Tag Archives: Social Stratification

Rank and Status in Polynesia and Melanesia: Introduction

Introduction

Jean Guiart

FULL TEXT

1Douglas Oliver m’est arrivé à Nouméa, un jour de la fin de 1949 si je ne m’abuse, alors que je peinais dans le démarrage d’une carrière scientifique à partir d’une formation reçue à une époque fertile en orages. Après Radcliffe-Brown vu à Paris en 1947, c’était le deuxième anthropologue anglo-saxon avec lequel j’entrai en contact. Nous sortions de la guerre, et Douglas Oliver, qui avait servi de conseiller politique à l’Amiral Halsey, en Nouvelle-Calédonie, était un homme puissant.

2La simplicité de son contact, et la matérialité des problèmes auxquels il savait s’intéresser – quel meilleur instrument trouver pour éviter la peine des hommes, par rapport à la noix de coco, ou à la plantation des tubercules d’ignames – me le rendirent sympathique et nous n’avons cessé d’être liés depuis, au travers des tragédies personnelles dont fut traversée sa vie.

3Formé à l’anthropologie aux Etats-Unis, mais aussi à Vienne en Autriche, Douglas Oliver échoppait de façon rafraichissante aux modalités habituelles de la compétition universitaire américaine. Il apparaissait mû essentiellement par une volonté d’objectivité scientifique et par la recherche de lois qui puissent être mises en évidence comme gouvernant les sociétés humaines. La sincérité de cette recherche me fascinait en même temps qu’elle m’inquiétait, les manipulations de la psychologie collective subies au cours de la guerre m’ayant rendu sceptique sur la capacité des intellectuels à embrasser le problème dans sa complexité, et craintif quant aux conséquences politiques, sinon quant aux tragédies humaines, qui pourraient découler d’idées aussi séduisantes que mal fondées.

4La lecture des travaux de Douglas Oliver devait me rassurer pleinement. Leur scrupuleuse honnêteté intellectuelle était rare. L’information était là, ce que l’ethnographe avait vu, ce qu’on lui avait dit, comment il arrivait à certaines conclusions. Tout le dossier était présent pour être compris, disséqué, critiqué. Seul à l’époque, Raymond Firth fournissait, dans un autre genre, en plus volumineux et parfois moins facile à décrypter, un ensemble tout aussi satisfaisant. Moi qui émergeait d’une révolte à lire les écrits de Margaret Mead, où la réalité décrite, de toute évidence biaisée en faveur d’une thèse pré-existante, n’est jamais justifiée, je reprenais confiance en l’anthropologie américaine. Quelques livres bien choisis, que Douglas Oliver me fit envoyer, achevèrent d’équilibrer mon jugement.

5Je crois d’ailleurs que D. Oliver est celui qui m’a le plus influencé, après Maurice Leenhardt. J’ai constamment erré d’un modèle à l’autre, essayant d’en combiner les leçons, sans être bien sûr d’être parvenu à une forme originale d’expression scientifique.

6Plus tard nous avons collaboré à l’organisation et à l’application d’un programme de travail établi sans fanfares pour la Polynésie Française, réalisé avec persistance, et où pour la première fois les rapports des chercheurs ont été disponibles pour leurs collègues, et pour les pouvoirs publics locaux, avant la publication. Moyennant quoi il y eut beaucoup d’harmonie et fort peu de froissements, ce qui est rare. Un des résultats de tout ce travail, l’ouvrage monumental de Douglas Oliver sur Tahiti, est non seulement d’un anthropologue de qualité, qui à tout moment dit ce qu’il sait et avoue ce qu’il ne sait pas, mais aussi d’un historien répugnant aux attaques inutiles et au règlement de comptes artificiellement réchauffés.

7Cependant Siuai, à Bougainville aux Salomons du Nord (Papouasie Nouvelle Guinée) restera sa contribution principale à l’avancement de la connaissance. Malgré une première tentative de Gregory Bateson, qui tourna court du fait de l’indifférence du milieu scientifique d’alors, Douglas Oliver sera le premier à établir une corrélation structurelle entre la perception et l’appropriation de l’espace, c’est-à-dire l’habitat, les cultures, la tenure foncière et le système des symboles sociaux et religieux de la culture étudiée. Son étude monographique sur les mumi, reste pour longtemps la seule analyse sérieuse et approfondie de l’institution abusivement résumée par d’autres sous le nom de “big-man”, reprenant un des termes méprisants introduit par la colonisation, et une analyse aussi simpliste que celle des quelques trafiquants et voyageurs européens du siècle dernier. Le travail de Douglas Oliver a pour moi d’énormes implications théoriques, en particulier pour comprendre l’origine et l’évolution des systèmes de grades aux Nouvelles-Hébrides (namanggi).

8C’est à partir de l’expérience reçue des Siuai que Douglas Oliver devait aborder Tahiti. L’entreprise était une gageure, tant tout ce qui a pu être publié à ce jour est teinté d’exagérations romantiques, le Polynésien s’assurant par là qu’il ne tomberait pas sous le coup du mépris racial qui créerait plus tard les conditions de l’esclavage des Mélanésiens, et le Blanc y trouvant la justification de l’existence – passée – d’utopies sociales qui le consolaient d’un présent européen peu fait de tolérance, ou la bonne conscience compensant une activité locale trop mercantile.

9On dépouille peut-être un peu moins ceux pour qui on professe quelque admiration. Quoi qu’il en soit la population tahitienne a survécu dans des conditions moins dramatiques que ses frères d’Hawaii. Mais les conditions psychologiques spécifiques de cette forme de survie de la cohérence d’une société n’étaient pas faites pour faciliter une enquête scientifique qu’au fond personne n’avait encore tenté.

10L’écriture tranquille, jamais affirmative sans justifications, apporte cependant une révolution : la reconnaissance de ce que la plus grande partie de ce que l’on croyait savoir sur Tahiti consistait en la répétition indéfinie des mêmes affirmations par des auteurs différents. De la critique de détail de chaque information, confrontée à toutes les autres, naît une image constituée de plus de questions que de certitudes. Pas plus de trente mille habitants à l’arrivée des premiers navigateurs, un habitat dispersé avec quelques points forts, des systèmes d’alliance fluctuants, une insertion technologiquement appropriée dans l’environnement naturel, une société stratifiée traversée de courants par moments très fort, l’image romantique de la Tahiti ancienne se transforme, à partir d’un langage sans prétentions et d’une analyse critique aigüe, en une description à multiples facettes beaucoup plus riche que ce que l’on croyait savoir jusqu’alors. La société maohi résume en quelque sorte, parce qu’on y retrouve les mêmes fondements, la société océanienne tout entière. Il suffit de pousser dans un sens pour obtenir tel résultat apparent, ou tel autre, mais au fond c’est la même société d’agriculteurs et de pêcheurs un peu cueilleurs quand ils peuvent se permettre cette forme d’insouciance. Les solutions choisies par la société tahitienne ne sont pas celles que ses sœurs ont préférées, dans d’autres circonstances.

11Le meurtre rituel et la mise à mort des enfants de mère de rang inférieur avaient la même fonction de contrôle de la démographie qu’ailleurs la chasse aux têtes. La société aristocratique tahitienne fonctionnait de façon différente des sociétés polynésiennes ou mélanésiennes, qui permettaient le mariage entre catégories sociales de rangs inégaux avec des conséquences fort variables. Aux îles Loyalty, une femme de rang élevé élève son consort à son rang, alors qu’à Tonga elle assure à ses enfants un rang supérieur à celui de leur père, mais si elle est de rang inférieur, elle les entraîne vers le bas. Les subtilités de l’hypergamie et de l’hypogamie n’étaient pas de règle à Tahiti dont le système social et politique était loin d’être aussi centralisé et hiérarchisé que celui de Tonga – plus on est loin généalogiquement du Tui Tonga, plus on est bas dans l’échelle sociale.

12Malgré les oppositions flagrantes entre sociétés océaniennes, il apparaît des tendances générales. A mon expérience Oliver a raison de penser que le terme d’Ali’i s’appliquait à tous les enfants de parents ayant droit chacun à cette qualification, et que le terme n’était plus de saison dès qu’une certaine distance généalogique était atteinte. Des références à certaines fonctions des dignitaires des cours loyaltiennes (atesi sine haze) permettaient d’éclairer le fonctionnement de l’institution du Iatoai, dont les responsabilités se trouvent partagées entre plusieurs dignitaires au Centre des Nouvelles-Hébrides. Bien des sociétés océaniennes usent d’un même lexique social fondamental, mais en font des combinaisons différentes, par suite d’un jeu logique et intellectuel qui dépasse nos facultés d’imagination.

13Douglas Oliver est le premier auteur moderne à avoir attiré l’attention sur l’importance de l’étude de la tenure foncière pour l’analyse des relations sociales et je puis témoigner ici que toutes les études de ce type ont été réalisées depuis pour l’accomplissement de son propre désir. Son jugement que la tenure en indivision, si mal jugée par les spécialistes occidentaux de l’agriculture, était le plus grand facteur d’équilibre de la société tahitienne moderne, s’est constamment vérifié. Son point de vue reste donc valable, que l’indivision était non seulement le résultat d’un processus d’adaptation, mais aussi un facteur dynamique transféré de la tradition ancienne à l’état de chose actuel. Etant donné l’importance du problème, et les conséquences de toute politique mal inspirée sur ce point, on est en droit de juger que Douglas Oliver a rendu là un service signalé à la nation tahitienne. Ainsi rejoignait-il une de ses préoccupations constantes, ne pas être inutile.

AUTHOR

© Société des Océanistes, 1978

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Tahitian Words for Race and Class

Paul Kay

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1The system of meanings underlying Tahitian words for racial/social categories is examined and compared to the results of similar studies on the corresponding lexical domain in the Portuguese of Brazil. The principal theoretical conclusion is that, while a distinctive feature (or componential analysis) model of lexical structure does not fit these data, a semantic model which countenances continuous quantities and functions does fit the data. The more general conclusion is drawn that “almost any sort of structure that is easily and naturally apprehended by the mind may perhaps serve as the underlying schema for a lexical domain”. Exemplification for the general view is given in terms of several nondiscrete cognitive schemata underlying the meanings of terms in diverse lexical domains drawn from a variety of languages.

2Le système de significations qui sert de base pour les mots tahitiens désignant les catégories raciales et sociales est examiné et comparé aux résultats d’études semblables dans le domaine lexical correspondant chez les Portugais du Brésil. La principale conclusion théorique est que, tandis qu’un modèle d’une caractéristique distinctive (ou analyse de composantes) d’une structure lexicologique ne s’accorde pas avec ces données, un modèle sémantique qui approuve des quantités et des fonctions continues s’accorde avec elles. La conclusion plus générale est que “presque toute sorte de structure qui est facilement et naturellement saisie par l’esprit pourrait peut-être servir de schéma fondamental pour un domaine lexical. La démonstration pour un aperçu général est donnée en fonction de plusieurs schémas cognitifs continus qui servent de base pour les significations de termes en divers domaines lexicaux tirés d’une variété de langues.

I. INTRODUCTION

3It is a pleasure to contribute to this volume, honoring Douglas Oliver some data and tentative conclusions regarding Tahitians’ conceptions of major social categories as reflected in their use of language. The field work on which this essay was based was conducted under the guidance of Professor Oliver in 1959 and 1960 in Papeete and a rural district of Tahiti, and the main body of the essay, Section II, appeared in essentially its present form in a Ph D thesis (Kay 1963) also done under the direction of Professor Oliver. The data reported as well as the theoretical framework employed in Section II are thus a decade and a half old. I cannot therefore vouch for the contemporary ethnographic accuracy of the account given therein. I would hope, nevertheless, that apart from any vestigial ethnographic value, conclusions reached in 1960 regarding Tahitians’ conceptions of major social categories may have some application to other ethnographic investigations in the Pacific and other areas, and perhaps also to some more general semantic questions. in this hope I have added Section III, which attempts to relate the data and model discussed in Section II to some more recent research by anthropologists on racial/social categories and Section IV, which considers some recent linguistic work on other sets of words whose meanings seem to imply underlying notions of quantity and statistical distribution. Section IV also presents some more general proposals for semantic theory : 1 – that the semantic values of linguistic forms are better understood in terms of indices to cognitive schemata than in terms of sets of features (C. Fillmore 1975), 2 – that virtually any sort of formal structure that is readily apprehended by the human mind may serve as such a cognitive schema and 3 – that in particular such schemata may, and often do, involve quantitative continua.

II. THE SEMANTICS OF RACE IN TAHITIAN AND TAHITIAN FRENCH

4The major terms used for racial classification by native speakers of Tahitian, whether or not they are also native speakers of French, are listed below (page 71 ) with French equivalents and English glosses. The Tahitian and French forms are, in my opinion, practically identical semantically. This assertion is sufficiently novel to require substantiation. Since I formed the hypothesis only after returning from the field, such evidence as can be adduced in support of it will have to be argumentative and anecdotal rather than systematic and factual.

5The semantics of French, as spoken by Tahitians, tends to differ from metropolitan French in key areas, particularly with regard to social roles and behavior patterns, so as to furnish a word for word isomorphism with Tahitian conceptualization of these areas. For example, usage by Tahitians, when speaking French, of the words honte and pitié frequently strikes a metropolitan Frenchman as inappropriate. I would contend that for Tahitians in the semantic contexts where the substitutions are made, these words mean exactly the same things as the Tahitian words haama and arofa, although no one who learned French in France would use honte and pitié in these ways. Haama and arofa are frequently used words in Tahitian. In glossing them, one is inclined to emphasize their “orientation to action” or “attitude to alter” aspect much more than their aspect of expression of an internal state. The Tahitian words describe modalities of social behavior while the roughly corresponding French words are concerned with internal states of individual persons. However, when Tahitians speak French, it is clear–albeit intuitively–that in the vast majority of cases it is the Tahitian meaning which is intended rather than the French. When asked in French why he does not take action to collect a debt owed him, a Tahitian will often reply “Ça fait honte”. I think it is fair to represent the way this utterance strikes a Frenchman by the gloss : ‘That is/would be shameful’. However, an appropriate gloss for the corresponding Tahitian “E haama”, might be, “That is/would be thoroughly improper”. There is doubtless some overlap in the meanings, but they are not identical. The French word is used, not to signify its usual meaning in metropolitan French, but the meaning of haama.

6This formulation accounts for an otherwise puzzling fact. For a long time in Tahiti I was perplexed by the assertion of some metropolitan French people that even Tahitians who appear to speak French fluently and elegantly, “do not really understand the meaning of the words”. The statement is perplexing because it is difficult to imagine how a large number of individuals can learn a language well on the plane of expression and yet each independently learn it poorly on the plane of meaning. However, in terms of the argument of the preceding paragraph, the observation is easy enough to account for. The differences between the French spoken by Frenchmen and by Tahitians are due only partially to imperfect learning on the part of individual Tahitians. More generally, there exists in Tahiti a dialect of French which differs systematically from metropolitan French in some semantic areas (and in some phonetic details) while differing hardly at all morphologically and syntactically.

  • 1 Among Tahitians a reliable shibboleth of speakers of the metropolitan semantic dialect of French i (…)

7There are, of course, a few Tahitians, particularly those educated in France, who speak the standard semantic dialect just as there are a great many who speak no dialect of French at all1. These facts do not affect the hypothesis that a local semantic dialect exists. The characteristic fact about this local dialect is that in certain areas of meaning, especially those dealing with common social roles and social behaviors, many French words are used as if they were perfect translations of certain Tahitian words. Hence, when a Tahitian discusses social behavior in French, his semantics, and hence the cognitive schemata implicit in his discourse, are apt to remain largely Tahitian.

  • 2 The English glosses ore quite deceiving if taken os translation. They refer only to the biological (…)

MAJOR CATEGORIES OF RACIAL CLASSIFICATION IN PAPEETE2

MAJOR CATEGORIES OF RACIAL CLASSIFICATION IN PAPEETE2

8The list of terms given in the preceding table is not exhaustive. However, a model which takes the five columns of the table as exhaustive of the universe of categories of racial classification is an adequate representation of the native conceptualization of race. (From this point on, I am concerned only with categories I, II and III. For discussion of Chinese and part- Chinese, see Moench 1963).

9However, the model is not simply a list of these categories, as the list can be and is applied in two different ways. First and most obvious, the three categories are sometimes used in an ordinary way to refer to empirical classes of individual people. informants generally agree about the defining attributes of Tahitians, mixed-bloods and Europeans. Theoretically, although not in fact, any two informants will agree about the classification of a mutual acquaintance. (For discussion of informant agreement about diagnostic criteria and disagreement on specific diagnoses see Frake : 1961). However, I have often found inter-in-formant agreement on specific assignments of individuals to categories which run counter to the explicit criteria of classification. For example, although pure Polynesian ancestry is an explicit criterion for the designation Tahitian, I found very few speakers who would classify a poor and uneducated individual living “Tahitian style” as anything but Tahitian, despite an almost pure caucasoid appearance. in this respect, the situation is quite different from what Frake describes for Subanun diseases, as speakers are clearly not making individual judgments on the basis of the simple presence-absence variables (e.g. rich vs. poor, educated vs. uneducated, racially “pure” vs. racially mixed) they claim to be using.

  • 3 Cliff’s theory was tested on a sample of nine English adverbs of intensity (e. g., somewhat, very, (…)

10The psycholinguistic work of N. Cliff proposes a semantic theory which offers a plausible explanation for this situation3. The aspect of Cliff’s work that is suggestive in the present context is the general notion that the variables defining semantic schemata may be quantitative, in the usual sense of having some of the nontrivial properties of the real numbers, and that these variables may be combined in ordinary algebric formulae to define the semantic values of lexical categories. With regard to the first kind of racial classification in Tahiti, the inference would be that what Tahitian informants present as discrete, presence-absence type diagnostic criteria for racial classification (such as rich vs. poor) may in fact be continuous variables.

11As previously noted, Tahitian informants can assign individual persons to racial categories in such a way as to produce a high degree of agreement among informants, despite the fact that the assignments are acknowledged to violate one or more of the explicit criteria of classification. It is possible that in addition to using continuous variables as the basis of their judgments, in contrast to the dichotomous variables they profess to be using, speakers are using some particular, but at present unknown, algebraic combination of these scale values, in producing judgements. This combination would constitute a continuum of Tahitianess-Europeaness along with individuals placed on the basis of an algebraic combination of a number of quantitatively perceived properties of the individual. The lexical categories Tahitian, mixed-blood, European would then index regions on this continuum. Of course, this does not mean that speakers are aware of using such a schema any more than Cliff’s subjects were aware that by “very bad” they meant something just about exactly one and one half times as unfavorable as “bad”.

12Evidence was not systematically collected to substantiate this hypothesis as it was formulated only after field work was completed. Nevertheless, I can think of no alternative hypothesis which will account adequately for the following incidentally gathered facts and observations :

  1. Informants agree on the criteria for racial classification.
  2. These criteria are presented as dichotomous variables, but they are all readily, and perhaps more naturally, conceivable as continuous variables (e.g. rich vs. poor, educated vs. uneducated, pure Polynesian ancestry vs. mixed ancestry).
  3. The conscious model for racial classification presented by many informants is empirically inoperable as it : 1 – claims to be able to classify any individual and 2 – defines the classes in terms of a proper subset of the set of logical possibilities of presence and absence of the diagnostic criteria. Hence it cannot classify those individuals whose description in terms of these criteria falls outside the set of descriptions which are assigned to a racial category. Reconsidering the example given above, there is no theoretical classification for a person who is poor, uneducated, and follows a typically Tahitian pattern of economic consumption but is at the same time of largely European ancestry. However, such individuals definitely exist.
  4. There is considerable agreement among informants on certain individual classifications which are impossible by the conscious model. So far, I have discussed only one of the ways the racial classification dimension is used in Papeete. I have perhaps over-emphasized certain speculations about the mathematical details of this way of classifying people. Whatever validity these speculations may contain, the general nature or “purpose” of the classification deserves more emphasis. This usage, like most classification schemes we are familiar with, assigns every object to one and only one class. It partitions a set of objects4. Used in this way, the racial dimension has three regions to one and only one of which every person may be assigned once and for all. According to this usage of the racial dimension, at a given time there exist in the non-Chinese population of Papeete three distinct collections of individuals : one Tahitian, one mixed-blood, and one European. Each collection is felt to have its own membership, customs, attitudes, typical style of life, etc.

13However, this is not the only way the racial dimension is used. It is also true that speakers, at different times and in different social or conversational contexts, assign the same person to different racial categories. The form this phenomenon most often takes is for the speaker to contrast the same individual (often but always himself) at one time with “the Tahitians” and at another with “the mixed-bloods”. Generally this occurs when some derogatory aspect of the stereotype of the group in question is prominent in the discussion. For example, I have heard many Papeete residents at one time contrast themselves with the “uneducated natives” and at another with the “avaricious mixed-bloods”. In effect, a speaker appears to locate the same person, including himself, in different regions of the racial dimension on different occasions. Used in this way the racial dimensions does not determine membership in a set of fixed classes of people.

14The question naturally arises of the relation between the two apparently conflicting uses of the racial dimension. Do they operate independently of one another ; is the usage to be employed by a given person at a certain time determined randomly or according to some decision function of which even the arguments are unknown ? Or is one of these usages basic and the other an alternative which operates only under certain specifiable conditions ? I would incline toward the latter view. Here again the data are only anecdotal, but they are better accounted for by the second explanation.

15An approximation to the unconscious model of social classification employed by Tahitians might be something like this : in general, an individual is assigned to the social category corresponding to his position on the racial dimension as determined by the perceptions of the classifier of his measures on the appropriate scales. However, there are only two cutting points on the dimension, determining three lexical categories. A situation may, therefore, arise in which the speaker wishes to distinguish the degree of nativeness-Europeanness of two individuals both of whom he would usually place in the same region. Since both individuals belong by definition to the same absolute racial category (as they are in the same region of the scale), one or the other must be assigned to a category other than his usual one.

