Wesenhei-
en mit Verantwortung nach innen und Respektverhal-
ten
nach außen bzw. durch nichtverwandte Gruppen,
asten. Als einem integrierten und akzeptierten Beeh-
rter gelingt es Berger jedoch, Verwandtschafts- und
oiratsverhältnisse der Gadaba klassifikatorisch aufzu-
fA^eiben und so die traditionelle Stammesgemeinschaft
isch zu umreißen (175 ff.). Speisen/Füttern völl-
ig1 sich auch im Austausch von Gaben, die zwischen
orfem und Generationen im Lebenszyklus zirkulieren
^ f,), seien es Bräute, Rinder, Büffel oder Opferspei-
Sen teoru).
v Rituale machen in jedem Falle Gemeinschaft (248 ff.),
i"n ^ofruchtung bis zur Bestattung und zum Ahnenkult,
im
Natürlichen Jahres Wachstum wie im gesellschaft-
lichen Lebenszyklus. Rituelles Speisen - Füttern - be-
wirkt die Transformation der Person, führt in ein neu-
es, altersbedingtes Sein ein und bewirkt zugleich die
räumliche Integration in eine soziale Einheit (so im
2. Teil). Gleichermaßen wird die “Struktur der Feste”
im Jahreszyklus dargestellt. Es seien die Rituale, die das
Jahr in Wachstums- und Ernteprozesse teilen und die
notwendigen Opferungen zur “relationalen” Bewegung
von Außen nach Innen und umgekehrt im Jahresablauf
parallel zu den Festen im Lebenszyklus strukturieren
(420 ff.).
Bergers unbedingte Übernahme des strukturalisti-
schen Konzeptes amerikanischer Soziologen bewirkt
eine phasenweise “Verschulung” der ethnographischen
Erkenntnisse und führte den Autor zu philosophischen
Wortbildungen aus dem amerikanischen Englisch, die
im deutschen Sprachgebrauch besser hinterfragt werden
sollten. Wortungetüme, wie “Inauspiziösität”, “Kom-
mensalität” z. B. (158 f.) oder “Literalitätsanteil” (100)
stören eher das akademische Gesamtbild, als dass sie
zum Verständnis beitragen.
Kapitel V beschreibt die soziale Bedeutung von
Krankheiten unter dem Aspekt von sog. prekären Be-
ziehungen: Rituale zur Heilung, zur Bekämpfung von
Schadenszauber oder Totenwiederkehr. Sie können zum
Abbruch sozialer Beziehungen und zu Exkommunika-
tion (als jati - Desia-Wort - bezeichnet) führen, oder
dienen der Zerstörung sozialer Beziehungen (als nosto
- in Desia - bezeichnet) durch die Austreibung von
Geistern und Dämonen. Hier, so stellt Berger dar, ist
“Kommensalität irrelevant” - “Mit Dämonen teilt man
keine Speise” (469) -, der “alimentäre Modus [muss]
angepasst werden” (469), d. h. durch gewalttätige Wesen
wurden das Blut, das Leben oder die Felder “verschlun-
gen” (kai debar in Desia).
Am Ende des in dichter Abfolge dargelegten Ma-
terials und der intensiven theoretisch-methodischen
Systematisierung der lokalen Gesellschaft, die den Um-
gang mit verschiedenen ethnischen Gruppen im Un-
tersuchungsgebiet erforderte, sind interessante erkennt-
nistheoretische Phasen eines ernsthaften Feldforschers
herauszufiltem. Berger bietet dazu eine selbstkritische
Wertung in seinem “Epilog”: Die Datenfindung begann
mit der Beobachtung als Außenstehender und dem Ver-
such, gesellschaftlichen Zugang zu finden. Mit Hilfe der
Lingua franca des ausgewählten Territoriums so wie mit
dem Verständnis eines wissenschaftlich vorgebildeten
Fremden wurden dann Situationsbeschreibungen vorge-
nommen, die mit zunehmender Einbindung des Gastes
auch die indigene Begrifflichkeit der ethnischen Grup-
pe, hier der Gadaba oder Gutob (Eigenbezeichnung),
erschließen half. Berger verdeutlicht den schwierigen
Prozess sozialer Integration an wechselnden Verhaltens-
weisen seiner Gewährsleute sowie anhand seiner Zu-
lassung zu internen Ritualen. Zugleich wird darin die
Stärke und Funktionsweise der aus klassifikatorischer
Bluts- und HeiratsVerwandtschaft bestehenden Gemein-
schaftsorganisation der Gadaba erkennbar.
Als Wissenschaftler steht er schließlich quasi ne-
ben sich selbst als freundlich aufgenommenem Gast,
Vh
^Pos 103.2008
580
Rezensionen
um den erkenntnistheoretischen Gewinn mit philoso-
phischen Kategorien auszuwerten, die Relation der Be-
ziehungen von Objekten, Handlungen und Begriffen
zueinander, im Kant’sehen Sinne, zu erfassen. Zur prag-
matischen Sachdarstellung anhand von Ritualen, den
jeweiligen Opfergaben bzw. -speisen, die in den Formen
des Teilens, des Austausches oder des Vernichtens (bei
Berger: Füttern, Speisen, Verschlingen) die gesellschaft-
lichen Bindungen nach innen und nach außen erkennbar
machen, verwendet Berger eine auffallend biologistische
Terminologie des 19./frühen 20. Jhs. - aus der eng-
lischsprachigen Rückübersetzung. Nach Möglichkeit des
eindringlichen Verständnisses erreicht der Autor, dass
im “Geflecht der Rituale” die unvermeidliche Trans-
formation der Stammesgesellschaft zur rezenten Dorf-
gemeinschaft mit marktorientiertem Austausch sozialer
Gruppen durchscheint.
Die gesamte Arbeit bietet eine Fülle von Materi-
al und Denkanstößen, fordert zu Kontroversen heraus,
macht die Notwendigkeit systematischer Feldforschung
in der Gegenwart deutlich und ist in der Reihe der
“Ethnologischen Südasien-Studien” fast ein ethnogra-
phisches bzw. sozialanthropologisches Lehrbuch.
Lydia Icke-Schwalbe
Blakely, Sandra: Myth, Ritual, and Metallurgy in
Ancient Greece and Recent Africa. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2006. 328 pp. ISBN 978-0-521-
85500-6. Price: £ 50.00
Vergleiche zwischen afrikanischen und europäischen
archäologischen und historischen Themenfeldem waren
lange Zeit unpopulär, in besonderem Maße in Deutsch-
land, was einmal in der historistischen Ausrichtung der
Altertumskunde, aber auch in einem unterschwelligen
mitteleuropäischen Überlegenheitsgefühl begründet ge-
wesen sein dürfte. Zudem ist hierzulande die Afrikanis-
tik aber auch die Afrikaarchäologie deutlich von anderen
Archäologien getrennt, beziehungsweise wird getrennt
gelebt. Dies macht ein räumlich übergreifendes Arbei-
ten, synchrone und diachrone Vergleiche, nicht einfach.
Etwas anders ist dies in der englischsprachigen Welt,
wo bereits in der Ausbildung eine breitere, globale
Basis propagiert wird und auch wissenschaftsgeschicht-
lich Akzeptanz findet. Ausdruck dieses Ansatzes sind
eine Reihe von Studien der letzten Jahre, in denen eu-
ropäische Themen afrikanischen gegenübergestellt wer-
den - das Buch von Sandra Blakely ist ein treffliches
Beispiel für die Möglichkeiten solcher Studien.
Ausgehend von einer Fragestellung der klassischen
Altertumsforschung zur Rolle der Metallurgie und deren
kulturelle Einbettung im antiken Griechenland, greift
sie Untersuchungen afrikanischer traditioneller Eisen-
produktion auf. Sowohl in Griechenland wie auch in
den afrikanischen, meist neuzeitlichen, Beispielen lassen
sich auf grobem Betrachtungsniveau Parallelen heraus-
stellen, deren Strukturen sie herausarbeitet: Eisenherstel-
lung wird mit geheimem Wissen verbunden und von
Individuen betrieben, die eine abgeschlossene Gruppe
in den Gesellschaften bilden, welche auch mit Magie
verbunden sind. Interessanterweise verfällt sie bei den
Gegenüberstellungen aber immer wieder einer unter-
schwelligen Verallgemeinerung der afrikanischen Bei-
spiele, die sie allgemein mit “African” bezeichnet, selten
aber mit den regionalen kulturellen Zuweisungen - dies
obgleich sie ihren Ansatz gegenüber älteren als deutlich
differenzierter und bar einer evolutionistischen Tendenz
verstanden wissen möchte und sie die in afrikabezog®'
nen Studien herausgearbeiteten mannigfachen regiona-
len Unterschiede unterstreicht (4L).
Tatsächlich führt sie die Vielfältigkeit ethnographi'
scher Analysen als hilfreich für eine bislang allzu ein-
seitige Interpretation griechischer Metallurgie an, inS'
besondere die Rolle der daimones, unklarer Konzept6
mythologischer Wesen. Afrikanische Komparanda hel-
fen die möglichen komplexen Beziehungen zwischen Et-
sentechnologie und Gesellschaft besser verstehen (7) "
insofern ist das Buch eindeutig aus der PerspektN6
der klassischen Altertumswissenschaften geschrieben-
die ihre eigenen Fragestellungen einer Klärung nähet
bringen wollen.
Auf diese, im ersten Kapitel dargelegten theoretisch'
methodischen Grundlagen folgen nun zwei Kaplte
zu übergreifenden vergleichenden Themen; Metallurg16
und Geburt einerseits und Metallurgie und politisch6
Macht andererseits.
Das Ergebnis dieser Studie ist nicht so sehr ein
schlüssiger Kulturvergleich sondern vielmehr eine Ei
Weiterung der Perspektiven, in diesem Falle eher de
Perspektiven der Altertumskunde, die sich in ihrem hc
schränkten Quellenmaterial durch die afrikanische E
nographie bereichert sieht. So endet das Buch mit ein
zentralen Feststellung (Übers, d. Rez.); “Der [völk6^
kundliche] Feldforscher vergisst nicht, dass er die Km 1
als ein Außenseiter betrachtet. Dies ist allerdings
den Altertumskundler ein nur ganz schwer fassbar
Gesichtspunkt, wird ihm doch durch seine Ausbimu ?
versichert, dass er und sein Studienobjekt im Zentr.
und am Anfang der westlichen Kultur stehen. Verglel6
hingegen helfen den Sinn für das Fremde zu schärt ’
und aus dieser Perspektive kann neues Licht auf el
alte Frage geworfen werden” (233). ^
Detlef Gronenb0
Cabrera Becerra, Gabriel: Las Nuevas Tribu8>
los indígenas de la Amazonia. Historia de una PreseQrg,
protestante. Bogotá: n. p., 2007. 224 pp. ISBN; 978-
44-1294-2.
docm
Cabrera Becerra presenta un detallado y bien ce-
mentado estudio sociohistórico sobre la presencia miSI°
ñera protestante, en particular la de las Nuevas Tribirt’
entre los pueblos indígenas amazónicos de Colombio-
argumento principal del autor, articulado por su ''
Jean-Pierre Bastían, es que el actual proceso de conve
sión al evangelismo que hoy en día se puede observa^
entre los pueblos indígenas de la Amazonia debe 86
visto como una extensión de la restructuración cultor
iniciada a nivel regional en los años sesenta del sig
pasado. A continuación, Cabrera sustancia esta tesis
.2008
103
Anthropos
Rezensionen
581
tres partes temáticas, cada cual dividida en un número
variable de capítulos.
En el capítulo introductorio, el autor esboza el
contexto geográfico, étnico y legal de los pueblos
mdígenas de la región amazónica de Colombia: el terri-
torio cubre cerca de 36% de la superficie de la república
y es habitado por 56 etnias indígenas oficialmente re-
conocidas por el estado. Entre estos grupos nativos
trabajan cerca de veinte organizaciones misioneras pro-
testantes, en su majoría provenientes de los Estados
Unidos.
El primer capítulo es una reseña sociohistórica de
la actividad misionera protestante en América Latina.
En este caso, el término “protestante” se refiere a todos
l°s grupos cristianos no-católicos. Los comienzos de un
organizado trabajo misionero de esos grupos en Colom-
bia se remonta a los mediados del siglo diecinueve. Los
^e buscaban contacto con los misioneros eran miem-
bros del sector mercantil colombiano que se acercaron
a los extranjeros con el fin de establecer provechosos
vínculos comerciales. No obstante, hasta los años se-
senta del siglo veinte casi 99% de los colombianos se
declaraban católicos. El número de protestantes en este
País comenzó a crecer en una forma más accelerada a
tediados del siglo veinte, en el contexto del discurso
y praxis del desarollo inspirado por los EE.UU, cuyo
°bjetivo político fue la reducción del impacto social
de la revolución cubana. Entre los norteamericanos que
vinieron a Latinoamérica durante este tiempo se encon-
gaban no solamente especialistas en proyectos de desa-
filo sino también misioneros de diferentes agrupaciones
evangélicas. El área principal de su actividad ha sido la
Uüenca Amazónica y los pueblos aborígenes que habitan
en este territorio.
Una de las organizaciones misioneras más activas
han sido las Nuevas Tribus, de cuya historia y activi-
dades en Latinoamérica se trata en el segundo capítulo.
Uabrera Becerra denomina este grupo como “evangélico
fuudamentalista con un fuerte acento doctrinal y prose-
utista”. Establecidos en 1942 por Paul Fleming, como
uua organización no denominacional, las Nuevas Tribus
úabajan hoy con 200 grupos nativos en casi 30 países del
f ando. Sus metas principales son: la cristianización de
°s llamados “pueblos tribales aislados”, la traducción
la Biblia a lenguas indígenas y el establecimiento
e iglesias locales. En una amplia sección final de este
Capítulo, el autor recuenta la historia del contacto de
a& sociedades nacionales latinoamericanas con varios
Pueblos indígenas “aislados” de la Amazonia que se
'ó en el transcurso del siglo pasado, en particular con
,°s Nukak, entre los cuales Cabrera Becerra condujo su
ltlvestigaCión del campo.
j La historia del trabajo de las Nuevas Tribus entre
,°s Nukak constituye el enfoque del último capítulo.
0 que resalta en este relato, aunque el autor no
u°uienta sobre este fenómeno, es la clara evolución del
1Scurso misionero de esta organización desde la simple
lsión dualista (cristiano - diabólico) inculcada por la
vfica Sophie Müller - la pionera misionera de las
Ueyas Tribus en los años treinta y cuarenta - hasta
5nth
la declaración de “conservar por todos los medios la
cultura nativa”, hecha por las Nuevas Tribus en 1967.
El autor concluye que el trabajo de este grupo entre
los indígenas de la Amazonia colombiana ha sido relati-
vamente exitoso debido a un conjunto de factores. Entre
ellos se menciona el uso de idiomas nativos, sevicios
médicos, escolarización y la formación de líderes. Por
otro lado, frequentemente la conversión fue también una
causa importante de divisiones dentro de comunidades
indígenas.
Como lo nota también Bastian en la presentación,
el libro de Cabrera Becerra es un descriptivo recuento
histórico de la avanzada misionera protestante en la
region amazónica. Como tal, el trabajo no ofrece ningún
análisis de las causas sociales y culturales de la conver-
sión de los pueblos indígenas al cristianismo evangélico
ofrecido por las Nuevas Tribus y otras organizaciones
de esta índole, aunque sí presenta detalladamente el
contexto sociohistórico de este proceso. Tampoco expli-
ca el autor el ya señalado cambio en el oficial discurso
misionero de las Nuevas Tribus ocurrido a mediados del
siglo veinte, en el cual la visión dualista del universo
fue sustituida por un lenguaje más atento a los valores
culturales nativos.
Además sería interesante leer sobre los problemas
que encuentran los misioneros en el proceso de traduc-
ción de la Biblia a lenguas locales, como también sobre
la dimensión colonizadora de este proceso (compare,
por ejemplo, Vicente Rafael: Contracting Colonialism.
Translation and Christian Conversion in Tagalog Society
under Early Spanish Rule. Durham 1993). El relato de
Cabrera Becerra tampoco considera casos de choques
entre la mentalidad indígena marcada por el principio de
la reciprocidad generalizada, por un lado, y los valores
típicos para la economía del mercado que representan los
misioneros como agentes de la sociedad dominante, por
otro, lo cual conozco de mi propia experiencia misionera
con los Aché del Paraguay. Esta discrepancia fue una
de las causas de la expulsión de las Nuevas Tribus de
la misión Cerro Moroti por el dicho grupo nativo en los
años ochenta.
En cuanto al aspecto formal, el libro carece del
índice, lo cual - considerando su riqueza temática -
seguramente no facilita la lectura. Los mapas y gráficas,
tan importantes para la mejor comprensión del texto,
son lastimosamente de poca calidad y requerirían más
atención por parte de los editores. El autor hizo un
excelente trabajo de investigación confirmado por la
larga lista de sus fuentes, aunque en algunos casos la
fuente citada parece un ideologizado discurso político
más que una aserción científica. Me refiero específica-
mente a los “varios especialistas” mencionados en la
página 156, quienes argumentan que “la agricultura fue
desarollada entre los aborígenes del Nuevo Mundo miles
de años antes de que surgiera en Europa”. De veras? Uno
quiere preguntar cuantos “miles de años” antes surgió
agricultura en las Américas? Según los datos publicados
en la revista Evolutionary Anthropology (3/5.1994), el
sedentarismo y la domesticación de plantas y animales
en las Américas parece haber ocurrido tan sólo entre
lroPos 103.2008
582
Rezensionen
5,500 y 4,000 años atrás, es decir más tarde de lo pre-
viamente aceptado por especialistas en este campo.
El libro seguramente consitituye un aporte impor-
tante al creciente Corpus de la literatura profesional sobre
la expansión protestante en Latinoamérica. Sin embargo,
el tema de las Nuevas Tribus ya ha sido previamente tra-
tado por varios autores, lo cual contradice la declaración
del autor, hecha en la introducción al libro, de que la pre-
sencia de este grupo fundamentalista entre los indígenas
de Sudamérica es un tema “no muy abordado”. De
hecho, desde la publicación en los años ochenta de “Las
Nuevas Tribus” por Erigido Marquino y “Etnocidio -
misión cumplida” por Ticio Escobar, la organización
no ha gozado de una buena fama, particularmente entre
antropólogos. Por otro lado, este desprestigio - aunque
a veces justificado por los hechos - también adquirió
cualidades de un cliché estereotipado, y por lo tanto
no menos fundamentalista que la ideología misma de
las Nuevas Tribus. Si el trabajo de Cabrera Becerra
logra aclarar algunos de esto estereotipos, seguramente
- fuera de su indudable valor documental - va a servir
bien su propósito. Darius J. Piwowarczyk
Claffey, Patrick: Christian Churches in Dahomey-
Benin. A Study of Their Socio-Political Role. Lei-
den: Koninklijke Brill, 2007. 328 pp. ISBN 978-90-
04-15572-5. (Studies of Religion in Africa, 31) Price:
€ 79.00
Dieses Buch verlangt vom Leser fachkundiges Inter-
esse und aufmerksame Konzentration. Es wendet sich
offensichtlich an Kreise, die mit afrikanischen Verhält-
nissen einigermaßen vertraut sind und sich mit dem
Spannungsfeld zwischen Tradition und Moderne ausein-
andersetzen. Dabei gilt im vorliegenden Fall das ganz
besondere Augenmerk der kulturgeschichtlichen, reli-
giösen und soziopolitischen Begegnung der christlichen
Kirchen mit den historischen und aktuellen Gegebenhei-
ten von Dahomey-Benin.
Der Autor entfaltet seine Untersuchungen in einem
wissenschaftlich anspruchsvollen Werk von 328 Seiten.
Nach einem kurzen Vorspann folgen acht zum Teil recht
ausgiebige Kapitel mit den eigentlichen Ausführungen
zur Abhandlung des Themas. Daran schließen sich noch
zehn mehr oder weniger wichtige Anhänge unterschied-
licher Art an. Eine sehr reichhaltige Bibliographie mit
ausgewählten Literaturangaben sowie ein kombinierter
Namens- und Sachindex beschließen das Werk. In der
Mitte des Textteils, d. h. zwischen dem vierten und
fünften Kapitel, sind 13 Bildseiten mit Schwarz-Weiß-
Fotos eingefügt, die teilweise allerdings nicht gerade
von überzeugender Qualität sind und auch zum inhalt-
lichen Verständnis der Darlegungen wenig beizutragen
scheinen.
Die Titelformulierung des Buches peilt zielgenau den
thematischen Problemkreis der Studie an. Das 1. Kapitel
bietet einführende Informationen und Überlegungen, die
den Rahmen der Arbeit abstecken und sich von den
langjährigen Afrikaerfahrungen des Verfassers bis hin
zu einigen weltweiten Perspektiven im anzuschneiden-
den Sachbereich erstrecken. Außerdem werden wichtige
theoretische Leitbegriffe vorgestellt und kurze metho-
dologische Anmerkungen beigefügt. Im Mittelpunkt des
2. Kapitels steht das “klassische” Dahomey als tradi-
tionelles Königreich mit der stolzen Größe seiner Herr-
scher und den grausamen Abgründen seiner Herrschatt-
Dazu kommen riskante Teilthemen wie Sklavenhandel
und Menschenopfer, die vor allem in den Berichten
von europäischen Reisenden, Verwaltungsbeamten und
Missionaren ein bedenklich einseitiges Geschichtsbild
lieferten.
Das 3. Kapitel bringt ein Phänomen ins Spiel, das
eine überwältigend maßgebliche Rolle für den Bestand
und das Funktionieren des früheren Dahomey einnahm,
nämlich Voodoo, und das auch bis in die moderne Ge-
schichte hinein wenig von seiner geheimnisvollen, Ja
durchaus religiösen Bedeutung eingebüßt hat. Was im
4. Kapitel angesprochen wird, trifft bereits entscheidend
den Kernbereich der Gesamtthematik: es geht um den
historischen Hintergrund heutiger Verhältnisse, die un-
bedingt eine ehrliche Aufarbeitung der Vergangenheit
erfordern. Auch unangenehme Punkte müssen offen de-
battiert werden, um zu einem neuen, für alle Bevölke-
rungsteile tragfähigen Kultur- und Staatsverständnis zu
führen.
Das 5. Kapitel greift zunächst wieder in die Ge
schichte zurück und konfrontiert das alte KönigrelC
mit den ersten protestantischen und katholischen Mi88*0
nierungsversuchen. Aber es bleibt dabei nicht bei ein
drucksvollen Schilderungen einzelner Ereignisse, so11
dem die vielen Verästelungen komplexer Sachverhal
werden in akribisch erläuternder Darstellung verdeu
licht. Mit dem 6. Kapitel rückt die katholische Kim
endgültig in den Vordergrund; näherhin handelt es st
um ihre Stellung bezüglich der Eliten des Landes u
um ihre Rolle bei der Schaffung eines Nationalbewuss
seins, in dem sich die ansonsten vielfältig zerklüft®
Bevölkerungsgruppen als zusammengehöriges Gan
erkennen können. ,
Als Höhepunkt der Studie darf das 7. Kapitel ge
ten; es bringt sozusagen das Ergebnis der vorausgeh ^
den Untersuchungen, auch wenn sich dieses ß,
einen einzigen Satz bündeln lässt. Doch mehrere m
gebliche Elemente seien genannt, wie beispiels^
das allmähliche Entstehen eines bodenständigen G
tentums, eine unterschwellig religiös bestimmte ^
der Gesellschaft, eine durch verschiedene Formen
Volksfrömmigkeit und akutem Heilsbedürfnis char
risierte kirchliche Pastoralpraxis, ein Erscheinung8 ,
der Kirche selber als Hort der Zuflucht, Sicherheit v
neuer Gemeinschaftserfahrung für Menschen, die ^
einer persönlich und kollektiv prekären Situation m
und äußerer Zersplitterung kommen. ^u-
Das kurze 8. Kapitel bietet als Nachwort eine A ^
sammenfassung der Hauptgedanken, die sich um
der wichtigsten Schlüsselworte der ganzen Arbeit <=> ,
pieren, nämlich um den schwierigen, aber vie s ,
den Begriff “anthropologische Fragilität (Brüc iger
Zerbrechlichkeit)”. - Ohne Zweifel hat der Ye ^eIt,
mit diesem Werk eine Forschungsleistung präsen
103-2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
583
die auf überragender Sachkenntnis, anstrengendem Ar-
chivstudium und persönlichem Engagement beruht und
die wohl auch in der Beurteilung durch Spezialisten mit
relativ hoher Einschätzung rechnen kann.
Wer zu diesem Buch greift, dem steht für den vor-
gelegten Themenbereich nicht nur eine fast unerschöpf-
liche Fülle interessanten Materials zur Verfügung. Er
Profitiert darüber hinaus auch von manchen Erkennt-
nissen einer wissenschaftlichen Analyse, die jenseits
aller Details eine weitgehend komprehensive Einsicht
gewährt in viele verwickelte und verwinkelte Züge ak-
tueller afrikanischer Mentalität im Allgemeinen. Und
un Besonderen schärft sich der Blick für die schwie-
rige, aber nicht aussichtslose Lage einer afrikanischen
Gesellschaft im Übergang von veralteten Sozialstruk-
turen und traditionellen Denk- und Verhaltensmustern,
Ja sogar belastenden Zwängen, zu einer Moderne hin,
die in ihrem ungewiss offenen Zustand auch Angst und
Unsicherheit, Misstrauen und Haltlosigkeit verursacht
und deren endgültige Gestalt in einer noch kaum de-
finierbaren Zukunft liegt.
Der mutige Schritt des Autors, in einer solchen
komplexen Lage die Rolle der christlichen Kirchen im
^eiteren soziopolitischen Raum zu erkunden, verdient
fraglos Respekt und Anerkennung. Das Resultat seiner
Bemühungen, nämlich der Hinweis auf die Kirche als
frückzugsort und Hafen im Sturm und als Baugrund
enter neuen emotionalen, sozialen und religiösen Hei-
mat, scheint auch die Möglichkeit einzuschließen, dass
Slch auf solcher Basis schließlich eine gesunde, lebens-
starke Gesamtgesellschaft konstruieren lässt, die sich
dfier die Unzulänglichkeiten und Belastungen des alten
Mythos Dahomey erhebt und in der neuen Realität Benin
ein gemeinsames, harmonisches und friedliches Zuhause
findet.
Ohne den außergewöhnlichen Wert dieses Werkes
beeinträchtigen zu wollen, muss allerdings auf einige
Kleinigkeiten hingewiesen werden, die als Schwach-
vollen dem aufmerksamen Leser eben doch ins Auge
springen. Aber nur wenige Einzelheiten seien in diesem
Zusammenhang genannt. Abgesehen von “normalen”
Uruckfehlern (oder gelegentlichen Verdoppelungen bzw.
anderen Unebenheiten), die sich bisweilen heimlich in
ben Text eingeschlichen haben, wie etwa auf den Sei-
ten 18, 61, 81, 163, 210, 271, 279 und anderswo, sei
°ch eigens erwähnt, dass eine sorgfältigere Kontrolle
6s Textentwurfes hier und dort nützlich gewesen wäre.
üm Beispiel dürfte auf Seite 294 kein sinnloses “Insti-
ta” statt eines italienisch korrekten “Istituto” stehen,
frensichtlich wurde auch die eine oder andere Bildun-
terschrift ungeprüft hingesetzt, wofür als abschreckende
6ranschaulichung mit mehreren Fehlern Seite 131 die-
1)611 mag. Überhaupt bildet der fotografische Einschub
6lrie einzige Einheit, während im Einführungskapitel
alschficherweise zwei getrennte Sektionen angekündigt
Werden.
Etwas störend wirkt außerdem die Leichtfertigkeit,
t Je dm Verfasser innerhalb des Textflusses fällige Kapi-
angaben ziemlich sorglos einmal mit römischen Zif-
V*’ dann wieder mit arabischen Nummern versieht.
AlUh:
mpos 103.2008
Wer sich nicht ausgesprochen gut in der Materie aus-
kennt, mag im ersten Moment ebenfalls leicht irritiert
sein durch verschiedene, inhaltlich bedingte Querver-
bindungen von globaler Bedeutung, wie z. B. bei recht
unvermittelten Hinweisen auf Haiti oder andere Länder.
Natürlich sind solche Punkte von der Sache her völlig
berechtigt, hätten aber im Interesse einer zusammenhän-
genden Lektüre weniger wie Stolpersteine und mehr wie
weiterführende Stufen erscheinen können. Eine zusätz-
liche Hilfe hätte der Autor wohl auch noch anbieten
müssen: bedauerlicherweise fehlt ein unverzichtbares
Abkürzungsverzeichnis sowie ein dringend benötigtes
Glossar für unvermeidliche Spezialbegriffe.
Trotz dieser kritischen und dennoch wohlwollenden
Anmerkungen dürfte es kaum allzu große Hemmungen
geben, dem Werk die meisten Voraussetzungen für eine
wirklich positive Einschätzung zu bescheinigen. Neben
der unbestreitbaren Sachbedeutung zeichnet sich das
Buch auch durch eine angenehm flüssige Sprachgestalt
aus und verleitet auch da zu ungebremstem Weiter-
lesen, wo die Problemlage des Stoffes zumindest ge-
legentliches Stocken und vielleicht längere Denkpausen
rechtfertigen würde. Bisweilen könnte man sich sogar
mehr rigorose Systematik wünschen, aber die sprach-
liche Meisterschaft des Schreibers versöhnt rasch mit
möglichen Tücken des Themas. Und wo holprige Ma-
terie sich nicht geglättet wiedergeben lässt, kommt die
ganze Komplexität der Vorgaben eben umso deutlicher
zum Vorschein und illustriert selbst auf diese Weise
echt afrikanische Wirklichkeit. Hierfür bei betroffenen
Kreisen tieferes Verständnis zu wecken und gleichzeitig
zu weiteren Forschungen anzuregen, ist dem Verfasser
dieser Studie wohl voll gelungen.
Eugen Nunnenmacher
Crawford, Michael (ed.): Anthropological Genetics.
Theory, Methods, and Applications. Cambridge; Cam-
bridge University Press, 2007. 476 pp. ISBN 978-0-521-
54697-3. Price: £35.00
Die vorliegende Sammelschrift zur Anthropogenetik
strebt ein zweifaches Ziel an, einerseits die Standort-
bestimmung des seit den 1960em ständig gewachse-
nen humanbiologischen, medizinischen und anthropolo-
gischen Forschungsfeldes und andererseits die Revision
der durch rapiden technischen und methodologischen
Fortschritt systematisch veränderten anthropologischen
Interpretationsraster. Wer wäre für die Herausgabe ei-
nes solchen Werkes zur Standortbestimmung der an-
thropologischen Genetik geeigneter als der in Lawrence
(Kansas) forschende Genetiker Michael Crawford, der
u. a. in Co-Herausgeberschaft mit P. L. Workman oder
J. H. Mielke sowie als langjähriger Editor in Chief von
Human Biology und auch als höchst renommierter Autor
seit Dezennien dieses breite Themenfeld durch Feld- und
Laborforschung abdeckt. Die Initiative für die Planung
des an fortgeschrittene Studierende gerichteten Buchs
kam vom Exekutivkomitee der American Association
of Anthropological Genetics (AAAG), denn im Gegen-
satz zu der Vielzahl humangenetischer Lehrbücher, in
584
Rezensionen
denen es vorwiegend um Mechanismen und Prozesse
von Krankheiten, um Familien- und Zwillingsproban-
den, um urbane und klinische Stichproben, um eth-
nisch, sozioökonomisch und auf Grund des Lebensstils
heterogene Kollektive ohne hinreichende Berücksichti-
gung der Umweltvariation geht, d. h. vorwiegend um die
Dichotomie von Krankheit und Normalität, weicht der
Fokus der Anthropogenetik davon ab. Letzterer geht es
nach Crawford um die breitere biokulturale Perspektive
bezüglich der Erbe-Umwelt-Interaktionen, populations-
genetisch ausgerichtete Stammbaumanalysen zur Erfas-
sung der Verwandtschaftsähnlichkeiten, kleine reproduk-
tiv isolierte, vorwiegend nicht westliche Bevölkerungen,
kulturell homogene Populationen, Normvariationen und
Versuche zur Kennzeichnung und Messung von Um-
welteinflüssen sowie das Studium normaler Variation
komplexer Merkmale. Dieser inhaltlichen Kennzeich-
nung (nach M.Crawford: Anthropological Genetics in
the 21st Century. Introduction. Human Biology 72.2000:
3-13) entspricht das Konzept des Bandes weitgehend.
Vom Herausgeber stammt das Einführungskapitel
über die Konstituierung des Faches, eine wichtige Ru-
brik für jene, die insbesondere die exponentielle Ent-
wicklungsphase der 2. Hälfte des letzten Jahrhunderts
nicht direkt miterlebt haben, und ein Muss für Wis-
senschaftshistoriker. Es folgt ein theoretischer Teil mit
zwei Kapiteln. L. Madrigal und G. Barbujani greifen
die Frage der Existenz von “Rassen” als biologische
Einheiten unterhalb der Art auf, ein Problem der po-
litical correctness, das im rechtsmedizinischen, biome-
dizinischen und epidemiologischen Kontext von höchst
aktueller Bedeutung ist. Die Position geht konform mit
der der American Association of Anthropology, der sich
auch die Gesellschaft für Anthropologie angeschlossen
hat; der eminenten Bedeutung halber sei hier aus der
Schlussfolgerung zitiert; “... given the overwhelming
evidence for more Variation within than among races, it
is unlikely that differences among groups are genetic in
nature but are more likely due to other socially derived
factors such as poverty and racism” (32).
Im 3. Kapitel behandeln J. D. Terwilliger und J. H.
Lee die Überlappung von Anthropogenetik und gene-
tischer Epidemiologie. Ihr Plea ist, die Expertise von
Physischen Anthropologen und Kulturanthropologen mit
der der Kliniker, Bioingenieure, Humangenetiker, Epi-
demiologen und Biostatistiker zu kombinieren, um Ri-
siken intersubjektiv einschätzen zu können und in der
Humangenetik mehr aus der “reinen” Wissenschaftsper-
spektive als der der technophilen Bioingenieurwissen-
schaften nachzudenken.
In Teil 2 schildert Crawford als weltweit erfahrener
Feldforscher an exemplarischen Untersuchungen in La-
teinamerika (Tlaxcaltecan Projekt), Sibirien (Evenki und
Kets) und den Aleuten die methodischen Arbeitsschritte
von der Planung bis zum Befund und das ständige
Lernen aus Fehlem. Es ist sehr beruhigend zu lesen,
dass er sich immer bewusst ist, dass Anthropologen
Probanden untersuchen - keine Patienten - und dass
die Zusammenarbeit ethischen Prinzipien folgen muss
mit dem Ziel “... for the greater good of humanity”
(107). Da die indigenen nordamerikanischen Stämme,
z. B. Navajo, Pirna und Papago, aufgrund der Nähe
zu großen Universitäten über Gebühr häufig untersucht
wurden, sosehr, dass “one Native group jokes that their
extended families consist of a mother, father, children,
and an anthropologist” (105), ist die ethische Forderung
eine “wirkliche Partnerschaft” (106).
Im 5. Kapitel behandeln J. H. Mielke und A. G. Fix
den essentiellen Zusammenhang zwischen anthropolo-
gischer Genetik und Demographie, denn ohne die Be-
völkerungsstruktur und -dynamik zu analysieren (z. B-
Heiratsstmktur, Migrationsgeschichte, Populationsgro-
ßenschwankungen) sind keine gültigen genetischen und
epidemiologischen Interpretationen möglich. In Kap1'
tel 6 beschreiben R. C. Rubicz, P. E. Melton und
M. Crawford die in jüngster Zeit extrem angewachsene
Methodenbasis und die höchst aufschlussreichen seX
chromosomalen autosomalen molekularen Marker, w,e
Collagen genes (COL1A2), Single nucleotide polym°r'
phisms (SNPs), ferner Short tandem repeats (STRs), M1'
nisatelliten oder VNTRs, Telomerarrays, Retroelemen-
te sowie RAPDs. Schließlich wird die Bedeutung de1
Y-chromosomalen und mitochondrialen DNA-Marker
und deren populationsgenetische Analyse (u. a. natuf'
liehe Selektion, Mutation, Genfluss und -drift) diskutiert,
jene kraftvollen Instramente zur Genkartierung un
Genomanalyse. Dieses Methodenkapitel zählt zu den
stärksten des Buches und sollte in jedem populatiou8
genetischen Kurs als Fundament gelehrt werden.
Das 7. Kapitel stammt von J. Relethford und w*rl
die interessante Frage auf, warum bei der Vielzahl moie
kulargenetischer Informationen überhaupt noch quantl
tative Merkmale untersucht werden. Ein Exkurs üu
Heritabilität, R-Matrizen und FST-Werte und genetisc e
Distanzen sowie ein Kapitel, welches danach fragt, ^
wir von quantitativen Merkmalen gelernt haben und °
die natürliche Selektion die Populationsgeschichte auS
löscht oder verdunkelt, sind eine notwendige sachm
Abrundung zur heutigen Bedeutung kraniometrisen ’
biometrischer und dentalanthropologischer Muster u^
der Analyse der Intra- und Intergruppenvariabilität
Populationen. Die Aussage ist eindeutig (und mag e,u o
Anthropologen verwundern, die nur auf moderne
ker setzen und metrische Untersuchungen verpou
auch quantitative Merkmale sind bedeutungsvoll, n18
sondere die Analyse kraniometrischer Merkmale ist
anderer Zugang zur Erschließung der Vergangenheit-
Zur Abrundung des Methodenteils hat D. H. O
(Kapitel 8) die Möglichkeiten und Grenzen von aD
Analysen beschrieben, die als Ansatz zur Rekonstr ^
on der menschlichen Evolution und Geschichte die *
Sehr sympathisch ist der wiederholte Hinweis au
pitfalls des Verfahrens, dem bei Einhaltung di z.^[
Standards in toto eine brillante Zukunft prognostiz
werden kann. ¿eJ-
In Teil 3 geht es um allgemeine Anwendungen^
Molekulargenetik in der Rechtsmedizin (M. Schan ^
die Applikation von Fluoreszenz-Verfahren (z. B_ r)
matische Fluoreszenz DNA-Sequenzierung; E- n-
und die Kartierung von Genen, die die Variation
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
585
titativer Merkmale beeinflussen (J. Blangero, J. T. Wil-
liams, L. Almasy und S. Williams-Blangero). Die Stan-
dardverfahren der Molekularbiologie, die in den Kapi-
teln 9 bis 11 didaktisch brillant abgehandelt werden,
stellen eine ausgefeilte Basis für die Einführung in prak-
tische Übungen dar.
Im vierten und letzten Teil geht es um die “Human
Diaspora” und die Ursprünge der Menschheit in und
außerhalb Afrikas (Kapitel 12 von S.A. Tishkoff und
M. K. Gonder). Interessant ist der Befund, dass trotz der
allgemeinen Unterstützung des Recent African Origin
Model .. some ancient lineages have been found in
Asia, raising the possibility of low levels of admixture
between modern and archaic humans outside of Africa”
(364). Das hört sich sehr nach Relethfords “mostly out
°f Africa”-Modell an, was eher auf einen Kompromiss
zwischen RAO- und MRE-Modell hinauslaufen könnte.
Methodenfortschritt wird auch hier Rat bringen. Kapi-
tel 13 behandelt die Besiedlung Europas, insbesonde-
re die Wellen im Jungpaläo-, Meso- und Neolithikum
(B. Arredi, E. S. Poloni, C. Tyler-Smith). Die wach-
senden Datensammlungen über Y-chromosomale und
mtDNA-Befunde an historischem und rezentem Material
lassen hier in nächster Zeit, z. B. über genetische Da-
ten im Zusammenhang mit der Genetik von Hautfarbe
nnd Ernährung sowie differenzierten Selektionsmodel-
ten, spannende Befunde erwarten. Das gilt auch für die
Besiedlung Ozeaniens (Kapitel 14: E. Matisoo-Smith)
ünd die Lösung der Kontroversen um die prähistorische
Kolonisation von Nord- und Südamerika (Kapitel 15;
К M. Salzano).
Besonders lesenswert ist das 16. Kapitel aus der Fe-
tter von H. C. Harpending, der nach Wunsch des Heraus-
gebers ein wenig “science fiction” verfassen und “sich
gehen lassen” sollte. Herausgekommen ist ein exzellen-
ter knapper Überblick zum Status quo der Forensik, der
Medizinischen Genetik, der Menschheitsgeschichte so-
wte zur andauernden Selektion, ein würdiger Abschluss
für ein wichtiges und eigenständiges Herausgeberwerk,
°tes mit einem komplexen Index abschließt und mit
Zahlreichen Literaturzitaten zu den einzelnen Kapiteln
§espickt ist.
Obwohl Michael Crawfords Konzept in einigen Fäl-
en durch kurzfristige Absagen der ursprünglich vorge-
sehenen Autoren nach seiner Aussage nicht ganz die
§ePlante Form erlangte und durch eigene Beiträge ab-
gerundet werden musste, ist das dem Werk nicht anzu-
teerken, weshalb dem Nestor der anthropologischen Ge-
stik hohes Lob auszusprechen ist. Herausgeberschaften
eine alte Erfahrung - schaffen mehr Frust als wis-
senschaftliche Befriedigung. Wenn dann letztlich doch
, tenrnelschriften wie diese entstehen, hat sich die Mühe
^heraus gelohnt - und bitte Michael: weitermachen,
enn die rasant fortschreitende Anthropogenetik der
'Jrnmenden Jahre braucht Updates wie diese.
Winfried Henke
Davidson, Jamie S., and David Henley (eds.):
e Revival of Tradition in Indonesian Politics. The
Knth
Deployment of adat from Colonialism to Indigenism.
London: Routledge, 2007. 377 pp. ISBN 978-0-415-
41597-2. Price: £95.00
The study of traditional law has fascinated social
anthropologists from the very beginning since its estab-
lishment as a subject of social sciences in the nineteenth
century. Research on traditional, oral (i.e., noncodified)
law started as soon as European powers established
themselves as colonial masters in Africa, Asia, and
elsewhere by searching the nature and rules of so-called
“indigenous” law, relying mainly on the testimonies of
traditional elites. Traditional law was considered of great
practical importance for colonial judges, administrators,
and others in their daily matters in the colonies. This
often implied a usage of the term “law” in a strictly
European sense, not distinguishing between “law” and
“custom” or “tradition,” with considerable consequences
for the administration in European colonies, e.g., for
questions on land rights, traditional authority, or hered-
itary titles. Especially in the Netherlands East Indies,
present-day Indonesia, law studies had a very strong
focus on the so-called adat, an indigenized term de-
riving from an Arabic word which is found today in
most local languages of Indonesia and might be loosely
translated as “custom, tradition, (oral) law.” The efforts
of well-known Dutch colonial scholars such as C. van
Vollenhoven, C. Snouck Hurgronje, G. A. Wilken, B. ter
Haar, and others in the late nineteenth and the first half
of the twentieth century had an immense impact on
the conduct of the colony and, rather ironically, was
incorporated via Dutch-trained nationalists - especially
Raden Soepomo, Mohammad Hatta, and Soetomo must
be mentioned here - also into the constitution and laws
of the then new independent Republic of Indonesia.
The book reviewed here covers the development of
adat studies and its consequences from colonial times,
the early years of the Indonesian Republic up to actual
political and juridicial problems in the post-Soeharto
era. Considering the great importance of the subject,
it is somewhat surprising that a book on Indonesian
adat with an interdisciplinary approach has not appeared
earlier. This book edited by David Henley and Jamie
Davidson successfully fills this gap. It is the result of
a workshop which took place in Batam, Indonesia, in
2004 and combines articles by ethnologists, historians,
jurists, political scientists as well as NGO activists.
The reviewer can only discuss a few details of the
chapters as there is no space here to give every article
the attention which they deserve. The book contains 14
chapters and was provided with a very useful introduc-
tion by the editors of about 50 pages. This long introduc-
tory chapter of Davidson and Henley gives an overview
of the state of the art and also makes short references
to the following chapters. The editors discuss the his-
torical development of adat studies and the ideological
backgrounds of Dutch and early nationalist Indonesian
authors which sometimes bear close resemblances to
rather fascist blood-and-soil ideologies (25) which are
still very prominent in political discourses not only in
Indonesia, but also in neighbouring states like Malaysia,
lfopos 103.2008
586
Rezensionen
Brunei Darussalam, or Thailand. Furthermore the strong
importance of adat studies for contemporary indigenous
peoples’ movements in Indonesia is highlighted (4),
often combined with a certain nostalgia for colourful
and stabile pasts.
The following chapters discuss developments and
debates during colonial times (Fasseur, Bums) and con-
tinuities as well as discontinuities of adat from colo-
nialism to independent Indonesia (Henley, Bourchier).
Both Fasseur and Burns note the immense impact which
the Leiden law scholar Cornelis van Vollenhoven made
on the study of indigenous law in the Netherlands East
Indies up to World War II. While Burns’s focus lies
on conceptions and misconceptions of adat by Dutch
scholars (e.g., the equalization of “custom” and “law,”
pp. 68 ff.), the article of Fasseur also discusses debates
on and the consequences of this dual system of law in
colonial Indonesia (i.e., Dutch law plus/versus indige-
nous law) as a “colonial dilemma” (55 ff.). Henley’s ar-
ticle covers the history and role of cooperatives (Indone-
sian koperasi) for Indonesian societies. He successfully
unmasks Indonesian cooperatives based on adat which
were propagated by such diverse personalities like Dutch
scholar J. H. Boeke, Indonesian nationalist Mohammad
Hatta, or Indonesian social anthropologist Koentjaran-
ingrat as invented traditions in the Hobsbawmian sense
of the term (94 ff.). Bourchier emphasizes the role of
adat in the Indonesian political imagination and its cur-
rent revival in sociopolitical discourses. Especially some
activist groups seem to have rather romantic notions of
adat and tend to stress it in their policies more than
human rights or indigenous peoples’ rights (113 ff.).
The following chapters have a strong focus on poli-
tics and indigenous peoples’ rights. They either have a
nationwide approach (chapters 6, 7, 12) or an emphasis
on rather large ethnic groups like the Minangkabau
of Westsumatra or the Balinese (chapters 8, 9) or on
rather marginalized groups in Kalimantan, Flores, and
Sulawesi (chapters 10, 11, 13, 14, 15). Special mention
shall be made on the excellent discussion of the return
of traditional Islamic rulers into the field of political
activities by van Klinken (chapter 7). The claims of
power of traditional ruling elites seem to mushroom
since the end of the New Order regime of the Indonesian
military: while before 1998 only three former sultanates
have reinstalled new rulers (i.e., Aceh, Banten, and Ter-
nate), there has been a mushrooming of former sultans
and rajas after the step-down of President Soeharto in
May 1998 (152 ff.). Many of these former elites are
not satisfied any more with their symbolic role they
played for quite some time and insist for more powerful
positions.
Many articles stay quite close to their subject and
do not cover deep theoretical discussions or compara-
tive approaches which cover regions beyond Indonesia.
However, the use of studies of law by historians of
medieval Europe might have deepened many insights.
The reviewer would like to refer here only to the im-
portant essay by M. T. Clanchy “Remembering the Past
and the Good Old Law” {History 55.1970: 165-176)
or the book “Kingdoms and Communities in Western
Europe, 900-1300” (Oxford 1984) by Susan Reynolds.
But this is only a minor flaw.
Overall, the editors delivered a well-edited book
which is highly useful not only for specialists in In-
donesia, but also for anthropologists, historians, and po-
litical scientists in general. The broadness of approaches
makes this volume also a very good reference work for
teaching purposes for undergraduate and postgraduate
classes. The chapters generally are all well-written and
show a great expertise and scholarship of each author
in his respective field. What a pity that the usual far
too high price of the publishing house may hinder a
wider distribution of this excellent book. Private readers
will unfortunately have to wait for a cheaper paperback
edition. Holger Warnk
Deimel, Claus; nawesari. Texte aus der Sierra Tara-
humara. (monografia rarämuri II) Berlin: Dietrich Rel'
mer Verlag, 2001. 210 pp. ISBN 3-496-02720-7. (Völ-
kerkundliche Abhandlungen, 14) Preis; € 72.00
Nach Band 1 der Monografia Rarämuri “Die ritu-
ellen Heilungen der Tarahumara” widmet sich Clan8
Deimel im 2. Band “nawesari. Texte aus der Sierra
Tarahumara” den rituellen Sprechgesängen der Tarahu
mara (auch Rarämuri genannt), die in Nordwestmexik0
leben. Die Nawesari genannten Sprechgesänge weiden
z. B. zu Beginn von Versammlungen und im Verl an
von Maisbierzeremonien vorgetragen. Diese Reden m
fen zu Zeremonien auf und ermahnen die Zuhörer zU
einem “richtigen Handeln im Sinne der religiösen U
bote”. Ein Nawesari zeigt inhaltliche Charakteristik^
wie die Nennung der Vorfahren als Vorbilder, auch 1
er formal durch eine besondere Sprechweise (sermonl
sierender Sprechgesang) und häufige Wiederholung
charakterisiert. Bei den Zuhörern erfordert der
trag eines Nawesari eine spezielle, Respekt bezeugen
Haltung.
Die im Kontext religiöser Zeremonien entstan
nen Nawesari stehen jedoch nicht im Mittelpunkt
Veröffentlichung, denn die Rituale und dazugehörig
Sprechgesänge waren Thema des 1. Bandes der
nografia Rarämuri. Gegenstand dieser Veröffentlich
sind Reden von Rarämuri über ihre Kultur und ihre ^
tuale, d. h. durch den Autor Claus Deimel angeregt®’ a
Tonband aufgezeichnete Erklärungen. Um ihre K
angemessen darzustellen, wählten die Informanten
Form des rituellen Sprechgesangs. 6,
Behandelt werden neun Reden zur Maisbierz®
monie (31-73) und zwei Reden zur Peyotezerernr)
(74-103). Darauf folgen zwei Reden im rituellen ^
text: einmal die Rede eines Heilers (104-144) un ^
mal die Rede eines offiziellen Sprechers (Seriarne) ^
Anlass des Osterfestes (145-162). Es folgen a^^ußge
Worte und Beispiele aus dem Volkshumor und a ^
Redewendungen (163-188), Informationen zu
tierten Rednern (191-96) sowie ein Glossar (19 en
Im Unterschied zu den eigens für den Et n^s^.0-
gehaltenen Nawesari werden die im Kontext g
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
587
ebenen von den Zuhörern ergänzt. Bei der Rede zum
Osterfest sind es beiläufige Wortgeplänkel von Anwe-
senden, die die Rede gewissermaßen einleiten, bei der
Rede zu einer Heilzeremonie erwecken die Zwischen-
rufe von Anwesenden den Eindruck, der Heiler müsse
sich mit seiner Rede gegen diese Widerstände und Un-
terbrechungen durchsetzen und die Oberhand behalten.
Diese Reden im rituellen Kontext zeigen damit einen
wichtigen Punkt auf, den Deimel “Sprachklima” nennt.
Für einen Nawesari gibt es keine endgültige, festgelegte
Form, sondern er ist abhängig von den Zuhörern. So
gibt Deimel zu bedenken, dass in den eigens für ihn
gehaltenen Nawesari das gesagt wurde, von dem man
glaubte, dass es für ihn wichtig sei. Dass es keine allge-
meingültige Form eines Textes gibt, ist in Gesellschaften
mit mündlich weitergegebener Tradition wohl üblich;
für Menschen, die mit schriftlich tradierter Kultur auf-
gewachsen sind, ist dies jedoch keine Selbstverständ-
lichkeit.
Wiedergegeben sind die Texte auf Rarämuri, in ei-
ner Interlinearübersetzung und einer zusammenfassen-
den Übersetzung des Autors. Konfrontiert wird der Le-
ser dabei mit dem Übersetzungsproblem. Zahlreiche
Wortpartikel werden in älteren Übersetzungen als nicht
übersetzbar bzw. bedeutungslos eingestuft - eine Auf-
fassung, der Deimel widerspricht.
