Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge: Conference Proceedings, Łódź, Poland, 5th–7th September 2007 9781407307336, 9781407337296

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BAR S2183 2010 HARDY (Ed) ARCHAEOLOGICAL INVISIBILITY AND FORGOTTEN KNOWLEDGE

B A R

Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge Conference Proceedings, Łódź, Poland, 5th–7th September 2007 Edited by

Karen Hardy

BAR International Series 2183 2010

Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge Conference Proceedings, Łódź, Poland, 5th–7th September 2007 Edited by

Karen Hardy

BAR International Series 2183 2010

Published in 2016 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series 2183 Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge © The editors and contributors severally and the Publisher 2010 The authors' moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher.

ISBN 9781407307336 paperback ISBN 9781407337296 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407307336 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library BAR Publishing is the trading name of British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd. British Archaeological Reports was first incorporated in 1974 to publish the BAR Series, International and British. In 1992 Hadrian Books Ltd became part of the BAR group. This volume was originally published by Archaeopress in conjunction with British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd / Hadrian Books Ltd, the Series principal publisher, in 2010. This present volume is published by BAR Publishing, 2016.

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Table of Contents Introduction Ole Grøn and Karen Hardy Chapter 1 Anthropology, Ethnography and Prehistory – a Hidden Thread in the History of German Archaeology Ulrike Sommer Chapter 2 S.M. Shirokogoroff’s Theory of ETHNOS Anatoly Kuznetsov Chapter 3 The Representation of Local Indigenous Knowledge Adrian Tanner Chapter 4 Cultural Difference is the Main Factor to Influence Ancient Population Estimates. Analysis of the Ethnoarchaeological Examination Questionnaire from Shijiazhai Village Xingcan Chen, Liye Xie and Yongqiang Li Chapter 5 Shell Middens from the Saloum Delta, Senegal Abdoulaye Camara Chapter 6 Traditional Hunting Ceremonies in Modern Yakut Culture Nina D. Vassilyeva Chapter 7 The Evenks of Northwest Yakutia: Culture and Landscape (2001 and 2006 Expeditions) Sardana Boyakova Chapter 8 Hunter-Gatherers of the Simlipal Forest Range: A Study of Change and Continuity Asok Datta Chapter 9 Megalithic Practices in Upland West-Bengal: A Case Study on Change and Continuity Among the Hill Kharias of Kulabahal Village, Purulia Rita Dutta Chapter 10 The Disappearing Art – the Quichua Pottery Aleksandra Wierucka Chapter 11 The Logic of Wik Camping, North Australia Peter Sutton Chapter 12 Evenk Shamans – a non-exotic Approach. Ethnoarchaeological Observations Ole Grøn Chapter 13 Strategy Blurring: Flexible Approaches to Subsistence in East Timor Sandra Pannell and Sue O’Connor Chapter 14 Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation in the Garo Hills, Meghalaya, India Hari C.Mahanta Chapter 15 Women’s Work: Skin Processing in Northern Hunter – Gatherer Settlements and the Archaeological Context Torunn Klokkernes Chapter 16 Domestic Space and Cultural Transformation Among the Awá of Eastern Amazonia Alfredo González Rubial, Gustavo Politis, Almudena Hernando, Elizabeth Beserra Coelho

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6 23 33

41 53 60 64 70

78 84 91 108 115

131

144 154

Chapter 17 The Neuropsychological Basis of Rock Art: Hyperimagery and its Significance for Understanding the Archaeological Record Derek Hodgson and Patricia A. Helvenston Chapter 18 An Ethnoarchaeological Approach to the Selknam Ceremony of Hain: A Discussion of the Impact of Ritual on Social Organisation in Hunter-Gatherer Societies María Estela Mansur, Raquel Piqué Chapter 19 Differential Faunal Resources Management in Ritual and Domestic Spaces in Selknam Society (Argentina, Tierra Del Fuego) Edgard Camarós, Vanessa Parmigiani, Ester Verdún Chapter 20 Archaeological Materiality of Social Inequality Among Hunter-Gatherer Societies Assumpció Vila-Mitjá, Jordi Estévez, Daniel Villatoro and Jordi Sabater-Mir

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180

192 202

List of Contributors. Elizabeth Beserra Coelho, Universidade Federal do Maranhão, São Luis. Brazil. Email [email protected] Sardana I. Boyakova, Sector of Arctic Research, Institute of the Humanities and Northern People of Siberian Branch of Russian Academy of Sciences, Yakutsk, Russia. Email [email protected] Abdoulaye Camara, Laboratoire d’archéologie, Institut fondamental d’Afrique noire Cheikh Anta Diop, Université Cheikh Anta Diop de Dakar, Senegal. Email [email protected] Edgard Camarós, Laboratori d’ Arqueozoologia. Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Spain. Email: [email protected] Xingcan Chen, Institute of Archaeology, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing, China. Email [email protected] Asok Datta, Department of Archaeology, University of Calcutta, India. Email [email protected] Rita Dutta, Indian Museum, Calcutta, India. Email [email protected] Jordi Estevez, Laboratori d’Arqueozoologia, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Spain. Email [email protected] Alfredo González Ruibal, Heritage Laboratory, Spanish National Research Council, (CSIC), Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Email [email protected] Ole Grøn, Langelands Museum, Rudkøbing Denmark. Email [email protected] Karen Hardy, ICREA at Departament de Prehistòria, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Spain. Email [email protected] Patricia A. Helvenston, 1407 N. Aztec Street, Flagstaff, Arizona U.S.A. Email [email protected] Almudena Hernando, Universidad Complutense, Madrid, Spain. Email [email protected] Derek Hodgson, 2 Belle Vue Street, York YO10 5AY UK. Email [email protected] Torunn Klokkernes, TK Conservation, Rudkøbing, Denmark. Email [email protected] Anatoly M. Kuznetsov, Department of Social Anthropology, Far Eastern Federal University, Vladivostok, Russia. Email [email protected] Yongqiang Li, Institute of Archaeology, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing, China. Email [email protected] Hari .C.Mahanta, Dibrugarh University, Dibrugarh-786 004, Assam, India. Email [email protected] María Estela Mansur, Centro Austral de Investigaciones Científicas, CADIC-CONICET, Ushuaia, Argentina. E-mail [email protected] Sue O’Connor, Archaeology and Natural History, School of Culture, History & Language, The Australian National University, Canberra, Australia. Email [email protected] Sandra Pannell, 54 Rainbows End, Big Grove, WA 6330 Australia. Email [email protected] Vanesa Parmigiani, Universidad Nacional de La Plata, Argentina. Email [email protected] iii

Raquel Piqué, Departament de Prehistòria, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Spain. Email [email protected] Gustavo Politis, CONICET, Universidad del Centro de la Provincia de Buenos Aires, Olavarría, Argentina. Email [email protected] Jordi Sabater-Mir, Instituto de Investigaciones en Inteligencia Artificial (IIIA), Campus UAB,Bellaterra, Spain. Email [email protected] Ulrike Sommer, Institute of Archaeology, University College London, UK. Email [email protected] Peter Sutton, Senior Research Fellow, University of Adelaide & South Australian Museum. Email [email protected] Adrian Tanner, Memorial University, Newfoundland, Canada. Email [email protected] Nina D. Vassilyeva, Centre of Arctic Research, Institute of Humanitarian Research of the Sakha Republic, Yakutia, Russia. Email [email protected] Ester Verdún, Laboratori d’ Arqueozoologia. Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Spain. Email [email protected] Assumpcio Vila, Departament d’Arqueologia i Antropologia, IMF-CSIC, Barcelona, Spain. Email [email protected] Daniel Villatoro, Instituto de Investigaciones en Inteligencia Artificial (IIIA), Campus UAB,Bellaterra, Spain. Email [email protected] Aleksandra Wierucka, Department for Cultural Studies, University of Gdansk. Poland. Email: [email protected] Liye Xie, Institute of Archaeology, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing, China, Department of Anthropology, University of Arizona, USA. Email: [email protected]

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Introduction

Ole Grøn and Karen Hardy

Archaeology focuses on the preserved material remains of prehistoric cultures. Its explanations, interpretations and models serve to stipulate patterns of interaction between the different categories. But the detection of intangible aspects of culture and society that often leave no identifiable material remains, can be difficult. This has led to a tendency in archaeology to use simplistic models, which do not take into account social and cultural dynamics that may cause changes in behaviour but not necessarily leave any material trace. The knowledge we have today of how cultural groupings can use their material culture to signalise their identity in a very dynamic way, demonstrates that a group’s material expression may well reflect economic/ environmental factors of a quite dynamic character as well as social/identity factors (Barth 1969; Grøn et al. 2009; Shirokogoroff 1935:11-39; Sommer 2007). One way to move forwards is to focus on ethnoarchaeology and to ask whether it is realistic to assume that some features of living cultures can reflect, in any way, realities of the past. Kelly explains that due to the impoverished nature of the evidence we have, we ‘are tempted to look elsewhere for ways to reconstruct the past’ (1995:338) and he points out the dangers of assuming that widespread traits are automatically ancient ones and that the hunter-gatherer past is static. The basis of ethnoarchaeology is analogy; as we look at the present and try to detect a link with things we find in the past that can either be comparative or relational. But is there a role for ethnoarchaeology ‘beyond analogy’ (viz. Briz I Godiño & Vila 2006)? Our aim is to explore the role of ethnoarchaeology in generating ideas and theories which focus on wider underlying trends linked to cultural relativism and/or universals, rather than direct analogy.

(Brown 1991; Levi-Strauss 1969:1-32; Murdoch 1949; Pinker 2002). Relevant to this may also be the development of research in the human genome, demonstrating links between behavioural elements and genetic features. With regard to cultural and behavioural traits however, we seem to end up with a more complex picture that allows for cultural universals but is also, as should be expected, open for environmental adaptations (Berry et al. 2007:265-266). Cultures often operate in quite dynamic natural as well as cultural environments. Their members are experts who make choices about what to do and when to do it all the time based on the information they gain and accumulate. Unfortunately for us – the archaeologists – it is not possible to play down the dynamics that can be observed even at a small scale-level if one wants a somewhat realistic modelling of what went on in prehistoric societies (e.g. Grøn et al. 2009). On the basis of the ethnoarchaeological data, the long periods of cultural stability we observe for some prehistoric cultures appear somewhat suspicious and may well indicate that we have lost track of dynamic features of these cultures. In our opinion it seems important to find ways to address the areas covered by the blind spots of traditional archaeology and search for ways to improve our interpretation of these aspects of prehistoric societies. The focus of the AIFK conference was on the absent, or invisible. This included how to approach the problem of the missing evidence in relation to social structures and degradable material culture such as string (e.g. Hardy 2008). It also aimed to highlight early ethnoarchaeological work, some of which has been partially ‘reinvented’ within the framework of modern ethnoarchaeological theory. But though the window of opportunity for direct ethnoarchaeological observation of hunter-gatherers is fast disappearing, an under-used ethnographic resource can be found in the numerous early ethnographic accounts from many places across the world.

Cultural universals are on the face of it, in conflict with cultural relativism. If an individual’s beliefs and activities are to be understood in terms of his or her own culture and its relations to other cultures, how can there then be space for cross-cultural universals? (Berry et al. 2007:326328). After having had a hard time in the 80’s and 90’s, even though Lévi Strauss’ structuralist idea of universals in myth in this period seemed to win more acceptance than Murdoch’s cross-cultural approach, the concept of cultural universals has lately been gaining momentum in the debate in relation to the appearance of books such as Brown’s ‘Human Universals’ and Pinkers ‘The Blank Slate’

A fascinating example of forgotten knowledge is contained in the debate between Sophus Müller, the director of the Danish National Museum, and Kristian Bahnson, the leader of the Danish National Museum’s Ethnographic Collection – which was established as a collection of cultural examples for use in archaeological interpretation

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– in the 1880’s, about the use of analogies in archaeological interpretation. This was a detailed and comprehensive methodological discussion which could, with some stylistic and terminological up-dating, match papers on the same theme in international journals from the 1980’s (Bahnson 1882, 1887; Müller 1884). Their discussion remains little known though as it was published in Danish.

people has to be confronted by the archaeologists, such as Abdoulaye Camara (Ch. 5) who work there. Another place where ethnoarchaeology comes into sharp focus is in Siberia. Nina Vassilyeva (Ch. 6) describes some of the ritual behaviour that accompanies hunting and fishing expeditions among the Evenks, none of which would leave any identifiable archaeological trace, while also highlighting the way in which many of these traditions are diminishing. Sardana Boyakova (Ch. 7) explains how all the aspects of the traditional economy of the Evenks are interlinked while also discussing the socio-economic effects of the recent increase in the regional diamond industry.

The first chapters discuss two examples of early ethnoarchaeological theory and fieldwork. Ulrike Sommer (Ch. 1) begins by exploring the contribution of Karl Weule who, as director of the Leipzig Museum of Ethnology amassed a worldwide collection of artefacts in the early 20th C with the aim of looking at the development of human culture from a universal perspective. This is followed by Anatoly Kuznetsov (Ch. 2) who provides us with an English language summary of S.M. Shirokogoroff’s Theory of Ethnos which attempts to provide a holistic theoretical framework for defining and understanding the individuality and characteristics of any human society. Following on from this and linked to development of theories, Adrian Tanner (Ch. 3) highlights the problem of how information from indigenous cultures is collected. This is important not only for the development of theoretical frameworks for archaeology, but also for environmental management issues in places where these directly affect indigenous communities. The question of how information is collected is also covered by Chen et al.’s (Ch. 4) account of a survey conducted on village occupancy by a selection of people from different backgrounds. The widely differing results he obtained highlight the alarmingly subjective nature of ethnoarchaeological data collection.

Two chapters (8 and 9) by Asok Datta and Rita Dutta discuss different aspects of the life of the Hill Kharia, a group of hunter-gatherers in northern India. Asok Datta identifies the way in which the hunter-gatherer economics of the Hill Kharia of the Simlipal Hills in North East India is affected by their interaction with neighbouring farming communities. Rita Dutta focuses on burial practice and the use of megaliths as burial markers among communities of Hill Kharia. In chapter 10 Alexandra Wierucka explores possible reasons for the abandonment of traditional pottery making by a community of Quichua women in the Napo river region of Ecuador. The third group covers the issue of invisibility in the archaeological record. Invisibility covers both thought processes and activities that are not easily detectable in the material record. In Chapter 11, Peter Sutton examines the logic for selecting a place to camp among the Wik of Cape York Peninsula, North Australia and discusses the many practical, cultural and personal factors that come into play, when choosing a place to stay. In chapter 12, Ole Grøn looks at Evenk shamans as highly skilled people who perform an important role yet are integrated in society and live a normal everyday life, in addition to their specialised functions and keepers of specific professional knowledge, all of which may be unknown and hidden to outsiders. Pannell & O’Connor (Ch. 13) offer an ethnoarchaeological approach to the study of subsistence in order to address the invisibility of hunting and gathering in the largely agricultural archaeological record in East Timor. They demonstrate that the distinction between hunting and gathering, and agricultural communities and practice is not always clearly defined and that switching strategies between agriculture and wild resource harvesting blurs distinctions between these two subsistence techniques. A different kind of invisibility is discussed by Hari Mahanta (Ch. 14), who offers a comparative analysis of the use of ethnographic and prehistoric hoes and axes in the Garo Hills, India. Torunn Klokkernes (Ch. 15) examines the principles of skin processing technology in Arctic and Sub Arctic cultures, and the physical structures and manifestations of the way in which these are prepared and worked. Gonzalez Ruibal et al. (Ch. 16) examine the different domestic structures of the Awá, Eastern Amazonia and how they make use of their space and their house building as a means to resist pressure for change from outside. Hodgson and Helvenston (Ch. 17) offer some examples of how neuropsychology and

A major aim of the conference was to bring together people, many of whom do not work in West European universities, to share their experiences and the way they conduct ethnoarchaeological research. Participants came from across the world, and the range of topics, methods and geographical distribution of the papers reflect this variety. Much valuable work is being undertaken today in many regions; methods vary, and publications can be in non-mainstream languages or regional journals. Information published in small languages seldom wins the same broad acceptance and distribution as that published in main languages. The next 6 chapters are a series of ‘case studies’; each one addresses a specific topic in a local area, often in the researcher’s home country. Many of the researchers from non-western countries are at the cutting edge of ethnoarchaeology. This is nowhere clearer than in Senegal. The Saloum Delta lies approximately 2 hours drive from the capital, Dakar, yet here communities still live for parts of the year on islands in the mangrove swamps, as they continue to collect shellfish and create shell middens. The modern middens are mixed, geographically, with the ancient ones, some of which are being destroyed as people need the shells for building materials. The problem of how to preserve both the ancient monuments, some of which contain numerous graves, and the livelihoods of the local

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related disciplines, together with an understanding of the production of artefacts can help to offer new insights for interpretation of the archaeological record.

function. Likewise, there are some practical necessities without which mobile hunter-gatherers could not function. Creating a distance between people and their potentially toxic discard, either by removing themselves from this or removing the material from their surroundings, the construction of structures for different purposes such as protecting people or cooking fires from rain in a rainforest environment are both examples of practical behaviour that might be considered essential. As archaeologists, we acknowledge the high levels of understanding of, for example, toxicity and processing requirements of certain plants and factor these in; basic behavioural essentials are no different. Other examples include non-accumulation of material objects, the application of different collection strategies to avoid starvation and that women slowed down by children are more likely to collect rather than hunt.