  • 5 Stephen Palmer has suggested to me that apparently inconsistent classification of a given individu (…)

16As far as may be judged, this hypothesis is substantiated by the data. Every case I recorded of a surprising racial designation turns out upon later consideration to involve contrast of two actors in a diadic interaction situation usually involving economic competition. The general pattern is to attribute the behavior of the actor whose part the speaker is not taking to some unpleasant aspect of the stereotype of the racial category to which that actor is assigned. The rule determining which actor is assigned to a category other than his usual one does not appear to be connected with whose side the speaker is on. Evidently if the two actors being classified are both in either the lowest or the highest region, there can only be one choice for the unusual classification ; the actor nearest the boundary of the middle region is displaced to that region. If both actors are in the middle region, one might suspect that the choice for unusual classification is made on the basis of which actor is closest to a boundary ; in a sense, the choice is made which requires the least “stretching” of the racial dimension5.

17The following anecdote will illustrate the kind of data relevant to the general hypothesis governing alternative usages of the racial dimension. One informant, with whom I had many conversations, explicitly classified himself as a mixed-blood. Also in normal conversation he implicitly and naturally assigned himself to this category in explaining to me the style of life of the “aborigines” in contrast to his own. Subsequently an unpleasant situation arose between this man and a European tenant of his concerning a rented property. Throughout the rather long and acrimonious dispute the informant reported each development to me, invariably putting a low value on the conduct of his tenant and attributing the tenant’s immoral behavior to his race. So far, no individual’s absolute racial classification had necessarily been overriden.

18However, later the same informant became involved in a somewhat similar situation with an individual he classified as a mixed-blood. In this case, my informant did not hesitate to classfy himself as a Tahitian, in contrast to his mixed-blood antagonist, and explain the other’s behavior in terms of the avariciousness and immorality of “the mixed-bloods”.

19Tahitian words for race and class appear to take their meaning from a quantitative dimension cut into three regions, each of which determines a racial category. By and large, individuals agree on the boundaries of the categories, but the exact extent and possible patterning of individual variation with respect to the placing of boundaries could only be determined by direct investigation specifically designed for that purpose. Since this model was constructed after the field work was concluded, no attempt was made to design or perform such an investigation. There probably exists variation among individual Tahitians with respect to the particular boundary points between regions of the racial continuum and perhaps with respect to other details of racial classification. The general framework presented here seems, however, to be widely shared.

III. WORDS FOR RACE AND CLASS IN BRAZILIAN PORTUGUESE

20M. Harris has studied the words for race and class in Brazilian Portuguese and reported his findings in an article entitled “Referential Ambiguity in the Calculus of Brazilian Racial Identity” (Harris 1970). The title expresses Harris’s conclusion that Brazilian Portuguese words such as branco, preto, negro, mulato, etc. are ambiguous. By “ambiguous” Harris does not mean what is usually meant by that term. Rather what Harris wishes to demonstrate is that these words are either (a) vague, (b) subject to wide interpersonal variation in meaning or (c) both. The distinction between (a), (b) and (c) is not important to Harris as he is not interested in language as a psychological phenomenon. His interests are purely social and he wishes only to show that words designating racial/social types in Brazilian Portuguese do not constitute a shared semantic system which permits native speakers of this language to communicate effectively in this domain. in his concluding paragraph Harris speculates “… there may be a positive, conservative structural reason for maintaining and maximizing the noise and ambiguity (in this semantic domain)… Objectively, there is a correspondence between class and race in Brazil… ; the more negroid the phenotype the lower the class. Prevention of the development of racial ideology may very well be a reflex of the conditions which control the development of class confrontations… in Brazil racism and caste formation would unite the lower class” (Harris 1970 : 12). Harris seems to be saying that since clear talk about race and class might lead to class consciousness on the part of the oppressed black majority (and thence perhaps to revolution), the society or someone or something creates in the language a systematically confused semantic system regarding race and class that prevents such clear talk. Harris does not speculate on the agent or the process that might act upon the language acquisition process of each Brazilian child to bring about the unusual situation he claims to have discovered.

21Surprisingly, such peculiar situations, in which certain social actors achieve a deliberate vagueness in language, are not entirely unknown. I. Zaretsky (1969) has demonstrated that systematic vagueness exists in the argot of Spiritualist churches :

22“A particularly interesting example of an ethnosemantic analysis… of unquestionable sociological significance is that performed by Irving Zaretsky on the religious argot of San Francisco Spiritualist Churches (Zaretsky 1969). Zaretsky found that many common English words were being used in ways that were clearly not the normal meanings of those words. An ethnosemantic analysis of all such words revealed a subset with the following interesting properties. Words belonging to this set have unmistakable although vague connotations of supernatural “spirit forces” at work in the world, and in particular through the agency of the medium. However, the referential meanings of these forms are extremely nebulous. This is not a question of the investigator’s being unable to discover the referential meanings but rather that Zaretsky has shown through detailed comparison of the contexts in which these expressions are employed that the referential meanings are in fact very vague. He then goes on to show two important ways in which the very referential vagueness of these words contributes to the perpetuation of the social organization in which they are employed. First, referential vagueness permits the medium to transmit acceptable messages from the spirits to a parishioner who has written down a specific question that the medium has not seen. For example, Ethnographer : Can you recall any message you received in church recently ? Informant : Well, let’s see… She told me I was going to get drafted… Ethnographer : Did she actually come right out and tell you you will get drafted, just like that ? Informant : Well, not exactly. She kept muttering about how I have upset conditions around me and how she saw the color green in my vibration…She just went on like that for a while…Well, I know what she was talking about because I waited to hear from my draft board all this time…But I certainly didn’t want her to tell me that I will be drafted… Ethnographer : How did you know what she meant by condition, vibration, environment ? informant : Well I didn’t… No, actually it was obvious…I guess she could tell psychically what bothered me…Well, I don’t know, but I think it was pretty obvious what she meant…” (Zaretsky 1969 : 124). This referential vagueness of the terms employed permits the ardent parishioner to endow them with whatever particular referential interpretation he wishes on each occasion of use. Secondly, this same referential vagueness protects the medium from the possible legal charge that she is engaged in the illicit activity of forecasting specific future events for money (Kay 1970 : 25f).

23In the case of the Spiritualist churches it is clear who is causing the pathological linguistic vagueness and how they are doing it. The Spiritualist argot is essentially the property of the mediums and they teach it to neophyte parishioners. But who or what is teaching each little Brazilian child to use words for race and class in ways that are (a) excessively vague, or (b) different one from the other, or (c) both ? Granting for the sake of argument that if such vagueness in fact existed in Brazilian racial terms it might in some sense support the political status quo, by what plausible mechanism could it have been brought about ? The ruling classes, who are the ones Harris suggests are the beneficiaries of this alleged vagueness of language, are not in charge of the process of language acquisition of the black peasants and workers.

24In short, lacking any mechanism that might bring about such a peculiar linguistic condition, Harris’s assertion that systematic vagueness and/or uncontrolled interpersonal variation is the rule amongst Brazilian Portuguese terms for racial types is implausible and leads one to examine the method he used to arrive at such a startling conclusion. Harris’s procedure was first to make “a deck of 72 full face drawings constructed out of the combination of three skin tones, three hair forms, two lip, two nose, and two sex types” (p. 2). Each subject was exposed to the thirty-six picture of his or her own sex, and was required to give the qualidade, typo, raca, or cor of the fictional person depicted. No indication is given of who thought up the stimuli nor of whether any checks were made to determine if the subjects thought the pictures looked like people. Of the eight examples reproduced in Harris’s article some look to me, speakingly strictly intuitively, more like real people than others. It is clearly Harris’s intention that each series of thirty-six pictures give some sort of representation of the diversity of Brazilian physiognomic types, but there is no evidence or argument that they in fact do so. in short, the stimuli lack face validity (in every sense) and Harris seems unaware that in studies of this type, where proxy stimuli are used–in this case artifically constructed pictures alleged to represent the domain of racial types rather than a careful selection of real persons or pictures of real persons–it is generally expected that a demonstration be given that the stimuli really are from the subjects’ point of view proxies for what the investigator wishes to sc interpret them.

25One might guess the next step would be to elicit the words for racial types without using the pictures and then ask subjects which picture (s) best represent each word. Such was not the case. Rather Harris presented all the pictures to each subject and required the subject to assign a racial-type name to the picture. So if, as appears to be the case, many of the stimulus pictures are not even convincing renderings of Homo sapiens, much less good exemplars of any particular Portuguese racial word, the subjects are forced to assign them a racial word anyway.

26Under these conditions, it is not surprising that subjects were less than unanimous is naming the pictures. It is precisely the lack of agreement among subjects in this picture naming task, however, that leads Harris to conclude that the Brazilian Portuguese words for racial types are “ambiguous” and spurs him on to the socio-political speculations mentioned above.

27So far we have considered only the extent to which Harris’s stimuli represent real phenotypic diversity in the Brazilian population. But even if we were to grant for the sake of argument–and against plausability–that these stimuli do in fact satisfy this criterion, the study suffers from a more serious conceptual defect. Harris himself is aware intuitively that the meanings of the words in question have something to do with physical appearance but also a lot to do with socio-economic status. Harris says, “Many observers have pointed out the partial subordination of ‘racial’ to class identity in Brazil exemplified by the tendency for individuals of approximately equal socioeconomic rank to be categorized by similar “racial” terms regardless of phenotypic contrasts and by the adage, ‘money whitens'” (1970 : 1). But of course if the semantic domain in question contains a complex combination of factors regarding physiognomy, motor habits, facial expression, dress, income, speech, etc. and the stimulus materials provide information only on the first factor, it is distressingly easy to see why the subjects cannot apply the words more consistently to the stimuli than they do, and of course this lack of interspeaker agreement in classifying such impoverished stimuli allows no conclusion regarding vagueness or ambiguity in the words under study.

28The study contains several other errors of method and interpretation, not all of which need be considered here. One of these is pointed out by R. Sanjek (1971) who performed a follow up study using the same stimulus materials but supplemented by some other procedures. A student of Harris’s, Sanjek, while courteosly citing Harris’s conclusion of inherent “ambiguity”, found that inter-speaker variability was dramatically reduced when speakers from a single speech community were studied by the same technique. Harris has pooled the data of subjects from the states of Bahia, Alagoas, Pernambuco, Ceara, Brasilia, and Sao Paulo, in itself an explanation for the lack of intersubject agreement. Sanjek comments with commendable caution :

29“I am reluctant to claim that my analysis extends beyond my sample or, at most, beyond Sitio. Studies within the state of Bahia report terms which I did not find at all (Kottak 1963 ; Hutchinson 1957), even though I asked deliberately several informants if they knew them. The term mulato, which has both low salience and low level of agreement in Sitio, is no doubt of high salience in other parts of Brazil as Harris’ data (1970) and a few tests I conducted with the picture set in Salvador and Rio de Janeiro suggest. I should add that several informants in Sitio mentioned in conversations a term which is used for preto in Vila do Conde, the nearest community, but which, they said, ‘we do not use in Sitio’ ” (Sanjek 1971 : 1139).

30On the whole, the data Sanjek presents on Brazilian racial terms are consonant with the kind of model proposed above for comparable terms in Tahiti, although Sanjek does not reach this conclusion. There appears to be a racial-social semantic continuum whose end points might be roughly glossed “Black/poor/uneducated” and “white/rich/educated”. A particular individual’s position on this continum is calculated by means of a complex function taking a series of physical appearance variables and social variables – some discrete valued and some continuous – onto the continuum, which then represents some weighted average, loosely speaking, of all the constituent variables. I would suggest that this is the basic situation reflected by the common Brazilian metaphor “money whitens”. “Racial” terms represent regions on this continuum, and they are no more ambiguous or vague than other words.

31There is, moreover, evidence in the Sanjek article that Brazilian Portuguese contains the same kind of double barreled usage of race terms as Tahitian. That is, these words may be used not only to designate a member of the class of people having a value within a certain range on the continuum corresponding to that word but also to indicate a contrast between two individuals whose absolute values fall within the same region :

32“In presenting a cognitive map which I claim is shared in a modal sense (by at least five-sixths of my informants), I want to be clear that such competence does not have a one-to-one correspondence with verbal behavior. I believe rather that the expression of the cognitive classificationis altered by environmental (situational, sociological) variables which areessential for an understanding of why any term is actually uttered . Such variables would include at least the economic class, the dress, personality, education and relation of the referrant (sic) to the speaker ; the presence of other actors and their relations to the speaker and referrant (sic) ; and contexts of speech, such as gossip, insult, joking, showing affection, maintenance of equality or of differential social status, or pointing out the referrant (sic) in a group.” (Sanjek 1971 : 1128, italics added).

33And Sanjek continues directly in a footnote : “In terms of this last context, on the basis of her fieldwork in Chile where a similar but less complex system obtains, Sister Jennifer Oberg has pointed out to me that identifying one actor as, say, moreno, may indicate merely that he is more “moreno” in appearance than others.” (Sanjek 1971 : 1142).

34It appears that the model posited for the Tahitian data may apply in some degree to Brazilian words for race and class and possibly in the semantics of comparable domains in other languages as well. It would not be surprising if the model constructed for the Tahitian data did not apply point for point in the Brazilian situation, however. in particular, it is apparent that Brazilian Portuguese, even if one takes a single speech community at a time, has a much larger number of racial terms than Tahitian. One possible difference in the underlying semantic model is that there may be more involved than a single race-class continuum. Nevertheless several of Sanjek’s observations suggest that central to this semantic domain is such a continuum’and that an individual’s value on this continuous semantic variable is a function of a number of other variables, some physical, some socio-economic, and some probably cultural, e.g., style of dress, manner of speaking, paralinguistics, body motion, and so on. It also seems clear that racial terms are used sometimes to locate a person on this continuum and at other times to express the relative position of two people on the continuum, leading to apparentinconsistencies in application of the terms. I do not deny the possibility that there tray be some terms whose significance is more purely a matter of physical type than others, but I suggest that further empirical research on Brazilian terms for race and class might well be informed by this sort of model. in general in doing semantics we are not forced to choose between comportential analysis on the one hand and on the other a claim that the domain contains a lot of referential ambiguity, whatever that may mean. There are probably many ways for a language to structure a semantic domain. Almost any sort of structure that is easily and naturally apprehended by the mind may perhaps serve as the underlying schema for a lexical domain. This hypothesis will be developed in the next section, particularly with regard to schemata that involve continuous quantities.

IV. IMPLICATIONS FOR SEMANTIC THEORY

35The model developed in Section II to explicate the meanings of Tahitian words for race and class represents an approach to the semantics of words that differs from the standard, struc tural one. The standard approach to semantics characterizes the meaning of a word as a set of semantic features. This approach is exemplified in Bloomfieldian structural linguistics by Lounsbury (1964) and in generative linguistics by Katz and Fodor (1963). The set of semantic features comprising the meaning of a word is usually interpreted as a set of necessary and sufficient conditions on the application of the word. (For a critical but generally favorable appraisal of the standard feature method, also known as componential analysis, see Lyons 1969. For a negative appraisal see Fillmore 1975).

  • 6 Less detail was given about the rules, but it was indicated that such rules may utilize pragmatic (…)

36The explication given to the meanings of the Tahitian words discussed in Section II does not correspond to a set of semantic features. Rather what was presented was 1 – a cognitive schema for conceptually organizing some part of the real world, i.e., the conceptual continuum of “race” in Tahiti, constructed from a weighted average of values on a variety of physical, social, and cultural dimensions, 2 – a set of lexical categories, ‘Tahitian’, ‘mixed-blood’, ‘European’, and 3 – a body of rules saying how the lexical categories may be applied to various parts of the schema6. Explication of word meanings in terms of schemata, sets of lexical categories, and rules for applying the latter to the former is quite distinct from the traditional semantic feature theory.

37One may ask whether the analytical device adopted in the case of Tahitian words for race and class is merely an ad hoc convenience or whether it exemplifies a general approach that constitutes a serious alternative to the feature theory. I believe the latter is the case, that the cognitive-schema-plus-lexical-set-plusrules-of-application model is a generally preferable alternative to the feature model. I will not, however, argue the issue in its broadest terms here, as those arguments have been made by others (principally Fillmore 1974a, b, and particularly 1975 and the references cited there ; also D’Andrade 1971 and H. Gladwin 1971) . I will rather assume a framework in which a semantic account of a conceptual domain consists of 1 – a cognitive schema 2 – a set of lexical categories and 3 – a body of rules specifying the conditions for felicitous application of the latter to the former.

  • 7 L. Bloom, P. Lightbown and L. Hood (1975 : 22ff.) find a notion of schema essentially the same as (…)

38Fillmore, to whom I am chiefly indebted for this view, uses the term ‘scene’ in roughly the way I am using ‘schema’. The difference in terminological choice apparently has to do with the fact that Fillmore has in mind as paradigm examples the mental representations of prototypical actionsequences, e.g., a commercial transaction, while the examples I have considered in detail–color kinship, ethno-biological categories–tare based on schemata that lack the narrative quality that is connoted by ‘scene’. I would propose ‘schema’ as the more general term, apt both for designating dynamic schemata, ‘scenes’, and non-dynamic schemata of the kind considered in this paper7.

39Fillmore uses the term ‘frame’ for the set of lexical categories, emphasizing that these categories are related, not only to the schema that they index, but also to each other by virtue of the fact that use of any one of them activates the entire schema. Thus, for example, as soon as I mention a purchase, the prototypical commercial transaction schema is activated and questions or comments regarding the price, buyer, seller, etc. are in in order.

40I will retain Fillmore’s use of ‘frame’. Frames, on this view, constitute the relevant sets of lexical categories for semantic analysis. in some cases they will correspond to ‘lexical domains’ or ‘semantic domains’ as specified under the feature theory and in some cases they will not. For example, the kinship frame constitutes a semantic domain under the feature theory since its members may be thought of as sharing a features of meaning (Lounsbury 1964 ; 1073), but the writing frame, containing as it does lexical terms like pencil, paper, language, message would not constitute a semantic domain under, say, Lounsbury’s definition (cf. Fillmore 1975 : 125-6) unless one were to invent an entirely ad hoc feature like ‘involved in the writing schema’.

41Within this assumed framework I would like to address a more particular question : may a cognitive schema on which lexical meanings are based contain continuous quantities or scales ? That is, may continuous quantities play a role in the meanings of words ? I think there is evidence available from a variety of conceptual domains indicating an answer in the affirmative.

42We turn now to some examples of quantitatively based schemata underlying the meanings of words. The first example is from T. Gladwin’s interesting study of navigation on Puluwat in the Central Carolines (T. Gladwin 1970). One particularly important schema employed by these sophisticated navigators is represented in Figure 1 and is based on the local star compass, which in turn is based on the rising and setting positions of sixteen prominent stars distributed at unequal distances around the celestial horizon. One of the words defined by this schema is etak, a unit of distance of a sea voyage. in a particular voyage, a reference island is chosen sc that lines of sight from the rising or setting positions of compass stars through the reference island to the boat’s position will subtend roughly equal intervals on the line of the voyage. Each such interval is called an etak. Since the stars are not equally spaced around the celestial horizon and since it is in general not possible to find a reference island equidistant from the point of departure and the destination, all etakare not equal in miles for a given voyage, and the etak of different voyages are not comparable to one another at all.

43Figure 1, although it conveniently represents the content of etak in Western terms, does not correspond to the image Puluwatese navigators describe in explaining the meaning of etak to their native apprentices. Whereas in our image, the stars and islands are stationary and the boat moves, according to T. Gladwin (1970 : 181-9) the Puluwatese describe a related schema in which the stars and boat are stationary and the islands move. Gladwin assures us that the Puluwatese do not really think the islands move, but it appears more natural to them to represent the situation in terms of the imaginary movement of the islands than in terms of the real movement of the boat. Gladwin does not speculate on why this is the case.

44In Figure 2, I have drawn a picture that I believe accords better with the description in Gladwin’s text of the Puluwatese schema underlying etak. Note that in this schema, with moving islands, the destination island has to move faster than the reference island. Gladwin does not say whether or not he interrogated Puluwatese navigators on this point. etak so calculated are fractions (though not equal fractions) of a voyage, in this case unequal “eighths”. This seems sufficient to satisfy the Puluwatese conceptually and from other things Gladwin has to say about how the Puluwatese think about etak in particular and navigation in general it seems possible that the question whether the reference and destination islands move at different speeds may never have occured to them. Gladwin emphasizes the abstractness of this schema, which he calls a cognitive map, unifying several abstract concepts of the navigational system of this preliterate people. It is clearly a quantitatively based semantic schema.

45Examples of quantitative schemata underlying lexical frames need not be sought in exotic languages. J.R. Ross (1970) has pointed out that implicitly comparative English adjectives such as great, large, big, tall, wide, thick, many, much, often, fast, and so on imply not only the underlying notion of a continuum but also the notion of a distribution over that continuum about some standard, perhaps mean, value and having a known measure of dispersion, perhaps variance or standard deviation. For example, if it takes me on the average thirty minutes to bicycle from my home to the university with a standard deviation of one minute, ninety-nine percent of the time I will make the trip in twenty-seven to thirty-three minutes (assuming the distribution of times is normal, which is not a matter of substance here). in any case, if I make the trip one day in twenty-five minutes, I am surely justified in saying, “I did it fast today”. If on the other hand a teenage boy takes anything between five seconds and an hour on the phone to work up to asking a girl for a date, averaging thirty minutes (and with, say, a standard deviation of twenty minutes), and one evening he accomplishes this feat in twenty-five minutes, I am not justified in saying, “He did it fast tonight”. As Ross says, “The point is that such words (e.g., fast) presuppose a knowledge of the scattering around the mean” (1970 : 365). in our terms, the lexical frames in which such words participate index cognitive schemata which contain not only the notion of an underlying continuum but also a distribution over this continuum with parameters of central tendency and dispersion specified.

46The use of this schema in common talk about ambient temperature furnishes a nice illustration of the frequently elusive distinction between semantic information (that which constitutes the meaning of linguistic expressions) and factual information about the nature of the world (see, for example, Fillmore 1974a : IV-5). This contrast is sometimes stated as the distinction between those items of information that should appear in the dictionary and those which should appear only in an encyclopaedic ethnography. The distinction is also roughly equivalent to what is expressed in semantic feature theory, misleadingly I think, as that between criterial and non-criterial features.