Auf den ersten Blick vermitteln die Nawesari - sei
es im rituellen Kontext, sei es um den Ethnologen und
seine Leser zu informieren - sehr wenig. Der Inhalt
!st nicht spektakulär, denn es werden altbekannte Din-
ge wieder und wieder gesagt. Ältere Sprecher entwi-
ckeln in ihrer Laufbahn einen individuellen Redestil,
üer das Verständnis weiter erschwert, denn diese Re-
den werden in sehr hohem Tempo, aber in charak-
teristischer Weise vorgetragen. Deimel vermutet, dass
dicht der Inhalt, sondern Art und Melodie des Vortrags
v°n größerer Bedeutung sind, wobei er auf die latei-
nische Liturgie in der christlichen Tradition verweist,
die ja auch für einen Großteil der Zuhörer unverständ-
lich war. Ein vom Inhalt unverständlicher, aber stets
ln ähnlicher Form dargebotener Text mag für einen
Zuhörer eine ganz eigene Wirkung entfalten, indem ein-
?elne Wortteile oder Passagen Gefühle ausdrücken, Er-
tenerungen heraufbeschwören, Assoziationen auslösen
° Ä. Eine beliebte Redewendung in vielen Nawesari
lst “risoa” (= in Schwere, leidend), die nach Deimel
keine bedeutungslose Floskel, sondern Ausdruck eines
Gefühls ist. Die Texte thematisieren nach seiner Auffas-
SUng “eine mit christlichen Elementen gefärbte india-
nische Leidensgeschichte” und “monotone Klage über
¡ke Unmöglichkeit des Entrinnens aus dem kollektiven
beiden”.
Fei den Rarämuri ist es nicht üblich, erklärend und
tetelysierend über religiöse Dinge zu sprechen. Deimel
,uigt diesem Usus, indem er die Texte im Rarämuri-Stil
Überliefert und dem Leser überlässt, was er daraus über
eine Kultur lernen kann, die der Religion den Vor-
'jteg sogar vor materiellem Wohlbefinden einräumt. Die
eststellung, dass das “Eigentliche” in den Nawesari
Erborgen bleibt, legt nahe, es nicht zu suchen und
Anthropos 103.2008
in analytischen Deutungen einzukreisen, sondern es als
gegeben vorauszusetzen. Die Rarämuri geben sich mit
der Tradition zufrieden, die ihnen religiöses Wissen nur
uneigentlich und indirekt vermittelt und überliefert, aber
letztlich auf diese Weise doch erschließt.
Brigitte Wiesenbauer
Diamond, Jared M.: Collapse. How Societies Choose
to Fail or Succeed. London; Penguin Books, 2006.
575pp. ISBN 978-0-14-027951-1. Price: £9.99
Ringmar, Erik: The Mechanics of Modernity in Eu-
rope and East Asia. The Institutional Origins of Social
Change and Stagnation. London: Routledge, 2005.256 pp.
ISBN 978-0-415-34254-4. (Routledge Explorations in
Economic History, 29) Price: £85.00
Schmidt, Volker H. (ed.); Modernity at the Begin-
ning of the 21st Century. Newcastle: Cambridge Schol-
ars Publishing, 2007. 232 pp. ISBN 978-1-84718-302-6.
Price: € 47.84
The biologist Jared Diamond tackles in his book
“Collapse” one of the most interesting questions of the
history of mankind. Why do some societies destruct
their own foundations? Why do rulers sometimes take
decisions that lead to the destruction of their societies?
What is the meaning of the results from the past for
our contemporary world? Can we avoid an ecological
collapse? This is not the first book of Diamond tackling
many centuries of human history. His book “Guns,
Germs, and Steel” (New York 1997) has dealt with
no less than 13,000 years of human history. Diamond
received the Pulitzer Prize for this book. Since then,
the biologist is an academic superstar according to the
Washington Post.
The book reviewed here discusses collapses of so-
cieties. The author asks for the conditions why some
societies break down and why others survive even to
major crises. Only by reading carefully the book, the
reader learns that Diamond has reduced this question to
the ecological collapse. According to Diamond, wrong
decisions lead societies to failure. Diamond’s main in-
terest originates in the present and his comparative anal-
ysis should permit us to obtain information in order to
avoid current or future catastrophes. The author discuss-
es this topic without acknowledging disciplinary and
territorial frontiers. A special trait of the book is that
the author gets lost in personal anecdotic stories and
the great variety of Diamond’s examples contributes to
the fact that the readers have difficulties to follow the
argument.
The book is composed of a prologue and 16 chapters
of different length. An important part of the book is de-
voted to notes where Diamond gives further literature on
the different topics, and sometimes, lengthy digressions
on cultures that he doesn’t treat in the main text. Thus
the book spans over the entire world. In the introduc-
tion, the author defines the “collapse” of a society: “By
collapse, I mean a drastic decrease in human population
size and/or political/economic/social complexity, over a
considerable area, for an extended time” (3). Diamond
588
Rezensionen
isolates five factors that may lead to a collapse of a soci-
ety; ecological damages caused by men, climatic change,
hostile neighbours, friendly commercial partners, and
the more or less vague category of the behaviour of
a society regarding its environmental problems. After
lengthy chapters on the Easter Island, the Mayas, the
Vikings, Rwanda, the Dominican Republic and Haiti,
China, and Australia, the chapters 14, 15, and 16 are
consecrated to the practical lessons that Diamond can
deduce from this sort of global history. Under differ-
ent headings, Diamond discusses in chapter 14, which
is rather interesting, the following topics; “Road Map
for Success,” “Failure to Anticipate,” “Failure to Per-
ceive,” “Rational Bad Behaviour,” “Disastrous values,”
“Other Irrational Failures,” “Unsuccessful Solutions,”
and “Signs of Hope.” According to him, the failure to
anticipate arrives when a problem is new or if people
can no longer remember the already found solutions;
the slowness of change may lead to deficits when the
change is realized by different generations and if there
is a missing knowledge on problematic situations; the
missing endeavour to find a solution among elites if they
can separate themselves from the rest of the society; and
the last category is caused by the failure of efforts to
find a solution when these efforts are too feeble or too
expensive or when they arrive too late.
The positive aspect of the book is certainly that this
is history in a true sense: Diamond has asked what we
can leam for the present by studying the past. His book
has received a large public interest not only in the USA
and the UK but also in other major developed states
where it has been translated. Nevertheless, historical
scholars do not treat Diamond’s suggestions. In a highly
specialized scientific landscape, each member of the
academe has something to criticise in his book. Yet
one should not oversee that Diamond acts as a cultural
mediator who has tried to write a large synthesis that is
important for scientific progress. Sure, some descriptions
are superficial and can’t persuade. But “Collapse” is
an important political book. It is important because
of the presentation of rich materials in order to found
the hypothesis suggested and because of a proceeding
that has never forgotten the critical questions asked at
the beginning of the book. Diamond displays what the
possibilities are when we treat history in a comparative
manner. Thus the book challenges us even if Clifford
Geertz considered Diamond’s analysis as “remarkably
thin” in a sociological manner.
The second book I wish to review here is Ring-
mar’s “The Mechanics of Modernity in Europe and East
Asia.” This book is very interesting as it discusses the
differences and similarities between two regions that
challenge contemporary transformation studies and the
wider public. Ringmar asks the question why “from the
eighteenth century onwards, did some countries embark
on a path of sustained economic growth while other
stagnated?” (1). His conclusion is that institutions are
important to attain a possible sustained development.
This argument, as Ringmar displays in lengthy chapters
on China, Japan, and Europe, has important implications
for development processes in other parts of the world.
The institutions that Ringmar discusses are the follow-
ing: institutions that reflect such as scientific academies
and parliaments; go behind institutions that get things
done such as entrepreneurship, property rights, and fi-
nancial support; a third set of institutions are those that
deal with conflicts such as self-regulating institutions
(polite society, courts, power balance in the state and
related to parties, and the laissez-faire economic sys-
tem). These different factors are then described in their
actual outcomes in Europe and China. In a second step,
Ringmar compares the developments in these regions
and adds Japan as a further example.
The book is challenging insofar as the author shows
that change is brought about by institutional means and
not by the efforts and abilities of individuals. Ringmar
can demonstrate that many “institutions charged with
reflective, entrepreneurial, and conflict resolving tasks
existed in Europe, China, and Japan” (207). According
to him, differences in institutionalization can explain
the divergent developments of these societies. Chang6
that in previous societies was down to individuals and
good luck is in modern societies pursued by institutional
means. This argument has important consequences f°r
development models that Northern elites try to impl6'
ment in Southern countries and for the globalization
process that should have beneficial effects on P°°r
countries. According to Ringmar, “globalisation will • • •
help the poor while simultaneously reinforcing existing
worldwide inequalities” (209). Ringmar underlines that
the growing economy of China is based on “assuming
the role of a proletarian in the new international divisi°n
of labour. The Chinese are putting together cheap c°n
sumer goods for European and North American mark6!®
but they are responsible for little by means of mark
creation, research, or technological development” (20vf
According to Ringmar, the test for China is “wheth6^
the country would continue to change even with0
such external support... (international trade and f°reign
direct investments)” (209).
Ringmar argues in a concluding chapter that
velopment models are plural but for him institute ^
such as reflection, entrepreneurship, and pluralism ^
important even if the institutionalized efforts might
quite different. As other scholars, he argues that tn
are no alternatives to modernity and that “we all ta
the challenge of making our societies more modern t ^
they currently are” (215). Even if Ringmar’s appr°a^
is historical, the book is a pleasant and exciting r®a
for those interested in modernization and developm
The third book I would like to review here ^
collection of articles, edited by Volker H. Schmidt- ^
book assembles 9 chapters including an introduc
and a conclusion by the editor. Famous sociol°S ^
such as Mike Featherstone, Edward A. Tiryakian,
Alberto Martinelli have contributed to the vo a
nil Oi
Volker H. Schmidt’s aim is to discuss the notion
The
modernity at the beginning of the 21st century-
authors analyze thus different new varieties or asp
of modernity. According to Schmidt: “In the past
103-2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
589
century, modernity has not only penetrated its Western
birthplace much more deeply; it has also spread to other
World regions at a historically unprecedented pace. As
a result, modernity is now a genuinely global phenome-
non” (3).
The chapter of Hartmut Rosa is interesting insofar as
he suggests a theory of acceleration according to three
dimensions: “technological acceleration within society,”
"accelerations of society itself,” and “the acceleration
°f the pace of life” (5). According to him, “‘early’
modernity is the phase during which a substantial change
•n society’s basic structures required several generations,
during ‘classical’ or ‘high’ modernity, this pace was
reduced to one generation, and in the current phase
°f ‘late’ modernity, far-reaching change can occur in
a matter of just a few decades, i.e., at intra-generational
Pace” (5).
The chapter of Tiryakian focuses on cultural aspects
°f modernity and modernization. According to his read-
mg, the values espoused by Confucianism and Western
modernity “overlap to a significant extent” (6) so that a
dialogue should be opened in order to discuss the impact
°f culture and religion on development. The chapter of
^lartinelli focuses on the multiple modernities approach
that “deserves praise for having heightened our sense of
the variability of modern forms” (7). It is now common
knowledge that the spread of modernity to other world
regions has deeply influenced these “regions’ cultural
forms, social practices, and institutional arrangements”
(7). In the last chapter, the editor of this volume argues
that cultural aspects of modernity should not be over-
rated. Scholars should better analyze “the significance
°f structural forces” (7). Schmidt mentions that there is
an absence of definition of modernity in the literature
°n multiple modernities. This means that there are still
defenders of modernization theory such as Schmidt him-
self who argues that “social structural and institutional
Poculiarities of modem societies are ... ignored” by
defenders of the approach of multiple modernities (212).
*et according to him, and I think he is right, “neither
claim can be validated or invalidated by purely empirical
leans’’ (221). As a socio-anthropologist, I have tried for
lbe last years to collect empirical case studies around
different cultural topics and globalization, arguing for
'■ke appearance of similar stmctural phenomena in cul-
turally very different societies (U. Schuerkens [ed.],
Global Forces and Local Life-Worlds: Social Transfor-
mations. London 2004; “Transnational Migrations and
°cial Transformations.” Special issue of Current Soci-
m°Sy 53.2005.4/2; Local Socio-Economic Practices and
,°cial Transformations. London 2007). These publica-
d°ns show that there is something different that emerges
ban convergence between societies on a global level
°r global diversity. Depending on various elements, we
Can today find a mixture of global and local processes,
^ bich seems to go further than the approaches (multiple
Modernities vs. modernization theory) discussed here
sbggest. Insofar the discussion on modernity, as Schmidt
ubderlines, “is not over yet” (9).
Ulrike Schuerkens
Dieckmann, Ute: Hai(|om in the Etosha Region.
A History of Colonial Settlement, Ethnicity and Na-
ture Conservation. Basel: Easier Afrika Bibliogra-
phien, 2007. 398 pp. ISBN 978-3-905758-00-9. Price:
sfr 55.00
HaiHom is, in Ute Dieckmann’s view, an ethnic
category that has been shaped by colonization. Many
Hai||om hunt and gather, or have until recently hunted
and gathered for all their subsistence, and thus are
“Bushmen” or “San.” Yet they speak Khoekhoe, the
language of Damara and Nama herding communities.
Some work as labourers for Ovambo; some work for
white farmers; some own livestock themselves. Early
publications, such as those of medical doctor and am-
ateur ethnographer Lewis Fourie writing in the 1920s
and physical anthropologist Viktor Lebzelter writing in
the 1930s, saw Hai||om as Bushmen with some cultural
attributes picked up from their non-Bushman neigh-
bours. More recently Thomas Widlok, in his masterly
“Living on Mangetti” (Oxford 1999), portrays them as
“still a gathering people” but also as strategic gatherers,
hunters, labourers, and entrepreneurs who practise a
high degree of individual autonomy, albeit within so-
cial constraints of inside and outside forces. Dieckmann
puts this work in a larger, historical framework, with
an emphasis on recent developments in self-identity as
well as agency, and on past portrayals through govern-
ment documents as well as through the imagery of
ethnography.
Ute Dieckmann was involved in a car accident while
on the way to begin fieldwork in Outjo in 1998. Her
original intention had been to concentrate on HaiHom
land rights and identity, but her long recovery period
meant that when she returned to research she ended up
concentrating initially on archival material and historical
issues. When finally she was able to work in northern
Namibia, she followed through her historical approach
with the exploration of recent changes in Hai||om life
through interview data. This book, derived mainly from
her 2005 Ph.D. thesis at Cologne University, is the
result. It complements rather than duplicates the more
traditional social anthropological concerns of Widlok.
Whereas Widlok’s “Living on Mangetti” is mainly about
subsistence and exchange, he also gives descriptions of
other seasonal activities and broader issues in settlement
ecology, kin term usage, and naming practices, and
puberty rites, and medicine dances. Dieckmann’s tra-
ditional anthropological emphases are on local politics,
clientship, and, above all, ethnicity, but she describes
these against a background of precolonial representa-
tions (from 1850 to 1884), German colonial rule (1884
to 1915), South African rule and especially “Bushman
policy” (1915 to 1989), and Namibian policy since in-
dependence (21st March 1990).
Each chapter in Dieckmann’s book, except the intro-
duction and the closing ones on recent shifts in identity,
begins with a description of the scholarly and political
Zeitgeist and a discussion of representations by aca-
demics and the wider public. Then, in each case, this
is followed by contextual explications of the policies
Anth
,ropos 103.2008
590
Rezensionen
and practices of those holding political power, be these
precolonial armies, the German Schutztruppe, the South
African administration, or the Namibian government.
The earlier chapters contain the odd interesting quotation
from early sources, and the later chapters contain quo-
tations from Dieckmann’s informants. The latter bring
out particularly the complexity of the current struggles
of many Hai||om, now dispossessed for more than a
hundred years from some of their lands (not only Etosha
National Park, but also commercial and communal farm-
ing areas nearby).
One of the things I like best about the book is the
reinterpretation of older material, including occasion-
ally theoretical pronouncements. Documentary sources
and early ethnography are brought in, with exemplary
explanations, to show the changes in Hai||om lifestyles,
changes in relations with outsiders, and the development
of new perceptions by outsiders. There is some good
comparative discussion of the works of Renée Sylvain
and James Suzman on the Ju|’hoansi of the Omaheke.
Other works are touched on, such as Mathias Guenther’s
writings on the Naro of the Ghanzi district of Botswana,
though a little more of such comparison would have
been welcome. There is a great deal on contempo-
rary debates in NGO circles, for example on how to
display “culture,” when “to play the Bushman card,”
how to organize, and “bottom-up” versus “top-down”
development approaches. Most of this material is local
rather than theoretical, and appropriately, comparisons
are generally kept within the framework of southern
African and in fact San studies.
There is not as much as one might expect directly
on the Kalahari Debates either of the 1890s or of the
1990s (traditional versus revisionist ideas on culture
contact) or on the current “Indigenous Peoples” Debate
(whether to go down the track of general human rights
or of special “indigenous” rights for San). What there
is on the latter is framed in terms of NGO and legal
discussions more than on the theoretical papers that have
very recently appeared (only starting about the time of
the thesis version of the book) by anthropologists. Yet
there is plenty of excellent material with which to argue
such cases. Indeed, these older and current debates come
alive through the details provided here - at least as long
as the reader has some familiarity with the gist of such
discussions.
The book is nicely supplemented with a foreword
by Robert Gordon, a good index, and plenty of maps,
figures, tables, and photographs. In all it is an excellent
piece of work, much more interesting and readable than
the average Ph.D. thesis. Some of the book is probably
too specialist to gain immediate favour with a wider
public or indeed an academic audience much beyond
Africanists. Nevertheless, it is so well-written, and the
story that it tells so deserving of a large readership
within African studies and beyond, that it can be widely
recommended. Certainly it should appeal to students of
history, social anthropology, development studies, and
interdisciplinary African studies alike.
Alan Barnard
Engelke, Matthew: A Problem of Presence. Beyond
Scripture in an African Church. Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2007. 304 pp. ISBN 978-0-520-24904-
2. (The Anthropology of Christianity, 2) Price: $ 21-95
This is a study of the Friday as Sabbath Church in
Zimbabwe, Central Africa. This is one of several African
apostolic churches which derived from the teachings of
Shoniwa Masedza, a Shona who in 1932 became ill and
was then possessed by the Holy Spirit and renamed
himself as the Prophet Johane Masowe (John of the
Wilderness). The author did research on this church m
1993, 1996, and 1999, mainly in urbanized areas near
the capital city of Harare. The Friday as Sabbath Church
differs from some other related apostolic churches by
observing Friday as the sabbath, by its members not
living in separate communities, by having little organi-
zational hierarchy and a loose organization, by accepting
modern medicine in conjunction with faith healing, and
most strikingly by not reading the Bible. Indeed, they
reject all recorded religious literature, even preventing
anyone recording their sermons and sacred songs. This
aversion toward written material made it difficult f°^
any researcher to collect data on exactly what was
said
or sung at meetings. Clearly the author has a sharp
memory. The absence of formal church organization
further complicated this study. What is important to
these people is the immediacy of spiritual experience-
the manifestation of spirit as it transfigures persona
thoughts and feelings as manifest in speech and song
at religious assemblies. Church members are suspici°uS
of any materialistic representation of spirit or behe ’
Hence, they distrust the Bible and, indeed, any writ16*1
word because these traduce the ineffable Holy Sp,rl '
The intense and immediate state of ecstatic religi°u^
experience, audible in speech and song, is the neare-
one can come to contact with the Holy Spirit. Frequ£
church attendance, prayer, and singing are thought
revive and intensify such contact.
Friday as Sabbath assemblies are held outdoors.
materiality of buildings is thought to inhibit holy c°nta^0
and expression. All church members are subject
spiritual inspiration, but elders and prophets (who &
be of any age) are especially authoritative. Prophets
selected by the Holy Spirit to speak the divine messa
elders provide governance and advice in monitoring
even validating prophets’ messages. . ^
While members of all ethnic groups were adrni
to this church, it is mainly a Shona institution and Sn
beliefs and language infuse its character. Men d°nu
its leadership although women are sometimes pr0P
and many serve as elders over other women. The g
arose due to African disaffection from colonial Chn
churches which were dominated by White outs1,
and consequently not sympathetic to many A ^
needs and forms of expression. The Bible was reJe^,aS
because it too was associated with colonialists,
viewed as an historical document no longer re
to current African needs which centre around he ^
psychological, medical, and social ills. The . an
churches were keen to sunoress manv traditional
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
591
beliefs and practices that were considered injurious to
modem living such as ancestral veneration, consultation
With diviners and curers, and the practice of witchcraft
and sorcery. These were not seen as erroneous beliefs,
in the way they were seen by White Christians, but
rather as truly existing and, therefore, potent sources
°f misfortune and illness. African apostolic Christians
thought that the Holy Spirit could be recruited to
combat such menaces. Consequently, most Africans
joined the Friday as Sabbath Church seeking treatment
for particular and immediate misfortune and illness, not
°n account of any vague spiritual angst.
Engelke’s study is strongest in its concern with un-
derstanding religious states of mind, with how people
explain their religious situation. It is helpful in explain-
ing how members relate belief and testimony to healing.
Most useful of all is the author’s consideration of how
sound is manifest in speech and songs, how it is thought
to incarnate spirit in ways not possible through more
materialistic forms. Holy speech and song are signs
of spiritual empowerment and authority. The author is
iess successful in showing how such African church
groups are organized and how authority is maintained
and exerted, much less in showing the political and
economic factors affecting such groups and their leaders.
Such strengths and weaknesses are probably inevitable
’f one attempts to describe a group hostile to all recorded
Material.
Almost half of the book (42%) is devoted to broad
theoretical discussion and to fitting apostolic Christian-
% into other studies of Christianity in Africa. Much is
also devoted to a history of mission policy and theory
ln Africa. This is informed and interesting discussion
though sometimes not very helpful for understanding
the particulars of the Friday as Sabbath Church. The
remaining 58% of the study presents ethnography. This
c°ntains biographies of various members and leaders
and general accounts of how services and healing cere-
monies work. This seems the best the author could be
eXpected to provide given the difficulties faced. Even so,
11 seems to me that as an anthropologist he would have
found wider and deeper manifestations of Shona culture
aud society in this material had he provided more of an
account of Shona culture and everyday life.
This is a stimulating and thoughtful study. Sadly, the
current political and economic disaster in contemporary
Zimbabwe leave me wondering how the Sabbath as
Friday Church has fared, even though its members have
repeatedly claimed they are disengaged from political
a°d materialistic affairs. T. O. Beidelman
A Finnegan, Ruth: The Hidden Musicians. Music-
Making in an English Town. Middletown: Wesleyan
University Press, 2007. 378 pp. ISBN 978-0-8195-6853-
Price: $ 27.95
'The Hidden Musicians” ist kein neues Buch. Die
em Werk zugrunde liegenden Forschungsarbeiten wur-
,.eu zwischen 1980 und 1984 durchgeführt, die Erstver-
°ffentlichung in gebundener Ausgabe erfolgte 1989 bei
Muhropos 103.2008
der Cambridge University Press. Nachfolgende Bespre-
chungen waren durchweg positiv, ja bisweilen enthu-
siastisch, allerdings entsprangen sie nahezu ausschließ-
lich dem Umfeld der anglophonen Ethnomusikologie,
der anglophonen Folklore- oder Popularmusikforschung
sowie den Cultural Studies; eine Rezension erschien
in dem alternativen Kulturszeneblatt Village Voice aus
New York City. Im Jahre 2007 ist die lange erwartete
Neuauflage des Buchs, versehen mit einem neuen zwei-
ten Vorwort, als Paperback in der renommierten Reihe
Music/Culture der Wesleyan University Press erschie-
nen, die sich vordergründig Studien zu zeitgenössischer
Folklore und Popularmusik widmet. Was, so ist nun zu
fragen, macht den Erfolg dieser Studie im anglophonen
Sprachraum aus und warum könnte das Buch auch für
deutschsprachige Ethnologen interessant sein, die bis-
lang vergleichsweise geringe Resonanz zeigten?
Ruth Finnegan ist in erster Linie durch ihre zahlrei-
chen Untersuchungen zur Oralität und zu oralen Aus-
drucksformen in Afrika und im pazifischen Raum be-
kannt geworden. Dass dort solche Diktionen häufig mit
Musik einhergehen, ist einer der Gründe, der Finne-
gan zu einer Arbeit über musikalische Erscheinungen
inspirierte. Ein anderer war ihr persönliches musika-
lisches Engagement in ihrem Wohnort Milton Keynes
nordwestlich von London. Vor diesem Hintergrund kon-
zentriert sich das Buch weder auf herausragende lokale
Musikerpersönlichkeiten noch auf metalokal bekannte
Musikstars - zwei Themenbereiche, die die Popular-
musikforschung oft ins Zentrum ihrer Betrachtungen
stellt. “The Hidden Musicians” dokumentiert vielmehr
umfassend die musikalische Praxis in einer mittelgroßen
englischen Stadt, nämlich Milton Keynes. Diese Art der
Annäherung setzte in den 1980er Jahren nicht nur für die
Popularmusikforschung neue Akzente, sondern bedeutet
zugleich eine Hinwendung zur urbanen Ethnographie.
Ohne ihre Perspektive näher zu erörtern oder gar mit der
damals aktuellen theoretischen Diskussion zu verbin-
den, begegnet Finnegan mit dieser Betrachtungsweise
dem musikalischen Leben und Alltag einer europäischen
Stadt in ähnlicher Weise, wie sich Musikethnologen
der musikalischen Praxis von außereuropäischen Gesell-
schaften annähern. “The Hidden Musicians” ist daher
im besten Sinne eine ethnographische Betrachtung und
dementsprechend ist auch der Titel der Untersuchung
zu verstehen: die im Buch vorgestellten “grass-roots
musical activities” (xviii) in Milton Keynes bleiben auf
den ersten Blick in ähnlicher Weise vor Massenmedien
und Forscherinteressen “verborgen” wie musikalische
Phänomene, die an der Peripherie westlicher Neugier
zu finden sind und zu den klassischen Forschungsfeldem
von Ethnomusikologie oder Ethnologie gehören.
In ihrem Vorwort zur Neuauflage räumt Finnegan
ein, dass sich seit den frühen 1980er Jahren im Be-
reich der Amateurmusik einiges verändert hat. So hat
sie beispielsweise damals die Musik von ethnischen
Minoritäten wie etwa von Hindus oder Migranten aus
Somalia vernachlässigt, da es sich nur um wenige Per-
sonen handelte, während die Bevölkerung von Milton
Keynes heute wesentlich heterogener zusammengesetzt
592
Rezensionen
ist als vor knapp dreißig Jahren. Andererseits hält sie
daran fest, dass sich ihre Studie gegen die einflussrei-
chen Theorien über eine passive, für Manipulationen
offene und allein an Konsum orientierte “Massenge-
sellschaft” wendet und nachhaltig die vielfältigen Akti-
vitäten und Kreativität innerhalb einer breiten Bevölke-
rung unterstreicht (5). Darüber hinaus hebt die Autorin
hervor, dass die musikalische Praxis nicht auf eine ein-
zige, sondern auf vielfältige und sehr unterschiedliche
Traditionen zurückgeht, deren jeweilige Repräsentanten
oft wenig voneinander wissen und sehr verschiedene
Methoden beim Erlernen von Musizieren und Kompo-
nieren, aber auch bei der Verbreitung und Performanz
von Musik verfolgen. Im Zentrum der Untersuchung
steht daher keine Werkschau oder Werkanalyse wie in
den konventionellen Musikwissenschaften, sondern der
Blick auf die musikalische Praxis, so wie sie sich zur
Zeit der Untersuchung zeigte. Dementsprechend schreibt
Finnegan nicht im ethnographischen Präsens, sondern
in der Vergangenheit. Was wird intoniert, so fragt sie,
wie geschieht dies und wie verhalten sich die Vertre-
ter der unterschiedlichen Stilrichtungen untereinander
oder zueinander. Dabei ist zu erkennen, dass solche
Aktivitäten bzw. Interaktionen spezifischen kulturellen
Konventionen und Organisationsformen unterliegen, die
einen wesentlichen Punkt der Betrachtung ausmachen.
Das Interesse der Autorin gilt der Pluralität und Vielfalt
in der Musik, ihrer praktischen Umsetzung und den
dabei ablaufenden Prozessen, aber auch jenen Institu-
tionen und Einrichtungen, die die Ausübung von Musik
fördern.
Unter diesen Prämissen führt Finnegan zunächst eine
Diskussion über den Status von Musikern als Amateure
oder Professionelle und legt dar, dass solche Katego-
rien weder fest und starr sein müssen, noch dass sie
sich gegenseitig ausschließen (12-18). Infolgedessen
spricht die Autorin in den sich anschließenden Kapi-
teln ganz allgemein von “Musikern”, wenn sie klas-
sische Orchester, Jugend- oder Schulorchester, Bläser-
gruppen, Chöre, Musiktheater, Jazzgruppen, Folkgrup-
pen, Ceilidh-Gruppen, Country’n’Westem-Gruppen und
eine Vielzahl von Rock- und Popbands vorstellt, die in
Hallen, Kirchen, Schulen, Clubs und Pubs, auf den Stra-
ßen oder bei Open-Air-Festivals auftreten. Angesichts
dieser Stilvielfalt und der Heterogenität der Musiker,
aber auch angesichts ihrer unterschiedlichen sozialen
Konventionen wird deutlich, dass sich das Buch nicht
auf einige wenige ausgewählte Fallstudien konzentriert,
sondern geradewegs die Komplexität der lokalen musi-
kalischen Praxis eines Ortes in den Vordergrund rückt.
Die Darstellung einer solchen Fülle und Mannigfaltig-
keit ist für jede wissenschaftliche Arbeit eine Heraus-
forderung. Finnegan verwendet in ihrer Dokumentation
den Begriff von verschiedenen, nebeneinander existie-
renden “musikalischen Welten”, in dem sie einerseits
dem Sprachgebrauch vieler Musiker in Milton Keynes
folgt, sich andererseits aber auch an dem von Howard
Becker geprägten Begriff der “art worlds” orientiert
(31 f.). Damit sind die Voraussetzungen gegeben, im
ersten Teil der Studie jede dieser Welten einzeln aus
Sicht der Musiker zu beschreiben. So wird deutlich,
dass solche Welten wie etwa “klassische Musik auf
lokaler Ebene” oder die “brass band world” keineswegs
homogene Gebilde sind, sondern in sich bereits bis-
weilen sehr ambivalente und heterogene Perspektiven
darüber aufweisen, was “authentische” Musik ist oder
sein soll. Besonders anschaulich wird eine dergestaltig6
Ambiguität bei der Frage, wie “Rock” und “Pop” zU
definieren sind. Mit Blick auf ihr metaphorisches Modell
fragt Finnegan, ob es überhaupt so etwas wie eine “rock
world” gibt, und antwortet sowohl mit einem “ja” als
auch mit einem “nein” (127, 130): gerade dieser Stil
gilt als Medium, unterschiedlichste persönliche Haltun-
gen und Auffassungen auszudrücken. Jede musikalische
Welt wird zunächst für sich genommen dokumentiert,
ohne auf Kriterien von Musikern, die zu anderen musi-
kalischen Welten gehören, zurückzugreifen, so dass jede
Welt erst einmal für sich steht.
Nachdem dieser Teil des Buches solche musikali-
schen Welten gleichsam als einzelne, ja sogar als schein-
bar autonome und/oder isolierte Gebilde vorgestellt hat,
sucht Finnegan in ihrer nachfolgenden vergleichen-
den Analyse nach Kontrasten und Ähnlichkeiten, aber
auch nach gegenseitigen Beziehungen und Interaktio-
nen. Darüber hinaus veranschaulicht Finnegan, dass <he
“musikalischen Welten” eben keine isolierten oder gaf
autarke Konstrukte sind, sondern dass sich ein großer
Teil ihrer jeweiligen Repräsentanten auf inter- und nie-
talokalen Ebenen und in Beziehungsgeflechten beweget1’
was die Autorin dazu veranlasst, ihr Sinnbild zu über-
prüfen. Als Konsequenz spricht sie von einer Pluralität
“of equally authentic local musics” (181) und betont,
dass beispielsweise Rockmusik keineswegs als misslun-
gene Klassik zu verstehen ist. Keine der “musikalischen
Welten” von Milton Keynes kann klar eingegrenzt unu
als singuläre Realität beschrieben werden, jede ist von
verschiedenen Standpunkten aus wahrzunehmen unu
mag dementsprechend “unharmonisch” wirken (In-
stabilität und Autonomie sind ebenso Teil solcher Wel-
ten wie Kohärenz,' Flexibilität und Relativität, stets ab-
hängig von persönlicher Aktivität und Kreativität der
Musiker: es gibt keine statischen Perspektiven so ^
sie der Begriff der “Welten” auf den ersten Blick zü
implizieren scheint. Zudem sind manche Musiker 111
mehrere Welten eingebunden.
Neben der Produktion von Klängen weist die mLl
sikalische Praxis eine Vielzahl von nicht-musikalisch611
Einflüssen und Verflechtungen auf. Musizieren bedeu
tet, so Finnegan in ihrem vielleicht etwas zu genera
lisierendem Resümee, die Einbindung in einen (°o
auch mehrere) soziale(n) Kontext(e). Musizieren s
teilt
innerhalb einer Gesellschaft eine soziale Aktion dar n
nd
dementsprechend sind musikalische Aktivitäten in - ^
Gesamtheit von einer Diversifikation geprägt, die a
lokaler Ebene wesentlich dazu beiträgt, so abstrak
Begriffe wie “Kultur” greifbarer werden zu lassen.
“The Hidden Musicians” besticht vor allem
seine Methodik, ein äußerst komplexes kulturelles P
nomen wie das einer spezifischen lokalen musikalisch
Praxis verständlich darzulegen und unter Einbeziehn
ihrer
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
593
einer Vielzahl von Facetten und Sichtweisen zu do-
kumentieren. Die Neuauflage hat es nicht nötig, den
ursprünglichen Text zu aktualisieren und durch die Ein-
bindung von jüngeren Begriffen wie etwa den der ..
scapes” anstelle von “worlds” gleichsam zu moderni-
sieren. Finnegans Sicht und Vorgehensweise ist urbane
Ethnographie pur und auch zwanzig Jahre nach dem
Erscheinen der ersten Ausgabe ohne den oft überbor-
denden Sprachduktus der Postmoderne aktuell und be-
fruchtend, auch für jene, deren Forschungsschwerpunkt
Weder auf Musik noch auf Europa liegt.
Michael Schlottner
Gingrich, Andre, and Marcus Banks (eds.): Neo-
Nationalism in Europe and Beyond. Perspectives from
Social Anthropology. New York: Berghahn Books,
2006. 303 pp. ISBN 978-1-84545-189-9. Price: $25.00
This book, edited by Andre Gingrich and Marcus
Ranks, promises to shed light on neo-nationalism as
a social and political phenomenon from an anthropo-
logical perspective. The contributors provide us with
twelve case studies of the emergence of neo-nationalism
to social and political life; ten from Europe, one from
Australia, and one from India. The case studies are
Preceded by an introduction and two conceptual and
utethodological chapters, both from an European per-
fective, and followed by an “afterthoughts” chapter.
In the first substantive chapter, Gingrich sketches
the main characteristics of both the neo-nationalist
Parties and the countries they appear in. He comes to
a sort of categorisation based on regional, historical,
and political factors; without, however, presenting an
e*haustive list. In the next chapter, Banks tries to make
the distinctive methodological approach of the book
e*plicit through case studies of the BNP and the NF in
Britain, paying special attention to the broader context
°f “neo-nationalist” parties and to the case study as an
Instrument.
Part II, case studies from Western Europe, starts
''hth M. Gullestad’s analysis of the social and political
environment of the Progress Party in Norway, without
going too far back in history. P. Hervik pays more
Mention to these historical factors that played a role in
emerging of the Danish People’s Party in particular,
and Danish neo-nationalism as a societal phenomenon
ln general. T. Sunier and R. van Ginkel mainly do the
Same thing for the List Pirn Fortuyn in the Netherlands,
°ffering a good overview of the most important factors,
although not categorising them according to the classical
Supply-demand system used in all-important works in
Political science. R. Pinxten compares neo-nationalism
tn Belgium’s two regions, Flanders and Wallonia, while
■ Stacul does the same for Italy, but goes much
m°re into detail by reporting from his fieldwork in a
sPecific northern community. T. Fillitz provides a more
ciL|antitative analysis of certain referenda in Austria to
^plain the popularity of the Freedom Party. He is also
e first to put some weight on the role of party rhetoric,
part on European case studies is finished with a
Anthropos 103.2008
chapter in which G. Gaillard-Starzmann extensively digs
into French history to contextualise the FN’s electoral
success, while he at the same time sheds light on the
other parties in France. Trying to wrap up, but still
relying heavily on a case study of Austria, G. Seiser
makes a sharp analysis of the farmers’ situation in the
EU and their role in the success of the Freedom Party.
The same goes for M. McDonald, who sketches the
relation between the EU and the emergence of radical
right parties, drawing upon fieldwork in both European
institutions and the French FN. After all this, it is
relieving to have a comparative chapter by M. Banerjee,
who draws lines between her Indian case and the
previously described European cases. Although focusing
more on its specific historical context, B. Kapferer and
B. Morris attempt to do the same for the Australian case
of Hanson.
The book offers a comprehensive overview of the
countries in which nationalism has (re)emerged, al-
though there are some general remarks to be made.
First, neo-nationalism as such is not precisely defined.
The conceptualization is confusing and some authors
refer to the phenomenon as neo-nationalism, others as
right-wing populism, and again others as extreme right,
neo-populist, or far right. The reader is confused about
whether he is reading about a societal evolution or its
incarnation in certain parties. He is also not sufficiently
informed about the characteristics of these parties; which
should be included or excluded? Which are populist
rather than “neo-nationalist”? This is also the first reason
why it is a shame that this work makes no clear refer-
ences to works within sociology or political science,
disciplines that have studied the phenomenon for quite
a long time and that do offer a clear framework.
Second, the “distinctive anthropological perspec-
tive,” which the editors claim to have taken in the book,
does not become very clear in each contribution. The
book title suggests the authors have based their analyses
on ethnographic fieldwork, such as interviews with party
members or participative observations amongst the rank-
and-file. Although authors like Stacul, McDonald, and
Banerjee explicitly refer to their own fieldwork, most
authors only suggest they are drawing upon ethnograph-
ic research. Consequently, we had expected much more
detailed analysis at the microlevels and mesolevels; for
example, looking at community levels, certain group-
ings, or important party leaders. Although describing
the social, political, and historical context of a societal
attitude or the emergence of a radical right party is
useful and vital for its understanding, this work does not
add that much to existing literature. There are several
classical works, mostly in political science, that offer
elaborate descriptions of the context at the macrolevel.
This is another reason why it is regretful that there are
no references to or uses of these works.
To conclude, the book has its value as a rich
description of several cases of “neo-nationalism” in
Western Europe. Its merit lies in drawing the lines to
EU issues on the one hand, and to other countries like
India and Australia on the other. As the theme re-
594
Rezensionen
lates closely to disciplines like sociology and political
science, it is regretful that so few references have been
made to sociological and political scientific work. That
said, this is an innovative work within the discipline of
social anthropology, which offers no works with such
an overview. Lien Warmenbol
Gravers, Mikael (ed.): Exploring Ethnic Diversity
in Burma. Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2007. 283 pp.
ISBN 978-87-91114-96-0. (NIAS Studies in Asian Top-
ics, 39) Price: £ 16.99
Burma or Myanmar, as the country is officially
called, is a multiethnic state. Though no trustworthy
census has been taken since 1931, one may estimate
that roughly two thirds of the country’s 55 million
inhabitants are ethnic Burmans (Bamar) who mostly
settle in the valleys of the Irrawaddy and Sittang Rivers
in the heartland of Burma. The outer regions bordering
India, China, and Thailand, comprise two thirds of the
country’s territory and are inhabited by a wide range
of ethnic minorities. The media focus on the confronta-
tion between the military (Tatmadaw) regime and the
democracy movement led by Aung San Suu Kyi - both
are dominated by the Bamar - distracts our attention
from the “ethnic” dimension of the political conflict in
Burma. “Exploring Ethnic Diversity in Burma” is thus a
most welcome contribution not only to our understand-
ing of the current situation in this important Southeast
Asian country, it also enriches theoretical discourses on
ethnicity and nationhood. The volume contains seven
papers which were presented in September 2002 at the
International Burma Studies Conference in Gothenburg,
Sweden. The fourth paper, written by the distinguished
linguist and anthropologist Frederic K. Lehman (Chit
Hlaing), was originally conceived as a critical commen-
tary of the other conference papers but later expanded to
a stimulating, brilliant article on “Ethnicity Theory and
Southeast Asia, with Special Reference to the Kayah
and the Kachin.”
The editor, Mikael Gravers, is a Danish social an-
thropologist who has written extensively on the Karen
and on nationalism and ethnicity in Burma. In his book
“Nationalism as Political Paranoia in Burma” (Rich-
mond 1999), Gravers discussed the historical process-
es which made the ethnic divisions in Burma escalate
into political violence haunting Burma for almost five
decades. Gravers’s introductory article reflects on the
contradiction between state power and ethnicity in Bur-
ma. While the present-day Burmese army is dominated
by Burmans, the colonial army contained whole regi-
ments of Karen, Kachin, Chin, and members of other
minority groups. The British deliberately “construct-
ed” the ethnicity of various linguistically and culturally
heterogenous groups, such as the Karen, in an effort
to counterbalance Burmese nationalism. The military
government tries the other way. The official list of 135
“races,” i.e., ethnic groups, in today’s Burma tends to
downgrade the importance of the large minority groups
such as the Shan and Karen by splitting them in many
smaller ethnic groups. Thus, ethnic classsification is
highly politicised as Gravers observes: “The discourse
of ethnicity connects the individual, the group, and the
state in an existential struggle of representations. It is»
however, very important to emphasize that ethnicity m
itself does not generate violence” (6).
Gravers explores in detail the politics of ethnicity
in precolonial Burma where ethnicity did not play a
very prominent position in society. Non-Burman min
laving (pretenders to the throne) usually concealed their
ethnicity (Mon, Karen, Shan, etc.) in an attempt not to
alienate potential supporters from the Burman majority
population. But there were instances when ethnicity
counted. For example, in 1757, when the future Burman
king Alaunghpaya launched a campaign to conquer
the Mon-dominated Pegu kingdom in the south, “h®
appealed to the local Burmans to side with him against
the Mon and the Karen (but not the Shan)” (10). In
colonial Burma, however, ethnic classification became
more rigid. The British based their concept of ethnicity
on natural and primordial differences. This legacy std
influences perceptions of ethnic diversity in modern
Burma. Gravers discusses in detail the prospects of a
new Panglong initiative, which was proposed, in 199 »
by leaders of various minority groups forming a s°'
called “Ethnic Nationalities Solidarity and Cooperation
Committee.” The Committee debated whether a ne^
federal Burma should be structured on the basis 0
the eight main ethnic groups (“created” under Brits
rule) or accomodate the aspirations of all 135 officials
recognised “races.” Gravers fears that the obsession
with ethnicity, which characterises the discourse
nationalism among minority elites, will lead to an
impasse. He concludes that “[nationalism and ethnicislTl
have evolved into a political paranoia under which every
move has become suspicious” (27).
Mandy Sadan’s essay is on the construction
of the
ethnic category “Kachin” under British rule and in | ..
postcolonial state. The author points out that “Kachin
is not a self-referential term of identity. It is definite .
not an indigenous term: “Even when a corpus of m ^
than a quarter of a million lexical items is exarmn ’
the term ‘Kachin’ is found not to appear at all” ( '
The only term which may be considered an indigen1®®
equivalent of “Kachin” is Jinghpaw amyu ni. Roug „
translated as ‘“roots and branches’ of the Jinghpa ’
this term evokes a “concept of the multiplicity of c ^
and lineage segments” (53 f.). Sadan stresses the cruC^
unifying rule of the Church and Christianity for the se ^
identification of the Kachin as one single and cohe
ethnic group in present-day Burma.
The third contribution, by Sandra Dudley, deals ^
the reshaping of Kayah (Karen-ni) identity in the ^
exile. Dudley collected numerous interviews with m
hers of the 22,000-strong Karenni refugee cornmun^
in Thailand. In her theoretical framework Dudley
lows Anderson and Gellner’s assumption that et a^slXi
ty was not important in the emergence of nation ,
outside Europe prior to the “colonial construct!« ^
She views the emergence of a Kayah ethnic i
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
595
ty as an ongoing process heavily influenced by the
knowledge of and attitudes towards the outside world
(103).
Lehman’s concise article also deals with the Kayah.
Traditional Kayah society was modelled upon the Shan
society. As Kayah rulers had Shan titles, Shan nation-
alists claim most of the Karen and Kayah lands as their
own territory. Lehman argues: “the Kayah considered
themselves to possess specifically Shan-style principal-
ities for the purpose of dealing with the outside world,
but for internal purposes considered their leaders to be
only religious-charismatic ‘chiefs’ and not actual rulers”
(112). Less convincing is Lehman suggestion that if a
powerful state invents an ethnic category for certain
communities, the latter might end up in thinking of
themselves in such a category. He refers to the Yi people
tn Yunnan as a case in point. However, the case of the
Bai, another of the officially recognised nationalities
(tninzu) in Yunnan, might be different. The Tai Lü in
Sipsong Panna and the Tai Nüa in Dehong do not
consider themselves as members of one and the same
ethnic group.
The geographer Karin Dean discusses the emergence
°f a Kachin political-geographic space. She follows
Robert Sack’s concept of human territoriality which
defines territory as “a bounded, organized space or
area whose boundaries are controlled by a certain kind
°f power” (125). The author opens new horizons in
her study of how territorial and symbolic borders are
interconnected. Kachin concepts of territoriality collide
^ith those of the Shan who historically formed the ruling
class in areas that nowadays belong to the Kachin State
°f Burma. This state was carved in a way which left
üiimerous non-Kachin groups, notably Shan, within its
boundaries. Shan nationalists even consider the whole
Rachin State as part of their own historical realm,
fii her excellent discussion, Dean makes a misleading
statement (129) that 14 per cent of the population in
the autonomous Dai-Jinghpaw subprefecture of Dehong
^ere ethnic Shan (Dai). In fact, the Tai Nüa, as the
Chinese Shan” are also called, make up about 30 per
Cgnt of the population in that region.
Ashley South contributes an interesting study of
nationalism. Though Mon and Burman identies
^ere well-established before the arrival of the British,
Burmese nationalists tend to deny a separate Mon cul-
tUre and ethnicity. Even General Ne Win, who claimed
mixed Mon-Burman ancestry, denied the need for a
M°n tradition that was in his eyes fully incorporated
Ult° Burmese national culture. A similar denial of a
separate Mon identity was made in August 1991 by
^he then-SLORC chairman, General Saw Maung (160).
°uth discusses at length the difficulties of an emerging
^1VH society in the Mon minority areas after the cease-
.re- Quoting Martin Smith, the author concludes that the
Implementation of minority rights, including those of the
VJ0n. very much depends on an overall démocratisation
Burmese society, a demilitarisation and the strength-
enfiig of civil society being “vital bridges in achieving
^conciliation in the country” (172).
Aathr
The following article by the Japanese social an-
thropologist Takatani Michio analyses the conditions of
Shan identity with special reference to the Shan in the
Kachin State. Many towns in the Kachin State and the
western part of the Shan State bear the syllable “Mo”
(or Maing) in Burmese which corresponds to moeng
in Shan (Thai: miiang). The author gives a fascinating
explanation of the etymology of the term “Kawsampi”
or “Ko Shan Pyi” meaning the “Nine Shan States”
(182). Notwithstanding the question who borrowed the
term “Ko Shan Pyi” from whom there remains hardly
any doubt that “the symbolic number nine is a key to
ethnic identification of the Shan and Shan Pyi for both
the Bamar and the Shan” (187). As Michio observes,
Shan bilingualism in the Kachin State is much higher
than in the Shan State. Would that indicate a higher
percentage of non-Shan in the Kachin State who have
turned to the Shan language in a slow but steady process
of “Shanisation”? The Shan, for whom religious (i.e.,
Buddhist) and ethnic identities are inseparable, appear
as one of the most vigorous nationalities in Burma who
are strongly determined to preserve their ancient culture.
Picking up other contributors’ discussion of how eth-
nic identities were shaped by religion, Lian H. Sakhong
discusses the role of Christianity in the making of a
Chin ethnic identity. For the Chin, who are divided into
dozens of subgroups, the rich oral tradition consisting of
folksongs and myth was always of utmost importance,
certainly more important than the writing system intro-
duced relatively recently by Christian missionaries. The
reinterpretation of old myths, including the traditional
Chin concept of a Supreme God, Khua-zing, accompa-
nied the gradual transformation of the belief system to
Christianity “as an integrating factor in the development
of Chin self-awareness” (222).
In the concluding chapter Mikael Gravers analyses
the role of religion in the formation of a Karen ethnic
identity in Burma. For the Christian Karen, Christian-
ity became part of their ethnic opposition against the
Burmese who were seen as representatives of Buddhism.
The conversion to Christianity was not a single event
but “a long and gradual process of adjustment to the
demands of the new faith as opposed to old ritual
habits” (207). Building upon the preceding contribu-
tions, Gravers comments on the role of religion for
Kachin and Chin nationalism noting an important differ-
ence: While the vast majority of Chin and Kachin (80
and 90 per cent, respectively) are nowadays Christians,
the case of the Karen seems to be more complicated.
Only an estimated 15-20 per cent of Pwo and Sgaw
Karen have embraced Christianity, and a probably high-
er number of Karen are Buddhists like the Burmans. Un-
fortunately, Christian missionaries considered Buddhism
as an essential element of Burmese culture and political
despotism, while Burmese nationalists associated Karen
nationalism with Christianity and colonialism. The mas-
sacre of Papun during World War II, when almost 2,000
Karens, who had sought sanctuary in a Church, were
slaughtered by Burmese nationalists, marked a turning
point in Burmese-Karen relations. As religion seems
'opos 103.2008
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Rezensionen
both to unite and divide the Karen, Gravers finally
asks whether there is an alternative path leading to a
pan-Karen identity. He argues that such a path might be
possible “provided that the Karen knowledge tradition is
liberated from the political discourse of nationalism and
ethnicism” (253). How this is to be achieved remains
unanswered.
“Exploring Ethnic Diversity in Burma” is an im-
portant contribution to understanding the ethnic factor
in present-day Burmese politics. It is also highly rec-
ommended to students of other multiethnic societies in
Southeast Asia and outside the region.
Volker Grabowsky
Gronover, Annemarie: Religiöse Reserven. Eine
Ethnographie des Überlebens in Palermo. Berlin: Lit
Verlag, 2007. 229 pp. ISBN 978-3-8258-0395-7. (Forum
Europäische Ethnologie, 10) Preis: € 19.90
Auf der Suche nach “ihrem Feld” reist die Ethnologin
Annemarie Gronover im Februar 2001 nach Palermo.
Während ihrer 15-monatigen Feldforschung verfolgt sie
das Ziel, religiöse “Reserven” des Katholizismus in ih-
ren lokalen Ausprägungen und Funktionen zu untersu-
chen und dabei folgende Fragen zu beantworten; Wie
werden religiöse Reserven gegen gesellschaftliche De-
stabilisierungsprozesse mobilisiert? Inwieweit erweisen
sich religiöse Reserven als Überlebensstrategien? Bei
der Forschung handelt es sich um eine im Mittelmeer-
raum verankerte “community study” im stadtethnolo-
gischen Sinne, in deren Zentrum sich die katholische
Kirchengemeinde SS. Trinità - la Magione (SS. Trinità
La Magione) befindet.
Das Buch ist unterteilt in fünf Kapitel. In der Einlei-
tung berichtet Gronover ausführlich über ihren Einstieg
ins Feld, die Entwicklung ihrer Problemstellung und
ihren ethnologischen Methodenansatz zur Datenerhe-
bung und Datenanalyse. Mit Hilfe von teilnehmender
Beobachtung, Aufnahme von Lebensgeschichten, Ex-
perteninterviews, Archivmaterial und Fotografie ist es
Gronover möglich, tiefen Einblick in das soziale Leben
der Gemeinde zu gewinnen. Ethnographische Beispiele
verdeutlichen, wie sie als Forschende die Kommunika-
tion und die Konstruktion sozialer Realität mitgestaltet
und gleichzeitig von den sozialpolitischen und religiösen
Lebensumständen der Gläubigen gesteuert wird.