The final three chapters cover the question of social organization, something that can be hard to distinguish in hunter-gatherer archaeological contexts. Mansur & Piqué (Ch.18), working with ethnohistorical records and archaeology of the Selknam, Tierra del Fuego, compare finds from a hut that is known ethnohistorically to have been a place where ritual events took place, and a domestic hut, and find significant differences in the material record between the two sites. Camaros et al. (Ch. 19) examined the archaeozoological record from the same two sites, and focused on the minute dissimilarities in this to distinguish identifiable patterns of difference. Vila-Mitjá et al. (Ch. 20) use simulation and multi agent modeling in an attempt to identify physical manifestations of gender-based divisions of labour in subsistence and reproduction among the Yamana of Tierra del Fuego

Beyond these few essentials, human reality can be very complex and ethnoarchaeology can inform and guide in many ways. One of these is its power to identify new types of observations about the materiality of human activity that might not have been initially obvious, and which have the potential to illuminate some of the hidden dimensions of variability. A good example of this can be found in chapter 18, where ethnographic information persuaded the archaeologists to look at the material remains in a way that might otherwise not have occurred to them. This insight provided them with a new understanding of the variability in the assemblage. While most archaeological assemblages do not have the benefit of associated ethnohistorical information, this analysis can be used to explore possible reasons for variability in archaeological assemblages.

*** The wide range of questions addressed and methods presented in this volume illustrates the broad nature of ethnoarchaeological enquiry, while the way the information is obtained is shown to be integrally important. Some basic features appear to occur repeatedly, for example the way that decisions are made can incorporate a wide range of variables, many of which may have no physical manifestations. Grøn suggests that, in the case of shamans, perhaps the only way to know they were present is to offer evidence that a small-scale society cannot function without a specialist in ritual and spiritual matters. In a similar vein, understanding some rock art may only be possible by applying general neuropsychological mechanisms. The application of simulation and agent-based modelling is an exciting development in archaeological theory building and model testing; the example in this volume uses criteria obtained in an ethnoarchaeological context together with some basic universals, to create the variables used. Many of the more important features of hunter-gatherer society are based on social or ritual aspects that may be physically present but which are not necessarily recognisable.

As archaeologists, our observations of ethnographic and contemporary societies are necessarily embedded in material items, and how these can inform. This very focused perspective can provide new information on current societies as well as assisting us in understanding perspectives on the past. This necessary focus also gives us a critical stance from which to evaluate the way in which data is collected. Data collection is highly subjective as we see for example in chapters 3 and 4 and as our essential requirement is that our data is empirical, we are obliged to have a critical approach to the way it is collected and we are especially sensitive to the potential for biases and assumptions.

The development of bioarchaeological methods offers access to a deeper, hitherto invisible, level of observation which is based on retrieval and analysis of empirical data at the molecular level (e.g. Hardy et al. 2009; Heaton et al. 2009; Kuch et al., 2007; Waters-Rist et al. 2010). Equally, the use of different types of traditional methods of analysis based on morphological observation can provide new insights into the manufacturing and functional perspectives of use of resources, tools and sites. It may also be that in some circumstances, general social or neuropsychological theories and the careful use of universals can offer basic guidelines.

Simulation and computer modelling offer the opportunity to explore complex options. While the use of ethnoarchaeological data needs always to be cautious, basing aspects of modelling on the careful analysis and data farming of ethnoarchaeological information can provide perspective on the apparently limitless ‘dimensions of variability’ (David & Kramer 2001) that is the human condition. ***

Some features of hunter-gatherer tribal society, such as the use of ritual, may be necessary to allow them to

One of us (Hardy) spent some time recently with a group of Australian aboriginal women collecting plants in the Central

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while we may read the books and grasp the theory, nothing can replace an encounter with a mode of thought that is the diametric opposite of the bases upon which our society is constructed. Barnard explains that among foragers, failing to share is anti-social as ‘society itself is constructed on the ideal of widespread sharing’ (2002:7), while accumulation is viewed as offensive. There are however very few European prehistoric archaeologists who have had the privilege to stand face to face with a representative of a living culture whose mentality is largely that of a forager.

Desert. She had read the literature, but soon discovered that she was unprepared for the experience. She was on a time agenda and had a long list of things to do and she spent a couple of days feeling frustrated by the lack of progress until she realised that she was confronting a different mental universe; this is her account: We began by shopping for kangaroo tails for our lunch. My European brain took a second or two to understand that this was not some exotic central Australian cocktail (amazingly, and rather a telling reflection on my reality, my immediate mental image was of a brimming cocktail glass with a pink straw) but that it did in fact mean tails of kangaroos, roughly the size of baguettes, chopped off, placed in plastic bags, frozen and to be found in the bottom shelf of the freezer in the local garage. When we went to buy them, rather than just buying kangaroo tails which was the plan, everyone trooped in, spent ages and many came out with boxes of fish and chips. They then ate one or two chips, perhaps a bit of fish and abandoned the rest. I found it to be very wasteful. A few days later we went shopping in the local supermarket. I had my list and systematically went up and down the aisles collecting what I had set out to pick up. My Aboriginal friends wandered around picking up random items, discussing at length, then arrived at the checkouts and put all their money on the counter. Outside, they sat down on the pavement and I could not get them going. I had spent a frustrating few days with them doing this kind of thing and I was unable to stop being judgmental; all I saw was disorganisation and wastefulness and I felt angry and bewildered. They did not seem to understand me and I certainly did not understand them. To me, their homes and the areas around their homes were a mess, the days we spent together passed in an apparently chaotic randomness. Fortunately, one day it clicked. Because we were partially in a modern environment; the differences between their approach and mine were placed in sharp focus, their ways did not fit in with this supermarket environment any more than any of us could cope in the middle of their desert if we attempted to apply thought processes based on efficiency, accumulation and time management. Their apparently shambolic approach was simply a manifestation of the fact that their way did not fit in with our structure, or as Barnard says (2002:6) ‘mode of thought is more resilient than mode of production’.

The mess lying around their homes was really a store of potentially useful objects similar to that described by Brody (1981). Another example of this need to store can be found in highland Papua New Guinea where people store the stone and stone tools that they have or have not used, even though they either forget where they stored the items or never return to them, preferring to obtain new raw material when required (Hardy & Sillitoe 2003). These observations assist not only in helping to understand certain archaeological contexts, but also offer insight into a feature of human behaviour that we still see today, a manifestation of which occurs for example in modern garages crammed full of old (potentially useful) computers, bits of machinery etc. A time perspective on this apparent use, reuse and mixing of old, new, useful and potentially useful objects, is provided by Bailey and Galanidou (2009) who explore the possibility that these palimpsests may be conscious and deliberate in some archaeological contexts. *** One of the most important points to have emerged from this conference is the way the lives of today’s hunter-gatherers from across the world have altered so much recently, through pressure from outsiders including the state, mining, religious groups and neighbouring farming communities. The window for practical ethnoarchaeology with living hunter-gatherer communities is fast closing. *** This World Archaeological Congress Inter-Congress was funded by the Wenner Gren Foundation and the University of Łódź, Poland and the website was created and hosted by WAC. It was organised by Ole Grøn, Karen Hardy and Lucyna Domanska and was held at the University of Łódź, Poland where it was hosted by Lucyna Domanska, who is heartily thanked. Karen Hardy was funded by an EU Marie Curie fellowship. Eva Laurie is thanked for her administrative help. Geoff Bailey is thanked for his very helpful and constructive comments. The conference was made however by the participants, many of who travelled half way across the world to be there.

What I was witnessing was an immediate return mentality within an environment based on accumulation. The value to me of my short encounter with the Aboriginal women was that it left me with a burning impression of ‘difference’ that has completely altered the way I approach the past. This is in line with David and Kramer’s observation that the primary contribution of ethnoarchaeology is to sensitise us to the ‘dimensions of variability’ and that archaeologists need to ‘experience cultural realities other than their own to combat the ethnocentrism that colors arguments and distorts inferences’ (2001:410).

References Bahnson, K. 1882: Gravskikke hos Amerikanske Folk. Aarbøger for Nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie 1882. 125-218.

This account may draw gasps of horror from anthropologists who are trained in and exposed to different realities. But

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Bahnson, K. 1887: Etnografiske Museer i Udlandet. Aarbøger for Nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie 1884. 171-292. Bailey G. & Galanidou N. 2009. Caves, palimpsests and dwelling spaces: examples from the Upper Palaeolithic of south-east Europe. World Archaeology 41:2,215 — 241. Barnard A. 2002. The Foraging Mode of Thought. In Self-and Other-Images of Hunter-Gatherers. Edited by H Stewart, A Barnard, K Omura. Senri Ethnological Studies No. 60:5-23. National Museum of Ethnoloy, Osaka. Barth, F. 1969: Introduction, In Ethnic groups and boundaries. Edited by F. Barth. Boston. 9-38 Berry, J.W., Poortinga, Y.H., Segall, M.H., Dasen, P.R. 2007. Cross-Cultural Psychology. Research and Applications. Second edition. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. Briz I. Godiño I. & Vila A. 2004. Etnoarqueologia de la prehistoria: mas alla de la analogia. Treballs d’etnarqueologia, 6. Departament d’Arqueologia i Antropologia, Insititucio Mila I Fontanels. CSIC. Barcelona. Brody, H. 1981 Maps and Dreams. London, Faber and Faber Brown, D.E. 1991: Human Universals. McGraw-Hill. David N. & Kramer C. 2001. Ethnoarchaeology in action. Cambridge World Archaeology Series. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. Grøn, O., Klokkernes, T., Turov, M.G. 2009: Cultural small-scale variations in a hunter-gatherer society: or ‘everybody wants to be a little bit different!’ An ethnoarchaeological study from Siberia. In Mesolithic Horizons vol. 1:203-209. Edited by S.B. McCartan, R. Schulting, G. Warren, P. Woodman). Oxbow Books. Oxford. Hardy K. 2008. Prehistoric string theory: How twisted fibres helped to shape the world. Antiquity 82:316, 271-280. Hardy K., Blakeney A.B., Copeland L., Kirkham J. Wrangham R., Collins M. 2009. Starch granules, dental calculus and new perspectives on ancient diet. Journal of Archaeological Science 36 248-255.

Hardy K, Sillitoe P. 2003. Material Perspectives: Stone Tool Use and Material Culture in Papua New Guinea. Internet Archaeology 14. http://intarch.ac.uk.libproxy.york.ac.uk/ journal/issue14/index.html Heaton K., Solazzo C., Collins, M.J., Thomas-Oates J, Bergström E.T. 2009. Towards the application of desorption electrospray ionisation mass spectrometry (DESI-MS) to the analysis of ancient proteins from artefacts, Journal of Archaeological Science, 36, 21452154 doi:10.1016/j.jas.2009.05.016 Kelly, R. L. 1995. The foraging spectrum : diversity in hunter-gatherer lifeways. Washington, London: Smithsonian Institution Press. Kuch M, Gröcke D.R., Knyf M.C., Gilbert M.T.P., Willerslev E., Younghusband B., Young T, Marshall I, Stoneking M, Poinar H.N. 2007. A Preliminary analysis of the DNA and diet of the extinct Beothuk: A systematic approach to ancient human nuclear DNA. American Journal of Physical Anthropology. 132: 4, 594–604. Levi-Strauss, C. 1969. The Raw and the cooked. Introduction to a Science of Mythology. Pimlico. London. Müller, S. 1884. Mindre Bidrag til den Forhistoriske Archæologis Methode. Aarbøger for Nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie: 161-216. Murdoch,G.P. 1949. Social Structure. The MacMillan Company, New York. Pinker, S. 2002: The Blank Slate. The Modern Denial of Human Nature. Viking Penguin. Harmondsworth England. Shirokogoroff, S.M. 1935. Psychomental Complex of the Tungus. Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co., London. Sommer, U. 2007. Archäologische Kulturen als imaginäre Gemeinschaften. Auf der Suche nach Identität: Volk – Stamm – Kultur – Ethnos. (ed. Sabine Riedkhoff & Ulrike Sommer). BAR International Series 1705: 59-78, Oxford. Waters-Rist A., Bazaliiskii V.I., Weber A., Goriunova O.I., Katzenberg M.A. 2010. Activity-induced dental modification in Holocene Siberian hunter-fisher gatherers American Journal of Physical Anthropology 143: 2, 266–278.

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Chapter 1 Anthropology, Ethnography and Prehistory – a Hidden Thread in the History of German Archaeology

Ulrike Sommer Abstract: German archaeology before WWII is normally seen as dominated by the chauvinist “settlement archaeology” of Gustaf Kossinna and his pupils, or by Gero von Merhart’s strictly typological approach. There is another, older school of thought though, going back to Rudolf Virchow, who in 1869 founded the German Society for Anthropology, ethnology and prehistory (DAG). This remained the most influential prehistoric society in Germany right up to the First World War. The first university chairs normally combined physical anthropology/anatomy and prehistory, and often ethnology was taught as an integral part of the curriculum. Karl Weule (1824-1926) became, in 1902, the first German chair-holder in ethnology. He was also the director of the Leipzig Museum of Ethnology, where he amassed an amazing collection of artefacts, aiming to cover all parts of the globe. Weule was influenced by Friedrich Ratzel, and, to some extent by the Viennese “Kulturkreislehre”. His aim was to look at the development of human culture in general from a universal perspective. This made prehistory an integral part of ethnology. In numerous publications, Weule studied different areas of human existence – subsistence, technology, habitation, war etc. and tried to trace the origin and spread of inventions. Even today, his publications remain a great source for ethnography of materials (Sachvölkerkunde). Weule’s approach lost its attraction after WWI with the loss of Germany’s colonies and an increasingly bitter revanchism, leading to racist views on Germanic superiority, which made the comparative approach of Weule’s generation appear obsolete. The severed connection between archaeology and ethnology was never really overcome even after WWII; ethnographic analogies, let alone theories, remained deeply suspect.

Introduction

Earth sciences, Ethnology/Ethnography either in the languages or the sociology department. The combination of prehistory with physical anthropology and ethnology is often described as something that had to be overcome for prehistoric archaeology to become a “proper” discipline in its own right.

Prehistoric archaeology and ethnography are separate subjects in Germany and much of Central Europe today, often parts of different faculties. Interaction is minimal to nonexistent. Ethnological analogies are traditionally viewed with considerable distrust by traditional archaeologists (cf. the contributions in Gramsch 2000). Ethnoarchaeology was imported from the US and Britain in the 1980’s, and adopted only by a limited number of scholars, mainly from the field of Palaeolithic archaeology, and the theoretical discussions in ethnography were largely ignored.

Archaeology and ethnography If we take a short look at the relationship between prehistory and any form of ethnographic enquiry in Germany, several distinct phases can be distinguished. 1. The Antiquarian Period, ca. 1500-1859

While prehistory, physical anthropology and ethnography were seen as integral parts of the same discipline between ca. 1860 and 1920, the separation of the disciplines later on is commonly described as a necessary part of the development of “proper” prehistory, that is, the study of the typology of artefacts and their distribution-patterns.

In this period, scholars concentrated on the collection of artefacts and their attribution to historically attested peoples (Sklenar 1983). It has been pointed out that the discovery of the Americas (Orme 1981) and especially the pictures published by Theodor de Bry (1590-1634, cf. Sievernich 1990) have been instrumental in the interpretation of prehistoric implements and indeed in their very acceptance as artefacts, but this was probably more important for Great Britain than for continental Europe. In Germany, Johann Reinhold (1778, 1783) and Georg Forster’s accounts of Cook’s voyage were influential in spreading the idea that “modern savages” were an earlier version of one’s own culture (Fabian 1983).

The close connection between prehistory and ethnography thus became a hidden thread in German archaeology, it was written out of the history of the discipline (Sommer 2009b), as was the potentially very different development of the discipline. There are different traditions in the US, but in central Europe, the ties between archaeology and ethnography were broken. In Germany, the two disciplines are often part of different faculties: Prehistory in the historical faculty or, more rarely, in geography or

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The Romantic school preponderantly looked for echoes of the national past in folk tales and customs. The Grimm brothers saw the fairy tales they collected as distorted versions of ancient Germanic myths, and Jacob Grimm (1848) actually considered the possibility that the dwarves and giants of German and Scandinavian tales were memories of the Neolithic and Bronze age, respectively, a tradition going back to Henri Mallet’s History of Denmark of 1755. The focus of research was not so much material culture as on oral traditions and customs as well as on laws, which brought the future disciplines of German Language Studies and History of Law in contact with archaeology. Johann Gustav Gottlieb Büsching, from 1817 onwards professor for the History of Medieval Art and Documents (historiae artis medii aevi rerumque diplomaticarum) in Breslau (Wrocław), taught courses on “German antiquities” from 1820 (Sommer/Struwe 2006). In these, he treated material culture from pagan (Büsching 1820) and Christian

times (fig. 1) folk customs, Medieval epics, architecture and law (Halub 1997). The Swedish zoologist Sven Nilsson (1787-1883) is normally seen as the first scholar to employ analogies on a systematic base. In 1838 he published the first volume “The Stone-Age or the original inhabitants of the Scandinavian North. An attempt at a comparative ethnography or a contribution to the history of the development of the Human race. He used analogies from “present day savages” in Australia and the Americas to explain the use of Scandinavian prehistoric implements. This was possible he thought, because the construction of tools by savages was largely guided by instinct, and these instincts were common to all. Moreover, “…people in the same phase of civilisation are in their natural disposition very much alike…” (Nilsson 1867, I). Nilsson explicitly based his methodology on comparative zoology, where fossils are

Fig. 1 Antiquities of the pagan period from Silesia (Büsching 1820, title).