47It has been my experience in living in places that differ not only in mean ambient temperature but in the variances of those distributions that the number of complaints one hears about the weather in these places is about the same. For example, upon moving from Berkeley to Honolulu I was at first struck by what seemed to me unjustified claims of the form “It’s hot today” or “It’s cold today” when the temperature seemed to me not sufficiently extreme to justify such comment. After living in Hawaii for a while, I apparently learned unconsciously the factual information about the variance to be expected in daily temperatures so that I could accurately predict when people would complain about heat or cold and, if I wished, myself complain in a way that would not elicit contradiction from permanent residents. I would suggest an explanation along these lines. The use of hot in “It’s hot today” means roughly ‘more than some numbers of standard deviations above the mean temperature of days in this place at this time of year’. (The precise number of standard deviations is not of course germane to the argument). When I learned to complain about the heat in the way local residents of Hawaii do, I had not learned new semantics for hot and cold but had learned new information about the world. The semantics of hot and cold in the relevant contexts specify deviations from the mean in terms of numbers of standard deviations (or something comparable), but not in terms of absolute distance. To apply the words to the world correctly we have to know the relevant facts about the world, for example the number of degrees of the standard deviation of temperatures, but information about the numerical value of any particular standard deviation of temperatures is not part of the meaning of hot. As the seasons change or we move from place to place the meanings of the words hot, cold, warm, cool do not change ; they remain defined in terms of the degree of variance from the mean of the relevant distribution. What changes is our factual knowledge about the relevant distributions.

Fig. 1. – A Western Version of the Schema Underlying, the Puluwat Concept etak.
Source : T. Gladwin (1970 : 185)

Fig. 2. – A Putatively More Puluwatese Version of the Schema. Underlying the Puluwat Concept etak.
Do,…, Dn represent successive posistions of the moving destination. Ro,…,Rnrepresent successive positions of the moving reference island.

48In the above account I have oversimplified somewhat, but I think the oversimplification does not invalidate the argument. It is probably true that people complain more about heat in the summer and about cold in the winter. Assuming, as is probably the case, that this does not reflect an asymmetry of daily temperatures about their seasonal means, it cannot be that the reference point about which variation is judged is simply the mean temperature for the relevant time and place. Similarly it is quite possible to say felicitously, “Well it’s hot again today, just like every day”, if for example we are in Panama City. Clearly such a locution does not mean that the temperature is several standard deviations above the mean daily temperature for Panama City in Panama City every day. Probably what is meant in these cases is either that it is hot today relative to some point of ideal comfort rather than relative to the mean temperature, or that it is hot relative to some distribution of temperatures over a wider range of places and seasons, or some combination of the two. The point is that in each way in which the original model of temperature distribution, with its reference point and measure of dispersion is defective, the remedy is to propose some other distribution of temperatures as the contextually appropriate one. So the point remains that hot (or cold) are defined in terms of a schema that locates the temperature in question on a continuum of temperatures as further above (or below) a reference point than a certain number of standard deviations. Which is the relevant distribution is to be determined by the hearer from the context. That hearers are not always certain of the contextually appropriate distribution is evidenced by the following sort of dialoque, in which I have participated more than once. “Boy, it’s cold today ” ! “Do you mean it’s cold for Berkeley in the summer or just that we have cold summers ” ? The second speaker is asking implicitly for the correct distribution in which to interpret the word cold, yielding further evidence that it is in terms of a schema involving a statistical distribution that the meaning of hot, cold, warm, cool must be interpreted.

49A third example of a quantitative schema underlying a lexical frame is words for colors. It has been argued in detail (Kay and McDaniel 1975) that the meanings of color words are best represented as functions that map points of a three dimensional space of hue, brightness and saturation into the real interval (O, 1). This mapping is interpreted as a fuzzy set (Zadeh 1965, 1971a, 1971b). Thus a word like green is a fuzzy set, and the higher the number a percept is assigned by the relevant function, the better example of green that percept is. Figure 3 depicts schematically the green function and parts of the adjoining blue and yellow functions, where for convenience brightness and saturation are held constant. This model is supported by the available neurological evidence (De Valois et al. 1966 ; De Valois and Jacobs 1968) and psychophysical evidence ; Kay and McDaniel 1975 ; McDaniel 1972, 1974, forthcoming ; Sternheim and Boynton 1966).

50A fourth example of a group of words defined in terms of underlying quantitative schemata are hedges and intensifiers such as kind of, sort of, somewhat, very, extremely, and so on (Zadeh 1972 ; G. Lakoff 1972). Zadeh and Lakoff treat hedges and intensifiers as predicate modifiers which operate on a fuzzy set changing the shape of the function. For example, the predicate modifier corresponding to the word very “squeezes” the function, as exemplified in Figure 4.

51We have considered several examples of quantitative schemata underlying lexical frames. The examples considered, although few in number, came from both exotic and familiar languages (Tahitian, Puluwatese, Brazilian Portuguese, English) and represent lexical domains that are both perceptual (color words) and highly conceptual (words for race/class). I have not argued here for the schema and frame theory of semantics as such, but only that the relevant schemata may in some cases involve continuous quantities. But if the examples I have given are correct even in their general outlines, then the feature theory, which is based on the presumption that basic semantic units are always discrete, cannot deal successfully with the lexical domains considered here.

Degree of Membership

Degree of Membership

Fig. 3. – Wavelength in Nanometers
Note : 1. The detailed shape of the curves are not intended literally. Only the maxima and minima of the curves as drawn here correspond to established psychophysical parameters.
2. The only pure green sensation (s) are those having a dominant wavelength of ca. 510 nm.
3. Any sensation of dominant wavelength greater than 475 nm. (unique blue) and less than 575 nm. (unique yellow) is to some positive degree green.
Green

Degree of Membership

Degree of Membership

Fig. 4. – Wavelength in Nanometers
Green and Very Green

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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ZARETSKY, I.I. 1969. TheMessageIstheMedium : anEthnosemanticStudyoftheLanguageofSpiritualistChurches. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. University of California at Berkeley.

NOTES

1 Among Tahitians a reliable shibboleth of speakers of the metropolitan semantic dialect of French is use of the T-V contrast in pronouns and verbs in a way that makes pragmatic sense from a French person’s point of view. Such speakers form a distinct minority.

2 The English glosses ore quite deceiving if taken os translation. They refer only to the biological aspect of a classification which is not mainly biological.

3 Cliff’s theory was tested on a sample of nine English adverbs of intensity (e. g., somewhat, very, extremely) and fifteen evaluative adjectives (e.g., good, bad, contemptible). The theory holds that each adjective in the set has a numerical value representing its degree of favorableness and that each adverb has a multiplicative value, analogous to a scalar in vector multiplication. Hence, the meaning of an expression like “very bad” may be represented by a number and this number is the product of the number assigned to the adjective “bad” and the “scalar” assigned to the adverb “very”. The 135 possible adjectives-adverb pairs were administered to three large groups of undergraduate subjects and the basic scale values for each pair were obtained by the successive intervals technique. The major lines of the theory were very strongly confirmed ; for details see Cliff (1959).

4 Exception is made for hierarchial taxonomies. Such taxonomies do not themselves partition the set of objects but contain within themselves such a partition.

5 Stephen Palmer has suggested to me that apparently inconsistent classification of a given individual across contexts might be due to a particular context’s according greater weight to a given variable than another context gives to that variable. Thus, if the context of discussion is primarily economic, greater weight might be given to economic variables in determining racial classification than if the context of discussion involved, say, Biblical exigencies or athletic ability. According to this view, there is not a unique function from the underlying variables to the racial continuum but a number of such functions, the selection of which on a particular occasion of speaking would depend perhaps on both semantic context (e.g., topic of discussion) and pragmatic context (e.g., relations of interlocutors to each other). This seems a plausible suggestion ; I have at present no way of evaluating it empirically.

6 Less detail was given about the rules, but it was indicated that such rules may utilize pragmatic Information. Thus a mixed-blood person fairly low on the scale might characterize himself as a ‘Tahitian’ in order to distance himself socially from another mixed-blood hearer, but if the same speaker were to try to characterize himself as a Tahitian to on audience all of whose members were clearly more Tahitian than he, it would surely count as an attempt to ingratiate himself rather than as a ploy to distance himself from his interlocutors.

7 L. Bloom, P. Lightbown and L. Hood (1975 : 22ff.) find a notion of schema essentially the same as the one used here useful in modeling the acquisition of semantics by the child.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Title MAJOR CATEGORIES OF RACIAL CLASSIFICATION IN PAPEETE2
URL http://books.openedition.org/sdo/docannexe/image/956/img-1.jpg
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Caption Fig. 1. – A Western Version of the Schema Underlying, the Puluwat Concept etak.Source : T. Gladwin (1970 : 185)
URL http://books.openedition.org/sdo/docannexe/image/956/img-2.jpg
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Caption Fig. 2. – A Putatively More Puluwatese Version of the Schema. Underlying the Puluwat Concept etak.Do,…, Dn represent successive posistions of the moving destination. Ro,…,Rn represent successive positions of the moving reference island.
URL http://books.openedition.org/sdo/docannexe/image/956/img-3.jpg
File image/jpeg, 381k
Title Degree of Membership
Caption Fig. 3. – Wavelength in NanometersNote : 1. The detailed shape of the curves are not intended literally. Only the maxima and minima of the curves as drawn here correspond to established psychophysical parameters.2. The only pure green sensation (s) are those having a dominant wavelength of ca. 510 nm.3. Any sensation of dominant wavelength greater than 475 nm. (unique blue) and less than 575 nm. (unique yellow) is to some positive degree green.Green
URL http://books.openedition.org/sdo/docannexe/image/956/img-4.jpg
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Title Degree of Membership
Caption Fig. 4. – Wavelength in NanometersGreen and Very Green
URL http://books.openedition.org/sdo/docannexe/image/956/img-5.jpg
File image/jpeg, 143k

AUTHOR

University of California

© Société des Océanistes, 1978

Terms of use: http://www.openedition.org/6540

Race, Class and Ethnicity : Industrial Relations in the South Pacific

Race, Class and Ethnicity : Industrial Relations in the South Pacific with Special Reference to Fiji and Bougainville1

Alexander Mamak and Richard Bedford

FULL TEXT

Source: http://books.openedition.org

  • 1 The fieldwork conducted by the senior author in Fiji between 1970-72 was made possible by a grant (…)

The importance of class analysis for explaining contemporary behaviour in the South Pacific is indicated by several developments in the early independence period, namely, the pressures of inflation, increasing rates of urbanization, and the localization of positions formerly held by expatriates. This paper delineates tendencies in class formation and class conflict with special reference to Fiji and Bougainville. Previous accounts of social conflict in this region tended to focus solely on race, mainly because stratification by race and by class tended to coincide. Such an approach precluded an analysis of the underlying class structure that was emerging, and the position of race and ethnicity in that structure. It is suggested that a number of factors, both historical and contemporary, must be taken into account before an attempt can be made to determine the extent to which urban man in the South Pacific is likely to develop into an urban industrial proletariat. A more balanced view of the complex roles of race, ethnicity, and class in contemporary “class” formation is provided so as to enable their functions in the newly-developing urban societies of the South Pacific to be seen with more coherence than is perhaps the case up to date.

L’importance de l’analyse de classe pour expliquer le comportement contemporain dans le Pacifique du Sud est indiqué par l’évolution de la situation au début de l’indépendance, c’est-à-dire, les pressions in-flationistes, les taux croissants d’urbanisation, et la localisation des postes tenus auparavant par les expatriés. Cet article décrit les tendances dans la formation de classe, et le conflit de classe, avec une référence particulière à Fidji et Bougainville. Les descriptions publiées antérieurement sur les conflits sociaux dans cette région avaient tendance à se concentrer seulement sur la race, en grande partie parce que la stratification par race et par classe avaient tendance à coïncider. Une telle approche empêcha une analyse de la structure fondamentale de la classe qui émergeait et la place des races et ethnies dans cette structure. Il est suggéré qu’un certain nombre de facteurs historiques et contemporains devraient être considérés avant qu’un effort puisse être fait pour déterminer dons quelle mesure l’homme urbain dans le Pacifique du Sud pourrait se transformer en proletariat urbain industriel. Un aperçu plus équilibré des rôles complexes des races, ethnies, et classes dans la formation de “classe” contemporaine est fourni pour permettre que leur fonction dans les sociétés urbaines du Pacifique du Sud en cours de développement puisse être en vue avec plus de cohérence qu’auparavant.

INTRODUCTION

3More than two decades ago Professor Douglas Oliver (1961: 426) was led to ask: “Just how susceptible would the islanders be to the doctrines of Marx?”. There was then not much evidence of the acceptance of Marxist ideas, let alone the development of class consciousness, strength, and militancy to act as a driving force of change. But in recent years it would appear from the growing industrial unrest in some urban centres of the South Pacific that a crucial transformation has already taken place.

4The importance of class-analysis for explaining contemporary behaviour is indicated by several developments in the early independence period. Firstly, urban wage-earners in the South Pacific are beginning to represent a large section of the population as a result of increasing urbanization and the continuing displacement of agriculture by urban-based industries as the primary source of employment. Secondly, the advancement of a section of urban labour into skilled and managerial positions as a result of rapid political change and localization has widened the income gap among South Pacific peoples thus increasing the significance of class relations. The pressures of inflation have also encouraged urban workers to become more conscious of their economic roles, and to view themselves as members of distinct economic groups. Mass action by mine workers in Bougainville provides a recent example and is regarded, at least by the Socialist Labour League of Australia (Workers News, May 22, 1975) as part of a world-wide movement against monopoly domination and capitalism.

5While the development of economic corporate groups is a phenomenon common to most societies, and appears to be something new emerging in the urban societies of the South Pacific, the process of class formation and class conflict may be different and much more complex in the South Pacific than in other contemporary societies. In the South Pacific the process involves much more than a simple division between skilled and unskilled local workers, or a struggle between the proletariat and the modern capitalists. What seems to be developing is a complex interaction between economic, racial, and ethnic groups whose boundaries overlap in different ways over time, and leading to an interrelationship between racial, class, and ethnic consciousness. A brief description of a recent strike movement in Bougainville will suffice to show the difficulty involved in finding a proper race-class-ethnic synthesis necessary for explaining contemporary industrial action in the South Pacific.

The Bougainville strike

6On Monday, May 12th, 1975 an inter-ethnic brawl between a trade union official and a company security guard at the Bougainville copper mine soon spread to involve the majority of black mine workers at the site. Close to a thousand men under the leadership of their union began marching on the company’s pay office demanding not only that the company re-engage the sacked union official but also wage increases and better working conditions. Women and children, most of them families of white expatriate employees, were hastily evacuated from the mine site. The industry was totally paralyzed during the two days of rioting that followed. Company property was destroyed with damages and production losses estimated at several million Australian dollars. Among the properties damaged was a recreational centre used primarily by white employees. Police action and mass arrests eventually put an end to the strike.

7Despite some evidence to the contrary both editorials in The Australian and the Sydney Morning Herald of May 15 emphasized the absence of anti-white sentiments during the disturbances. Company officials blamed the violence on a breakdown in communication between the trade union and its members, and claimed the incident had developed out of frustrations over differences in pay among black employees. While it is true that black employees are differentiated in terms of income level a close congruity of interest exists as a result of the growing awareness of greater disparity between black and white earnings. Black staff members did not take part in the strike, but a considerable number of high income, skilled tradesmen were directly involved. When a meeting to form a Staff Association was called soon after the strike only about ten of the two hundred or so people who attended were blacks. In brief, it is clear that racial, class, and to some extent ethnic hostility were present in the strike. But which form of conflict, consciousness, and identity is the most fundamental and important explanation not only of the Bougainville strike but of industrial life in the South Pacific in general? To what extent, and in what way is Man in the South Pacific likely to develop into an “industrial proletariat?” Before any attempt can be made to answer these questions it is necessary to provide a background in terms of the intellectual debate which surrounds the concepts of race, class, and ethnicity, and to examine the roots of contemporary movements and proletarian consciousness in the context of these terms.

The treatment of race, class, and ethnicity in the literature

  • 2 According to our usage of the race concept relations between members of a non-white population mho (…)

8The concepts of race, class, and ethnicity have often been used to explore the process and pattern of social relations and organization in developing countries. There is agreement in the literature on the general usage of these terms although some associated characteristics may be left out or emphasized more than others in some instances. As is the case here, these concepts are described in terms of organization and social relations between distinct groups of people. Depending on the level of analysis (e.g., ideological, organizational) they are seen as imposing constraints on interaction and generating conflict, hostility, and antagonism between the various groups. These types of relations and organization imply a sense of group identity and unity, distinct types of membership and inter-group behaviour based on skin colour (race), income level, education, occupation, etc. (class), or cultural variables such as custom, language, and religion (ethnicity). There are of course many situations–as we shall see–where class and race or ethnicity coincide. Finally, the treatment of class in this paper is limited primarily to the description and analysis of economic relations between whites and blacks or between blacks. By contrast, the use of ethnicity is generally confined to relations between nonwhites, while the concept of race is solely used in the context of black-white relations2.

9To date, no attempt has been made to give equal emphasis to all three concepts even though the formulation of one concept generally involves the others in some way. Therefore, in the following brief review of the treatment of race, class, and ethnicity it may be best to examine the emphasis placed on each of these concepts in terms of a race-class continuum with ethnicity taking on varying significance at either end.

The emphasis on race

10Theories of pluralism place a great deal of emphasis on the concept of race. In the plural model conflict is viewed primarily in terms of the relationship to the means of political power rather than to the means of production. Pace is of primary significances because in most colonial societies it is the white minority who has sole access to power.

  • 3 This is contrary to the belief of other race analysts mho argue that some classes are “missing” in (…)

11While plural theorists recognize the probable correlation between economic differentiation and racial stratification they question the primacy often given by Marxists to the economic situation. Economic inequality is viewed in the context of race and is seen as providing only one basis of racial differentiation: “Racial difference… comes to have social significance only as it is elaborated in systems of differential political incorporation, economic stratification, and racial segregation” (Kuper 1971: 595). It is also argued that “physical identifiability in a racially plural society is a more enduring identity than class membership in an industrializing homogeneous society” (Kuper 1971 : 594-595). Furthermore, plural theorists often claim that in most colonial societies low-income workers are too differentiated, both economically and ethnically, to make up a single class3. In light of this there is an absence of working class solidarity. Ethnicity may take on additional significance at the political level because plural theorists believe that with the political ascendancy of blacks at the time of independance there may be a radical transformation of ethnic categories into ethnic blocs.

12Within the range of race analysis is the emphasis given by a number of writers to aspects of race relations, with economic factors taking on added significance. This approach is illustrated by Gail Omvedt (1973) and others who argue that the major cleavage in colonial societies is racial : “The basic social relationship existing at the time of colonialism is racism” (See also Casanova 1965 : 33). Racial antagonism, however, is exacerbated by the correlation between race and distinct classes. Black workers, for example, are regarded as racially inferior and treated alike irrespective of their ethnic or class status. Because these workers are affected in common by racism their solidarity is based primarily on race differentiation and not on class. At the same time, ethnic diversity and minor class differences among the economically poor black workforce are insignificant partly because racial differentiation is more pervasive, and partly because the latter see themselves as members of a single, low-ranking group, in a society where rank is determined on the basis of colour.

13Let us recapitulate the above approach by comparing it with the plural model. In comparison to the plural model much greater emphasis is given in this approach to the economic situation. While primacy is still given to race this emphasis is explained on the basis of racial and class hierarchies coinciding at the wider level. Another important contrast is in the treatment of ethnicity. Plural theorists discuss and compare ethnicity primarily with class and suggest that ethnicity may preclude the development of class consciousness. On the other hand, Omvedt and others discuss and compare ethnicity with race and argue that the pervasiveness of race at the wider level may help to offset the development of ethnicity at the local level.

  • 4 The lack of attention paid to the social system of whites and the interaction between blacks and w (…)

14The flexibility of ethnic boundaries viewed within the wider context of racial dominance is evident in the work of such writers as Amin (1964), Rodney (1973), and Hlophe (1973). It is suggested, for example, that ethnic boundaries are often expanded to include members of the suppressed classes in interaction with whites (as reflected, for instance, in the statement voiced by members of distinct ethnic groups : “We are all blacks”). This theme is also evident in British social anthropology, particularly in the Rhodes Livingston-Manchester approach to African urban studies. According to this approach Africans involved in an urban-industrial environment are very quick to develop new sets of interests. Ethnicity as a category of interaction is sometimes largely irrevelant under urban-industrial conditions. This may be due to the predominance of the racial cleavage at the wider level which in turn helps to reduce ethnic cleavages. As Epstein (1958 : 240) points out in his classical study of the Zambian copperbelt : “.. .in situations involving the total field of Black-White relations the tribal factor tends to be overborne” (See also Gluckman 1961). Surprisingly, however, very little attention is given, especially in later studies, to this “total field” and little use is made of the class concept to explain the racial cleavage4. The focus is on ethnicity, the possible overlap in ethnic and class subsystems and the influence that this might have on other types of urban non-white social relationships. Modern writers give increasing importance to ethnicity and seem to support the plural theorists who emphasize the resurgence of ethnic competition in the development of new power relations during the process of independance (See, for example, Parkin 1969).

15An important recent work that uses the concept of ethnicity in relation to class is P.C. Lloyd’s study of the Yoruba of West Africa. According to Lloyd (1974a and 1974b) the Yoruba define people in ethnic rather than class terms. Despite marked inequality in the society the Yoruba both accept and regard inequality as legitimate . Much evidence is provided by Lloyd to show that the Yoruba do not fulfill the stereotype of Western lower classes. Such an approach however suffers from too close a comparison between European class models and social processes in non-European countries. We tend to agree with Wallerstein (1973 : 378) that there are many different forms of class consciousness and class conflict in existence all of which are nevertheless expressions of class interests.

The emphasis on class

16Moving towards the other end of the continuum is the emphasis placed on class. The most important formulation of this approach is found in Marxists theories of class conflict. They provide an interesting contrast to theories proposed by some race analysts. Unlike the plural theorists, for example, the proponents of Marxist analysis emphasize the development of lower working-class solidarity irrespective of whether or not members of this group come from distinct ethnic backgrounds. This solidarity arises from the sharing of common interests in a class situation common to all (Kuper 1971 : 594-595 ; Cox 1948 : 321-352 ; Bauer 1966 : 150). Blacks and whites are primarily seen as members of the working and ruling classes respectively and not as members of distinct racial groups. On economic factors, however, Marxists and plural theorists differ only in their emphasis. Furthermore, the Marxian belief (see, for example, Lenin 1979 : 40) that the class struggle eventually takes on the form of a political struggle directed towards the assumption of political power by the proletariat makes the – Marxian approach almost compatible with the plural approach.