Im Kapitel “Der Ort SS. Trinità - la Magione als re-
ligiöse Reserve” erörtert Gronover, dass die “Magione”
eine besondere sozialpolitische, ökonomische und reli-
giöse Rolle in Palermo innehat. Einer ihrer wichtigsten
Akteure ist der Gemeindepfarrer, welcher die “histori-
sche Tradition der Basilika für die aktuelle gesellschaft-
liche Situation memoriert, mobilisiert und revitalisiert”
(49). Durch die Erschließung historischer Ressourcen ist
es ihm möglich, die Basilika als “materielle und ideelle
Reserve” (49) strategisch einzusetzen, um Menschen
und ihre Umwelt zu beeinflussen und zu stabilisieren.
Dies wird anhand des Beispiels “Speisung der Armen”
deutlich. Bevor die Ritter des Konstantinordens Nah-
rungstüten an die Armen des Viertels verteilen, verweist
der Pfarrer auf die wohlhabenden Zeiten der Magione im
12. und 13. Jh. Damals wurden mit Geld und ökonomi-
schem Besitz Kreuzzüge geführt und Arme unterstützt:
“... Magione war immer Teil des berühmten und reichen
Palermo. Mansio, lateinisch, und maison, französisch,
das heißt: Haus. Hierher kamen die Kreuzritter, um
Station zu machen, zu schlafen und zu essen. Reisende,
Arme, Kranke, alle kamen nach Magione, um Hilfe zu
erfahren” (52). Indem der Pfarrer auf die historische
Kontinuität der mansio verweist, ist es ihm möglich, den
Gläubigen einen sinn- und identitätsstiftenden Bezug zur
Vergangenheit und räumlichen Ordnung zu vermitteln.
Um die Mobilisierung und Nutzung der mansio als
Reserve durch den Pfarrer und die Gemeindemitglie-
der zu kontextualisieren, beschreibt Gronover die Stadt-
gründung Palermos, die historische Entwicklung des
Stadtviertels la Kalsa im 9. Jh., die Ökonomie SS. Trinità
- la Magione zur Zeit der Zisterzienser im 12. Jh. und
die SS. Trinità - la Magione als religiöses Zentrum seit
dem 12. Jh. Dabei weist sie darauf hin, wie “[d]as his-
torische Auffalten der Magione als Relief und das Sicht-
barmachen ihrer Brüche und Kontinuitäten verdeutlicht,
dass an diesem Ort geschichtliche Ereignisse deutliche,
die Erinnerung lebendig haltende Spuren hinterlassen
haben. Die rituelle Bearbeitung dieser Spuren vermag
die Wirklichkeit auf der Grundlage der Geschichte der
mansio neu zu schaffen und zu ordnen” (67). D. h. Hig'
torisierung wird als rituelle Strategie verstanden, durch
welche die materiellen und ideellen Reserven der mansi°
immer wieder neu generiert und abgeschöpft werden
können.
Im Kapitel “Die Heilung von Menschen und die
Sakralisierung ihrer Umwelt” beschreibt Gronover die
innere Organisation der mansio, um aufzuzeigen, wel'
che Angebote sie den Menschen macht. Beispielsweis6
sieht der Pfarrer eine seiner Hauptaufgaben darin, der U
Armenvierteln lebenden Bevölkerung eine Alternati6
zur Mafia zu geben. Wie Orte als Reserven des lokal611
Widerstandes in Anspruch genommen werden, wird aü
hand der kirchlichen Inbesitznahme der Piazza Magi°nß
und Kontrolle über das quartiere la Kalsa deutlich. Del
Pfarrer etabliert zivilgesellschaftliche Räume im Elends
viertel, indem er die Piazza Magione neu gestaltet, lür
chen renoviert, Institutionen zur Armenhilfe und ÖffenJ.
lichkeitsarbeit etabliert, sowie eine Gemeindezeitschn
und einen Fernsehsender gründet. Laut Gronover basi6
die Sanierung und Revitalisierung des Viertels auf einelTl
Tauschhandel zwischen dem Pfarrer und den Gläubig6^
Der Führungsstil des Pfarrers setzt sich aus den Stm
turen der Patron-Klient-Beziehung und des big-fnC1,1
Systems zusammen. Der Pfarrer als Patron verwaI
und vermittelt heiliges Wissen in der Liturgie sowie
dem von ihm geschaffenen wirtschaftlichen Kreisla
(Arbeit gegen Solidarität mit der mansio), wobei sei
Beziehung zur Bevölkerung dyadisch und asymmetns_^
gestaltet ist. Charakteristisch für das big-man-System
dagegen die Verwaltung des heiligen Ortes, welche o
Prinzip der Akkumulation und Redistribution materie
Güter folgt. Obwohl sich die Macht des Pfarrers mc^
über die Anhäufung und Zurschaustellung von Rel
1O3.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
597
tümern messen lassen kann, ist es möglich, seine An-
hängerschaft im symbolischen Sinne als Demonstration
religiöser Macht zu deuten.
Um zu analysieren, wie die Bewohner die ihnen
gewährte Assistenz von Seiten der mansio handha-
ben und die Position des Pfarrers verstehen, diskutiert
Gronover Konzepte des Assistentialismus, der Schat-
tenwirtschaft und des Familismus kritisch. Am Beispiel
der Armenhilfe der San-Vincenzo-Gruppe zeigt sie, wie
die Empfänger von gespendeten Nahrungsmitteln ihre
Position auf unterschiedliche Weise aktiv verhandeln.
Dabei “verweigern [sie] sich einer direkten Einmischung
in ihr soziales - familiäres - Leben. Die Akteure ste-
hen als Klienten in Kontakt mit einem ihrer Patrone,
dem Pfarrer, dem gegenüber sie sich behaupten müssen
und dem sie gleichzeitig verdeutlichen müssen, dass
sie im Grunde seine Verträge anerkennen, um sie aber
eigentlich nicht einzuhalten” (123). Durch diese Art
des Widerstands findet eine kontinuierliche Auseinan-
dersetzung mit außerfamiliären Netzwerken statt und
dem Assistentialismus wird die patemalistische Struktur
zumindest teilweise geraubt.
Im dritten Kapitel, “Die mansio als Heilige Familie -
Are sakrale Repräsentation und rituelle Verehrung”, be-
schreibt Gronover, wie die Gläubigen des Armutsvier-
tels auf das Symbol der Heiligen Familie zurückgreifen,
um ihrer leidvollen Situation zu entkommen. Die Heilige
Familie stellt eine Reserve dar, welche Orientierung
hietet, da sie die Paradoxien des sozialen Lebens in
sich vereint. Gleichzeitig steht sie der sozialen Realität,
geprägt von Problemen im Ehe- und Familienleben, als
niemals erreichbarer Idealzustand gegenüber. “Äußer-
lich betrachtet ist die Familie von Nazareth nicht die
Aeale Familie, aber geistlich gesehen ist sie es dennoch;
mit diesem Widerspruch bietet sie genügend Reibungs-
fläche und Identifikationsmöglichkeit für die Gläubigen”
(169). Ähnlich beschreibt der Pfarrer in der Predigt zum
Pest der Heiligen Familie” diese Ambivalenz, wenn er
Sagt: “Maria und Josef hatten einen starken Glauben,
Sle geben uns ein Beispiel für unser tägliches Leben.
Asef überwand seine Krise und seine Zweifel, er verließ
^aria nicht, denn ein Engel verkündete ihm im Schlaf,
Aass Maria vom Heiligen Geist schwanger sei” (187).
bezeichnet das Fest als eine rituelle Antwort auf
gesellschaftliche und familiäre Probleme.
Im letzten Kapitel, “Religiöse Reserven - Über-
lebensstrategien in Palermo”, diskutiert Gronover die
potentiale des Reservenansatzes. Mit Hilfe kultureller
Reserven bemühen sich Menschen ihre gesellschaft-
tchen Strukturen zu sichern. Religiöse Reserven spie-
en hierbei eine wichtige Rolle, da sie regenerative
Rräfte besitzen, welche zur Heilung und Heiligung
^es Menschen beitragen. Des Weiteren regenerieren sie
Slch fortwährend durch die Erinnerung und Mobilisie-
historischer, topographischer, materieller und ide-
e|,er Gegebenheiten. Die Analyse religiöser Reserven
ermöglicht die Erforschung gesellschaftlichen Oszillie-
^ns zwischen Nähe und Distanz, Historisierung und
egenwart, Prozess und Struktur, Konflikt und Regene-
ration, Patron-Klient- Beziehungen und Tauschhandel.
^nth
Oberflächlich gesehen erscheint es, als würden durch
den Reservenansatz gesellschaftliche und kulturelle Pro-
zesse auf binäre Oppositionen in Lévi-Strauss’schem
Sinne reduziert. Der Reservenansatz reicht jedoch wei-
ter, da er die Auflösung der Oppositionspaare durch
die Berücksichtigung der Akteure und ihres aktiven
sowie kreativen Handelns im gesellschaftlichen Raum
ermöglicht. Widersprüchliche soziale Realitäten sind so-
mit nicht statisch, sondern werden von den Akteuren
stets neu definiert. Weiterhin ermöglicht der Ansatz
die Aufweichung von Stereotypen mediterraner Men-
talitäten, Werten und Normen. Anstelle starrer Konzep-
te werden “Grauzonen” (195) hervorgehoben, welche
aus zivilgesellschaftlichem Handeln und selbstbewusster
Umweltgestaltung hervorgehen.
Das Oszillieren zwischen unterschiedlichen sozialen
Realitäten ermöglicht eine dichte Gesellschaftsbeschrei-
bung sowie eine anspruchsvolle Diskussion bestehen-
der Literatur. Gronovers Literaturverzeichnis beinhaltet
deutsche, englische, und italienische Werke aus den
Bereichen Ethnologie, Soziologie, Genderstudies, Phi-
losophie, Geschichtswissenschaft, Politologie und Geo-
grafie. Mit ihrem Buch leistet Gronover einen wertvol-
len und innovativen Beitrag zur Mittelmeerethnologie,
Religionsethnologie, Theoriebildung und Methodenfor-
schung. Hanna Kienzier
Hayase, Shinzo: Mindanao Ethnohistory beyond
Nations. Maguindanao, Sangir, and Bagobo Societies
in East Maritime Southeast Asia. Manila: Ateneo de
Manila University Press, 2007. 289 pp. ISBN 978-971-
550-511-6.
While almost all Southeast Asian countries (with
the exception of Laos) have areas that border the sea,
maritime Southeast Asia generally refers to the “Malay
World” stretching from Malaysia to the Philippines
and eastern Indonesia. While there are many cultural
similarities throughout this broad expanse of peninsulas,
islands, and seas, East Maritime Southeast Asia was
once home to a variety of powerful sultanates who en-
gaged in commerce and slave raiding that attracted the
interest of great powers in East Asia, the Middle East,
and Europe. The spices of this part of Insular Southeast
Asia were in major international demand throughout the
fifteenth and eighteenth century, and had tremendous
impacts on the growth of indigenous kingdoms.
In this book, Shinzo Hayase presents an impres-
sive cultural history that is focused on the southern
Philippines, Brunei, and Maluku region of Indonesia.
He makes the case that the eastern maritime region of
Southeast Asia had its own historical logic and features
which are distinct from those of land-based nations and
from western maritime Southeast Asia. From the view-
point of nation making, he classifies this region into four
types: 1) areas where kingdoms were strengthened by In-
dianization; 2) areas where kingdoms were strengthened
by Islamization and the growth of commerce; 3) areas
where a colonial state was formed by Christianization;
and 4) areas where states did not develop and the
aopos 103.2008
598
Rezensionen
existing chiefdoms were sustained (16 f.). The second
type is East Maritime Southeast Asia, including the Sulu
Sea, Sulawesi Sea, and Maluku Sea, while the third
type is the Philippines. The fourth type includes the
mountainous interior of islands where inhabitants were
not influenced strongly by outside institutions until the
late 19th century.
Hayase approaches his study of this region by strong-
ly focusing on the ethnic history and interactions be-
tween three distinct peoples: the Maguindanao Sul-
tanate, the Sangir peoples of the Sangihe Islands, and the
Bagobo. The Sangir have not been discussed historically
before, and their traditional home today lies in Indone-
sia, while the Maguindanao and Bagobo are based on the
southern Philippine island of Mindanao. He focuses on
factors that led to the rise and fall of each ethnic group,
their retention of tribal organization, and the political
impact of their engagements with Christianity, Islam,
and indigenous religious traditions. At the same time,
as part of a wider history, European and indigenous in-
teractions, wars, and desires to control the spice trade are
carefully interwoven into the larger spatial geography of
East Maritime Southeast Asia. As a result, Brunei, the
Sulu Sultanate, Ternate and Tidore, and Makassar all
play a part in his overview.
In contrast to Western Maritime Southeast Asia,
the Philippines had little influence from Hinduism or
Buddhism and the “states” that arose were based on
Islam as well as a trading, raiding, and slaving complex
during the Christian Spanish conquest. Between the
sixteenth and nineteenth centuries this world contained
autonomous chieftain societies sustained by mobile sea-
faring peoples. Hayase attributes the development of
the Maguindanao Sultanate under Sultan Kudarat to his
strong efforts to control the growing trade in the region,
his alliances with other kingdoms in a holy war or jihad
against Spain, and Maguindanao’s advantageous loca-
tion near the mouth of the Pulangi River. Maguindanao
also had a close relationship with the interior Buayan
kingdom and with the Sangir, located near Ternate.
However, Maguindanao never developed a permanent
royal palace and capital and the center of the sultanate
was the entire alliance of settlements along the Pulangi
River. The alliances themselves were partly due to the
establishment of kinship relationships through intermar-
riage and appeals to Islamic unity under the sultan’s
religious and political leadership. These features failed
to provide the basis for a lasting kingdom, however,
as sultans easily moved their capitals around and main-
tained flexible state institutions, such as a council of
chiefs, rather than establish the bureaucratic apparatus
of other kinds of states. While Maguindanao became
a very powerful state in this region in the eighteenth
century, it did not last long as peoples fled earthquakes
and volcanic disasters, as the Dutch allied with Makassar
and Ternate, and as seafaring peoples left for the more
prosperous Sulu Sultanate.
The Sangir are an example of a smaller kingdom that
did not evolve into a sultanate, although they were close-
ly tied through trade, slave raiding, and intermarriage
with Maguindanao and Ternate. The Sangir represent
“chieftain states” who lacked an agricultural base, and
who flexibly accepted Islam and Christianity at differ*
ent times. A mobile people, some lived in Mindanao
and some became Protestants during the Dutch colonial
period in Indonesia.
The final section of the book reviews the American
rule of Mindanao and the establishment of abaca planta-
tions in Davao early in the twentieth century. Relying in
part on anthropological accounts, he reviews the Bagobo
political and social organization, which never rose be-
yond communities of 3-10 households. The Bagobo
were a warrior society that resisted Islamization and
retained their indigenous religion until relatively late
in the nineteenth century. As American and Japanese
established abaca plantations, the local environment in
which the Bagobo lived was altered and they lost their
ability to maintain autonomous lifestyles and commu-
nities. Today, the number of young Bagobo who can
speak their languages are few and their ethnic identity
is disappearing.
The methods for writing the history of people where
there is a dearth of written records meant that Hayase
had to rely on oral traditions, Muslim royal genealogies»
and observations by Europeans and Chinese. Indeed,
he is to be commended for his devotion to providing
an innovative history of peoples with so few written
documents. To bolster his interpretations, he spent fou1
months doing oral history with the Bagobo during
1985 and he also turns to personal accounts written by
European visitors to the region in the 1700s. In doing
so, he offers a model of historical reconstruction 0
a very diverse region in Southeast Asia that bestows
recognition to the accomplishments and struggles 0
some of the lesser known ethnic groups that became
minorities in the 20th century under colonization.
Susan Russe
Janowski, Monica, and Fiona Kerlogue (edsT
Kinship and Food in South East Asia. Copenhagen-
NIAS Press, 2007. 292 pp. ISBN 978-87-91114-93-^-
(NIAS Studies in Asian Topics, 38) Price; £ 17.99
This useful volume includes an introduction by m
first editor and ten detailed ethnographic studies of 1
relationships between food and kinship in Southeaj
Asia. With the exception of one Thai case and one vie
namese, all the papers deal with Indonesian societies-
The whole length of the nation is covered, from Suma
tera to Irian Jay a. Several of the communities describe
are little known ethnographically.
Southeast Asia is famous for enormously comp
symbolism linking tangible daily goods - food, b°uS ’
cloth - to social relations. The use of foods to sy
bolize kin relations, express gender identities, tr
kinship transactions, and represent ritually the km
der has been well-known and described in the i
ature for decades. Relations between wife-givmg
wife-receiving groups are famously important, and &
emonies for the dead - ancestors and others -
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
599
particularly rich and complex. Never, however, have the
foodways of particular groups been better described than
herein, or more thoroughly chronicled in a comparative
and analytic volume. These highly detailed ethnographic
accounts are informed by recent theories of family and
gender, as well as the classic work on kinship that owes
so much to Indonesian research and researchers.
Rens Heringa goes into detail on a single ritual: the
seventh-month-of-pregnancy ritual in a small, distinctive
community in Java. This ritual is incredibly rich in
symbolism - even by Javanese standards - and must be
one of the few ceremonies of that particular time in life.
It is directed by a midwife. Fiona Kerlogue describes
use of food in incorporating people into the diffuse and
expandable kinship networks of the Malays of Sumatera.
Carol Davis treats land, fertility, matrilineal kinship,
and food in Minangkabau society, also Sumateran. Kari
Telle describes death and commemoration rituals of
the Sasak, held to be the indigenous inhabitants of
Lombok, who have the usual intricate food symbolism
for these ceremonies. Timo Kaartinen looks at a Muslim
community in the Kei Islands, an archipelago little
known in the ethnographic literature. Its Muslim villages
are particularly poorly covered, making this a very wel-
come study. Dianne van Oosterhout moves to Papua,
a different world; Inanwatan of the northwest end of
the island is clearly a Papuan society, concerned with
semen and blood, sago and sago-grubs, and as different
from the rice-eating Austronesian societies to the west
as could be imagined. Willemijn de Jong studies rice
rituals in another poorly documented area, a distinctive
tsolated region of central Flores where both kin relations
and their symbolism in foodways are intricate even by
east Indonesian standards. Stephen Sparkes examines
°fferings for the ancestors in northeast Thailand. Finally,
Nguyen Xuan Hien examines the symbolism of “gluti-
Uous” rice in the Vietnamese New Year Festival, and the
association of both with family, including the extended
families and lineages of Vietnam. (This chapter uses an
°bsolete classification for sticky rice - which is neither
glutinous” nor a specific variety of rice, but a wide
range of varieties that share only a mutation making their
arUylose cook up sticky. Nguyen provides a fascinating,
kut not credible, origin story for it; actually, sticky rices
°ccur in archaeological sites thousands of years old in
Yangzi Valley, and have probably been around as
'°ug as domesticated rice has. Nguyen also gives a
'Vietnamese origin story for the sticky rice dumplings
known as chung, but they are actually a borrowing from
China.)
All the studies in this book are characterized by
extremely thorough, detailed, and well-explained ethno-
graphic reporting. To anyone who loves good ethnogra-
phy, they are pure delight. They will restore the faith of
those who weary of excessive rhetoric and of purported
ethnographies that say much about international political
®conomy but little about actual people on the ground,
ue book will amaze anyone not already familiar with
he powerful, intricate, exquisite symbolism of kinship
and lifeways in Indonesia and Southeast Asia, where
the layout of a meal can be a superb work of visual art
as well as a symbolic chart whose every element may
have four or five levels of meaning. Indonesian, Thai,
and Vietnamese folk cultures remain among the greatest
creations of the human spirit, and should be widely
appreciated as such. This book will help bring them
into wider visibility. For students of the anthropology
of food, it is essential reading.
Eugen N. Anderson
Kasfir, Sidney Littlefield: African Art and the
Colonial Encounter. Inventing a Global Commodity.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007. 382 pp.
ISBN 978-0-253-21922-0. Price: $27.95
Kasfir tells us that the aim of this book is to “trace
the ways widely different late nineteenth- and early-
twentieth-century European impressions of Kenya and
Nigeria and the subsequent British colonizing policies
toward their imperfectly understood subject peoples in-
tervened in and transformed the objects and practices of
two groups of African artists” (1). Few would disagree
that such changes have taken place all over Africa.
Few would also disagree with the author’s aim of “ef-
facing the boundaries between what is comprehended
as African art and what is not” (315), if by that she
means that she wants to include more practices and
materials than are sometimes considered. Kasfir argues
for including contemporary manufacture of spears and
related metalwork, the making of beadwork, the fash-
ioning of works for consumption by non-Africans such
as tourists and European curio and art buyers, and the
construction of a particular personal appearance by way
of clothing, jewelery, grooming, body-painting, and oth-
er means so as to present a particular persona associated
with one’s ethnic and/or gendered self. She includes not
only African presentation of self to other Africans but
African presentation of self to tourists and foreign film
viewers. Obviously all contemporary African artifacts
and practices are in many ways influenced by the events
of colonial history, by colonial and post-colonial culture,
and by local and global markets. Kasfir asserts that some
African art historians discount many such contempo-
rary crafts and fashions, even though African creative-
ness did not cease with European influence which only
changed such forms of expression rather than put an
end to them. Obviously these are all legitimate areas
of study today even though these have not always qual-
ified as “art” by all Africanists. Still, Kasfir’s broad per-
spective is not as innovative as she suggests. Pages of in-
fluential journals such as African Arts indicate that such
an approach is more widely accepted than she seems to
acknowledge. For these reasons, few would question her
“claim for the full inclusion of the colonial encounter
in the history of African art, not as a pretext for its
decline but as the occasion for its reinvention” (315).
The author organizes her study around two contrast-
ing societies, both apparently emphasizing the institu-
tion of warriorhood in expressing key cultural values.
In one case, it is the Idoma, a people of east-central
Anthr
'°pos 103.2008
600
Rezensionen
Nigeria who engaged in warfare, headhunting, dance,
and aggressive warrior organizations to express their
manhood; in the other case, it is the Samburu of northern
Kenya who employed spears, cattle-raiding, beadwork,
and elaborate body grooming and dancing to express
comparable beliefs and values. In the case of the Ido-
ma, colonialists considered them brutal savages and
condemned their warfare and headhunting, banning the
display of human heads at warriors’ dances. These were
then replaced by carved wooded heads and the warrior
dance groups transformed themselves into groups polic-
ing the social order rather than glorifying warfare. In the
case of the Samburu, who were admired as romantic and
noble pastoralist, their cattle-raiding and aggressive be-
havior were tolerated. Yet when they threatened colonial
settlers’ cattle and a British settler was slain, colonialists
saw civil order threatened and temporarily banned Sam-
buru warriors from carrying spears thereby threatening
the livelihood of Samburu smiths and diminishing the
ways warriors could express their aggressive manhood.
Samburu continued to manufacture spears, often selling
them to outsiders and concealing those they possessed
until the ban was lifted. This led to many changes in the
types of spears made and in the ways warriors presented
themselves. Kasfir examines how Idoma and Samburu
reacted to these colonial impositions and how through
change, compromise, and deception they managed to
continue their expression of warriorhood as a key cul-
tural value.
The main problem with this book lies in the author’s
failure to provide sufficient new data which would
add to our earlier understanding of the Idoma and
Samburu. She provides almost no direct accounts of
what the Idoma and Samburu craftsmen or warriors
actually say about what they are doing and why. She
provides almost no information about what women think
about these matters even though, especially in the case
of the Samburu, it is women as mothers, wives, and
lovers who are often closely involved with warriors and
their displays. Among the Samburu, women are also
the main source of the decorations worn by warriors
and are often the audience before whom men dance
and pose. Kasfir’s accounts of the Idoma are also
somewhat weak in providing firsthand accounts of how
those Africans actually speak about these changes and
strategies. Finally, the volume itself seems unbalanced
with about 110 pages devoted to the Idoma and 170
pages devoted to the Samburu, even though Kasfir wrote
her doctoral dissertation on the Idoma. In any case, when
writing about the Samburu of Kenya, Kasfir includes
the closely related Maasai of both Kenya and Tanzania
presumably because the far richer and more historically
rich Maasai material supplements the thinner Samburu
data.
There are numerous attractive black-and-white and
coloured photographs throughout this book; even so,
there are nowhere any systematic and detailed illustra-
tions of the kinds of specific changes that have tak-
en place in the woodcarving and body decorations of
the Idoma or the changes in making and decorating
spears, beadwork, and body-grooming that have oc-
curred among the Samburu. For a study such as Kasfir’s
one would expect photographs or diagrams clearly con-
trasting the before and after styles and forms of such ob-
jects and fashions along with African explanations about
why such detailed alterations were made. These changes,
especially if they are sometimes meant to appeal to
a global or local tourist market rather than to local
African needs and aesthetics, must raise questions for
their makers. Do these differences bother the Africans?
How do they explain or rationalize them? Can the items
Africans especially made for tourists also be used and
enjoyed by local Africans? What does this suggest about
authenticity? Kasfir writes extensively about how her
fellow art historians rightly or wrongly consider authen-
ticity and tradition. Yet nowhere does she ever provide
any sustained, firsthand account of how Idoma or Sam-
buru themselves regard such issues even though these
seem to be at the heart of the issues she earlier raised.
Are changing styles sometimes dictated by alien factors
and tastes which are sometimes repugnant to Africans-
Presumably many objects and even self-presentations
which these Africans make for members of their own
society might not be fully appropriate if made in the
same way to outsiders who are paying for what they
want. Finally, at the risk of appearing nit-picking, I point
out that “mild steel” (119) is surely “milled steel,” the
Samburu/Maasai name-term “ole” (“son-of”) (passim)
is more properly not capitalized, and the East African
blackwood or ebony tree is not “mpingi” but “mping0
(263).
The few points made in this book are insufficien
to sustain such a long volume and might better have
been made in an article, though even then they am
not as innovative as the author implies. The boo
is digressive. Its lack of specific ethnographic detan
(especially about exactly how Samburu and Idoma
actually speak about and explain the changes they have
made in their material culture) does not allow it ^
clinch its arguments. On account of the many reasons
noted above, this work is not very profitable for tho^e
already knowledgeable about African art or for those
already informed about the Idoma and Samburu. It d°eS
make handy a lot of scattered, published information
on the Idoma and Samburu and on how early Bfltl
colonialists felt about them, material that does n
This
otherwise appear conveniently under one cover. 1
is not a bad book, but it is not a successful one. I 1
enjoy the lavish illustrations though they are sornetim
not well explained or discussed.
T. O. Beidelman
Klostermaier, Klaus K.: A Survey of Hinduism- 3r
ed. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2
700 pp. ISBN 978-0-7914-7081-7. Price: $ 89.50
“A Survey of Hinduism” ist längst ein Klassiker
ter Hinduismus-Studien geworden. Mit der 3. Aufl- 1
hier eine gründliche Bearbeitung und Erweiterung
ersten beiden Auflagen (1989, 1994) vor. Auf die
103-2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
601
führung (1-14) folgt der Haupttext, thematisch geglie-
dert in fünf Teile mit insgesamt 37 Kapiteln (15-507).
Karten, Endnoten, Glossar, Bibliographie und Index
(509-700) bilden den wichtigen und umfangreichen
Abschluss der Studie.
Im 1. Teil, “Hinduismus: Quellen und Weltanschau-
ung”, informiert Klostermaier in 7 Kapiteln über “die
Anfänge des Hinduismus”, “Hindu Dharma”, “Veda”,
‘‘Itihäsa-Puräna”, “Bhagavadgltä”, “Weltanschauung der
Hindus” und deren Gottesbild(er), überschrieben mit
‘'Die vielen Götter und der eine Gott”.
Der 2. Teil behandelt “Trimärga: Die drei Heilswege
zur Befreiung” (8.-18. Kap.). Mit karmamärga, dem
Weg des rituellen und sozialen Handelns, werden u. a.
auch Ethik und lebenszyklische Rituale besprochen.
Jnänamärga, der Weg der spirituellen Erkenntnis oder
des rechten Wissens, erläutert auch die Beziehungen
zum Höchsten (ätman und brahman), Meditation und
Befreiung von der Wiedergeburt. Da es beim bhakti-
tnärga vor allem um die liebende Hingabe des Menschen
an Gott und Gottes Liebe zum Menschen geht, sind hier
Frömmigkeit und Gottesverehrung - Visnu, Siva, Devi;
Mudalvan, Murukan, Mal; Gott in Gestalt nach persön-
licher Wahl (ista-deva) - besonders angesprochen.
Zum 3. Teil, “Tragende Strukturen des Hinduismus”
(“Structural Supports of Hinduism”), zählt der Autor:
die göttliche Gegenwart in Raum und Zeit (mürti, tirtha,
käla); die religiös-soziale Ordnung der Stände, Kasten
Und Lebensabschnitte (caturvarnäsramadharma)\ das
Erreichen des letzten Ziels durch “Entsagung” {sam-
nyäsa)\ die Rolle der Frau; philosophisch-theologische
Systeme (19.-26. Kap.).
Im 4. Teil, “Hinduismus in der Begegnung mit den
Andern”’ (27.-32. Kap.), wird zuerst aus einer ge-
schichtlichen Perspektive das Mit- und Gegeneinan-
der von Hindus und Buddhisten, Christen und Mus-
limen skizziert. In diesem Zusammenhang behandeln
die folgenden Kapitel Hindu-Reformen und -Reformer,
Mahätmä Gandhi als Karmayogi und die Problematik
von Bewegungen, die Hindütva verpflichtet sind, dem
Uational-kulturellen Konzept eines “Hindutums”, das
uur die in Indien entstandenen Religionen toleriert.
Der abschließende 5. Teil, “Miszellen” (33.-37.
Eap.), handelt vom Verhältnis zwischen Indien und dem
besten, von Wissenschaft und Ökologie im Hinduismus,
v°m Zeitverständnis der Hindus und er bietet, last but
n°t least, eine ausführliche Zeittafel.
Die vorliegende Neuauflage zeichnet sich sowohl
^urch Kontinuität als auch durch Integration neue-
rer Forschungsergebnisse aus. Struktur und Inhalt der
früheren Auflagen wurden kaum geändert, doch wurde
^er Text aktualisiert und ergänzt, präzisiert und kor-
rigiert, mit neuerer Literatur versehen und vor allem
sprachlich überarbeitet. Begrüßenswert ist auch, dass die
Jahreszahlen verschiedener Persönlichkeiten in Klam-
mern hinzugefügt wurden. Der Experte darf sich zudem
y'euen, dass nun viele Fehler der diakritischen Sans-
yEt-Zeichensetzung ausgemerzt wurden, auch wenn die
E°rrektoren diesbezüglich keine absolute Fehlerlosig-
keit erreichen.
Anthr
Neu und besonders wichtig ist das 1. Kapitel: “The
Beginnings of Hinduism” (17-29), das dezidiert zu ei-
nem kontrovers diskutierten Thema Stellung nimmt.
Klostermaier überarbeitete leicht das gleichnamige Ka-
pitel seines Buches “Hinduism: A Short History” (Ox-
ford 2000: 34-46). Das ist in diesem Rahmen durchaus
gerechtfertigt, denn die Problematik der historischen
Grundlagen scheint inzwischen zum Gegenstand einer
polemisch-ideologischen Debatte zu verkommen. Es
werden Pro und Kontra zur Theorie einer Invasion/
Migration vedischer Arier um ca. 1500 v. Chr. diskutiert.
Aufgrund neuerer archäologischer Forschungen wird
die Industal-Zivilisation als ein vedisches Phänomen
betrachtet und das vedische Alter wird um Jahrtausende
zurückdatiert. Die ältesten vedischen Hymnen werden
auf ca. 4000 v. Chr. (nicht mehr v. a. aufgrund von
Sanskritstudien auf 1500 v. Chr.) datiert. Nach die-
ser “neuen Chronologie” spricht Klostermaier nicht
mehr von der “Industal Civilization”, sondern von der
“Mature Sindhu-Sarasvati Civilization”, ca. 2700-1500
v. Chr. - wohl wissend, dass noch weitere Forschungen
notwendig sind, um Indien “the cradle of civilization”
zu nennen.
Neu eingefügt sind auch die Kapitel 27-29 im
4. Teil, in denen es um das Verhältnis zwischen Hinduis-
mus und den drei großen Nicht-Hindu-Religionen geht;
Buddhismus, Christentum und Islam. Da das Buch ge-
rade in Kanada und Amerika Eingang in religions-
wissenschaftliche Vorlesungen gefunden hat, wäre aller-
dings auch ein kurzes Kapitel über die Beziehung zum
Sikhismus - einer indischen Religion neben Islam und
Hindu-Traditionen - wünschenswert gewesen.
Der 5. Teil ist eigentlich mehr als eine Sammlung
von “Miszellen”; er weist den Leser nochmals deut-
lich darauf hin, dass Hinduismus als kultureller Begriff
nicht auf religionswissenschaftliche Fragen eingegrenzt
werden darf. Sinnvollerweise wurden die Ausführun-
gen über Indien und den Westen, die in den früheren
Ausgaben zu Beginn des Buches waren, hier eingefügt.
Die Bedeutung von Wissenschaft und Ökologie in der
Vergangenheit und Gegenwart der Hindus (Kap. 34 und
35) wird skizziert und zum ersten Mal in dieser Form
präsentiert. Da diese Themen selten in einem Überblick
vorgestellt werden, können diese abschließend knappen
Ausführungen auch als Aufforderung zu weiteren Stu-
dien anregen.
Für die Neuauflage wurde der frühere Text kritisch
durchgesehen und oft präziser formuliert, vgl. die Aus-
führungen über Madhva (1238-1317). Weniger konse-
quent waren die Lektoren und Korrektoren in der Über-
prüfung von Klostermaiers Aussage “a sampradäya - a
term often (incorrectly) translated ‘sect’ or ‘denomina-
tion’ ” (185, 30). Es gibt immer noch Passagen, in denen
das Adjektiv “sectarian” benutzt wird, und im Glossar
bleibt “sampradäya a religious order or sect” stehen
(604). Ein Problem bleibt auch die Auswahl, Anordnung
und Erklärung der Fotos und graphischen Darstellungen,
da ihre Beziehung zum Text oft kaum einsichtig ist.
Durch die Verwendung eines anderen Schriftsatzes
und eines neuen Layouts gewinnt der Verlag Platz für
'opos 103.2008
602
Rezensionen
die zusätzlichen Texte, ohne die Seitenzahl erhöhen zu
müssen. Der Text wird gerade auch durch die Auf-
teilung in zusätzliche Abschnitte leserfreundlicher. Für
den Nichtfachmann sind dagegen die bibliographischen
Angaben in den Endnoten in ihrer überarbeiteten Form
unübersichtlich und damit oft unbrauchbar. Er wird die
Editionen der in Sanskrit abgefassten Werke und deren
Übersetzungen nicht mehr finden, weil deren vollständi-
ge bibliographischen Angaben in den Endnoten gestri-
chen wurden und nirgendwo ein Hinweis ist, dass die-
se sinnvollerweise in der Bibliographie nur unter dem
Sanskrit-Titel eingeordnet sind. Ein gutes Maß an mehr
Sorgfalt hätte auch in der Edition der Bibliographie sehr
genützt. Warum z. B. werden die Einträge der einzelnen
Autoren nicht zeitlich geordnet? So wäre wohl den Bear-
beitern auch aufgefallen, dass manche Einträge doppelt
erscheinen (z. B. p. 634: K. Klostermaier, Hinduism in
Bombay. Religion 2.1972/2). Nur schade, dass der Ver-
lag es bei einem so wichtigen und umfangreichen Werk
diesbezüglich an Professionalität fehlen lässt.
Gleichwohl gilt: Dieses Werk gehört in jede Uni-
versitätsbibliothek und sollte in der Bibliothek jedes
sich mit Hinduismus und Indien befassenden Instituts
stehen. Denn Klostermaiers Neuauflage gibt einen aus-
gezeichneten Überblick sowohl über traditionellen als
auch zeitgenössischen Hinduismus. Als ausgewiesener
Kenner der relevanten Literatur im Westen und in Indien
macht er auch auf neue Entwicklungen aufmerksam.
Dank seiner mehrjährigen Hindu-Erfahrung in Indien,
gelingt es ihm, Hinduismus auch aus der Perspektive
der Hindus darzustellen. Othmar Gächter
Kulijaman, Mataliwa, et Eliane Camargo : Rápte-
lo. L’origine du ciel de case et du roseau á fleches chez
les Wayana (Guyanes). Rémire-Montjoli: GADEPAM;
París: CTHS, 2007. 112pp. ISBN 978-2-7355-0646-0.
Prix: € 25.00
Este libro es un ejemplo de convivencia armónica
entre saber tradicional e investigación científica. Presen-
ta el fruto de una extensa colaboración entre Mataliwa
Kulijaman, un joven wayana que registró por escrito
el saber transmitido oralmente por su padre, y Eliane
Camargo, una etnolingüista reconocida por su trabajo
en sociedades de filiación caribe y paño. Interesado
por preservar el conocimiento heredado de su padre, el
joven Mataliwa no sólo propuso a Camargo escribir un
libro sobre sus propios registros etnográficos sino que
incluso eligió un recorte temático para el trabajo y lo
enriqueció con una trama tan original como sofisticada
de preocupaciones prácticas, asociaciones etimológicas
e incluso elucubraciones etnográficas y comparativas.
Actualmente, unos dos mil wayana habitan en la
zona selvática comprendida entre Brasil, la Guayana
francesa y Surinam. Básicamente, el libro documenta
las recitaciones que narran el origen de dos elementos
de la cultura material cruciales para la estética, la vida
social y la identidad étnica wayana: por un lado, el “cielo
de choza” (maluwana), un ornamento tradicionalmente
colocado en el ápice del techo de la maloca; por el otro,
la cerbatana (piíeu) y sus “flechas verdaderas”, dones
de la anaconda al mundo humano en el tiempo primi-
genio. Sin embargo, tal como profetiza Hocart en “The
Life-Giving Myth”, cuando se analiza un mito es difícil
contentarse con rastrear su etiología; Mataliwa no se
limita a registrar la génesis mítica de la cultura material
como si fuera un mero transmisor de saberes ajenos, sino
que modela activamente el legado de su padre. La me-
diación resulta evidente desde el mismo título del libro,
kaptelo, una palabra compuesta por Mataliwa a partir
de kap (raíz del verbo “confeccionar”), té (marca del
plural) y lo (la “tierra”), y que por tanto podría traducirse
como “la tierra hacedora de cosas”. Más allá de la fas-
cinación de las etimologías, el concepto evoca múltiples
asociaciones con la vida en la maloca colectiva, la caza,
el modelado de arcilla, y en un plano de abstracción
mayor con la identidad masculina, las relaciones de
género y las relaciones entre hombres y animales.
Mediante el cotejo de los mitos wayana con las
versiones apalai, otro grupo caribe de la zona, el juego
de las asociaciones se enriquece con la multiplicación,
la permutación y el contraste de diversas variaciones
narrativas, así como también con el vínculo con laS
historias locales - por ejemplo, en referencia a la guerra
y el matrimonio interétnico. En efecto, buena parte del
libro está dedicada a mostrar que el arte wayana no se
limita a una sedimentación pétrea situada al margen
la historia sino que opera como un proceso de reifl'
vención continua; ciertamente por parte de diferentes
grupos, pero también, dentro de un mismo grupo, p°r
los distintos sexos, por las diversas generaciones y aUl1
por los mismos individuos en diferentes momentos de
su vida. La percepción del cambio social no está exen-
ta de ambigüedades y paradojas. Los jóvenes wayana
manufacturan flechas sin iniciarse; los objetos que antes
eran de uso cotidiano hoy son “artesanías” para la venta,
y, financiado por turistas, funcionarios y otros agentes
externos, el aprendizaje de las técnicas se extiende Y
generaliza. Pero este éxito estratégico se encuentra em-
pañado por las copias que realizan artesanos extranjef°s
sin ninguna participación de los wayana. Ante la consta-
tación del olvido de las recitaciones, la desaparici°a
de las prohibiciones rituales o la desarticulación de
simbolismo tradicional, los wayana no pueden evitar
desgarrarse entre diferentes lecturas de la realidad:
un lado, celebran la adaptación a la lógica del merca
en función de la “hibridez”, la “etnogénesis” y demaS
panaceas que prescriben las academias contemporáneas,
por el otro, son amargamente conscientes de estar pre
senciando una pérdida que acaso sea irreparable.
Afortunadamente el libro no se limita al ana
textual sino que también documenta las técnicas
confección de la artesanía, los repertorios gráficos y
nombres de motivos (orugas, seres acuáticos, seres p ^
grosos, etc.); contiene, también, una buena cantida i
información indirecta pero valiosa sobre las bebidas
mentadas, las relaciones interétnicas, las técnicas arq ^
tectónicas regionales o la taxonomía del mundo ani
Además de magníficas fotografías, dibujos explican^
de los propios wayana, glosarios y varios anexos
103.2008
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Rezensionen
603
datos fonéticos, lexicales y tipológicos sobre la lengua,
todos los textos son presentados en traducción bilingüe,
en wayana y en francés. Para Eliane Camargo, en defi-
nitiva, queda la satisfacción del trabajo bien hecho; para
Mataliwa Kulijaman, la seguridad de que “Ráptelo ...”
lo inscribe en un extenso linaje que incluye nombres
ilustres como George Hunt, Francis la Flesche o Rubén
Pérez Kantule. Diego Villar
Largey, Michael D.: Vodou Nation. Haitian Art
Music and Cultural Nationalism. Chicago: The Univer-
sity of Chicago Press, 2006, 283 pp. ISBN 978-0-226-
46865-5. Price: $ 25.00
Mit seinem Buch “Vodou Nation. Haitian Art Music
and Cultural Nationalism” präsentiert der Autor eine
außerordentliche ethnomusikologische Abhandlung zur
Musikgeschichte Haitis. Ein fulminant recherchiertes,
wissenschaftliches Werk, gespickt mit einem Dutzend
notierter Musikbeispiele, wenig Bildmaterial, aber einer
ausführlichen vierzehnseitigen Bibliographie. In seiner
detaillierten Untersuchung beschäftigt Largey sich aber
nicht, wie man zunächst bei dem Titel vermuten mag,
mit der originären Musik der Vodou-Religion. Vielmehr
steht - und darauf deutet der Untertitel hin - hai-
tianische “Kunstmusik”, die französische und deutsche
klassische Elemente mit Haitis einheimischer Folklo-
remusik verbindet, im Vordergrund. Das ist in Bezug
auf Lateinamerika und die Karibik ein kaum erforschtes
Genre. Ein selten behandeltes Thema, das schon allein
deshalb neugierig macht.
Der Autor enttäuscht den Leser nicht: Anhand inter-
essanter übergreifender Fallstudien zeigt er die histori-
schen, ethnographischen und soziokulturellen Dimensio-
nen der haitianischen Kunstmusik auf. Im Mittelpunkt
der Forschung stehen dabei Komponisten der ersten
Hälfte des 20. Jhs. und im Besonderen ihre musika-
lischen Aktivitäten nach der militärischen Besetzung
Haitis durch US-Streitkräfte von 1915 bis 1934. Diese
Intervention diente vorwiegend der Sicherung von In-
teressen der USA statt der Befriedung des Landes. Eine
m vieler Hinsicht traumatische Epoche für ein in sei-
nem Nationalgefühl durch rassistischen Hochmut nicht
nur seitens der Amerikaner gedemütigtes Volk. “Vodou
Hation” wirft Licht auf die Entstehung der Kunstmusik
haitianischer und afroamerikanischer Komponisten, wel-
che durch die haitianische Geschichte als eine Nation
her Sklavenrevolten beeinflusst wurden. Während der
amerikanischen Besatzung Haitis begannen afroameri-
kanische Komponisten vom Vodou inspirierte musikali-
Sche Idiome in ihrer Musik zu verwenden, um die Kunst
her Schwarzen hervorzuheben und gegen die Unter-
drückung durch die Weißen zu protestieren. Zusammen
^It haitianischen Musikern trugen diese Komponisten
dazu bei, “Vodou Nation”, wie Michael Largey es nennt,
2u kreieren, eine ideale Vision Haitis, die ihre in Afrika
Wurzelnde Kultur dem amerikanischen Imperialismus
als Bollwerk entgegenhält.
Largey macht deutlich, wie der einst im eigenen
Land durch Intellektuelle als Aberglaube und Unzivili-
Anthr
siertheit verschmähte Vodou-Kult den unterschiedlichen
sozialen Schichten, Elite und Landbevölkerung, gemein-
same Wurzeln aufzeigt und ihre nationale Identität wi-
derspiegelt. Vodou wird ein wichtiger Bestandteil für
die Verbindung der städtischen Elite mit der ländlichen
Bevölkerung, die zusammen Teil einer fest in afrikani-
scher Tradition verwurzelten haitianischen Nation sind.
Durch einen Prozess der Folklorisierung haben die Kom-
ponisten die Gefahr unerwünschter Einflüsse von außen
verhindert. Indem sie sich sowohl bei Vödou-Musik als
auch bei städtischen Formen wie durch klassische, west-
europäisch beeinflusste haitianischer Musik, beispiels-
weise der Beguine, einem der Rumba ähnlichen Gesell-
schaftstanz, bedienten und musikalische Elemente aus
ihrem Originalkontext lösten, ermöglichten die Kom-
ponisten sowohl den Musikern als auch den Zuhörern
einen “afrikanischen” Standpunkt zu beziehen, ohne das
vertraute Klassendenken aufgeben zu müssen. Diese
durch die so genannte Elite geschaffene national ge-
prägte Ausdrucksweise umfasste theoretisch die gesam-
te haitianische Bevölkerung, gab der Landbevölkerung
jedoch keine Möglichkeit, bei deren Schaffung aktiv
mitzu wirken.
Besonders herausgestellt wird das in dem Buch
anhand mehrerer Schlüsselfiguren. Hierzu gehört auch
die Auseinandersetzung des haitianischen Komponisten
Occide Jeanty (1860-1936) mit Jean-Jacques Dessali-
nes (1758-1806), der 1804 Haiti in die Unabhängigkeit
führte. Jeanty, der seine musikalische Ausbildung in sei-
ner Heimatstadt Port-au-Prince in der von seinem Vater
gegründeten “L’Ecole Centrale de la Musique” und ab
1881 auf dem Konservatorium in Paris erhielt, wurde
1885 in seiner Heimat Musikdirektor beim Präsidenten
und Leiter der Militärkappelle, wo er für seine “Marsch-
komposition” bekannt wurde. Zu seinen musikalischen
Werken gehörten unter anderem die erste und immer
noch inoffizielle Nationalhymne Haitis, die Jeanty 1893
anlässlich eines Kriegsschiffsempfangs auf das patrioti-
sche Gedicht, mit dem Titel; “Quand nos Aïeux brisèrent
leurs entraves” (sinngemäß: “Als unsere Vorfahren ihre
Fesseln sprengten”), komponierte.
Ein weiteres Kapitel (chapter V) beschäftigt sich mit
dem aus einer deutsch-haitianischen Familie stammen-
den Musiker Werner Anton Jaegerhuber (1900-1953),
der am Vogt’sehen Konservatorium in Hamburg Kom-
position studierte. Er suchte den direkten Kontakt mit
haitianischen Musikern und transkribierte systematisch
ethnographische Daten, um sie in eigenen Kompositio-
nen zu verwenden.
Michael Largeys Buch verlangt dem Leser einiges an
musikwissenschaftlichen und historischen Kenntnissen
ab, stellt aber gerade für Experten eine hervorragende
Bereicherung auf diesem Gebiet dar.
Michael D. Largey (* 1959) ist Associate Professor
für Musikwissenschaft an der Michigan State Univer-
sity. Der Schwerpunkt seiner wissenschaftlichen Unter-
suchungen liegt auf dem Gebiet der karibischen Musik.
Weitere Forschungsbereiche sind die Musik Süd- und
Ostasiens sowie die historische Musikwissenschaft. Be-
kannt wurde er zusammen mit Peter Manuel und Ken-
•opos 103.2008
604
Rezensionen
neth Bilby als Koautor des 1996 mit dem “Gordon K.
Lewis Memorial Award for Caribbean Scholarship” aus-
gezeichneten Buches “Caribbean Currents. Caribbean
Music from Rumba to Reggae” (Philadelphia 1995).
Silke Straatman
Lehmann, Albrecht: Reden über Erfahrung. Kultur-
wissenschaftliche Bewusstseinsanalyse des Erzählens.
Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 2007. 256 pp. ISBN
978-3-496-02801-7. Preis; €24.90
Der Autor, emeritierter Professor für Volkskunde
der Universität Hamburg, legt mit diesem ungemein
wichtigen und herausfordernden Buch gewissermaßen
die Summe seines Lebenswerkes vor. Seine in lebens-
langer Forschungspraxis gesammelte Erfahrung in Zu-
sammenarbeit mit Menschen aller Klassen und Schich-
ten findet hier ihre Summe in einem Buch über die
Erfahrungen anderer. Lehmann fasst hier die in sei-
nen vorausgegangenen Werken über “Erzählstruktur
und Lebenslauf’ (Frankfurt 1983), “Gefangenschaft und
Heimkehr” (München 1986), “Von Menschen und Bäu-
men. Die Deutschen und ihr Wald” (Reinbek 1999)
und zum Landschaftsbewusstsein (“Aspekte populä-
ren Landschaftsbewusstseins.” In; W. Siemann [Hrsg.],
Umweltgeschichte; pp. 147-164. München 2003) er-
zielten Erkenntnisse über die Erinnerungsarbeit von
Menschen im Erzählen von Erfahrungen zusammen und
leitet daraus Thesen für eine am Menschen orientierte
neue “Erzählforschung als Bewusstseinsforschung” ab.
Lehmann fordert, dass nicht länger die Fragen nach
Ursprung, Verbreitung, den kulturhistorischen Hinter-
gründen und literaturwissenschaftlichen Gattungskriteri-
en im Mittelpunkt volkskundlicher Narrativistik stehen
sollten, sondern die “Wirkung der oralen und auch der
literarischen Tradition auf die Erzähler und ihr sozial-
kulturelles Milieu” (38). Er nennt die von ihm betrie-
bene andere Art der Erzählforschung Bewusstseinsana-
lyse und verfolgt damit das Ziel, die gebräuchlichen
Regeln des Denkens aufzuspüren, die darauf aufbauen-
den Formen des Erzählens zu entdecken, diese genau zu
beschreiben und schließlich im sozialen und kulturellen
Kontext zu analysieren (180). In dem von ihm mit-
herausgegebenen Buch über die “Methoden der Volks-
kunde” (mit Silke Göttsch; Berlin 2001, 22007) führt
er die Bewusstseinsforschung im Schnittpunkt von Er-
fahrungsgeschichte (Oral History) und volkskundlicher
Biographie- und Erzählforschung als neues Forschungs-
gebiet ein. Mit Titeln wie “Rechtfertigungsgeschichten”
(1980), “Erzählen zwischen den Generationen” (1989),
“Der Schicksalsvergleich” (1991) u. a. hatte Lehmann
diese wissenschaftliche Position auch in seinen Aufsät-
zen überzeugend vertreten. Er hat damit einen bleiben-
den Einfluss auf sein Fach ausgeübt und eine Schule
der empirischen Bewusstseinsforschung gebildet, aus
der namhafte Werke u. a. von Hans Joachim Schröder,
Klaus Schriewer, Dietmar Sedlaczek, Klaus Brake und
Brigitta Schmidt-Lauber hervorgegangen sind.
Die Grundthese seines neuen Buches lautet, dass
Erfahrungen nicht anders als erzählend vermittelt wer-
den und stets an Situationen gebunden sind. Menschen
erinnern sich genau an die Atmosphäre, in der sich ihre
Erfahrungen ereigneten. Aufgabe der Erzählforschung
als Teil der kulturwissenschaftlichen Volkskunde sei es,
mehr als bisher geschehen die Menschen, ihre Erfahrun-
gen und Wünsche, ihre Welt- und Wirklichkeitsbilder
in den Mittelpunkt der Forschung zu rücken. Alltags-
geschickten und autobiographischen Texten komme für
diese “empirische Wissenschaft vom Menschen” grö-
ßere Bedeutung zu als den Gattungen der traditionel-
len volkskundlichen Forschung. Dadurch rückt ein voll-
kommen anders geartetes Wortfeld in den Blickpunkt:
Der erste Teil des Buches, “Erfahrung als Schlüssel-
begriff der kulturwissenschaftlichen Erzählforschung”,
beschäftigt sich daher hauptsächlich mit der Diskussion
von zugehörigen Grundbegriffen wie Erfahrung, Selek-
tion, Gedächtnis, Erinnerung, Unbewusstes, individuel-
les und kollektives Bewusstsein, Wahrheit, Wahrheits-
wert, Wahrnehmen, Erinnern, Vergessen, Zeitgeist und
Epoche. Der zweite Teil mit dem Titel “Atmosphären
erzählen” stellt den Begriff der Atmosphäre ins Zentrum
und zeigt, dass, wo immer lebensgeschichtliche Zen-
tralerinnerungen zur Sprache kommen, atmosphärische
Kontexte wie Raumwahmehmungen, Dinge, Situationen
und Landschaft eine zentrale Rolle spielen.