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compared to living organisms in order to understand their ecology and organisation (Nilsson 1867, LX).

anthropology as an independent subject. There were also attempts at systematic mapping of archaeological finds and monuments (Kartenkommission). Ethnographic studies helped to map the range of human behaviour, to define units of observation (e.g. Bastian 1881) and to understand the reasons for similarities and differences of material culture. Nilsson’s assumption that all people passed through the same four stages (savagery, nomadism, agriculture and civilisation, i.e. writing, coinage and division of labour) together with other, more elaborate schemes by, for example Friedrich List or Lewis Morgan meant that present day savages could serve as a model for the prehistoric past and the development of society (Podgorny 2000). The connection between the three fields of study was rarely explicitly justified, as it seemed a given to most people concerned.

Nilsson’ book was translated into German in 1868 (Veit 2006, 135) but only published as a French extract (Nilsson 1867, LXIX) and translated into English in a somewhat altered form (Anon 1868; Rowley-Conwy 2009) in 1867 by John Lubbock as “The primitive inhabitants of Scandinavia: An essay on comparative ethnography and a contribution to the history of development of Mankind”. 2. The period of scientific archaeology (1859-1902) The Publication of Darwin’s Origin of the Species (1859) has been taken as a chronological marker here, even if Darwin’s theory was strongly opposed at first and it was earlier geological research that proved a time depth much greater than allowed for by the biblical chronology. The adoption of the Three-Age-System in Germany which allowed sense the be made of this “Deep Time” was long delayed, mainly by Ludwig Lindenschmit (1809-1893), director of the Roman-German Museum in Mainz. He refused to accept the existence of a Bronze Age, mainly, one suspects, because this metal was connected to the Celts, whom he would not possibly consider as ancestors of the modern Germans (Lindenschmit 1846).

3. Kossinna and the typologists In 1911, the Prussian librarian Gustaf Kossinna (1858-1928) published his treatise on settlement archaeology. Kossinna proclaimed that this was a new archaeological method, in which the distribution of archaeological finds could be used to define archaeological cultures, which he explicitly linked to prehistoric peoples and used to trace their history through the prehistoric ages, back to the Mesolithic or the 8th Millenium in the case of the Germans. It contained the famous claim that “[i]n all periods, sharply delineated archaeological culture-areas always coincide with definite peoples or tribes.” (Kossinna 1922, 3).

The foundation of the German Society for Physical Anthropology, Ethnology and Prehistory (Deutsche Gesellschaft für Anthropologie, Ethnologie und Vorgeschichte, DAG) in 1869 (closely following the inauguration of the Congrès International d’Anthropologie et archéologie préhistorique, CIAAP in 1865) can be taken as a convenient date for the establishment of an explicitly scientific and initially universalist archaeology in Germany that was dominated by physical anthropology and the question of the antiquity of man. This period saw the establishment of a general chronological framework for Europe in general and Germany in particular, the development of a specialised terminology, based on the systematic collection of finds as well as national and international systematic comparison (mainly by means of yearly conferences and the accompanying exhibitions and the fieldtrips to important sites).

Kossinna's ideas were based on a phylogenetic model of peoples: they had split in some remote past and then developed independently, largely without any mixing with other branches of the phylogenetic tree. While he admitted that there could be a limited degree of admixture from vanquished peoples, some of whose traits could later resurface, the spirit of each people remained unchanged through the ages. This national spirit expressed itself in material culture, where it was visible to the archaeologist (for example, the "tectonic forms" of Proto-Indoeuropean, Indoeuropean and later Ur-Germanic pottery as opposed to the soft and "flabby" forms of the Eastern LBK (Kossinna 1927). Material culture was of necessity linked to a specific people, imitation and borrowing were not considered a factor. Material culture thus equates biology, ethnic identity and language. Artefacts were spread by the movement of people, a mixture of traits implied a mixture of peoples. Each people developed in an congenial climate, to leave it was to face "devolution" and ultimately extinction, as evidenced by the numerous Germanic peoples who had perished in the "South", beyond the Alps.

For Rudolf Virchow (1821-1902), the leading prehistorian of his day, the antiquarian aim of identifying prehistoric finds with peoples known from classical sources was utterly outdated. When he defined the Bronze Age Lusatian type (later changed into the Lusatian culture by Götze and Kossinna) on the basis of specific pottery-shapes and a specific technique of building wooden fortifications (at first misidentified as pile dwellings) he emphasized that this was a time beyond the timeframe of historical sources, where a classification as Germanic and Slavonic was entirely meaningless (Virchow 1872).

Kossinna saw his settlement archaeology as the necessary complement to Oscar Montelius' typological method ("The Method"), which allowed the chronological order of archaeological finds by looking at the "development" of artefacts from simple to more sophisticated (or, in principle, the other way around) and the retention of certain features

A lot of effort went into establishing an international standard for taking skull measurements (London agreement), which led to the establishment of physical

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that were no longer functional (typologic relic, Montelius 1903).

the development of human culture through the ages in a comparative perspective since the 18th century (cf. Haas 1994; Schleier 1998; 2000; 2003a, b). This was connected with the idea of the constant development of mankind - but not of all mankind. “All too often it is forgotten that not civilisation, but barbary is the original state of mankind. Only a very few peoples have managed to disentangle themselves from this normal state. It is the task of culture history to remind even the most advanced nations of their animal-like beginnings (von Hellwald 1875: 521).

These two methods made prehistoric archaeology methodologically independent from both written history and ethnography. Historical sources were still to be used to provide absolute dates which could then be transferred into areas without written sources by the association of finds with types with secure historical dates (relative chronology, Montelius 1903, cf. Eggert 1958). Ethnographic studies were not of interest any more, as there was no way the behaviour or customs of far-off peoples could explain the development of the ancient Germans (or any other people, for that matter). Ethnographic studies might still be useful for explaining the use of certain artefacts, but generally, neither Kossinna nor any other “typologist” was very interested in function. Basically, this was a prehistory wholly based on artefacts. They developed and moved about the place almost on their own. Åberg (1929) explicitly compared Montelius’ typology to biological evolution. A certain sword-type or ferrule could be used to map the development and history of a whole people.

For the developing German ethnology of the late 19th century, the question of development vs. diffusion came to be fundamental. Adolf Bastian (1826-1905), often termed the “father of German Ethnology” (Römer 1989, 14) had proposed the theory of convergence. He claimed that the same basic inborn types of thought (Elementargedanken) would surface with all people in all areas of the world, and create very similar material culture (as had already been emphasized by Herder (Irmscher 1991, 15) and Nilsson (1867, LXIV). Historical progress and the influence of the environment then lead to the development of a specific Völkergedanke, only very approximately to be translated as “National Thought” (Bastian 1860 and numerous other publications, see Fiedermutz-Laun 1970 for an overview). The more primitive and isolated peoples presented a clearer and less mixed view on these elementary thoughts and could thus shed light on the past of more developed ones.

The foundation of Kossinna’s German Society for Prehistory (Deutsche Gesellschaft für Vorgeschichte) in 1909 marks the ascendancy of a nationalist/chauvinist archaeology that was to characterise the years between the wars that was not restricted to Germany alone. Gustaf Kossinna was established as an ancestor-figure during the 3rd Reich (Gummel 1938, Stampfuß 1935, Reinerth 1938). But basically, while his political claims were far-reaching, his methodology was shared by other, less politically involved (or less obviously politically involved, or differently involved colleagues) and continued to be seen as “best practice” after the war.

Bastian and his followers were characterised as the psychological or developmental school. Other scholars, foremost among them Friedrich Ratzel (1844-1904) saw diffusion and intercultural contact as the way items of material culture and customs spread (geographichistorical of diffusionist school). Ratzel was a zoologist by training, but is best known today as a geographer, the founder of Anthropogeography (Ratzel 1882) and of Geopolitics, propagating the idea of “Lebensraum” (Ratzel 1902). Ratzel’s ethnology was a historical discipline or, as he put it, “the science of development” (eine Entwickelungswissenschaft) that tried to work out how mankind had spread over the globe and how today’s distribution of peoples had come about by looking at the present-day distribution of material culture and patterns of behaviour. This formed a natural connection to prehistory, which attempted to answer the same question using excavated materials, and indeed Ratzel also influentially published on prehistory (Ratzel 1874). For the prehistorian Hans Gummel (1938, 450), he was the “famous geographer and ethnographer who introduced the typological method into ethnography”.

Ethnology In the following, I cast a short look at the connections between prehistory and the study of present-day populations. Ethnography grew out of the older Anthropology or “Study of Man”, a philosophical and speculative discipline that was often part of the “Philosophy of Nature” (Naturphilosophie). Explorers like the Fosters and the Humboldts had roused the academic and public imagination (cf. Daum 1998). Philosophers like Johann Gottlieb Herder would attempt to elucidate the ideas and forces behind the history of mankind (Herder 1784-1791), the way human culture developed and considered both ancient and modern peoples. For this, a knowledge of all the peoples of the globe, their customs and artefacts was required, rather than a detailed knowledge of individual tribes or peoples.

Ratzel used the distribution of material culture to elucidate the phylogenetic relations between prehistoric peoples and their presumed migrations in a way that would make very much sense to today’s Darwinian archaeologists, even if without the sophisticated mathematical models in use today (see, for an example, Mace et al. 2005). He heavily influenced both Leo Frobenius and the Viennese Kulturkreislehre.

Culture-History (Kulturgeschichte), not to be confused with the Settlement Archaeology of Kossinna and the typological studies of most of his colleagues, had been looking at

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In an attempt to explain the present day distribution of nations and languages across Europe, a number of late 18th and early 19th century scholars had envisaged several waves of migrations from the East (Mount Ararat, later the Caucasus or the North-Pontic area) to the West. This was normally combined with a model of ethnic development compared to the human development from childhood to adulthood, senescence and finally death and extinction that would find its most sophisticated formulation in the philosophy of history of Georg Friedrich Hegel (Geschichtsphilosophie, Hoffmeister 1955). Younger, “more vigorous” people were thus replacing the first colonists of Europe, but the former were expected to leave some traces behind, either in the form of artefacts and monuments (for example, the megalithic remains variously interpreted as Cimbrian, Finnish, Lappic or Celtic), languages, historical accounts or folk memories, tales and myths (see Sommer 2009a). The idea of a layered distribution of peoples, with the oldest normally pushed to the “rim” of Europe was adopted by linguists (Friedrich von Schlegel 1808, Johann Gottlieb Radlof 1825, Jacob Grimm 1848, Lorenz Diefenbach 1839), historians (Johann Christoph Adelung 1806) and antiquarians (e.g. Henri Mallet 1755, Ludwig Lindenschmit 1846, Franz Joseph Mone 1851). In a modernised form it also formed the basis of the work of Ratzel, Frobenius and the “Kulturkreislehre” of Schmidt and Koppers. The tradition of ethnography as a historical discipline was transferred to the US mainly by Franz Boas. In 1916, Sapir emphasized that “Anthropology is a strictly historical science” (Sapir 1916:1), and this tradition was to have a lasting influence, indeed, it continued long after the “Culture-historical approach” of Kossinna had become suspect.

frequent repetition of certain tools and even their very form should not keep her from this goal. Thirdly and most importantly, the passing displeasure of a tired visitor is of no account compared to the aim of the exercise, namely the reconstruction of the old European cultures.” (Weule 1902, 767f.). Comparison was the most important a means of elucidating the past: “comparative ethnology… looks for common or similar cultural traits in a global perspective and attempts to use their geographical distribution to establish the origin and the development of the traits in question (Weule 1902, 1). The second method to be used in this enterprise was prehistory, which had as yet been neglected in most areas outside Europe (ibd., i). Ethnology was defined as “the knowledge about man as part of a group (in a social or zoopolitical sense)” (von Buschan 1900, note 1) or “the science of man in the sense of unravelling his physical and cultural development” (Weule 1902, 1) and this included both the past and the present. Analogy Towards the end of the 19th century, in a climate of mounting nationalism and racism, the use of ethnographic analogies in a social-evolutionary framework grew increasingly suspect. As Eduard Hahn put it in 1914, “it is not at all elevating to have to learn from Australians and Botocudes about the first steps which our own ancestors had to take many thousand years ago on the strenuous … path that led to our present high state of culture.” While he admits that “…this sentiment may be somewhat justified…” (Hahn 1914, 8), he concludes that there are no other means available.

Both the psychological and the geographic-historical school based their research mainly on material culture. Museums were thus major research tools, and the ideal museum should contain a “complete collection” covering all known peoples of all ages. The Berlin ethnographic Museum, founded in 1886 and organised by Adolph Bastian, served as a template for many German collections. Artefacts were ordered by tribes/peoples and geographical areas, and a “set” of artefacts as complete as possible was displayed (Bastian 1881). The total overcrowding of the exhibition was criticised from early on, but without much effect (Penny 2002a). Museums were a research tool, not a teaching aid or popular entertainment. Only after Bastian’s death, different forms of display were adopted.

But this was not accepted by all prehistorians any more. For the Typological School, function was not of interest. Günther Smolla (2000, 1) relates how he tried to discuss the function of Bronze Age razors with Gero von Merhart at Marburg, who famously replied: “I only want to know where and in which context these types [of razors] have been found. I don't care what they used with them for in the past!" The phylogenetic model of culture advanced by Kossinna and his followers led to a general distrust of ethnographic analogies. If every People was to be characterised by its inherent national spirit or an inherited and unchangeable way of thinking, how could the behaviour of unrelated and distant tribes be relevant? The Nazis were famously to deny any kind of interracially constant behaviours or knowledge systems, which led to claims for Aryan Physics or mathematics.

In 1902 Karl Weule stated with superior disdain: “Of course, the parade of long rows of seemingly completely similar stone axes, pots and urns, and their sherds, of bronze- and iron items are not a cause of sublime enjoyment to the common visitor. The same is true of ethnographic museums with their long halls of showcases armoured with spears and shields. But what about it? Firstly, museums are not meant to be enjoyed, but are destined for stimulation and study, two very grave mental processes. Secondly, for prehistory… the collection of material culture is the fundamental condition for establishing her structure. The

Even after the war, any claim for general laws or "constants" of human behaviour were suspect in the humanities. They were seen as negating human individuality, free will and as ideologically implicated (Fischer 1990, 322), which normally meant "communist" and thus evil. In one of the few German publications approaching this problem

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(see Gramsch 2000 for an overview), Ulrich Fischer differentiated between interior analogies, taken from prehistory itself, exterior analogies depending on the existence of laws of human behaviour and general historical analogy using Weber's "ideal types". In general, "analogies are the stronger the nearer they are in time and space to the comparandum and the higher this is placed in the cultural system (Fischer 1990, 319).

The increasingly acrimonious reaction of his conservative colleagues, who accused him of positivism and materialism, can be interpreted as another sign of the deep crisis of the discipline around the turn of the last century. Lamprecht and his followers were associated with a liberal or, for his enemies, socialist approach. To make matters worse, Lamprecht kept intensive international contacts (USA, Belgium) and was deeply influenced by the American University system, especially the private funding and the resulting greater independence from state educational boards (von Bruch 1994).

Historical analogies, that is, those taken from the past of the group in question or from groups "culturally related" are still often seen as more "secure" than those taken from "culturally unrelated" areas (see, for example, Krauße 1999 and preceding discussion, Eggert 1998). This shows that the phylogenetic model of culture is still in force, even if is not "blood" that is speaking, but a nebulous common past.

Lamprecht was also highly critical of the traditional, deliberately unsystematic way history was taught (Lamprecht 1910; Pandel 1994; von Bruch 1994, 54 ff.; Schorn-Schütte 1994, 74 ff.; Erdmann 2005, 46-49). In 1898 he founded a “Historical-Geographical Seminar” at the University of Leipzig together with Friedrich Ratzel. It offered a highly structured course of study that did not depend on the classical forms of lectures and seminars alone any more, and gave lecturers without the venia legendi (mainly younger scholars) more responsibility in teaching (Schorn-Schütte 1994, 75), especially for providing broad overviews (Middell 2005, 195. It was immensely popular with students and attracted a considerable number of international students as well.

History and Ethnography While the older school of cultural history had incorporated the study of both texts and material culture, and of peoples all over the globe, including common people; looking for folklore, customs and tales left over from the remote past, for Leopold von Ranke (1795-1886) and his followers history only started with written sources. History was driven by ideas, great men and the will of God. It was the task of the historian to describe “how it really had been”, sine ire et studio, and to judge the reliability of historical sources (Quellenkritik). Academic teachers of history tended to be conservative to reactionary and saw the role of history as instilling national consciousness/National pride and the support of the ruling dynasty.