17The primacy given by Marxists to class is often argued on the basis that class factors preceded race in the process of colonial expansion. According to the Marxist view racial antagonism is a relatively late phenomenon. It is associated with the rise of capitalism (most of the leading capitalists are whites) and does not become significant until blacks attempt to assimilate Western economic values and culture. As colonialism develops race may become increasingly important because of its association with other variables such as class. Marxists believe that at the ideological level race functions as a mechanism of control, helping to perpetuate and justify the system of inequality. Such a system may continue even beyond the period of independence as colonial structures and mentality persist and blacks continue to accept white stereotypes of themselves as irresponsible and inferior.

18The foregoing argument provides Marxists with one explanation for the temporary absence of class-based interest groups and class consciousness in some colonial or ex-colonial societies. Contemporary Marxists concede that the industrial proletariat is, and will remain insignificant for a lengthy period as class hatred is often transferred into race hatred, and class factors are often constrained or masked by race aspects. In some cases where working class solidarity is absent Marxists attribute this to the growth of a labour aristocracy. For these reasons it may take some time for the realities of class interests and class consciousness to emerge (See, for example, Cox 1972 : 290 ; 292-295 ; Basham 1975 : 291).

19In brief, the concept of race in Marxist analysis is used primarily in class terms, that is, race is seen as a form of class or status relationship and race conflict as a variant of class conflict. As previously indicated, however, Marxists also concede that racial factors can be so pervasive as to blanket other interests for a lengthy period.

Summary and synthesis

20The pattern of social relations and organization in non-western societies is generally delineated on the basis of three types of differentiation–race, class, or ethnicity. The emphasis on race predominates among race analysts, ethnicity is emphasized by some Bristish social anthropologists, while the importance of class is argued most cogently by Marxist analysts.

21There is agreement among the above writers as to the importance of race throughout colonization or at least at some stage in the process. But while plural theorists focus on race relations almost solely in the context of competition between blacks and whites for political power other race analysts suggest that racial antagonism is largely based on the coincidence of race and class hierarchies. Some British social anthropologists also acknowledge the importance of race differentiation and the overlap of race and class but are often unwilling to use these terms or to examine the race-class relationship. Even Marxists recognize the importance of race relations at a later stage in colonization, and believe that race factors can become so pervasive as to mask the underlying class structure. However, Marxists attribute significance to race primarily because of its association with class. The Marxists view of race is almost completely subordinated to their view of class and the real basis of conflict is seen in class rather than racial terms.

22The concept of ethnicity is also given varied treatment by the above writers althought unlike the race concept there is a greater degree of disagreement about its significance. Plural theorists and some British social anthropologists treat ethnicity almost in the same way as they would approach the concept of race. They argue that with the development of new power alignments at the time of independence race decreases in importance while ethnicity becomes more important. The struggle for political power is now between members of the ethnically heterogeneous black population. According to this viewpoint ethnicity also hampers the development of working-class solidarity and imposes constraints on black interaction even though many of the latter may share the status of a suppressed class. Other race analysts take an opposite point of view by proposing that racial pervasivences can override ethnicity. The earlier studies of the Zambian copperbelt seem to lend credence to the latter viewpoint. From the Marxian perspective ethnicity is also insignificant as it is claimed that differences between the ruling and working classes can override all other types of differentiation. In light of the above it appears that the ambiguous role of ethnicity is still to be resolved.

23The virtual disregard of the importance of class strikes us as being a serious shortcoming in the approach used by some race analysts, especially the plural theorists. By ignoring the association between race and class which Marxists and most other analysts acknowledge, the plural theorists lose sight of an important factor that might help to explain the exacerbation of race or class antagonism. On the other hand, while Marxists and some of the other analysts acknowledge the importance of both race and class they make no attempt to clarify the relationship by combining race with class analysis. Furthermore, their approach is seriously weakened by the scant attention paid to class and/or ethnic differentiation among blacks. Similarly, the emphasis given to ethnicity by some contemporary Bristish social anthropologist and plural theorists precludes an analysis of the relationship between race and class, and ignores the possibility of overlap of race and class and the influence of this overlap on ethnicity.

24We believe the above shortcomings are the result of writers placing undue emphasis on one concept at the expense of others. Although such an approach helps to distinguish between concepts it can also lead to false dichotomies and distract from the true significance of each. It may also lead to ambiguity as when writers, althought agreeing on the importance of race in a colonial situation, differ in their treatment of it. What is required is a synthesis which gives equal theoretical emphasis to race, class, and ethnicity, and which directs attention to their specific relationships and significance over time in a particular geographical area.

25Drawing heavily from the insights and shortcomings of the above writers we propose to look at selected aspects of industrial relations in the South Pacific, particularly in Fiji and Bougainville, Papua New Guinea. Our major aim is to sketch the complex nature of industrial activity in the South Pacific so as to generate a number of propositions which take into account the interrelationship between race, class, and ethnicity. The arguments presented in the following section of this paper, however, must remain largely conjectural until such times as more evidence is available and thoroughly researched.

THE REALITIES OF RACE, CLASS, AND ETHNICITY IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC

The early period

  • 5 Unless otherwise indicated the terms “labour”, “workers” and “labour force” are used to refer to b (…)

26The history of labour5 in the South Pacific goes back at least to the 1850s when islanders were recruited for employment in cotton and sugar plantations in Australia, Hawaii, and Fiji. With the growth of a white capitalist economy the system of labour recruitement soon extended to other parts of the Pacific. For example, islanders were recruited for mining and plantation work in New Caledonia, phosphate quarrying in Nauru and Ocean Islands, and general plantation work in the Society Islands, the Solomons, Samoa, and Tahiti. The vast majority of Asians began arriving several decades later, mainly as unskilled workers (Oliver 1961 ; Parnaby 1964 ; Brookfield 1972).

  • 6 Much has been written abut the illtreatment andpoor wages accorded to South Pacific labour. See, o (…)

27Despite the low wages and abuses suffered by labour under this system6organized workers’ movements and racial and class consciousness among workers were slow to develop mainly because of instability in the labour force, the low volume of workers, and the development of ethnicity. These factors were in large measure due to, and reinforced by white colonial labour policies and the system of recruitement.

  • 7 In rural Papua New Guinea, for example, the administration mas reluctant to pursue a policy that m (…)

28Labour recruitement was primarily characterized by large-scale movements of labour under contract, sometimes to places several thousands of miles away from their rural homes. This developed out of the general unwillingness of the local population to work for low wages (Rowley 1958 : 546 ; Stanner 1953 : 139 ; Langmore 1973 : 186), the employers assumption that migrant labourers from depressed areas who were separated from kin ties and traditional custom would perform more efficiently (Farrell 1972 : 43), and the attempt by many colonial governments to inhibit, for a variety of reasons the growth of a permanent native labour force7. All of these factors accounted for a high turnover in labour common to most areas of the Pacific.

29The vast majority of islanders were employed seasonally, or on a two to three year contract. With the exception of Asian labour most returned home at the expiration of their contracts. The general shortage of labour enabled a significant number to move from job to job or into new occupations. Many general labourers in the towns, for example, were formerly employed in white plantations. The majority of Indo-Fijian contract workers in Fiji moved into independent cane-farming, while a smaller number gravitated to the towns to seek employment as labourers. The lack of a stable, permanent body of colonial workers in wage-employment thus helped to preclude for a lengthy period the development of working-class consciousness, and organized labour.

30The difficulties of organizing labour and developing class consciousness were increased by the fact that even in some of the major centres of employment the volume of labour in relation to the total population was never very large. Although colonial workers were concentrated in a few industries–plantation, mining, and the public service–they were recruited by a large variety of employers many of whom employed no more than a dozen or so workers at any one time (Parnaby 1972 : 138).

  • 8 Employers however did not hesitate to replace dissident workers despite the labour shortage.

31In the early period there were few devices for protecting the rights of workers. Most were content to depend on the goodwill of employers which was often forthcoming mainly because of the general labour shortage8. In Papua New Guinea, for example, employers were encouraged to maintain fair standards of living and working conditions which gradually came under the general supervision and control of colonial authorities (See, for example, Main 1948 : 117-121, and 144-149). The payment for services in kind (e.g., through housing, rations) meant that labour did not have to depend solely on a money wage for survival. Monetary wages were then considered a luxury and were not generally used for survival purposes or the purchase of basic necessities.

32Race and class consciousness were also precluded to some extent by the low proportion of whites in relation to the total workforce. For example, in June 1939, the earliest date for which figures are available for Papua New Guinea, whites and Niuginians comprised respectively 8 percent and 92 percent of the total workforce of 10,967 employed in the mining industry (Wilkes 1958 : 227). Pacific labour was restricted to employment in unskilled and semiskilled categories and so did not enter in competition with white labour. Distinct class lines did not materialize in the minds of the protagonists as contact between colonial labour and whites was limited, while labour and white management were socially and physically segregated at work and outside the workplace.

33The emphasis on employing migrant labour (New Hebrideans and Solomon Islanders in Fiji, Niuginians in the Solomons and Queensland, etc.) introduced complex problems of communication and cultural differentiation. Many were illiterate and unskilled making it more difficult for labour in the South Pacific to organize collectively than in other countries. The extent of ethnic differentiation increased when locals began to enter the workforce, generally at a much later date and on a more casual basis than migrant labour. Lacking the skills and work experience necessary for promotion most locals were relegated to menial work thus fanning the employer’s belief that locally-recruited labour was inferior to imported labour. But while a number of semi-skilled positions were given to migrants from within or outside the area class differentiation among blacks did not figure very prominently since the majority were competing for the same jobs. Employers tended to measure performance standards in terms of ethnic background rather than in terms of class. This is not surprising since the lack of education and training facilities did not permit the growth of a class of skilled tradesman until the modern period (Danks 1956).

  • 9 Some of these features seem to apply to labour bn other colonial areas as well (See, for example, (…)

34From the worker’s point of view ethnicity was becoming as much a major form of social differentiation as race. The concentration of a heterogeneous workforce for the first time and in such large numbers led to frequent fighting and inter-ethnic brawling (See, for example, Oliver 1961 : 321). Ethnicity was reinforced by the lack of permanent housing, the absence of family life, insecurity at the place of work, and the temporary nature of the labour force. To prevent inter-ethnic clashes local and migrant labour were separated, eventually leading to the development of ethnic enclaves9 where groups had greater ties to the rural home rather than to workmates and the place of work.

35Finally, to round off this discussion of the early period it may be fitting to indicate how whites and blacks saw their position in the society. To the best of our knowledge no systematic work in this field has ever been attempted, nor do we have much information on the concepts used by both groups to describe their place in the society. What little information we have suggests the predominance of race in the early stages of industrial relations. For example, whites tended for some of the reasons cited above to see their social separation from blacks in terms of race rather than class. The following reaction of a white property owner to increasing Indo-Fijian and Fijian migration to Suva at the beginning of this century is typical :

36There is ample room for dwellings of a better class for Indians and natives should, in course of time, a demand for such spring up in other parts of Suva without permitting the invasion of the red area which Europeans have created for themselves and which they must justly claim to have reserved in the future for their exclusive habitation (Mamak 1973 : 46).

37Furthermore, whites often used such terms as “nigger”, “coloured”, and “native” in the context of white superiority. Economic differentiation between whites and blacks was also based on race and not on economic factors. As Worsley (1957 : 484) has pointed out : “… the payment of low wages is linked to the white man’s belief of his superiority”.

38Blacks also tended to see their position in society in terms of race differentiation. While they were no doubt aware of economic deprivation they were not disposed to view exploitation and the economic elements of white-black relationships in class terms. Larson (1970 : 195-209), writing about modern Tikopia in white plantation employment, has provided a reason. The Tikopia, a latecomer to wage employment, uses a model for behaviour based on that of a classless society. “They sensed that the inequity of allocations stemmed largely from differences in skin color and basic capabilities and saw the plantation as a white man’s enterprise, a somewhat complicated aspect of his culture which they could not wholly comprehend and would have to accept on management’s terms”. This view was widely encouraged by management’s paternalistic but flexible attitude towards the Tikopia. Although Larson’s study is concerned with the modern period, and the Tikopia differ from more experienced workers who view the conflict in the same plantation in both race and class terms, there is no reason to doubt that the Tikopia model for behaviour did not apply to equally inexperienced workers in other places in an earlier period. To see how labour’s perception of the industrial system has changed over time it may be worthwhile to examine labour’s response to economic differentiation.

The responses of labour

  • 10 The only other strike in Papua New Guinea that is comparable in scope to the Bougainville disturba (…)

39The responses on the part of South Pacific labour to ill-treatment, low wages, and poor working conditions have varied from place to place, and over time. But the outcome of these responses may be classified in terms of a scale of violence and non-violence. Protests accompanied by violence have been rare. Occasional references to killings and murders may be found in the early industrial record, but most examples of excessive violence are restricted to the contemporary period (for example, the recent disturbance in the Bougainville minesite, and the strike by urban Fijian and Indo-Fijian workers in Suva in 1959)10. At the other end of the scale and occurring with greater regularity throughout the history of colonial labour are the silent, less overt and more subtle forms of protest. Rather than complain or openly protest about wages and conditions of service most workers preferred to see through their period of contract, while others simply quit their jobs and moved back to their villages or into other jobs (See, for example, Rowley 1958 : 540-541 ; Wilkes 1958 : 238 ; and Mamak 1973 : 88). Falling within this context of non-violence are the work bans, token strikes, uncooperativeness, desertions, absenteeism and other types of sullen responses.

40A significant variant form of protest, lying somewhere in-between this scale may be seen in several of the Melanesian, so-called cargo cults and millenarian movements. Although these movements offered no violence they were generally feared by employers and the authorities who used repressive measures to counteract them. Rebellious workers, for example, were usually either killed, flogged, imprisoned, or deported.

  • 11 The close association between millenarianism and strike organization of African mineworkers is des (…)
  • 12 To stress the economic component of millenarian movements is not to deny the robe of ideas and rel (…)

41The economic basis of millenarian movements is evident in the literature although most writers tend to emphasize its anti-European nature, or draw distinctions between revivalistic and more secular movements (See, for example, Burridge 1954 : 253-254 ; Inglis 1957 : 261-262 ; and Willis 1970 : 23). On the basis of these studies one can easily get the impression of the predominance of racial hostility in millenarian movements. This is understandable because a major characteristic of these movements is the attempt to invoke the solidarity of its ethnically heterogeneous but black adherents in common struggle for equality with whites. However, it may also be correct to view the cults, or at least some of the later ones, in class terms. The Marching Rule movement in the Solomons (Wilson 1973 : 468 ; Worsley 1957 : 485, 1968 : 193) and the Mbula Tale in Fiji (Mamak 1973), for example, were characterized by an acute awareness of economic deprivation. At least three Fijian protest movements were formed in opposition not only to whites but also to several more privileged and powerful Fijian organizations (Mamak 1973). These movements were a collective reaction to things social, initiated almost exclusively for economic goals, and therefore may be regarded as fore-runners of contemporary workers’ organizations11. The presence of class hostility is found even in the records of less secular movements. Many were led by ex-plantation labourers recently returned to their village (Mair 1948 : 68). While a major characteristic of millenarianism is the emphasis on “traditional” elements, a recent study has cautioned against interpreting the reversal to “traditionalism” as a retrograde step. These movements are a response to the new economic order and are an indication that modern economic values had been accepted (Sanford 1974 : 488 ; see also Worsley 1957 : 488)12.

42Although labour was seldom well organized in the early period, and overt class struggles were rare the record of industrial relations in the South Pacific indicates a long history of continuous reaction on the part of labour and the use of various forms of protest, whether accompanied by violence or not. While the response of labour brought little improvement in conditions this was not so much because of labour’s passive acceptance of the economic position but because of strong control by employers and the colonial authorities–a control that was often expressed through some form of repression. Labour had nevertheless prepared the ground for actions of greater significance in the modern period.

The modern period

43In the modern period race, class, and ethnicity have taken on new dimensions due to the modification of several factors already described for the early period. The size of a permanent heterogeneous labour force has grown thus increasing the potential for ethnic conflict. Ethnicity tends to be exacerbated when it overlaps the growth of occupational segmentation and class differences among blacks. In most cases however the major occupational categories are ethnically mixed and the new work setting helps to make ethnicity irrelevant. In time ethnicity tends to be superceded by the new class division which in some cases has provided the bases for conflict. In general however class differences among blacks have not yet become predominant for the following reasons : the lack of correlation between ethnicity and class sub-systems ; the small proportion of upper class blacks in relation to the total labour force ; and common interests among blacks arising from the overlap of race and class. While the correlation between race and class was evident in the early period it has become more perceptible today partly because of the presence of a large number of whites in some industries. The complex relationship between race, class, and ethnicity in the modern period is mirrored to a large extent in the growth of trade unionism to be described in detail later.

44Since World War II the size of permanent class of wage-earners has increased steadily due in part to any one or more of the following factors–population growth, the forces of industrialization, the growing desire for a money income, and the gradual disappearance in some areas of land suitable for subsistence production.

  • 13 In 1953 almost 80 percent of the Papua New Guinea labour force mas employed on a casual basis or u (…)

45In most parts of the South Pacific the above trends are associated with increasing rates of urbanization largely because of greater opportunities for deriving a cash income in the towns. In Fiji, for example, the proportion of economically active males occupied in rural industries (mostly Indo-Fijians and Fijians) is gradually decreasing while the volume of migratory movements to Suva and other urban centres which have been in existence for some time is increasing. Permanent Bougainvillean participation in the urban economy also appears to be steadily increasing since commencement of the copper project although there may be significant regional variations to this trend. For example, Bougainvillean employees whose rural homes are close to the mine site seem to be the most unstable group of workers in the company. Local conditions and personal factors combined with easy access to the rural home have so far discouraged these Bougainvilleans from considering anything other than short term employment in the copper mine. Such instability in the labour force is not uncommon in the early stages of urban develoment, however13. As these centres become more established, and with new employer policies which favour the retention of a stable labour force (e.g., the provision of married accomodation for workers and their families) the current instability among local Bougainvillean employees may eventually be reversed.

46In contrast to the general increase in the size of a permanent labour force the proportion of wage-earners in relation to the total population in almost all areas of the South Pacific remains insignificant. This is largely due to the so far low level of industrialization in the South Pacific as compared to many other areas of the world (Report of the 1st conference of South Pacific labour ministers 1974). In the late 1960s only 7 percent of the Papua New Guinea population were engaged in wage labour (Langmore 1969 : 11). In Bougainville the wage-earning workforce actually declined significantly following the completion of the mine construction phase. Another factor which has slowed down the growth of wage-employment in the towns has been the payment of low wages–a trend that has continued from the early period. It is remarkable that only two decades ago the highest paid Niuginian government employee received a cash wage of only A$6 a week (Langmore 1973 : 187). Although wage rates have increased steadily in recent years the majority of workers are still employed at the minimum wage level. One reason why some local Bougainvilleans are only peripherally committed to wage employment is because of their dissatisfaction with the low wages and conditions of service in the mine. In light of the above, it is not surprising that industrial relations and organized labour remain insignificant issues for the majority of the population.

47Growth in size of the wage-earning workforce in comparison to the early period has also increased the potential for ethnic conflict. In Papua New Guinea more than half of the labour force are migrant workers employed from outside their District of origin (Langmore 1969 : 1). Local opposition to mining, coupled with a general unwillingness by local Bougainvilleans to accept anything other than very short term casual employment compelled the mining company initially to look elsewhere for labour. Later, as information (frequently exaggerated) on wages and working conditions offered by the company began to diffuse widely an increasing number of Bougainvilleans and Niuginians were attracted to the mine site in search of jobs. (Bedford and Mamak 1975). Growing competition for jobs and a concentration of large numbers of outsiders in close association with Bougainvilleans for the first time were to produce inevitable ethnic tensions. This led to the emergence of voluntary organizations which recruited members on the basis of ethnicity. In the early stages of mining operations, for example, Bougainvilleans began to organize in such a way as to take advantage of new opportunities, and to protect commonly-threatened interests as a distinct and separate unit. In 1973, a common front for all Bougainvillean workers in the towns was developed and eventually a committee under the name of Panguan Mungkas Association (PMA) was formed. The association was founded on the ethnic distinctiveness of Bougainvillean workers in contradistinction to other ethnic groups employed by the company. Exactly a year later, however, the influence of ethnicity appears to be waning and the association no longer seems to be as active as it was in the past. There are several reasons for this.

48Firstly, the economic interests of Bougainvillean members in the association have become more difficult to integrate as many have gained job promotions within the company. Technical and skilled workers, many of whom are staff employees, enjoy higher incomes and living standards than their compatriots who are employed as labourers and manual workers. In contrast to the distinction between staff and wage employees in the company Bougainvilleans employed by other companies and the government are not so well off in terms of pay, social amenities, and working conditions as Bougainvilleans employed by the mining company. Secondly, the association has suffered from too close competition with non-ethnic associations such as the mine workers’ union and the staff association. Bougainvillean staff employees are members of the staff association while most wage employees are members of the mine workers’ union. Thirdly, with the advancement of several of the association’s executives in the company Bougainvillean consciousness and identity have largely been subordinated to individual and company interests. Finally, the company has responded to Bougainvillean pressure to increase the Bougainvillean component in the labour force thus making the PMA’s existence unnecessary (Mamak and Bedford 1974b : 13-17).

49Socio-economic differences which have developed among black workers in Bougainville are not closely associated with ethnicity. In the mining company, for example, there is a balanced distribution of employees from various Districts in both staff and wage categories of the labour force. The new division seems to be based solely on occupational segmentation. There is a significant income gap between black staff and wage employees. In addition to receiving a higher income staff members enjoy such quasimonetary benefits as educational allowances for their children, a better class of accomodation, and superannuation benefits. They also have a better comprehension of the English language and a higher standard of education than most wage employees.