Der dritte und umfangreichste Teil des Buches
(99-222) ist den “Forschungsfeldem” gewidmet, in de-
nen Reden über Erfahrung sich konkretisiert und zu
denen die historisch-empirische Bewusstseinsforschung
wichtige Beiträge zu leisten imstande ist. Das Kapitel
folgt keinem systematischen Plan von konkurrieren-
den Bereichen historisch-empirischer Forschung, son-
dern bringt Beispiele zu Themenfeldern mit Praxisbe-
zug für empirische Forschung, folgt Präferenzen, die
durch die Forschungsbeiträge des Autors vorgegeben
sind und schöpft außerdem aus neueren kulturwissen'
schaftlichen Untersuchungen, deren Arbeitsweise seiner
eigenen verwandt ist. Als historische Quellengrundlag6
für sein erstes Thema “Erzählen und Zeitgeschichte
wählt Albrecht Lehmann die berühmten “Meldung611
aus dem Reich”, anhand derer er die Bedeutung v°n
Gerüchten in der Zeit des Zweiten Weltkriegs heraus-
stellen kann, einer Zeit, in der die Menschen vielfa6
auf Hörensagen angewiesen waren, von Scheingewiss'
heilen lebten und deren Erzählungen von V-Männern für
das Propagandaministerium von Goebbels aufgezeid1
net wurden. Politische Gerüchte, Erzählungen über di6
Wochenschauen, Vergeltungserzählungen und ErzähluU
gen über Feinde kommen hier zur Sprache, bevor sic
der Autor in einem weiteren Teilkapitel der “Moder
nen Mythen- und Sagenbildung” zuwendet. Hier geI
es um so unterschiedliche Themen wie Erzählung611
über Begegnungen mit Prominenten, über den “g^t
Zaren” als Kristallisationsfigur im alten Russland, u
Stalin und - offenbar unvermeidlich, wenn man sich
politischen Alltagserzählungen befasst - um den Hu
mythos und seine Folgen, u. a. um die nach 1933 ang6
legten Hakenkreuzwälder. .
Das umfangreichste, dritte Teilkapitel in diesem ^
schnitt trägt den Titel “Heimat - Umwelt - Verlust
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
605
wirkt durch zwei Exkurse im Werkganzen etwas inho-
mogen, wird aber durch den zentralen Begriff des Land-
schaftsbewusstseins, das Lehmann zu den konservati-
ven Elementen unserer Kultur zählt, zusammengehalten.
Durch gut ausgewählte Interviewauszüge, die in den
übrigen Teilen des Buches eher selten sind, wird die Be-
deutung dieses Begriffes im Reden von Menschen über
Landschaftserfahrung verdeutlicht. Wichtig erscheint
auch Lehmanns Erkenntnis, dass Kenntnisse über Land-
schaftsstimmungen und -formen vielfach durch Bild-
zeugnisse vermittelt werden, um sich später typisiert in
Erzählungen als Wissen zu artikulieren. In einem vierten
Teilkapitel geht es um das Vergleichen als Muster des
Redens. In lebensgeschichtlichen Erhebungen schälen
sich vor allem folgende Arten von Erzählungen heraus:
Preis-Leistungs-Geschichten, Ländervergleiche (vor al-
lem bei Migranten), Epochenvergleiche in Biographien
und Erzählungen von schwerwiegenden Erkrankungen,
die in Vorher-Nachher-Geschichten resultieren.
Das anschließende fünfte Teilkapitel zur “Inter-
kulturellen Kommunikation” würdigt die historischen
Verdienste der volkskundlich-ethnologischen Erzählfor-
schung um die Erforschung grenzüberschreitender Aus-
tauschprozesse und referiert neuere Forschungsergeb-
nisse zum Erzählen in einer globalisierten Welt und zu
interethnischen Begegnungen in der modernen Alltags-
Welt.
Der abschließende vierte Teil des Buches diskutiert
die “Erzählforschung in der gegenwärtigen kulturwis-
senschaftlichen Forschung” am Beispiel des Europage-
dankens. Bei der Diskussion aktueller Europa-Konzepte
der Europäischen Ethnologie kommt am Ende noch et-
was Polemik ins Spiel, indem Lehmann den Vertretern
dieser “neuen Forschungsdisziplin” vorhält, sie seien
von einer eigenständigen empirischen Forschung noch
Weit entfernt, wenn sie die fruchtbaren Forschungs-
ansätze der Erzählforschung und Sachkulturanalyse au-
ßen vor lassen. Die Kulturanalyse des Erzählens, eine an
den sozialen und kulturellen Problemen und Prozessen
der Gegenwart und ihrer spezifischen Erzählkultur inter-
nierten Narratologie, sei ein integraler Bestandteil der
Sozial- und Kulturwissenschaften und sehr wohl in der
Lage, wissenschaftliche Erkenntnisse über die Mehrheit
der Bevölkerung und ihrer Alltagskultur beizutragen.
Lem kann auch der Rezensent nur uneingeschränkt zu-
sammen, denn Albrecht Lehmann hat mit seinem ge-
waltigen Lebenswerk zum homo narrans, das sich quasi
111 diesem Buch spiegelt, immer wieder gezeigt, dass wir
keine Vorstellung von einer zukünftigen Kultur haben,
ln der man nicht mehr wüsste, was Erzählen heißt (226).
Rolf Wilhelm Brednich
Lucero, Lisa J., and Barbara W. Fash (eds.):
recolumbian Water Management. Ideology, Ritual, and
Power. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press, 2006.
304 pp. ISBN 978-0-8165-2314-6. Price: $55.00
Water! Sometimes there is too much of it; sometimes
f°° little. Whatever the situation, water management
ls essential for successful social living. Utilizing ar-
^nth
chaeological data, ethnography, iconography, epigraphy,
and various aspects of geography and geoscience, this
collection of fifteen essays describes water management
systems in Precolumbian Mesoamerica and the North
American Southwest, combining subsistence and settle-
ment patterns and ecological issues with water sym-
bolism and ritual and considering how such systems
interrelated with political authority. The underlying in-
tent is basically to “underscore the importance of water
management research and its need to be included in
archaeological research” (3).
The volume conveys a strong sense of the great di-
versity of types of Mesoamerican and Southwestern wa-
ter management arrangements, though within that range
the essays particularly emphasize Mesoamerican still
water systems utilizing reservoirs, lakes, and lakeshores,
and reclaimed wetlands as contrasted with moving water
or canal irrigation. The essays are arranged chronologi-
cally and balance discussions of a wide variety of spe-
cific water-related factors with focus on particular sites.
The Preclassic is represented by papers on the Olmec
emphasizing the vast riverine and floodwater landscape
and the role of islotes, low artificial earth-mounds near
watercourses, with particular emphasis on San Lorenzo;
on Formative Central Mexico represented by early canal
irrigation and the Yautepec Valley of Morelos; on the
discovery of early canal irrigation via Lake Miraflores
at Kaminaljuyu, Guatemalan Highlands. Classic period
water systems are explored in essays on the Maya
lowlands emphasizing bajo and reservoir systems and
the variety of responses to seasonal vagaries of rainfall
throughout the region as well as a useful comparison
with the island of Bali, while the Maya uplands are
represented by urban drainage and flood-control issues at
Copan and Palenque. Postclassic developments are rep-
resented by discussion of management of the Mexico-
Texcoco lake system in the Basin of Mexico and the
nature of karstic water sources at Mayapan, northern
Yucatan. The North American Southwest provides ma-
terial for discussions of water systems and rituals as a
form of technology at Casas Grandes, Chihuahua, and
the significance of reservoirs for northern Rio Grande
communities of New Mexico.
In keeping with the theme of the volume, the essays
repeatedly emphasize that, in Precolumbian societies,
water was not just a material resource but also a sacred
one. All the authors go well beyond hydraulic engineer-
ing matters per se to consider, in considerable depth and
detail, not only the interrelationship of water manage-
ment with settlement pattern and social organization but
also its fundamental incorporation into cosmology and
ritual. The very ancient belief that water sources con-
stitute access to the waters of the underworld, and thus
are places of origin, is a frequently cited theme applied
to analysis of the ideological and ritual importance of
springs, lakes, swamps, caves, and cave mountains and
of the humanly constructed wells, sunken plazas-cum-
catchment basins, reservoirs, and architectural water-
mountain (courtyard and temple-pyramid) complexes
that replicate these natural/supematural features. The
‘ropos 103.2008
606
Rezensionen
political-ideological complex of water, fertility, pleni-
tude, and political authority is similarly recognized and
explored.
Most authors consider such general issues in con-
crete terms with solid data and often provide thought-
provoking details and enlivening nuances on matters
large and small. For example, it was important that
political-ideological specialists in the Maya lowlands not
only control water quantity but also assure quality, that
is, a sufficiency of clean, potable water, as reflected in
water-cleansing rites and the well-known presence of
the water lily as an indexical plant and royal symbol,
along with ecological methods for facilitating potability
with a judicious mix of water flora and fauna that further
provided protein sources and a variety of useful plants.
In the same fundamental sense, since it was important
that a Pueblo community be associated with a watery
place of cosmological origins, the sheer presence of
water was essential even if it was of limited functional
value (“A muddy pool with frogs and cattails would
have provided an occasional jar of water but, more
important, would have represented an ideological link
between that community and the wider world”; Snead,
215). On a smaller scale, the nature of the evidence for
discontinuing use of the walk-in well at Casas Grandes
suggests deliberate ritual abandonment rather than war-
fare; the extreme purity and sacrality of water dripping
in a cave allowed it to be used in preparation of ritual
drinks and healing potions at Copan.
The volume concludes with an excellent overview by
Vernon Scarborough, who discusses the historical back-
ground of water management studies in Mesoamerica
and the Southwest. He reviews the contentious emphasis
in the 1970s on irrigation systems, especially in the
Basin of Mexico, and their implications for the devel-
opment of the archaic state, followed by a general lack
of interest in water management issues in general in the
1980s. He also heralds the dogged persistence of Alfred
Siemens, a wetlands geographer, and his collaborators in
continuing to emphasize the role of wetlands agriculture
in eastern and southeastern Mesoamerica during the
1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, when few were listening. This
long unappreciated work is finally gaining well-deserved
recognition as both still water research and the contri-
butions of geographers and other geoscientists, four of
whom are contributors to this volume, finally receive
more archaeological appreciation and attention. Con-
sequently, although canal irrigation has been revisited
and continues to be investigated - Scarborough himself
offers a brief review of canalization in Mesoamerica
with specific focus on more recent work in the Tehuacan
Valley, Puebla, still water systems, finally coming of
age as this volume attests, “can now be understood as
the subcontinent’s legacy to the economic and political
evolution of the archaic state” (Scarborough, 235).
Mary W. Helms
Majnep, Ian Saem, and Ralph Bulmer: Animals
the Ancestors Hunted. An Account of the Wild Mam-
mals of the Kalam Area, Papua New Guinea. Ed. by
Robin Hide and Andrew Pawley. Adelaide: Crawford
House Publishing, 2007. 452 pp. ISBN 978-1-86333-
298-9. Price: $ 59.95
This extraordinary book may be the last to appear
from one of the most remarkable collaborations in the
history of anthropology. Majnep died just this past
year at his home in the Kaironk Valley of Madang
Province, Papua New Guinea, and was predeceased by
Bulmer in 1988. The editors are to be commended fc>r
making available this valuable work, most of which
previously appeared as a series of working papers at the
University of Auckland (New Zealand), but has been
known to relatively few scholars of ethnobiology and
New Guinea. Originally, what are now the chapters of
this book were recorded and transcribed by Majnep
in the Kalam language in 1975-1982, with Bulmer
translating them into English and adding commentary
from 1977-1985. Andrew Pawley, the world’s leading
authority on the Kalam language, has now polished the
translations, and Robin Hide, a noted specialist in New
Guinea societies and ethnobiology, has smoothly edited
it all into a wonderfully readable whole.
In 1963, Bulmer, by then a seasoned ethnographer»
began intensive work (following a visit in 1960) among
the Kalam people, who had experienced their first direct
contact with Europeans only a decade before, and f°r
whom Australian administrative control had been 111
effect only since 1958. At the time, Majnep was a
teenager, having grown up in a society that had still
not entered the cash-crop-based world economy. &lS
obvious knowledge and ability to articulate it led t0
Bulmer’s adoption of him as a leading field assistant.
Over many field trips by Bulmer and visits by Majnep
to Auckland and Canberra, the growing collaboration
reflected Bulmer’s strong commitment to a “need in
ethnographic reporting for two-sided partnerships • ■■
the insider is allowed to speak for himself, instea
of having his words filtered through the prism 0
the anthropologist’s' interpretation and reformulated lfl
Western forms of discourse” (xxi). The fruits of m1®
approach became clear in their first major coauthore
publication, “Birds of My Kalam Country” (Aucklan
University Press and Oxford University Press, 19/
and this book represents Majnep’s own choice as th
second. (Majnep intended, before his recent death, t
“Kalam Plant Lore” be the focus of a third.)
The intended audience includes anthropologists, z0
ologists, educated Europeans and Papua New Gumean^
and Majnep’s own Kalam people. As he put it: ‘in 0
children’s time people won’t know how their grandp^
ents’ generation lived. It’s for this reason that the
of us are now setting this knowledge on record, f°r
people who come later, and their children yet unbo ^
not just in my own area but in other parts of Papua
Guinea” (9). All in this audience are well served,
chapters devoted to specific animals accompanie
photographs as well as superb drawings of each tu^
species by anthropologist Christopher Healey, an v
useful glossaries and indexes.
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
607
As with their other works, Bulmer and Majnep weave
fascinating ethnographic detail into their accounts of the
Kalam mammalian fauna, contextualizing the animals
not only in terms of their economic, but also their social
and cosmological significance. Not only ethnobiologists,
but any scholar - indeed any reader - interested in the
intricacies of human cultures will find much of value.
Terence E. Hays
Malaurie, Jean: Hummocks. Journeys and Inquiries
among the Canadian Inuit. Translated by Peter Feld-
stein. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2007.
386 pp. ISBN 978-0-7735-3200-7. Price: $49.95
Jean Malaurie’s “Hummocks” is a remarkably rich
and complex work. Referring to maniilrak, old pack
ice embedded in next winter’s freeze-up, “hummocks”
is an apt metaphor for a lifetime, indeed a world, of
challenges. This book is a probing analysis of the ma-
terial and social realities of Inuit life in the Canadian
Eastern Arctic in the mid-20th century. It is also a
captivating reflexive ethnography and personal narrative
of field research experience by a distinguished scholar
Who knows the terrain intimately. At the same time, the
book is a dialogue with 19th century-early 20th century
European arctic explorers and pioneering ethnographers
who encountered and described the landscapes and
Peoples studied later by Malaurie.
The book shifts seamlessly back and forth between
these varying perspectives. In chapter 3, for example,
Malaurie relates a harrowing canoe journey in 1961 up
Eae and James Ross Straits to reach the Netsilingmiut
community at Spence Bay. This was followed a month
later by an overland trek with companion-guide Krokiarq
to reach Thom Bay on the east side of Boothia Peninsu-
la. Woven between these accounts are evocative excerpts
from the journals of John Ross, Francis M’Clintock,
Eoald Amundsen, and Knud Rasmussen who interacted
With Netsilingmiut in these very same places. In this
manner, Malaurie deftly engages the reader in a conver-
sation about who the Inuit were in the past, who they are
now (as of the 1960s), and where they may be heading
as a people in the future.
The book opens dramatically with Malaurie’s dogsled
Ravel to Thule, Greenland, in 1951. His Polar Inuit
Companion Sakaeunguak’s shamanic song prophesies a
great tragedy” just before the travelers come upon the
Waited States Air Force’s secret Cold War air base, site
°f a later B-52 bomber crash with loaded H-bombs. This
Poorly known (to outsiders) disaster resonates with later
discussions as Malaurie continually weighs the erosive
lnipacts of the European presence in the Canadian Arc-
tlc- The trapping-debt system of the Hudson’s Bay Com-
ply, the community divisiveness created by Catholic
Ablate and Anglican missionaries, ill-conceived govern-
ment relief and settlement relocation programs, mining,
an<3 other developments are subjected to continual ap-
Pmisal and often withering critique.
Chapter 2 provides useful historical context for un-
derstanding Canada’s vexing public policy toward the
^nth
Inuit leading up to the creation of Nunavut and Nunavik
as self-governing territories in the late 1990s. This in-
cludes a partial history of Malaurie’s long professional
career in the Arctic, emphasizing the 1960s when he
coordinated a series of five research expeditions under
contract with the National Museums of Canada and the
Northern Co-ordination and Research Center. Focused
on hunting ecology and microeconomic structures with
an eye toward policy recommendations, these five trips
to various communities of the Canadian Eastern Arctic
are the substantive backbone of the volume. Chapter 2
is also a revealing social history of anthropology and
aboriginal administration in Canada. Malaurie’s person-
al contacts comprise a who’s who of academics, gov-
ernment officials, and Inuit leaders: Diamond Jenness,
Asen Balikci, David Damas, Benoît Robitaille, Jacques
Rousseau, Jean Lesage, Guy Poitras, Jean Chrétien,
Tagak Curley, and Charlie Watt, among many others.
Here and elsewhere in the book Malaurie is highly criti-
cal of Canada’s and Quebec’s paternalism and slowness
to respond to crippling famines, poverty, and diseases
of development emerging in Inuit communities in the
1950s and 1960s. Tellingly, he finds the enlightened
policy for Greenland Inuit as a good fifty years ahead
of the Canadian situation. With no small irony, he ac-
knowledges Canada’s support of his research at a time
when his own country, France, would not.
Malaurie’s first Canadian research is recounted in
chapter 1. Here he introduces his modus operandi as
an anthropogeographer, using lived experience with
Igluligmiut hosts in the Foxe Basin in 1960-1961 to
decipher the intricacies of human-environment interac-
tions. Whether traveling over pack ice by dogsled with
his companion Awa, or living with a camp of walrus-
hunting families, Malaurie captures the subtleties of
sights, sounds, behaviors, and temperament that com-
prise landscape, life, and livelihood. He also introduces
the idea of Inuit as exemplars of “anarcho-commu-
nalism” and a “pantheistic philosophy of nature”: an
egalitarian society of sharing kin tied to a particular bio-
geography and the souls of ancestors who, via naming
of newborns, can be brought back among the living.
Anarcho-communalism becomes a prominent leitmotif
throughout the book, a hallmark of Inuit culture and
cosmology, the genius of their adaptation to an environ-
ment of extremes. Malaurie frequently expresses appre-
hension about loss of such knowledge and experience
to assimilating, globalizing forces. Yet, he remains ever
hopeful that a new generation of leaders can creatively
construct a future self-governing Inuit society upon a
base of anarcho-communalist wisdom.
Chapter 3 relates Malaurie’s second and third trips in
1961. As noted previously, these were to the Netsiling-
miut communities of Boothia Peninsula. As in much of
his field research, Malaurie is given access to the reports
and data files of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Rarely cited or utilized by social scientists, the rich
socioeconomic and demographic information becomes
a valuable supplement to Malaurie’s own surveys of
Inuit families. Indeed, the annual RCMP reports reveal
'ropos 103.2008
608
Rezensionen
extremes of deprivation and poverty hidden from or
ignored by the rest of Canadian society. The RCMP
constables also allow Malaurie to accompany them on
their rounds, provide him with lodging, and, in other
districts, offer vital travel and logistical support. In short,
the RCMP officers emerge as heroic figures in this
narrative. Some other Euro-Canadian agents, such as the
Oblate priest at Thom Bay, who also assists Malaurie
with lodging and survey interviewing, are presented
as more rigid, troubled or conflicted and, ultimately,
more erosive to Inuit culture and ideology. A valuable
aspect of this book is the way that individual Inuit
and Euro-Canadians alike are vividly drawn in terms
of behaviors, personalities, aspirations, and motivations.
Such characterizations also help capture the interethnic
tensions of social life in the Arctic.
Chapter 4 details Malaurie’s expedition in 1962 to
Inuit communities along the northwest coast of Hudson
Bay. A particular focus is Rankin Inlet, the site of a
nickel mine since the early 1950s and the employer
of nearly 100 Inuit. Malaurie notes that Canada’s (and
America’s) eagerness to industrialize this sector of the
North lacked foresight or planning for the well-being
of the Inuit workers who languish in apartheid-like
conditions with exorbitant housing and consumer costs.
Such rapid cultural displacement produces despair and,
in time, high rates of alcoholism, drug abuse, and
youth suicide. Paradoxically, in Malaurie’s view, the
grim experience at Rankin Inlet may have awakened,
rather than “anesthetized,” a later generation of Inuit
leaders. Malaurie also makes trips to Chesterfield Inlet
and Baker Lake, the latter a gathering place for the
inland Caribou Inuit who had been suffering severely
from recurrent famines and disease following a steady
decline of the barrenground caribou herds since 1930.
On route, he engages in revealing debates with Fa-
ther Robert Haramburu, the Oblate provincial, about
the nature of missionizing and its impact upon Inuit
culture.
The final chapter 5, at 127 pages, is nearly a book in
itself. Malaurie is at his most philosophical and emotion-
ally invested in this material regarding the “Spartans of
Back River,” his phrase for the Utkuhikhalingmiut (or
Utku), seven families who are inland caribou hunters
and fishers living along the Back River drainage and its
outlet in Chantrey Inlet. At the time of his expedition
in 1963, these people were among the ethnographical-
ly least known of Inuit groups. The austerity of their
lifestyle is reflected in their lack of soapstone oil lamps,
or any continuous heating source other than the human
body, even during the depths of winter.
The same decline in caribou populations which rav-
aged nearby Caribou Inuit has also negatively impacted
the Utku forcing a greater dependency upon Arctic
char and whitefish for food. Despite their compromised
subsistence, however, they observe a taboo against hunt-
ing seals. Given their frequent intermarriage with seal-
hunting Netsilingmiut, the taboo becomes an engrossing
ethnohistorical and cultural puzzle. Malaurie grapples
with this issue throughout the chapter and also includes
some hypotheses by his colleague Andrâs Zempléni in
an appendix. The book ends with intense longing and
regret. Given the arrival of another anthropologist (Jean
Briggs) in Back River shortly after his departure, fol-
lowed by the relocation of Utku families to Gjoa Haven
and Spence Bay in later decades, Malaurie reflects that
his brief sojourn might have been prolonged into a peri-
od of more profound revelations: “Back River was one
of those inner places that one spends a whole lifetime
trying to revisit; a hallowed place imbued with intensity*
an attraction all the more haunting in that the community
living there, by being dispersed, was annihilated.”
More than 20 maps provide detailed information on
communities and the routes of Malaurie and earlier
travelers. Artists’ depictions of Inuit from 19th century
exploration accounts, and numerous photographs drawn
from Malaurie’s fieldwork, provide visual context. An
informative feature of the book is the display of raw data
taken directly from Malaurie’s field notebooks. Included
are plans of snow houses replete with interior artifacts,
features, and occupants; a dramatic series of sketches
of women’s tattoo markings drawn by their relatives,
drawings of hunting and fishing setups; sketch maps °
hunting routes; diary excerpts; and household equipment
inventories, among other items. Juxtaposed with the
narrative text, these materials provide a grounding in
ethnographic substance missing from much contemp0'
rary anthropological writing.
Malaurie is a remarkably erudite scholar who makes
wide-ranging use of the ideas of Braudel, Lévi-Strauss,
Clastres, and Ribeiro, not to mention various Renal®
sance and Enlightenment thinkers. While he bac
streams effectively to Rasmussen and Birket-Smith, °ne
might wonder about the potential for “interpreting f°r
ward,” that is, contextualizing his 1960s work in 1
light of ethnographic research in the Canadian Easteid
Arctic in recent decades. Then too, one could ask h°w
the broader literature on hunter-foragers, political eC°^
omy, and postcolonial society might augment sortie, •
Malaurie’s discûssions. In fairness, these were not
intentions, and they suggest a different kind of volum6
As it stands, “Hummocks” challenges and informs
multaneously on multiple levels. Malaurie’s lively u
person, present-tense style captured my attention on ^
first page. I rarely encounter a scholarly book that t
compelled to read straight through cover to cover,
was one of them. Robert Jarvenp
Michael, Holger: Kulturelles Erbe als identitätsstif
tende Instanz? Eine ethnographisch-vergleichende ^
die dörflicher Gemeinschaften an der Atlantik- un9aq7.
zifikküste Nicaraguas. Bielefeld: transcript Verlag,
227 pp. ISBN 978-3-89942-602-1. Preis; € 27.80
Holger Michaels Buch, das seine Dissertation
Lateinamerika-Institut der EU Berlin darstellt, ist m
pelter Hinsicht ein Lehrstück: Es wählt einen Zug
wie er auch im Titel einer soeben in Frankfurt am
stattfindenden ethnologischen Vortragsreihe anzu 1 ^
scheint: “The End of Anthropology?”, und lass
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
609
doch erkennen, dass man bei bestimmten Fragen nicht
ohne Anthropologie auskommt.
Gemeint ist, dass bei Holger Michaels vergleichen-
der Studie über die historisch unterschiedlich gepräg-
te Pazifik- und Atlantikküste Nicaraguas (ähnlich wie
bei den Cultural Studies, in deren Nähe sie anzusie-
deln ist) ein Zugang zum Verstehen fremdkulturlicher
Phänomene nicht zur Debatte steht. Der Autor nähert
sich seinem Forschungsgegenstand in schlichter sozio-
logischer Denkart, so dass eine “dichte ethnographische
Beschreibung” mit der Ausdeutung fremder Symbolik
wenig Raum bekommt. Dann aber schalten sich in die
Arbeit, die in solider politisch bzw. soziologischer Ma-
nier für jeweils ein Dorf in den beiden Landesteilen
die Flaltung und Folgen der teils einschneidenden na-
tionalen Regierungswechsel in den letzten 50 Jahren
zusammenträgt, urplötzlich Neid (envidia) und Zauberei
{brujería) wie Fremdkörper ein. Als Überlebsei einer
früheren Realität tauchen sie als “kulturelles Erbe” auf,
welches sich in anderen Bereichen nicht mehr ausma-
chen lässt.
Dabei ist der Ansatz des Buches anregend und
die Themenstellung auch überfällig, nämlich Vergleiche
anzustellen zwischen den beiden gegensätzlichen Lan-
desteilen Nicaraguas (10 ff.). Die Atlantik- und die Pa-
zifikküste haben, wie der Autor in seinem ersten Kapitel
auch darlegt (25 ff.), seit den Zeiten der Kolonial-
herrschaft andere Ausprägungen erfahren: Am Pazifik
die spanische Kolonialherrschaft mit einer steigenden
Mestizenbevölkerung, am Atlantik Piraten, Händler und
englische Unterhändler, mit denen sich die ortsansässi-
gen Miskito-Indianer vortrefflich arrangierten, zugleich
aber vieles ablehnten, was vom Pazifik zu ihnen kam.
üass diese Differenzen zu Zeiten der linksgerichteten
Sandinistischen Regierung (1979 bis 1990) nochmals
akut aufbrachen und militärisch ausgetragen wurden,
um dann zu einem Autonomiestatus der Atlantikregion
zu führen, steckt zugleich den Rahmen des Buches ab,
das den Zeitraum von der Somoza-Diktatur, die von
den Sandinisten gestürzt wurde, bis zu den nationalen
Regierungen der Gegenwart unter der Fragestellung un-
tersucht, welche Folgen die jeweilige Regierungspolitik
in den Dorfgemeinschaften hervorgebracht hat.
Wawa Bar (71 ff.), eine Siedlung von Küstenmiskito-
indianern an der Atlantikküste, und Masachapa (147 ff.),
eine vom Somoza-Regime profitierende Mestizenge-
tneinde am Pazifik, hat Michael für seine empirischen
Studien ausgewählt. Nach früheren Kontakten und Auf-
enthalten hat er gemeinsam mit seiner peruanischen
Ehefrau jeweils sechs Monate an jedem Ort verbracht
Mid, soweit dem Ergebnis von insgesamt 160 Interviews
Zu entnehmen ist, mehr befragt als beobachtet. Viele
Methodische Überlegungen hat der Autor angestellt, die
auch in ein mit 20 Seiten vergleichsweise umfangreiches
Enterkapitel geflossen sind (51 ff.). Allerdings entfalten
diese nicht immer die Kraft, um auf den empirischen
Teü der Arbeit einzuwirken, in dem (teilweise sehr kur-
Ze) Interviewpassagen von unterschiedlichen Gewährs-
leuten zu bestimmten Themen zusammengefügt sind, die
Zeilenweise an Dorfklatsch erinnern.
^nth
Die Stärke des Buches besteht darin, dass sein Autor
eine Fülle von theoretischen, historischen und empiri-
schen Informationen aufbereitet und für die Interpre-
tation der beiden Dörfer nutzbar macht. Dass dabei
nicht jeder Aspekt vertieft werden kann, ergibt sich
aus dieser Art der Herangehensweise, und es entspricht
ganz der gegenwärtigen Aufbereitung von Themen, dass
sie weniger ein homogenes Bild als Schlaglichter und
Knotenpunkte einer (sozialen) Realität präsentieren.
Für die Miskito-Gemeinde Wawa Bar (Kapitel 3)
wird nach einer Sozialgeographie mit Basisdaten die
Einschätzung der Dorfbewohner über die aufeinander
folgenden Regierungen dargelegt. Dabei zeigt sich, dass
das vorherrschende Bild der Miskito als notorische Geg-
ner jedweder Pazifikküstenpolitik nicht trägt, sondern
dass es auch hier ganz unterschiedliche politische Po-
sitionen gibt und vor allem unterschiedliche Haltungen
zu den nationalen Regierungen (75 ff.). Dies gilt selbst
für die Haltung der eigenen “traditionellen Autoritäten”.
Angesichts der Existenz zahlreicher historischer Quellen
und jüngerer Darstellungen über die traditionellen politi-
schen Ämter der Miskito hätte man von Michael zu die-
sem Thema vertiefende Auseinandersetzungen erwartet.
Der “wihta” etwa, den der Autor als kommunalen Rich-
ter präsentiert (104 f.), der in früheren Arbeiten auch
als Dorfvorsteher Erwähnung fand, hätte sich hierfür
angeboten. Die lokalen Ältestenräte, die eine gewisse
Tradition in der einflussreichen Mährischen Kirche (soll-
te man diese nicht genauer “Herrnhuter Brüdergemei-
ne” oder “Brüder-Unität” nennen?) zu haben scheinen,
hätten sich, sofern man ihre frühere Existenz nach den
historischen Quellen nicht für glaubhaft hält, auch als
“Invention of tradition” begreifen lassen, gerade als re-
präsentative indigene Strukturen für die Ausgestaltung
der regionalen Autonomie der Atlantikküste wichtig
wurden. Michael genügt es stattdessen, darauf hinzu-
weisen, dass einzelne Interviewpartner widersprüchliche
Angaben zum Entstehen der Ältestenräte machen, so wie
überhaupt der Nachweis von Widersprüchlichkeiten in
den Aussagen seiner Gesprächspartner den Mittelpunkt
seiner empirischen Ergebnisse bildet.
Insgesamt entwirft er das Bild einer Gemeinde von
Miskito, für die persönliche Vorteile und individueller
Nutzen die Grundlage ihrer politischen Überzeugungen
und ihrer Loyalität gegenüber der jeweiligen Regierung
bilden. Nicht einmal der für Lateinamerika viele Jahre
als vorbildlich gefeierte Autonomiestatus der nicaragua-
nischen Atlantikküste scheint die Bewohner von Wawa
Bar hiervon abzuhalten. Obsiegt also Opportunismus
oder treffen die Miskito moderne “rational choice”-Ent-
scheidungen?
Noch eine andere Spur legt Holger Michael, indem
er die Drogenökonomie an der Atlantikküste als den
wichtigsten externen Einflussfaktor für die dörfliche
Sozialstruktur einführt (144). Von “Drogenökonomie”
zu reden, ist, wenn man Vergleiche mit Ländern wie
Kolumbien anstellt, überzogen. Um was es geht, sind
Kokainpakete, die Drogenkuriere auf der Flucht vor
der Küstenwache ins Meer werfen. Diese werden an
der nicaraguanischen Atlantikküste ans Ufer gespült,
‘ropos 103.2008
610
Rezensionen
von Miskito gefunden, die sie für vergleichsweise viel
Geld Weiterverkäufen. Es steht zwar außer Zweifel, dass
der Verkauf des angespülten Kokains - dessen weite-
rer Vermarktungsweg Michael leider nicht erläutert -
große soziale Unterschiede in einer vergleichsweise ega-
litären Dorfstruktur einführen kann, die dann Neid und
Zauber hervorrufen (134 ff.). Doch statt dies als “para-
digmatisches Beispiel für den Einfluss supranationaler
Verhältnisse” zu präsentieren, wird man - eingedenk
früherer ethnologischer Diskussionen - an Mary Helms’
“purchase society” erinnert, d. h. eine zeitweise die Sub-
sistenzwirtschaft ergänzende und auf Gelderwerb orien-
tierte Nischenökonomie, wie sie bei den Miskito schon
lange bekannt ist. Und könnten Neid und Zauber nicht
auch als Mechanismus interpretiert werden, um gegen
die drohenden sozioökonomischen Unterschiede inner-
halb der Gemeinde anzugehen, statt dass man sie als
Reaktion auf entfesselte Individualinteressen darstellt?
Es überrascht, dass trotz aller Unterschiede im pazifi-
schen Masachapa (Kapitel 4) dieselben Phänomene des
Neides und der Zauberei in Erscheinung treten. Zwar
hat die Gemeinde in der jüngeren Geschichte eine ande-
re Dynamik entfaltet. Als bevorzugter Ausflugsort von
Anastasio Somoza Garcia blühte das Dorf wirtschaft-
lich auf, profitierte von Infrastrukturmaßnahmen und
pflegte in der Mehrheit eine “unreflektierte Sympathie”
für die Somoza-Diktatur (153). Es zogen Menschen aus
anderen Gebieten zu, und schließlich konnten Bewoh-
ner wie auch ortsfremde Nutznießer von Hilfsleistungen
nach einem verheerenden Tsunami im Jahre 1992 pro-
fitieren (168 f.). Außerdem ist das religiöse Spektrum
Masachapas anders und vielfältiger als das in Wawa
Bar. Dennoch gab es auch hier Gewinner und Verlierer
während der unterschiedlichen Regierungen. Auch hier
reagierten die Menschen mit “Eigennutz”, und auch hier
wurden Neid und Zauberei die Mittel zum Umgang
mit den sozioökonomischen Unterschieden. Dies wun-
dert angesichts der großen sonstigen Unterschiede zur
Atlantikküste. Man kann sich des Eindrucks nicht er-
wehren, dass die schwer zu fassenden “Irrationalitäten”
des Neides und der Zauberei zum kulturellen Erbe,
d. h. Reste aus der Vergangenheit, erklärt werden, um
sich als “survivals” in eine Gegenwart hinüberzuretten,
die schon entzaubert und individualistisch geworden ist.
Doch dies ist eine Frage der Interpretation.
Einige Schwächen des Buches dürfen nicht ver-
schwiegen werden, und dabei ist nicht nur daran ge-
dacht, dass die Akzente in den spanischen Textstellen
der Interviews recht willkürlich gesetzt sind, dass im
Theorieteil auf die Nennung der vollständigen Namen
renommierter Ethnologen stets verzichtet wird oder dass
das Literaturverzeichnis am hinteren Ende einfach ab-
bricht. Es geht auch darum, dass theoretisch und begriff-
lich manches durcheinandergeht. Lässt es sich wirklich
rechtfertigen, dass trotz erheblicher theoretischer Unter-
schiede zwischen Talcott Parsons und A. R. Radcliffe-
Brown beide - und andere mehr - in einem Atemzug
genannt werden, damit Michael seine eigenen Begriffs-
definitionen voranbringen kann (35 ff.)? Das von den
Sandinisten etablierte Autonomiestatut für die nördliche
und südliche Atlantikküste wird nicht wirklich plastisch
dargestellt, vor allem aber gibt es begriffliche Ungenau-
igkeiten, wenn einmal vom Regionalparlament (95, 97)
dann vom Regionalrat (96) die Rede ist.
Dass gegenwärtig vergleichsweise wenig zu Nicara-
gua geforscht wird und noch weniger vergleichend zu
den beiden Landesteilen, verleiht der Untersuchung von
Holger Michael ihre Berechtigung und ihren Wert, auch
wenn einiges an dieser eher Widerspruch als Zustim-
mung heraufbeschwört.
Lioba Rossbach de Ohnos
Musch, Tilman: Nomadismus und Sesshaftigkeit
bei den Burjaten. Gesellschaftlicher Wandel im Spiegel
zeitgenössischer Folklore. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2006-
219 pp. ISBN 978-3-631-53946-0. (Gesellschaften und
Staaten im Epochenwandel, 12) Preis: € 36.40
Musch, Tilman (ed.): Buryat Songs (BypflU#
jiyyH). Budapest: Eötvös Loränd University, Depart-
ment of Inner Asian Studies, 2008. 1 CD (series “Trea-
sures of Mongolian Culture and Tibeto-Mongolian Bud-
dhism”). ISBN 978-963-463-967-1.
Dem Autor und Herausgeber dieser beiden Werke igt
mehrfacher Dank auszusprechen: Tilman Musch hat mit
seiner Arbeit dem sprachlichen und somit dem kulturel-
len Erbe der Menschheit einen Korpus volksliterarischen
Schaffens erhalten, der sonst wohl verloren gegangerl
wäre. Mit den beiden nun vorliegenden Publikationen igt
dieser dem Kreis der Interessierten sowohl in akustischer
als auch in schriftlicher und mit wissenschaftlichem
Kommentar versehener Form zugänglich gemacht.
Das Buch enthält 156 Texte von Rätseln, Sprüchen
und Liedern, die der Autor in den Jahren 2001 bi»
2005 bei den Hauptgruppen der Burjaten gesammelt hat’
Die größten Anteile daran steuerten ihm Informantinnen
und Informanten aus dem Aginsker Kreis und ans
den nördlichen Aimaks der Mongolei bei, aber auc
die Burjaten Cisbaikaliens sowie die in den Stepp611
beiderseits der Selenga siedelnden und auch Angehörig6
der burjatischen Diaspora in der Inneren Mongolei sin
mit zahlreichen Beispielen vertreten.
Auf der CD sind 47 der Lieder zu hören. Die Qualita
der Aufnahmen ist nicht sehr hoch, da sie Ursprung
lieh nur für den Eigengebrauch des Autors hergeste
wurden. Ihr hoher dokumentarischer Wert wurde e
später erkannt. In Anbetracht der leider auch in P°sts°
wjeti scher Zeit weiter voran schreitenden Verdrängt^
des Burjatischen durch das Russische (sowie m
Mongolei durch das Mongolische) ist Tilman Musch ^
das Buch und für die CD gleichermaßen zu danken, o6^
beide werden den Bemühungen, diesen Verdrängung
entgegenzuwirken, dienlich sein können. Das Ersc
nen der CD wurde von der “Gesellschaft für ^e<^r°vor
Sprachen” in Köln gefördert. Exemplare werden
allem wissenschaftlichen Einrichtungen, Museen,
bliotheken und Schulen insbesondere in Burjatien
Verfügung gestellt. sie-
Die Burjaten sind die am weitesten im Norde
delnde mongolische Ethnie. Im 17. Jh. gerieten sie u
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
611
russische Herrschaft und in der Folge wunderten - im
Laufe der Geschichte in stetig zunehmendem Ausmaß -
Russen und Angehörige anderer Nationalitäten des Rus-
sischen Reiches und später aus der ganzen Sowjetunion
in ihr Siedlungsgebiet westlich, südlich und östlich des
Baikalsees ein. Dies hinterließ bei allen burjatischen
Gruppen deutliche Spuren, wenn auch in unterschied-
lichem Ausmaß und verschiedene Lebensbereiche be-
treffend. In der vorliegenden Sammlung sind Werke
der Volksliteratur mehrerer dieser Gruppen vertreten,
die sich nicht nur, was Siedlungsgebiet, Wirtschafts-
und Lebensweise, sondern auch was Sprache - das
Burjatische gliedert sich in mehrere Dialekte -, Kultur
und Religion betrifft, stark voneinander unterscheiden,
wobei der Sammler bei deren Auswahl keineswegs ein
Zufallsprinzip walten ließ. Wie bereits erwähnt, wählte
Musch die Hauptgruppen der Burjaten aus, nämlich die
westlichen bzw. cisbaikalischen Burjaten und die beiden
größten Gruppen der östlichen bzw. transbaikalischen
Burjaten, nämlich die Chori- und die Selenga-Burjaten.
Dadurch bietet diese Sammlung nicht nur einen Ein-,
sondern auch einen Überblick über die inhaltlichen,
stilistischen und ästhetischen Merkmale der burjatischen
Volksliteratur der jüngeren Vergangenheit insgesamt.
Die Burjaten, die westlich des Baikalsees siedeln,
sind überwiegend Schamanisten, teilweise aber auch
russisch-orthodoxe Christen, und sie haben die voll-
nomadische Lebensweise schon im 19. Jh. aufgegeben.
Die östlichen Burjaten hingegen haben im frühen 18. Jh.
den Buddhismus angenommen, allerdings praktizierten
und praktizieren bei den Chori-Burjaten bis heute Scha-
maninnen und Schamanen dennoch weiter. Nur bei den
Selenga-Burjaten gibt es tatsächlich kein Schamanentum
mehr. Was den Nomadismus betrifft, so sind die Chori-
Burjaten diejenigen, die am längsten an diesem - wie
wir in Tilman Muschs Buch erfahren, teilweise sogar
bis in die Spätphase der Sowjetperiode! - festhielten.
Bei den Selenga-Burjaten hielt sich der Nomadismus
bis in die Zeit vor dem Zweiten Weltkrieg. Überall ging
mit dem Rückgang des Nomadismus auch das Ausmaß
der Viehzucht zurück, während das des Ackerbaus stieg.
Dieser wurde letztlich überall zumindest zum gleichbe-
deutenden, in vielen Gegenden aber sogar zum domi-
merenden landwirtschaftlichen Produktionszweig. Und
genau diese einschneidenden gesellschaftlichen Wand-
lüngsprozesse spiegeln sich in der Volksliteratur sehr
deutlich wider. Und darin liegt das zweite große Ver-
dienst der Arbeit von Tilman Musch: Die 156 doku-
mentierten Rätsel, Lieder und Sprüche stellen wertvolle,
Weil detailreiche und sehr “sprechende”, historische und
mhnographische Quellen dar. In ihnen sprechen ja die
^räger der Kultur selbst! Darin liegt aus sozialanthro-
pologischer Sicht der große Wert dieser Sammlung. Sie
ermöglicht uns eine emische, also eine Sicht von innen
auf die Kultur der Burjaten und auf die Veränderungen
ünd Wandlungsprozesse in ihr.
Das vorliegende Buch ist also nicht nur eine Fund-
grube für Volksliteraturliebhaber und Literaturwissen-
Schaftler, sondern gleichermaßen auch eine umfassende
und originäre Ethnographie und Historie der Burjaten.
Dies umso mehr als Tilman Musch darin die Textsamm-
lung nicht alleine stehen lässt. Zum Einen stellte er ihr
nämlich eine vierzigseitige Einführung in die “Kultur
und Wirtschaft der Burjaten im Wandel der Zeit” vor-
an, die gründlich recherchiert ist und alle wesentlichen
Aspekte der burjatischen Kultur und die Grundzüge
ihrer Geschichte darstellt. Und zum Zweiten folgen den
Texten, die in Burjatisch und in deutscher Übersetzung
dargeboten werden, sechzig Seiten Textkommentar, in
dem eine Vielzahl kultureller, historischer und ethno-
graphischer Fakten und Aspekte beschrieben und erklärt
werden.
Hervorgehoben sei hier, dass bereits in der Einfüh-
rung ein wesentlicher Aspekt der burjatischen Geschich-
te, dem sonst im Allgemeinen viel zu wenig Beachtung
geschenkt wird, ausführlich behandelt wird, nämlich die
häufigen Migrationsbewegungen burjatischer Gruppen.
Diese spiegeln sich naturgemäß in der Volksliteratur
wider und bilden daher eines der Themen dieses Buches.
Weiters ist ein großer Teil der Einleitung den verschie-
denen Definitionen des Nomadismus und wichtiger eth-
nologischer Literatur zu diesem gewidmet, welche vom
Autor in Beziehung zum burjatischen Fall gebracht und
dadurch dem Buch ein solides theoretisches Fundament
für sein im Titel genanntes hauptsächliches Thema ge-
baut wird.
In die Textkommentare fließen in sehr fruchtbarer
Weise einerseits des Autors umfassende Kenntnis der
historischen, ethnographischen, sprach- und religions-
wissenschaftlichen Fachliteratur über die Burjaten und
andererseits die vielen Detailinformationen, die er von
seinen Informantinnen und Informanten erhalten hat,
ein. Die daher umfangreiche Bibliographie wird be-
stimmt noch vielen, die sich mit burjatischer Kultur
und Geschichte beschäftigen, sehr nützlich sein. Seine
Informantinnen und Informanten hat Musch alle mit
Namen, Geburtsjahr, Wohnort, ihrer Klanzugehörigkeit
und teilweise noch zusätzlichen Informationen zu ihrer
Person aufgelistet und bei jeder und jedem angeführt,
welche der Texte sie mitgeteilt haben.
Die großen historischen Entwicklungen, wie der
vollständige oder teilweise Übergang vom Schamanis-
mus zum Buddhismus, das Ende des Nomadismus,
die zunehmende Bedeutung des Ackerbaus, die Mi-
grationen, die massiven Einflüsse der Sowjetideologie
etc., spiegeln sich in den in den Rätseln, Liedern und
Sprüchen thematisierten ganz alltäglichen Dingen und
Tätigkeiten wider. Dadurch, dass gerade diese den Kern
des Buches bilden und darin von innerhalb (den In-
formantinnen und Informanten) und außerhalb (dem
Autor mit seinem Fachwissen) der Kultur betrachtet
und analysiert werden, wird diese hier sehr konkret
fassbar. Die Lektüre dieses Buches kann daher allen,
die sich für diese interessieren, sehr empfohlen wer-
den. Darüber hinaus kann sie auch allen ethnographisch
und sozialanthropologisch Interessierten oder in die-
sen Disziplinen selbst wissenschaftlich Tätigen als Bei-
spiel zum Studium einer gelungenen, quellenanalytisch
den Forschungsgegenstand erhellenden Vorgangsweise
dienen.
612
Rezensionen
Abseits wissenschaftlichen Interesses bieten das Buch
und die CD - und das sei hier nicht zu allerletzt betont -
die Möglichkeit, tief in die Schönheit des lyrischen
Schaffens der Bewohner der nördlichsten mongolischen
Steppen einzutauchen:
“Lasst uns das wilde Pferd gemeinsam fangen, sagt er.
Das Seil ist dünn, was soll ich tun?
Lasst uns zusammen herumtollen, sagt er.
Fern vom Vater, was soll ich tun?
Lass uns gemeinsam mein Pferd fangen, sagt er.
Das Seil ist dünn, was soll ich tun?
Treffen wir uns zu zweit, sagt er.
Der Ort des Treffens ist weit, was soll ich tun?”
(Text 105, S. 124, Bajartyn Dasnjam, Töv Aimak)
Tilman Musch hat, wie dieses Beispiel wohl zeigt,
durch seine gleichermaßen genauen wie einfühlsamen
Übersetzungen, diesem einzigartigen Literaturschatz ei-
nen weiten Leserkreis eröffnet.
Kritisch ist zum Buch nur wenig anzumerken: Wenig
benutzerfreundlich ist seine Gliederung. Es sind zuerst
in einer Folge alle 156 burjatischen Texte abgedruckt.
Dann folgen die Übersetzungen ins Deutsche und dann
die Textkommentare. Diese Anordnung erfordert ein
ständiges und zumeist gut hundert Seiten übergreifen-
des Hin- und Herblättern zwischen diesen drei Teilen.
Die Texte sind sinnvoller Weise nicht nach Aufnahme-
datum oder nach Aufnahmeregionen oder nach sonst
irgendeinem formalen Ordnungsprinzip geordnet, son-
dern nach Themenbereichen (“Der Nomadenalltag im
Rätsel”, “Die Heirat im Lied: Werbung und Klage”,
“Über die Liebe”, “Legende, Geschichte, Kult: Das Lied
als Chronik” etc.). Insgesamt sind es acht Themenberei-
che. Es ist daher unverständlich, warum nicht die je-
weiligen Texte, ihre Übersetzungen und die dazugehöri-
gen Kommentare jeweils zusammen in acht aufeinander
folgenden Kapiteln abgedruckt wurden. Dies hätte das
Herumsuchen und -blättern wesentlich reduziert.
Die Kuriosität, dass die beiden Landkarten, die das
ansonsten vom Autor in seiner deutschen Muttersprache
verfasste Buch enthält, auf Französisch beschriftet sind,
erklärt sich wohl aus der Tatsache, dass er seit Jahren
in Paris und dort zwischen dem “Institut National des
Langues et Civilisations Orientales” (INALCO) und
diversen anderen gelehrten Gesellschaften nomadisiert.
Natura non facit saltus. Stefan Krist
Neudorf er, Corinne: Meet the Akha - Help the
Akha? Minderheiten, Tourismus und Entwicklung in
Laos. Bielefeld; transcript Verlag, 2007. 296 pp. ISBN
978-3-89942-639-7. Preis: € 29.80
Laos zählt zu den touristisch am wenigsten erschlos-
senen Ländern Asiens. Verantwortlich dafür sind der
Mangel an Stränden, über 20 Jahre weit gehende Ab-
geschlossenheit aufgrund der politischen Situation und
der Fakt, dass seine wenigen - jedoch durchaus beacht-
lichen - Kulturdenkmäler im Schatten der touristischen
und wissenschaftlichen Propagierung der kulturhistori-
schen Errungenschaften seiner Nachbarländer förmlich
verschwinden. Dennoch ist das Land alles andere als
touristisch unberührt und die Figur des Backpackers
oder Trekkingtouristen ist aus dem Alltagsleben in Laos
kaum mehr wegzudenken, und das nicht nur in den ur-
banen, kulturhistorischen Zentren, sondern auch in ent-
legensten Winkeln des Landes. Die Attraktivität für den
Backpacker besteht vor allem in der touristischen “Jung-
fräulichkeit” des Landes, in der außerordentlichen Gast-
freundlichkeit seiner Bewohner und seiner unberührten,
“romantischen” Natur.
Corinne Neudorfer widmet sich in ihrer Studie di-
versen Fragestellungen des Trekkingtourismus in Laos.
Besonderes Augenmerk widmet sie dem gemeindeorien-
tierten Tourismus - ein relativ neues Konzept, welches
von den Entwicklungsinstitutionen in Laos aufgenom-
men wurde. “Gemeindeorientierter Tourismus scheint
ein lang gesuchter Kompromiss zu sein, eine Lösung
die alle beteiligten Akteure zufrieden stellt und den
Bedürfnissen lokaler Gemeinden, den Zielen der Ent-
wicklungszusammenarbeit, der Tourismusindustrie und
den Touristen gerecht wird” (15). Ziel des Konzeptes
ist es, “Begegnung[en] auf Augenhöhe zwischen westli-
chen Touristen und ethnischen Minderheiten” (15), ak-
tiven interkulturellen Austausch und Hilfe für Benach-
teiligte durch Handel zu ermöglichen. Im Mittelpunkt
des Konzeptes stehen die Akha, eine ethnische Min-
derheit, die mit ihrer Urtümlichkeit und freundlichen
Aufgeschlossenheit fremden Besuchern gegenüber auch
in Thailand seit Jahrzehnten schon Anziehungspunkt für
geleitete Touristengruppen sind.