There were other historians critical of the historicist paradigm, but most failed to achieve the same recognition and breadth of vision as Lamprecht (see vom Brocke 1971; Zimmerman 1999). This may also be connected to the traditional opposition of the liberal and predominantly bourgeois Saxon town against Prussian dominance.

Since the 1840’s and 1850’s, history in the guise of Rankean historicism had been the leading discipline in German academia, replacing Classics (philology). It faced a crisis in the 1880s’ (Haas 1994; Middell 2005) when the numbers of students decreased (Schorn-Schütte 1994), and the historians’ monopoly of making sense of history and society in general weakened in the face of the growing importance of the sciences since the 1860’s and social “unrest” - the organisation of the working class and the growing influence of socialism.

Karl Weule Academic career It was in this intellectual climate that Karl Weule (1864– 1929) became Germany’s first (extraordinary) Chairholder of Ethnography in Leipzig in 1901. Weule had read Geography in Göttingen and Leipzig and took his PhD in 1891 with a dissertation entitled “Contributions to the morphology of flat coastlines”(Weule 1891), supervised by Friedrich Ratzel. In 1893 he started as a trainee in the Museum of Ethnology in Leipzig, later to become scientific assistant (which can be translated as postgraduate researcher) at the Museum of Ethnography in Berlin under Adolf Bastian in 1899. At the same time, he studied with Ferdinand von Richthofen at the University of Berlin. In the same year, he submitted his habilitation (which conveys the right and the duty to teach) about “The African arrow”, supervised and deeply influenced by Ratzel. Consequently, he became an unpaid lecturer (Privatdozent) in Leipzig, and assistant at the Leipzig Museum of Ethnography (Spittler 2008, Krause 1928). It had been founded in 1873 as a municipal museum, mainly on the initiative of the veterinary Herrmann Obst (1837-1906).

Karl Lamprecht (1856-1915), a German historian, had started a debate on the methodology of History (Methodenstreit) in 1891. He claimed the existence of laws of historical development, the search for which would connect history closer to the sciences (Lamprecht 1897, cf. Chickering 1989; Chickering 1993). He argued that historical change was driven by economics and the development of exchange, not by politics alone. Therefore, Lamprecht also argued for a broader disciplinary base of history that would also incorporate economics (Nationalökonomie), social and cultural history, psychology, prehistory, folklore studies, settlement geography (Siedlungskunde) and ethnography. Lamprecht developed a program for historical research to include universal history and comparative history.

As the files of the Leipzig University archive (UAL, PA

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1057) show, Lamprecht and Ratzel were highly influential in getting Weule a chair at the Leipzig university in 1901. Hans Meyer, the owner of a big publishing company (Meyer’s Conversationslexikon) was influential in promoting Weule (Reche 1929, 2). Meyer was later also to become the most important patron of Lamprecht’s Institute (Middell 2005, 260).

Pygmies, slightly modified by the Bushmen. The most uninterrupted development and the most sophisticated construction was to be found with the Bantu-tribes of the Congo-basin, which proved for Weule that they were, “with a high degree of probability” the oldest African members of that group of peoples, or at least their most homogeneous part (Weule 1902, 27). The next-oldest “wave” from the Northeast pushed the southwestern and southeastern Bantu into their present locations, followed by the settlement of Bantu between Lualaba and the East-coast of Africa.

Weule thus became the first German chairholder in Ethnography and Leipzig would remain the only university offering a joint degree in ethnography and prehistory. Weule succeeded Emil Ludwig Schmidt (1837–1906), who had taught “Anthropologie” at the faculty of history. This can only approximately be translated as Anthropology, it represented a philosophical approach to mankind in the framework of the “Philosophy of Nature” (Naturphilosophie) deeply influenced by late 18th century ideas of vitalism.

The methodology used was common to both prehistory and historical ethnology, and for Weule prehistory and ethnography generally used the same methods, followed the same aims and ultimately merged into each other (fig. 2). Modern customs of European peoples also entered into the picture (fig. 3). Perhaps because of his geographical background, Weule’s language is suffused with geological metaphors. The ancient past is often referred to as “the depth”, and the study of material culture is explicitly linked to the stratigraphic model of the human past.

The new extraordinary professorship for Ethnology and Prehistory in Leipzig was tied to the post of Vice-Director of the municipal Museum of Ethnography. In 1905, after the death of its founder Weule became Director of the Museum, and in 1919 he was finally promoted to Ordinarius, which gave him a much better standing in the academic hierarchy. In 1914 he had founded an ethnographic seminar that was later fused with the research institute for ethnology which, together with an institute for universal history and for the psychology of people (Völkerpsychologie), formed one of Lamprecht’s new research institutes in the “König Friedrich August-Stiftung” (KFA) that were intended to complement the scientific Kaiser-Wilhelm Institute (now Max-PlanckInstitute) in the humanities (Reche 1929, Midell 2005).

Fieldwork Weule conducted only one ethnographic expedition, to the Makonde-Plateau in the extreme South of German East Africa (Weule 1908a, b). It was funded by the German parliament and part of a systematic investigation of the German dependencies that had been planned after the first Colonial Congress in 1902. Zimmerman (2006) has drawn attention to the political context (the MajiMaji-rebellion and its brutal crushing by the German authorities) and has interpreted Weule’s research as part of official counterinsurgency. To follow this up in any depth would necessitate the study of documents of the Colonial office, but it is obvious that Weule’s research was of no immediate use for colonial politicians, except, maybe, for propaganda-purposes. He aimed at a “complete” collection of the material culture of the area – which he found quite difficult to achieve under the circumstances - and was far less interested in local customs, political organisation or methods of agriculture, which would have been of more immediate economic use.

Methods Weule’s Habilitation (Weule 1899) had focussed on the “African arrow” and was explicitly intended to supplement the work of Ratzel (Ratzel 1891). He characterised his method as “comparative anatomy” (Weule 1902, 25), an explicitly biological metaphor, implying an evolutionary and historical framework. He even talks of the “language of the arrow” (Weule 1902, 27). This is less an early form of symmetrical anthropology than a type of ethnology that could do without people and utilise the traits and distribution of artefacts instead. Weule constructed typologies based on “details of construction”, especially the method used for fletching. By mapping these groups, Weule “attempted to reconstruct from this co-occurrence of bow-types a chronological order, or, what amounts to the same, to assign each type their position in the ethnic history of Africa” (Weule 1902, 26). In practice, this meant mapping several different traits, and selecting those whose distribution made sense in terms of “ethnic history”, i.e. helped to reconstruct historical or prehistoric migrations and the spread of peoples across the continent.

His English translator Alice Werner emphasized that Weule was very successful in the “outside part of his task”, “in forming a collection and describing what is visible and tangible in the life and customs of the people” (Weule 1909, xiii), but failed to penetrate the “inner life” (Weule 1909, xiv). His attempts at finding out about social structures concentrated somewhat single-mindedly on the secret initiation-ritual of the Makonde. In addition, he recorded music (von Hornbostel 1909) and collected the drawings of his porters, some of which are reproduced in Weule (1909) (fig. 4), but which also were the subject of a separate study published only much later (Weule 1926).

Weule identified an “oldest layer” connected to the

In contrast, Weule paid painstaking attention to small details

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Fig. 2 A mixture of prehistoric and modern weapons, labeled “origin of weapons” in (Weule 1912a, Taf. 109).

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Fig. 3 A picture showing the use of bone skates entitled “ ‘Prehistoric’ winter-pleasures in Hungary” (Weule 1912b, Taf. III).

of material culture (fig. 5) and assembled, for example, large collections of traps (which showed considerable variation between the tribes, (Weule 1909, 97) and toys. Even details such as the way of securing doors or simple calendars made of knots are recorded. His peaceful dioramas of “native life” (fig. 6) somewhat mask the fact that he went about his task in the company of twelve askari and conducted his painstaking search of “hundreds of Negro huts”, where he “searched every corner, collected, sketched, or noted everything remarkable” (Letter by Weule 1906, cited after Zimmerman 2006, 449) in the company of German troops searching for fugitive rebels. He did not hesitate to have potential informants brought in by “sturdy askari” (Weule 1909, 140), and his carriers started to intimidate and plunder the countryside. The “natives” were seen as objects of study, not as human beings. The horrible scene of a “bungled” execution of a captive insurgent amid all the ceremony of colonial administrative pomp is used to illustrate the character of “the Negro”: “The stoical calm with which the poor wretch awaited the dragging up of a ladder and the lengthening of the ropes was extremely significant as an illustration of native character, and the slight value these people set on their own lives.” (Weule 1909, 27f). When he visited the village of Wamwera that had been destroyed by German troops, the inhabitants had constructed “interesting emergency constructions” of “two walls made of grassbundles, tied together”, which Weule saw as the opportunity to observe “the evolution of the human dwelling-house” and its beginnings here (ibid., 55).

Fig 4 Bwana pufesa: drawing by carriers (Weule 1909b, 232).

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Fig. 5 Details of Maconde material culture (Weule 1909)

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Fig. 6 “Native women preparing meal (pounding, sifting grinding)”, Weule 1909, (without number), Maconde area, German East Africa.

Werner’s criticism misses the point, though. For Weule, as for his teacher Bastian, artefacts were the main object of ethnological study, as their distribution contained “invaluable informations about the human past” and could be used to reconstruct past migrations. In order to solve these questions, “complete collections” were necessary, either of the artefacts themselves or of relevant illustrations. Time was running out to assemble these vital collections. “Not much longer, and the possibility to look back into the earlier stages of human history and the remote past by means of savage tribes and their humble culture is gone forever.” (Weule 1902). The disappearance of the peoples themselves was of no concern. In his inaugural lecture, Weule (1902, 19) had stated that “the majority of primitive peoples (Naturvölker) can be considered as saved” - meaning, of course, their material culture. This has been termed “salvage anthropology” (Penny 2002a, 34; Steinmetz 2004). It was only Leo Frobenius who was to emphasise that the scientific value resided not in object, but in contextual information (Penny 2002a, 86), but this only changed collecting policies very slowly.

How much the difficulties of actually getting in contact with informants in a colonial situation has influenced this direction of research, is open to discussion. Weule had studied “oriental languages and the languages of the German protectorates” under Richthofen for one year (Reche 1929, 9), but was not fluent in any of the native languages of the area. On the Makonde-Plateau, he increasingly relied on the help of a Norwegian adventurer, a deserter married to a local woman, who served as translator, main informant and general guide. The heavily edited popular account (Weule 1909) still gives some indication of Weule’s sense of isolation and probably despair in the later stages of his expedition, when he was increasingly prone to bad health. Cultural elements Weule was, as the preceeding discussion should have demonstrated, deeply influenced by Ratzel, but he never wholly freed himself from Bastian’s ideas either. As Reche (1929) states, he saw development and diffusion as part of the same process and did not really understand the reasons for the antagonism between the developmental and the geographical-historical school in Germany.

Weule was to amass one of the largest collections in Germany, based on a widespread and well organised network of official and commercial contacts (Reche 1929; Hoffmann 1961). He supplied artefacts and pictures to other museums and to publishing houses, especially Meyer.

Weule emphasizes that the “deepest layer” of inventions is common to all mankind. “…[U]nder the layers of separate cultures that differ from continent to continent, there is

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a lower level of distinctive cultural achievements that is common to all races and peoples" (Weule 1910a, 5). All human culture, "ours included" (Weule 1910a, 6) could be traced back to these original mental achievements of early man and the prehumans.

later parts of his “native life”. Instead of stressing the inborn laziness of the negro, his lack of foresight and naivety, as in the early chapters of the book, he now came to appreciate the adaptation of the Makonde to their environment, the ingenious way they used their resources and their tenacity and industry. He even stated that the differences between savage and civilised were misleading, as none had a monopoly on culture (1909, 330). In 1910 (1910b, 43) he had declared that “to look into the lower layers of humanity was always pleasant, even if only to show the racially proud whites how much higher we have climbed.” It was probably the First World War and the German collapse that finally disillusioned him, and in 1923 he stated that “even apart from present times and the period of the World War, when lies and moral collapse created worse sins than maybe ever before in the history of mankind, our race has not much reason for pride on its behaviour towards itself and others.” (1923, 7). His book on the chemical technology of natural peoples concludes with the remark that “the savage is probably not a better person than us, but certainly more happy.” (1922, 83).

This basal layer of common traits or cultural elements (Weule 1910b) consists of the use of fire, weapons, the working of stone by knapping (not by polishing or drilling), the working of wood by carving, whittling, bending, and hardening, the working of skins, braiding (not weaving), dyeing with soil-colours and the building of boats. Almost universal were the use of drugs, ornaments, the use of artificial dwellings and certain spiritual and social drivers, such as a sense for justice, religion and art. In fact, this basal layer was to form the subject of most of his later work. In 1910, he published two slim volumes on "Cultural elements of mankind. Beginning and original forms of human culture" and "The culture of the primitives" in a series aimed at the general public. This was the beginning of a succession of books published in the same series that would look at common cultural elements, treating nutrition, clothing and dwelling (1912b), writing and recording systems (1915), war (1916), chemistry (1922) and physics (1923), both in prehistory and among contemporary peoples.

In his later publications, Weule stressed the adaptation of natural people to the environment, and tries to show how even the “poorest of the poor” have something to teach to the Whites (1910b, 42). The primitives do not live by instinct alone, they have produced their technically sophisticated artefacts only by virtue of long experience, and they can look back on a history that is as long as ours (1910b, 33).

Most of these publications were based on special exhibitions in the Leipzig museum. Karl Lamprecht had organised a series of related exhibitions celebrate the International Fair for Booktrade and Graphics (Buchgewerbe und Graphik) in 1914 (Lamprecht et al. 1914; see Chickering 1993, 431 f.). They were to illustrate his ideas of comparative history. The ethnographic museum displayed house-models and settlements of overseas people, and a synoptic showcase on the development of writing, which was a huge success with the public. It was thus under Lamprecht's influence that Weule freed himself from Bastian's ideal of the geographical order of museum collections and became the leading figure in redesigning museum display, introducing didactic comparative displays of selected artefacts (Direktion des Museums für Völkerkunde Leipzig 1929).

His dissertation was the last time he put Ratzel’s historical scheme into practice. Except for a “Handbook of Ethnography” (Weule 1912a) that concentrated on a systematic depiction of material culture and technology, most of his publications were addressed to the general public, and, while interesting for their breadth of cover, always follow the same pattern. Weule’s academic influence Weule’s influence is hard to assess. He attracted numerous students, most of whom were later to turn to ethnography in a more narrow sense. The Leipzig museum was the second-largest ethnographic collection in Germany and also contained a rich prehistoric collection (Frase and Schrickel 2009). Pictures from his collection were widely used and can be found in practically all ethnographic or culture-historical works of the time, and in children’s books, and his booklets on ethnography reached high print-runs - a number of them were even translated into English. From 1921 he was quite active in the DAG, but this society was rapidly losing members and influence.

As there was not enough space in the museum, Weule used the special exhibitions to try out his ideas. Only the prehistoric collection was wholly organised according to the new principles (Reche 1929, 8). All of these thematic exhibitions and publications combined material from the prehistoric and ethnographic collections and included modern European materials as well. In fact, it was probably connecting the exotic with the mundane and the chronologically and geographically remote with everyday experience that gripped the public imagination. Both exhibitions and publications proved to be very successful.

But Weule did not found a school of his own. He was heavily influenced by both Ratzel and Lamprecht, though in later years he does not seem to have followed Lamprecht’s lead in matters of university politics, trying to get as much funds for his own seminary rather than supporting Lamprecht’s vision of a unified science of human development (see

They dwelt less on the idea of development than on the factors common to all mankind. In the course of time, Weule seems to have changed his views on "natural peoples" (Naturvölker), a development that is already visible in the

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Middell 2005, 398 for an example). There is no indication in his published work that he supported Lamprecht’s attempts to further a new type of history – or a new type of teaching, for that matter.

of ethnography. German politicians (Dernburg 1907) and colonial administrators represented themselves as rational and scientifically informed, which enabled them to administer their colonies in a much better way then, say, the United Kingdom.

When Weule died in 1926, he was eventually succeeded by Otto Reche (1879-1966, Geisenhainer 2000, 2002), who was active in “Racial Research” and eugenics. In 1933, the institute was renamed the “Institute for Racial Studies and ethnography (http://www.uni-leipzig.de/~ethno/alt/ Institutsarchiv.htm). With the rise of the Nazis, Lamprecht’s type of universal history became anathema. Ethnography started to be dominated by racist scholars (cf. Streck 2000) or representatives of the new discipline of “Raceology”. A common “deep layer” of cultural achievements was abandoned in favour of separate lines of development or even polygenesis, with superhuman and subhuman races that must not be allowed to mix.

Conclusion But it was not the loss of the colonies that put an end to the co-operation between ethnology and prehistory in Germany. Rather, it was the rapid expansion of Prehistory after 1933, the foundation of numerous prehistoric departments that belonged to the settlement archaeological or typological schools (see Wiwjorra 1996; Steuer 2001; Leube 2002 for details). In a national prehistory, ethnology was unnecessary, as research into the Germanic past could not conceivably benefit from knowledge about “savage tribes” in foreign parts. After the war, only a few scholars were interested in ethnography and ethnographic analogies, namely Günter Smolla (Smolla 1990) and, influenced by his American experiences, Karl Josef Narr (Narr 1966).