50Some minor occupational categories, however, are ethnically differentiated and in such cases ethnicity tends to be exacerbated. This is a pattern common to all areas of the South Pacific (e.g. ethnic conflict between Tolais and Bougainvilleans in Bougainville ; Highlanders and coastal Papuans in Port Moresby ; Rotumans, Part-Europeans, and Fijians in Fiji ; Solomon Islanders and Chinese in Nauru). As in the earlier period white, employer-created stereotypes tend also to have a negative effect on relations between workers of distinct ethnic backgrounds, especially when employers use ethnic criteria for promotions and evaluating job performance.

51In the main most occupational classifications are ethnically mixed and in such cases ethnicity becomes largely irrelevant. In the Bougainville mining company and in other industries where occupational segmentation does not largely correlate with ethnicity the work setting can provide for the development of common aims which transcend ethnic interests. For example, in Suva, one of the major urban centres in the South Pacific, Indo-Fijians and Fijians who share similar economic and class interests often express egalitarian and friendly attitudes towards each other. There is a similar tendency for mine workers in Bougainville to accept the work group as an important reference group.

52There are two other reasons (besides the lack of correlation between ethnicity and occupational segmentation, and the influence of the work setting) which preclude the development of major cleavages between members of the black workforce. Firstly, the proportion of blacks in higher occupational categories is small in comparison to the proportion of employees in low occupational categories. (This trend is likely to continue for some time given the slow pace of localization. In Bougainville, for example, there were only 97 blacks in staff positions compared with 2,845 employed in wage categories in 1973. Exactly a year later the number of black staff positions has increased by only eighteen). Secondly, class differences among blacks are to a large extent counterbalanced by more significant racial and class divisions between whites and blacks. Whites occupy most of the skilled and professional categories while the vast majority of workers in the South Pacific remain in unskilled and semiskilled positions (For Papua New Guinea see Danks 1956, and Langmore 1969 : 1-2).

  • 14 In contrast to urban industries the pattern of rural occupational activities is marked by ethnic s (…)

53The overlap of race and class is very distinct in Fiji and Bougainville. In the urban-industrial sector of the Fiji economy the great majority of Fijians and Indo-Fijians share low occupational status in contrast to whites who are found in professional and top management positions. Most Fijians and Indo-Fijian unskilled workers are engaged as labourers in local and national government projects, sugar processing, and building and road construction. At the semi-skilled level the following occupations are shared : electrician, carpenter, and the like on government projects and in construction, although there is some evidence of ethnic distribution in the tourist industry and commercial fields (Mamak 1973)14.

  • 15 This pattern of segregation is world-wide and is not limited to the Bougainville copper mining ind (…)
  • 16 For a discussion of the widening economic gap between whites and blacks in PaPua New Guinea see La (…)

54In the Bougainville mining community there are two forms of agreement governing employment and which cut across racial boundaries. The mine workforce is made up of employees who receive fortnightly wages and employees who are recruited as staff members under an annual salary agreement. But within each of these categories wide differences exist between whites and blacks in both pay and conditions of service15. Although black wage rates have increased steadily in recent years the gap between black and white earnings has also increased and is likely to continue on the basis of experience in other parts of the country and elsewhere16. In 1973 the estimated average annual earnings of a black wage employee was A$33.16 per week, or approximately 15 percent of the estimated average earnings of a white wage employee. In that same year the estimated average annual earnings of black staff employees was approximately 27 percent of the estimated average annual earnings of white staff (Bedford and Mamak, in preparation).

55The overlap of race and class has become more noticeable in the modern period partly as the result of a new development–the increase in the size of the white workforce in some industries like mining. In Nauru, for example, over 60 percent of the workforce today is expatriate. In Bougainville the proportion of the white component to the total labour force is comparatively high (25 percent). This factor combined with job promotions for blacks has placed the latter in very close contact with whites for the first time. Under these conditions, how do workers define this new type of relationship ?

56A study of working relationships recently conducted by Mamak (1973) in Suva, Fiji shows that most Indo-Fijian and Fijian workers irrespective of their occupational or class status ranked whites as the most difficult to associate with, and both judged whites in much the same way. No outright opposition to physical or cultural differences such as religion, language, and diet were expressed by either Indo-Fijians or Fijians towards each other, althought colour and class distinctions were sometimes made between themselves and whites.

57Black-white working relationships in the Bougainville mine are more cordial in comparison to the Fiji case, and most of our Bougainvillean and Niuginian informants got along very well with whites in the work place. There are rules governing working relationships which are explicitly stated in the contract of white workers and which provide for immediate termination if negative attitudes towards blacks are maintained or fostered. These rules are accepted by most whites and are regarded as defining appropriate behaviour in the work place. Nevertheless, as in Fiji, most whites regard all blacks as subordinates but react more favourably to blacks in high occupational categories than those in semi-skilled and unskilled positions. Ironically, however, upper class blacks who are in closer contact with whites are also more likely than lower-income blacks to express anti-white sentiments and to compare their earnings and working conditions with whites. The distinction made by black staff in the copper mine is one of class and race rather than class or race alone. Thus, despite a policy of integration close personal contact between whites and blacks is limited and it is rare for members of both groups to associate with each other outside the place of work. This may be due to the fact that in Bougainville as in most other parts of the South Pacific the frame of reference for interaction between blacks and whites is becoming more perceptively one of economic inequality based on race.

58In brief, while occupational segmentation is a new division in the modern period and has helped to preclude working-class solidarity among blacks, the overlap of race and class has also become more distinct, especially in some industries which employ a large white workforce, and has helped to foster a close congruity of interest between black workers irrespective of their ethnic background, occupational or economic status. This complex relationship is also illustrated by the growth of trade unionism in the South Pacific.

The development of trade unionism

59The new norms and values which are imparted in the modern period are most clearly reflected in voluntary organizations. In the industrial field, the development and characteristics of trade unions can provide a clear indicator of the emergence of a social class–a collectivity with common purpose interests which believes these interests can best be served by co-ordinated effort.

60In general, trade unions did not originate directly from outside pressures but emerged spontaneously out of the common needs and interests of South Pacific labour. It has previously been suggested that some of the early protest movements can be conceived as forerunners of contemporary workers’ organizations. Although the earlier activities of labour did not always end in victory they were nevertheless effective in making employers increasingly aware of the worker’s organizational capacity. Speaking of the 1929 strike in Rabaul (Papua New Guinea), for instance, Healey (1968 : 33) notes : “It would not be too much to say that this incident had terrified the entire European community in the Territory, for it removed the long held illusion that the natives were too stupid and illiterate to be able to combine”. Further disturbances in Papua New Guinea prompted the colonial authorities to set up labour departments and introduce new labour legislation and machinery for the regulation of trade unions. Similarly, a Department of Labour was established in Fiji following a wave of industrial unrest dating back to the early part of this century. This opened the way for the formation of unions covering a wide range of activities. Today, approximately two-thirds of Fiji’s labour force is active in the trade union movement.

61One of the major forces stimulating the development of an organized base for urban labour has been industrialization. While a number of small unions existed in Bougainville before copper mining operations began the prospects of unionism increased dramatically as a response to rapid industrialization associated with the mining industry. In a few years the Bougainville mine workers’ union, formed in 1969, succeeded in establishing itself as the largest union in the District, and one of the largest in the country. Spurred by the presence of a large urban labour force dependent solely on a monetary wage for survival and seeking to better their wages and working conditions the union has been able to gain significant recognition from workers and the company–an achievement which normally takes a decade or more in other parts of the country and the South Pacific where industrialization is relatively stagnant .

62Yet the development of an effective and viable trade union movement has been fraught with difficulties. The mine workers’ union, for example, was slow in gaining the support of wage-earners in the early years of the mining operations due in part to the largely transient nature of the labour force. An indication of the importance of stability for increasing union membership is provided by the results of one survey which shows that mine workers who have completed two or more years of work are more likely to join the union that those who have not (Mamak and Bedford, in preparation).

63Other problems associated with the organization of workers is the lack of experience and financial resources of the trade unions ; shortage of full-time officials, the anti-union attitude of many employers ; and ethnic and occupational differentiation among the workforce.

  • 17 A similar case illustrating differences between Polynesian and more experienced Melanesian workers (…)

64Organizational problems based on ethnicity are introduced when members of a single ethnic group are primarily seasonal workers who lack committment to wage-employment. In Bougainville, for example, many local Bougainvilleans see an alternative avenue to mobility and self-betternment in leaving wage employment. Consequently they are not much interested in trade unionism as are the majority of workers recruited from outside the District who are more permanently committed to urban wage employment17. Thus, ethnicity introduced several organizational difficulties for the union in its formative stages (e.g., the need to satisfy the demands of a heterogeneous workforce ; the problem of selecting union leaders ; competition with other organizations formed on the basis of ethnicity). Ethnicity however did not prove as divisive in the Bougainville trade union movements as it did in other places for reasons to be discussed below.

65With more Bougainvilleans recruited into the project in recent years all ethnic groups are proportionately represented in the mineworkers’ union. Ethnicity is no longer so predominant in the activities of the union because no ethnic group is large enough to dominate the affairs of the union. As a result neither membership nor squabbles among union officials and members are ethnic based. Union leaders are selected on the basis of their ability to articulate the grievances of the members and not because of their ethnic membership. Care is also taken to see that each department in the company is represented in the union executive.

66Nowadays much of the stimulus for the development of non-ethnic unions has come from employers themselves. In large-scale enterprises such as copper mining the employer is anxious to reduce the disruptive effects of ethnicity which can lead to great financial loss for the company. To prevent disharmony and promote simple but effective channels of communication between management and a large heterogeneous labour force encouragement is given to a policy of integration. Nationalist governments, who also happen to be the largest employer of a country’s labour force, are anxious to promote stability and discourage citizens and workers from organizing on the basis of ethnicity. Such was not the case in the initial stages of at least one trade union movement, however.

67In Fiji, the trade union movement started off as a predominantly Indo-Fijian activity with the focus of organizational activity in the sugar industry. But the leaders of the movement soon realized that if organized labour was to function effectively it had to admit all sections of the depressed class to its membership. Union leaders therefore attempted to spread their influence by acting as self-proclaimed spokesmen of the working class. The colonial government and other employers, however, became alarmed at the possibility of working class solidarity cutting across ethnic boundaries and introduced various obstacles to prevent labour from combining. Encouragement was often given to the labour of one section to breakaway from a militant trade union. (Even in some all-Fijian unions provincial committees were used to undermine the influence of the union). Although many unions formed on the basis of ethnic exclusiveness were short-lived the tendency for dual unions persisted for a lengthy period and was reinforced by the division between Indo-Fijians at the political level. Notwithstanding, overt antagonism between ethnic political parties and between ethnic unions was dampened by friction within each organization as the result of leadership struggles and personality clashes. In time, as Indo-Fijians and Fijians in low status positions became more concentrated they began to shed their ethnic separateness and worked together for the betternment of their lot. In 1959, Indo-Fijians and Fijians jointly struck work in Suva in protest against white monopoly of the economy. The trend persisted into the 1970s and today there is little evidence of ethnic exclusiveness in Fiji’s trade unions.

68In view of what has been said about the development of class differences and occupational segmentation among blacks it may not be too much to add that class may be a more significant factor than ethnicity in relations between black workers. In the South Pacific, as in most other developing areas, the majority of wage-earners are employed by governments. During the colonial period governments were concerned that the development of a united labour movement could act against them. Today nationalist governments are concerned with the impact of rising wages on the national economy. Workers are encouraged to reduce their economic demands in the interest of nation-building. Although many ex-trade union officials have been recruited into government (e.g., Nauru, Fiji, Papua New Guinea) workers in general feel that these ruling elites have lost touch with the worker’s demands. It seems likely therefore that governmental intervention in the trade union movement, and conflict between the new political class and workers will increase in the future.

69A similar pattern of conflict occurring between members of various occupational categories is also becoming evident. The perception of class boundaries between semi-skilled and unskilled workers on the one hand, and skilled and clerical staff on the other are reflected in different rates of participation in trade union activity, membership, and attitudes towards unionism. In Fiji, for example, a large proportion of low-status employees as compared to high and middle status employees are members of trade unions. This is not surprising since trade unions act primarily on behalf of low-income workers. Upper class blacks are more likely to see themselves as part of management, they are more oriented towards occupational advancement, and are not anxious to involve themselves in industrial disputes. On the other hand, most semi-skilled and unskilled workers, irrespective of their ethnic background, share attitudes which suggest the development of working-class consciousness. They express the desire for more intensive involvement in trade unions, a preference for collective rather than individual action, and the need for a strong negotiating body to represent their interests. At the organizational level class-based conflict is beginning to occur between manual workers’ organizations and professional type associations, both of which are ethnically-mixed.

70The perception of class boudaries is also beginning to appear in Bougainville. As previously mentioned the basic division among black mineworkers is between staff and wage employees. Since staff members are in closer contact with management they are also more exposed to the paternalistic and anti-union attitude of the employer, and are therefore discouraged from participating in industrial activities. Staff are not permitted to join the mine workers’ union, nor to engage in industrial disputes. On the other hand, a significant factor precluding the divisiveness of occupational segmentation and class differences among blacks is the close congruity of interest existing between the trade union and staff members–an interest which seems to have developed out of the growing awareness of greater disparity between black and white earnings.

71An indication of this interest is that in 1974 the union attempted (albeit unsuccessfully due to company pressure) to recruit black staff into the union. Another factor to note is the aim of union officials, some of whom are staff members, to lift the wages of lower income workers so as to reduce existing income differentials.

  • 18 For a description of a parallel situation in the Bulolo goldfleld (Papua New Guinea)in the 1930s s (…)

72By way of contrast, no real interchange has ever existed or exists between white and black workers in the South Pacific, nor are there any common associations for the two groups (See, for example, Report of the 1st conference of South Pacific labour ministers, 1974). This is partly due to the influence of employers. In Bougainville, the mining company is fearful of expatriate influence in the local trade union movement. The subject of union membership is carefully avoided in recruitment and no encouragement is given to whites to join the mine workers’ union. The system of dual wages is another factor precluding the development of common interests between white and black employees. For example, none of the three disputes (out of a total of 50 disputes recorded in 1970) in which Niuginian and white employees jointly took part involved a claim for higher wages. Finally, because of their higher earnings and economic status whites tend to regard themselves and are regarded by blacks as members of a privileged group18.

73In brief, while occupational segmentation and class divisions among blacks are a new development in the modern period and have in some cases provided the bases for conflict, there is a tendency for these divisions to be blurred by the persisting overlap of race and class.

Summary and conclusions

74The major aims of this paper have been to indicate the complexities of race, class, and ethnicity in the analysis of industrial relations in the South Pacific, and to suggest the need to examine the relationship between all three patterns of social differentiation over time.

75While there is general agreement in the literature on the importance of race factors and the close association between race and class, to date no attempt has been made to examine the relationship in detail nor to take into account both types of differentiation simultaneously. In this paper we have attempted to show the significance of race in both early and modern periods of industrial relations in the South Pacific, and the close association between race and class. For example, many of the factors (labour policies, stereotypes, paternalism, etc.) which have made the development of class consciousness problematic are racial. On the other hand, the persisting overlap of race and class has exacerbated racial and class antagonisms between blacks and whites, and helps to preclude conflict between blacks on the basis of ethnic and class differentiation. It is therefore clear that any attempt to separate race factors from aspects of class and ethnic relations will fail to explain the significance of either.

76The view of plural theorists that ethnicity precludes lower working-class solidarity is supported only when ethnic and class sub-systems coincide. On the other hand, the Marxist view that racial pervasiveness tends to override ethnicity is given much greater support by data from the South Pacific. In the South Pacific the major occupational categories are ethnically mixed, and the work setting combined with common interests help reduce the salience of ethnicity. Ethnicity in the South Pacific has not reached the significance that it has in other developing countries where the influence of whites is declining, and where ethnic and political and class sub-systems coincide.

77The data that emerges from our discussion of race, class, and ethnicity in the South Pacific lead us to suggest the following propositions as a basis for further research.

78The extent of ethnicity, racial and class antagonisms will depend on a number of factors– the numerical size of the protagonists, size and stability of the workforce, degree of social control, extent of repression, whether or not major occupational categories are ethnically mixed, etc. These factors may of course be related directly or indirectly to any one of the three types of differentiation.

DIAGRAMMATIC REPRESENTATION OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN RACE, CLASS, AND ETHNICITY

DIAGRAMMATIC REPRESENTATION OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN RACE, CLASS, AND ETHNICITY

Fig. 1 RACE/CLASS

Fig. 2 ETHNICITY/CLASS

Fig. 3 RACE/CLASS

  • * Ethnic/Class tensions if high status group is ethnically homogeneous ; class tensions of group is (…)
  •  If group is ethnically heterogeneous ethnic tensions due to job competition are likely to develop (…)

Fig. 4 CLASS
Heavy lines denote type of cleavage
Note **
Note **

79Race differentiation is predominant throughout the colonial period. The racial cleavage will predominate over all other types of cleavages especially when whites regard and treat all blacks as members of a single inferior race irrespective of the latter’s diverse ethnic or class black-grounds, and when blacks see themselves as members of a single, low-ranking group.

80As some blacks begin to experience upward mobility or become more committed to wage-employment they will also tend to become increasingly aware of class interests and will provide the leadership for change. There is some ambiguity in this situation, however, and race will tend to be confused with class. Hostility will be couched in both racial and class terms, and recruitement will be based on both colour and class (Fig. 1).

  • 19 Ethnicity may be emphasized by whites as a diversionary tactic, i.e., to prevent antagonism from b (…)

81On the other hand, the significance of race and black-white class differences may be temporarily reduced by the expansion of black economic differentiation and an increase in the size of a permanent, ethnically heterogeneous black workforce competing for the same jobs (Fig. 2). Ethnicity will tend to be exacerbated when ethnic and class sub-systems overlap and expand, i.e., when ethnic groups become increasingly divided into distinct classes. If blacks who experience occupational mobility are themselves ethnically differentiated, i.e., ethnic and class sub-systems do not coincide (as seems to be the case in the South Pacific), then class divisions among blacks (a situation some employers tend to exploit) will partly overshadow racial antagonism and will counterbalance the potential divisiveness of ethnicity and race19.

82Over time the persisting overlap of racial and class boundaries becomes increasingly more important than ethnicity or class differentiation among blacks, particularly if the upper and lower occupational categories are ethnically mixed and the number of blacks in upper status positions in relation to the total labour force is small. From the point of view of upper class blacks differences in white-black incomes are no longer to be explained in terms of education, skill, etc., but in terms of discriminatory policies based on race. It is also obviously less difficult for them, if they are so inclined, to recruit support from the lower-class on the basis of race. On the other hand race continues to be confused with class because whites tend to become more concerned about the stigma of race prejudice and justify separation from blacks on the basis of class differences. They also regard blacks in the upper class on more equal terms than whose in the lower class (Fig. 3).

83Upper and lower class blacks will join in common struggle against whites until such time when the economic gap between upper class blacks and whites is significantly reduced or when the former constitute a ruling class or labour aristocracy. The growing division between manual workers and a professional class of workers, or between labour and the ruling elites on the basis of class affiliation perhaps signal the next stage of development in industrial relations. As the number of blacks experiencing occupational mobility increases antagonism will be couched almost solely in class terms. The correspondance between race and class becomes increasingly blurred and rank i.s not so much determined on the basis of colour. Whites also begin to recognize the extent of economic differentiation among blacks and no longer regard or treat all blacks as if they were members of a single class or race. Irrespective of whether the conflict is now between blacks or continues between blacks and whites it will be based almost solely on class (Fig. 4).

84The above propositions should be regarded as tentative. More studies of how the protagonists view their place in society and particular conflict situations are needed if we are to determine precisely which type of differentiation is more important and why. Futhermore, although many examples were provided in this paper, it is necessary to specify the relationship between various levels of race, class, and ethnicity.

85In conclusion we may note that the pattern of industrial relations in’ the South Pacific today lies somewhere in-between the models represented in Figures 3 and 4. In most cases so far multiple differentiations have prevented antagonism from being directed solely toward any one group. But the trend in Bougainville seems likely to emerge in other parts of the South Pacific now that mining is becoming an important area of activity, and to persist given the cummulative effect of intensive capitalism, continuing inequality between whites and blacks, inflation and the rising cost of living, and a growing permanent class of low-income workers dependent solely on wages for survival. We can look to an intensification of industrial unease based on the old pattern of race-class conflict.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

AMIN, Samir. “The class struggle in Africa”. Revolution 1, 1964.

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–New Towns on Bougainville : copper mining and urban-industrial development in a Melanesian society, (in preparation).

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GUTKIND, Peter C.W. Urban anthropology : perspectives in ‘Third World’ urbanization and urbanism. The Netherlands : Van Gorcum, 1974.

HEALEY, A.M. “Labour and combination in New Guinea to 1942”, Labour in the goldfields. Canberra : Australian Society for the study of labour history, 1968.

HLOPHE, Stephen. “The significance of Barth and Geertz’ model of ethnicity in the analysis of nationalism in Liberia”, Canadian Journal of African Studies, vol. 5, no. 2, 1973.
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LANGMORE, J. “Wage determination in Papua New Guinea”, a paper presented to the La Trobe University seminar, May 31, 1969.

–“Public service pay and localization policy”, Alternative strategies for Papua New Guinea. Anthony Clunies Ross and John Langmore, eds., London : Oxford University Press, 1973.

LARSON, Eric H. “Neo-colonialism in Oceania : Tikopia plantation labor and company management relations”, Oceania, vol. 40, no. 3, March 1970.

LENIN, V.I. On Marxism. Moscow : Novostin Press, 1970.

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–“Class consciousness and the Third World”, New Society, November 1974b.

MAGUBANE, B. “The ‘Xhosa’ in town, revisited urban social anthropology : a failure of method and theory”, American Anthropologist, 75, 1973.
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MAIR, Lucy. Australia in New Guinea. London : Christophers, 1948.

MAMAK, Alexander. Pluralism and social change in Suva city, Fiji. Michigan : Xerox University Microfilms, 1973.

–and Richard BEDFORD. “Bougainville’s students : some expressed feelings towards non-Bougainvilleans, Arawa town, and the copper mining company”, New Guinea, vol.

9, no. 1, 1974a.

–and Richard BEDFORD (with Leo Hannett and Moses Havini). Bougainvillean nationalism : aspects of unity and discord. Canterbury : Bougainville Special Publications no. 1, University of Canterbury, 1974b.