Die Autorin nähert sich dem Konzept des gemeinde-
orientierten Tourismus in Laos aus der Perspektive der
Tourismusethnologie. Da es sich um eine Dissertations-
schrift handelt, wird der Leser in den ersten beiden Ka-
piteln an die theoretischen Grundlagen von gemeinde-
orientiertem Tourismus (als eine Form des nachhaltig611
Tourismus) sowie an die Methode der Schnittstellenana-
lyse herangeführt.
Kapitel 3 vermittelt einen sehr detaillierten Einblick
in die Zusammenhänge zwischen Entwicklungspolitik’
Minderheitenpolitik und Tourismuspolitik in Laos. Es
wird näher darauf eingegangen, wie die Akha der R6^
gion Muang Sing davon betroffen sind. In Kapitel
untersucht die Autorin, welche Rollen die jeweilig611
Akteure im Tourismusfeld Muang Sing einnehmen, an
zeigt mit zahlreichen Fallstudien, wie Begegnungen der
Akteure ablaufen und welche Erwartungen und kn11
sehen Einsichten bei den Akteuren bestehen. Wie die L6
benswelten der Akha und der sie besuchenden Tourist611
in der Praxis aussehen, wird sehr anschaulich in Kap1
tel 5 beschrieben. Neudorfer geht darauf ein, wie
Akha touristische Notwendigkeiten (z. B. Gästehäuser
und direkte Begegnungen mit Touristen in ihre tra
tionelle Dorfstruktur integrieren und sich gleichzen e
ein Mindestmaß an Schutz gegen negative Einflüsse v
außen sichern. r
In Kapitel 6 werden konfliktreiche Schnittstellen au^
gezeigt, welche sich durch das Aufeinandertreffen
verschiedenen Lebenswelten der Akha, der Touris
und der laotischen Mitarbeiter der Tourismusbehör
ergeben. Sehr aufschlussreich wird die Bildung v°n
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
613
stitutionellen wie auch personenbezogenen Hierarchien
beschrieben und analysiert und in diversen Fallbeispie-
len veranschaulicht. Auch wird auf den Zusammenhang
von Entwicklung und gesellschaftlicher Veränderung
und möglichem Verlust von kultureller Identität sowie
die Rolle der Akha-Frauen im (kontrollierten) gemein-
deorientierten Tourismus und im (unkontrollierten) ille-
galen und Sextourismus eingegangen. Die Sichtweisen
der verschiedenen Akteure werden plausibel erklärt.
In den letzten beiden Kapiteln geht die Autorin zum
einen der Frage nach, wer in welchem Ausmaß loka-
le Entwicklung bestimmt, welche Handlungsspielräume
die einzelnen Gruppen von Akteuren haben und welchen
Machtgefügen sie unterliegen; zum anderen geht sie
noch einmal auf das Spannungsfeld von (globaler) Ent-
wicklung, Nationalpolitik und lokalen Konflikten ein,
um schließlich neue Anforderungen an die Tourismus-
ethnologie kurz herauszuarbeiten.
Neudorfer hat in ihrer Studie die Methode der
Schnittstellenanalyse, die auf den Entwicklungssoziolo-
gen Norman Long zurückzuführen ist, erfolgreich im
Bereich der Tourismusethnologie angewandt und zeigt
auf, wie konfliktbeladene soziale Schnittstellen aufge-
deckt und die Problemsichtweisen der verschiedenen
Akteure - auch der sonst “stummen” und scheinbar
unbeteiligten Akteure - berücksichtigt werden können.
Das Buch bietet deshalb nicht nur einen sehr de-
taillierten Einblick in die sich im Zusammenhang mit
Entwicklung und Tourismus verändernden Lebenswel-
ten der Akha in Nord-Laos, sondern zeigt auch einen
innovativen Forschungsansatz, der es erlaubt, eine sozi-
alwissenschaftliche Fragestellung nicht nur von “außen”
zu beantworten, sondern auch “innere” Sichtweisen der
betroffenen Akteure einfließen zu lassen.
Jana Igunma
Nicolini, Beatrice (ed.): Studies in Witchcraft, Mag-
ic, War, and Peace in Africa. Nineteenth and Twentieth
Centuries. Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2006.
383 pp. ISBN 978-0-7734-5727-0. Price: $ 129.95
Seit einigen Jahren wecken magische Rituale vor,
während und nach Kriegshandlungen in militärischen
Konflikten auf dem afrikanischen Kontinent verstärkt
das öffentliche Interesse. Inzwischen befassen sich auch
etliche Wissenschaftler mit diesem Thema. Ihnen geht
es darum, die spirituellen, kulturellen und sozialen Be-
deutungszusammenhänge zu ergründen. In diese For-
schungsrichtung ist der vorliegende Sammelband von
ßeatrice Nicolini einzuordnen, einer Historikerin, die
an der Universität Mailand unterrichtet. Die insgesamt
zwanzig Beiträge des Sammelbandes sind teilweise aus-
gearbeitete Vorträge, die auf Konferenzen der American
Association of African Studies (ASA) gehalten wurden.
In einigen Fällen handelt es sich jedoch um Aufsätze, die
Schon an anderer Stelle publiziert worden waren, oder
um extra für diesen Sammelband geschriebene Texte.
Zu den Autorinnen und Autoren zählen vor allem
Historiker und Sozialanthropologen aus den USA und
aus Afrika. Gerade weil es begrüßenswert ist, afrika-
nische Kollegen gezielt in eine international und inter-
disziplinär angelegte Publikation einzubeziehen, ist das
Ergebnis um so enttäuschender. Das liegt im Wesent-
lichen an der fragwürdigen Konzeption. In einem sehr
kurzen Vorwort skizziert die Herausgeberin ihr Anlie-
gen, die Bedeutung von Hexerei und Magie in Kriegen
während des 19. und 20. Jhs. genauer zu untersuchen.
Dabei will sie verschiedene disziplinäre Zugänge zusam-
menführen. Es fehlt aber eine klare Fragestellung und
ein Analyserahmen, außerdem werden keine Bezüge zu
den theoriegeleiteten Untersuchungen hergestellt, die zu
diesem Themenkomplex bereits publiziert sind. Bemer-
kenswert ist, dass sie als Historikerin nicht zwischen
(anti-)kolonialen Kriegen, Unabhängigkeitskriegen und
Bürgerkriegen unterscheidet, deren spezifische Ursachen
und Verlaufsformen jedoch für die Bedeutung soziokul-
tureller und spiritueller Fragen nicht unerheblich sind.
Das Buch ist in zwei Teile gegliedert, wobei der erste
- so der Titel - Hexerei und Magie in Kriegskontex-
ten betrachtet will, während der zweite diese Prakti-
ken in Nachkriegsgesellschaften in den Blick nehmen
will. Das ist prinzipiell eine sinnvolle Einteilung, fak-
tisch behandeln aber die wenigsten Texte diese The-
men. Vielmehr findet sich in jedem Teil eine bunte
Mischung ganz unterschiedlicher Aufsätze, die andere
Probleme untersuchen. Zwar geht es mehrheitlich um
Hexerei oder Magie, aber zumeist nicht in Kriegs- oder
Nachkriegskontexten. Entweder hätte die Herausgeberin
einen anderen Titel für ihren Sammelband wählen sollen
oder andere Autoren gewinnen müssen. So kann sich
der Leser mit Forschungsergebnissen über islamische
Bruderschaften, Talismane in westafrikanischen islami-
sierten Gesellschaften, Geister an der Swahili-Küste, den
soziokulturellen Dimensionen von Macht und Herrschaft
im Sambesi-Tal oder Missionarsberichten über Hexerei
bei den Venda in Südafrika auseinandersetzen.
Warum diese Texte in einen Sammelband über Krie-
ge und Nachkriegsgesellschaften aufgenommen wurden,
lässt die Herausgeberin letztlich unbeantwortet. Hinzu
kommt, dass diese Texte ein sehr unterschiedliches ana-
lytisches Niveau haben.
Wenn man danach fragt, welche Autoren direkte
Bezüge zum Thema des Sammelbandes herstellen, so ist
für den ersten Teil der Aufsatz von Maxwell Owusu und
Godfrey Uzoigwe zu nennen, die sowohl die Kampftak-
tik der Maroons auf Jamaica im 18. Jh. als auch die Krie-
ge der Ashanti und der Igbo gegen die britische Armee
im 19. Jh. hinsichtlich der Bedeutung von Magie und
Ritualen betrachten. Dabei nehmen sie u. a. die Amulette
und Trophäen von getöteten Feinden unter die Lupe
und verbinden historische und ethnologische Perspek-
tiven. Obwohl ihre Ausführungen etliche interessante
Interpretationen enthalten, überzeugt ihr methodisches
Vorgehen nur ansatzweise, weil sie zu wenig auf die
Kriegskontexte eingehen.
Der Beitrag des Historikers Meshack Owino, der
ähnlich wie Owusu und Uzoigwe in den USA lehrt,
zeigt, welche Forschungspotentiale das Thema des Sam-
melbandes bieten würde, wenn es stringent verfolgt
worden wäre. Owino arbeitet mit Archivquellen und
Anthropos 103.2008
614
Rezensionen
erschließt aus sozialgeschichtlicher Perspektive, wie
“Askaris”, die unterschiedlichen kenianischen Ethnien
angehörten und im 2. Weltkrieg für die britische Koloni-
alarmee kämpften, mit Tod und Bestattungen umgingen.
In seiner differenzierten Analyse weist er nach, dass
sich die Vorstellungen dieser Männer kriegsbedingt von
traditionellen Normen unterschieden und Pragmatismus
ihren Umgang mit Umbettungen und Wiederbestattun-
gen von Gefallenen in der Nachkriegzeit prägte, ein
Thema das in Kenia ab Mitte der 1940er Jahre für
emotionsgeladene Kontroversen sorgte.
Im zweiten Teil des Buches sind vor allem die Auf-
sätze von Paulo Granjo und Stephen Lubkemann er-
wähnenswert. Beide sind Sozialanthropologen, die sich
Reintegrationsritualen in Mosambik widmen, wo ein
Unabhängigkeitskrieg und ein anschließender langjäh-
riger Bürgerkrieg das Leben einer ganzen Generation
prägten. Granjo, der in Lissabon unterrichtet, legt sei-
nen Schwerpunkt auf die komplexe Ritualpraxis, durch
die Exkombattanten von den als gefährlich geltenden
Geistern derjenigen, die sie getötet hatten, spirituell
“gereinigt” und in ihre Herkunftsgesellschaft wieder auf-
genommen wurden. Er erwähnt, dass es sich um neue
Rituale handelt, die erfunden wurden, um die Kriegs-
traumata und die daraus resultierenden individuellen
und sozialen Probleme zu bewältigen. Währenddessen
konzentriert sich Lubkemann, der an der Universität in
Washington tätig ist, keineswegs nur auf die Besänfti-
gung der Geister gewaltsam getöteter Menschen, son-
dern auch auf (Ahn-)Geisterkonzepte und deren kon-
textspezifische Interpretationen durch Kriegsflüchtlinge.
Am Beispiel einzelner Biographien illustriert er rituelle
Handlungsstrategien, mit denen Frauen und Männer die
kriegsbedingten gesellschaftlichen Umbrüche bewälti-
gen. Differenziert zeigt Lubkemann auf, wie die Ausle-
gung traditioneller Ritualpraktiken und religiöse Neuori-
entierungen dazu beitragen, die sozialen Verwerfungen,
Desorientierungen und Herausforderungen der Nach-
kriegszeit zu meistern. Die ausgewählten Biographien
gewähren Einblicke in die Ambivalenz dieser spirituel-
len bzw. religiösen Bewältigungsstrategien, die einer-
seits Macht zum Ausdruck bringen und andererseits
teilweise Auswege im Umgang mit familiärer Autorität,
ehelicher Hierarchie und sozialer Exklusion öffnen.
Wünschenswert wäre es gewesen, wenn solche For-
schungsperspektiven bei der Auswahl aller Beiträge für
diesen Sammelband ausschlaggebend gewesen wären.
Diese Chance hat die Herausgeberin nur unzureichend
genutzt, so dass der Eindruck einer disparaten Zufalls-
sammlung bleibt. Rita Schäfer
Nieuwkerk, Karin van (ed.): Women Embracing
Islam. Gender and Conversion in the West. Austin:
University of Texas Press, 2006. 294 pp. ISBN 978-0-
292-71302-4. Price: £ 14.99
Der 11. September 2001 hat das Interesse der Welt-
öffentlichkeit für den Islam und seine Anhänger ebenso
stark wachsen lassen wie das Bedürfnis vieler Muslime,
die außerhalb der islamischen Welt leben, Interessierte
über ihre Religion aus ihrer Sicht zu informieren. Dieser
fürchterliche Terrorakt und weitere Gewaltdrohungen
oder -akte führten jedenfalls nicht nur zu einem ne-
gativen Bild der Religion, der die Täter angehör(t)en.
Muslimische Immigranten aus unterschiedlichen isla-
mischen Ländern mit divergierenden historischen und
sozialen Prägungen und Lebenseinstellungen gibt es in
Europa und den USA, auch in Lateinamerika, schon
seit Generationen. In Europa wie den USA nimmt die
Zahl der Konvertiten und Konvertitinnen - das Letz-
tere trotz Kopftuch- und Verhüllungsnormen und der
oft besonders negativen Charakterisierung der Haltung
des Islams zur Gender-Frage - selbst nach den Ter-
rorakten des 11. September und etwa der Ermordung
des Islamgegners Theo van Gogh in den Niederlanden,
der heftigen Reaktion von Muslimen weltweit auf die
(m. E. recht geschmacklosen) dänischen Mohammed-
Karrikaturen und nach den ebenso unschönen iranischen
Holocaust-Karrikaturen ständig zu. Der Islam ist die
einzige der drei monotheistischen Weltreligionen, deren
Anhängerschar, nicht nur durch Geburtenzuwachs, stetig
und erheblich wächst.
Die 10 Beiträge des vorliegenden Bandes sind das
Ergebnis einer Tagung “Gender and Conversion to
Islam” in Nijmegen im Mai 2003, organisiert und finan-
ziert vom 1998 von den vier niederländischen Univer-
sitäten gegründeten, in den letzten Jahren mit Kurzta-
gungen und Publikationen zu brandaktuellen Themen
sehr aktiven “International Institute for the Study
Islam in the Modern World” (ISIM) in Leiden.
Die Autorinnen (nur ein Autor ist männlich) sind,
wie schon den Namen zu entnehmen ist, größerenteils’
aber nicht nur, muslimische Konvertitinnen und von Be-
ruf Soziologinnen, Anthropologinnen, auch Theologin-
nen mit dem Schwerpunkt Islam, und an Universitäten
in Italien, Großbritannien, den USA, den Niederlanden
und Deutschland tätig.
Wie die Herausgeberin, Lektorin für Sozialanthrop0'
logie an der Universität Nijmegen und Postdoktorandm
am o. g. Institut, einleitend betont, ist Generalthema
mehr die Konversion von Europäerinnen und Amerika-
nerinnen zum Islam als ein komplexes soziales Phäno-
men mit dessen persönlichen Begründungen, eventuel-
len Zwängen, Möglichkeiten und Folgen, als es die sie
begleitenden individuellen spirituellen Wandlungspr0
zesse sind. Die Erhebungen für die Beiträge, bis auf die
von M. Badran und S. Allievi, stammen aus den letzten
Jahren des 20. Jhs., also der Zeit vor dem 11. September*
doch sind sie weiterhin aktuell und zutreffend.
Auf ein kurzes Vorwort und eine instruktive Einlei-
tung von Willy Jansen, Anthropologin und Professorin
für Women’s Studies an der Universität Nijmegen, f°
gen 4 Teile. Teil 1, “Contextualizing Conversion”, UIT^
fasst die Artikel von Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad, bekaim
durch zahlreiche Islam- und genderspezifische Pubh
tionen: “The Quest for Peace in Submission: Reflectio ^
on the Journey of American Women Converts to
(19-47), Anne Sofie Roald: “The Shaping of a Scann'
navian ‘Islam’: Converts and Gender Equal Opportua
ty” (48-70) und Monika Wohlrab-Sahr; “Symbolizmg
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
615
Distance: Conversion to Islam in Germany and the Uni-
ted States” (71-92).
Teil 2, “Discourses and Narratives”, enthält die Bei-
träge von Karin van Nieuwkerk: “Gender, Conver-
sion, and Islam: A Comparison of Online and Offline
Conversion Narratives” (95-119) und Stefano Allievi:
“The Shifting Significance of the Halal/Haram Frontier;
Narratives on the Hijab and Other Issues” (120-149).
Unter der Überschrift “Trajectories and Paradigms”
finden sich in Teil 3 die Artikel von Haifaa Jawad:
“Female Conversion to Islam: The Sufi Paradigm”
(153-171), Gwendolyn Zoharah Simmons: “African
American Islam as an Expression of Converts’ Religious
Faith and Nationalist Dreams and Ambitions” (172—
191) und Margot Badran: “Feminism and Conversion:
Comparing British, Dutch, and South African Life
Stories” (192-229).
Der 4. Teil, “Transmission and Identity”, besteht aus
den Beiträgen von Nicole Bourque: “Flow Deborah Be-
came Aisha; The Conversion Process and the Creation
of a Female Muslim Identity” (233-249) und Marcia
Hermansen; “Keeping the Faith: Convert Muslim Moth-
ers and the Transmission of Female Muslim Identity
in the West” - die Verfasserin konzentriert sich auf
euro-amerikanische Konvertitinnen in den USA (250-
275).
Angaben zu den Autorinnen und dem einen männli-
chen Autor folgen. Ein Index (281-294) beschließt den
Band.
Aufnahmen von freundlich selbstbewusst dreinschau-
enden Frauen meist mittleren Alters mit Kopftuch und in
Körperformen verhüllender Kleidung, in Szene gesetzt
von einem für seine Fotoserie niederländischer Musli-
rninnen prämierten Fotografen, auf dem Einband, der
Titelei und den Seiten der Zwischentitel verbildlichen
Bekenntnisse.
Grund für die Konversion von Frauen zum Islam
ist bekanntlich oft die Ehe mit einem Muslim. Weitere
Gründe, hier meist aus Befragungen, auch aus bereits
Publizierter Literatur, zusammengetragen, sind; Lebens-
krisen, die Entfremdung von der Religion, in der die
Betroffenen aufwuchsen, der Wunsch nach Zugehörig-
keit zu einer Gruppe mit festen ethischen Lebensre-
geln und das Bekenntnis zu einer (im Gegensatz zum
Christentum) in ihren grundlegenden Glaubenssätzen
rational leichter begreif- und vertretbaren Religion. Der
Parnilienfreundlichkeit des Islams, die hier ebenfalls
als Grund angegeben wird, könnte man ähnliche (und
ähnlich patriarchalisch formulierte) ethische Weisungen
biblischer Texte gegenüberstellen, auch daran erinnern,
dass junge Emigrantinnen der zweiten Generation sie oft
eher als patriarchalische Kontrolle, als Zwang empfin-
den. Die Abkehr von einem (westlichen) Weiblichkeits-
rdeal, das in Frauen vorwiegend Sexualobjekte sieht,
uad das Gefühl, erst dadurch wirklich Frau zu sein,
dass man sich herrschenden Schönheits- und Sexnor-
^ierungen nicht unterwirft, sondern seinen nicht gerade
n°rrnkonformen Körper verhüllt, auf Kosmetika und
aÜe Formen äußerer Eitelkeit verzichtet, ist ebenfalls
Begründung. Dass viele Frauen durch die Konversion
Anth
die Zugehörigkeit zu ihrer angestammten Familie, zu
ihren bisherigen sozialen Bindungen oder Einbindungen
ebenso wie berufliche Chancen aufs Spiel setzen, dass
sie die neue Einbindung, auch die geheiligten Texte der
bewusst gewählten anderen Religion idealisieren, die
Letzteren ohnehin sehr selektiv zur Lebensgrundlage
machen, beziehungsweise zur Kenntnis nehmen oder
nehmen können, wird deutlich.
Da die Konvertitinnen ihre soziale Prägung und ih-
ren Bildungshintergrund als Europäerinnen oder Ameri-
kanerinnen unterschiedlicher Provenienz selbstverständ-
lich mit- und in die neue Religionszugehörigkeit ein-
bringen, charakterisieren sie sich als “niederländische”,
“norwegische”, “deutsche” etc. (nicht etwa “europä-
ische”), als “südafrikanische” oder “amerikanische”
Musliminnen, das Letztere deutlich mit der Differen-
zierung nach der Hautfarbe. Bei Ehen mit Männern
muslimischer Provenienz wirken natürlich deren Her-
kunftsland (Pakistan, Iran, unterschiedliche arabische
Länder, Türkei, auch Ost- und Südostasien), soziale
Position, Bildung und religiöse Gruppenzugehörigkeit
(Sunna/Schia, Sufi) stark prägend. Auf weiße Frauen in
den USA und Adeptinnen in Europa, die nicht die Liebe
zu einem Muslim zur Konversion motiviert, sondern
die Suche nach einem anderen Lebensideal, meist die
nach stärkerer Verinnerlichung und der Abkehr vom
(vulgär-)materialistischen Denken, wirkt offensichtlich
besonders die (oft wohl ebenfalls idealisierte) islamische
Mystik, das Sufitum, islamischer Spiritismus, vielleicht
auch wegen des exotisch Anderen, anziehend.
Wie der Islam für viele Schwarze in den USA zur
Kampfideologie gegen den herrschenden weißen Rassis-
mus und seine Institutionen, zu einer religiösen Protest-
und Reformbewegung wurde, die in ganz besonderem
Maß selbstbewusste Neuinterpretationen religiöser Tex-
te, besonders von Koranversen zur sozialen Situati-
on der Frau unternahm und weiterhin vornimmt (etwa
durch A. Wadud und kritische Nachfolgerinnen, die sich
durch differierende Interpretationen profilieren), macht
G. Z. Simmons deutlich. Die religiöse Erziehung und
spätere Lebenshaltung von Töchtern konvertierter euro-
amerikanischer Mütter, Töchtern meist aus bikulturellen
Ehen mit Männern unterschiedlicher nationaler Proveni-
enz und religiöser Haltung, also der zweiten Generati-
on, verläuft größerenteils, aber nicht durchgehend, in
den Bahnen eines eher verwestlichten Islams, abhängig
selbstverständlich auch von der Lebenseinstellung der
Väter.
Die von M. Wohlrab-Sahr, Professorin für Religions-
soziologie an der Universität Leipzig, für die USA und
Deutschland konstatierte “Sprache des Marktes” für die
Propagandierung des Islams und die Begründung einer
Konversion ist mir jedenfalls bisher nicht aufgefallen,
allerdings bin ich Islamwissenschaftlerin ohne Konver-
sionsintentionen, wennschon nicht islamfeindlich. Dass
sich die literarische Gattung “Konversionserzählung” im
persönlichen Gespräch/Interview von den für ein anony-
mes, einzuwerbendes Publikum recht gleichförmigen
Darbietungen im Internet stark unterscheidet, arbeitet
K. v. Nieuwkerk gut heraus. Die persönliche Interaktion
»ropos 103.2008
616
Rezensionen
führt zu viel differenzierteren Aussagen als der Internet-
text.
Wie das dominante Klischeebild von Konvertitin-
nen mit Kopftuch durch Medienvertreter in Italien auch
denen aufgezwungen werden soll, die sich ihm nicht
unterwerfen, dass diese also für ein TV-Interview ein
Kopftuch tragen sollen, auch wenn sie dies sonst ab-
lehnen, macht S. Allievi (Professor für Soziologie an
der Universität Padua) deutlich. Zu widersprechen ist
ihm aber, wenn er meint, die Verhüllung sei rein ara-
bischen Ursprungs (131): Schleier, Körperverhüllung
und Vorhang waren im Alten Orient, im vorislamischen
Zweistromland und Iran das Privileg sozial hochrangi-
ger Frauen. Eine Sklavin durfte sich nicht verhüllen,
sondern machte sich damit strafbar, denn sie überschritt
soziale Schranken. Der Koran gebietet in Versen aus
Medina (33:59; 24:31) zunächst den Frauen des Pro-
pheten und dann den gläubigen Frauen insgesamt die
Bedeckung des Haars und des Halsausschnitts mit einem
Teil des Gewandes - Kopftücher gab es vermutlich
zu dieser Zeit in Medina und Mekka nicht - und ei-
ne züchtige Kleidung. Nach der schnellen Ausbreitung
des Islams in Richtung Osten und dann auch Westen,
weit über das Zentrum der arabischen Halbinsel hin-
aus, beeinflussten damalige “Neumuslime” dieser Re-
gionen die Regelungen der Religion und Sitten und
Gebräuche.
Wie Frauen sich in Ländern des Vorderen Orients bis
ins 18. Jh. kleideten, verhüllten und bei welchen Gele-
genheiten sie das Letztere taten, ist aus der islamischen
(höfisch-städtischen) Miniaturmalerei erkennbar: oft je-
denfalls farbig, kleidsam und, wenn die soziale Situation
es zuließ, kostbar (vgl. die Miniaturen in: W. Walther,
Die Frau im Islam. Leipzig 31997; zur Schleierfrage:
W. Walther, Die Frau im Islam. In; P. Antes et al.,
Der Islam. Religion - Ethik - Politik; pp. 98-124, bes.
114-116. Stuttgart 1991).
Wiebke Walther
Petersen, Helga, und Alexander Krikellis (Hrsg.);
Religion und Heilkunst der Toba-Batak auf Suma-
tra. Überliefert von Johannes Winkler (1874-1958).
Köln: Rüdiger Koppe Verlag, 2006. 453 pp. ISBN 978-
3-89645-445-4. (InterCultura, Missions- und kulturge-
schichtliche Forschungen, Archiv- und Museumsstiftung
Wuppertal, 6/7) Preis: € 29.80
Das vorliegende Buch der Herausgeber Helga Peter-
sen und Alexander Krikellis ist eine Neuausgabe des
1925 in Stuttgart erschienenen Werkes “Die Toba-Batak
auf Sumatra in gesunden und kranken Tagen. Ein Bei-
trag zur Kenntnis des animistischen Heidentums” des
deutschen Missionsarztes Johannes Winkler, der 1901 —
1921 und 1933-1936 bei den Batak (Nord-Sumatra,
Indonesien) lebte und arbeitete. Für jeden Wissenschaft-
ler, der sich mit dem Glaubens- und Gesundheitssystem
der Toba-Batak auseinandersetzt, bedeutet dieses “alte”
Buch bis heute ein Standardwerk zur Ethnologie, Ge-
schichte und Religion der Batak. Deshalb ist es auch
überaus begrüssenswert, dass die Enkelin und der Uren-
kel von Johannes Winkler dieses prominente Fachbuch
neu aufgelegt haben.
Es entstand ein umfangreiches Buch, das vollständig
überarbeitet und ergänzt wurde, etwa mit bisher nicht
veröffentlichten Textpassagen, mit Artikeln meist aus
Missionszeitschriften, mit privaten Manuskripten, mit
alten und neuen Karten und nicht zuletzt mit vielen auf-
schlussreichen Photographien. Ein übersichtliches Sach-
register und eine vollständige Liste der Veröffentli-
chungen und Manuskripte von Johannes Winkler sowie
ein im Buchdeckel beigelegtes Faltblatt eines Batak-
Kalenders runden diese Neuausgabe ab.
Die Inhalte dieses Buches gliedern sich in drei Teile:
Teil I beinhaltet neben einleitenden Worten Motivation
und Vorgehen der beiden Verwandten und Herausgeber
sowie die Biografie von Johannes Winkler; Teil II
umfasst zu einem grossen Teil die Inhalte des Original-
buches von 1925 (zur Haushaltshygiene, zu den “Zau-
berdoktoren”, zur Toba-Batak-Medizin und zur Wahr-
sagerei); Teil III gibt ausgewählte Abhandlungen und
Beiträge wieder (etwa zum Hebammenwesen, zur Ar-
beit der Ärztlichen Mission, zum Batak-Kalender und
zur Batak-Schrift, sowie eine Liste der ethnologischen
Sammlung für das Völkerkundemuseum Hamburg).
Herausgekommen ist ein Dokument, das - im Ver-
gleich zur Originalausgabe von 1925 - vermehrt den
Menschen Dr. med. Johannes Winkler in den Vorder-
grund treten lässt, sowohl in seiner persönlichen und be-
ruflichen Tiefe als auch Breite. Dadurch wird auch sein
Denken, Schreiben und Handeln dem Leser verständ-
licher und nachvollziehbarer, auch wenn aus heutige1"
Sicht der kritische Diskurs dazu nicht fehlen darf. Vor
dem konkreten Hintergrund der verwandtschaftlichen
und familiären Einflüsse (als Missionare und Ärzte)
kann sein relativ gerader beruflicher Werdegang besser
verstanden werden. Auch erfahren wir nun, dass sein
Leben bei den Batak und im Dienste der Mission seine
Härte und Sorgfalt in ökonomisch-finanziellen Belanget
geprägt hat (etwa auch gegenüber seiner [zweiten] Ehe-
frau). Die in den Werken von Dr. Winkler beschriebene
beruflich fruchtbare Zeit in Nord-Sumatra war direkt
verbunden mit einer glücklichen Zeit innerhalb seiner
Familie mit Ehefrau und Töchterchen - in dieser Nett'
ausgabe lesen wir nun auch, dass der überraschende
Tod beider Frauen 1906 denn auch zu einer gewissen
Zäsur in seinem bis anhin erfolgreichen Arbeiten führte-
Hingegen wurde der Schleier um Johannes Winklet8
Einschätzung und Stellungnahme zu den Vorgängen in
Deutschland in der Zwischenkriegszeit und am Vor-
abend des Zweiten Weltkriegs nur wenig gelüftet.
Beim aktuellen Blick auf seinen Aufenthalt Ira
Batak-Hochland dürfen wir nicht ausser Betracht Ds
sen, dass Johannes Winkler die Rolle eines schulm6
dizinischen Arztes, eines protestantischen Missionars
und eines europäischen Kolonialbeamten präsentier1®
und repräsentierte - und von den Toba-Batak in dies
dreigliedrigen “Macht und Herrschafts”-Konstellation s
auch wahrgenommen wurde. Europäische Wissenscha^
christlicher Glauben und koloniales System bedeuten a
jeden Fall drei belangreiche und gewichtige Dimensio
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
617
nen im Handeln von Dr. med. Winkler während seiner
beiden Aufenthalte im nördlichen Sumatra. Leider er-
fahren wir zum letzten Bereich, nämlich der niederländi-
schen Kolonialverwaltung in Nord-Sumatra, sehr wenig
und zudem auch nur wenige kritische Worte - erstaun-
lich für einen Mann, der mehr als zwei Jahrzehnte in nie-
derländischen Diensten gearbeitet und als “wacher Zeit-
geist” sicher etwa auch die spürbaren Veränderungen der
Kolonialpolitik (der Niederlande) und die neuen Zeitzei-
chen innerhalb der indonesischen Gesellschaft bemerkt
hat. Zu diesem sich ändernden weltlich-politischen und
ökonomischen Umfeld im Batak-Land erhalten wir als
Leser meist nur bruchstückhafte “neutrale” Aussagen.
Das religiöse Sendungsbewusstsein von Johannes
Winkler tritt sicher deutlich hinter jenes seines schul-
medizinischen “guten Werkes” zurück: er verkörpert
nicht den unruhigen missionierenden Geistlichen, der
um die Seelenrettung einer sogenannt animistischen Eth-
nie zutiefst besorgt ist. Sein Hauptinteresse gilt ganz
klar der karitativen medizinischen Arbeit, was wir ohne
Weiteres auch als professionelles Verhalten würdigen
können. Sein medizinischer Einsatz gilt nämlich ganz
dem Ringen nach einer zufriedenstellend angebotenen
Therapie und Pflege in den Spitälern und während der
Arzt-Besuche in den Batak-Dörfem; nicht zuletzt hat er
(für seine Zeit) beinahe pionierhaft Bildung und Wei-
terbildung von lokalem Personal wie Hebammen und
Krankenschwestern vorangetrieben. Eine kausale Ver-
knüpfung von “Heil und Heilung” sehen wir in seinen
Schriften und in seinem Handeln in expliziter Form
Wenig - die professionelle Überzeugung des schulme-
dizinischen Heilens geht vor.
Diese Buchneuausgabe lässt nun auch eine vierte
Lebensdimension von Johannes Winkler deutlicher auf-
scheinen, die bis anhin unterschätzt oder auch - bedingt
durch das Umfeld seines christlichen missionsärztlichen
Wirkens - nicht gewürdigt wurde: seine wissenschaft-
lichen Interessen und Kompetenzen. Johannes Winklers
Fähigkeiten des nahen Beobachtens und direkten Be-
fragens (etwa der Bewohner der Batak-Haushalte), sein
Wille des In-Kontakt-Tretens mit den Batak-Exponenten
(wie den “Zauberdoktoren”) und das Bedürfnis des
Sich-Vertiefens und des Verstehens (etwa des Kalen-
ders und der Schrift der Batak) machen ihn zu einem
Wertvollen Ethnographen. Weitere Zeichen seiner kon-
tinuierlichen wissenschaftlichen Bemühungen sind der
fege Erfahrungsaustausch mit vielen damals bekannten
Indonesien-Wissenschaftlern, seine zahlreichen wissen-
schaftlichen Publikationen in anerkannten Zeitschriften
und seine betriebsame ethnographische Sammlungstätig-
keit für Völkerkundemuseen. Hervorzuheben sind als
Beispiele seine sehr detaillierten Beschreibungen der
Heilkunde der “Zauberdoktoren”, ihrer Kenntnisse der
Weissen und schwarzen Magie” und ihrer Orakelkunst.
Hiese medizinethnologisch sehr wertvollen Inhalte sind
noch immer wichtige Vergleichswerke im Zusammen-
hang mit der gegenwärtig noch bestehenden Batak-
Heilkunst.
Der wissenschaftliche Einblick Johannes Winklers
In verschiedene Lebensbereiche der Toba-Batak darf
aber nicht darüber hinwegtäuschen, dass sein Bild
deutlich von der Vorstellung einer zutiefst heidnisch-
animistischen und wild-unzivilisierten lokalen Gesell-
schaft geprägt war. Seine Distanz zu den Toba-Batak
als den “Anderen und Fremden” spüren wir in den
wertenden Bemerkungen zum Beispiel über den unguten
Einfluss der Batak-Götzen, über die Schädlichkeit des
Glaubens an die Magie oder über das Unverständnis die
höchst mangelhaften Körperhygiene von Mann und Frau
betreffend. Ein als evolutionistisch zu interpretierender
Unterton führt in seinen Erkenntnissen als Missionar und
Arzt dazu, dass für ihn der Weg der Toba-Batak Gesell-
schaft hin zur Stufe der europäischen Zivilisation der
einzige richtige Weg ist - obwohl ein noch sehr langer!
Dieser Pfad ist zumindest beschreitbar mit auswärtiger
Hilfe, etwa des christlichen Glaubens, des kolonialen
Bildungsideals und des schulmedizinischen Hygiene-
und SauberkeitsVorbildes. Ethnologisch interessant sind
dabei die meist sofort anschliessenden Gedanken von Jo-
hannes Winkler, die klar auch die Gefahren und Schwie-
rigkeiten dieses extern induzierten Kulturwandels in-
nerhalb der Toba-Batak-Dorfgemeinschaften beleuch-
ten, wenn zum Beispiel die “Götzenbilder” physisch
zerstört wurden, die christliche Mission jedoch noch
nicht Fuss gefasst hatte und dadurch ein gefährliches
“Glaubensvakuum” in dieser Transitionsphase entstand.
Abschliessend können wir dieses neuaufgelegte Buch
ohne Weiteres als eine grosse Bereicherung der wissen-
schaftlichen Literatur zur Ethnologie, Geschichte und
Religion der Batak in Nord-Sumatra (Indonesien) wer-
ten. Auch wenn heutzutage eine kritische Betrachtung
und Reflexion der protestantischen ärztlichen Mission
im damaligen Niederländisch Ost-Indien durchaus an-
gebracht und notwendig ist, so muss das grosse kultur-
historische Verdienst dieses Dokumentes doch deutlich
vor dem Hintergrund der regionalen und lokalen kolo-
nialpolitischen und missionsideologischen Bedingungen
in der ersten Hälfte des 20. Jhs. verstanden werden. Dass
dieses Buch nichtsdestoweniger von Aktualität ist, zeigt
die Tatsache, dass die eigenen Toba-Batak-Gelehrten
Johannes Winklers Buch auch heute noch als eines der
wichtigen Referenzwerke ihrer Kultur konsultieren.
Peter van Eeuwijk
Puri, Rajindra K.: Deadly Dances in the Bomean
Rainforest. Hunting Knowledge of the Penan Benalui.
Leiden: KITLV Press, 2005. 408 pp. ISBN 978-90-6718-
239-3. (Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Institut voor
Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, 222) Price: € 35.00
Die Wildbeutergruppen in Bomeo, Penan und Punan
blieben relativ lange Zeit kaum beachtet, auch nachdem
- initiiert u. a. durch die Erkenntnisse der Chicagoer
“Man the Hunter”-Konferenz - ab Ende der 1960er Jah-
re die Forschungsaktivitäten bei den verbliebenen Jägern
und Sammlern der Welt forciert wurden. Vergleichs-
weise wenige, auf intensiver Feldforschung basieren-
de Untersuchungen liegen bislang über sie vor. Rod-
ney Needham hatte sich Anfang der 1950er Jahre im
Rahmen seiner Dissertation mit Gruppen in Sarawak
Anthropos 103.2008
618
Rezensionen
befasst; Carl L. Hoffman warf in den 1980er Jahren
die Frage nach der Authentizität ihrer Wildbeuterkul-
tur auf; Peter Brosius fokussierte in den 1980er und
1990er Jahren das Umweltverständnis und -verhalten der
Penan Gang in Sarawak und Bernard Sellato erforschte
Penan- und Punan-Gruppen in Ost-Kalimantan. Alle
diese Forschungsergebnisse wurden eher als Beiträge
zur Ethnologie Borneos aufgenommen, weniger jedoch
in der laufenden Diskussion um die Wildbeuterkulturen
rezipiert. Dann brachte in den 1990er Jahren das Enga-
gement des Schweizer Umweltaktivisten Bruno Manser
die Situation der Penan und Punan und die Gefährdung
ihres Lebensraumes der Weltöffentlichkeit zur Kenntnis.
Generell erfuhr die Frage nach dem Überleben indige-
ner Gruppen im Regenwald und ihrer Zukunft mehr
und mehr Beachtung. Hierzu stellt nun Rajindra Puris
Werk über den Jagdkomplex der Penan Benalui in Ost-
Kalimantan einen beachtenswerten Beitrag dar, der sich
in die Reihe der zuvor genannten Arbeiten einfügt.
Vorweg erscheint es jedoch notwendig, darauf hinzu-
weisen, dass die ursprüngliche Lebensweise der Penan
und Punan eher von der Sammeltätigkeit geprägt war,
da primär die Nutzung wild wachsender Sagopalmen
ihre Subsistenz sicherte und ihren Arbeits- und Mobi-
litätsrhythmus bestimmte, auch wenn die Jagd auf Wild-
schweine eine gewichtige Rolle in der Nahrungssiche-
rung spielte. Die Jagd, die traditionell von ihnen vor
allem mit der speziellen Technik des Blasrohrs, aber
auch mit Jagdhunden und dem Einsatz des Speeres aus-
geführt wird und die somit ein von den bekannten Wild-
beutergruppen in den Regenwäldem Afrikas und des
insularen Südostasiens grundlegend differentes Jagdma-
nagement erfordert, unterscheidet sich nicht wesentlich
von der Jagdpraxis der ihnen benachbarten Dajak-Bau-
em. Ihre Technik ist jedoch weitaus komplexer, und
insbesondere verfügen die stärker auf das Leben im
Innern des Waldes orientierten Penan und Punan über
ein deutlich differenzierteres Umweltwissen als die Bau-
ern, deren Lebensraum eher auf den Nahbereich der
Flussläufe ausgerichtet ist. Die Jagd ist im Verständnis
der Penan ein wesentlicher Bestandteil ihrer kulturellen
Identität. Gerade auch dies sucht die Publikation von
Rajindra Puri zu vermitteln.
Das Buch ging aus der Dissertation des Autors her-
vor. Rajindra Puri hatte zwischen 1991 und 1993 insge-
samt 26 Monate mit den Penan Benalui im Dschungel
von Ost-Kalimantan gelebt und sie später noch immer
wieder aufgesucht. Puris Forschungen erstrecken sich
auf vier Penan Siedlungen im Bereich des Lurah, eine
Region, die auch Victor von Plessen Mitte der 1930er
Jahre aufgesucht hatte.
Diese Penan-Gruppen waren ursprünglich Ende des
19. Jhs. mit den Kenyah Badeng von Sarawak nach
Ost-Kalimantan in das Lurah River Valley gekommen
und später ab Mitte der 1950er Jahre allmählich sesshaft
geworden. Der Transformationsprozess war Anfang der
1990er Jahre noch im Gange, die Penan bewegten sich
zwischen Dorf und Wald, zwischen Bodenbau und Han-
del einerseits, sowie Jagen und Sammeln andererseits.
Das Gewehr hatte bereits zunehmend das Blasrohr ver-
drängt, und eine deutliche Präferenz der Falienstellerei
war erkennbar.
Puri untersucht in seiner ethnobiologischen Studie
den ökologischen und sozioökonomischen Kontext der
Jagd, die Jagdtechnik und -Organisation, die Handlungs-
abläufe und vor allem das Wissen um das Jagen und die
Umsetzung dieses Wissens. Das wird hier zum ersten
Male für die Penan in konsequenter Weise getan. Die
Arbeit erhält überdies eine besondere Aussagekraft auch
dadurch, dass die Forschungen auf intensiver teilneh-
mender Beobachtung basieren. Puri hat die Penan-Jäger
auf ihren nicht ungefährlichen, teilweise außerordentlich
anstrengenden Jagduntemehmungen begleitet. Und dies
vermittelt er auch dem Leser. In die Deskription seiner
ethnographischen Beobachtungen fließen seine emotio-
nalen Erfahrungen mit ein.
Im ersten Kapitel positioniert der Autor seine Arbeit,
seine theoretische Konzeption und methodische Vorge-
hensweise bei der Analyse des Umgangs einer Wild-
beutergruppe mit ihrer Umwelt und der Wissensbildung
durch Erfahrung und Erlernen. In den drei nachfolgen-
den Kapiteln stellt er die Geschichte und das kulturelle
Erscheinungsbild der Penan Benalui im Kontext mit
ihren Nachbarn, den Kenyah Badeng, dar: die Aus-
wirkungen dieser interethnischen Beziehungen auf das
Jagdgeschehen der Penan; die Umweltanforderungen
mit detaillierten Informationen insbesondere über die
Diversität der Tier- und Pflanzenwelt, die räumliche Ori-
entierung und das Umweltverständnis; die Relevanz der
nichtjägerischen Wirtschaftsaktivitäten wie die Gewin-
nung von Sago, die Nutzung wild wachsender Baum-
früchte, die Beschaffung von Nichtholzwald-Produkten
oder der Anbau von Maniok und Reis.
Ausschließlich der Jagd sind das fünfte und sechste
Kapitel gewidmet. Es werden fünf verschiedene Jagd-
techniken analysiert, die Jagd mit dem Blasrohr, mit
Jagdhund und Speer, mit dem Gewehr, durch das An-
locken von Wild oder durch das Angreifen der Tiere
beim Durchqueren der Flüsse. Der Autor beschreibt
die Interaktionen von Jägern, Jagdgerät und Jagdwild
im Hinblick auf die ökologischen und sozialen Impli'
kationen dieser Jagdtechniken. Er untersucht, welches
Wissen über die einzelnen Techniken vorhanden ist, wie
es eingesetzt wird, welche Bedeutung diesem Wissen im
kulturellen Transformationsprozess zukommt und damit
auch, wie es der nächsten Generation tradiert wird. Er
beschreibt die Wege, auf denen die jüngere Generation
erlernt und auch selbst erfährt, was sie wissen muss,
um erfolgreich jagen zu können. Puri demonstriert den
ganzen Reichtum an Umweltwissen, über den die Penan-
Jäger verfügen und den sie in der Jagdpraxis Umsetzern
Er zeigt, wie bewusst sie interaktiv handeln und wie
stark sie umweltbezogen denken.
Das Schlusskapitel summiert nicht nur die For-
schungsergebnisse, sondern bietet auch einen Ausblick
auf die Zukunft unter Berücksichtigung der aktuellen
Umwelt- und Wirtschaftspolitik. Es zeigt neue ökonomi'
sehe Möglichkeiten für die Penan auf, die zumindest auf
absehbare Zeit das Jagen weiterhin ermöglichen, wenn
auch nur einem kleinen Kreis von Penan-Jägem. Und es
Anthropos 103.2008
Rezensionen
619
macht deutlich, dass das Wissen um die Umwelt auch
jenen Penan der nächsten Generation, die nicht mehr
jagen werden, dienlich sein wird.
Das Werk beinhaltet eine enorme Fülle an empiri-
schen Daten zur Ethnographie der Jagd sowie zu Flora
und Fauna, einschließlich der Kategorisierung und der
Terminologie in Penan, Kenyah und Englisch. Aller-
dings geht in der Datenmenge und auch in häufigen
Wiederholungen von Zielsetzungen und Teilergebnissen
teilweise die Kontinuität der Konzeptionslinien verlo-
ren. Das schmälert nicht den Erkenntnisgewinn, den
das Buch zur Ethnographie der Wildbeutergesellschaften
Borneos ebenso wie zur Wildbeuterforschung generell,
zum Wissen einer Wildbeutergemeinschaft über Flora
und Fauna im Regenwald Borneos und zur Umsetzung
dieses Wissens in der Jagdstrategie vermittelt.
Stefan Seitz
Rothstein, Francés Abrahamer: Globalization in
Rural México. Three Decades of Change. Austin; Uni-
versity of Texas Press, 2007. 193 pp. ISBN 978-0-292-
71632-2. Price: £10.99
La globalización es uno de los conceptos más contro-
versia! en la discusión internacional desde la década del
90 del siglo pasado. Como concepto “de moda” en la
discusión política y también en las ciencias sociales, ha
opacado a conceptos más antiguos, como “clase” y “de-
pendencia”, y tan sólo en los últimos años ha encontrado
competencia en el concepto de “cambio climático”.
Francés Abrahamer Rothstein, profesora de antropo-
logía de Towson University, Maryland, EEUU, presenta
un trabajo que discute la globalización y sus efectos en
un contexto local: la comunidad San Cosme, en el estado
Tlaxcala (México), a pocos kilómetros de la ciudad de
Puebla. Sin embargo, y esto es lo que resalta de su
trabajo, ella coloca a San Cosme en el contexto regional,
nacional e internacional.
Rothstein basa el libro en un trabajo de más de
treinta años, habiendo realizado su primer trabajo de
campo en San Cosme en 1971. A lo largo de estos años,
investigaba los cambios económicos, sociales y cultu-
rales que sufrió la población de San Cosme. No obstante,
su tema central es el cambio radical que ocurrió a partir
de los años 90 en la economía y en las pautas de
consumo del pueblo.
En la introducción, la autora discute la percepción del
concepto globalización - que abarca flujo de capital,
seres humanos, mercancías, imágenes e ideas a una
escala sin precedentes en la historia - por diversos
autores y subraya la importancia de “movimiento”,
‘interconectividad” y “flexibilidad” en la globalización.
Generalmente, la globalización es vista desde dos
Perspectivas opuestas: La perspectiva neoliberal, que
en relación a los países en vía de desarrollo tuvo su
expresión más marcada en el “consenso de Washing-
ton”, término acuñado por John Willamson de 1989
fiüe describe un paquete de reformas específicas que el
US Treasury Department, el Banco Mundial y el Fon-
do Monetario Internacional recomendaban a los países
en crisis - entre otros a México - y que después
fue utilizado más y más para describir el paquete de
“desregulaciones” recomendadas y forzadas por estas
entidades. Según esta perspectiva, la globalización es la
solución a los problemas de ineficiencia, decrecimiento
o crecimiento estancado y, por ende, la solución a la
pobreza.
La perspectiva opuesta, la de la (neo) izquierda, man-
tiene que es precisamente la globalización, la apertura
de los mercados, la desregulación y la privatización que
- no sólo en los países en vía de desarrollo - aumenta
y endurece la pobreza, creando estructuras en las cuales
los ricos se vuelven mas ricos, los pobres más pobres.
Es esta la perspectiva que es compartida por mu-
chos antropólogos. Sin embargo, ambas perspectivas
tienen en común la visión que son los grandes poderes
- el capital, la política manejada por el capital, etc. -
quienes manejan los procesos a su parecer y que son las
comunidades locales, los pobres, la gente común quienes
disfrutan o son las víctimas de estas decisiones.
Rothstein rechaza ambas perspectivas. Ella argumen-
ta que, a pesar de que la globalización es un hecho
innegable que ha influenciado la vida de cada uno de
nosotros; no constituye en sí un fenómeno totalmente
nuevo. Desde hace tiempo se ha evidenciado el flujo
de capital, de ideas y seres humanos, aunque no en
la escala de hoy en día. Y el provecho que sustrae
el capital internacional de cada status quo específico
tampoco es nuevo; teniendo por ejemplo la anterior
política de “sustitución de importaciones” repercusiones
muy provechosas para dicho capital. Finalmente, el ar-
gumento más fuerte, que ordena y dirige la obra de
Rothstein, es que la población local (en este caso los
habitantes de San Cosme) no es meramente víctima
de la globalización; así como no lo fue tampoco de
otras estructuras económicas, sino que tiene la suficiente
creatividad como para aprovechar u oponerse también,
aunque sea en parte, al orden impuesto desde arriba.
La riqueza del trabajo de Rothstein es esta pers-
pectiva, que ella mantiene a lo largo de su trabajo.
Nos cuenta como San Cosme en los años 40 del siglo
pasado era una comunidad netamente agricultora pero
que en esta misma década algunos hombres consiguieron
trabajo en las fábricas textiles de la ciudad de México.
Ello fue posible por la apertura de nuevas fábricas que
producían para el consumo interno, gracias a la política
de sustitución de importaciones. (Hay que mencionar
que la sustitución de importaciones generalmente estaba
dirigida a la sustitución de importaciones de artículos
de consumo. La maquinaria para la producción de estos
artículos venía de Estados Unidos o de Europa, dejando
jugosas ganancias para las fábricas de maquinaria.) En
los años 80, el 50% de los hombres de San Cosme
trabajaban como obreros en las fábricas de textiles.
Los nuevos obreros transformaron profundamente la
economía y las pautas de la vida social y política de San
Cosme. Fueron ellos quienes lograron que San Cosme
fuese declarado municipio autónomo, consiguieron que
el Estado invirtiera en agua potable y desagüe, carre-
teras, calles, luz y transporte público. Con la inversión
Anthropos 103.2008
620
Rezensionen
en camiones, tiendas y restaurantes le dieron una faz
más urbana al pueblo. Mantenían sus terrenos, pero
solían dejarlos en arriendo a parientes o vecinos. Por no
trabajar ya los terrenos, las esposas de los trabajadores
se dedicaban exclusivamente a las labores domésticas,
perdiendo de esta manera la relativa igualdad económica
que antaño tenían en la relación con sus maridos. Final-
mente, sobre todo los hijos varones de los trabajadores
recibieron una educación formal muy superior a la de
sus padres, hecho que influyó fuertemente en que ellos
ya no se percibían como campesinos.
A raíz de la crisis financiera que vivió el país
en los años 80, México realizó una reorientación de
su política económica, orientada en ideas neoliberales
lideradas por Estados Unidos y Gran Bretaña. Este
modelo fue “aconsejado” por el Banco Mundial y el
Fondo Monetario Internacional y los países en vías de
desarrollo sufrían presiones de aceptarlo. Todo ello tuvo
como consecuencia, entre otros, el cierre de muchas de
las fábricas donde trabajaban hombres de San Cosme.
Los San Cosmeros enfrentaron la crisis regresando
en parte al capital económico y social que les quedaba
de antes: las tierras; para volver a una producción de
subsistencia más intensiva y a las relaciones sociales,
sobre todo de parentesco, para la ayuda mutua entre
familias nucleares.