German prehistory had become dominated by typology and concentrated on the prehistory of the Germanic peoples. Johannes Richter, custodian at the Ethnographic Museum under Weule continued to teach prehistory, but was removed for “political reasons” in 1937. Kurt Tackenberg, the first chair-holder for prehistory in Leipzig in 1934, was a convinced Nazi (Bastian 1983, Halle 2002) and conducted mainly typological research. Mainstream German history, suitably purged, had no difficulty in switching from Great Men to the Leader-principle (Führer-Prinzip) and from immortal ideas and the Will of God to racial spirit.

In history, Karl Lamprecht is remembered by progressive scholars as a liberal voice among the mainly conservative or reactionary German Historians of the Empire, presenting an alternative approach to historicism and Neo-Rankeanism. But his universal-historical and culture historical approach found no successors. His approach was ignored in westGerman post-war Prehistory, as was Karl Weule’s.

Ethnography and colonialism

The construction of a history of a subject – including the deliberate obscuring or rather writing out of parts of it - also influences its present and future. It is not simply an academic exercise. Karl Weule, in some respects the archetype of an ugly German, deeply embroiled in colonialism and with definitely racist views, is not a suitable hero-figure to herald a call for a different type of prehistory that incorporates ethnological research. But it is a powerful reminder that there are hidden threads in the discipline that indicate alternative approaches - and alternative possibilities that have been all but forgotten.

The connection between archaeology, ethnography and colonialism seems self-evident and has been emphasized in numerous publications (cf. Díaz-Andreu García 2007). As Penny (2002b) has underlined and the preceding discussion should have made clear, German ethnography had deep roots outside colonialism proper in late Enlightenment thought (Zantop 1997). The doyen of German ethnology, Adolph Bastian was strongly opposed to the creation of German colonies (Gothsch, 1983: 48-52). He is possibly one of the representatives of “ossified dogmata of anthropological research” who Georg von Buschan (1900, 68) is attacking in his flaming appeal for a better academic representation of ethnography. On the other hand, Bastian was not adverse to use military actions to further the aims of ethnology. In fact, he criticised the missed opportunities of acquiring collections during the Boxer-war and the occupation of the Summer Palace in 1900 and called for an inclusion of ethnologists in German military expeditions (Penny 2002b, 108).

Notes In German, ethnography and ethnology are often seen as separate subjects. According to Weule’s handbook, ethnography is the descriptive part, while ethnology is concerned with the development of human culture in general (Weule 1912a, 1). In principle, there is no restriction to a specific level of “development”, thus “folklore studies (“Volkskunde”) are an integral part of ethnology (Kaindl 1903). References.

When Germany started to look for its “place in the sun” and “protectorates” in direct competition with other European powers, especially the United Kingdom from 1884 onwards, this was used to argue for a better state– funding and especially a better academic representation

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Kultur. Fachhistorie, Kulturgeschichte und Anfänge der Kulturwissenschaften in Deutschland. Essener kulturwissenschaftliche Vorträge 7. Göttingen: Wallstein. Schleier, H. 2003a. Geschichte der deutschen Kulturgeschichtsschreibung. Waltrop: hartmut spenner. Schleier, H. 2003b. Neue Ansätze der Kulturgeschichte zwischen 1830 und 1900. Zivilisationsgeschichte und Naturgesetze, Darwinismus und Kulturbiologismus. In: Muhlack, U. (ed.), Historisierung und gesellschaftlicher Wandel in Deutschland im 19. Jahrhundert. Wissenskultur und gesellschaftlicher Wandel 5. Berlin: Akademie 137-157. Schorn-Schütte, L. 1994. Kulturgeschichte als Aufklärungswissenschaft. K. Lamprechts Bemühungen zur Reform der historischen Bildung im Kontext der internationalen Reformbewegung an der Jahrhundertwende, in: H. W. Blanke (Hg.), Transformation des Historismus. Wissenschaftsorganisation und Bildungspolitik vor dem 1. Weltkrieg. Waltrop: hartmut spenner, 64-94. Sievernich, G. 1990. America, de Bry 16590-1634. Amerika oder die Neue Welt. Die „Entdeckung“ eines Kontinents in 346 Kupferstichen. Berlin: Casablanca. Sklenar, K. 1983, Archaeology in Central Europe, the first 500 years. London, Leicester University Press. Smolla, G.1990. Analogien und ihre Grenzen. In: Urgeschichte als Kulturanthropologie. Festschrift Karl J. Narr, vol. I. Saeculum 41, 1990, 326 – 331. Smolla, G. 2000. Ein Vorwort. In: A. Gramsch (ed.), Vergleichen als archäologische Methode. Analogien in den Archäologien. BAR S825. Oxford: BAR Publishing, 1-2. Sommer, U. 2009a. Der Vorwelt Räthsel und die moderne Nation. In: Grunwald, S. Koch, J. J., Mölders, D., Sommer, U. Wolfram, S. (eds.), Artefact. Festschrift für Sabine Rieckhoff zum 65. Geburtstag, vol. 1. Bonn: Habelt, 215-230. Sommer, U. 2009b. The International Congress of Anthropology and prehistoric Archaeology and German Archaeology. In: Marc-Antoine Kaeser, Mircea Babeș (eds.), Archéologues sans frontières: Pour une histoire des Congrès archéologiques internationaux (1866-2006). Oxford: BAR Publishing. BAR Int. Ser. 2046, 17-31. Sommer, U., Struwe, R. 2006. Bemerkungen zur universitären „Vor- und Frühgeschichte“ in Deutschland vor Kossinna. In: J. Calmer et al. (eds.), Die Anfänge der ur- und frühgeschichtlichen Archäologie als akademisches Fach (1890 - 1930) im europäischen Vergleich. Berliner Archäologische Forschungen 2. Rahden/Westfalen: Marie Leidorf, 23-42. Spittler, G. 2008. Founders of the anthropology of work: German social scientists of the 19th and early 20th centuries and the first ethnographers. Ethnologie, Forschung und Wissenschaft 14. Berlin: LIT-Verlag, 177-194. Stampfuß, G. 1935 Gustaf Kossinna. ein Leben für die deutsche Vorgeschichte. Leipzig: C. Kabitzsch. Steinmetz, G. 2004, The uncontrollable afterlives of ethnography. Lessons from ‘salvage colonialism’ in

the German overseas empire. Ethnography 5/3, 2004, 251–288. Steuer, H. (ed.) 2001. Eine hervorragend nationale Wissenschaft: deutsche Prähistoriker zwischen 1900 und 1995. Berlin: De Gruyter. Streck, B. (ed.) 2000. Ethnologie und Nationalsozialismus. Gehren: Escher. Veit, U. 2003. Gründerjahre: Die mitteleuropäische Ur- und Frühgeschichtsforschung um 1900. In: J. Calmer et al. (eds.), Die Anfänge der ur- und frühgeschichtlichen Archäologie als akademisches Fach (1890 - 1930) im europäischen Vergleich. Berliner Archäologische Forschungen 2. Rahden/Westfalen: Marie Leidorf, 4362. Virchow, R. 1872. Über die Gräberfelder und Burgwälle der Niederlausitz und des überordischen Gebietes. Verhandlungen der Berliner Gesellschaft für Anthropologie, Ethnologie und Urgeschichte 4, 300-320. vom Brocke, B. 1971. Kurt Breysig. Geschichtswissenschaft zwischen Historismus und Soziologie. Lübeck/Hamburg: Matthiesen. von Bruch, R. 1994 Wissenschaftspolitik, Kulturpolitik, Weltpolitik. Hochschule und Forschungsinstitute auf dem Deutschen Hochschullehrertag in Dresden 1911, in: H. W. Blanke (ed.), Transformation des Historismus. Wissenschaftsorganisation und Bildungspolitik vor dem Ersten Weltkrieg. Waltrop: hartmut spenner, 32-63. von Buschan, G. 1900. die Notwendigkeit von Lehrstühlen für eine „Lehre vom Menschen“ auf deutschen Hochschulen. Centralblatt für Anthropologie, Ethnologie und Urgeschichte 2, 1900, 65-72. von Hellwald, Fr. 1875 Kulturgeschichte in Ihrer natürlichen Entwicklung bis zur Gegenwart. Augsburg: Lampart. von Hornbostel, E. M. 1909. Wanyamwezi-Gesänge. Anthropos. Internationale Zeitschrift für Völker- und Sprachkunde 4, 781-800 and 1033-1052. von Schlegel, Fr. 1809. Über die Sprache und Weisheit der Inder. Heidelberg: Mohr und Zimmer. Weule, K. 1891. Beiträge zur Morphologie der Flachküsten. Leipzig: Geographisches Institut. Weule, K. 1899. Der afrikanische Pfeil: eine anthropogeographische Studie. Leipzig: O. Schmidt. Weule, K. 1902. Völkerkunde und Urgeschichte im 20. Jahrhundert. Eisenach/Leipzig: Thüringische VerlagsAnstalt. Weule, K. 1908a. Wissenschaftliche Ergebnisse meiner ethnographischen Forschungsreise in den Südosten Deutsch–Ostafrikas. Ergänzungsheft 1 der Mitteilungen aus den deutschen Schutzgebieten. Berlin, Berlin: Ernst Siegfried Mittler und Sohn. Weule, K. 1908b. Negerleben in Ostafrika. Leipzig: Brockhaus. Weule, K. 1909. Native Life in East Africa: the Results of an Ethnological Research Expedition. Translated [and edited] by Miss Werner. London: Sir Isaac Pitman & Sons. Weule, K. 1910a. Die Kultur der Kulturlosen. Stuttgart; Frankh.

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Weule, K. 1910b. Kulturelemente der Menschheit. Anfänge und Urformen menschlicher Kultur. Stuttgart: Frankh. Weule, K. 1912a. Leitfaden der Völkerkunde. Leipzig: Bibliographisches Institut. Weule, K. 1912b. Die Urgesellschaft und ihre Lebensfürsorge. Stuttgart: Frankh. Weule, K. 1915. Vom Kerbstock zum Alphabet: Urformen der Schrift. Stuttgart: Frankh. Weule, K. 1922. Chemische Technologie der Naturvölker. Stuttgart: Frankh Weule, K. 1923. Frühformen der Mechanik. Stuttgart: Frankh. Weule, K. 1926. Ostafrikanische EingeborenenZeichnungen: Psychologische Einblicke in die Künstlerseele des Negers. Ipek: Jahrbuch für prähistorische und ethnographische Kunst 2, 1926, 87–127.

Wiwjorra, I. 1996. German archaeology and its relation to nationalism and racism, In: Díaz-Andreu, Margarita and Champion, Timothy, Nationalism and archaeology in Europe. London: UCL Press, 164-188. Zantop, S. 1997. Colonial Fantasies: Conquest, Family, and Nation in Precolonial Germany, 1770-1870. Durham: Duke University Press. Zimmerman, A. 1999. Geschichtslose und schriftlose Völker in Spreeathen. Anthropologie als Kritik der Geschichtswissenschaft im Kaiserreich. Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 47/1, 197-210. Zimmerman, A. 2006. “What do you really want in German East Africa, Herr Professor?” Counterinsurgency and the Science Effect in colonial Tanzania. Comparative Studies in Society and History 48/2, 419-461.

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Chapter 2 S.M. Shirokogoroff ’s Theory of ETHNOS

Anatoly Kuznetsov

Translated from Russian by Ekaterina Korotayeva First published in Ethnograohicheskoe Obozrenie, 2006, N 3, p. 57-71 Abstract: An outstanding Russian anthropologist S.M. Shirokogoroff was invited to conduct research of the Tungus in East Siberia and Manchuria. Shirokogoroff made a number of archaeological and ethnographic expeditions in 1910 – 1918 in which he obtained a large number of archaeological, ethnographic, anthropological and linguistic data. These data were used as a base for Shirokogoroff ethnos theory. His theory is based on examination of ethnos as a primary entirety and through its relationship with different forms of environment (natural, cultural and other ethnoses). According to Shirokogoroff, the existence of ethnos is determined by the balance of its main components. Shirokogorov used the term ‘ethnos’ only to describe the processes of origination and development (crystallization), where an ethnic group determines how these processes run. The ethnic group was determined as phenomena of material culture, social organization and psycho-mental complex in a well balanced system, in which all the components (psycho-mental complex, material culture, social organization and endogamy) are more or less connected to each other and thus cannot be interpreted independently.

Introduction

under the influence of Eurasian theory concepts (Savitskij &.Evrasijstvo 2003), the concept of noosphere (Vernadskij 1944 (1967), ideas of Russian cosmism (Fedorov N.F. 2003) and certain elements of ‘systems theory’ (Gumilev 2001; 2002).

Russian ethnography emerged in the 1860s and was established in the early 20th century as an independent scientific academic discipline incorporating approaches and concepts from other disciplines. As a particular indication of its high status at that time ethnographers started developing a theoretical basis for the discipline centred around the theme of ‘ethnos’, as it had been introduced by Mogilyanskiy in the early 20th century. Already at this early stage, the creation of ethnology as ethnography, physical anthropology and archaeology had been developed in the new USSR.

During the Perestroika Period, when Soviet ethnography was re-evaluated, Bromley’s theory was exposed to criticism and at the end of the 1980’s Tishkov introduced the principles of radical constructivism and conjunct theory of ethnicity, thus denying the mere existence of ethnos as a phenomenon (Tishkov 1992; 2003). But already the second half of the 1990’s saw a growing number of publications dealing with different aspects of ethnos, including works that reintroduced Bromley’s theoretical basis (Rybakov 2001). Unfortunately, Shirokogoroff’s theory of ethnos caught neither the attention of the Soviet research establishment, nor that of the post-Perestroika period.

As a consequence of the reorganization of the Academy of Science, ethnology was proclaimed in 1929 a ‘bourgeois’ science, the idea of ethnos was abandoned and ethnography accordingly was reduced to a subsidiary historical discipline. The change of the national and international conditions after World War II however, offered a comeback for Soviet ethnographers and facilitated a renewed ethnographic focus on the theme of ethnos by the end of the 1940’s. Contributions by Kushner, Tokarev and Cheboksarov formed the foundation of the Soviet theory of ethnos through the 1940’s-60’s. In the 1970’s Bromley formulated a more comprehensive ethnos concept, which gained a dominating role in the USSR. It is an often overlooked fact that the origins of this ethnos-theory can be traced back to the fundamental ideas of S.M. Shirokogoroff (1887-1939), general axioms of the official Marx-Lenin philosophy as well as the work of some Soviet ethnographers (Bromley 1973; 1983). Its strength in Soviet research is reflected in the lack of success in taking over the scene of an alternative theory developed by Gumilev

Bromley acknowledged Shirokogoroff as the first Russian theorist to deal with the ethnos concept (1920-1930’s). Since his works were published in China where he had to stay from 1922, he was stigmatised as a ‘white émigré’. As a result, his works only received quite restricted distribution in the USSR. That a number of his most important statements were in conflict with the official Marxism-Leninism only underpinned the development of the almost total oblivion of the scientific legacy of this remarkable scientist, in our country. Some modern Russian researchers hold the view that Shirokogoroff’s theory of ethnos had no significant impact on research in the USSR and therefore does not deserve any attention (Rybakov 2001:5; Tishkov 2004:690). Contrasting views are also gaining ground however, and are supported by Markov and others: “Everything worth any

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attention in the publications dealing with ethnos is already present in the works of Shirokogoroff, and these are missing from Russian libraries” (Filippov & Filippova 1992:8).

his works. On October 25, 1922 the Soviet regime was established in Vladivostok. Shirokogoroff, who was in China, lost his position because he failed to turn up at work at the University on October 26 and was unable to return to Vladivostok. Thus he became an émigré. Being well informed about the events taking place at home, he never returned to Soviet Russia (Kuznetsov 2001).

Evaluating Shirokogoroff’s work, one must keep in mind that there exist two versions of his theory of ethnos. The present analysis will be restricted to the one he formulated in the early 1920’s (Shirokogoroff 1922; 1923), which he himself regarded as premature: “Its appearance is premature as, according to my intended schedule, it was supposed to result in a publication of a number of finished and developed examinations of Tungus and certain issues, which were supposed to be an introduction to this research’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 3). So, what does this theory represent, the theory formulated basically during a civil war in Russia’s ‘outback’ Vladivostok, and later on in China, by a man who did not have time to make a name for himself in his own country? And if his ideas do not deserve any attention, why are they still discussed today?

In China Shirokogoroff led several short expeditions around in the country and went abroad several times. More importantly however, he started to realize his plans, which had been formulated in Vladivostok previously. Of particular importance was his publication in 1935, of his study ‘Psychomental complex of Tungus’. His correspondence with the German ethnologist V. Mulman as well as some other sources, reveal that during his final years he prepared a comprehensive study ‘Theory of ethnos or Introduction to ethnology’. Unfortunately, we know nothing about the contents of this work or about its fate. (Mulman, 2002; Serebrennikov 1940).