–and Richard BEDFORD. Bougainville copper and trade unionism. Canterbury : Bougainville Special Publications no. 4, University of Canterbury, (in preparation).

MEEBELO, Henry S. Reaction to colonialism. London : Manchester University Press, 1971.

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PARKIN, David. Neighbours and nationals in an African city ward. Berkeley and Los Angeles : University of California Press, 1969.

PARNABY, O.W. Britain and the labour trade in the South Pacific. Durban, N.C. : Duke University Press, 1964.

–“The labour trade”, Man in the Pacific Islands, R. Gerard Ward, ed., London : Oxford University Press, 1972.

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RODNEY, Walter. How Europe underdeveloped Africa. London : Bogle-L’ouverture Publications, 1973.

ROWLEY, C. “Labour administration in Papua and New Guinea”, South Pacific. March-April, 1958.

SANFORD, Margaret. “Revitilization movements as indicators of completed acculturation”, Comparative studies in society and history, vol. 16, no. 4, 1974.

SCARR, D. “Recruits and recruiters : a portrait of the Pacific Islands labour trade”, Journal of Pacific History, 2, 1967.

STANNER, W.H.E. The south seas in transition. Sydney : The Australasian Publishing Company, 1953.

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WILKES, John. Australia and New Guinea. Sydney : Angus and Robertson, 1958.

WILLIS, Ian. “Rabaul 1929”, New Guinea, September-October, 1970.

WILSON, Bryan R. Magic and the millenium : a social study of religions movements of protest among tribal and third world peoples. London : Heinemann, 1973.

WILSON, Francis. Labour in the South African gold mines1911-1969. London : Cambridge University Press, 1972.

WORSLEY, P.M. “Millenarian movements in Melanesia”, South Pacific, September-October, 1957.

–The trumpet shall sound : a study of “cargo” cults in Melanesia. New York : Schocken Books, 1968.

NOTES

1 The fieldwork conducted by the senior author in Fiji between 1970-72 was made possible by a grant (no. MH49744-01) from the National Institute of Mental Health ; financial assistance provided by the University of Hawaii’s Research Corporation to both authors is gratefully acknowledged for field research on Bougainville over the period 1973-74. A modified version of this paper was presented to a symposium on “The Impact of Cultural Exchanges” in the 13th PACIFIC SCIENCE CONGRESS, Vancouver, B.C., 18-29 August, 1975.

2 According to our usage of the race concept relations between members of a non-white population mho come from distinct racial backgrounds (e.g. Indo-Fijians and Fijians) are not race relations because the crucial defining characteristics when made are usually based on cultural criteria and not on colour. An exception to this rube is found in Bougainville where one of the most distinct issues underlying relations between Bougainvilleans and mainland Niuginians is skin colour. Nevertheless, this distinctiveness is also frequently associated with perceived cultural differences (Mamak and Bedford 1974a : 4-9).

3 This is contrary to the belief of other race analysts mho argue that some classes are “missing” in non-western societies such as Africa (See, for exemple, Wallerstein 1973 : 377).

4 The lack of attention paid to the social system of whites and the interaction between blacks and whites in Africa has been criticized by Magubane (1973). For a similar criticism mode in the South Pacific context see Crocombe (1975). Two studies which attempt to fill this gap are : Bedford and Mamak (in preparation) and Mamak (1973).
With reference to the paucity of class analysis bn comparison to studies of ethnicity in Africa see Peter C.W. Gutkind (1974 : 175) mho notes that :
To date we have very few studies which indicate precisely how heterogeneity is manifest in urban life ; how social classes are formed ; whether groups rebate to one another according to ethnic criteria or socio-economic position in the urban system. Because most studies have ignored the conditions and processes of change and modernization, ethnicity has become the focus for analysis, treating it (falsely) os the independant variable. The class factor also remains undefined in the South Pacific context and has largely been ignored to date. Previous accounts of social disorder in the South Pacific tended to focus subjectively on race (see, for example, the early issues of New Guinea and Pacific Islands Monthly). Such an approach precluded an analysis of the economic factors underlying the conflict, the class structure that mas emerging, and the position of race and ethnicity in that structure. Modern studies of the South Pacific have not reversed this trend as emphasis is now placed on such concepts as nation-building and micronationalism. For a similar criticism applied to Africa see Wallerstein (1973).

5 Unless otherwise indicated the terms “labour”, “workers” and “labour force” are used to refer to both rural and urban black workers. Similarities in their status and conditions have been noted by Omvedt (1972 : 13) and Bulmer (1975 : 61).

6 Much has been written abut the illtreatment andpoor wages accorded to South Pacific labour. See, on this point, Parnaby (1964 and 1972) ; Scarr (1967) ; and Oliver (1961).

7 In rural Papua New Guinea, for example, the administration mas reluctant to pursue a policy that might “convert peasant proprietors into a landless proletariat” (Healey 1968 : 24-25). The government’s motives for discouraging the growth of a permanent urban workforce included the expressed ideal of preserving the traditional may of life, and the fear that a settled native population in the towns would bead to unemployment conditions. An underlying assumption of these policies mas that non-whites did not belong in an urban environment (Cf. Rowley 1958 for Papua New Guinea ; and Mamak 1973 for Fiji).

8 Employers however did not hesitate to replace dissident workers despite the labour shortage.

9 Some of these features seem to apply to labour bn other colonial areas as well (See, for example, Omvedt 1972 : 13-14).

10 The only other strike in Papua New Guinea that is comparable in scope to the Bougainville disturbance occured as far back as 1929 in Rabaul. In the cose of Fiji the only other strike equal in scope to the 1959 strike occurred in 1920 (See also Parnaby 1972 : 140, and Main 1948 : 216).

11 The close association between millenarianism and strike organization of African mineworkers is described in Meebelo (1971 : 256). In Bougainville the predominance of former “cargo cultists” in the Navitu Association, a modern organization concerned with social, economic, and political development provides a good example of this linkage (Mamak and Bedford 1974b). The economic basis of millenarian movements is amply corroborated by the tendency of employers and the authorities to attach a Marxist label to them (See, for example, Worsley 1957 : 490 ; and Mamak 1973).

12 To stress the economic component of millenarian movements is not to deny the robe of ideas and religion in these movements.

13 In 1953 almost 80 percent of the Papua New Guinea labour force mas employed on a casual basis or under agreement (Danks 1956 : 14).

14 In contrast to urban industries the pattern of rural occupational activities is marked by ethnic segregation–the majority of rural Indo-Fijians are engaged in growing sugar while the majority of rural Fijians are engaged in village or specialized agriculture. As previously mentioned, however, on increasing number of Indo-Fijians are moving from rural to urban industries.

15 This pattern of segregation is world-wide and is not limited to the Bougainville copper mining industry.

16 For a discussion of the widening economic gap between whites and blacks in PaPua New Guinea see Langmore (1969) ; increasing income inequality between white and black mine workers in South Africa is described in Wilson (1972). Although black mine workers in Bougainville are comparatively better-off in wages and working conditions than their compatriots employed elsewhere their expectations are also much higher, firstly, because of their involvement in an industry which generates great amounts of wealth, and secondly, because black-white economic differences are very noticeable.

17 A similar case illustrating differences between Polynesian and more experienced Melanesian workers in their attitudes to unionism in the Solomon Islands is described by Larson (1970).

18 For a description of a parallel situation in the Bulolo goldfleld (Papua New Guinea)in the 1930s see Healey (1968 : 32-34).

19 Ethnicity may be emphasized by whites as a diversionary tactic, i.e., to prevent antagonism from being directed solely at them (Figure 2). Conversely, the ethnically homogeneous, upper class blacks may also employ a similar tactic by emphasizing the racial cleavage and/or class differences between blacks and whites (Figure 1).

ENDNOTES

* Ethnic/Class tensions if high status group is ethnically homogeneous ; class tensions of group is ethnically heterogeneous.

 If group is ethnically heterogeneous ethnic tensions due to job competition are likely to develop but will probably be insignificant due to the low number of blacks in this status position.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Title DIAGRAMMATIC REPRESENTATION OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN RACE, CLASS, AND ETHNICITY
Caption Fig. 1 RACE/CLASS
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Caption Fig. 2 ETHNICITY/CLASS
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Caption Fig. 3 RACE/CLASS
URL http://books.openedition.org/sdo/docannexe/image/951/img-3.jpg
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Caption Fig. 4 CLASSHeavy lines denote type of cleavageNote **Note **
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AUTHOR(S)

University of New South Wales (School of Socioloy)

University of Cantherbury (Department of Geography)

© Société des Océanistes, 1978

Terms of use: http://www.openedition.org/6540

Rank and Status in Polynesia and Melanesia

Essays in honor of professor Douglas Oliver

Excerpt (Source: http://books.openedition.org)

One of the less fortunate legacies that we who practice ethnography in Oceania have given the scholarly world is the stereotype of the Melanesian leader as “Big Man”.

The designation “Big Man”, derived literally from the metaphor commonly used in Austronesian languages or from the Neo-Melanesian Pidgin lexicon, has come to denote a “pure type” or “species” of leadership, authority and government. (Rightly or wrongly, ethnographic sources usually ignore women’s role in government,…

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  • Publisher : Société des Océanistes
  • Serie : Publications de la SdO
  • Place of publication : Paris
  • Year of publication : 1978
  • Published on OpenEdition Books : 03 April 2014
  • ISBN (Print version) : 9782854300598
  • Electronic ISBN : 9782854301069
  • DOI : 10.4000/books.sdo.938
  • Number of pages : 93 p.

Archaeology and the Origins of Social Stratification in Southern Bougainville

John Terrell p. 23-43

FULL TEXT

One of the Lessons of modern economic geography, abstract theory of graphs, and contemporary thinking in theoretical biology appears to be that hierarchical control networks are one solution to the problem of what to do about systems that are so complex, they may be unstable, unworkable, uneconomical, or any of these in combination. The issue explored in this essay is : Had the dynamics of life in southern Bougainville Led to the evolution of a hierarchical (stratified) system of social controls in Buin territory before the arrival of the Europeans ? Reviewing the controversy in the ethnographic literature between Douglas Oliver and Richard Thurnwald over the origins of the allegedly “feudal” society of the Buin-speakers, as well as recent archaeological finds from the Buin Plain, it is suggested that the need for social controls in southern Bougainville was probably not sufficiently complex enough that a system of ascribed leadership roles or “hereditary statuses” might have been an optimal solution to systems complexity in social, economic, political, etc. relationships. This observation has direct bearing on theoretical arguments concerning the origins of stratification and the state system of governance : notably the work of Service, Sahlins, and others in America. While the question of origins may be historically fascinating, it may be trivial in theoretical importance.

Une des leçons tirée de la géographie économique moderne, la théorie abstraite des graphiques et les pensées contemporaines en biologie théorique paraît être que les réseaux de contrôle hiérarchique sont une solution du problème de ce qu’il faut faire concernant les systèmes qui sont tellement complexes qu’ils risquent d’être déséquilibrés, impraticables, peu économiques, ou n’importe quelle combinaison de ceux-ci. La question étudiée dans cet article est : Est-ce que la dynamique de vie en Bougainville du Sud a mené à l’évolution d’un système hiérarchique (stratifié) de contrôles sociaux dans le territoire de Buin avant l’arrivée des Européens ? Examinant la controverse dans la littérature ethnographique entre Douglas Oliver et Richard Thurnwald sur les origines de la société dite “féodale” des parieurs de Buin, ainsi que les découvertes archéologiques récentes dans la Plaine Buin, il est suggéré que le besoin pour les contrôles sociaux en Bougainville du Sud n’étaient probablement pas suffisamment complexes pour qu’un système de rôles attribués au chef ou les “statuts héréditaires” ait pu être une solution optimum à la complexité des systèmes des rapports sociaux, économiques, politiques, etc. Cette observation a un rapport direct avec les arguments théoriques touchant les origines de stratification et le système d’état de gouvernement : notamment le travail de Service, Sahlins et d’autres en Amérique. Tandis que la question des origines peut être fascinante historiquement, elle peut être insignifiante du point de vue de l’importance théorique.

THE PROBLEM

3The origins of the state and of civilization are disputed mysteries that have always fascinated philosophers and social scientists. In truth, it may well be that we have always known the right answers to the questions asked about the reasons, or causes, for state organization and for the elaborations of cultural life usually thought concomitant with the appearance of class differences, inequitable distribution of goods and services, differential exercise of power, and the like. As reviewed by Adams (1966), Carneiro(1970), Flannery (1972), Fried (1967), Krader (1968), Mair (1964), Service (1962, 1975) and other anthropologists, favorite solutions to these mysteries, nonetheless, have often been explanations that go beyond commonsense notions about the usefulness or “functions” of leadership personnel, about the troubles apparently inherent in dominance situations, etc. Scholars have been led to compare historical states and civilizations in hopes both that special intrinsic qualities or external circumstances possessed in common might be distilled from the particulars of time and space, and also that those special qualities or conditions would prove to be either the actual causes behind the origins of these mysteries, or at least the best clues to what the causes might ultimately be.

4Such an approach to the origins of the state and of civilization has an obvious weakness : it is a methodology of comparative assessment easily without controls. It can lead to one-sided solutions that mistake some particular circumstance–such as the presence of irrigation agriculture–for a cause sine qua non. It is better to adopt the position that we must ask not only “What is the origin of the state or of civilization ?” but also “Why are states not universal ?” In other words, what are the threshold conditions favoring the establishment of states and of civilizations by any means however simple or however complex–i.e., by conquest, by diffusion, by evolution, etc. Why is it that these threshold conditions have been historically so rare ?

5Kent Flannery, in arguing for the usefulness of computer simulation models for analyzing the cultural evolution of civilizations, notes what may be one of the most important issues involved :

6One of the thorniest problems in cultural evolution is the origins of hereditary inequality–the leap to a stage where lineages are “ranked” with regard to each other, and men from birth are of “chiefly” or “commoner” descent, regardless of their own individual capabilities (Flannery 1972 : 402). Flannery’s phrasing of this “thorniest” of problems implies certain preconceptions about how societies evolve toward statehood which may or may not be historically correct, but which are not essential. What is important is the problem of ranking per se, not whether or not all societies must pass through a “stage of hereditary inequality” if they are to become states. This thorniest of problems has a solution which is, in fact, quite commonsensible. In order to review how this might be true, I would like to examine the functions of control networks by taking a specific ethnographic situation as a case study : the problem posed by the origins of social stratification among the Buin-speakers of southern Bougainville.

THE PREMISE

7Hierarchical control networks are one solution to the problem of what to do about systems that are becoming so complex, they are threatening to become unstable, unworkable, uneconomical, or any or all of these in combination. This premise seems to be one of the lessons taught by modern economic geography, the abstract theory of graphs, and contemporary thinking in evolutionary biology.

8Complexity, like ecosystem diversity, can be defined “as a function of the number of possible interactions in a system and the degree to which they are structured” (Johnson and Raven 1970 : 129). By “control” I mean the effect or interaction of one element within a system upon another. By a “hierarchical control network” I imply something more general than the ideal pyramidic chain-of-command within a modern bureaucracy. Along with Herbert Simon (1969 : 36), I refer to that sort of complexity seen in systems which appear to be composed of subsystems that are themselves composed of subsystems, and so on. I intend the term “network” to be taken simply, rather than in its technical sense as a directed graph which is connected and has no loops (Busacker and Saaty 1965). I mean only the vernacular definition, i.e., something having a complex arrangement or structure.

9The specific proposition lying behind the discussion to follow in this paper is inspired by Richard Levins’ argument that “the dynamics of an arbitrary complex system will result in a simplified structuring of that complexity” (Levins 1973 : 113). The question I will explore is this one : Was the dynamics of political life in southern Bougainville leading to the evolution of hierarchival systems of social control prior to the arrival of the Europeans ? The specific proposition will be this : The need for social controls was not sufficiently complex in southern Bougainville before the coming of the white man that a system of ascribed leadership roles or “hereditary statuses” might have been an optimal solution to systems complexity in social, economic, political, etc. relationships. The evidence used to examine this premise will be taken both from social anthropology and from archaeology.

10Was political life in southern Bougainville leading to the evolution of hereditary social stratification ? This question takes us first of all to a controversy some years ago between two well-known social anthropologists : the late Richard Thurnwald, one of the fathers of economic anthropology, and Douglas Oliver, whose famous book, A Solomon Island Society : kinship and leadership among the Siuai of Bougainville (1955), is often considered to be one of the classics of modern social anthropology.

THE CONTROVERSY

11Richard Thurnwald first visited Bougainville in 1908-1909 (Thurnwald 1909, 1910, 1912). He returned in 1933-1934 with his wife, Hilde (Thurnwald 1934a, 1934b ; Hilde Thurnwald 1934, 1937). They spent ten months living again among the Buin (also called the Telei or Rugara) people who inhabit the eastern side of the inland plain which fans out from the central volcanoes at the southern end of Bougainville (Fig. 1). In 1938 Douglas Oliver and his wife, Eleanor, arrived on the island : they carried out anthropological investigations for more than a year and a half also throughout southern Bougainville (Oliver 1943, 1949, 1955, 1968, 1973). They spent most of that time living with the Siwai or Siuai (also called the Motuna) who dwell on the southern plain just to the west of the Buin people.

12During their field work, both Thurnwald and Oliver were impressed by the nature of political life among these peoples and especially by the activities of the local “big-men” or leaders, called mumi by the Siwai and mumira by the Buin. Most of Thurnwald’s accounts are in German, while Oliver’s, of course, are in English. Oliver’s fascinating reports have greatly influenced anthropological thinking about the status and role of Melanesian “big-men”. Elman R. Service’s recent attempt to account for the origins of the state and of civilization, for example, cites Oliver’s Siwai as exemplars of what he judges to have been perhaps the most important single state in the evolution of the state : the institutionalization of power, i.e., the beginnings of hierarchical society (Service 1975 : 71-80, 291-294).

13As Service has himself phrased the argument, writing, mathematics, scribes, great specialized art, metallurgy, elaborate ceremonial religion, grand public monuments and other “specialized appurtenances usually attributed to the archaic civilizations” may be considered “the final benefits of a form of centralized and expanding political organization that began in the simple attempts of a “big-man” to perpetuate his social dominance by services to his fellows” (1975 : 308). More specifically :

14The Watershed in the evolution of human culture occurred when primitive society became civilized society. As we know from modern anthropological studies, primitive societies were segmented into kin groups that were egalitarian in their relations to each other. Eventually some of them became hierarchical, controlled and directed by a central authoritative power–a power instituted as a government (1975 : 3-4). … it is a fact that segmental societies, however equal their parts, do exalt individuals. They follow war chiefs, accept advice from wise men, and believe in the unequal access of persons to supernatural power. And this proclivity sets the stage for more permanent hierarchies of differential power (1975 : 291). How does an influential person come to occupy an office, so that as his charisma wanes the office can be filled by someone else ? In other words, how does personal power become depersonalized power, corporate and institutionalized ? How does a high achieved statues become an ascribed status ? In more societal terms, the question is : How does an egalitarian, segmental society become an hierarchical society with permanently ascribed differential ranks of high and low statuses (1975 : 71-72) ?

15Elman Service and others recommend the Siwai of Bougainville as a good instance of an “embryonic chiefdom” capable of crossing this “Great Divide” between the primitive and civilized worlds by achieving a hierarchical form of governance (1975 : 74). This suggestion is interesting, because Richard Thurnwald has inferred that the Buin people at one time in their past has already made that great leap. Thurnwald’s German writing style can be difficult to translate, yet it is unfortunate that Service does not refer to Thurnwald’s accounts of “big-men” in Buin : unfortunate, because the process that may have led to social stratification among the Buin suggested by Thurnwald is different from that presumed by Service. Since the controversy between Oliver and Thurnwald centered precisely on this question of process, Service’s elevation of the Siwai to the rank of an “embryonic chiefdom” potentially on the road to state organization and archaic civilization gives all the more reason to re-examine that controversy.

16Thurnwald and Oliver have both expressed the opinion that the status of “big-men” in Siwai differed from that of prominent leaders in Buin at the turn of the century. Before Thurnwald’s death in 1954, however, they disagreed on the reason why. “Political organization among these Terei (Buin) is, indeed, more complex than in the neighboring Siuai area, but Thurnwald’s explanation for it is, I firmly believe, quite overdrawn. His preoccupation with migrations of conquerors is in line with similar preoccupations of W.H.R. Rivers, but one need invoke no actual conquest by a ‘superior race’ to account for the development of chieftainship here ; trade contacts with Alu Islanders (i.e., people from the Shortland Islands in the strait south of Bougainville) could just as well have served to introduce the material objects and standards of value favorable for such an evolution” (Oliver 1943 : 61). “Dr. Oliver shows that the mumi of Siuai and vicinity acquired their status by a process that does not presuppose invasion and conquest by outsiders. This does not ‘prove conclusively that this hypothesis (of mine) has no foundation’ (to quote a remark by Ian Hogbin). It proves exactly nothing concerning Buin, a people living in a position exposed to foreign attacks…” (Thurnwald 1951 : 137).

  • 1 Thurnwald gives further details, also (1937 : 4-5). Frau Thurnwald has reconstructed the process o (…)
  • 2 As this paper was being completed, and after Kothleen Fine had typed the final draft of all but th (…)

17I will not attempt to do justice here to both sides in the Oliver-Thurnwald controversy. Indeed, arbitration is not apropos to what I would like to discuss. The dispute is taken as a case study not to determine who was right about the origins of social stratification in Buin, but instead :1 What are the alternative hypotheses about the past that might be extracted from what each of these scholars has written ?2 What can archeology contribute to the evaluation of these contrary hypotheses ? (3) What effect might the verification of one hypothesis rather than the other have on the broader issue raised by Service and others concerning the primitive origins of the governmental bureaucracies and the state ? What follows, therefore, will refer only to what shall be called the “Oliver hypothesis” and the “Thurnwald hypothesis”, and will not attempt a detailed critique of all that has been said a-bout social stratification among the Buin and Siwai.