Pero la reorganización de la economía ofreció nuevas
oportunidades. La entrada de empresas “maquiladoras”
a la región hizo posible por primera vez el trabajo
de las mujeres en las fábricas, aunque a sueldos muy
bajos. El quiebre de las grandes fábricas textiles en
todo México, resultado de la “globalización”, a su vez
le posibilitó a los San Cosmeros una economía local,
basada principalmente en la producción de prendas de
vestir.
Esta nueva economía local inició a finales de la
década de los ochenta, cuando una pareja de San
Cosme inició la fabricación de uniformes escolares
en su casa, como estrategia para evitar el desempleo
por despido de la fábrica. Como tuvieron éxito, en
poco tiempo había cientos de talleres instalados en las
viviendas de sus dueños donde se producían prendas de
vestir, ya sea para venderlas, o actuando como agentes
subcontratados para la maquila de piezas específicas
relacionados con las fábricas maquiladoras de la región.
Estos talleres generaban puestos de trabajo que podían
implicar a una sola pareja, a la familia entera, a la
familia más algunas personas contratadas (generalmente
entre la familia extensa) o, como es el caso de unos 20
talleres donde se contrataban entre 15 y 40 trabajadores
procedentes de San Cosme y de comunidades vecinas.
Durante la década de los 90, la economía de San
Cosme se vio dominada totalmente por la fabricación
textil a nivel domiciliar. La producción masiva surtía
efectos secundarios: vendedores de prendas de vestir,
abastecedores de implementos para la producción, ven-
dedores de máquinas, restaurantes, hoteles, transportis-
tas, médicos, abogados etc. Como es de suponer, nue-
vamente la vida de San Cosme se vio transformada de
manera profunda. La producción de prendas de vestir
exige el trabajo colectivo de la familia, dándoles a las
mujeres nuevamente un papel más igualitario y la posi-
bilidad de ser remuneradas en efectivo. La educación de
los hijos sigue siendo una inversión prioritaria, pero esta
vez es más pareja entre hijos e hijas. Finalmente, los
nuevos estilos de consumo, desde ropa, comida, hasta
televisión e Internet relacionan a los habitantes de San
Cosme estrechamente con el mundo moderno.
La historia de éxito de San Cosme en la producción
de prendas de vestir tuvo su auge en la década de los
90. Con la entrada cada vez más agresiva de artículos
baratos procedente de Asia (China) en el nuevo milenio,
las condiciones de esta producción se han vuelto cada
vez más difíciles. Estas dificultades son enfrentadas con
alta flexibilidad; “Garment production has varied more
widely over a relatively short period of time. People who
were not garment producers become garment producers.
People who were garment producers give it up; some
take up garment production, give it up and then take
it up again. Independent producers become maquila
producers, and maquila producers become independent
producers; some try doing both at the same time. Some
people who had their own workshops become workers
for others. Some have supplemented or replaced garment
production with fabric making. Others have begun to
specialize in computer-aided embroidery on garments
that others produce” (73). Aún así, la autora tiene dudas
si la producción de prendas de vestir a la larga puede
sobrevivir en San Cosme.
En el penúltimo capítulo Rothstein discute la iden-
tidad y la consciencia de los San Cosmeros a la luz
de la teoría de consumo y la teoría de clases. Ella se
opone a la idea según la cual son los consumidores
los que determinan la producción y, por ende, son ellos
quienes reclaman la globalización para poder conseguir
artículos cada vez más baratos. Para la autora más bien
el consumismo es el producto final de características
estructurales que incluyen producción, clase, género,
edad e historia. Para ello, hay que comparar, por ejem-
plo, la producción familiar campesina de los años 40
del siglo pasado, donde los padres de familia contro-
laban tanto la producción como el gasto/consumo, con
la producción textil de hoy donde inclusive los jóvenes
tienen un sueldo, aunque mínimo, derivado del trabajo
en los talleres.
El concepto de “clase”, tan importante en los años
60 y 70 del siglo pasado, se ha diluido en la época de
la globalización con su ideal y práctica del “trabajador
flexible” que hoy trabaja en un lugar, mañana en
otro; que hoy tiene un trabajo dependiente, mañana
un pequeño taller y pasado mañana trabaja en ambas
situaciones. La conclusión de Rothstein es que 1°®
habitantes de San Cosme son “proletarios disfrazados
(156), porque ni siquiera los talleres con cierto número
de trabajadores persiguen una lógica capitalista sino una
lógica de reproducción de la familia extensa.
Rothstein concluye que los habitantes de San Cosme
fueron capaces de aprovechar los cambios inherentes a
la globalización: tienen más educación, más autonomía
para las mujeres y los jóvenes. Fueron capaces de re
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
621
novar las relaciones sociales a través de celebraciones
y rituales más frecuentes y elaboradas. Fueron capaces
de ello porque continuaban la producción para la sub-
sistencia y la cooperación entre parientes y porque no
abandonaron el imaginario que estas prácticas nutren.
Y en sus propias palabras: “Globalization has created
opportunities for some and disappointments for many.
Thus, it is very similar to development. But globalization
has a potential not present in earlier forms of capitalist
development. That potential is waiting to be acted upon”
(160). Sobre el trabajo de Rothstein es difícil decir algo
crítico. Ella logra trazar la dinámica del proceso de
modernización de San Cosme con sus diferentes face-
tas, los factores locales, nacionales, internacionales, las
comentes de antropología y de economía del desarrollo,
en pocas páginas de alta calidad. De esta manera, se le
puede perdonar pequeños errores, cuando sostiene, por
ejemplo, que en la literatura no se conocía la influencia
que pueden tener migrantes de una localidad sobre ella
(53). Acerca de este aspecto, a partir de los años 80
surgió una literatura rica y diferenciada dedicada a la
migración y sus efectos sobre los lugares de origen y
destino.
El trabajo de Rothstein también es de mucho valor
porque la globalización como concepto y práctica está
en crisis, y la autora aporta elementos interesantes para
ponderar tanto el concepto como la práctica. A estas
alturas es obvio que el neoliberalismo, con su énfasis en
la desregulación a todo precio y la glorificación de los
efectos de la globalización, ha fracasado porque no tiene
respuesta a la persistencia de la pobreza y exclusión.
Pero igualmente cada día es más obvio que los críticos
más feroces de la globalización, los protagonistas de
la apología del socialismo del siglo XXI, pisan sobre
terreno pantanoso; la historia no muestra muchos ejem-
plos de economías burocráticas exitosas. La perspectiva
de Rothstein puede ser un granito para una perspectiva
más allá de los dos extremos.
Harald Mossbrucker
Schuerkens, Ulrike (ed.): Globalization and the
Transformations of Local Socioeconomic Practices. New
York: Routledge, 2008. 216 pp. ISBN 978-0-415-96090-
8- (Routlege Advances in Sociology, 34) Price: £ 60.00
Die Herausgeberin des hier zu besprechenden Sam-
fttelbandes, Ulrike Schuerkens, hat ihr Amt als Präsiden-
tin des Research Committee 09 “Social Transformations
and Sociology of Development” in der International
Sociological Association dazu zu nutzen gewusst, die
Aktivitäten dieses Komitees neu zu bündeln, ihnen eine
sehr produktive Form zu geben und nicht zuletzt die
Erträge dieser Arbeit in einer Reihe von Publikationen
dokumentieren. Neben dem hier zu besprechenden
Eand sind in diesem Kontext auch ein Themenheft von
Current Sociology (2003, Vol. 51., Heft 3/4) mit dem Ti-
tel “Social Transformations between Global Forces and
Eocal Life-Worlds” und ein weiteres Herausgeberwerk
«lit dem Titel “Global Forces and Local Life-Worlds”
(Thousand Oaks 2004) entstanden.
Die Zahl der in engem Zusammenhang untereinan-
der stehenden Veröffentlichungen sind ein Indiz für die
Breite der Beschäftigung der Herausgeberin mit den
Themen Globalisierung und Transformationsprozesse.
Die große Bandbreite an Themen ist zugleich das ers-
te und wichtigste Merkmal zur Charakterisierung des
vorliegenden Buches. Die einzelnen Beiträge berich-
ten über Fallstudien aus Europa (Deutschland, Russ-
land), Asien (China, Thailand), Afrika (Togo, Benin),
sowie aus Lateinamerika einschließlich der Karibik. Die
wahrhaft weltumspannende räumliche Bandbreite wird
ergänzt durch unterschiedliche Fokussierungen der un-
tersuchten Personengruppen. Hier geht es nicht nur um
Staaten insgesamt (z. B. Demokratisierung in Benin),
sondern auch um kleine, hochprofessionelle Gruppen
(z. B. Experten des Auditing in Russland, Chefmanager
in Deutschland) und nicht zuletzt um Lebenswelten, die
sich im Alltag entfalten. Wie in den anderen erwähnten
Veröffentlichungen auch unterzieht sich Ulrike Schuer-
kens als Herausgeberin der Mühe, den Band einzuleiten
und dabei übergreifende Themen und Fragestellungen
herauszustellen.
Gerade wegen der großen Bandbreite ist das Un-
terfangen einer verbindenden Einleitung gleichermaßen
dringlich, wie auch - angesichts der Diversität der ge-
genwärtigen Globalisierungsdiskurse - herausfordernd.
Die Problematik ist am besten am Schicksal des Be-
griffes “Lebenswelt” zu erklären, der in den früheren
Veröffentlichungen von Schuerkens als lokaler Wider-
part der “globalen Kräfte” eine herausgehobene Rolle
spielte. In der jetzt vorgelegten Einleitung taucht der
Begriff wieder auf, allerdings an sehr viel weniger pro-
minenter Stelle. Vielleicht, und mit dieser Vermutung
verlasse ich die Ebene der Textzusammenfassung, wurde
Schuerkens selbst klar, wie eingeschränkt die Tauglich-
keit dieses Wortes ist, wenn es eben nicht mehr um
ethnographische Berichte von Alltagswelten, sondern
um die Interpretation von Statistiken und den darin
erkennbaren Veränderungen der Gesellschaften geht.
Neben der extremen Bandbreite ist damit ein zweiter
verbindender Aspekt der Beiträge herausgestellt. Der
größere Teil der Texte befasst sich mit signifikant neu-
en ökonomischen Kontexten und strategischen Interes-
sen, die hochspezialisierte Berufsgruppen dazu bringen,
Veränderungen ihres Handelns oder der Gesellschaften
insgesamt voranzutreiben, oder diesen Wandel wenigs-
tens zu akzeptieren. Wenn überhaupt noch von Le-
benswelten dieser Spezialisten gesprochen werden kann,
dann handelt es sich keinesfalls um lokale Lebenswel-
ten, sondern um komplexe, oftmals weltumspannende
Beziehungsgeflechte, in denen räumliche Distanz nur
noch eine untergeordnete Rolle spielt. Viel wichtiger
scheinen Wettbewerbsverhältnisse zu sein, die Schuer-
kens dann auch - gegen Ende der Einleitung - explizit
anspricht. Wettbewerb gibt es zwischen ökonomischen
Akteuren innerhalb einer Gesellschaft, aber offensicht-
lich auch zwischen verschiedenen Gesellschaften, die
sich - wiederum aus strategischen Gründen - darum
bemühen, in bestimmten Eigenschaften alle anderen zu
übertreffen. Schuerkens’ Interesse beschränkt sich aus-
Anthropos 103.2008
622
Rezensionen
drücklich nicht auf soziale oder kulturelle Veränderun-
gen, sondern bezieht die Sphäre des wirtschaftlichen
Handelns mit ein. Dieser auf den ersten Blick nachvoll-
ziehbare Schritt in der Analyse von Globalisierungspro-
zessen führt aber zugleich zu einer methodischen Wei-
terung, da ökonomische Kennzeichen vielfach nur noch
über Statistiken ablesbar sind. Die eingangs erwähnten
Lebenswelten spielen hingegen nur noch eine geringe-
re Rolle. Offensichtlich hat die Erweiterung des The-
menfeldes eine nicht unproblematische methodologische
Öffnung zur Folge. Wie die verschiedenen Perspektiven
auf Prozesse der Globalisierung zueinander stehen, wird
schließlich überhaupt nicht mehr thematisiert.
Nach einer knappen Darstellung der Geschichte der
Globalisierung führt Schuerkens den Leser in kurzen
Abschnitten durch wirtschaftshistorische Kennzeichen
der einzelnen Kontinente. Immer wieder hebt sie her-
vor, wie in Afrika, Lateinamerika (und auch Asien)
die je spezifischen Konfigurationen von ökonomischen
Kräften und internationalen politischen Zwängen zu je-
weils anderen ökonomischen Konstellationen und Hand-
lungsmöglichkeiten führen. Dabei mag es aus anthro-
pologischer Sicht problematisch sein, von der Inter-
nalisierung und Aneignung durch Gesellschaften zu
sprechen, sind es doch immer Akteure oder wenigstens
klar bestimmbare soziale Gruppen (und nicht Gesell-
schaften insgesamt), die solche Transformationsleistun-
gen erzwingen oder selbst erbringen. Dass aber eine
solche Umformung globaler Prinzipien stattfindet, sei
unbestritten und wird durch die einzelnen Beiträge auch
überdeutlich belegt. Es bleibt jedoch die Frage, welche
Rolle die Anthropologie und die ethnographischen Me-
thoden insbesondere dabei noch spielen. Bei der Lektüre
entsteht leicht der Eindruck, neben klassischen sozio-
logischen Methoden, wie z. B. Interviews, werden auch
das Nacherzählen der Landesgeschichte und die Lektüre
von Parteipamphleten als eigenständige Methoden ge-
nutzt.
Natürlich ist es eine legitime Option, auf den Zwang
ethnographischer Methoden zu verzichten. Aber es wäre
wünschenswert, wenigstens alternative Methoden zu be-
nennen und ihren Gebrauch zu begründen. Die Hoff-
nung, durch die Beiträge des Buches neues Licht auf die
sozioökonomischen Transformationsprozesse zu werfen,
schwindet, wenn nicht einmal geklärt ist, mit welchen
Methoden solche neuen Erkenntnisse zutage gefördert
werden. Damit ist eine Problematik angesprochen, die
keinesfalls der Herausgeberin allein anzulasten ist. Viel-
mehr spiegelt das Buch eine grundlegende Schwäche der
gegenwärtigen Globalisierungsdebatten wider: Die Exis-
tenz der Phänomene ist offensichtlich; ihre Begründung
und die angemessenen Methoden werden hingegen von
den Globalisierungstheoretikem kaum je erläutert.
In gewisser Weise ist sich die Herausgeberin die-
ses Dilemmas bewusst, und sie versucht deshalb, im
Schlusskapitel die Aussagen der einzelnen Beiträge zu
einer Gesamtthese des Buches zusammenzuführen. Im
Vordergrund steht dabei die Einsicht, dass die Mitglieder
der sich entwickelnden Gesellschaften des Südens keine
hilflosen Opfer der Ausbreitung des Neoliberalismus sei-
en, sondern die Fähigkeit haben, kreativ an der Selektion
der in ihrer Gesellschaft relevanten sozioökonomischen
Praktiken mitzuwirken (194). Schuerkens sieht insbe-
sondere den Fehler der Anthropologen darin, soziale
Prozesse zu sehr auf Fragen kultureller Authentizität
hin ausgerichtet zu haben. Die nostalgische Tradition
der Wissenschaftler habe demzufolge ein falsches Bild
gezeichnet, das sich letztlich in der Entwicklungszu-
sammenarbeit ausdrückt, wenn nämlich zum Beispiel
in Afrika nach entwicklungshemmenden Aspekten der
Kultur gefahndet wird, anstatt die Angehörigen dieser
Gesellschaften als Konsumenten anzusehen, für die das
neoliberale Credo mehr und mehr an Gültigkeit gewon-
nen hat.
Trotzdem versteht Schuerkens die Beiträge als Evi-
denz dafür, dass es historisch bedingte Varianten des Neo-
liberalismus gibt. Während die Wirtschaftseliten welt-
weit an der Vereinheitlichung der Rahmenbedingungen
arbeiten, sieht Schuerkens nur die Anti-Globalisierungs-
bewegung als Verteidiger lokal geprägter Diversität.
Realisierbar sind solche Alternativen zur weltumspan-
nenden neoliberalen Wirtschaft aber nur in zeitlich und
räumlich begrenzten Räumen. Auch Armut und der
alltägliche Überlebenskampf, der ja auch heute noch für
weite Teile der Weltbevölkerung das wichtigste Element
wirtschaftlichen Handelns darstellt, mag zwar von an-
deren Prioritäten geleitet sein, begründet jedoch nach
Schuerkens keine Alternative zur Eigengesetzlichkeit
des Neoliberalismus. Deshalb kann es im größeren,
globalen Maßstab nur eine Wirtschaftsordnung geben-
Inwieweit die Beiträge in dem Band diese These stützen,
erörtert die Autorin jedoch nicht. Auch ich kann in den
Texten der verschiedenen Autoren keine dezidierte Aut'
fassung dazu entdecken. Immerhin ist der Herausgeberin
und Autorin des Schlusskapitels zuzustimmen, dass der
Wettbewerb zwischen Individuen als grundlegender An-
trieb wirtschaftlichen Handelns in den Kapiteln dieses
Buches kein Dogma ist, sondern immer wieder kritisch
reflektiert wird.
So bleibt das Fazit, dass die lokalen Bedingung611
wirtschaftlichen Handelns eben doch weiterhin ein re-
levanter Gegenstand sozialwissenschaftlicher Untersu-
chungen sein werden. Der hier zu besprechende Sam*
melband ist ein Anfang dazu, trotz der angesprochenen
Schwächen in Bezug auf die Methodologie und die
extreme Breite des Themenspektrums.
Hans P. Hahn
Solway, Jacqueline (ed.): The Politics of Egal1'
tarianism. Theory and Practice. New York: Berghahn
Books, 2006.260 pp. ISBN 978-I-84545-114-1. (Method'
ology and History in Anthropology, 12) Price: $ 80.0
This collection of fourteen essays edited by Jacque
line Solway celebrates the legacy of renowned Kalahari
anthropologist Richard B. Lee. The work of Lee an
his colleagues on hunter-gatherers, starting in the 1960 *
stimulated a corpus of anthropological research that has
made the San one of the most studied groups in 1
world. As well as making a remarkable contributi°
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
623
to the ethnographic record and challenging assumptions
about hunter-gatherer societies, Lee’s work has fed into
significant theoretical debates in feminist and economic
anthropology. Noteworthy here is the importance of
Lee’s research for Sahlins’s influential “Original Afflu-
ent Society” which is reproduced here in an abridged
version and introduced by Solway.
The volume is an ambitious one, seeking to draw to-
gether theory, praxis, and ethnography, both classic and
contemporary, surrounding the history and politics of
“egalitarian” societies. The essays range from Gailey’s
argument for the relevance of Marx’s neglected “Ethno-
logical Notebooks” for understanding how communal
precapitalist social structures may bolster egalitarian-
ism, to Guenther’s examination of contemporary San
art, identity politics, and the perpetuation of primitivist
Western discourses about Bushmen. As a result, it is
hard to immediately discern the common denominator of
such divergent topics, and more so for the nonspecialist
reader.
Nevertheless, Solway does an admirable job in
her introduction, describing the three intellectual-cum-
activist projects which underlie the collection. These
include the long-term project of anthropologists to fully
document the lives of hunter-gatherers; how to best ana-
lyse and understand local and global patterns of change;
and a critique of egalitarianism “as a theoretical possibil-
ity, an historical fact, and a political project” (2). Change
and history are important threads underlying this varied
set of essays - not surprising given the content and
legacy of the great “Kalahari Debate” to which Lee’s
Work has been central. Several pieces in the volume
include assessments of Lee that counter any charges of
his “ahistoricism”; Gailey, for example, argues that Lee
must be acknowledged for documenting transformation
in San societies, including their colonization, sedenta-
rization, and militarization.
The volume’s first section, “The Politics and Prac-
tices of Egalitarianism,” addresses matters of theory.
In addition to revisiting Sahlins, this section includes
Trigger’s essay on debates about the natural or so-
cial nature of egalitarianism, recalling Lee’s work on
how hierarchical behaviour is actively suppressed in
hunter-gatherer societies through gossip, ridicule, and
accusations of witchcraft. Trigger concludes that hunter-
gatherer societies cannot be a model for the future
creation of egalitarian societies, rather only an example
of the possibility of social and political egalitarianism
in societies small enough to be controlled by public
opinion. Whilst Brodkin’s analysis of Jewish identity,
gender, and activism in North America honours Lee’s
commitment to social justice and is interesting in its own
right, it sits somewhat uneasily in this volume given its
tenuous relevance to most of the other Kalahari-focused
essays.
The volume’s second section, “The Kalahari Then
and Now,” contains a range of stimulating material.
Thomas’s chapter briefly documents the relationship
between lions and San in Nyae Nyae in the 1950s.
Although it does not provide much analysis of the
social construction of lions, it is an interesting histor-
ical record relevant to anyone seeking to understand
the social dimensions of human-animal interactions and
conflict more broadly. Susser’s paper on HIV/AIDS
among Ju/’hoansi comprises preliminary findings result-
ing from fieldwork conducted with Lee between 1996
and 2003, and enquires into the relationships between
HIV, poverty, and women’s autonomy. In particular,
Susser considers the extent to which HIV transmission
might be reduced by the social organization and subsis-
tence economies of foraging societies, and by Ju/’hoansi
women’s relative autonomy compared to that of women
from other groups. Whilst Susser’s conclusions are ten-
tative, her findings not only reinforce the relevance of
anthropological research for understanding and combat-
ing the HIV/AIDS crisis among San, but also the links
between egalitarianism, health, and activism.
Biesele provides a valuable account of the emergence
of the Kalahari People’s Fund (KPF), one of the first
people’s advocacy organizations with the backing of
professional anthropologists. She also details the orga-
nizations affiliated to KPF in Namibia and Botswana
which have supported San struggles for secure land
tenure and a political voice, and mobilized rural devel-
opment and education projects. Biesele thus captures an-
thropologists’ activist legacy in the Kalahari. In focusing
on its rosier outcomes, however, her essay overlooks the
contestations over authority and “development” which
have emerged around NGO activities, for example in
Nyae Nyae Conservancy.
Also in this section, Hitchcock traces the struggles of
Ju/’hoansi in Botswana and Namibia respectively since
the 1970s to establish control over land and water in
their ancestral territories. Set against complex social,
economic, and political backdrops, Ju/’hoansi have em-
ployed a varied set of strategies to do so, including
negotiating the politics of indigeneity with sensitive
governments, and collaborating with local, national, and
international NGOs. Sylvain builds on Lee’s legacy of
debunking stereotypes about “primitives” by examining
prevailing assumptions about indigenous authenticity
and tradition in the case of San farmworkers in Om-
aheke, Namibia. She calls for rethinking concepts and
categories of culture, class, and autonomy, given the
tensions between indigenous people’s issues and class,
and the role of indigenous agency therein.
The final section of the volume, compiled by Solway
and Gailey, is dedicated to documenting Lee’s ethno-
graphic fieldwork, his intellectual life, and his social
and political engagement. It includes a short but en-
gaging photographic chronicle of Lee’s visits to the
Kalahari (1963-2000); a biography of Lee, his family
background, and his academic career; and a selected bib-
liography. This collection as a whole is recommended
to the more advanced reader in San studies. Its most
significant contribution for those already familiar with
the San literature lies in expanding the pool of recent
analyses of San identity politics, and in documenting the
rise and challenges facing San-owned and San-oriented
NGOs. Despite the sometimes obscure links between
^nthropos 103.2008
624
Rezensionen
essays, the volume is also a good reference source
for a broader readership seeking an overview of Lee’s
intellectual legacy and its trajectories.
Julie Taylor and Amelia Cook
Steiner, Franz Baermann: Zivilisation und Gefahr.
Wissenschaftliche Schriften. Hrsg, von Jeremy Adler
und Richard Fardon; übersetzt von Brigitte Luchesi.
Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 2008. 765 pp. ISBN; 978-
3-89244-615-6. Preis: €68.00
Er sei eigentlich ein ewiger Student, hat der Prager
Lyriker und OxfOrder Ethnologe Franz Baermann Stei-
ner (1909-1952) noch am Ende seines kurzen Lebens
über sich geschrieben, und es ist nicht klar, wie sich
die Anteile von Understatement, resignativer Selbstein-
schätzung und Stolz in dieser Aussage zueinander ver-
halten. Fakt ist, dass Steiner, der seit 1938 durchweg
im englischen Exil lebte und am Oxforder Institute for
Social Anthropology im Umkreis von Radcliffe-Brown
und Evans-Pritchard lernte, forschte und lehrte, ein
ebenso von systematischen Ordnungsversuchen als auch
von weiträumigen interdisziplinären Ausgriffen gepräg-
tes Werk hinterlassen hat, dessen Profil sich bis auf
den heutigen Tag nur unvollständig abzeichnet. Das
einzige, wenn auch nachhaltige wissenschaftliche Buch,
dessen Publikation er selbst vorbereiten half, sind die
Vorlesungen über “Taboo”, die allerdings auch erst post-
hum erschienen. Dass eine größere Gesamtsicht des
randständigen Œuvres überhaupt möglich ist, verdankt
sich schließlich den unermüdlichen editorischen und
kommentierenden Arbeiten Jeremy Adlers, Sohn des
engen Steiner-Freundes H. G. Adler (1910-1988), der
zunächst für die Herausgabe der zweibändigen “Select-
ed Writings”, alsdann der beiden deutschen Ausgaben
- die unter dem Titel “Am stürzenden Pfad” gesammel-
ten Gedichte, erschienen 2000 - verantwortlich zeich-
net, unterstützt von dem Londoner Anthropologen und
Afrikanisten Richard Fardon. Dem nun vorliegenden
zweiten Band der deutschen Werkausgabe - im Kem
eine Kompilation der englischen Edition - soll Ende
nächsten Jahres eine Auswahl von Steiners umfang-
reichen Notizen und Kurzessays folgen, die dieser ab
1942 als “Feststellungen und Versuche” schrieb und
sammelte.
Betrachtet man den Bildungsweg Steiners, so erhält
die Rede vom “ewigen Studenten” einen genaueren
Sinn, konvergieren in seiner Formation doch eine Viel-
zahl einander nicht schlechthin entgegengesetzter, son-
dern - in der Retrospektive - bereichernder anthro-
pologischer Schulen. Freilich ist dieser Umstand nicht
unwesentlich den politischen Verwerfungen seiner Zeit
geschuldet, was Steiner eine gewisse Sonderrolle in der
Geschichte der Ethnologie des 20. Jhs. verschafft. In
Prag studierte er semitische Sprachen, in Jerusalem Ara-
bisch, in Wien bei Köppers und Heine-Geldern Völker-
kunde, an der London School of Economics hörte er
Malinowski und in Oxford arbeitete er mit jüngeren
Wissenschaftlern, zu denen neben der Grande Dame der
britischen Sozialanthropologie, der unlängst verstorbe-
nen Mary Douglas, auch M. N. Srinivas, Louis Dumont
und das Ehepaar Bohannan gehörten. Gleichermaßen
wichtige wie illustre Freunde waren der “empirische
Mystiker” Erich Unger und Elias Canetti. Zieht man
in Betracht, dass Steiner ab dem Frühjahr 1931, als
er aus Palästina zurückgekehrt sein Judentum neu ent-
deckte und es in den religiös weitgehend indifferenten
Prager Kreisen als “Orientalentum im Westen” zu be-
leben suchte, sich noch vor dem Exil als Fremdling
empfand, der den aus dem Protestantismus erwachsenen
Rationalisierungsbemühungen, zu denen auch der ethno-
logische Evolutionismus gehörte, den Anspruch auf die
anthropologische Wahrheit der Religion entgegensetzte,
so hat man das ebenso komplizierte wie produktive
Spannungsfeld, in dem sich die Rezeption der genann-
ten Denkrichtungen abspielen sollte. Dazu gehört, dass
Steiner die in Wien vermittelte Kulturkreislehre zwar
hinsichtlich ihrer mangelhaften soziologischen Metho-
dik kritisierte, andererseits ihre historische Ausrichtung
durchaus aufnahm (der Synthesis von Geschichte und
Soziologie sind eine ganze Reihe späterer, teilweise
noch unveröffentlichter Kurztexte gewidmet).
Malinowski bewunderte er als Gelehrten, in dein
Datensammler und Interpret zusammengefunden hatten;
über sein Seminar heißt es indes im Tagebuch; “Der
übliche ‘materialistische’, ‘evolutionistische’ Kram, mit
Unfehlbarkeitsambition vorgebracht” (21.1.1937, Nach-
lass im Deutschen Literaturarchiv Marbach). Die Me-
thodik der “teilnehmenden Beobachtung” aber fand
Zustimmung; Steiner vermittelte sie an H. G. Adler,
dessen Buch “Theresienstadt. Antlitz einer Zwangsge-
meinschaft” auf der existenziellen Anwendung dieser
Methode beruht: Adler hätte nach eigenen Aussagen
das Lager sonst nicht überlebt. Auch der Nachdruck,
den Malinowski in seinen Trobriander-Studien auf An-
eignung und Untersuchung der Eingeborenensprache
legt, fand Steiners Beifall; sie wurden, so die Her-
ausgeber des vorliegenden Bandes im Nachwort, “zu
einem entscheidenden, wenn auch meist übersehenen
Bindeglied zwischen der philologischen Methode der
mitteleuropäischen Völkerkunde und der modernen bri-
tischen Schule.” An Radcliffe-Brown hat Steiner das
Insistieren auf einem nach naturwissenschaftlichem Vor-
bild organisierten Wissenschaftsbegriff abgelehnt, das
hingenommene und proklamierte Auseinanderfallen von
chronologisch-historischen und wissenschaftlichen Kau-
salitäten sowie den äußerlichen Blick auf Religion (erst
mit dem von Evans-Pritchard verfolgten Wechsel von
“Funktion” zu “Bedeutung” änderte sich die dahing6'
hende Ausrichtung des Instituts). Andererseits war es
wiederum Radcliffe-Brown, der Steiners Aufmerksam-
keit für Institutionen und deren praktizierte Selbstaus-
legung (etwa Rechtssysteme) schärfte: an diesem Punkt
verläuft auch der Übergang von Steiner als Schüler unö
Autor kleinerer Studien zur “eher britisch beeinflussten
Methode seiner reifen Phase”, wie die Herausgeber naei'
nen.
Im englischen Exil entscheidet sich Steiner für ein
spezifisches “Opfer” (H. G. Adler): Er nimmt sich vor,
eine umfangreiche Studie über “Hörigkeitsverhältnisse
103.2008
Anthropos
Rezensionen
625
zu verfassen, aus der, nachdem ein großer Teil auf
unglückliche Weise verloren gegangen ist, 1949 nach
zehn Jahren Arbeit die “Comparative Study on the
Forms of Slavery” hervorgeht. Sowohl die vorliegende
deutsche als auch die englische Ausgabe bringen le-
diglich die ersten, der Begriffsbestimmung gewidmeten
Kapitel; die gut dreihundertfünfzig Seiten umfassende
Schrift wartet immer noch auf ihre vollständige Publika-
tion. Dieses Projekt verbindet das wissenschaftliche und
politische Ambiente Englands (zu Studien begab sich
Steiner vorwiegend in die Rotunde des British Museum)
mit der Vergangenheit und Gegenwart Mitteleuropas
(nicht nur im etymologischen Bezug von “Sklaven”
und “Slawen”). Präzise werden die Formen untersucht,
die mit der Desintegration dessen befasst sind, was als
Sklave auf den Markt zu kommen pflegt(e). Erkenntnis-
leitend ist hier das Verhältnis zwischen Sklaverei und
“kinship”, wie es in der rezenten Diskussion des Thema
vorherrscht (bspw. S. Miers and I. Kopytoff: Slavery
in Africa. Madison 1977), integriert wird das Ganze in
einen größeren Diskurs über Formen der Ungleichheit.
Steiner “möchte die Abstufungen einer immer radika-
leren Trennung von Verwandtschaftsbeziehungen und
einer fortschreitenden Herausbildung unfreier Formen
durch beständig wachsende soziale Ungleichheiten do-
kumentieren” (Nachwort, 648). Am Fluchtpunkt dieser
Vorgehens weise scheinen mithin die jüdischen Volks-
genossen in der nationalsozialistischen Verfolgung auf,
ebenso der darüber verwandtschaftslos gewordene Autor
im Exil. Für die Studie wurden nicht nur ethnographisch
gewonnene Materialien berücksichtigt, eine wichtige
Rolle kommt auch der abendländischen Soziologie zu,
und hier besonders Aristoteles: Dass Sklaverei in der
reinsten Wortbedeutung eine abendländische Angele-
genheit (und Versuchung) darstellt, die mit europäischen
Machtkonzepten einhergeht, ist ein Ergebnis. (Die in
der heutigen Sozialanthropologie gängige Interpretation
der Sklaverei als “Prozess” und nicht als Status steht
dem nicht entgegen. Wenn Kopytoff nahe legt, Sklaverei
bedeute weniger “the dehumanization of the person but
rather rehumanization in a new setting” so zeigen sich
für Steiner darin gerade die integrativen Formen “primi-
tiver” - hier: afrikanischer - Gesellschaften gegenüber
den sogenannten “aufgeklärten”.)
Was in der letztlich Fragment gebliebenen “Study”
mit wissenschaftlicher Terminologie und Akribie an-
gegangen wurde, spannt Steiner in der gleichen Zeit
in einen weiteren Rahmen. Der Band gruppiert einige
apologetische Texte, unter denen besonders der kurze
Essay “Über den Prozess der Zivilisierung” (1944) her-
vorsticht. Was die Herausgeber als einen aphoristischen
Gegenentwurf zu Norbert Elias’ “Über den Prozeß der
Zivilisation” (1938; Steiner kannte den Text vermutlich
nicht) werten, enthält eine Theorie über den zunehmen-
den Einschluss des Gefahrenbereichs, an den indige-
ae und frühere Kulturen grenzten (“Eine Gesellschaft
grenzt an Gefahr”; 57), der heutigentags jedoch in den
Raum der Gesellschaft internalisiert erscheine (“Wohl
gibt es Gefahren außerhalb des Bereiches menschlicher
Eeziehungen, doch diese Gefahren sind nicht organi-
siert, sie treten diffus auf, sind nicht notwendigerweise
immanent in einer Sphäre, die als gefährliche, dämoni-
sche die menschliche umgibt”; 57). Diese Internalisie-
rung bedeute einerseits das Erweitern von Grenzen, aber
auch, dass, “was früher außerhalb der Gesellschaft, was
später innerhalb der Gesellschaft war, [...] wenn diese
Gesellschaft triumphiert, innerhalb der Individuen” (59)
sein werde. Einbegriffen ist hier die Dialektik von Na-
turbeherrschung und Beherrschung durch die Natur, ein
Gedanke, der von Adornos und Horkheimers zeitglei-
cher Diagnose nur allzu bekannt ist. In anthropologi-
scher Hinsicht bemerkenswert ist dabei die These, die so
gefährdeten Menschen seien nun obdachloser geworden
als je zuvor: So entsteht der Raum für das rücksichtslose
Ausüben von Herrschaft. Als Antidoton beruft sich Stei-
ner auf die Verbindlichkeit der biblischen Aussage “vom
Menschen, der in Seinem Ebenbilde geschaffen, / von
der Gesellschaft, deren Grenzen im Bund unverrückbar
festgelegt sind” (59).
Ein, wenn man so möchte, vertiefendes Plädoyer
für die indigene Bewahrung von schützenden Grenzen
unternimmt Steiner in seinen Vorlesungen über das Ta-
bu. Im historischen Durchgang durch abendländische
Interpretationen (von Frazer bis Freud) gelangt er zu
dem Schluss, dessen Funktion sei “die Begrenzung und
Lokalisierung von Gefahr” (437). Tabus identifizieren
die Stelle, an denen eine die Gesellschaft bedrohen-
de Macht gleich welcher Provenienz (um die Klassi-
fizierung als metaphysische, soziale, invasive geht es
nicht) sich Zutritt verschafft, meistens über den Körper
von “Gefährdeten” (d. h. jene Personen, die wie etwa
Menstruierende oder Schwangere in nächstem Kontakt
mit einer fremden Macht stehen), die zu “Gefährdern”
werden. Das Tabu definiert diese Situation, indem es
ein Meidungsverhalten verordnet - und damit nicht
zuletzt die “gefährdeten Gefährder” schützt. Steiner fol-
gert, dass Tabus Elemente jener Situationen sind, “in
denen die Haltung gegenüber Werten als Verhalten bei
Gefahr ausgedrückt wird” (303), ja soziale Beziehungen
schlechthin in Termini der Gefahr beschrieben werden
können (und zwar, hier ist der Brückenschlag zum
“Prozess” nicht uninteressant, weil jede soziale Gruppe
sich auf ihre Mitglieder bezieht, indem sie sich auf
ihre Umgebung bezieht). Steiners Untersuchung ratio-
nalisiert mithin das Tabu, ohne es aufzuheben; seine
nicht-eliminative Interpretation findet heute weitgehend
Zustimmung (so referiert der entsprechende Eintrag in
der aktuellen “Encyclopedia of Social and Cultural An-
thropology” [London 2006; 542-544] ausdrücklich auf
Steiner und lässt sich in weiten Teilen als Kurzfas-
sung seiner Vorlesungen lesen). Einflussreich wurde die
Studie darüber hinaus für Mary Douglas’ “Purity and
Danger”, wie in dieser Zeitschrift bereits 1966 von T. O.
Beidelmann bemerkt wurde {Anthropos 61.1966: 907).
Damit sind nur einige Aspekte der “Wissenschaft-
lichen Schriften” angerissen. Andere Texte orientieren
auf literarische und literaturwissenschaftliche Probleme,
die wiederum sozialhistorisch angegangen werden (so
im Essay über “Rilkes Weg zur Beschwörung”). Sie
alle belegen, dass Steiners Werk, so sehr es sich den
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Rezensionen
in den jeweiligen Disziplinen eingehegten Fragestellun-
gen zuwendet, stärker Ausdruck einer Suche denn einer
“Konfession” oder gar “Profession” ist: einen Stand-
punkt zu finden, von dem aus sich das exterritoriali-
sierte Subjekt der Moderne zu behaupten vermag, ohne
dabei der Gewalt, der regressiven Reaktion oder dem
Fatalismus anheim zu fallen. Das tritt freilich noch un-
mittelbarer vor Augen, sobald man die ethnologischen
Arbeiten neben die Dichtung legt. Die Herausgeber wei-
sen darauf an einigen Stellen hin; so wie man ihre über
zweihundertseitige “Einführung in Leben und Denken”
ohnedies als umfangreichen Forschungsauftrag für künf-
tige Steiner-Exegeten lesen kann. Deren Mühe dürfte
sich lohnen (Adler und Fardon bereiten den Oxforder
Kontext systematisch auf, zum kontinentaleuropäischen
finden sich einige kluge Gedanken in Michael Macks
Studie “Anthropology as Memory. Elias Canetti’s and
Franz Baermann Steiner’s Responses to the Shoah”.
Tübingen 2001).
Last but not least hervorzuheben ist Brigitte Luchesis
Übersetzungsleistung - wenngleich in den Vorlesungen
einige Sottisen des Originals notwendig ausbleichen,
bleibt doch die spezifisch Steinersche Aneignung und
Überformung des aus Umgangssprache und scholasti-
scher Argumentation verschweißten britischen Dozier-
stils nachvollziehbar, als Geste auch der Selbstverwand-
lung, die für das Werk des Anthropologen unabdingbar
ist. Ulrich van Doyen
Stewart, Pamela J., and Andrew Strathern (eds.):
Asian Ritual Systems. Syncretisms and Ruptures. Dur-
ham: Carolina Academic Press, 2007. 295 pp. ISBN
978-1-59460-157-6. Prix: $40.00
This rich, interdisciplinary collection of essays was
originally published as a 2005 special issue (19.1) in
the Journal of Ritual Studies on “Ritual and the Ritual
Expression of Identity in Asia.” The editors are doing
the field an important service by issuing them as a
book in the Ritual Studies Monograph Series, thus
reaching a much wider audience. Scholars working
on Asian religion and ritual will obviously find this
volume useful. But the book should also appeal to
those who have a comparativist interest in the social-
embeddedness of rituals and how rituals and religious
conceptions inform and are in turn informed by his-
torical changes. Lured by the title of the book, one
might ask: What is a ritual system? What make Asian
ritual systems interesting or theoretically significant?
Though the editors and the authors do not provide
explicit answers to these questions - which is a pity,
leaving the readers themselves to draw these theoretical
conclusions - the insights and ethnographic richness of
the individual essays are reward enough.
The editors Pamela J. Stewart and Andrew Strath-
em are specialists of Melanesia (especially Papua New
Guinea), but in recent years they have developed com-
parativist research interests in East Asia, especially
among the Austronesian-speaking aboriginals in Taiwan.
Beside introducing the chapters, in the Introduction the
editors explore cultural revivalism among the Taiwanese
aboriginals in the more liberal political environment of
post-Martial Law Taiwan as well as the reconfigurations
of the Mazu cult networks in Taiwan in the wake of
expanded Taiwan mainland interactions, which include
rekindling the links between Mazu temples in Taiwan
and their “ancestral” temples on the mainland, rebuilt in
the reform period.
Two chapters are by musicologists (given the impor-
tance of music and sound-making in most rituals, schol-
ars of ritual can learn much from ethno/musicology).
Joseph S. C. Lara writes on the ritual life and musical
insignia of the Song Dynasty emperor Huizhong (1082-
1135). An artistically accomplished emperor, Huizong
supported an extravagant ritual life at court and in
the whole country, and sponsored the composition and
performance of grand ritual music. Ironically, when
the Liao (Jurchens) captured Huizhong, their ritual
of humiliation for him and other Song captives was
accompanied by Liao music. Yu Siu Wah writes on
the cultural negotiations that went on in the rituals of
the 1997 Hong Kong sovereignty transfer from Great
Britain to China. He shows a Communist party state
that is an astute manipulator of political rituals in an
age of mass media (exemplified in the annual televized
Lunar New Year extravaganza), how the transfer rituals
featured icons as well as music and dance performances
that accentuated the Chinese government’s sovereignty
and authority, and how some Hong Kong people resisted
such assertions by the “new master.” One may disagree
with Yu in his interpretation of the death theme in Tan
Dun’s “Symphony 1997: Heaven, Earth, and Man,” a
centerpiece in the handover concert; it could be about
the death of British colonial rule over the Crown Colony
but not the death of Hong Kong itself, whose rebirth was
plentifully symbolised.
Anthropologist Marc L. Moskowitz’s chapter looks
at the ritual performances (and trickeries) of an en-
terprising householder Daoist master (“Daoist Master
Bob”) in the city of Gaoxiong in southern Taiwan, the
changing relationships he had with his clients (mostly
women), and the ways in which he embedded his ritual
efficacy and trustworthiness in a performed persona of
moral authority (though he eventually skipped town after
having made a lot of money). The stories Moskowitz re-
counts of box magic, a nighttime graveyard outing, and
other antics of Daoist Master Bob make fun reading. The
chapter closes with a useful discussion of individualistic
religiosity.
A scholar of Chinese religions, Philip Clart ana-
lyzes a spirit-writing cult in the central Taiwanese city
of Taizhong and their making of new morality books
(,shanshu) through séances. Morality books are didactic
works exhorting people to virtuous acts (mostly couched
in religious terms, e.g., tales of karmic retribution) and
have a long history in China, but in 20th century Taiwan
it enjoyed a surprising resurgence. Drawing upon Jad
Assmann’s work on “cultural memory,” Clart interpret
these modem divine-authored morality books, especially
their narrative orientation, as folk historiography and a
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627
way of affirming traditional values in a climate of rapid
social change. One such book features Stalin reincarnat-
ed as a pig about to be slaughtered in the abattoir. These
spirit-writing cults would compare interestingly with the
US channelling groups examined by the anthropologist
Michael F. Brown (The Channeling Zone. American
Spirituality in an Anxious Age. Cambridge 1997).
Historian Joseph Tse-Hei Lee’s chapter is on the
politics of conversion to Christianity in rural Chaozhou
in southern China in the late 19th century. In this high-
ly militarized region with frequent intervillage/lineage
fights, many communities appealed to the power and
influence of Western missionaries for extra leverage,
spurring mass conversions that followed lines of kin and
lineage loyalty and rivalry. One case study shows how
two rival sublineages both converted to Christianity, but
one to Scottish Presbyterian and the other to American
Baptist churches respectively.
Historian Paul R. Katz’s piece is on the post-Mao
revival of popular religious festivals in Pucheng, a
small rural town of about 7,000 inhabitants in Zhejiang
Province. Like many other locales in China, Pucheng
has a rich popular religious tradition, with temples ded-
icated to various deities, many of which have been
revived. Katz focusses on the ritual competition and
rivalry between the two prominent factions in Pucheng:
the fishing/commercial community of West Gate and the
agricultural community of East Gate. Each faction has
a number of temples dedicated to the same deity, Duke
Yan, but they compete fiercely to outdo each other in
lavishness of their processions, rites, performances, and
banquets, which Katz interprets as the conversion of
wealth into symbolic capital as well as the recreation
of communal identities. One is reminded of the annual,
early-Spring, ritualized rock fight in the town of Lu-
gang described by the anthropologist Donald DeGlopper
(Lukang. Commerce and Community in a Chinese City.
Albany 1995), in which members of different lineage
groups face each other off and throw rocks at one an-
other, and blood spilled is seen as bringing good fortune
for the communities.
Historian Michael Szonyi examines a ghost cult cen-
tered on a woman named Wang Yulan on Jinmen (Que-
moy, a small island off the coast of Xiamen of Fujian
Province). Jinmen was a heavily militarized Cold War
flashpoint, one of the frontier zones between the Com-
munist Block and the anti-Communist “Free World”
ever since the retreat of the Nationalists to Taiwan.
Szonyi shows how ordinary villagers, Nationalist sol-
fliers and officers, and much later tourists from Taiwan
invest divergent meanings onto the woman and her cult,
revealing intricate interactions between geopolitics and
Chinese religiosity.
Scholar of Chinese religion Eric Reinders’s chapter
is an interesting symbolic analysis of the meanings given
te certain postures signifying obeisance and disobei-
sance, using the cases of the non-bowing of Buddhist
teonks (to laity including the emperor, parents, and an-
Cestors) and Protestants, the ideology of postural erect-
ness Of the latter preventing them from bowing to any-
one. Such insistence on correct postures illustrates the
crucial link between ritual uses of the body and religious
identities. The lone non-China piece in the volume is on
the development of Indian Buddhist esoteric rituals by
Vesna A. Wallace, a specialist of South Asian religions.
Highly informative, its focus on liturgical, doctrinal, and
symbolic aspects contrasts sharply with the other essays’
more sociopolitical orientations.
In the Epilogue the editors recount their travel-cum-
fieldwork peregrinations in East Asia (Taiwan, China,
Korea, Okinawa) and relate their findings with paral-
lel processes in Papua New Guinea and the Solomon
Islands (e.g., conversion to Christianity, ritual change,
the revitalization of indigenous knowledge, etc.). Not to
take the considerable merits away from the volume, but
the book has the sloppiest and bizarrest index I have
ever seen. While most of the index items seem straight-
forward, there are, inexplicably, separate entries for
“bow” and “bowing”; “Communist” and “Communists”;
“cult” and “cults”; “Daoists” and “Taoists”; “deities,”
“deity,” and “gods”; “festival” and “festivals”; “ghost”
and “ghosts”; “lineage” and “lineages”; “medium” and
“mediums”; “performance” and “performances”; “Pres-
byterian” and “Presbyterians”; “ritual” and “rituals”;
“rupture” and “ruptures”; “sacrifice,” “sacrifices,” and
“sacrificial ceremony”; “song” and “songs”; “Song” and
“Song dynasty”; “tradition,” “traditional,” and “tradi-
tions.” Most bizarrely, the entry “Yan” (glossed as “ha-
tred”) points to mentions of a cited Chinese scholar
surnamed Yan, the bibliographic entry of his cited work
(both in Lee’s chapter), a Chinese deity called Duke
Yan (Katz), a Chinese girl whose given name is Yan
(only here meaning “hatred”) (Szonyi), and another de-
ity channelled through spirit writing in Taiwan called
Yan Yuan Fuzi (Clart). There are also no subentries
for entries with far too numerous indexed pages (there
are scores of indexed pages for “body,” “China,” “com-
munity,” “cult(s),” “deity/deities,” “history,” “identity,”
“performance(s),” “power,” “state,” “Taiwan,” “tem-
ples,” not to mention “religion” and “ritual(s)”). As
an important scholarly apparatus, the index certainly
deserves more attention and care.
Adam Yuet Chau
Taylor, Philip: Cham Muslims of the Mekong Delta.
Place and Mobility in the Cosmopolitan Periphery.
Singapore: NUS Press; Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2007.
313 pp. ISBN 978-9971-69-361-9; ISBN 978-87-7694-
009-6. Price: £ 14.99
In this welcome study, Taylor adds substantially
to the growing interest in the Cham Muslims of the
lower Mekong delta in Southern Vietnam. The Cham
Muslims are a tiny minority living in the borderland
where the Mekong River flows from Cambodia into
Vietnam. Taylor builds on the existing ethnography on
the Cham, but adds an innovative perspective of the
Cham community by providing a picture of a minority
in motion that makes creative use of cultural, spatial,
and economic resources to secure their survival in a
Anthropos 103.2008
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hostile environment. Based on long-term visits and
anthropological fieldwork, this is the most complete
study on the Cham since Nakamura’s PhD.
Living in a very plural community that is charac-
terized by steady interaction between Cham, Kinh, and
Khmer communities, the Cham are regarded by the
Vietnamese state in the centre as remote und uncivi-
lized. In a region where Buddhism and spirit beliefs are
dominating the religious landscape, the Cham stand out
by sticking to Islam, speaking another language, and
by specializing in trade. Taylor shows in a historical
longue durée perspective that the Cham, far from being
remote, are a very cosmopolitan group that had to defend
themselves against the odds of history, and especially
against the assimilation efforts of a repressive and cen-
tralizing communist state. Finding an economic niche in
the market, the Cham use their trade and their Islamic
networks as well as their contacts with the Diaspora to
succeed in trade.
In the first chapter, Taylor looks into the creating
myths of the Cham Muslim community and the nostalgia
of a lost kingdom. By reproducing the stories of origin,
the Cham create a master-narrative that is essential to
their cultural identity and that gives meaning to the
locality and community of the Cham beyond the border
of the Vietnamese nation. The chapter on Islam takes
an ambitious tour de force and shows that far from
being the receptor only of religious ideas, the Cham
themselves were the motor of proselytizing Islam in
the region, benefiting from their networks in Vietnam,
Cambodia, Malaysia, Southern Thailand, and Mecca.
The chapter shows that the travel is integral to the
reproduction of Cham locality and identity at home.
In the next chapter, Taylor shows that while the Cham
are faithful Muslims, they are also very active spirit
believers. In this interesting chapter, we also leam
that the Cham share most of the spirit beliefs with
their neighbouring communities. Apart from malevolent
spirits, it would be interesting to know more about the
value of ancestors. Also, the two chapters of Islam and
spirit beliefs could be better linked to show how Islam
has localized and has been accommodated to local ideas.
Chapter four and five are particularly strong and well-
researched. In them, Taylor shows how the Cham have
responded to increasing political pressure and economic
marginalization by migrating and by specializing in
trade. Thus, the picture of a very mobile community is
emerging that uses contacts in the Diaspora as well as
the Islamic networks for survival and reproduction. The
last chapter gives an overview of the political agency of
the Cham and their adjustment to the assimilation policy
of the Vietnamese state.
Taylor emphasizes the location of the Cham com-
munity in the plural spaces of the Mekong delta, but
remains silent on the cross-border transnational spaces
of the Vietnamese and Cambodian Cham. Many Cham
fled the persecution of the Khmer Rouge to neighbouring
Vietnam. The cross-border connections might be another
resource of the Cham to counter their marginalization
in the imagined community of the Vietnamese nation.
Working in Cambodia, Agnès de Féo has shown in her
marvellous film “Un Islam insolite” that the Cham bani
(son of the prophet), living on the South-East coast in the
provinces of Ninh Thuân and Binh Thuân, distinguish
themselves from mainstream Islam in very important
ways. The transgressions of the Cham bani do not show
that the Cham are not faithful Muslims (what they
surely are), but show how Islam is accommodated in
the local society, thereby being transformed according
to the needs and value-ideas of the local community
(cf., A. d. Féo, Transgressions de ITslam au Vietnam.