Early history and fieldwork

Theory of ethnos

Shirokogoroff’s theory of ethnos did not appear out of thin air. By the time his first works were published, he was 35 and already had a significant background in research. He started his scientific education in Paris in 1905-1910, studying at the Philological Faculty at the Sorbonne, as well as at the Institute of Anthropology and the Higher School of Political Economy. After returning to Russia in 1910, he studied at the Department of Natural Sciences at the Faculty of Physics and Mathematics, at the University of St. Petersburg. Such a versatile education was one of the conditions that prepared him for the creation of the theory of ethnos. From 1912, and while still a student, Shirokogoroff worked as a freelancer at the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography in the Academy of Science, the leading institution in Russian anthropology and ethnography. In January 1915 he visited the Far East for the first time. Together with his wife E.N. Shirokogoroffa (nee Robinson) he was sent on a two year assignment to Manchuria and Mongolia to conduct ‘linguistic, ethnographic, anthropological and archeological research’ as leader of the Manchurian expedition. Despite hardships, the first FarEastern expedition was successfully accomplished in 1917. After spending some time in Ekaterinodar (Krasnodar) and Petrograd, the Shirokogoroffs were sent to North China on another assignment. Financial problems, caused by the revolution and later by the civil war, forced them to change their plans. And so Shirokogoroff arrived in Vladivostok via Harbin in July 1918 (Reshetov 2001).

Today it is obvious that already Shirokogoroff’s Vladivostok papers had marked a theoretical break-through. As the works were published during the Civil War in Vladivostok and later in Russian in Shanghai, hardly any copies of them were available in the USSR. On the other hand, they were available to foreign scholars in German and summaries of them were available in English and French (Shirokogoroff 1924b; 1934; 1936; 1963). These studies are of special interest as they include the first version of Shirokogoroff’s theory of ethnos. His research of the Tungus and Manchu societies provided Shirokogoroff with an opportunity to familiarize himself in detail with their social organization and culture, which were basically different from those he was familiar with in Russia and Western Europe. Based on a comparative approach he was one of the first to conclude, that ‘primitive’ and ‘civilized’ societies are fundamentally similar – a revolutionary idea at that time. To emphasize the similarity Shirokogoroff used the not very popular ethnos concept which had been first proposed by N.M. Mogilyanskiy (Mogilyanskiy 1908; 1916). In 1922 Shirokogoroff wrote: ‘Ethnos is a group of people, who speak the same language, recognize a common origin, share a system of customs, a way of life which is preserved and sanctified by a tradition and distinguished from other similar groups’. (Shirokogoroff 1922: 13). On the face of it, in this version of the theory, ethnos is regarded as a group of people (an ethnic community), who possess cultural characteristics specific to them. But Shirokogoroff rejects existing scientific approaches to the analysis of ethnic phenomena as ‘reductionistic’. In his opinion human communities consist of different components such as economy, social relations, culture, religion, language etc., which are impossible to analyse through one integrated theoretical approach without

His stay in Vladivostok dragged on unexpectedly until September 1922. This however, gave him an opportunity to start summing up the results of his expedition and these formed the basis of several important studies such as ‘Ethnos. Research of fundamental principles of variations of ethnic and ethnographical phenomena’. As it was difficult to publish his works in Russia, Shirokogoroff was assigned by the Far-Eastern University to leave Vladivostok. In early September 1922 he went to Shanghai to publish

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reducing ethnos (ethnic) to one of the components involved. ‘In this way, neither anthropological, linguistic nor ethnographic analysis allow for the creation of a coordinated approach. Shirokogoroff believes this may be due to the instability of the features involved and the fact that they are so easy to copy and/or borrow’ (1923: 46). This is the primary reason why he chooses to analyze ethnos as a complex phenomenon. He analyses it as a primary entirety and does so through an examination of its interface with different aspects of the physical, cultural and social environments.

humans adapts by modifying their consciousness and intellect by creating tools. Traditionally, the presence of culture/cultural expression is regarded as a main characteristic of humans and their communities. In the theory of ethnos the definition of culture is rather peculiar: ‘I will use the notion of culture to define a sum of accumulated knowledge, the result of the corresponding features of material and social life as well as the thought of a particular ethnos, a group of ethnoses or humankind as a whole’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 15). The emphasis in this cultural concept is on knowledge and thought; but it is not exclusively reduced to this. Culture is conceived as consisting of various interrelated elements and phenomena. ‘The culture of every ethnos is so complex, that one can understand and design its development only by analyzing its origin and its dependence on the whole complex of ethnographic features interrelated not only by genesis, but also by contemporaneous interaction’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 21). Shirokogoroff’s culture concept, thus, cannot be understood solely from the viewpoint of its bearer. A cultural analysis should follow a generic instead of a normative approach and thus encompass the development of its different elements.

The physical (primary) environment is the natural context of the territory inhabited by the community. Depending on the natural context, different adaptation strategies are developed that provide a basis for the vital activity of the community and its people. The cultural (second) environment is, in a broad sense, the cultural sphere created by the specific ethnos. The social (third) environment of the ethnos is the ethnic surroundings of the ethnos, in other words other ethnoses with which the ethnos in focus interacts. To Shirokogoroff ethnos is not a set of characteristics, which change with circumstances. It is a constant set of potential adaptational relationships that can be triggered by circumstances in the environment (Shirokogoroff 1923: 124-126)

Another important characteristic of Humans is their sociality, i.e. their existence in a society. The social organization of the society is the next natural element of the ethnos, social culture, in Shirokogoroff’s terminology. The demand for social culture increases when the community’s relationship to its cultural environment gains more importance that its relationship to its natural environment. Shirokogoroff regards differentiation of activity of individuals, stability of relations between these individuals and personal realization of the connection between the individual and society as the most important elements in a society’s social culture (Shirokogoroff 1923: 72-73).

Characterizing ethnos as a phenomenon (a definite entirety), Shirokogoroff bases it on the idea that ethnos is a group of people. His characterization takes into account the basic characteristics of the human being as a generic being and not as an individual. He points out the biological aspects of the life of a human as the initial basis of the community. The latter point caused a number of Soviet scholars to deny the theory, a partly understandable reaction, since Shirokogoroff did not go into the discussion of the ‘dialectics of the relation between the biological and the social aspects of Man’. To Shirokogoroff, who used the term ‘biological’ to signify a primary necessity in living human beings to form and preserve different ethnic communities, this criticism was beside the point. Furthermore, he used this term to talk about the significance of adaptation (including cultural adaptation) as well as objective conditions that were beyond the control of humans.

Thus, according to Shirokogoroff’s thinking, ethnos is a universal category comprising different aspects of the life of humans and society. ‘Having ethnos as a theme, ethnography studies all the manifestations of human intellectual and mental activity, such as its material culture (the sum of its knowledge about physical constructions, clothes, food, etc), its social culture (the organization of the society such as the state and its organizations, e.g. the family, the clan etc.) and its spiritual culture (religion, science, philosophy, and art) (Shirokogoroff 1923: 15). The special role of the consciousness (and mentality) in the theory of ethnos reflects the real characteristics of humans. Humans should possess consciousness to be able to participate in any practical activity, to create culture and society. But to succeed in such activity, they should comprehend the external world, including the social and cultural environment, which they create. Furthermore they should reproduce the outside world in certain ideas and knowledge elements, which are not always identical to the world itself.

According to Shirokogoroff’s theory the most distinctive feature of humanity is its consciousness (intellect). The concept of consciousness plays a central role in Shirokogoroff’s thinking, as he uses it to define some of the components of ethnos. But he rejects the idea of a uniform universal consciousness embedded in all individuals. Having connected consciousness with social culture, Shirokogoroff develops an idea of different types of consciousness, which are inherent in particular communities. Ethnic consciousness, signifies one of the most important conditions of the existence of an ethnos, including its ability to adapt to the natural environment. Shirokogoroff often compares ethnic communities with animal populations to emphasize that where animals adapt to the environment by modifying their body or behavior,

As Shirokogoroff considered ethnos a basic universal form

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of human society including ‘civilized nations’, he was forced to base his comparison not only on ethnographic data and method but also on extensive data and methods from other disciplines. Thus Shirokogoroff began to combine a number of disciplines, such as anthropology, ethnography and linguistics into a new synthetic field of science, ethnology. This enabled him to conduct integrated research in different ethnoses. ‘Just as biology is a science about life as a whole, ethnology is the science about ethnos as a formation, in which mankind has developed and lives. Ethnology, as biology uncovers the laws of life of humans as a species, and consequently, the laws of their mentality and science as a result of their thoughts. Thus ethnology is the ‘crown’ of a human being’s knowledge’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 33). According to Shirokogoroff the central research theme of the new discipline was the phenomenon of ethnic diversity. Thus the initial ethnos concept was revised: ‘… ethnos is a formation, in which all the elements, which make it possible for humans as species to exist, are created, develop and die’. (Shirokogoroff 1923: 28-29).

adaptation is. A rising, static or falling population will indicate a developing, stagnating or disintegrating ethnos, respectively (Shirokogoroff 1923:82,88). The development of a new ethnos concept corresponded to significant changes in the scholar’s perception of scientific systems and methodology. According to his first ‘working concept’ an ‘ethnos’ was a community of people possessing common characteristic features. In the light of the later development of the concept it is however, important to understand ‘ethnos’ as a basic unit of the new scientific discipline – ethnology. To Shirokogoroff, ethnology is a synthetic discipline, which studies and describes the interrelations between basic characteristics of humans in an interdisciplinary perspective. The aim of ethnology is to uncover fundamental laws which determine the formation, development and dynamics of ethnos. The formulation of these laws must rely on an understanding of ethnic thought seen as related to scientific data processing, in other words data which are manifestations of the thought. In accordance with the basic principles, ‘ethnos’ in its generalized form is characterized as a ‘formation, in which mankind has developed and lives’. As is well known the concepts ‘human’ (in a wide sense) and ‘humankind’ are to a large extend philosophical (universal) categories, which embody the most general characteristics of people. Ethnos is already a theoretical scientific notion which combines these general characteristics with physical (racial), cultural, social and other features, which are inherent in the communities that form humankind as a whole. The position of Shirokogoroff is fundamentally non-philosophical. For example he states, speaking of contemporary ethnography: ‘All these abstractions were preferred as reality as a result of philosophical speculations, which were typical for the psycho-mental complex of the majority of European countries in the 19th century’. (Cited according to Mulman 2002: 149)

The existence of the ethnos concept, which unites highly different human cultures involved in different activities in their different environments is, in each individual case, determined by the internal balance of its main components. ‘Every ethnos strives to preserve the balance for the sake of its existence. Sometimes this is achieved through a weak development of some of its elements and a strong one of others’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 22-23). The viability of an ethnic community depends to a high degree on the stability of the balance between its different elements. Important factors here are a) the number of people comprised in the ethnos and b) the size and type of the territory it inhabits because this influences its character c) its level of cultural development and d) the complexity of its social organization. These main factors are interrelated in a complex way. Thus, if the number of people in an ethnos decreases, but the level of culture increases rapidly, the latter factor can stabilise and preserve this ethnos. An increasing cultural level can also compensate for a reduction of the size of a territory (Shirokogoroff, 1923: 125).

One should also pay attention to the methodology Shirokogoroff uses in his examination of ethnos during that period. To define ethnos, he starts by uncovering the relationships of a particular community with its different environments (natural and cultural, including social and inter-ethnic). Then he focuses on the factors that influence the state of an ethnos (territory, population and culture level) and their inter-relations. But in general Shirokogoroff regards ethnos as a community, one entity, which is characterized by the balance of components defined through characteristic features of human beings as a species. Interestingly his most important feature is consciousness.

The internal balance of an ethnos is, in Shirokogoroff’s opinion, closely connected to its relationship with its environment. ‘When the cultural (secondary) environment is complex, and culture’s adaptation is relatively refrained from its physical (primary) environment, then the structure of the society is also complex’ (Shirokogoroff, 1923: 75). The interaction between different ethnoses is given a lot of attention because this relationship can vary between ‘cooperation, mutual benefits, parasitism, absorption or fusion, if not complete destruction or exclusion of one ethnos by another, all of which depend of course primarily on the power of the ethnos’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 83). In Shirokogoroff’s opinion an ethnos which exists in balance, i.e. is well adapted to its internal conditions and environment, is also the most viable and stable in relation to its external environment. The population size of an ethnos is regarded as an external indicator of how successful its

It should be obvious from this summary that Shirokogoroff’s theory is impossible to simplify. Because one of its most important aims is to be able to deal with the complexity of human society it cannot be reduced to one of its aspects or forms. Even for one single aspect it is important that generalizations are based on data from different disciplines studying the phenomena related to this aspect. Thus his methodology corresponds to the basic principles of the system structure analysis. Though the system paradigm is

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assumed to have appeared in 1940’s (e.g. von Bertalanffy 1950), one can see that the Russian scientist formulated parallel principles and applied its basic principles in the early 1920’s. It should be stressed that he did not only anticipate mechanistic (cybernetic) versions of systems theory, but also developed principles of research of particular ethnic systems, characterized by consciousness (self-referential systems). In time, Shirokogoroff began to apply the fundamental ideas of his theory to his ethnographic works such as ‘Social Organization of Machus’ (Shirokogoroff 1924a), and especially in the work ‘Social Organization of Northern Tungus’ (Shirokogoroff 1929) which signifies a transition to the new understanding of ‘ethnos’. Here, Shirokogoroff starts to recognise the dynamics of the ethnic communities. The contemporary interest in his work is reflected in the publication into English and French of parts of the study ‘Ethnos’ (Shirokogoroff 1924b; 1934; 1936).

• An aspect of historical continuity, apparent from the existing beliefs and traditions, as observed by historians. • A psychological aspect of self awareness, which signifies the identity of a group as a community. • A biological (in a narrow sense) aspect: the restrictions of the hereditary characteristics transferred from one generation to another in the group and their possibilities of modifications, as observed by biologists. Like all other processes, ethnos can develop in different directions. Therefore the idea is to distinguish centripetal and centrifugal movements, which can exist together in one ethnic community: ‘If we go back to our definition of an ethnic community, we can describe it as a dynamic effect of the balance between its centripetal and centrifugal movements’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 14). The internal condition of an ethnic community is seen as the reason why these movements occur. ‘The majority of the centripetal and centrifugal movements in an ethnic community originate under the influence of its components and result in the creation of new components.’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 15). These movements can interact in different ways. ‘If a centripetal movement is strong and suppresses the centrifugal movement completely, the system’s ability of partial (local) adaptation to the changing environment will be reduced and thus it will lose viability, especially under the influence of inter-ethnic balance. On the other hand, if the centrifugal tendencies of new ethnic societies are too strong, the connection between them will be too weak, and the community they form together can lose its viability’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 15). In a new revision of his theory, Shirokogoroff has an increasing focus on ethnic balance as a precondition for normal existence of ethnic communities as well as the concept ‘inter-ethnic balance’. ‘By interethnic balance I understand a constant relationship between a number of populations, the territory they occupy and their biological adaptation; cultural adaptation is considered to be a particular form of biological adaptation’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 15). As both ethnic balance and inter-ethnic balance are dynamic relationships they match the new dynamic definition of ethnos.

In spite of the fact that only the first chapters of this large volume are devoted to ethnic theory the ‘Psychomental Complex of the Tungus’ (Shirokogoroff 1935) introduces Shirokogoroff’s second version of his theory of ethnos. Where he earlier accepted different types of social groupings, ‘ethnic communities’ signified by common characteristics such as inherent homogeneity, preserved endogamy and realisation of their own existence, here it is distinguished as the only meaningful group type. Group types defined on the basis of nationality, regionality or cultural and social features alone he regards as abstractions, a result of flawed methodology which consider these issues from a static point of view, because they are not directly related to the real and dynamic basis of communities as groups of people (Shirokogoroff 1935: 13). Shirokogoroff’s conclusion is that the most meaningful research object is the ethnic community signified by ‘more or less common cultural complexes, a common language, a belief in a common origin, a consciousness of group identity and the practicing of endogamy’ (Shirokogoroff, 1953: 14). Shirokogoroff uses the term ‘ethnos’ to create a dynamic understanding of the processes of origination and development (crystallization) of ethnic societies, the processes where ethnic groups make decisions about their own development. To deal with the serious difficulties related to the analysis of dynamic processes, one has to examine them indirectly in the light of changeability of certain real formation characteristics, Shirokogoroff postulates that ethnos is a process: ‘It is a PROCESS, which can result in the formation of ethnic communities, and I call this process ETHNOS’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 14). This process is expressed in a series of aspects, including (Shirokogoroff 1935: 14):

Discussion Shirokogoroff has been criticised for understanding ethnos as nothing but a biological group. However it is obvious that his theory in the 1935 publication moves to a purely procedural level in its ethnos concept. Ethnos is now identified with the dynamic aspects of an ethnic community, and thus overcomes the lack of historicity and of development concept, which is the basic problem of system theories. It should be underlined that the theory is not limited to the study of ethnic communities but can also be applied to other community types. ‘If we take different types of group differentiation, e.g. individual, family, clan, professional, economic or any other type of adaptation differentiation, which is determined by the necessity of new types of basic adaptation, they can develop as elements of centripetal movement in the groups they exist within. Thus in a larger community they will act as centrifugal power’

• An ethnographic aspect apparent in the similarity of cultural adaptation, as observed by ethnographers. • A psycho-mental aspect which has its basis in the similarity of language, as observed by ethnographers.