18In his recent book, Bougainville. A Personal History, Douglas Oliver writes : “Generally speaking, the more cohesive tribes (politically active neighborhoods) were to be found among the coastal Austronesian-speaking peoples, and in the Buin non-Austronesian area of southeastern Bougainville. Elsewhere tribes appear to have been smaller and more loosely organized. Thus regional differences in tribal size and cohesiveness may have been associated with differences in the ways men became leaders” (1973 : 71). According to his analysis, tribal leadership on Bougainville ranged between the two extremes of ascribed status, on the one hand, and achieved status, on the other. To quote him directly :

19At one extreme were those tribal neighbourhoods dominated numerically, or in terms of land-holdings, by one particular matrilineage. In such cases the members of the principal matrilineage constituted an aristocracy, and their senior member a hereditary chief, to be succeeded in time by the eldest son of his eldest sister (and not by his own son, who would of course have been a member of a different matrilineage). So far had this process gone in some coastal tribes, and in the southern part of Buin, that these societies reached the point of clear-cut stratification, having been divided into two or even three hereditary classes : aristocrats, commoners and intermediates (ibid.).

20In broad outline, this is the pattern of ascribed leadership encountered by Beatrice Blackwood on Buka and in northern Bougainville during her field work in the area in 1929-1930 (Blackwood 1935). It is also the kind of pattern drawn by Thurnwald for the Buin :

21The natives are an essentially sedentary people, although dwellings were sometimes moved as a result of warfare and personal quarrels. The communities are kept together by feudal chiefs, each of whom is the representative senior of his family in the district (1934a : 140).

22The other extreme-leadership by achieved status-was encountered among those tribes “whose leaders earned their positions of authority by exercising military or political skill. Usually however, actual fighting prowess was less important than the ability to gain and inspire followers, which was exemplified by forcefulness of personality and by shrewd distribution of favours and hospitality” (1973 : 71-72). Here Oliver seems to be referring to tribes such as those of the Siwai (Oliver 1955).

23Social evolutionists, following Elman Service, might classify Bougainville tribes in which leadership was an hereditary right as more “evolved” than tribes among which leadership had to be gained individually from generation to generation through good public service and skillful social, economic and political maneuvering. The facts about social organization on Bougainville do not fit such a neat ordering of political forms (Terrell n.d.). Among the Teop of northeastern Bougainville, for example, leadership roles are customarily filled by eldest surviving sons and daughters of particular “lordly” matrilineages. Yet it is freely admitted that an office can be filled by someone other than an heir-designate if the latter should be found to be incompetent, apathetic, or plainly inferior to someone else. And that someone else need not even be a kinsman, because it is easy enough to adopt a person so that he may fulfill the needed role.

24Enough has been said to warn the ingenuous social evolutionist that political life on Bougainville is not a matter of extremes. Oliver’s characterization of the situation on the island as such is only a convenience. Elsewhere he has shown how truly difficult it is to classify the local tribes into clear-cut types. Writing, for instance, about only the Nagovisi, Siwai and Buin, all of whom dwell on the southern plain, he has reported that ‘with the exception of certain dyadic groups–for example, trade partners, sibling pairs, friends–every group we observed in southern Bougainville was structured hierarchically : one or two persons exercised authority more frequently than other members” (Oliver 1968 : 163). Among the Nagovisi, who live to the northwest of the Siwai, hamlet leaders are (or were, traditionally) “Old-ones”, male and female, who are normally also senior figures in the local matrilineages. “Kinship and age are the crucial qualifications for these positions, but a commanding or persuasive personality is also a factor” (ibid). Among the Siwai and Buin, on the other hand, where matrilineages are less obvious to the observer and less important in traditional life, “factors of personality and of ‘renown’ sometimes override age and even kinship affiliation as qualifications for hamlet leadership” (ibid).

25Oliver has suggested that variation such as this in the specifications for leadership roles may follow what biologists call a “cline”, or gradient, running across the plain from the northwest where the Nagovisi live down to the southeast where the Buin people dwell. In western Siwai a man of renown, a mumi, is generally also a matrilineage leader, as in Nagovisi. In northeastern Siwai, however, whether or not a man rises to a position of influence may depend, in part, on whether or not his father was a mumi : in short, at this point on the southern plain one can begin to detect an incipient bias favoring patrilineal succession to mumiship(1968 : 163-164, 166). Finally, in the territory of the Buin people, the institution of leadership built upon renown exists “side by side with one of inherited rank” (1968 : 166).

26Lest the reader be confused about how leadership in Buin differs from leadership, say, among the tribes of western Siwai, it should be emphasized before going any further that one of the differences being drawn seems to be that between patrilineal versus matrilineal ascription, and not, as one might at first think, between acquired or ascribed status per se. An added difference may be also whether or not it is useful to regard those of high status as comprising a “chiefly stratum”. This possible distinction, however, is an especially elusive one, because even Thurnwald was willing to say that a chief in Buin “is housed, dressed and fed exactly like his bondsman… The stratification, therefore, can only be discovered by close observation of the behaviour and customs, and by obtaining confidential information” (Thurnwald 1934a : 125).

27Without attempting to delve further into the obvious complexities of political organization on the Buin Plain, let it be said in summary that Oliver and Thurnwald seem to have agreed with each other that the institution of inherited rank was stronger among the Buin than the Siwai. In Oliver’s words : “there is a clearly discernible cline, from northwest to southeast, in the devaluation of sibship. There is a parallel trend in emphasis upon ‘renown’ as a factor in determining social hierarchies, with the additional factor of inherited class-status in the southeast” (Oliver 1968 : 167). He goes on to ask, “What accounts for these regional differences ?” Since Oliver and Thurnwald have suggested two somewhat differing explanations, let us turn then to the hypotheses they have advanced.

28Thurnwald’s hypothesis : Lawrence Krader in his book, Formation of the State, writes that Thurnwald “conceived the state to be formed by the conquest of one people by another” (Krader 1968 : 3). The Thurnwald hypothesis is, essentially, a conquest theory of state formation writ small. Phrased succinctly, Thurnwald asserted on a number of occasions that the “chief’s stratum” in Buin had resulted from “an invasion of a tribe of black navigating conquerors” (Thurnwald 1951 : 138). As far as I have been able to discover, he never described the process or sequence of events in historical detail. On several occasions, however, he did speculate on what might have happened :

29Originally the mumira belonged to a stock that swept over Buin from the Alu and Mono Islands. Probably enterprising persons by head-hunting, successful fighting and feasts attracted followers among the “aborigines”. As they took wives and settled among the indigenous population, racial and cultural fusion gradually advanced, although the progeny of the invaders reserved privileges for their kinfolk, thus establishing a kind of feudal regime (Thurnwald 1934a : 133).

30He suggested the original invasion had been carried out in a fashion comparable to the headhunting raids for which the islanders in the western Solomons were famous in the nineteenth century (Guppy 1887 : 16-17, 27).

  • 3 Thurnwald gives further details, also (1937 : 4-5). Frau Thurnwald has reconstructed the process o (…)

31“Derartige Raubzüge, die mit Schädeljagden verbunden waren, wurden noch bis vor etwa 50 Jahren, z. B. nach der Küste von Bambatana (Insel Choiseul) unternommen und wurden bei meinem Besuch dort 1908 noch gut erinnert” (Thurnwald 1937 : 4)3.

32Perhaps the most important feature of Thurnwald’s hypothesis is the allowance it makes for the disintegration of the “traditional ethnic stratification” in Buin with the passage of time, due to intermarriage, the acquisition of wealth and renown by commoners or those of mixed-blood, etc. He wrote :

33It should be borne in mind that people (in Buin) promote their acquisition of wealth by using rational calculations of an economic nature. They do it consciously and intentionally, incited thereto by the desire to improve their social position. This process, by which the influence of the hereditary aristocracy was countered by the influence of wealth, began long ago… In this way the established stratification of society has, in the lapse of time, become disturbed and the principle upon which it was founded has shifted (1934a : 132).

34In other words, Thurnwald argued that the aristocratic Buin social system, built upon ethnic stratification and ascribed status, was in the process of devolving into one based upon the principle of acquired status. In this quotation he seems to imply, as well, that this gradual disintegration of the old order was not leading back to the kind of egalitarian matrilineal system that both he and Oliver (1943, 1955 : 470 ; 1968) have proposed may have once been universal on the plain. Instead, stratification remained, in weaker form perhaps ; only “the principle upon which it was founded has shifted”.

35Oliver’s hypothesis : Lawrence Krader has further observed that theories of state formation by conquest usually fail as general theories, because such interpretations rely upon factors external to a society and they do not necessarily take into account the internal processes leading to the formation of a given state. He argues :

36Migration of a bellicose people to the vicinity of a peaceable one or the converse, and subsequent conquest by the former of the latter, does not in itself lead to class stratification and state formation. There must also have been beforehand at least the germ of social stratification, of an administrative system, of an ideology of superiority and of rulership, and of a burgeoning economy with some differentiations of economic functions. The Eskimo and neighboring Chukchi, for instance, made war upon each other, with occasional conquests, but we do not speak of a Chukchi or Eskimo state (Krader 1968 : 45).

37Krader goes on to comment that Thurnwald’s ideas about the formation of states through conquest in east Africa did not, in fact, suffer from such obvious deficiency (1968 : 49-50). Douglas Oliver has, however, indicated such a weakness in Thurnwald’s explanation for the alleged stratification of Buin society :

38…Thurnwald’s explanation for the class-stratified society of the Rugara-speakers (Buin) is in terms of alien conquerors, Melanesian-speaking warriors from the islands to the south, who imposed their regime upon the more primitive and less organized aborigines. This may be so, but it is not the only possible explanation. An alternative hypothesis is that the Rugara institution may be viewed as an extreme but logical variation on the prestige-ranking theme, a crystalization in dynastic form of beliefs and practices present, incipiently, elsewhere. Frequent contact by the Rugara-speakers with aristocratically organized outsiders may have provided a reference-model for an otherwise local development made possible by larger surpluses and more shell money, traded directly from the southern islanders (Oliver 1968 : 167-168). It can be seen, I believe, that these two hypotheses are not altogether dissimilar. Both Thurnwald and Oliver have written that the Siwai were less exposed to outside contact with Strait islanders than the Buin. In 1951 Thurnwald remarked : “In earlier writings I have commented on the society of Siuai, which differs decidedly from that of Buin. I assume that the Melanesians did not enter the hill country, but kept near the coast, although they maintained indirect relations with Siuai” (1951 : 138). “Cultural differences between the two areas do, however, exist. Many of these I believe can be attributed to the proximity of the Terei (Buin) people to Alu Island” (Oliver 1943 : 61). “There may have been some coastal trade with Alu and Mono islanders, but this cannot have been very lively inasmuch as the Siuai had few material surpluses to offer in exchange and inasmuch as the islanders did not to my knowledge offer a large market for slaves” (Oliver 1955 : 470). Similarly, they have both discussed the process leading to stratification in Buin as one involving a give-and-take between foreign and indigenous elements.

39The major difference between the Thurnwald hypothesis and the Oliver hypothesis thus seems to lie in the immediate cause or events held responsible for the conversion of Buin society away from matrilocal, matrilineal institutions and toward “a strengthening of patrilineal political ties” (Oliver 1943 : 61). Oliver credits stimulus diffusion and suggests that class-stratification evolved in part because of contact with an already stratified society, that of the Mono-Alu or Shortland Islanders. Thurnwald also thought Buin society had changed from a formerly more egalitarian condition, not so much by evolution due to the impetus of external ideas and trade, but by force applied by external invaders from the same source. Stratification did not evolve locally, it was imposed.

  • 4 As this paper was being completed, and after Kothleen Fine had typed the final draft of all but th (…)

40In both hypotheses, chance plays a dominant role. If the Strait islanders had happened to be less warlike or less stratified, the situation in Buin might have developed along different lines. I must confess that I prefer Oliver’s hypothesis, not because it is antagonistic to what seems a rather old-fashioned “invasion hypothesis”, but instead because it seems a more convincing phrasing of very much the same set of circumstances. Both hypotheses have weaknesses. Both are speculative ; both presume a degree of class stratification in Buin which might be challenged in fact4. Thurnwald, lamely I think, had to argue against his own observations, in order to argue for an aristocratic tradition and class in Buin : i.e., he had to claim that the mumira class had “deteriorated”, “disintegrated”, suffered “fusion” with the aboriginal natives, etc. As Oliver seems to hint now and then in his writings (e.g., Oliver 1943 : 62, note 29), Thurnwald’s eye-witness observations, indeed, could be read to suggest a structural picture of Buin political society little different from that painstakingly drawn by Oliver for the Siwai. On the other hand, Oliver’s hypothesis presumes certain differences in human ecology between the territory of the Siwai and that of Buin which may not exist (Terrell 1976 : 154-155), and it further supposes an “aristocratic tradition” in the Bougainville Strait which cannot be assumed without qualification. Guppy reports that “the chiefs of the islands of Bougainville Straits possess far greater power over their peoples than that which is wielded by most of the chiefs we encountered at the St. Christoval end of the group” (Guppy 1887 : 20). Yet I have argued elsewhere (Terrell and Irwin 1972) that much of the power and economic wealth of “King” Gorai and other chiefs in the Strait in the latter half of the nineteenth century can be interpreted as a direct result of their entrepreneurial dealings with European traders. Moreover, even these remarkable big-men were described by visiting white men as little distinguishable by appearance from their “subjects”. Gorai did have by repute a great number of wives, and Guppy relates that the “inhabitants of the Shortland Islands, Gorai’s immediate rule, live in great awe of their chief”. Yet he adds that “We were unable to see very much of the mode of exercising his power ; but I suspect that Gorai, like other chiefs, places but little value on the lives of his people (1887 : 22).

41I have ventured far into the arena of social anthropology. I have gone as far as I have to emphasize some of the complexities and uncertainties of the problem of social stratification in southern Bougainville. Let me suggest then a few of the things we might ask about the past, given the Thurnwald and Oliver hypotheses as I have presented them.

42If the Thurnwald hypothesis is correct, it seems reasonable to expect to find these characteristics in the genetic composition of the Buin villagers and in the archaeological record from this part of Bougainville :

431. According to one of Thurnwald’s earliest papers (1910 : 101-110), the Buin population can be divided into two racial types which correlate more or less discretely with the chiefly class and the aboriginal lower class. “Natürlich kommen zwischen diesen beiden eine Menge Misch-Typen vor. Der erste Typ is dem anderen wohl an Intelligenz und Kulturgütern überlegen, doch hat der letztere es durchgesetzt, seine Sprache in Buin zu erhalten. Die Leute von Buin sprechen eine nicht melanesische Sprache, die mit der Bergvölker (i.e., the aborigines) verwandt ist” (1910 : 101).

442. Since the black, seafaring invaders are alleged to have introduced important “high” culture traits, the archaeological record may show the sudden appearance of new culture elements a few hundred years ago–Hilde Thurnwald (1938 : 214) has speculated that the initial marauding began about 200 years ago.

453. If it is possible to identify certain monuments, artifacts, settlement traits, etc. as introduced traits belonging to a new chiefly class, we may anticipate finding that such elements have become more general–i.e., common–with the passage of time, as the aristocracy has gradually disintegrated and commoners or men of mixed-blood have begun to achieve high status in competition with the old aristocrats.

46Alternatively, given the Oliver hypothesis, the following patterns may be expected :

471. If intermarriage has taken place between Strait islanders and the Bougainville tribes, we might find that the Buin people are genetically more similar to the off-shore islanders than either the Siwai or the Nagovisi are discovered to be. However, given Oliver’s hypothesis, there is no reason to suspect extraordinary genetic variability within the Buin population, due to the occurence of two ethnic strata with only partial “racial mixture”.

482. If similarities between the Buin tribes and the Strait islanders have come about merely through borrowing and trade, there is no reason to expect to find in the archaeological record a sudden influx of culture traits a few hundred years ago. Once contact between landsmen and off-islanders was established, traits might have passed back and forth at any time in the past. Even the sudden appearance of a complex of traits within the archaeological record, moreover, might be explained as wholesale borrowing.

493. New traits borrowed from Strait islanders from time to time may have become fashionable for awhile and then gone out of fashion. There is nothing in the Oliver hypothesis to lead us to anticipate a major “cultural decline” due to the disintegration of an old order.

50Shortly I shall turn to archaeological evidence bearing on these possibilities. Before doing so, however, it is appropriate to mention briefly something about the results of modern biological research on the genetics of Bougainville islanders undertaken by Jon S. Fried-laender and others from Harvard University. While Friedlaender has thus far not attempted biological surveys in the Buin area, he has completed systematic studies among the Siwai and other linguistic groups in southern Bougainville and, most recently, on Buka and selected areas of northern Bougainville (Friedlaender 1975 and pers. comm.). Following European contact, there was a marked decline in the native population of the Strait islands (Irwin, pers. comm ; Thurnwald 1910), and much of the present-day population is comprised of migrants from Bougainville. Thus it may be now more or less impossible to compare Strait islanders and plainsmen directly. Friedlaender has found that Torau-speaking Melanesians living on the east coast of Bougainville, after whom Thurnwald once named his black invaders (Thurnwald 1937 : 4), can not be distinguished readily from Bougainville islanders in general and, in fact, most closely resemble their present neighbors in the Kieta area, the non-Melanesian-speaking Nasioi. Although it is likely that the Torau have been residing on the east coast for hundreds of years (Black n. d. ; Terrell and Irwin 1972), no one doubts their affinities with the islanders in the Bougainville Strait. Such circumstantial evidence, therefore, seems to imply that Thurnwald’s racial argument has no basis in fact (Friedlaender, pers. comm.).

51What, therefore, does archaeology have to say about the Oliver and Thurnwald controversy ?

ARCHAEOLOGY IN BUIN

52In 1969-1970 I carried out archaeological surveys on Bougainville in four selected areas, including the Paubake Survey Area located in Buin territory (Fig. 1). During the final three months of the expedition which were given over entirely to work in Paubake, I was joined by two New Zealand archaeologists, Dr. Geoffrey Irwin, presently Lecturer in Anthropology at the University of Auckland, and Kenneth C. Gorbey, now Director of the Waikato Museum in New Zealand. Since the monograph on these researches is to be published in the near future, I will only summarize points of direct relevance here (Terrell 1976).

53At various times in his narratives on his journey to Buin in 1908-1909 Richard Thurnwald mentions the existence of certain isolated stone boulders and stone groups which locally had supernatural associations (1909 : 518-519 ; 1910 : 135 ; 1912, Vol. 1 : 369-370). He speculates whether or not they might have served in the past as grave stones. In this regard he reports that a stone near the village of Morou was alleged to be the burial place of a “big-man” named Tsikinue (1912, Vol. 1 : 370). He notes that it seemed revealing that Tsikinue was said to have been buriedthere, because the historic Buin villagers practiced cremation (1912, Vol. 1 : 33). On his return to Buin in 1933-1934 he undertook further study of these mysterious stones (Thurnwald 1934b). He made rough field surveys of stones about the villages where he and his wife lived, and he even “ventured to dig underneath a few megaliths without encountering any objection from the natives”.

54He discovered that most, if not in fact all, of the stones “are never hewn, or bear any other traces of human workmanship”. He thought he could distinguish three types of monuments :

551. Megaliths which varied considerably in size ranging from roughly 30 x 30 inches up to 70 or 80 inches square, if cubic in shape. “The larger blocks are supported by six basic stones, comparatively very small in size. Little blocks are supported by three or four basic stones only”.

562. Monoliths “standing erect and sometimes bearing traces of human sculpturing, either in in the shape of a prism or a rectangle ; in one or two cases the profile of a face could be guessed”.

573. Stone circles or ovals : “Comparatively small stones of a few inches in diameter arranged in a circle or oval associated with traces of cremation. They are apparently of no great age”.

58It is unclear how many of the so-called megaliths he may have excavated in 1933-1934. His account reads as if he were describing only a single example :

59A few inches beneath the surface I found remains of nutshells, round objects like throwing stones, and broken pottery. Somewhat deeper, a few inches more, human bones in an advanced stage of decomposition were discovered, together with broken stone implements, crude axe blades, and seemingly wooden objects which it is scarcely possible to reconstruct.

60He indicates that the finds were handed over to the Department of Anthropology at the University of Sydney, but they are no longer to be found there (Specht 1969 : 11).

61Thurnwald was intrigued by the human remains : “Perhaps the stones hide the remains of an invading population from which the present chief’s families are late hybrid descendants”. He was somewhat perplexed by the condition of the burial :

62The position of the human remains shows that the body had not been buried as a whole. The bones were lying in a jumble, not arrayed like a full skeleton. No skulls or teeth were found, though some of the pits were thoroughly examined, the basic stones and the megalith removed, and digging continued below the layer of bones. My impression is that a low pit was originally excavated and then filled with bones which were sometimes placed on one side of the megalith rather than directly under it. For some reason the skulls must have been withheld from the grave.

63He concluded that the transport of such large blocks must have taken a great deal of strenuous exertion on the part of a large number of men : “…certain persons must have been able to urge others to help in the performance of the work ; and these others must have been willing to concur with them. This suggests an enterprising people”. Citing reports of similar stone monuments in Siwai, on the islands in Bougainville Strait and to the north on the island of Buka, he ends his report with the thought : “On other islands of the Pacific also, monuments are found, the investigation of which would throw some light upon the migrations and early history of this part of the world”.

64The primary objective of most archaeological surveys is not to answer questions about the past, but rather to determine the most interesting questions to ask. Solutions usually come later from detailed, intensive research directed toward carefully phrased research problems. The objectives of the archaeological surveys on Bougainville in 1969-1970 were simply to define some of the outlines of prehistory on the island, the largest in the Solomon Islands, and gather evidence which might prove useful in accounting for the great ethnological and biological diversity of these islanders, an ethnic complexity so extraordinary that Bougainville is a microcosm of the diversity not only of the whole of the Solomons, but also of the whole of Melanesia. If the tentative nature of our findings is kept firmly in mind, the following observations bearing upon the prehistory of the Paubake area can be offered.

65Investigation of stone monuments in Buin, it now appears, has nothing to contribute to the study of so-called “Megalithic folk” alleged by some scholars to have migrated throughout the Pacific bearing advanced culture traits as their gifts to backward, short, stolid “aborigines” (e.g., Riesenfeld 1950). We could find only two “monoliths” in the Paubake Survey Area ; none was obviously sculptured. While the possibility cannot be ruled out that Thurnwald’s monoliths on which “the profile of a face could be guessed” might somehow be related to the famous sculptured burial pillars of Choiseul (Bernatzik 1935 : Fig. 43), there is otherwise no reason to think that the stone monuments of Buin are anything more than local inventions. Evidence favoring this conclusion is afforded by the distributions of both “megaliths” and “stone circles”.