Les Cahiers de l’Orient 83/3.2006: 133-142).
Being a matrilineal society, women play a very
important role inside and outside the mosque and the
daughter inherits the house. The pure Cham pray once a
week instead of 5 times a day. Many ritual elements
were handed down from Brahmanism and Hinduism
and persisted in Islam. Significantly, Cham were not
converted to Islam, but remained Brahmans and Hindu.
The Brahman and Muslim Cham, however, remained in
touch and see themselves as male and female sides of
the same culture. In Taylor’s account, Islam is one of
the cornerstones of Cham identity. Also, the interaction
of the Cham with the neighbouring community is not
entirely clear. It would be interesting to know if common
spirit beliefs or cosmologies allow for inter-marriage and
how inter-marriage is resolved. If Taylor had included
the ambiguity of Cham Muslim identity between Brah-
manism/Hinduism, spirit beliefs, and Islam, he would
have perhaps discovered more common ground between
the Cham community and other communities in the
plural spaces of the Mekong delta. In this context,
the impact of Islamic revitalization movements is also
very crucial. We know from Cambodia that the Tabligh
Jama’at, coming from North India, made big inroads
and split the Cambodian Cham community into syncret-
ic and orthodox Muslims. Taylor is right in rejecting
the alarmist tones of Vietnamese state representatives,
but I think from my own research that the agency of
Islamic mission needs careful exploration. In particular’
the Tabligh Jama’at reject the rituals relating to spin1
beliefs, healing, and Brahman or Hindu heritage. In join-
ing the Tabilgh Jama’at, the Cham, like other Muslim
minorities, loose in fact their local cultural identity and
become more mainstream Muslims according to global
ideologies.
This being said, the study remains an exemplary and
lively exploration that is taking sympathetic sides with a
marginalized people who counter their marginalization
by using available sources creatively.
Alexander Horstmann
Thiessen, Ilka: Waiting for Macedonia. Identity in a
Changing World. Peterborough: Broadview Press, 200
206 pp. ISBN: 978-1-55111-719-5. Price: C$26.95
The title of Ilka Thiessen’s Macedonia monograp ^
although derived from a poem titled “T’ga za Jng
(Longing for the South), is more suggestive of Beckett
“Waiting for Godot.” Little more needs to be said abou
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629
the story Thiessen tells; a story that is likely familiar
to most scholars of contemporary Southeastern Europe,
not to speak of elsewhere on the fringes of the First
World. But Beckett and Godot fail to reappear after
being mentioned briefly - almost as an aside - in
the introduction. But then again, Beckett and Godot are
ever-present, waiting impatiently at a neighbouring table
in one of the many cafés where Thiessen seems to have
done the gross of her fieldwork.
Of course, if you are going to be spending any
amount of time waiting, then a café is the best place
to do so. Thiessen is waiting with her informants - her
friends as she has decided to call them - young female
engineers and their immediate family and friends, won-
dering, now that they have graduated, what they should
do with the rest of their lives. But this is more than the
self-doubt, navel-gazing, and indecision of youth: the
whole country is waiting - keeping busy, when they’re
not sitting in a café, with ersatz activities.
The book is divided into an introduction, six chap-
ters, and a brief conclusion. In the introduction, Thiessen
announces her objectives in writing it: first, to present
her case study of life in Macedonia between 1988 and
1996 based on her study of female engineers; which,
second, will show a way of understanding the ethnic
conflict in Macedonia and the critical role the “West”
has to play in it; and, thirdly, to present an image of how
Macedonia “is” and “will be” based on her fieldwork.
After then providing a general overview of historical
events in the first chapter, Thiessen dives into her case
study in the second, “Mapping Urban Identity.” Here the
multifaceted nature of identity in a post-socialist (a term
Thiessen considers inappropriate, or at least insufficient,
for describing the countries of Eastern Europe), post-
Yugoslavia country becomes clear, trapped between the
past and the present, the urban and the rural, the East
and the West, between ideologies and ideals, dreams
and desires. Gender, the changes women’s roles have
undergone over three generations and the conflicts that
ensue are the subject of the third chapter.
The fourth chapter, “Getting Along,” is a story of
survival in the city, of finding a job, keeping it, earn-
ing money, negotiating independence and real life after
graduating. None of Thiessen’s informants appear to
have found a job as engineers, which should not be
surprising considering the fact that they chose this career
path in 1988 as citizens of a united Yugoslavia; it nev-
ertheless makes their situation all the more precarious
and their negotiation of identity all the more a case of
soul-searching.
Chapters five and six go into the core of Thiessen’s
discussion, namely to the outward signs of identity and
the negotiation of identity in Macedonia: consumption
and the personal relationship to the body. Both are
examined from an intergenerational point of view and
from a chronological perspective, namely in the conflict
between grandmothers and granddaughters in the first
case and in the second the situation before and after
Macedonian independence, although the latter period is
subdivided into the period immediately after indepen-
dence and the period towards the end of Thiessen’s
fieldwork in 1996. What is missing, of course, is any
mention of the events after the Kosovo War in 1999 and
the changes Macedonia experienced with the resulting
increase in the NATO and NGO presence and Albanian
irredentism.
But considering that Thiessen may likely have been
the first Western European anthropologist in Macedonia
after the beginning of the end of Yugoslavia and as such
spans in her description a period of of eight years, this
is clearly a bit much to ask. As it is, this long period
of research is more a stumbling block for Thiessen than
anything else. The longue durée is given appropriate
consideration and is as such a revealing approach, but
Thiessen’s insistence on telling all her stories over this
eight-year period results in every episode coming too
short - in the end, while one has a general view of
what happened over eight years, one is left with more
questions than answers about what the situation at a
given point in time was really like.
Chapter six is a stylistic breach, written in a more
literary style (which makes its appearances in previ-
ous chapters but not in this scope) and rampant with
poignant vignettes. Considering the care with which she
chooses her words, this appears to be one of the first
chapters Thiessen wrote and one she has had a great
deal of time to rework and revise. Here she shows
her true writing potential, a promise that often remains
unfulfilled in the foregoing chapters. Where she never-
theless continues to miss the mark - and this is endemic
to the whole book - is in the depth of her analysis.
This is likely a simple result of the fact that she is
trapped between her aspiration to thick description and
her feeling to need to do justice to the longue durée
and to her mass of data. As such the book is rampant
with lost opportunities to delve in depth into questions
of Macedonian identity. For example, in chapter six she
introduces 14 (sic!) informants with whom she has clear-
ly completed lengthy interviews in a sentence or two to
allow each a sentence or two on how they feel about
their body. Thiessen comments on them individually,
with a few exceptions, in a sentence or two. That this
remains a shallow discussion need hardly be said; what
Thiessen discusses in just short of 10 pages is elsewhere
the basis for a whole monograph.
Thiessen set herself three goals in her introduction.
The first of these she has managed to realise with
bravura. She tells an intriguing story of young women
caught between worlds, educated for one political sys-
tem but forced to live in another, contemplating how
to make the best of a difficult situation, waiting for
a sign, any sign. Thiessen fails to realise her second
goal, to offer a way to understand the ethnic conflict in
Macedonia. While it may have been opportune to claim
an interest in “ethnicity,” she might have been better
off to simply admit that it is never really an issue. The
Albanian or Roma minorities, for example, are present
in the book, but not as subjects. They are one of the
many “others” against whom Thiessen’s informants try
to distance themselves and as such they play the the
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same role in the lives of young Macedonians as does
Western television, advertising or consumer goods, their
parents and grandparents, and the Tito regime. It takes
two to make an “ethnic conflict”; as Thiessen presents
it, it is little more than a discourse of difference.
Thiessen’s third goal was to present an image of how
Macedonia “is” and “will be” based on her fieldwork.
This is, to put it bluntly, epistemological nonsense.
“Waiting for Macedonia” is a book published in 2007
on the basis of a dissertation submitted in 1999 based
on fieldwork that took place from 1988 to 1996. It
presents a wonderful image of what Macedonia “was”
in that period and contributes a vital element to the
mosaic that is contemporary Macedonian identity but
it has little to do with what Macedonia “is” or what it
“will be,” especially considering the course of events
in the Western Balkans since 1996, the Kosovo War
in particular, the “name debate,” and whatever else is
on the political horizon. In her conclusion, Thiessen
distances herself implicitly from this ambitious claim.
She would have done better to not make this claim in
the first place.
Reading the book is an irritating enterprise, but not
only because Thiessen cannot seem to decide between
thick description and the longue durée. “Waiting for
Macedonia” is Thiessen’s PhD thesis, a fact that would
have been apparent even if Thiessen had not mentioned
it explicitly. It is the work of an author trying to
find her voice, and as such the text is rampant with
stylistic discontinuities and stylistic and, even worse,
grammatical faux pas that a conscientious editor could
easily have eliminated. But Broadview Press seems to
be no exception to the prevailing tendency to make
compromises on quality for the benefit of the bottom
line.
One can hope that Thiessen is successful in finding
her voice in her next publications. She has proven her
potential here as an ethnographer and as a witness to a
moving moment in European history. Her book “Waiting
for Macedonia” is, everything having been said and
done, an important stone in the mosaic that will one
day make up the history of Macedonian identity.
Andreas Hemming
Toffin, Gérard: Newar Society. City, Village, and
Periphery. Lalitpur: Social Science Baha, Himal
Books, 2007. 443 pp. ISBN 978-99933-43-86-8. Price:
Rs 790.00
Prof. Gérard Toffin is Director of Research at CNRS
(National Centre for Scientific Research) and Profes-
sor of Nepali Civilisation in the National Institute for
Oriental Languages and Civilisations, Paris. He has a
wealth of experience, over 35 years of anthropological
research among the Newar of the Kathmandu Valley
(Nepal). He is one of the pioneers in that field provid-
ing important data through numerous publications and
some major works: “Société et religion chez les Néwar
du Népal” (Paris 1984), “Le palais et le temple. La
fonction royale dans la vallée du Népal” (Paris 1993),
“Entre hindouisme et bouddhisme. La religion néwar,
Népal” (Louvain-la-Neuve 2000). “Newar Society. City,
Village, and Periphery” (2007) is a synthesis of Gérard
Toffin’s analyses. It brings together a selection of his
articles in a single volume, which would be particularly
useful for English readers, but also for those who are al-
ready familiar with his work mostly published in French.
Precious updates have been made with special attention
to the recent developments in the studied communities.
The Newar consider themselves as the indigenous
inhabitants of the Kathmandu Valley and clearly belong
to the Indie mainstream, but at the same time exhibit a
distinctive and unique culture. Stressing particularly its
diversity, in his “Introduction,” Gérard Toffin provides
a short chronological overview of the various directions
taken by scholars of different backgrounds involved in
the study of the Newar society and civilisation. Based
on case studies among a number of caste groups from
both cities and rural areas, this collection of papers
illustrates the itinerary of Gérard Toffin’s research and
his commitment in order to provide better understanding
of the social system of the Newar. The main themes
that emerge are featuring a complex society based not
only on kinship, but also on the caste system and a
specific type of multifarious associations called guthi
that form the framework for organising numerous ritual
activities. Some religious aspects are investigated as far
as among this very multifaceted Himalayan community
of Tibeto-Burman language, where Hinduism and Ma-
hayana Buddhism continue to coexist, the ceremonial
life holds a major significance for the social order.
The author’s methodological approach and the criti-
cal emphasis of his study are apparent in the title of the
book. He considers the role played by residence (city»
village, and periphery) as fundamental and the formation
of small territorial units turned in on themselves as
a hallmark of the Newar society. By introducing the
concept of territory, he brings out a topic which was
rather evicted from the anthropological debate concern-
ing South Asian societies particularly in French aca-
demic tradition. Following Louis Dumont’s theories, the
main “social referent” was supposed to be the domi-
nant caste and hierarchy. Moreover, several meticulous
analyses in the present volume make obvious that the
caste does not appear as a group which is solidary °r
united as a whole; in all cases, territorial affiliations take
precedence.
Consequently, the organisation of the volume is foi'
lowing the scheme stated by the title with a first cluster
of chapters consisting principally in monographic and
empirical studies. More synthetic chapters of theoretical
importance on territory, the guthi association system»
gender, and the caste system come later. The first three
chapters of the book are urban case studies focusing
on some specific castes from Kathmandu, Lalitpur, ano
Bhaktapur - the painters and mask-makers (chapter
1), the Brahman priests (chapter 2), and the farmers
(chapter 3). Chapters 4 and 5 are devoted to the socia
organisation of the mono-caste farmers’ community 0
Pyangaon (Lalitpur District) and to its links with the
103.2008
Anthropos
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631
castes of the surrounding areas. Chapters 7 and 8 deal
with two small population groups from the outskirts of
the Kathmandu Valley that sociologically stand between
the categories of caste and ethnic group. Chapters 10 and
11 investigate the intercaste cooperation and interdepen-
dence in relation to domestic and collective ceremonies
and are based on examples from the town of Panauti.
Chapters 12 and 13, previously unpublished, are based
on recent fieldwork and focus on the process of identity
construction in modem context.
The author chose to start with three cities (Kathman-
du, Lalitpur, and Bhaktapur), ancient capitals of the for-
mer Newar kingdoms (1620-1768/69, Malla dynasties)
and still main urban nuclei of the Kathmandu valley.
He introduces the historical context as an important
frame for various issues concerning the contemporary
Newar society such as social structure and hierarchy,
religious practices and ethnic identity. Following the
three territorial circles that constitute important points
of reference, he deals first with the core of Newar so-
ciety, the cities where intellectual, political, and artistic
resources have always been chiefly located; then with
the country, composed by farmers’ villages which were
formerly encompassed by one or another of these po-
litical centres; and finally with the outlying areas, the
edges of the Kathmandu Valley, so far neglected by
scholarship yet essential for the understanding of the
whole system. By considering its periphery, this book
introduces a new perspective on Newar society.
Another original aspect of this study is the special
attention given to the farmers’ castes both in urban
(chapters 3 and 12) and mral (chapters 4, 5, 6) context.
The farmers, a major group of the Newar society,
are of primary importance for the understanding of its
social stmcture and the interactions between different
status groups. The comparison between these two types
of farmers’ societies points out some main common
features such as kinship and marriage, the cult of a
tutelary deity linked to a particular territory, and the
membership in a particular type of associations (guthi).
The principles of “blood” and of “territory” (chapter
6) in association with the formation of modern ethnic
and national identities are well-known common features
in several Himalayan societies. The Newar case is of
special interest because it links territory with death.
The affiliation of a person to a given territorial unit
depends explicitly on his membership to a specific
funeral society. This type of association {guthi) is a
distinctive characteristic of the Newar society. Different
types of associations (chapter 9) regulate several aspects
of Newar social and religious life, and even possess
economic functions in some limited cases. They are
usually dissociated from kinship units, even if some of
them are still anchored in kin groups. They are vital for
the status of an individual and reinforce in many ways
social relations within the community.
All together, the studies presented in this book show
the fundamental unity of Newar civilisation. Gérard
Toffin rightly argues that the anthropology of the Newar
cannot be divided into a rural anthropology and an urban
anthropology. His approach is based on the analyses of
the interactions between the centre and the periphery, the
general and the particular. His wide and well-constructed
applications of comparative methods lead us to perceive
a dynamic, fluid, and situationally constructed society.
When read as a whole, the chapters of this book present
an overall picture of some of the essential features of
Newar society. Lubomira Palikarska
West, Harry G.: Ethnographic Sorcery. Chicago:
The University of Chicago Press, 2007. 132 pp. ISBN
978-0-226-89398-3. Price; $ 14.00
The author asserts: “This volume tells the story of a
dawning perception that all that happens has happened
before - that the ethnographer, like those he dreams, is
himself susceptible to being dreamt” (xi). Unfortunately,
this is not the only unclear statement in this brief
volume. The author considers the problem of how he,
an American social anthropologist, can understand and
describe the beliefs of an alien culture, in this case, the
Mueda of Mozambique. He earlier published a more
conventional ethnography of these people. A repeated
concern in his writings has been the persistence of
African beliefs about witchcraft, sorcery, and magic,
despite the influences of modern economic, political, and
educational forces. The title of the present book derives
from his argument that “sorcery and ethnography are in
many ways one” (81). He reaches this odd conclusion
through some questionable reasoning.
One reason is that because human explanations are
based partly on metaphor and that beliefs in witchcraft
are grounded in metaphor and symbols, and because
such beliefs also help explain the conflicts and tribu-
lations of social life, they are similar to anthropolog-
ical models and explanations of society which also
are grounded in metaphorical thinking. To him both
these systems of explanation are equally persuasive.
Of course, human thought also involves more than
metaphors; it involves metonymy and other tropes as
well as rationality. Our understanding can be based
on critical investigation and rationality. It is true that
thoughtful anthropologists, sociologists, and historians
can recognize that different systems of thought work
for different societies. This does not, however, mean
that traditional ideas will continue to work as situations
change due to contact with other cultures, new tech-
nology and the advent of calamities. There is no good
reason then to see all sets of beliefs and values as equally
valid either morally or substantively. One of the great
achievements of Weberian sociology is its struggle to
deal with the ways that some earlier forms of thought
and values cannot effectively cope with modernity in
its economic, scientific, or organizational aspects. It is,
of course, true that modernity has also brought its own
new and destructive forms of anti-rationalism, supemat-
uralism, confused cultural borrowing, and violence but
such dangerous forms of thinking and behavior have not
provided morally acceptable or long-term useful ways of
helping humans to exist with satisfaction.
Anthropos 103.2008
632
Rezensionen
West points out that the Mueda anti-sorcerers “gained
ascendancy over chaos in their world by modeling order
for all to hear - by orally conceiving of, and thus
conceiving, a new world. Their words constituted the
enactment of their ‘sorcery of construction.’ By declar-
ing that they knew what sorcerers ‘were up to,’ these
beneficent authorities disarmed them” (57). Word magic
admittedly has a seductive, narcotic effect, but it ulti-
mately does not solve social issues. Yet for West, such
beliefs in the supernatural and its embodiment in words
and ritual take on a reality that for me seems at odds with
more realistic explanations. West’s argument is murky:
“Sorcery’s reality lay neither in a mask that might
be removed nor, somehow, behind a mask - neither
‘onstage’ nor ‘offstage’ - but rather was instantiated
through its masking(s). In the moment of performative
representation, the realities of the performance and the
performed coexisted within one another” (54).
West’s cultural relativism may at first appear attrac-
tive, liberal, and tolerant, but it does not promote any
useful analytical program for explaining how societies
work or how one may cope effectively with social is-
sues. West observes that among the Mueda “everyone
contributed to sorcery discourse” (60), and, of course,
that would be true to the extent that all Mueda share
common beliefs and values, but all members of society
do not think and act alike or contribute equally. Some
even dissent openly or covertly. Some even subvert.
Those who have worked with, lived with, or stud-
ied societies, where many people believe in sorcery,
witchcraft, and magic, know that such beliefs provide
quite varied explanations for misfortune and suffering
and that manipulation of such beliefs and fears by some
may serve as means for social control of others and also
as sources of conflict and disagreement. Such beliefs are
also harmful because they distract believers from any
new and more realistic ways of dealing with illness,
suffering, and the disruptions due to changing social
conditions. Above all, beliefs that suffering is caused
by supernatural powers lodged in fellow human beings
create a social world that is caught in a web of circular
and uncritical thinking and distrust often leading to
persecution and violence. Extensive reading about the
rise and fall in popular beliefs about witchcraft and
sorcery in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe
and America would provide a useful antidote to West’s
positive ways of thinking about such ideas and practices.
In any case, such ideas about the supernatural are not
truly comparable to social anthropological ethnography,
whatever the flaws of anthropological thinking. Beliefs
about the supernatural are not readily amenable to crit-
icism, revision, and rejection in the ways that scientific
thought (and even social scientific thinking) may be. Sci-
entific thinking, however flawed, works better because
of constant questioning and revision.
West’s book is representative of some contemporary
anthropological writing that questions the validity of
ethnography itself. West’s work appears to reflect a
generosity and tolerance for multiple explanations of the
world and experience, but it implicitly undermines the
values of social science when it questions the hegemony
of a social scientific approach to explanation. It reflects
a contemporary lack of moral and methodological nerve
and lack of fixed purpose. It also embodies a current
popular fondness for personal testimonial, a trend in
which anthropologists seem to feel that their confession
of their intimate personal feelings, suffering, and doubts
contributes to a reader’s understanding of an ethnog-
raphy. To be fair, West appears to be an appealing,
pleasant, kindly, and thoughtful person intent on doing
good and helping others. He especially wants his readers
to like, understand, and respect the Mueda anti-sorcerer
(whose photograph appears on the book’s cover) who
taught him and treated him for his own supposed af-
flictions from sorcery. West does not want readers to
think he underrates how Mueda think and act, even
though at times what Mueda do does not seem likely to
solve their problems. West’s highly personalized account
cannot replace more sustained, critical, distanced, and
extensive anthropological or sociological descriptions
of events, ideas, and social organization. I finished this
book knowing relatively little about Mueda culture and
society and more than I wanted to know about the
author. I learned nothing new about the key problems in
understanding sorcery, witchcraft, and magic as socio-
cultural phenomena or how the Mueda material fits into
the broad and vast published literature on these issues.
On the back cover of this volume two anthropologists
provide rave comments about it, but I think this is a
book more likely to confuse than help students. Finally»
at the risk of sounding “nit-picking” I suggest that West
leam the difference between the words “disinterested
and “uninterested.” T. O. Beidelman
Wolff, Larry, and Marco Cipolloni (eds.): The
Anthropology of the Enlightenment. Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 2007. 414 pp. ISBN 978-0-8047-5203-
9. Price: $ 29.95
Die Handbücher der akademischen Anthropologie
lassen ihre Geschichte bezeichnenderweise mit dem 19-
Jh. anfangen. Das von Larry Wolff und Marco Cipol'
loni herausgegebene Buch “The Anthropology of the
Enlightenment” betont die Wichtigkeit der europäischen
Aufklärung des 18. Jhs. für die (Kultur-)Anthropologie
(Ethnologie) und sieht ihre Wurzeln im Zeitalter dei
Revolution (“Age of Revolution”). Die 16 Autoren ver-
treten eine nicht ganz selbstverständliche These, nämlich
die “von der Anthropologie vor der Anthropologie
(J.-P. E. Belleau), sodass viele der späteren wichtigen
anthropologischen Ideen in Bezug auf die Geschichte»
Kultur und Gesellschaft schon in der Aufklärung - a|s
einer Art von Protoanthropologie - zu finden sind. Für
die Autoren ist es klar, dass die intellektuellen Prinzipien
und Projekte der “Anthropologie” schon am Ende des
18. Jhs. umfassend artikuliert und erarbeitet wurden
(L. Wolff). Ein Verdienst der frühen Anthropologen
sehen sie auch darin, dass sie die Reisedokumente un
Aufzeichnungen der Händler, Soldaten und Missionare
gesammelt, revidiert, übersetzt und publiziert haben.
103.2008
Anthropos
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633
Die These, dass die aufklärerischen Texte im Be-
reich der Anthropologie schon ein wissenschaftlicher
Versuch der Beschreibung, Klassifizierung und Erklä-
rung von sozialen Praktiken, Sitten und Verhältnissen
sind, ist nicht neu und wurde schon früher mehrmals
in anderen Publikationen vertreten. So lesen wir z. B.
bei W. Y. Adams (The Philosophical Roots of Anthro-
pology. Stanford 1998): “Ich bin überzeugt, nach einer
Lebenszeit des Studiums, dass sehr wenige anthropolo-
gische Ideen wirklich neu sind. Tatsächlich habe ich das
Gefühl, dass praktisch alle großen Theorien in allen So-
zialwissenschaften nur umbenannte, alte philosophische
sind”.
Der Themenbereich des Buches ist ziemlich breit und
bezieht sich auf wesentliche Ereignisse zuerst aus der
Geschichte der “philosophischen” Anthropologie, die
später das Fundament der neuzeitlichen “wissenschaft-
lichen” Anthropologie bildete. Die Aufklärung soll “als
eine richtungsweisende intellektuelle Matrix für das
Auftauchen der modernen anthropologischen Perspek-
tive von menschlicher Gesellschaft” (L. Wolff) gesehen
werden, die eine “Verschiebung von Entdeckung zu An-
thropologie” (M. Cipolloni) ermöglichte. “Die Mehrheit
der Beiträge in diesem Band untersucht die europäische
Mentalität in Bezug auf diese Regionen, wie sie in den
Interpretationen, Reisen und Schriften der frühen An-
thropologen beschrieben wurden” (M. Cipolloni). Da-
bei bezeichnet der Terminus Anthropologie hier nicht
so sehr eine spezifische wissenschaftliche Disziplin,
sondern generell das Nachdenken “über die verschie-
denen Begriffe der menschlichen Natur” (M. Kempe).
Diese doppelte, philosophische und wissenschaftliche
Bedeutung vom Terminus Anthropologie ist auch heute
präsent, wenn er einerseits philosophische Überlegungen
über die besondere Stellung des Menschen im Kosmos
(M. Scheler), andererseits ethnologische Untersuchun-
gen der (früheren) Kulturen kennzeichnet.
Die im Buch gesammelten 14 Beiträge einzelner
Autoren, ziemlich beliebig in drei Teile gruppiert (Phi-
losophical History and Enlightened Anthropology; Eth-
nography and Enlightened Anthropology; Human Na-
ture and Enlightened Anthropology), skizzieren und
erarbeiten die wichtigsten Gedanken der personae dra-
matis der Aufklärung wie die Thesen von der Einheit
der menschlichen Natur, vom kulturellen Relativismus
(cultural relativism), von der Überlegenheit der europä-
ischen Kultur (Europe’s cultural priority) und von einem
stetigen kulturellen und ökonomischen Fortschritt der
Menschheit (Fortschrittsglaube). Die Aufklärung kann
beschrieben werden als ein Zeitalter, in dem man die
kulturelle Perspektive entdeckte, andere Kulturen nach
dem Standard der europäischen Zivilisation bewertete
(L. Wolff) und in Entwicklungsstufen ordnete. Sehr früh
stellte sich die Anthropologie die Frage nach der Mög-
lichkeit eines objektiven Vergleichs der Kulturen vom
Standpunkt der binären Unterscheidung “Ich/der Ande-
re” (Self/ Other) her. Demgegenüber verweist das Buch
auf eine enge Beziehung zwischen der Anthropologie
und dem Kolonialismus, d. h. der imperialistischen Po-
litik der damaligen Staaten, vor allem Frankreichs, Por-
tugals, Russlands und Spaniens, die ein reges ökono-
misches und politisches Interesse an den Forschungsrei-
sen und Forschungsberichten der Globetrotter, Beamten,
Missionare und Philosophen zeigten. Auch diese These,
dass die Anthropologie ein Produkt des Kolonialismus
ist und lange Zeit “ein intellektueller Arm der kolonialen
Mächte war” (J.-P. E. Belleau), ist nicht gerade neu.
Die im ersten Teil gruppierten Aufsätze konzentrie-
ren sich auf die Anthropologie als ein philosophisches
Thema, besonders in den Schriften über die Philosophie-
geschichte: auf die von E. Gibbon beschriebenen Bar-
baren der antiken Welt (J. G. A. Pocock), auf das Phä-
nomen des Orientalismus und Okzidentalismus in den
Schriften von Herder, Leibniz, Montesquieu, Quesnay,
Volney und Voltaire (A. Pagden), auf die Texte von
D. Diderot über Indien (S. Agnani), auf die “ethno-
graphischen” Ursprünge (Quellen) der Ökonomie von
A. Smith (C. Marouby), auf W. Robertsons “History
of America” (N. Hargraves) und auf “Morgenland” in
Mythologie und Anthropologie im Kontext von J. G.
Herders Indien (N. A. Germana).
Der zweite Teil visiert die “ethnographische Be-
gegnung” zwischen den Europäern und den angeblich
primitiven Völkern an, die Gegenstand der ersten Ob-
servationen wurden; die deutschen Erforscher (J. F. Blu-
menbach, J. R. Förster, G. Förster, Schlözer) des Pa-
zifiks (J. Gascoigne), die nördliche Betrachtungsweise
und Beschreibung (L. Holberg, E. Pontoppidan, Pooq,
Qiperoq) Europas (M. Harbsmeier), die russischen Er-
forschungen (Bering, Billings, Delisle, Fischer, Georgi,
Gmelin, Krasheninnikov, Müller, Pallas, Sarychev, Stel-
ler) des Orients (G. Cecere) und die gesellschaftlichen
(ethnischen) Verhältnisse auf Santo Domingo/Haiti im
18. Jh. (“Die Frage der Sexualität als ein Teil der proto-
anthropologischen Episteme” - J.-P. E. Belleau).
Der dritte Teil richtet sich auf die aufklärerische
Konzeption der menschlichen Natur, wie sie anthropolo-
gisch in verschiedenen sozialen und kulturelle Kontex-
ten verstanden wurde: auf die kulturelle Bedeutung von
Träumen und den Kampf der Jesuiten gegen die Träume-
rei (dream) und ihre gesellschaftlichen Folgen (M. B.
Campbell), auf die Nachwirkung der anthropologischen
Diskussionen über Pufendorfs Begriff des Naturrechtes
(M. Kempe), auf den Begriff von “animal economy” im
Kontext des Aufstiegs der Psychiatrie aus der Anthro-
pologie (P. Huneman) und auf den Einfluss der neuen
Umgebung auf die Lebensart und das Verhalten der
“verpflanzten” Kolonisten (J. Lamb). Die Monographie
schließt mit den Gedanken von M. Cipolloni über ih-
re Entstehungsgeschichte und leitenden Ideen “aus der
Perspektive eines Spaniers”.
Die dargestellte Geschichte der anthropologischen
Bemühungen im 18. Jh. zeigt, dass die Anthropologie
vor allem von Philosophen (Literaten) gemacht wurde,
die meistens selber keine Felderfahrung auf diesem
Gebiet hatten und sich auf die Berichte anderer stütz-
ten. Sie ist eine Bestätigung der Macht der Einbildungs-
kraft und des spekulativen (theoretisierenden) Denkens,
wie auch der Möglichkeit, eine Kultur sozusagen von
außen (oder gerade deswegen) einigermaßen objektiv
Anthropos 103.2008
634
Rezensionen
erklären und verstehen zu können. Obwohl die Neu-
gier (die hier eine ausschlaggebende Antriebsfeder war)
der frühen Anthropologen im 18. Jh. durch die Men-
ge der anwachsenden Daten und Observationen, gelie-
fert von den Reisenden und Wissenschaftlern auf der
ganzen Welt, geradezu überwältigend war (M. Cipollo-
ni), wurden damals Kriterien und Ideen gefunden, die
es ermöglichten, das empirische Material einigermaßen
zu ordnen und theoretisch zu bewältigen. Gerade die
Verbindung von empirischen Untersuchungen mit einer
philosophischen Theorie der menschlichen Gesellschaft
ermutigte das Entstehen der heutigen Anthropologie
(L. Wolff).
Schade, dass der Index nicht die Fußnoten und die
Bibliographie umfasst. Man wünschte sich auch mehr
detaillierte Angaben über die Daten (Geburt und Tod)
der anvisierten Personen, was die Orientierung in den
Epochen bedeutend erleichtert und allgemein zu einem
besseren Verstehen des Gedankengangs und der Beweis-
führung beigetragen hätte.
Andrzej Bronk
Wulf, Christoph: Une anthropologie historique et
culturelle. Rituels, mimésis sociale et performativité.
Paris : Téraèdre, 2007. 190 pp. ISBN 978-2-912868-34-
3. Prix ; € 15.90
Qu’on ne s’y trompe pas ! Cet ouvrage n’est une
anthropologie que sous l’angle philosophique et peu
ethnologique, l’histoire s’y réduit à celle de l’enfant
qui grandit et à l’élection d’un président américain pour
finir, le culturel se loge dans des rituels chrétiens et
dans les tribunaux germaniques. L’essentiel se cache
dans le sous-titre et dans l’argumentation concernant les
rituels profanes, religieux, politiques “qui orchestrent les
rythmes de notre vie (familiale, personnelle, profession-
nelle) ... Les rituels - anciens et inventés - permettent
de ‘faire ensemble société’, et ils se transmettent par
mimésis sociale. La performativité est l’activité de re-
création personnelle et culturelle des rituels dans une
mise en scène corporelle et identitaire” (quatrième de
couverture). Plus précisément, la performativité, c’est la
réalisation par le passage de la parole ou du geste à une
situation neuve, ferme, indélébile: “J’accepte Y. pour
épouse”. “Ceci est mon corps”. Langue et mouvements
du corps entrent ainsi dans l’accomplissement de l’acte
rituel comme dans l’élaboration identitaire. Dommage
que la plupart des théories de l’action fassent si sou-
vent l’impasse sur la performativité corporelle (14), sauf
celles sur l’agir sportif !
La théorie de chacune de ces notions est ex-
posée dès l’introduction, sans références à des intro-
ducteurs de théorie, comme Gabriel Tarde (“Les lois
de l’imitation”) ou Marcel Jousse (“L’anthropologie du
geste”), celui-ci distinguant mimique (expression spon-
tanée des émotions) et mimisme (aptitude humaine à
devenir rythmiquement chaque objet du réel, en le re-
jouant par tous les gestes de son corps). Pour Wulf, la
mimésis sociale (à référence aristotélicienne) est mise
en scène, représentation d’actes d’autrui en prenant part
à leur action, à l’expérience des buts qu’ils poursuivent,
au sens qu’ils donnent à ce qu’ils font dans un certain
contexte et dans un désir à la fois de ressemblance
et de différenciation. De cette ambivalence naissent la
diversité sociale et la possibilité d’évolution des sociétés
(9). René Girard est évoqué à propos du désir mimétique
constitutif de l’apprentissage, forme d’incorporation des
mondes du son, du toucher, de l’odorat et du goût.
Quant aux rituels de passage, d’investiture, d’inten-
sification, de rébellion ou d’interaction collective, qui
sont des mises en scène souvent cérémonielles, à ca-
ractère démonstratif ou ludique, ils “peuvent être ex-
ploités pour opprimer les individus, pour leur imposer
de se rallier à une cause et pour dissimuler des rap-
ports de domination sociale. On peut donc comprendre
le scepticisme qu’appelle la notion de rituel dans les
démocraties” (15).
Parmi les huit chapitres, le premier (tiers de l’ouvrage)
vaut pour ses développements sur l’imitation, la repro-
duction, l’empreinte, la contamination par le modèle.
Le processus mimétique y apparaît comme la condition
indispensable à la compréhension du monde et de soi-
même. L’autobiographie de Walter Benjamin sert alors
à l’auteur, psychologue de l’enfant à l’Université libre
de Berlin, de point d’ancrage pour des développements
sur l’appropriation du monde et la constitution du sujet,
l’enfance vécue et l’enfance remémorée, les images et
les écrits gardiens du souvenir. Et Lacan d’appuyer
la psychogenèse par mimésis tout en identifiant les
complexes du sevrage (réactivation du mal-être de la
naissance), d’intrusion (d’un frère ou d’une sœur dans
la famille) et d’Œdipe (au rôle central dans l’identité
sexuelle construite mimétiquement).
J’avouerai m’être laissé séduire par un autre thème
récurrent dans différents chapitres et relatif à la mi-
mesis comme aux rites ; c’est celui du geste, dont je
souhaiterais que l’auteur construise une anthropologie,
même en s’inspirant de L’“Histoire des mœurs” de
Poirier, de la “Psychologie du geste” de Feyereisen et
De Lannoy ainsi que de la littérature des éthologues. En
glanant quelques idées-fortes chez Wulf, on soupèsera
les variables espace, temps, sexe, âge, profession, sta-
tut, classe sociale, institution. Les signes de distinction
que les hiérarchies sociales établissent et renforcent, les
variations du goût selon les catégories et les groupes
sociaux, Pierre Bourdieu les a signalés avec précision
dans “La distinction” (1979) tout comme Norbert Elias a
présenté le “procès de civilisation” dans “La dynamique
de l’Occident” (1939) puis dans “La société de cour
(1969). Molière s’était lui-même au XVIIe siècle bien
gaussé des gestes du bourgeois en quête de reconnais-
sance sociale, imitant le gentilhomme jusque dans le
“menuet”, dans les manières de parler, de manger, de se
présenter. On doit à Michel Foucault, dans “Surveille1”
et punir”, une fine analyse de la façon dont le pouvoir
marque le corps de son empreinte et en contrôle leS
formes d’expression et de représentation. “Les ‘gestes
institutionnels’ se sont mis en place au cours de longues
périodes et ont pour fonction de donner une forme
d’expression à la fois concrète et symbolique aux exi-
Anthropos 103.2008
Miszellen
635
gences sociales des institutions et d’y soumettre leurs
usagers par Vadoption de gestes sociaux préformés”
(48).
Dans les pages sur “rituel, constitution du sujet et
société” un discours abstrait s’élabore qui se poursuit par
des recherches sur les rituels associés à la religion, aux
mythes et au culte. Puis sont étudiées des corrélations
fonctionnelles entre rituels et formes d’organisation so-
ciale, enfin sont exposées les relations entre rites, sym-
bolisation culturelle et communication sociale, à travers
des preuves exemplaires : le procès juridique en Alle-
magne, l’élection présidentielle américaine. Mais le dis-
cours du psychologue se manifeste dans les “fondements
mimétiques de l’apprentissage culturel”, en compagnie
de W. Benjamin, puis dans l’acquisition du savoir sur-
tout pratique par des représentations et des actes, comme
celui de la remise du cadeau d’anniversaire. Chacun re-
fait le monde extérieur et se l’approprie par des mouve-
ments du corps qui incorporent simultanément la culture.
La parole comme action, l’acte social comme mise en
scène du corps, les rituels comme action performative,
l’acquisition mimétique du savoir performatif, voilà les
sous-titres du chapitre 3 sur le corps performatif (pas
le plus performant à mon sens, malgré les cadeaux de
Noël). Mais le linguiste et Derrida peuvent y puiser
leur miel, tandis que le paquebot jouit sans doute d’être
baptisé à la bouteille de champagne.
Que les dimensions de l’espace et du temps soient
restitués fortement dans les rituels notamment à travers
des expériences d’enfants et d’adolescents, que les
rituels soient jugés comme excellents gardiens de la
mémoire collective, comme constructeurs de la person-
nalité et comme représentations scéniques des formes de
pouvoir, que Limitation mimétique du monde remplace
Limitation de Jésus-Christ, on remerciera l’auteur de
Lavoir signalé et prouvé, de même qu’on lui saura gré
de ses descriptions et gloses ethnologiques sur le rituel
et le droit ainsi que sur l’élection du président Bush.
Une note optimiste et une fleur finale ! Christoph
Wulf explique combien le geste donne corps aux sen-
timents et aux états intérieurs : “Dans la mimésis ges-
tuelle, les frontières personnelles du sujet s’effacent et
s’ouvrent au monde de représentation et d’expression
corporelles de l’autre. Cette expérience de ‘sortie’ du su-
jet hors de ses propres structures, pour rejoindre l’espace
d’expression de l’autre, est vécue avec un sentiment de
plaisir et d’accroissement de soi-même, elle conduit à
une extension du monde intérieur par l’incorporation
esthésique et mimétique d’un en-dehors de soi. Le pro-
cessus dont relève une telle expérience vivante consiste
moins en une réduction des gestes de l’autre au cadre de
référence du sujet agissant mimétiquement, qu’en une
extension de la perception du sujet aux gestes et au
monde de références de l’autre. Bien que ces deux mou-
vements ne se distinguent pas nettement Lun de l’autre,
c’est l’expansion de la perception mimétique vers le
monde de représentation et d’expression de l’autre qui
constitue la dynamique du mouvement. Expansion qui
s’accompagne d’un sentiment heureux d’’amplification
de la vie, dans lequel Aristote voyait déjà une ca-
ractéristique de la mimésis” (47).
Claude Rivière
Coming Out of the “Iron Cage“: The Indigenists
of the Society of the Divine Word in Paraguay,
1910-2000 (Darius J. Piwowarczyk). - The book is
a sociohistorical study of missionaries-indigenists of the
Society of the Divine Word (SVD) in Paraguay in the
twentieth century. Specifically, the author focuses on
changes in the missionary ideology and practice that
have corresponded with major shifts in global rela-
tions of power, or what is termed here - after Pierre
Bourdieu - doxas, as expressed and enforced through
three consecutive metanarratives of “progress,” “devel-
opment,” and “cooperation-participation.” The main ar-
gument of the book is that the missionary practical
ideologies of “conversion” (dominant in the beginning
of the 20th century), “human promotion” (mid-20th cen-
tury), and “ethnodevelopment-interreligious dialogue”
(in the 1980s and the 1990s) have been ecclesiastical
versions of those globalizing discourses as well as prod-
ucts of the contextualization and adaptations of Catholic
tenets to specific historical configurations of the field of
Indigenism - a Latin American version of the colonial
field. - ([Studia Instituti Anthropos, 52] Fribourg: Aca-
demic Press Fribourg Switzerland, 2008. 368 pp. ISBN
978-3-7278-1620-8. Preis: 75 sfr)
Anthropos 103.2008
636
Miszellen
“Sicily - from Odysseus to Garibaldi”: An Exhibit
of Complexity and Underlying Unity of European
Cultures. Reflections of an Anthropologist. - Sicily,
the largest region of Italy and the biggest island of
the Mediterranean was for centuries a melting pot of
numerous cultures whose interaction created a unique
legacy. The Sicans and the Sicels, “indigenous” from
the point of view of later arrivals - the Phoenicians and
the Greeks - and then the Romans, the Arabs, and the
Normans, whose hegemony was replaced by the rule
of several European dynasties and, eventually, by the
modem Italian Republic (epitomized by Garibaldi), were
all represented at the exhibition “Sicily; From Odysseus
to Garibaldi” available at the Bundeskunsthalle in Bonn,
Germany, from January 25 to May 25, 2008. By bring-
ing together some components of that rich heritage
(about 300 items), the authors not only provided an
insight into its complexity but also presented a vision of
what might termed “European identity.”
The exhibit was a multidisciplinary effort as the
collection of displayed items included, among other
categories, ancient archaeological finds, medieval doc-
uments on parchment, rare paintings of renown Late
Renaissance masters, Baroque craftwork, in particu-
lar liturgical paraphernalia, pieces of Classical archi-
tecture, objects produced by nineteenth-century village
craftsmen, and archival correspondence and documents
concerning modem national movement. This dazzling
collage of apparently unrelated objects pointed to one
important truth, however - namely, that the specializa-
tion of knowledge and the division of study of culture
into archaeology, ethnology, art history, and history
perhaps helps us see better the detail but obscures the
general picture - that is, the view of culture not as a sum
of several essential traits and elements but rather as
their ever-shifting configuration. In short, it is helpful
in the process of analysis, or identification of different
components of that complexity, but makes the synthesis,
a holistic vision, difficult.
Nonetheless, such holistic approach is necessary in
today’s world of globalization, perhaps particularly so
in Europe which is intending to discover its underlying
cultural identity that would frame its newly founded
political unity and thus provide a common platform
for multiple cultural expressions, historical memories,
and political-economic interests. Still, paradoxically, the
experiment of the united Europe will succeed only if
the multifaceted regional autonomy of little homelands
is preserved. In other words, the underlying unity of
Europe is to be found not so much in the intricacies
of European policymaking in Brussels but above all
in the intricate networks of relations that make up the
substance of daily life on the local, regional level. On the
other hand, those relations can be comprehended only
Fig. 1 : Golden Sicanian ring, 7th century BCE (© Museo Ar-
cheologico Regionale “Paolo Orsi,” Siracusa).
Fig. 2: Jewel box, 16th-17th century; gilded copper and coral
beads (© Galleria Regionale della Sicilia, Palermo).
in the broader, European and, indeed, global context,
as the roots of “local” events are frequently to be
found “worlds” and centuries away. To discover these
roots, one should even go deep into the “mythologi-
cal” past, which the subtitle of the exhibition, “from
Odysseus to Garibaldi,” unmistakably suggests. The
exhibition captures these mechanisms at work in the
specific case of Sicily - a component of the mod-
ern Italian nation-state but at the same time also “the
key to understand Italy,” as stated Christoph Vital1’
the Director of the Bundeskunsthalle, at the opening
ceremony - because of its clear-cut identity that draws
on and contributes to the rich, pan-European, plurali-
ty. - (“Sizilien. Von Odysseus bis Garibaldi.” Kunst-
und Ausstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland,
Bonn, Germany, 25 of January - 25 of May, 2008. Cura-
tors: Giulio Macchi and Prof. Dr. Wolf-Dieter Heilmey-
er. Director of the Project: Katharina Chrubasik.)
Darius J. Piwowarczyk
103.2008
Anthropos
Miszellen
637
“Return” of Bronislaw Malinowski to the Trobriand
Islands. - On July 27, 1915, the mission schooner
Saragigi entered a calm cove at Losuia in the western
part of Kiriwina Island. One of the passengers on the
ship was there to explore the life of the people of
the Trobriand Islands - Bronislaw Malinowski. After
a few days of reconnaissance, Malinowski chose the
village of Omarakana, where, in close proximity to the
house of the Paramount Chief Touluwa, he put up his
now-famous tent, which became an inseparable symbol
of his pioneering fieldwork.
The Polish yacht Talavera entered the same waters on
December 4, 2007. At the helm stood captain Mariusz
Delgas and two crew members - Monika Bronicka,
who twice took part in the sailing competition in the
Olympic Games (Sydney 2000 and Athens 2004), and
Leszek Ciupinski. The yacht carried on board a “pre-
cious” cargo - a memorial plate dedicated to Bronislaw
Malinowski. The bronze plate, with the dimensions of
58 cm x 80 cm and weighing 45 kg, was funded by
Malinowski’s Alma Mater, the Jagiellonian University
in Krakow, and by the National Museum in Szczecin.
After a courtesy visit with Daniel Pulayasi, who
is now the Paramount Chief of the Trobriand Islands,
the memorial plate brought by the Polish sailors was
transported to Omarakana. The Trobrianders had marked
the place where the tent of the most prominent student of
their customs was once located with a stalactite chipped
off from the ceiling of a coral cave. On December 5,
2007, in the presence of the Chief and the inhabitants
of Omarakana, the plate was erected on a pedestal made
of coral rocks.
In this manner, after nearly a century, Poles have
finally paid appropriate tribute to the famous pioneer
of anthropological fieldwork and one of the fathers of
functionalism. It needs to be stressed, however, that in
communist times Malinowski and his anthropological
theory did not enjoy the same recognition and popularity
in his native country as they did in the Western world.
During the Soviet period, social sciences in Poland were
dominated by Marxist ideology and viewed Malinows-
ki’s functionalism as “a purely bourgeois construct,”
Fig. 1 : The memorial plaque dedicated to Bronislaw Mali-
nowski in the Trobriand Islands (Photo: Jacek Lapott).
disparaging his significance and contribution to anthro-
pology. The process of rehabilitating Malinowski started
in the early 1980s, after the birth of the “Solidarity”
Movement which initiated major changes in Europe that
were symbolically completed by the tearing down of the
Berlin Wall on November 9, 1989.
Stanislaw A. Wargacki
Anthropos 103.2008
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89680-254-4. (Ohio University Research in Inter-
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Perspektiven zur Pastoraltheologie und Religions-
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Olwig, Karen Fog: Caribbean Journeys. An Ethnog-
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Pereira, Francis: The Faith Tradition of the Kunrukhar
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81-7214-959-X.
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Permis, Louis: Fang. Milan: 5 Continents Editions,
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Petersen, Helga, und Alexander Krikellis (Hrsg.): Re-
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Phiri, Isabel Apawo: Women, Presbyterianism, and
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Creole Publics: Language, Cultural Citizenship, and the
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J. F., Recent Approaches in English to Brazilian Racial
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31. 2008/3
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thinking the Racialization of Crime: The Significance
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W. Adebanwi, Ethno-Nationalist Claims in Southern
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Ethnography (London)
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45. 2006/4
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52. 2008/1
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Ethos (Berkeley)
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Folklore (London)
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M., B. Steinhilber, S. Sattele, Steinzeit: Die Kultur-
revolution von Göbekli Tepe (146-174).
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den Hütern des Gestern, Teil 2 (104-117).
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markt, Stadtpark und die Bevölkerung im kolonialen
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Chief Sin is Being a Negro. Next He Whipped a White
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47. 2007-2008/2-3
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Rossbach de Olmos, L., ¿Vienen los espíritus cuando
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The Islamic Quarterly (London)
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429).
Zentralasiatische Studien des Seminars
für Sprach- und Kulturwissenschaft
Zentralasiens der Universität Bonn (Bonn)
36. 2007
Johansen, U., Walter Heissig und die materielle Kultur.
Entwicklung und Leitfragen einer modernen Forschung
an Artefakten (21-34).
Anthropos 103.2008
Bénézet Bujo /
Juvénal llunga Muya (éd.)
Théologie africaine au XXIe
¡siècle
i Quelques figures
Vol. Il
j Ce volume, qui est le deuxième de la série,
continue l’étude sur les auteurs, pionniers de
| la théologie africaine. Le volume contient dix
auteurs parmi lesquels on compte quatre an-
glophones d’Afrique de l’est et de l’ouest. En
plus de cela, le livre se veut œcuménique et ne se confine pas uniquement aux théologiens
catholiques, puisque au niveau de la tradition africaine, les différences que l’on constate
entre les différentes confessions n’existent pas. Ce deuxième volume complète quelque
peu le premier, dans la mesure où il ne présente pas seulement le problème de la contex-
tualisation basé sur la seule tradition africaine, mais il présente en outre des auteurs qui
se sont attelés à la question de la libération d’Afrique dans le contexte socio-économique
et politique, sans négliger pour autant la question fondamentale de l’inculturation du
message évangélique. Par ailleurs, aux auteurs étudiés dans ce volume, les éditeurs ont
annexé un texte important, à savoir la Déclaration d’Accra (1977) qui a été, pour ainsi
dire, le manifeste de ïAssociation Œcuménique des Théologiens Africains (AOTA).
Til pages, broché,
Fr. 38.-/€24.80
ISBN 2-8271-0980-8
ACADEMY
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Prof. Julius O. Adekunle Dept, of History and Anthropology Monmouth University 400 Cedar Ave. West Long Branch, NJ 07764 USA jadekunl@monmouth.edu Prof. T. O. Beidelman Dept, of Anthropology, NYU 301 Rufus D. Smith Hall 25 Waverly Place New York, NY 10003 USA
Prof. Eugen N. Anderson 20119 44th Ave. NE Lake Forest Park, WA 98155 USA gene@ucr.edu Dr. Yazid Ben Hounet Université de Paris 8 Département de Sociologie 2, me de la Liberté F-93526 Saint Denis cedex 02 France yazid_benhounet@yahoo.fr
Asst. Prof. Miguel Astor-Aguilera Religious Studies Department Arizona State University Tempe, AZ 85287 USA maaguile @ asu.edu Dr. Frédéric Bourdier Route de Nontron F-24300 Javerlhac France fredericbourdier@online.com.kh
Prof. Alan Barnard Social Anthropology School of Social and Political Studies Adam Ferguson Bldg. George Square Edinburgh EH8 9LL United Kingdom A.Bamard@ed.ac.uk Prof. Dr. Rolf Brednich Stout Research Centre for New Zealand Studies Victoria University P.O. Box 600 Wellington New Zealand rolf.brednich@paradise.net.nz
Prof. Robert H. Barnes Institute of Social and Cultural Anthropology University of Oxford 51 Banbury Road Oxford OX2 6PE United Kingdom robert. Fames @ anthro. ox. ac. uk Teresa Brinkel Schlehenrain 8 D-79108 Freiburg Germany tbrinke@gwdg.de
Prof. Robert G. Bednarik Australian Rock Art Research Association (AURA) P.O. Box 216 Caulfield South, Vic. 3162 Australia auraweb @ hotmail. com Dr. Andrzej Bronk, SVD Dom Misyjny Slowa Bozego ul. Jagiellonska 45 PL 20-950 Lublin 11 Poland bronk@kul.lublin.pl
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Dr. Rik Ceyssens Sint-Tmdoplein 22, bus 1 B-3530 Helchteren Belgium be078956 @ scarlet.be Prof. Gregory Forth Dept, of Anthropology University of Alberta Edmonton, Alberta Canada T6G 2H4 gforth @ ualberta.ca
Dr. Adam Yuet Chau Dept, of Anthropology and Sociology SOAS Thornhaugh Street, Russell Square London WC1H0XG United Kingdom ac88@soas.ac.uk Prof. Dr. Othmar Gächter, SYD Anthropos Institut Arnold-Janssen-Str. 20 D-53754 Sankt Augustin Germany gachter @ steyler.de
Univ.-Doz. Dr. Marie-France Chevron Institut für Kultur- und Sozialanthropologie Fakultät der Sozialwissenschaften Universitätsstr. 7 A-1010 Wien Austria marie-france.chevron@univie.ac.at Prof. Dr. Volker Grabowsky Institut für Ethnologie Studtstr. 21 D-48149 Münster Germany grabowsky @uni-muenster.de
Prof. Dr. Maria Susana Cipolletti Institut für Altamerikanistik und Ethnologie Universität Bonn Oxfordstraße 15 D-53111 Bonn Germany mariacipolletti @ hotmail.com Dr. Katarina Greifeid Mauerweg 10 D-60316 Frankfurt Germany greif eld @ gmx. de
Amelia Cook Harris Manchester College Mansfield Rd. Oxford 0X1 3TD United Kingdom amelia.cook@hmc.ox.ac.uk Prof. Dr. Detlef Gronenborn Röm.-Germ. Zentralmuseum Ernst-Ludwig-Platz 2 D-55116 Mainz Germany gronenborn @rgzm.de
Dr. Piet van Eeuwijk Ethnologisches Seminar Uni Basel Münsterplatz 19 CH-4051 Basel Switzerland peter. vaneeuwij k @ unibas. ch Prof. Dr. Hans Peter Hahn Institut für Historische Ethnologie Grüneburgplatz 1 D-60323 Frankfurt Germany hans.hahn@em.uni-frankfurt.de
Dr. Karola Elwert-Kretschmer Königsallee 14/L D-14193 Berlin Germany karola.elwert@t-online.de Terence E. Hays, PhD Prof. Emeritus Dept, of Anthropology Rhode Island College Providence, RI 02908-1991 USA
Dr. Ute Engelhardt Institut für Sinologie, Asienstudien Kaulbachstr. 51a D-80539 München Germany Ute.Engelhardt@ostasien.fakl2.uni-muenchen.de THays@ric.edu Prof. Mary W. Helms 407 N. Holden Rd. Greensboro, NC 27410 USA
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Andreas Hemming, M.A.