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(Shirokogoroff 1935: 14). The 1935 version of the theory still takes into account the role of thought and conscious choice in the creation of new forms and ways of existence. Existence is primarily regarded as a ‘delicate mechanism of psycho-mental complex re-adaptation, which has a speed-limit for its variation’. (Shirokogoroff 1935: 17)

the ethnic environment in which he was born and lives’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 24). On the face of it one can think that the new version of Shirokogoroff’s theory, with its basic revision of the ethnos concept, is in conflict with the previous version. However that is not the case. The basic ideas of systemstructure understanding related to the later dynamicsbased ethnos concept, are actually embedded in the early ethnic community concept. The later understanding of ethnos as a process however, allows the scholar to focus on the development perspective of social systems to a much higher degree. A synchronous perspective is replaced by a diachronic one but in fact the two versions of Shirokogoroff’s ethnos theory do not contradict but actually complement each other. Thus Shirokogoroff’s two theoretical approaches demonstrate a fundamental complexity and inconsistency of ethnos, which exist both as a material phenomenon and as a combination of dynamic/ processual stages. At the same time he maintains such a strong focus on ethnic consciousness/identity that instead of biologism one can accuse him of subjectivism. This suggests that a fundamentally new research methodology is required to deal with the very different and complex concepts such as real (material) components of ethnic communities, processes within them as well as aspects of their consciousness and identity. The success of Shirokogoroff’s approach relies on his substitution of the traditional culture concept with the ‘psycho-mental complex’ concept. In his opinion in an ethnic community ‘… the phenomena of material culture, social organization and psycho-mental complex are all integrated parts of a well balanced system consisting of components that are all more or less connected to each other and thus are impossible to interpret independently’ (Shirokogoroff 1935).

To make his idea of ethnos more convincing universally, Shirokogoroff in the later part of his authorship criticises the nation concept, which in some of his earlier publications replaces the notion of ethnic communities; ’a nation is a community which has its own state’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 14). From 1935 onwards he displays a negative attitude towards the recognition of nation as a self-consistent type of community organization. He notes that no one has defined nation in a satisfactory way and that many ‘nations’ exist for too long to preserve their original substance. Thus the concept of a ‘nation becomes an abstraction which can be very little suited for research into populations and specific groups’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 13). Shirokogoroff has a similar attitude to social groups. They do constantly interact with each other and a part of the population is furthermore left beyond any social classification. For him the main flaw of these notions is that ‘two different things, a dynamic process and a physical population, are mixed up and defined as one’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 13). Shirokogoroff practically ignores the importance of political factors in the development of nations. He studies in detail the significance of culture diffusion. He notes that the diffusion of the culture of ethnic communities is observed more often than the dispersal of ethnic communities themselves. Unlike the ideas of cultural centres and circles, which were popular at the time, Shirokogoroff considers that ‘leading ethnoses’ play an important role in culture diffusion. ‘The concept of a leading ethnos is very important as a mechanism for adaptation and remodelling of cultural complexes and a mechanism for ethnic environmental modification. I understand a leading ethnos as a process which results in formation of ethnic communities or ethnic community groups; these ethnic communities become a pattern for other ethnic groups during different periods in time’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 21).

According to Shirokogoroff a psycho-mental complex consists of a number of ‘cultural elements, which are based on mental and intellectual reactions to the whole system or just some of its components. The cultural elements can be variable or stable, dynamic or static’ (Shirokogoroff 2001: 66). The cultural elements are further divided into two groups. The first consists of stable and definite reactions. The second group consists of thoughts, which determine specific mental attitudes and which are related to a particular community. To Shirokogoroff a psycho-mental complex has its importance as the mechanism that controls a community’s adaptation to its environment. It is not surprising that the components of a psycho-mental complex can be highly diverse. On the one side they consist of mental and intellectual phenomena, which can be distinguished through research into ideas, attitudes, certain types of behaviour, customs and practices. This complex also plays an important role in the maintenance of the integrity of an ethnic community, as ‘a community reaction which reflects the re-adaptation its technical culture and social organisation have to pass through. Finally, the impact of the inter-ethnic environment of a particular community is reflected in its psycho-mental complex’ (Shirokogoroff 1935:25). As one can see from the

Though the importance of the biological factor in his ethnos theory is often underlined by Shirokogoroff, he only discusses it after having examined the inter-relations between different types of communities, including nations, and after having discussed the processes and relationships within them. He states that endogamy is one of the most important characteristics of an ethnic community, but does not engage in a thorough analysis of it although it could be highly relevant as a demonstration of the role of biological factors in its formation. He does not pay much attention to the racial factor in the formation of ethnic communities either. Moreover, he does not consider an ethnic community a form of population in biological sense (Shirokogoroff 1935: 24). Not surprisingly one of the most important conclusions of the ethnos study is the almost Marxist statement: ‘No individual can be examined separately from

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of the community described in them, or the points of view of external observers. Further the ‘text reality’ of the ethnic communities described, depends on the different psychomental complexes of the readers.

suggested list of fundamental functions and characteristics, the study of this phenomenon presents one of the most difficult tasks for the researcher. But the argument that every ethnic community possesses its unique psycho-mental complex, contrary to a universal consciousness, has led the author to a critical evaluation of existing research into ethnic problems.

On the basis of these considerations, Shirokogoroff suggests traditional ‘objective’ (positivistic) methodology supplemented by ‘peering into’ and ‘intuition’ for ethnological research (Cited according to Mulmann 2002:151). Such an approach is not in accordance with strict ‘scientific’ methodology. However, one should bear in mind that the purpose is to investigate such delicate phenomena as the consciousness and mentality of man. Shirokogoroff further discusses the statement that ‘it is impossible to understand people without loving them’. He agrees that in some cases it can be true, especially as an opposite to cases where hatred blurs the understanding of observations. On the other side he notes that ‘in fact many specialists, who ‘loved’ the object of their research … have made many incorrect descriptions, which in extreme cases became the sentimental naivety of the European complex’ (Shirokogoroff 2001: 69). The suggestion to use ‘peering into’ and ‘intuition’ as more neutral and fundamental approaches in ethnographic research than the traditional positivistic approach is based on the idea that ‘a researcher or his reader should not treat an extraneous (foreign) complex from the point of view of his own ethnographic complex…’. The most efficient way to study a psycho-mental complex is as follows: ‘detailed description and analysis of a psycho-mental complex is possible only when the latter is examined as a totality of relationships, existing in the ethnic community and created by its inter-ethnic environment’ (Shirokogoroff 1935: 25). Expressed in contemporary language it means that the ethnographer should peer into and intuitively perceive the phenomena of a different culture (community) within their context and frames of reference, attempting to avoid introducing elements from their own culture (community) into their observations. This leads logically to Shirokogoroff’s warning about the risks related to applying personal categories and concepts to research into another psycho-mental complex.

Until the 1970’s ethnologists and anthropologists mainly discussed problems of ethnic consciousness and selfconsciousness/identity. Shirokogoroff however, focussed on the role of a researcher in the process of research. ‘An observer (and a researcher, describing the situation) possesses his own psycho-mental complex, formed by his cultural environment. Consequently a scientist is not an instrument of eternal truth. He just reflects the world through his own personality, whereas exterior psycho-mental complexes form the world under study’ (Cited according to Mulmann, 2002: 151). To overcome total dependency on his own psycho-mental complex, a researcher should first of all change his attitude towards his own and other cultures (Shirokogoroff 1923: 24-25). To Shirokogoroff, the ideal solution to this problem is that a researcher ‘should forget, if possible, his own psycho-mental complex and write down facts… in order not to interfere with his observations and recordings’ (Shirokogoroff 2001: 68). This is of course a situation that in practice can only serve as an ideal. But Shirokogoroff is aware of the value of such an ideal because many observations were made without any awareness of the influence of the observer’s psycho-mental complex on the perception of other cultures. This of course reduces the reliability of the data. Since an ethnographer compiles his observations in texts, which are studied by other specialists, of which some have psycho-mental complexes that are different from the author’s, this means that there is one more participant in the process of ethnographic research, the reader, who reads about these observations in the text. The reader holds an important position in Shirokogoroff’s thinking: ‘I understand, however, that the reader’s position is not easy, as he has to follow three different things at the same time: 1) someone else’s ethnic complex, 2) the complex of the author, 3) the reader’s own complex of perception’ (Cited according to Mulmann, 2002: 151).

Inclusion of the concept of ‘psycho-mental complex’ into the ethnological (anthropological) research allows Shirokogoroff to take a new step in the development of its theory and methodology. Having announced the lack of vital capacity (‘death!’) of traditional ethnography, Shirokogoroff starts to compare the work of an ethnologist with the work of an historian, as they both deal with ‘different aspects of culture (i.e. ethnography) of so called civilized ethnic groups’ (Shirokogoroff, 1935: xi). The analogy is especially appropriate as it is exactly in history that one finds the most consequent application of a sourcecritical approach to the texts studied, including the texts produced by the historians themselves. In Shirokogoroff’s opinion ‘source-criticism’ should become an integrated part of the ethnological research procedure and any ethnological description (text) should undergo a special verification procedure, which would facilitate the elimination of

Thus, in the first third of the 20th century Shirokogoroff pointed out that there is an invisible barrier between ethnic reality under study and the researcher, studying it. The barrier is related to the effect of different psycho-mental complexes, influencing perception and comprehension of reality. For that reason there can exist no ‘totally objective reliability’ of ethnological descriptions, even if they are produced in accordance with a ‘brutally’ serious positivistic procedure and with the best intentions of obtaining objectivity. Their relevance, however, is not only to the existing reality, but also to the psycho-mental complex they are produced in and thus represent. In this case any complex phenomenon of reality, including ethnic communities, exists both in the reality surrounding us as well as in their presentation in the texts describing this community. These texts can represent the point of view of the representatives 29

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distortions and inaccuracies. Here it would be important to be able to verify the procedure of obtaining and processing data: ‘As I understand it, the only way to mitigate the errors of perception is to expose the mechanism of analysis and categorization and thus to demonstrate the extent to which they depend on the personality of a concrete observer and researcher, who is describing a certain situation, and thus help the reader to eliminate this researcher’s ethno- and egocentric point of view in the perception of a foreign psycho-mental complex’ (Cited according to Mulmann, 2002: 151).

communities, external observers, the creators of the texts and their readers. The aim of Shirokogoroff’s approach is not to develop a discourse about the ethnographic description of the concrete life and culture of any specific community as an isolated unit, but based on the dynamic relations between such communities. To obtain this it is necessary to deal with complex and not so obvious features during the primary examination of the foundations and characteristic processes of ethnic communities. If we compare Shirokogoroff’s basic concepts with the issues discussed by Soviet and Post-Soviet scholars, one must agree with Sokolovskiy, that development in this sector has been restricted (Sokolovskiy 1994). At the theoretical level Shirokogoroff was operating on it seems to signify a decline, with ethnos seen as a universal as well as a concrete community with its own consciousness, ethnic processes and boundaries, stabilized through endogamy. Shirokogoroff’s concepts are deeper and more wellfounded. The theory of psycho-mental complex implicitly contains the constructivism of Tishkov and a number of concepts employed by Rybakov.

Shirokogoroff obviously exceeds the limits of classical science with its ideals of rationality and regularity. Awareness of the conscious activity of human beings in their life, their research and investigation practice leads Shirokogoroff to a rejection of the previous theoretical concepts and towards the development of the concept of ethnos and the theory of psycho-mental complexes, which has as a consequence the need for new research methods. The study of system methodology and the attempts to develop methods for analysis of development dynamics and research in functioning processes such as consciousness, demonstrate the urgency of Shirokogoroff’s thinking and its importance for modern science. On one side its dependence on the level of scientific knowledge of his time makes it vulnerable to criticism related to concrete facts as well as statements concerning the origin of human beings, development perspectives of human societies, etc. But on the other side this criticism cannot deny the importance of his fundamental methodological approaches and development of theoretical concepts. Unfortunately, the conceptual statements of Shirokogoroff are not systematized (the exception is his work Ethnos), but are scattered in different works, often as footnotes, and are contained in his correspondence. Therefore his coherent theory of ethnos with its different versions must be extracted from this basis. Nevertheless, it appears complete as a comprehensive attempt to cope with the basic complexity of ethnic communities while embracing important issues related to the way they work and their internal dynamics.

Shorokogoroff’s interests however, were neither at the level of an individual ethnophor (an individual who produces and possesses ethnic reality), nor whether he reduced the ethnic reality to its perception. His focus is on the more basic and important issues of the structured and culturally diverse continuum, described by V.A. Tishkov (Tishkov 1992: 8). His innovative theory and methodology allows Shirokogoroff to combine primordial features (the recognition of a biological basis of ethnos, the role of material components, culture and social organization) with constructive approaches (the theory of psycho-mental complex); a concept of the ethnic community as a real phenomenon (occupied territory, group of people) with an ethnos conceived as a process; the reality of the existence of the ethnic community and its presentation in written texts. The main weakness of Shirokogoroff’s theory seems to be the fact that the author remains an ethnologist (anthropologist) and discusses all the issues from an ethnological point of view. As a consequence he does not take into sufficient consideration the significance of politics in the most complex communities. To eliminate this weakness it will be necessary to develop a particular discourse, based on the principles of political science rather than pure ethnology.

Thus, already in the 1920’s-1930’s, the Russian scientist Shirokogoroff had suggested a new approach to the ethnological discourse designed for research in the ethnic diversity of mankind, which practically outlined all major directions in the further development of this discipline. Central to his thinking are the terms and concepts ‘ethnos’ (as a process), ‘ethnic community’, ‘psycho-mental complex’, ‘material culture’, and ‘social organization and endogamy’. The derivatives of these basic terms and concepts are ethnicity, ethnic culture and consciousness, etc. For the elaboration of the discourse Shirokogoroff relies on the principles of systems structure, function and semiotic analysis. The main focus of the discourse is representation of the reality of ethnic communities in their deliberate (subjective) embodiment, corresponding to the different psycho-mental complexes involved. The interpretation of the texts related to the ethnological discourse is concerned with the positions of the representatives of particular

The theory of ethnos by Shirokogoroff is so significant in its depth and power of explanation and analysis however, that all other authors working in this theme appear as imitators, voluntarily or not. Many of Shirokogoroff concepts only became part of the accepted scientific methodology after the 1960’s. At that point they were introduced to ethnology and anthropology indirectly as elements originating from philosophy, sociology and other disciplines, in a reduced shape and formulated in a terminology deviating from Shirokogoroff’s. The fact that the later ethnologists and anthropologists ignored Shirokogoroff’s ideas led to a post-

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Избранные работы и материалы. Этнографические исследования. Книга первая. Избранное: 32-52. (S.M.Shirokogoroff. Selected works and materials. Ethnographic studies. Book I. Selected Works, Vladivostok, DVGU, 2001. Mogilyanskiy N.M. Etnographia i ee zadachi in Ежегодник Русского антропологического общества. Т. 3. Москва 1908 (Ezhegodnik Russkogo antropologicheskogo obtshestva. T. 3. Moskva 1908). Mogilyanskiy N.M. Predmet etnographii i ee zadachi Живая старина. ХХ1. 1916 Mulmann V. 2002. S.M. Shirokogoroff. Obituary (with correspondence, photos and bibliography, ЭО 1 (2001): 144-155. Reshetov A.M. 2001. Peterburgskiy period zhizni i deyatelnosti S.M.Shirokogoroffa in С.М. Широкогоров. Избранные работы и материалы. Этнографические исследования. Книга первая. Избранное (S.M.Shirokogoroff. Selected works and materials. Ethnographic studies. Book I: .6-31 Selected Works., Vladivostok, DVGU. Rybakov S.E. 2001.The fate of ethnos theory. In memory of Yu.V.Bromley, ЭО 1 (2001): 3-23. Savitskij P.N. Evrasijstvo 2003. in Klassiki Geopolitiki XX vek. Moskva. AST. SerebrennikovI.I. 1940. In Memoriam professor S.M. Shirokogoroff // China Journal. 1940. 32: 205-208 Shirokogoroff S.M.1922. Mesto etnografii sredi nauk I klasificaciya etnosov. Vvedenie v kurs etnografii Dalnego Vostoka, prochitannyy v 1921-1922 godu v Dalnevostochnom gosudarstvennom universitete (The place of ethnography among sciences and classification of ethnoses. Introduction to ethnography of Far East, delivered in Far Eastern State University in 1921-1922, Vladivostok, Svobodnaya Rossiya. Shirokogoroff S.M. 1923. Ethnos. The study of fundamental principles of ethnic and ethnographic phenomena, Izvestiya Vostochnogo fakulteta Dalnevostochnogo universitet, 11 (LXV) (1923): 134. Shirokogoroff S.M.1924a. Social organization of the Manchus: a study of the Manchu clan organization // Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society. Extra volume 3.. Shanghai. 1924. 194 p. Shirokogoroff S.M. 1924b. Ethnical unit and milieu. Shanghai. Edward Evans and Sons. 1924. 36 p. Shirokogoroff 1929 - Shirokogoroff S.M. Social organization of the Northern Tungus (with introductory chapters concerning geographical distribution and history of this groups). Shanghai: The Commercial Press. 1929. 427 p. Shirokogoroff 1934 - Shirokogoroff S.M. Ethnos: An outline of theory. Peiping: Catholic University Press. 1934. 73 p. Shirokogoroff 1935 - Shirokogoroff S.M. Psychomental complex of the Tungus. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. 1935. 469 p. Shirokogoroff 1936 - Shirokogoroff S.M. La theorie de l`Ethnos et sa place dans le systeme des sciences anthropologiques // L`Ethnographie nouvelle serie. 1936. 32. P. 85-115 Shirokogoroff 1963 - Shirokogoroff S.M. Die Grundzuge