66We discovered over 70 stone megaliths (PI. 1a), ranging in the length and width of the capstone between roughly 30-400 cm, and in height above ground level between 15-200 cm. The “basic stones” or underlying support stones varied in number from between none at all to 9 in total. It is clear that the function of the understones was merely to level the primary capstones and that the number employed in a specific instance is not terribly significant. In order to avoid the presumption that these table-like stone constructions reflect a Megalithic Culture, we have termed them “capstones”.

67The distribution of such finds is revealing. While Thurnwald was surprised by the occurrence of hugh blocks of stone on an alluvial landscape (1910 : 135 ; 1934b), the distribution of capstones, singly, in groups of 2-3 and more, or in impressive long avenues (Fig. 2), appears to correlate precisely with the distribution of naturally-occuring stones of a similar nature (Fig. 3). As reported by the soil scientists at the Australian Division of Land Research (Scott et al. 1967), the northern region of the Paubake Survey Area depicted as unshaded on the maps in Fig. 3 & 7 is a portion of what they have called the “Buin Land System”–the alluvium of which contains eroded boulders of volcanic origin identical to those used in the construction of capstones. Boulders and smaller stones are to be found, in fact, on or partially within the ground surface throughout the northern part of the survey area. Where rivers have cut through the alluvium, it is often possible to find huge boulders buried deep in the ground or lying exposed in river channels (Pl. 1b). Frequently the upper surfaces of capstones and naturally-positioned boulders have a distinctive “pocked” appearance. Locally such stones may be identified as “nutting rocks” where generations of villagers have cracked open Canarium almonds. Perhaps some of these stones have been used in this fashion, but the pitted surfaces are the result of the weathering of phenocrysts which are part of the volcanic composition of the rock.

68Originally we assumed that these numerous capstones were a kind of burial monument, as Thurnwald had inferred they were. Excavation below two small capstones at the Loiai Site (BoP-3) near Luaguo Village, however, failed to discover pits or burial remains of any description. With rare exception, no one in Buin today can say what function these monuments may have served. Some reported, nonetheless, that the capstones were “pudding tables” used in food displays at feasts. The best hypothesis at the moment appears to be that Thurnwald was only partially right in his interpretation.

Kennamoalutuaku

Kennamoalutuaku

Fig. 2

69It is my suspicion that Thurnwald was correct to be impressed at the labor which must have gone into building especially the larger capstones. It seems a good guess that they are prestige symbols directly comparable to the great timber “slit gongs” that “big-men” in both Buin and Siwai commission to have made for them as monuments to their growing renown and which are transported by their followers to their club-houses with pomp and feasting (Oliver 1955 : 379-386 and Figs. 38-40 ; Thurnwald 1910 : 114-115). “Gong-carrying is one of the Siuai’s most spectacular activities. One occasion I witnessed involved some two hundred men ; and a twenty-five-foot-wide trail had to be cut through the forest and grove to get the gong to the club-house” (Oliver 1955 : 385).

70The fact that Thurnwald may have found human remains below the capstones he excavated does not necessarily refute this sociological hypothesis. As far as we can tell at present, capstones and the types of burial structures called stone circles by Thurnwald were, in reality, contemporary culture traits during at least part of their periods of fashion in the prehistory of the Paubake area. In other words, it appears that Thurnwald was wrong to suppose that a practice of inhumation below megaliths came before cremation burial in stone circles. Nonetheless, it seems entirely plausible that the burials he found were the dedicatory remains of victims slain at the inauguration of new capstones : a romantic notion, perhaps, but a practice actually describe by Thurnwald as part of the inauguration of chieftain’s halls (Thurnwald 1912, Vol. 3 : 51-53). It is at least intriguing that he reports skulls were removed from the hapless victims so that such trophies could be displayed in the new club-houses. In any case, it remains for future excavations to determine whether or not capstones are likely to be found in association with club-house remains : an association which would strengthen this particular hypothesis .

71Thurnwald’s “stone-circles” were also investigated in 1969-1970. It is now possible to recognize three general types, which we have designated : (a) the rectangular type with prominent corner-stones or “wings” (Fig. 4) ; (b) the simple rectangular type (Fig. 5) ; and (c) the irregular type, apparently indentical to what Thurnwald called stone circles (Fig. 6).

72Once again, these stone monuments are also found in the north where there is natural stone readily available for their construction–including in this case, however, the stone outcrops at Malabita Hill near the coast (Fig. 7).

73Unlike Thurnwald, we did encounter some opposition to the excavation of these burial grounds, which today are locally called tsigoro . By agreement, we excavated only a single tsigoro at the Loiai Site (Fig. 8). As chance had it, however, we did come across burials in other excavations. It is thus possible to sketch tentatively the history of burial rites over a period of perhaps a millennium or more.

74Formerly, the word tsigoro seems to have meant only a place where a funeral pyre (tsigo) has burned. It has now replaced the traditional word for grave site today familiar only to a few old people, the term tiririno or tsiririno. Thurnwald tells us (1912, Vol. 3 : 22-23) that after a cremation, the remaining bones and ashes were collected in a taine or carrying-bag and then buried in a defined cemetery or tsiririno. A wooden framework called a bare was erected at the place where the cremation had occured, a place he says was called a tsigo. Food offerings to the dead were then burned at the bare each day for a month after the funeral.

75The tsigoro in Area 2 at Loiai was excavated because it seemed to be a well-preserved example of the winged-rectangular type of burial site which–like all other stone tsigoro–was said to be the burial place of a “big-man”. First, two scattered human cremations were discovered in the topsoil within the tsigoro (Bone Scatters A and B in Fig. 8). Further excavation revealed a primary burial pit well below the zone of active soil formation. Within the pit we found an urn burial of (probably) a man estimated to be 20-40 years of age (Fig. 9 and Pl. 1c). Associated with his remains were drilled canine-teeth of an as-yet-unidentified mammal, presumably from a necklace, which had been burned along with the body. A stratigraphic section along the north wall of the tsigoro confirmed the added fact that the burial structure had been erected in an area previously the site of a poststructure (s), perhaps a house of some description. Of particular interest were, however, a number of small post-holes more or less around the burial pit, at least some of which post-dated the infilling of the pit.

76After we excavated this urn burial, local people did tell us that they had heard of such things. But this burial rite is, as far as I can tell, totally unreported in the ethnographic record for the southern Bougainville plain. At the time of excavation, we did not know of the Buin custom of constructing a bare or framework at the site of cremation. The small post-holes just mentioned which were found around the primary burial pit might, of course, be so interpreted. The fasccinating point, nonetheless, is that this kind of urn burial appears to be paralleled very closely by the type of burial given high-status individuals on the islands in the Bougainville Strait and in the Melanesian-speaking Torau villages of the east coast of Bougainville : localities where, apparently, cremation was a rite reserved for persons of rank, while lesser individuals were interred or buried at sea (Frizzi 1914 : 12-14 ; Guppy 1887 : 51-52 ; Parkinson 1898-99 : 9 ; Parkinson 1907 : 484 ; Wheeler 1914 : 64-78 ; Woodford 1890 : 37).

77This parallel is surprising because of the suspected age of the Loiai burial urn. My luck in getting radio-carbon dates that are easy to interpret is not very good. There are two for this obviously well-defined event : 1710 B.C. ± 180 (GX-2218, uncorrected) and 1140 A.D. ± 130 (uncorrected, GX-2219). I think the latter comes closer to the truth, particularly if seemingly related evidence from the Shortlands, including one carbon date of 1040 ± 95 B.P., is taken into consideration (Irwin 1972 : 103). Whatever interpretation is made of these carbon dates derived from two different charcoal samples, it does look as if we should think in terms of an age of at least 600-1, 000 years.

78If this one tsigoro is typical of the type we have called the winged-rectangular tsigoro, then it appears that this ancient burial pattern combines elements both of historic Buin tsiririno and bare, and also of the historic burial customs followed on the islands in the Strait but not found in Buin or Siwai (Oliver 1955 : 212). In sum, the Strait islanders during the early decades of European contact were still practicing burial customs seemingly little changed from the pattern suggested by the Loiai Area 2 tsigoro. The Buin (and Siwai ?) in historic times, on the other hand, were following customs that were only a dim reflection of their own ancestral pattern.

79I should add that there is one obvious difference between the old Buin pattern and the historic rite in the Bougainville Strait. Historic monuments seemingly “cognate” to stone tsigoro were wooden structures built at the site of cremation. Considering that tsigoro occur in Buin where there is stone readily at hand for their construction, this apparent difference seems insubstantial. Yet it is a unique characteristic of the Buin rite worth keeping in mind (note however : Ribbe 1903 : Fig. 15).

80Now if the historic Buin burial pattern was, in fact, a derivative of the ancient tsigoro pattern found at Loiai, then it may be possible to document the course of change or drift in the archaeological record. It appears that archaeology can be used to do just that. But it must not be forgotten that the evidence available is still limited. Perhaps more important, the changes we can infer may have occurred only in the burial tradition for high-status individuals.

81When the dimensions of the area enclosed within a tsigoro are plotted for every tsigoro found in 1969-1970 which could be measured (Fig. 10), it is apparent that the irregular type is, on the average, smaller than either the winged-rectangular type or the simple rectangular type. Moreover, rectangular tsigoro of either form are rare ; irregular tsigoro are more common. All three types, nevertheless, are uncommon enough to suggest they were not the sort of monument built for every man or woman in Buin : i.e., they were, as they are today said to be, burial sites of individuals of high-status. Further, irregular tsigoro are normally found clustered together, as in Figure 6. In those cases when two or three types occur at the same cemetery, as at Turiboiru (Fig. 11), it sometimes looks as if an original winged-rectangular or simple rectangular tsigoro was later added to through the construction of more irregular tsigoro walls, as at Nigeriai (Fig. 12). Our present interpretation of these observations is that winged-rectangular type is the oldest form, the simple rectangular type is a close derivative from the winged variety, and the irregular type is a further derivative from the simple rectangular type. It seems reasonable at this point to accept the local claim that the individuals buried in grouped tsigoro were all patrilineally related, or were at least kinsmen. This assumption then may explain the apparent “additive” configuration of many of the tsigoro found in Paubake.

82The excavation of three cremation burials quite by accident in 1970 at the Bekuinotu Site (BoP-34), seen in conjunction with the cremation burials found scattered in the topsoil at several locations at Loiai, permits a tentative extension of this proposed sequence of changes in tsigoro ritual down to historic times. The burials at Bekuinotu were all in basin-shaped pits, as at Loiai. But the cremated remains were not in pots or urns. They were not marked with stone tsigoro walls. While they have been dated as “less than 200 years” (GX-2216, GX-2217), stratigraphically the oldest burial is associated, nonetheless, with a tsigoro-like ring of small cobbles found actually within the burial pit. The two other cremations lacked even this feature. Now the stratigraphic position of the cremation scatters at Loiai certainly seems to imply that they may be even younger than the Bekuinotu burials. Thus it looks as if burial ritual in Paubake (assuming we are not mixing high-status and low-status burials) went through a course of “devolution” starting with changes in the construction of tsigoro(hypothetically), at least, a change from winged-rectangular to simple rectangular to irregular tsigoro), leading to the eventual cessation to tsigoro construction altogether (except perhaps in the form of a small ring of stones within the burial pit), and ending with the practice of simply scattering cremations over the ground in a place designated as a tsiririno, resulting in the incorporation of cremations into topsoil. At some point, too, the use of burial urns must have ended, but we cannot even guess when that occurred.

83A similar and far more reliable “devolutionary picture” could also be drawn tracing the history of pottery-making in the Paubake Survey Area (Terrell 1976). It seems likely that pottery appeared in Buin about the same time that we also find the development of tsigoro and capstones. There is no evidence to infer, however, that these three culture traits appeared in Buin at one and the same time, although our knowledge is still so fragmentary that we cannot rule out the possibility altogether.

84What does this all mean ? More to the point, having gotten this far from the topic which began this narrative–the origins of the state and of civilization–can we get back to that larger issue ?

CONCLUDING PROPOSITIONS

85There is reason to be confident in the belief, based not only on the new archaeological knowledge of Bougainville but also on our rethinking of earlier theories and beliefs, that trade, travel, settlement and marauding among the islands in the Bougainville Strait (including Choiseul) and the tribes of southern Bougainville all have a most respectable antiquity behind them : at least 1,000-1,500 years by present estimate, if not even farther back in prehistory (Black n.d. ; Irwin 1972 ; Terrell and Irwin 1972). Thurnwald and others have been wrong, I think, to believe instead that contact between Buin and the Shortlands was established only recently and was necessarily hostile. It appears certain from Thurnwald’s writings that he was led himself to speculate about a Mono-Alu invasion in part because of tales and traditions locally popular concerning events in the latter part of the nineteenth century when “King” Gorai and other Mono-Alu chieftains were expanding their hegemony over the southern shores of Bougainville. His error lay in reading too much into those events.

86Most of Thurnwald’s “invasion hypothesis”, therefore, is now entirely suspect. It is improbable that we will ever be able to define a “period of invasion”. Even if an invasion of some kind did occur at some point in the past, it is unlikely that the conquerors were in fact racially distinct from the Buin “aborigines”. On a priori grounds alone it seems most unlikely that we could now identify a foreign genetic component in Buin or that the invaders swarmed into Buin in numbers large enough to establish a chiefly stratum which was also an ethnic stratum.

87Yet there is now also enough archaeological evidence from the Paubake Survey Area to believe that contacts between Buin and the Strait islanders have indeed been influential in the course of local prehistory. I would argue, however, that in every case now known where borrowing or conquest might be surmised we see this distinctive pattern : Buin culture traits such as pottery, burial rites, prestige pudding-tables, and the like may owe some inspiration to external sources (or vice versa ?), but they are, nonetheless, local expressions or realizations. Culture traits appear in the prehistoric sequence, change and, in some instances, are forgotten : all in unique ways.

88I have already observed that one of the characteristics of culture change in Buin seems to be “devolution” or drift in isolation. As Oliver long ago remarked, the broad moat of swampland at the coast throughout most of southern Bougainville has probably been a barrier discouraging intensive contact with the outside world. Geography favors the conquest of settlers and conquistadors in this part of the world, regardless whether they arrive on friendly or unfriendly terms. As I have previously argued (Terrell 1972a), there is only a limited amount of habitable land directly at the southern shores. Once coastal settlers move inland behind the swamps, either because of inclination or “population pressure”, they are faced with the same environment, regardless whether they be friend or foe. They become isolated by the broad swampland from ready contact with the coast. Given time, it seems inevitable that they will be assimilated by the “aborigines” and lose their separate identity. Any innovations they may bring about in Buin culture may also suffer absorption, re-interpretation and perhaps ultimate obliteration. Moreover, changes in Buin probably tend to be felt for only short distances away, because of the difficulties of travel across the southern plain, which is greatly dissected by streams and rivers flowing down from the central volcanoes.

89What about “big-men” ? If my interpretations of capstones and tsigoromonuments are correct, it does look as if what Oliver has called “renown” has been around in Buin for a very long time. It does not seem unreasonable to suspect that tiririno or cemeteries comprising a number of a nearby or contiguous tsigoro, such as those in Fig. 5, 6, 11 and 12 are just what they are today locally said to be : the burial places of “big-men” and their sons. It does not seem necessary to belador the likely “patrilineal” implication of such a cemetery configuration.

90Was the (apparently) hereditary leadership system of the Buin established by conquest, or by foreign inspiration and local potentiality ? It really does not seem to matter. In either Oliver’s interpretation or in Thurnwald’s interpretation the eventual result is the same : “the institution of feast-giving for renown exists side by side with one of inherited rank.”

91But are the mumira “big-men” ? Or have they made the great leap in the evolutionary direction toward statehood and civilization ? I think Service and others are in error to emphasize the origination of ascribed offices as an important advance in the evolution of civilizations, i.e., as the origin of the state. Jay Callen argues that anthropologists writing about “primitive” political associations generally and Melanesian “big-men” in particular have usually laid emphasis on the personalities of politics. They have not given sufficient attention to what leaders do for those they lead. I believe much the same criticism could be made of Service’s proposition.

92Using data drawn from Oliver’s monumental study of the Siwai, Callen suggests that the spatial distribution of leader’s settlements in Siwai before World War II was not random and, in fact, the distribution of politically significant villages there can be predicted using Christaller’s Central Place Theory. He asks :

93What goes into the making of a “big-man” ? The traditional replies by Pacific anthropologists stress a leader’s personal qualities (ambition, charisma, generosity, cunning, etc.) and the small core of followers, usually close kinsmen, who support his political career. “Big-men”, however, are members of a political organization which displays a spatial as well as a sociological structure. It is this spatial patterning of political phenomena which suggests that, in Siwai, leaders were as much a function of the central places they inhabited as vice-versa. In a certain sense, potential political centers may be said to have “created” the “big-men” to occupy them (Callen 1976 : 23).

94This last thought brings me back full-circle to the beginning of this discussion and to the premise introduced at that time. I think Service is right to see the origins of the state exemplified by institutions such as that of competitive feast-giving among the Siwai. But what is portrayed by such social-climbing is not the evolutionary potential of getting hold of an office and keeping it in one’s family. Instead, I think what is revealed is simply that that is all the use the Siwai have for leaders. Their political system is no more complex apparently than it need be. If “hierarchical control” among the Buin is, in truth, more elaborate, then the question to be asked is not : “What are the origins of social stratification in southern Bougainville” ? Instead, it is : “What purposes does it serve” ?

Pl. I. – a) Stone megalith, b) Huge boulders buried deep in the ground or lying exposed in river channel, c) Burial urn of probably a man estimated to 20-40 years of age.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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NOTES

1 Thurnwald gives further details, also (1937 : 4-5). Frau Thurnwald has reconstructed the process of conquest in detail :
Von der Küste aus erblickt man die Shortland-Inseln Alu und Fauro, und das weiter westlich gelegene Mono. Die Bewohner dieser Insein haben entscheidend Ln das Schicksal des Buin-Volkes eingegriffen. Es waren Banden der kriegerischen seefahrenden Mönner aus Mono und Alu, wahrschein-Lich auch noch von Roviana auf der Insel New-Georgia (zentrale Solomonen), die vor ungefähr zwei Jahrhunderten anfingen in Buin einzudringen. Sie holten aus der dort ansässigen Bevölkerung zunächst Frauen und junge Männer als Sklaven herüber nach Alu, kamen wieder und wieder und ein Teil von ihnen siedelte sich schliesslich in Buin an. Mitteis ihrer überlegenen kriegerischen und zivilisatorischen Ausrüstung gelang es ihnen in Buin ein Herrschaftssystem aufzurichten, das die ansässige Bevölkerung zur abhängigen Unterschicht, ja zu Hörigen mochte und ihre alte Lebensordnung weitge-hend abwandelte (Hilde Thurnwald 1938 : 214-215).

2 As this paper was being completed, and after Kothleen Fine had typed the final draft of all but the concluding section, I received a copy of Professor Jared Keil’s dissertation, “Local Group Composition and Leadership in Buin” (Harvard, August 1975), kindly sent me by Dr. Keil after a delay created by a Canadian postal strike. His study is based on field work in Buin from November 1971 to September 1973. He indicates that Buin society is, indeed, stratified into two classes, as Thurnwald reported. He believes the invasion hypothesis, however, is unwarranted and unnecessary. If it is rejected, Keil feels that the evidence recorded by the Thurnwalds, in fact, illustrates many of the processes he examines in his own study. Keil’s discussion is elegant and his conclusions dealing with so-called “big-man politics” are of porticular interest. He finds the conduct of political life in Buin between (rather than within) Local neighborhood groups to be, in many respects, quite similar to the situation detailed earlier by Oliver for the Siwai, a conclusion implicit in what has been said here as well. Even at the local Level where a difference between ascribed vs. achieved status Looms Large, he observes that the actual functioning of neighborhood groups in Buin much resembles the workings of Siwai men’s societies.

3 Thurnwald gives further details, also (1937 : 4-5). Frau Thurnwald has reconstructed the process of conquest in detail :
Von der Küste aus erblickt man die Shortland-Inseln Alu und Fauro, und das weiter westlich gelegene Mono. Die Bewohner dieser Insein haben entscheidend Ln das Schicksal des Buin-Volkes eingegriffen. Es waren Banden der kriegerischen seefahrenden Mönner aus Mono und Alu, wahrschein-Lich auch noch von Roviana auf der Insel New-Georgia (zentrale Solomonen), die vor ungefähr zwei Jahrhunderten anfingen in Buin einzudringen. Sie holten aus der dort ansässigen Bevölkerung zunächst Frauen und junge Männer als Sklaven herüber nach Alu, kamen wieder und wieder und ein Teil von ihnen siedelte sich schliesslich in Buin an. Mitteis ihrer überlegenen kriegerischen und zivilisatorischen Ausrüstung gelang es ihnen in Buin ein Herrschaftssystem aufzurichten, das die ansässige Bevölkerung zur abhängigen Unterschicht, ja zu Hörigen mochte und ihre alte Lebensordnung weitge-hend abwandelte (Hilde Thurnwald 1938 : 214-215).

4 As this paper was being completed, and after Kothleen Fine had typed the final draft of all but the concluding section, I received a copy of Professor Jared Keil’s dissertation, “Local Group Composition and Leadership in Buin” (Harvard, August 1975), kindly sent me by Dr. Keil after a delay created by a Canadian postal strike. His study is based on field work in Buin from November 1971 to September 1973. He indicates that Buin society is, indeed, stratified into two classes, as Thurnwald reported. He believes the invasion hypothesis, however, is unwarranted and unnecessary. If it is rejected, Keil feels that the evidence recorded by the Thurnwalds, in fact, illustrates many of the processes he examines in his own study. Keil’s discussion is elegant and his conclusions dealing with so-called “big-man politics” are of porticular interest. He finds the conduct of political life in Buin between (rather than within) Local neighborhood groups to be, in many respects, quite similar to the situation detailed earlier by Oliver for the Siwai, a conclusion implicit in what has been said here as well. Even at the local Level where a difference between ascribed vs. achieved status Looms Large, he observes that the actual functioning of neighborhood groups in Buin much resembles the workings of Siwai men’s societies.