Institut für Musik, Musikwissenschaft
Martin-Luther-Universität
Kleine Marktstr. 7
D-06108 Halle
Germany
andreas. hemming @ mu sikwi ss. uni-halle. de
Prof. Dr. Winfried Henke
Institut für Anthropologie
Johannes Gutenberg Universität
Saarstr. 21
D-55099 Mainz
Germany
henkew@uni-mainz.de
Dr. Alexander Horstmann
Institut für Ethnologie
Studtstr. 21
D-48149 Münster
Germany
alexander .horstmann @ uni-muenster. de
Dr. Lydia Icke-Schwalbe
Am Dölzschgraben 19
D-01187 Dresden
Germany
dr.ickeschwalbe@t-online.de
Jana Igunma
c/o SEACOM
Fischerinsel 1 (13-07)
D-10179 Berlin
Germany
jana.igunma@bl.uk
Prof. Robert W. Jarvenpa
Dept, of Anthropology
University at Albany, SUNY
1400 Washington Ave.
Albany, NY 12222
USA
j arvenpa @ cas. albany. edu
Hanna Kienzler
PhD Candidate
McGill University
855 Sherbrooke Street West, Room 717
Montreal, QC
Canada H3A 2T7
hanna.kienzler® mail .mcgill.ca
Prof. Dr. Godula Kosack
Brockhausstr. 13
D-04229 Leipzig
Germany
g.kosack@arcor.de
Mag. Stefan Krist
Institut für Kultur- und
Sozialanthropologie
Universitätsstr. 7
A-1010 Wien
Austria
Stefan. kri st @ uni vie. ac. at
Ulrich van Loyen
Dreimühlenstr. 33
D-80469 München
Germany
u vanloy en @ gmx. net
Dr. Harald Mossbrucker
Jefe Asistencia Técnica Internacional
Av. Paseo de la República 3895
esq Aramburú, San Isidro
Lima
Peru
hmossbrucker @ hotmail. com
Dr. Catrien Notermans
Dept, of Cultural Anthropology
Radboud University Nijmegen
P.O. Box 9104
6500 HE Nijmegen
The Netherlands
C.Notermans@maw.ru.nl
Prof. Dr. Eugen Nunnenmacher, SVD
Amold-Janssen-Str. 30
D-53754 Sankt Augustin
Germany
missionswissenschaft@steyler.de
Lubomira Palikarska
Associée LESC Paris X Nanterre
Musée du Quai Branly
37, Quai Branly
F-75007 Paris
France
boubaij 1 @ yahoo.fr
Dr. Julia Pauli
Institut für Ethnologie
Universität Köln
Albertus-Magnus-Platz
D-50923 Köln
Germany
julia.pauli@uni-koeln.de
Dr. Darius J. Piwowarczyk, SVD
Anthropos Institut
Amold-Janssen-Str. 20
D-53754 Sankt Augustin
Germany
piwowarczyk® steyler.de
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Prof. Dr. Anton Quack, SVD Anthropos Institut Arnold-Janssen-Str. 20 D-53754 Sankt Augustin Germany anthropos.reviews@steyler.de Prof. Andrew Shryock Dept, of Anthropology University of Michigan 1085 University Avenue Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1107 USA ashry ock @ umich. edu
Dr. V. R. Rao Anthropological Survey of India Indian Museum 27 J. N. Road Kolkatta 700016 India anthro@cal2.vsnl.net.in Prof. Dr. Martin Sökefeld Institut für Sozialanthropologie Länggassstr. 49a CH-3000 Bern 9 Switzerland martin. soekefeld @ anthro. unibe. eh
Prof. Dr. Claude Riviere 49, avenue Gambetta F-49300 Cholet France claude. ri viere94 @ free. fr Dr. Ibrahima Sow IFAN Université Cheikh Anta Diop de Dakar B.P 206 Dakar Senegal ibrasowia @ yahoo.fr
Prof. Dr. Susan D. Russell Dept, of Anthropology Northern Illinois University Stevens Building 102 DeKalb, IL 60115 USA t20sdrl@wpo.cso.niu.edu Dr. Eszter Spät Rigo u. 3 H-2016 Leanyfalu Hungary spateszter@yahoo.com
Dr. Rita Schäfer Daimlerstr. 5 D-45133 Essen Germany Marx. S chaefer @ t-online. de Dr. M. Sreenathan Anthropological Survey of India Central Regional Centre Nagpur 440006 India Sreenathan.ansi@yahoo.com
Dr. Georg Schifko Mayerhofgasse 5/1/10 A-1040 Wien Austria georg. schifko @ gmx. at Silke Straatman, M.A. Ostpreußisches LandeSmuseum Ritterstr. 10 D-21335 Lüneburg Germany museumspaedagogik @ ostpreussisches-landesmuseum.de
Prof. Dr. Urike Schuerkens 10, rue Jonquoy F-75014 Paris France Ulrike.Schuerkens@ehess.fr Dr. Ralph E. S. Tanner The Footprint Padworth Common Reading RG7 4QG United Kingdom restanner@kutkai.fsnet.co.uk
Prof. Dr. Stefan Seitz Institut für Völkerkunde Werderring 10 D-79085 Freiburg Germany stefan.seitz@ethno.uni-freiburg.de Julie Taylor, Mphil Dept, of International Development Oxford University Oxford OX1 3TB United Kingdom julie.taylor@sant.ox.ac.uk
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Dr. Wiebke Walther
Stauffenbergstr. 94
D-72074 Tübingen
Germany
wiebke.waltherl @web.de
Dr. Holger Warnk
FB 9: Südostasien Wissenschaften
J. W. Goethe-Universität
Senckenberganlage 31
D-60325 Frankfurt
Germany
h.warnk@em.uni-frankfurt.de
Stanislaw A. Wargacki, SVD
skr. poczt. 1110
ul. Jagiellohska 45
PL 20-950 Lublin 11
Poland
wargacki @ gmail.com
Dr. Brigitte Wiesenbauer
Redaktion, Bibliogr. Institut
Querstr. 18
D-04103 Leipzig
Germany
Brigitte.Wiesenbauer@bifab.de
Lien Warmenbol
Universiteit Antwerpen
Faculteit PSW - M271
Sint-Jacobstraat 2
B-2000 Antwerpen
Belgium
lien.warembol@ua.ac.be
Prof. Dr. Frans Wijsen
World Christianity and Interreligious Dialogue
Radboud University Nijmegen
P.O. Box 9103
6500 HD Nijmegen
The Netherlands
F.Wijsen@rs.ru.nl
Anthropos 103.2008
AUTORENINDEX
Artikel
Abbink, Jon: “Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia.
An Exploratory Case Study of Me’en Discourse 3
Adekunle, Julius O.: The Wasangari. Politics
and Identity in Borgu ......................... 435
Amborn, Hermann: Dr. Freud Was Not a Kafa.
A Classical Case of Anthropological Overinter-
pretation from Ethiopia ........................ 15
Astor-Aguilera, Miguel, and Robert Jarven-
pa: Comparing Indigenous Pilgrimages. Devo-
tion, Identity, and Resistance in Mesoamerica and
North America.................................. 483
Barnes, R.H.: The Power of Strangers in Flores
and Timor ..................................... 343
Bednarik, R. G.: cf. Sreenathan, M., V. R. Rao,
and R. G. Bednarik
Ben Hounet, Yazid: Valorisation d’objets bé-
douins et redéfinitions identitaires lors d’un mous-
sem en Algérie ................................ 423
Bourdier, Frédéric: Indigenous Populations in
a Cultural Perspective. The Paradox of Develop-
ment in Southeast Asia ........................ 355
Brinkei, Teresa: Forschende im Fokus. Zu den
Potentialen und Problemen der Wissensforschung
in den Kulturwissenschaften ..................... 527
Ceyssens, Rik: L’héritage de Santwala. Un récit
de vie .......................................... 459
Cipolletti, María Susana: “Nostalgia del monte”.
Indígenas del Oriente peruano según un manuscri-
to del jesuíta Juan Magnin (Borja 1743) .... 507
Fraser, Adrian: cf. Prescod, Paula, and Adrian
Fraser
Gibbs, Philip, and Josepha Junnie Wailoni:
Sorcery among the Plains Arapesh................. 149
Hahn, Hans Peter: Diffusionism, Appropriation,
and Globalization. Some Remarks on Current
Debates in Anthropology ......................... 191
Jarvenpa, Robert: cf. Astor-Aguilera, Miguel,
and Robert Jarvenpa
Jensen, Jürgen: Ethnographische Datenerfas-
sung, Dokumentation und Beschreibung bei Pietro
Deila Valle (1586-1652) (Fortsetzung) .... 179
Kneitz, Peter: Im Land “dazwischen”. Die Sa-
kalava-Königreiche von Ambongo und Mailaka
(westliches Madagaskar, 17.-19. Jahrhundert) . 33
Knörr, Jacqueline: Indigenisierung versus Re-
Ethnisierung. Chinesische Identität in Jakarta . 159
Lane, Paul J.: The Social Production and Sym-
bolism of Cloth and Clothing among the Dogon
of Mali....................................... 77
Notermans, Catrien: Local and Global Icons
of Mary. An Ethnographie Study of a Powerful
Symbol........................................ 471
Prescod, Paula, and Adrian Fraser: A Demolin-
guistic Profile of St. Vincent and the Grenadines
or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic Disenfran-
chisement ....................................... 99
Rao, V.R.:cf. Sreenathan, M., V.R. Rao, and
R. G. Bednarik
Rivière, Claude: Le vêtement en Afrique noire
et ailleurs ..................................... 65
Schweitzer de Palacios, Dagmar: Shamanes,
bellezas y Copa Mundial. De la selva al campo
de fùtbol....................................... 127
Senft, Gunter: The Case: The Trobriand Is-
landers vs H. P. Grice. Kilivila and the Gricean
Maxims of Quality and Manner ................... 139
Shryock, Andrew: Thinking about Hospitality,
with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin . . 405
Sow, Ibrahima: Les troubles mentaux au Sénégal.
Existence éthique et problématique de l’identité 447
Spät, Eszter: Religious Oral Tradition and Liter-
acy among the Yezidis of Iraq .................. 393
Sreenathan, M., V. R. Rao, and R. G. Bednarik:
Palaeolithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic
Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands 367
Thylefors, Markel: “Modernizing God” in Hai-
tian Vodou? Reflections on Olowoum and Reaf-
ricanization in Haiti.......................... 113
Wailoni, Josepha Junnie; cf. Gibbs, Philip, and
Josepha Junnie Wailoni
Berichte und Kommentare
Dannhaeuser, Norbert: Financial Self-Help
Organizations and Social Security. A Review Ar-
ticle .......................................... 221
Forth, Gregory: Friarbird on Roti............... 541
Hamer, John H.: Natural Objects Transformed
into Symbolic Meaning among the Sidäma of
Northeast Africa................................ 203
Quack, Anton: Anthropology and Missionaries.
A Review Essay.................................. 560
Anthropos 103.2008
680
Autorenindex (R)
Rivière, Claude: La gestualité comme marqueur
socioculturel.................................
Roche, Gerald: Amdo Tibetan Leaming Re-
sources. A Review Article ....................
Schifko, Georg: Anmerkungen zu einer täto-
wierten Bärenskulptur als Ausdruck eines bikul-
turellen Neuseelands..........................
Tanner, Ralf: cf. Wijsen, Frans and Ralf Tan-
ner
Tóth, Alfréd: The Origin of the Rhaetians . .
Trenk, Marin: Ein verschollener Vorläufer der
Ethnologie. Der Aufklärer und Sozialutopist
Christian Gottlieb Priber (1697-1745).........
Voges, Hans: Kolonialismus und Geschichte. Ein
Rezensionsartikel ............................
Wijsen, Frans and Ralf Tanner: The Limitations
of an Ecumenical Language. The Case of Ki-
Swahili.......................................
Rezensionen
Abusharaf, Rogaia Mustafa (ed.): Female Cir-
cumcision. Multicultural Perspectives. Philadel-
phia 2006. 289 pp. (Katarina Greifeid).......
Ahmed, Amineh: Sorrow and Joy among Mus-
lim Women. The Pukhtuns of Northern Pakistan.
Cambridge 2006. 199 pp. (Martin Sökefeld) . .
Akakpo-Numado, Sena Yawo: Mädchen- und
Frauenbildung in den deutschen Afrika-Kolonien
(1884-1914). Frankfurt 2007. 293 pp. (Godula
Kosack) .....................................
Anderson, E.N.: Everyone Eats. Understand-
ing Food and Culture. New York 2005. 295 pp.
(Karola Elwert-Kretschmer)...................
Antweiler, Christoph: Was ist den Menschen
gemeinsam? Über Kultur und Kulturen. Darm-
stadt 2007. 391 pp. (Marie-France Chevron) . .
Arnason, Johann P., Armando Salvatore, and
Georg Stauth (eds.); Islam in Process. Historical
and Civilizational Perspectives. Bielefeld 2006.
329 pp. (Peter Heine) .......................
Asad, Talal: On Suicide Bombing. New York
2007. 144pp. (Barbara Peveling)..............
Axinn, William G., and Lisa D. Pearce: Mixed
Method Data Collection Strategies. Cambridge
2006. 230 pp. (Julia Pauli) .................
Bamford, Sandra (ed.): Embodying Moderni-
ty and Post-Modernity. Ritual, Praxis, and So-
cial Change in Melanesia. Durham 2007. 293 pp.
(Terence E. Hays) ...........................
Barnes, Linda L.: Needles, Herbs, Gods, and
Ghosts. China, Healing, and the West to 1848.
Cambridge 2007. 458 pp. (Ute Engelhardt) . .
Bauer, Kerstin: Kleidung und Kleidungsprak-
tiken im Norden der Cöte d’Ivoire. Geschichte
und Dynamiken des Wandels vom Ende des 19.
Jahrhunderts bis zur Gegenwart. Münster 2007.
538 pp. (Ilsemargret Luttmann)...............
Baumann, Martin, and Samuel M. Behloul
(Hrsg.): Religiöser Pluralismus. Empirische Stu-
dien und analytische Perspektiven. Bielefeld 2005.
259 pp. (Josef Salmen) ......................... 238
Beer, Bettina: Frauen in der deutschsprachigen
Ethnologie. Ein Handbuch. Köln 2007. 345 pp.
(Godula Kosack)................................. 239
Berger, Peter: Füttern, Speisen und Verschlin-
gen. Ritual und Gesellschaft im Hochland von
Orissa, Indien. Berlin 2007. 548 pp. (Lydia Icke-
Schwalbe) ...................................... 578
Berner, Ulrich, Christoph Bochinger und Rai-
ner Flasche (Hrsg.): Opfer und Gebet in den
Religionen. Gütersloh 2005. 180 pp. (Joachim G.
Piepke)......................................... 240
Blakely, Sandra: Myth, Ritual, and Metallurgy
in Ancient Greece and Recent Africa. Cambridge
2006. 328 pp. (Detlef Gronenbom)........... 580
Bolin, Inge: Growing Up in a Culture of Respect.
Child Rearing in Highland Peru. Austin 2006.
214 pp. (Alice Spinnler-Dürr).............. 241
Brandes, Stanley: Skulls to the Living, Bread
to the Dead. The Day of the Dead in Mexico
and Beyond. Malden 2006. 217 pp. (Ulrich Köh-
ler) ........................................... 242
Buijs, Kees: Powers of Blessing from the Wilder-
ness and from Heaven. Structure and Transforma-
tions in the Religion of the Toraja in the Mamasa
Area of South Sulawesi. Leiden 2006. 262 pp.
(David Hicks) .................................. 243
Cabrera Becerra, Gabriel: Las Nuevas Tribus
y los indígenas de la Amazonia. Historia de
una presencia protestante. Bogotá 2007. 224 pp.
(Darius J. Piwowarczyk) ........................ 580
Carrier, Neil C.M.: Kenyan Khat. The Social
Life of a Stimulant. Leiden 2007. 288 pp. (T. O.
Beidelman)................................. 244
Claffey, Patrick: Christian Churches in Daho-
mey-Benin. A Study of Their Socio-Political Role.
Leiden 2007. 328 pp. (Eugen Nunnenmacher) . 582
Cooper, Frederick: Colonialism in Question.
Theory, Knowledge, History. Berkeley 2005.
327 pp. (Hans Voges) ........................... 225
Crawford, Michael (ed.): Anthropological Ge-
netics. Theory, Methods, and Applications. Cam-
bridge 2007. 476 pp. (Winfried Henke) .... 583
Davidson, Jamie S., and David Henley (eds.):
The Revival of Tradition in Indononesian Politics.
The Deployment of adat from Colonialism to In-
digenism. London 2007. 377 pp. (Holger Wamk) 585
Deimel, Claus: nawesari. Texte aus der Sierra
Tarahumara. Berlin 2001, 210 pp. (Brigitte Wie-
senbauer) ..................................... 586
Diamond, Jared M.: Collapse. How Societies
Choose to Fail or Succeed. London 2006. 575 pp.
(Ulrike Schuerkens)............................ 587
Dieckmann, Ute: Hai||om in the Etosha Region.
A History of Colonial Settlement, Ethnicity and
Nature Conservation. Basel 2007. 398 pp. (Alan
Barnard) ...................................... 589
555
229
545
210
216
225
549
569
570
571
572
573
233
234
575
576
577
235
Anthropos 103.2008
Autorenindex (R)
681
Dünnwald, Stephan: Der pädagogische Griff
nach dem Fremden. Zur Haltung lokaler Ini-
tiativen gegenüber Flüchtlingen in der Bundes-
republik Deutschland. Frankfurt 2006. 378 pp.
(Roland Drubig).............................
Ellen, Roy (ed.): Ethnobiology and the Science
of Humankind. Oxford 2006. 202 pp. (Christine
Paulsen) ...................................
Engebrigtsen, Ada L: Exploring Gypsiness. Pow-
er, Exchange, and Interdependence in a Transyl-
vanian Village. New York 2007. 217 pp. (David
Z. Scheffel)................................
Engelke, Matthew: A Problem of Presence. Be-
yond Scripture in an African Church. Berkeley
2007. 304 pp. (T. O. Beidelman) ............
Eriksen, Thomas Hylland: Engaging Anthro-
pology. The Case for a Public Presence. Oxford
2006. 148 pp. (Peter Schröder)..............
Erny, Pierre : L’idée de “réincarnation” en Afrique
Noire. Paris 2007. 151pp. (Claude Rivière) . .
Evens, T. M. S., and Don Handelman (eds.): The
Manchester School. Practice and Ethnographie
Praxis in Anthropology. New York 2006. 334 pp.
(Roland Drubig).............................
Pardon, Richard: Lela in Bali. History through
Ceremony in Cameroon. New York 2006. 162 pp.
(Matthias Gruber) ..........................
Ferro, Katarina, and Margot Wallner (eds.):
Migration Happens. Reasons, Effects, and Oppor-
tunities of Migration in the South Pacific. Berlin
2006. 194 pp. (Bettina Beer) ...............
Finnegan, Ruth: The Hidden Musicians. Music-
Making in an English Town. Middletown 2007.
378 pp. (Michael Schlottner) ...............
Gingrich, Andre, and Marcus Banks (eds.):
Neo-Nationalism in Europe and Beyond. Perspec-
tives from Social Anthropology. New York 2006.
303 pp. (Lien Warmenbol) ...................
Göltenboth, Natalie; Kunst und Kult in Kuba.
Berlin 2006. 234 pp. (Maria Susana Cipolletti) .
Grabner-Haider, Anton (Hrsg.): Kulturgeschich-
te der Bibel. Göttingen 2007. 487 pp. (Bernhard
Lang) ......................................
Gravers, Mikael (ed.): Exploring Ethnic Diver-
sity in Burma. Copenhagen 2007. 283 pp. (Volker
Grabowsky) .................................
Grinev, Andrei Val’terovich: The Tlingit In-
dians in Russian America, 1741-1867. Lincoln
2005.386pp. (Darius J. Piwowarczyk).........
Gronover, Annemarie: Religiöse Reserven. Eine
Ethnographie des Überlebens in Palermo. Berlin
2007. 229 pp. (Hanna Kienzier) .............
gTSo sGrig Pa and gZungs’Bum Thar: The
Eye-Opening Auspicious Amdo Dialect Instruc-
tional Book. Lanzhou 2006. 544pp. (Gerald
Roche)......................................
Harison, Marie Aimé Joël: Vier Jahrzehnte Un-
abhängigkeit Madagaskars. Eine Bilanz der poli-
tischen Entwicklung 1960-1998. Frankfurt 2006.
238 pp. (Christine Paulsen).................
Hawkes, Kristen, and Richard R. Paine (eds.):
The Evolution of Human Life History. Santa Fe;
Oxford 2006. 505 pp. (Christopher Kuzawa) . . 260
Hayase, Shinzo: Mindanao Ethnohistory beyond
Nations. Maguindanao, Sangir, and Bagobo So-
cieties in East Maritime Southeast Asia. Manila
2007. 289 pp. (Susan Russell) ................ 597
Hendricks, Alfred (Hrsg.): Prärie- und Plains-
indianer. Wandel und Tradition. - Prairie and
Plains Indians. Change and Tradition. Münster
2005. 135 pp. (Dagmar Siebelt) .............. 261
Hooper, Steven: Pacific Encounters. Art and
Divinity in Polynesia, 1760-1860. London 2006.
288 pp. (Anette Schade)....................... 263
Janowski, Monica, and Fiona Kerlogue (eds.):
Kinship and Food in South East Asia. Copen-
hagen 2007. 292 pp. (Eugen N. Anderson) . . . 598
Kahl, Thede, Michael Metzeltin und Mihai-
Razvan Ungureanu (Hrsg.): Rumänien. Raum
und Bevölkerung, Geschichte und Geschichts-
bilder, Kultur, Gesellschaft und Politik heute,
Wirtschaft, Recht und Verfassung, Historische
Regionen. Wien 2006. 976 pp. (Hermann Mück-
ler)............................................. 265
Kasfir, Sidney Littlefield: African Art and the
Colonial Encounter. Inventing a Global Com-
modity. Bloomington 2007. 382pp. (T. O. Beidel-
man) ............................................ 599
Keane, Webb: Christian Modems. Freedom and
Fetish in the Mission Encounter. Berkeley 2007.
323 pp. (Rita Smith Kipp) ....................... 266
Keller, Eva: The Road to Clarity. Seventh-
Day Adventism in Madagascar. New York 2005.
286 pp. (Jennifer Cole) ......................... 267
Kirsch, Stuart: Reverse Anthropology. Indige-
nous Analysis of Social and Environmental Re-
lations in New Guinea. Stanford 2006. 272 pp.
(Jerry K. Jacka) ................................ 268
Klostermaier, Klaus K.; A Survey of Hinduism.
Albany 2007. 700 pp. (Othmar Gächter) .... 600
König, Gudrun M. (Hrsg.): Alltagsdinge. Erkun-
dungen der materiellen Kultur. Tübingen 2005.
167 pp. (Franciszek M. Rosinski)................. 270
Kuehling, Susanne: Dobu. Ethics of Exchange
on a Massim Island, Papua New Guinea. Hon-
olulu 2005. 329 pp. (Ryan Schram) ............... 271
Kuhnt-Saptodewo, Sri: Getanzte Geschichte.
Tanz, Religion und Geschichte auf Java. Wien
2006. 225 pp. (Wolfgang Marschall).............. 272
Kulijaman, Mataliwa, et Eliane Camargo :
Kaptëlo. L’origine du ciel de case et du roseau
à flèches chez les Wayana (Guyanes). Rémire-
Montjoli; Paris 2007. 112pp. (Diego Villar) . 602
Largey, Michael: Vodou Nation. Haitian Art
Music and Cultural Nationalism. Chicago 2006.
283 pp. (Silke Straatman) ....................... 603
Lehmann, Albrecht: Reden über Erfahrung.
Kulturwissenschaftliche Bewusstseinsanalyse des
Erzählens. Berlin 2007. 256 pp. (Rolf Wilhelm
Brednich) ....................................... 604
245
247
249
590
249
250
251
253
255
591
593
255
257
594
258
596
229
259
Anthropos 103.2008
682
Autorenindex (R)
Lindquist, Galina: Conjuring Hope. Magic and
Healing in Contemporary Russia. New York
2006.251pp. (Katarina Greifeld) .............
Lont, Hotze: Juggling Money. Financial Self-
Help Organizations and Social Security in Yogya-
karta. Leiden 2005. 292 pp. (Norbert Dannhaeu-
ser).........................................
Lucero, Lisa J., and Barabara W.Fash (eds.):
Precolumbian Water Management. Ideology, Rit-
ual, and Power. Tucson 2006. 304 pp. (Mary
W. Helms) ...................................
Majnep, Ian Saem, and Ralph Bulmer: Animals
the Ancestors Hunted. An Account of the Wild
Mammals of the Kalam Area, Papua New Guinea.
Adelaide 2007. 452pp. (Terence E. Hays) . . .
Malaurie, Jean: Hummocks. Journeys and In-
quiries among the Canadian Inuit. Translated by
Peter Feldstein. Montreal 2007. 386pp. (Robert
Jarvenpa)....................................
Mandala, Elias C.: The End of Chidyerano. A
History of Food and Everyday Life in Malawi,
1860-2004. Portsmouth 2005. 347 pp. (T. O.
Beidelman)...................................
Mansfeld, Christine: Vom Dogon-Land nach
Bamako. Diskurspraxen zu Gender und Migration
am Beispiel der Mädchenjugend in Mali. Frank-
furt 2007. 236 pp. (Ilsemargret Luttmann) . . .
Matory, J. Lorand: Black Atlantic Religion.
Tradition, Transnationalism, and Matriarchy in
the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé. Princeton 2005.
383 pp. (Heike Drotbohm) ....................
Michael, Holger: Kulturelles Erbe als identi-
tätsstiftende Instanz? Eine ethnographisch-ver-
gleichende Studie dörflicher Gemeinschaften an
der Atlantik- und Pazifikküste Nicaraguas. Biele-
feld 2007. 227 pp. (Lioba Rossbach de Olmos)
Musch, Tilman: Nomadismus und Sesshaftigkeit
bei den Burjaten. Gesellschaftlicher Wandel im
Spiegel zeitgenössischer Folklore. Frankfurt 2006.
219 pp. (Stefan Krist).......................
Musch, Tilman (ed.): Buryat Songs (Bypna^;
Æyyn). Budapest 2008. 1 CD. (Stefan Krist)
Neudorfer, Corinne: Meet the Akha - Help the
Akha? Minderheiten, Tourismus und Entwicklung
in Laos. Bielefeld 2007. 296 pp. (Jana Igunma)
Nicolini, Beatrice (ed.): Studies in Witchcraft,
Magic, War, and Peace in Africa. Nineteenth
and Twentieth Centuries. Lewiston 2006. 383 pp.
(Rita Schäfer) ..............................
Nieuwkerk, Karin van (ed.); Women Embracing
Islam. Gender and Conversion in the West. Austin
2006. 294 pp. (Wiebke Walther) ..............
Norbu, Kalsang, Karl A. Peet, dPal IDan bKra
shis, and Kevin Stuart: Modern Oral Amdo
Tibetan. A Language Primer. Lewiston 2000.
324 pp. (Gerald Roche).......................
Palmer, John H.: La buena voluntad Wichi.
Una espiritualidad indigena. Las Lomitas 2005.
386pp. (Rodrigo M. Montani) .................
Pawlik, Jacek Jan: Zaradzic nieszczçsciu. Ry-
tualy kryzysowe u ludu Basari z Togo. Olsztyn
2006.301pp. (Stanislaw Grodz)............. 281
Petersen, Helga, and Alexander Krekellis (Hrsg.):
Religion und Heilkunst der Toba-Batak auf Suma-
tra. Überliefert von Johannes Winkler (1874-
1958). Köln 2006. 453 pp. (Peter van Eeuwijk) 616
Pinxten, Rik, and Ellen Preckler (eds.): Racism
in Metropolitan Areas. New York 2006. 190 pp.
(Ingo W. Schroder) ............................... 282
Plotnicov, Leonard, Paula Brown, and Vinson
Sutlive (eds.): Anthropology’s Debt to Mission-
aries. Pittsburgh 2007. 185 pp. (Anton Quack) 560
Fourcher, Yves : Politique parade. Pouvoir, cha-
risme et séduction. Paris 2007. 238 pp. (Claude
Rivière) ......................................... 283
Puri, Rajindra K.: Deadly Dances in the Bornean
Rainforest. Hunting Knowledge of the Penan Be-
nalui. Leiden 2005. 408 pp. (Stefan Seitz) . . . 617
Raynal, Guillaume-Thomas: A History of the
Two Indies. A Translated Selection of Writings
from RaynaTs “Histoire philosophique et poli-
tique des établissements des Européens dans les
Deux Indes.” Aldershot 2006. 287 pp. (Wolfgang
Marschall) ....................................... 284
Ringmar, Erik: The Mechanics of Modernity in
Europe and East Asia. The Institutional Origins
of Social Change and Stagnation. London 2005.
256pp. (Ulrike Schuerkens) ....................... 587
Robben, Antonius C. G. M., and Jeffrey A. Sluka
(eds.): Ethnographic Fieldwork. An Anthropolog-
ical Reader. Malden 2007. 616pp. (Hans Fischer) 285
Robinson, Rowena: Tremors of Violence. Mus-
lim Survivors of Ethnic Strife in Western India.
New Delhi 2005. 262 pp. (Ron Geaves) .... 286
Rothstein, Frances Abrahamer: Globalization
in Rural Mexico. Three Decades of Change.
Austin 2007. 193 pp. (Harald Mossbrucker) . . 619
Schmidt, Volker H. (ed.): Modernity at the Be-
ginning of the 21st Century. Newcastle 2007.
232 pp. (Ulrike Schuerkens) ................ 587
Schneider, Arnd, and Christopher Wright
(eds.): Contemporary Art and Anthropology. Ox-
ford 2006. 223 pp. (Peter Probst)........... 287
Schuerkens, Ulrike (ed.): Globalization and the
Transformations of Local Socioeconomic Prac-
tices. New York 2008. 216 pp. (Hans P. Hahn) 621
Scott, Michael W.: The Severed Snake. Matrilin-
eages, Making Place, and a Melanesian Christian-
ity in Southeast Solomon Islands. Durham 2007.
379 pp. (Garry W. Trompf) .................... 288
Sercombe, Peter G., and Bernard Sellato (eds.):
Beyond the Green Myth. Hunter-Gatherers of
Borneo in the Twenty-First Century. Copenhagen
2007. 384pp. (Roy Ellen) ..................... 289
Solway, Jacqueline (ed.): Politics of Egalitar-
ianism. Theory and Practice. New York 2006.
260 pp. (Julie Taylor and Amelia Cook) .... 622
Soothill, Jane E.: Gender, Social Change, and
Spiritual Power. Charismatic Christianity in Gha-
na. Leiden 2007. 261 pp. (Patrick Claffey) . . . 290
273
221
605
606
607
274
275
278
608
610
610
612
613
614
229
280
Anthropos 103.2008
Autorenindex (R)
683
Steiner, Franz Baermann: Zivilisation und Ge-
fahr. Wissenschaftliche Schriften. Gottingen 2008.
765 pp. (Ulrich van Loyen).................. 624
Stewart, Pamela J., and Andrew Strathern
(eds.): Asian Ritual Systems. Syncretisms and
Ruptures. Durham 2007. 295 pp. (Adam Yuet
Chau)....................................... 626
Stone, Linda, and Paul F.Lurquin: Genes, Cul-
ture, and Human Evolution. A Synthesis. Malden
2007.314 pp. (Peter K. Smith) ................. 291
Sung Kuo-ming and IHa Byams rGyal: Collo-
quial Amdo Tibetan. A Complete Guide for Adult
English Speakers. Beijing 2005. 538 pp. (Gerald
Roche)......................................... 229
Taylor, Philip: Cham Muslims of the Mekong
Delta. Place and Mobility in the Cosmopolitan
Periphery. Singapore; Copenhagen 2007. 313 pp.
(Alexander Horstmann) ......................... 627
Thiessen, Ilka: Waiting for Macedonia. Identity
in a Changing World. Peterborough 2007. 206 pp.
(Andreas Hemming).............................. 628
Toffin, Gérard: Newar Society. City, Village,
and Periphery. Lalitpur 2007. 443 pp. (Lubomira
Palikarska).................................... 630
Trefon, Theodore, et Pierre Petit (dir.): Ex-
périences de recherche en République Démocra-
tique du Congo. Méthodes et contextes. Bruxelles
2006. 276 pp. (Wyatt MacGaffey) ............... 292
Ubelaker, Douglas H. (ed.): Handbook of North
American Indians; vol.3: Environment, Origins,
and Population. Washington 2006. 1146 pp. (Peter
Bolz).......................................... 292
Ulijaszek, Stanley J. (ed.): Population, Repro-
duction, and Fertility in Melanesia. New York
2006. 243 pp. (Patricia K. Townsend) .......... 293
Vandervort, Bruce: Indian Wars of Mexico,
Canada, and the United States, 1812-1900. New
York 2006. 337 pp. (Dagmar Siebelt) ......... 294
Veur, Paul W. van der: The Lion and the Gad-
fly. Dutch Colonialism and the Spirit of E. F. E.
Douwes Dekker. Leiden 2006. 859 pp. (Holger
Warnk).......................................... 296
Wadley, Reed L. (ed.): Histories of the Borneo
Environment. Economic, Political, and Social Di-
mensions of Change and Continuity. Leiden 2005.
315 pp. (Dario Novellino)....................... 297
West, Harry G.: Ethnographic Sorcery. Chicago
2007. 132 pp. (T.O. Beidelman) ................ 631
Whitaker, Marc P.: Learning Politics from
Sivaram. The Life and Death of a Revolution-
ary Tamil Journalist in Sri Lanka. London 2007.
251pp. (Anthony Good) .......................... 298
Wolff, Larry, and Marco Cipolloni (eds.); The
Anthropology of the Enlightenment. Stanford
2007. 414pp. (Andrzej Bronk).................... 632
Wulf, Christoph: Une anthropologic historique
et culturelle. Rituels, mimésis sociale et perfor-
mativité. Paris 2007. 190 pp. (Claude Rivière) . 634
Miszellen
Piwowarczyk,Darius J.: “Sicily - from Odysseus
to Garibaldi”: An Exhibit of Complexity and Un-
derlying Unity of European Cultures. Reflections
of an Anthropologist .......................... 636
Wargacki, Stanislaw: “Return“ of Bronislaw
Malinowski to the Trobriand Islands............... 637
Anthropos 103.2008
684
Rezensenten
Rezensenten
Anderson 598
Barnard 589
Beer 255
Beidelman 244, 274, 590, 599,
631
Bolz 292
Brednich 604
Bronk 632
Chan 626
Chevron 573
Cipolletti 255
Claffey 290
Cole 267
Cook 622
Dannhaeuser 221
Drotbohm 278
Drubig 245, 251
van Eeuwijk 616
Ellen 289
Elwert-Kretschmer 572
Engelhardt 577
Fischer 285
Gächter 600
Geaves 286
Good 298
Grabowsky 594
Greifeid 273, 569
Grodz 281
Gronenbom 580
Gruber 253
Hahn 621
Hays 576, 606
Heine 233
Helms 605
Hemming 628
Henke 583
Hicks 243
Horstmann 627
Icke-Schwalbe 578
Igunma 612
Jacka 268
Jarvenpa 607
Kienzier 596
Kipp 266
Köhler 242
Kosack 239, 571
Krist 6102
Kuzawa 260
Lang 257
van Loyen 624
Luttmann 235, 275
MacGaffey 292
Marschall 272, 284
Montani 280
Mossbrucker 619
Mückler 265
Novellino 297
Nunnenmacher 582
Palikarska 630
Pauli 575
Paulsen 247, 259
Peveling 234
Piepke 240
Piwowarczyk 258, 580
Probst 287
Quack 560
Rivière 250, 283, 634
Roche 2293
Rosiñski 270
Rossbach de Olmos 608
Russell 597
Salmen 238
Schade 263
Schäfer 613
Scheffel 249
Schlottner 591
Schram 271
Schröder, I. 282
Schröder, P. 249
Schuerkens 5873
Seitz 617
Siebelt 261, 294
Smith 291
Sökefeld 570
Spinnler-Dürr 241
Straatman 603
Taylor 622
Townsend 293
Trompf 288
Villar 602
Voges 225
Walther 614
Warmenbol 593
Warnk 296, 585
Wiesenbauer 586
Anthropos 103.2008
GEOGRAPHISCHER INDEX*
Afrika
Female Circumcision. Multicultural Perspectives
569
L’idée de “réincarnation” en Afrique Noire 250
Mädchen- und Frauenbildung in den deutschen
Afrika-Kolonien (1884-1914) 571
Myth, Ritual, and Metallurgy in Ancient Greece and
Recent Africa 580
Studies in Witchcraft, Magic, War, and Peace
in Africa. Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries
613
Le vêtement en Afrique noire et ailleurs 65
Nordafrika
Valorisation d’objets bédouins et redéfinitions
identitaires lors d’un moussem en Algérie 423
Ostafrika
African Art and the Colonial Encounter. Inventing
a Global Commodity 599
“Cannibalism” in Southern Ethiopia. An Exploratory
Case Study of Me’en Discourse 3
Dr. Freud Was Not a Kafa. A Classical Case
of Anthropological Overinterpretation
from Ethiopia 15
Kenyan Khat. The Social Life of a Stimulant 244
The Limitations of an Ecumenical Language.
The Case of Ki-Swahili 549
Natural Objects Transformed into Symbolic Meaning
among the Sidäma of Northeast Africa 203
Westafrika
African Art and the Colonial Encounter. Inventing a
Global Commodity 599
* Seitenzahlen in kursiv weisen auf Artikel oder Berichte und
Kommentare hin.
Black Atlantic Religion. Tradition, Transnationalism,
and Matriarchy in the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé
278
Christian Churches in Dahomey-Benin. A Study
of Their Socio-Political Role 582
Gender, Social Change, and Spiritual Power.
Charismatic Christianity in Ghana 290
Globalization and the Transformations of Local
Socioeconomic Practices 621
Kleidung und Kleidungspraktiken im Norden
der Côte d’Ivoire. Geschichte und Dynamiken
des Wandels vom Ende des 19. Jahrhunderts
bis zur Gegenwart 235
Lela in Bali. History through Ceremony in Cameroon
253
The Social Production and Symbolism of Cloth and
Clothing among the Dogon of Mali 77
Les troubles mentaux au Sénégal. Existence éthique et
problématique de l’identité 447
Vom Dogon-Land nach Bamako. Diskurspraxen
zu Gender und Migration am Beispiel der
Mädchenjugend in Mali 275
The Wasangari. Politics and Identity in Borgu 435
Zaradzic nieszczçsciu. Rytualy kryzysowe u lu du
Basari z Togo 281
Zentralafrika
Expériences de recherche en République Démocratique
du Congo. Méthodes et contextes 292
L’héritage de Santwala. Un récit de vie 459
Südafrika
The End of Chidyerano. A History of Food and
Everyday Life in Malawi, 1860-2004 274
Ethnographic Sorcery 631
Hai||om in the Etosha Region. A History of Colonial
Settlement, Ethnicity and Nature Conservation
589
Im Land “dazwischen”. Die Sakalava-Königreiche
von Ambongo und Mailaka (westliches
Madagaskar, 17.-19. Jahrhundert) 33
Anthropos 103.2008
686
Geographischer Index
Politics of Egalitarianism. Theory and Practice 622
A Problem of Presence. Beyond Scripture
in an African Church 590
The Road to Clarity. Seventh-Day Adventism
in Madagascar 267
Vier Jahrzehnte Unabhängigkeit Madagaskars.
Eine Bilanz der politischen Entwicklung
1960-1998 259
Women Embracing Islam. Gender and Conversion
in the West 614
Amerika
Nordamerika
Comparing Indigenous Pilgrimages. Devotion,
Identity, and Resistance in Mesoamerica and
North America 483
Female Circumcision. Multicultural Perspectives
569
Handbook of North American Indians; vol. 3:
Environment, Origins, and Population 292
Hummocks. Journeys and Inquiries among
the Canadian Inuit 607
Indian Wars of Mexico, Canada, and the United
States, 1812-1900 294
Prärie- und Plainsindianer. Wandel und Tradition. -
Prairie and Plains Indians. Change and Tradition
261
Precolumbian Water Management. Ideology, Ritual,
and Power 605
Religiöser Pluralismus. Empirische Studien und
analytische Perspektiven 238
The Tlingit Indians in Russian America, 1741-1867
258
Ein verschollener Vorläufer der Ethnologie. Der Auf-
klärer und Sozialutopist Christian Gottlieb Priber
(1697-1745) 216
Women Embracing Islam. Gender and Conversion
in the West 614
Zentralamerika
Comparing Indigenous Pilgrimages. Devotion,
Identity, and Resistance in Mesoamerica and
North America 483
A Demolinguistic Profile of St. Vincent and the
Grenadines or a Successful Attempt at Linguistic
Disenfranchisement 99
Globalization in Rural Mexico. Three Decades
of Change 619
A History of the Two Indies. A Translated Selection
of Writings from Raynal’s “Histoire philosophique
et politique des établissements des Européens
dans les Deux Indes” 284
Indian Wars of Mexico, Canada, and the United States,
1812-1900 294
Kulturelles Erbe als identitätsstiftende Instanz? Eine
ethnographisch-vergleichende Studie dörflicher
Gemeinschaften an der Atlantik- und Pazifikküste
Nicaraguas 608
Kunst und Kult in Kuba 255
“Modernizing God” in Haitian Vodou? Reflections
on Olowoum and Reafricanization in Haiti 113
nawesari. Texte aus der Sierra Tarahumara 586
Precolumbian Water Management. Ideology, Ritual,
and Power 605
Skulls to the Living, Bread to the Dead. The Day
of the Dead in Mexico and Beyond 242
Vodou Nation. Haitian Art Music and Cultural
Nationalism 603
Südamerika
Black Atlantic Religion. Tradition, Transnationalism,
and Matriarchy in the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé
278
La buena voluntad Wichí. Una espiritualidad indígena
280
Growing Up in a Culture of Respect. Child Rearing in
Highland Peru 241
Kaptëlo. L’origine du ciel de case et du roseau à
flèches chez les Wayana (Guyanes) 602
“Nostalgia del monte”. Indígenas del Oriente peruano
según un manuscrito del jesuíta Juan Magnin
(Borja 1743) 507
Las Nuevas Tribus y los indígenas de la Amazonia.
Historia de una presencia protestante 580
Shamanes, bellezas y Copa Mundial. De la selva
al campo de fútbol 127
Asien
Westasien
Ethnographische Datenerfassung, Dokumentation und
Beschreibung bei Pietro Della Valle (1586-1652)
(Fortsetzung) 179
The Origin of the Rhaetians 210
Religious Oral Tradition and Literacy among
the Yezidis of Iraq 393
Thinking about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant,
and the Balga Bedouin 405
Südasien
Asian Ritual Systems. Syncretisms and Ruptures
626
Anthropos 103.2008
Geographischer Index
687
Füttern, Speisen und Verschlingen. Ritual und Gesell-
schaft im Hochland von Orissa, Indien 578
Learning Politics from Sivaram. The Life and Death
of a Revolutionary Tamil Journalist in Sri Lanka
298
Neo-Nationalism in Europe and Beyond. Perspectives
from Social Anthropology 593
Newar Society. City, Village, and Periphery 630
Palaeolithic Cognitive Inheritance in Aesthetic
Behavior of the Jarawas of the Andaman Islands
367
Sorrow and Joy among Muslim Women. The Pukhtuns
of Northern Pakistan 570
A Survey of Hinduism 600
Tremors of Violence. Muslim Survivors of Ethnic
Strife in Western India 286
Zentralasien
Buryat Songs (Bypna^ flyyn) 610
Nomadismus und Sesshaftigkeit bei den Burjaten.
Gesellschaftlicher Wandel im Spiegel zeit-
genössischer Folklore 610
Ostasien
Amdo Tibetan Learning Resources. A Review Article
229
Asian Ritual Systems. Syncretisms and Ruptures
626
Colloquial Amdo Tibetan. A Complete Guide
for Adult English Speakers 229
The Eye-Opening Auspicious Amdo Dialect
Instructional Book 229
Globalization and the Transformations of Local
Socioeconomic Practices 621
The Mechanics of Modernity in Europe and East Asia.
The Institutional Origins of Social Change and
Stagnation 587
Modern Oral Amdo Tibetan. A Language Primer
229
Needles, Herbs, Gods, and Ghosts. China, Healing,
and the West to 1848 577
Siidostasien
Beyond the Green Myth. Hunter-Gatherers of Borneo
in the Twenty-First Century 289
Cham Muslims of the Mekong Delta. Place and
Mobility in the Cosmopolitan Periphery 627
Christian Modems. Freedom and Fetish in the Mission
Encounter 266
Deadly Dances in the Bornean Rainforest. Hunting
Knowledge of the Penan Benalui 617
Exploring Ethnic Diversity in Burma 594
Financial Self-Help Organizations and Social Security.
A Review Article 221
Friarbird on Roti 541
Getanzte Geschichte. Tanz, Religion und Geschichte
auf Java 272
Globalization and the Transformations of Local
Socioeconomic Practices 621
Histories of the Borneo Environment. Economic,
Political, and Social Dimensions of Change and
Continuity 297
A History of the Two Indies. A Translated Selection
of Writings from Raynal’s “Histoire philosophique
et politique des établissements des Européens dans
les Deux Indes” 284
Indigenisierung versus Re-Ethnisierung. Chinesische
Identität in Jakarta 159
Indigenous Populations in a Cultural Perspective.
The Paradox of Development in Southeast Asia
355
Juggling Money. Financial Self-Help Organizations
and Social Security in Yogyakarta 221
Kinship and Food in South East Asia 598
The Lion and the Gadfly. Dutch Colonialism and
the Spirit of E. F. E. Douwes Dekker 296
Meet the Akha - Help the Akha? Minderheiten,
Tourismus und Entwicklung in Laos 612
Mindanao Ethnohistory beyond Nations. Maguindanao,
Sangir, and Bagobo Societies in East Maritime
Southeast Asia 597
Der pädagogische Griff nach dem Fremden.
Zur Haltung lokaler Initiativen gegenüber Flücht-
lingen in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland 245
The Power of Strangers in Flores and Timor 343
Powers of Blessing from the Wilderness and
from Heaven. Structure and Transformations
in the Religion of the Toraja in the Mamasa Area
of South Sulawesi 243
Religion und Heilkunst der Toba-Batak auf Sumatra.
Überliefert von Johannes Winkler (1874-1958)
616
The Revival of Tradition in Indononesian Politics.
The Deployment of adat from Colonialism
to Indigenism 585
Europa
The Anthropology of the Enlightenment 632
Conjuring Hope. Magic and Healing in Contemporary
Russia 273
Exploring Gypsiness. Power, Exchange, and Inter-
dependence in a Transylvanian Village 249
Forschende im Fokus. Zu den Potentialen
und Problemen der Wissensforschung
in den Kulturwissenschaften 527
Frauen in der deutschsprachigen Ethnologie.
Ein Handbuch 239
Globalization and the Transformations of Local
Socioeconomic Practices 621
Anthropos 103.2008
688
Geographischer Index
The Hidden Musicians. Music-Making in an English
Town 591
A History of the Two Indies. A Translated Selection
of Writings from RaynaTs “Histoire philosophique
et politique des établissements des Européens
dans les Deux Indes” 284
The Lion and the Gadfly. Dutch Colonialism and
the Spirit of E. F. E. Douwes Dekker 296
Local and Global Icons of Mary. An Ethnographic
Study of a Powerful Symbol 471
The Manchester School. Practice and Ethnographic
Praxis in Anthropology 251
The Mechanics of Modernity in Europe and East Asia.
The Institutional Origins of Social Change and
Stagnation 587
Myth, Ritual, and Metallurgy in Ancient Greece and
Recent Africa 580
Neo-Nationalism in Europe and Beyond. Perspectives
from Social Anthropology 593
The Origin of the Rhaetians 210
Religiöse Reserven. Eine Ethnographie des Über-
lebens in Palermo 596
Religiöser Pluralismus. Empirische Studien und
analytische Perspektiven 238
Rumänien. Raum und Bevölkerung, Geschichte
und Geschichtsbilder, Kultur, Gesellschaft und
Politik heute, Wirtschaft, Recht und Verfassung,
Historische Regionen 265
“Sicily - from Odysseus to Garibaldi”: An Exhibit
of Complexity and Underlying Unity of European
Cultures. Reflections of an Anthropologist 636
Waiting for Macedonia. Identity in a Changing World
628
Women Embracing Islam. Gender and Conversion
in the West 614
Ozeanien
Migration Happens. Reasons, Effects, and Opportuni-
ties of Migration in the South Pacific 255 **
Australien
Neo-Nationalism in Europe and Beyond. Perspectives
from Social Anthropology 593
Melanesien
Animals the Ancestors Hunted. An Account
of the Wild Mammals of the Kalam Area,
Papua New Guinea 606
The Case: The Trobriand Islanders vs H. P. Grice.
Kilivila and the Gricean Maxims of Quality and
Manner 139
Dobu. Ethics of Exchange on a Massim Island, Papua
New Guinea 271
Embodying Modernity and Post-Modernity. Ritual,
Praxis, and Social Change in Melanesia 576
Population, Reproduction, and Fertility in Melanesia
293
“Return” of Bronislaw Malinowski to the Trobriand
Islands 637
Reverse Anthropology. Indigenous Analysis
of Social and Environmental Relations
in New Guinea 268
The Severed Snake. Matrilineages, Making Place,
and a Melanesian Christianity in Southeast
Solomon Islands 288
Sorcery among the Plains Arapesh 149
Polynesien
Anmerkungen zu einer tätowierten Bärenskulptur
als Ausdruck eines bikulturellen Neuseelands
545
Pacific Encounters. Art and Divinity in Polynesia,
1760-1860 263
**UniversitätsbibiioiheW *
Anthropos 103.2008
Anth ropos
Internationale Zeitschrift
für Völker- und Sprachenkunde
International Review of
Anthropology and Linguistics
Revue Internationale
d’Ethnologie et de Linguistique
ANTHROPOS INSTITUT
103.2008