modernist challenge (at least abroad), which undermined the foundations of this theoretical sphere. Therefore, the heuristic potential of Shirokogoroff’s theory has not been completely utilized. For example the application of systems methodology to ethnic issues, as suggested by Bromley and Gumilev, was more a declaration than a regular implementation. In the 1990’s Chesnov, and to a greater extent Sokolovskiy, brought forward some ideas of ethnological phenomena analysis methodology, that were closely related to the ideas of Shirokogoroff (Chesnov 1999; Sokolovskiy 1994; 2004). These reflect the fact that Russian theoretical ethnology has again, after many years, reached the level once held by the creator of the theory of ethnos. Shirokogoroff was ahead of his time, but well aware of the significance of his ideas and their full perspectives. ‘Without doubt the explanation of genetically strange phenomena has always corresponded completely with the prevailing frame of mind of the era. Additionally as social, public and legal institutions are founded mainly on their general recognition, then any explanation that contradicts the prevailing (ethnographic) frame of mind cannot become common property and any premature interpretation cannot take place. Due to this, any theory which is not in accordance with the spirit of the age stays alien and incomprehensible and can be appreciated only later, and perhaps never’ (Shirokogoroff 1923: 27). Nevertheless during its time of existence, the theory of ethnos has made a significant impact on everyone who has been confronted with it on a more or less serious basis, for instance through disputes, in some cases leading to direct borrowing of elements from it (Danchenko 2000). References von Bertalanffy, L. 1950. An Outline of General System Theory. British Journal for the Philosophy of Science, 1(2). Bromley Yu.V. 1973. Etnos i etnografiya (Ethnos and ethnography), Moscow: Nauaka, Bromley Yu.V. 1983. Ocherki teorii etnosa (Essays of theory of ethnos), Moscow: Nauka, Chesnov Ya.V. 1999. Ethnological thinking and fieldwork, ЭО 6: 3-16. Danchenko E.M. 2000. “O vklade S.M.Shirokogoroffa v razrabotku teorii etnosa”, in Интеграция археологических и этнографических исследований :13-16. (Integration of archaeological and ethnographic studies), Vladivostok. Omsk. Fedorov N.F. 2003. Philosophia Obtshego Dela. Moskva. AST. Filippov B.R., Filippova E.E. 1992. Whither goest thou?, ЭО 6 (1992): 3-17. Gumilev L.N., 2001. Etnogenez i biosfera Zemli (Ethnogeny and biosphere of the Earth), Moscow: ACT, 2001. Gumilev L. 2002. Etnosfera. Istoriya lyudey i istoriya prirody (Ethnosphere. History of people and history of nature), St-Petersburg, SZKEO Kristall, Moscow, AST, 2002. Kuznetsov A.M. 2001. S.M.Shirokogoroff na Dalnem Vostoke (1916-1922), in С.М. Широкогоров. 31

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Tishkov 1992 – Tishkon V.A. Soviet ethnography: overcoming of crisis, ЭО 1 (1992): 5-21. Tishkov 2003 – Tishkov V.A. Rekviem po etnosu (Requiem for ethnos), Moscow, Nauka, 2003. Tishkov 2004 – Tishkov V.A. Avtoritety I preemstvennosy v nauke: vmesto zaklyucheniya. Vydayuschiyesya otechestvennye etnologi I antropologi XX veka (Authorities and continuity in science. Outstanding native ethnologists and anthropologists of the 20th century), Moscow, Nauka, 2004, pp. 688-692. Vernadskij V.I. 1944 (1967). Neskol’ko Slov o Biosphere – Moskva, Mysl’ 1967.

der Theorie vom Ethnos (Ubersetzt von C.A. Schmitz) // Kultur. Frankfurt. 1963 Shirokogorv 2001 – Shirokogoroff S.M. The hardships of study of psycho-mental complex (translation of Chapter 1 of Psycho-mental complex of Tungus) in Shirokogoroffskiye chteniya (Shirokogoroff’s readings), Vladivostok, 2001, pp. 65-70. Sokolovskiy 1994 – Sokolovskiy S.V. Paradigms of ethnological knowledge, ЭО 2 (1994): 3-17. Sokolovskiy 2004 - Sokolovskiy S.V. Perspektivy razvitiya koncepcii etnonacionalnoy politiki v Rossiyskoy Federacii (The prospects of ethno-national politics conception development in Russian Federation, Moscow, Privet, 2004, p.258.

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Chapter 3 The Representation of Local Indigenous Knowledge

Adrian Tanner Abstract: The recent worldwide focus on local indigenous knowledge has, in Canada, resulted in the official recognition of Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) as a requirement in certain legal and co-management contexts. Despite this, and despite two decades of academic discussion of the concept and how TEK can be integrated with a science perspective, it remains effectively sidelined in most decision-making. The paper contrasts the TEK concept and methods with those from the ethnographic mode of research and writing. One key difficulty with the former concerns the use of a ‘restricted’ communication code, while ethnography tends to use an ‘elaborated’ code

Introduction

Aboriginal people tend to comprise a significant portion of the population, and, apart from areas with development projects or urban centres, where much of the land remains generally open and accessible for natural resource subsistence activities like hunting, trapping, fishing and the harvesting of firewood, medicine plants and berries. As development projects, roads and the administrative apparatus of the state move northward, well-meaning efforts are being made to include local people in administrative decision making, but, in contrast to past practices, on their own terms, respecting their own understandings. This raises the issue of how to accomplish this within the context of science-based forms of management that the state normally employs.

Over the past two decades a new concept has emerged, referring to the vernacular knowledge that local groups possess and use in everyday life, and most commonly referred to by the term ‘Traditional Environmental Knowledge’ (TEK). As such, TEK is only the most recent attempt by Western intellectuals to compare, take account of, and come to some understanding of the diverse, culturally framed understandings and practical interventions of different peoples around the world. It reflects a cultural relativist perspective: rather than acceptance of a single, common universal truth assumed to be shared and experienced by all people, the notion of culturally framed knowledge asserts that each person’s perception of reality is to some degree learned and shared with the local group, and reflected in the group’s knowledge system. This concept of diverse culturally framed knowledge systems has recently begun to take on particular significance in a wide range of development and planning contexts all over the world (Eyzaguirre 2001). While in Canada TEK has become the standardized concept for discussion of this issue, there are many problems with this term and the concept. In both the scholarly and in more the popular literature, the TEK notion remains embroiled in controversy. In my view it is unrealistic and counterproductive to attempt to limit the enquiry to only what is considered ‘traditional’, nor just to knowledge about the ‘environment’, as the term TEK suggests. In the rest of this article I prefer to use the term ‘local indigenous knowledge’, except where I comment on how others have used the concept of TEK.

With the emergence of TEK the broad spectrum of knowledge that underlies the relations between Aboriginal peoples and the environment has become the focus of academic research and theorizing. Starting from their normal science-based approach to the environment, environmental managers are finding they must now make room for an alternative perspective, the everyday vernacular knowledge of the ordinary local people. This is why much of the theorizing about TEK concerns how it stands in relation to science (e.g. Berkes 1993, Dods 2004), and in particular how the two perspectives can be integrated and utilized in environmental management decisions (e.g. Tsuji and Ho 2002, Moller et al. 2004). TEK is being conceptualized and categorized as a method to document and formalize this knowledge, to specify its defining characteristics, its ontologies and ideals, along with suggestions for the best practices to investigate it (e.g. Huntington 1998, Johannes 1993, Grenier 1998).

In Canada the TEK idea has acquired particular significance in situations of natural resource management or comanagement by those local groups of indigenous peoples who continue to occupy and use the land and natural resources in their traditional territory. These kinds of conditions exist most extensively in the boreal forest and tundra regions of northern Canada, since these are where

The knowledge of local indigenous peoples in Canada is often now required to be included alongside scientific understandings and projections, particularly in such contexts as land claims, aboriginal rights court cases, environmental impact assessments of industrial projects affecting Aboriginal people, co management arrangements, joint-venture agreements, impact benefit agreements,

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business plans, needs assessments, etc. The needs of public policy decision-making and the negotiation of comanagement agreements are influencing both how this knowledge is being ‘packaged’, the way it is becoming politicized, and how it is being represented. Despite the regulatory requirements to include local indigenous knowledge, and despite some key examples of important contributions that local indigenous knowledge have made to real world environmental management situations (e.g. Nakashima 1990), numerous studies have shown that in real world situations indigenous understandings are being sidelined, and, by default, scientific approaches are continuing to dominate management decisions (e.g. Brody 1981 chap 15; Nadasdy 2004, 2005; Stephenson 1996; Spak 2005). In this paper I will examine some aspects of this problem, and suggest that one reason for the difficulties may lie in how knowledge is communicated.

their land bases, but with relatively few alternate sources of cash employment, factors that tend to undermine the effectiveness of participant observation research, particularly as urbanization means a general reduction in social context where collective activities are conducted, that is, in the public domain. The existence of diverse, culturally framed, ways of knowing or perceiving the same material reality has relevance beyond ethnography or environmental management. Prehistorians, in common with the environmental scientists now grappling with the relatively new concept of TEK, are general trained in the methods of physical science, but unlike them have a well established awareness of the importance of local culturally framed forms of knowledge. Moreover, fieldwork remains the sine qua non for most research in archaeology, and it is becoming common to involve local Aboriginal people in both excavations and interpretation. Prehistorians are thus generally concerned with the practices and knowledge of the local contemporary indigenous people living off the land. The significance of such knowledge and practice is now well established as the sub-field of ‘ethno archaeology’, an approach that can provide insights into equivalent forms of such knowledge used in the past by peoples ancestral to the contemporary peoples of a region, thus enhancing interpretations of the material archaeological record (Hanks 1983, Dods 2004). Even in cases where there is no direct continuity between modern hunters and the prehistoric occupants of a region, if the environment has remained roughly equivalent, and the knowledge and strategies of the current hunting peoples can be shown to have been well adapted to enhance the longterm sustainability of their hunting way of life, then modern studies of such knowledge and practice may provide useful analogies of adaptations used by past groups in the region.

Another part of the explanation for the sidelining of local indigenous knowledge has to do with how research into this knowledge is being conducted. This, in turn, reflects a more general methodological shift from participant observation to interview methods. Research into local indigenous knowledge now commonly employs such sociological techniques as interviews, surveys, focus groups and workshops. Participant observation, which has historically been the basis for the ethnographic approach, puts the researcher in the role of a child learning a culture, and begins by observing behaviour, after which the group’s ideas, explanations and ontology are drawn on to account for the activities. There are also interview-based methods that continue to focus on behaviour, such as map biographies of land use (Tobias 2009) and Traditional Use Studies (Weinstein 1998), which also involves mapping land use activities. By contrast, interviews conducted to solicit a subject’s knowledge, particularly when conducted outside the practical context in which that knowledge is used, focuses on self-aware and more abstract knowledge, as communicated with language.

Indigenous knowledge and science In Canada over a relatively short period TEK has come to dominate current approaches to and representations of indigenous knowledge. However, it is important to acknowledge that this is only the latest of several attempts that have, over the years, surfaced within Anthropology to conceptualize and classify such knowledge, and to account for the enormous variety of distinctive, culturally-based forms of practical understandings found around the globe. In the late 19th Century, under the influence of unilinear evolutionary theories of the day that were being used to account for the variety of human cultures, Levy-Bruhl introduced the concept of ‘Primitive Mentality’. This approach focussed on the supposed common feature of pre-logical or irrationality of thinking that, he asserted, characterized tribal peoples in general, particularly in comparison to Western thought (Levy-Bruhl 1923). However, for most of the time since then much of anthropology has been engaged in demonstrating the reverse: that tribal people have remarkably sophisticated and insightful understandings of their world, knowledge they use in many important and practical ways. Some

This methodological shift has had several influences. Observing behaviour through participant observation requires greatly extended periods of time, includes learning the local language, and can only effectively be used to study relatively small groups of people. Research for the purpose of management decisions or environmental impact assessments commonly involves competitive bidding among research contactors, tight deadlines and inadequate resources for extended periods of fieldwork. Universities, funding agencies, research ethics boards and the Aboriginal groups to be studied all want to know in advance what kinds of research will be conducted, requiring a more formalized and planned approach than is possible when using participant observation. Research methods are also being influenced by changes within the northern Aboriginal communities, many of which had remained until recently relatively isolated. Most Aboriginal adults now have at least some facility to answer questions in English or French. Many of their communities are experiencing population booms, increased urbanization, reductions in 34

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tribal peoples made discoveries in areas like medicine that modern Western science has learned from.

archaeology and ethnogeography. In some cases such specialized knowledge, being based on long time close empirical observation, and comparison with the observations made by others, as well in traditions derived from the ancestors, is sometimes more accurate that that found in the equivalent branch of formal Western science.

In the mid-20th Century, the Levy-Bruhl kind of approach that presented non-Western tribal thinking as child-like was effectively turned on its head by Levi Strauss, with his notion of ‘Savage Thought’. This is a way of thinking that, he asserted, is not exclusive to non-Western peoples, but rather a universal form, involving an association of elements in which both physical features and symbolic meanings, along with their associated metaphysical conceptions and supporting rituals, combining highly detailed empirical observations with symbolic significances assigned on the basis of a contingent and often seemingly capricious logic (Levi Strauss 1966). Savage Thought is contrasted with purpose-oriented thought. Levi-Strauss argued that, in order to make its spectacular progress over the past few centuries, Western science needed to self-consciously and radically separate itself from the mysticism and mythology that is sometimes included within Savage Thought, although something else was lost in the process (Levi Strauss 1978).

Another development in the comparative understanding of culturally framed knowledge within anthropology, again inspired from linguistics, came in the 1970s, with attention to the etic - emic distinction. This concept derived from the distinction observed by linguists between a phonetic analysis of an utterance, meaning the actual physical sound qualities as shown, for instance, on an oscilloscope, and a phonemic analysis, that is, the range of sounds which carry the same linguistic significance, in terms of their contribution to word-formation, and despite any small sound variations. In cultural anthropology, the etic-emic distinction has come to refer to a continuum between a participant’s insider understanding of an item of behaviour or knowledge, based the group’s cultural knowledge and values, and the external observer’s account, intended to explain the same phenomenon, but on the basis of universalistic assumptions and theories of human nature.

Meanwhile, beginning in the 1950s, other connected developments occurred in the analysis of culturally framed knowledge that helped to reveal its importance. Linguistic anthropology inspired the notion of ethnoscience, which uses a technique of semantic analysis to study a group’s structural classification of terms and concepts within its culturally framed fields of knowledge. It was found that each language organizes the semantics of any particular subject field in the form of groups of the noun concepts within that particular frame of discourse, always structured with a hierarchical form of classification. The existence of these structured sets of related terms demonstrates that non-Western peoples order the world of entities using hierarchical classification in a similar way to that used in Western science. However, like the grammar of the language that a speaker uses, but as distinct from the rules of science, an individual holder of such knowledge may not necessarily be conscious of these structuring principles. Moreover, while they organize key concepts in a similar classificatory system to that used in science, the key criteria for the classificatory distinctions made in any particular field of knowledge may not be the same as those used in Western science.

The above approaches to understanding the knowledge of non-Western peoples has played no part in current moves to recognize and take account of local indigenous knowledge in planning decisions with the concept of TEK. Instead, TEK came, in part, as a result of political demands of Aboriginal people and their supporters to have their alternate perspectives taken into account in decisions affecting them. As such, the TEK movement is effectively the assertion of the legitimacy of an insider’s etic account, based on local knowledge, in contrast to that of the professional environmental managers account, which can be seen as an external or emic. While parallels have been noted between TEK and science, much more emphasis has appeared in the literature on the contrasts. Berkes, a leading authority on the TEK concept, has listed 9 points of contrast between Science and TEK (1993:4), and almost all commentators on TEK have addressed this issue. It is perhaps hardly surprising that the TEK literature seems to have become especially concerned over the contrasts with science, rather than with any similarities, as it is environmental scientists and environmental managers who must now become familiar with local knowledge, and try to incorporate it within their otherwise science-based work. Science constitutes only one particular approach to reality, an approach that self-consciously aims to eliminate both subjective interests and the metaphysical. Unlike the other prior anthropological approaches outlined above, TEK is an attempted, but unsuccessful, acknowledgement and a representation of the holism of culturally framed experiential knowledge. As the TEK concept is now being framed, there is built-in ambiguity between contradictory aspects included within this conception of local indigenous knowledge.

The second related development in comparative approaches to culturally grounded knowledge systems is what I will call the ‘Ethnosciences’ approach. Like ethnoscience itself, this approach also illustrates unexpected similarities between indigenous thought and science. In science, knowledge is sub-divided into specialized fields, such as biology, geology, geography, or history. Similarly, the knowledge of indigenous societies can also be treated as divisible into specific subject contexts, each effectively the equivalent to one of the branches of Western scientific knowledge. On this basis, anthropologists have made specialized studies of particular cultural groups’ fields of knowledge, under the labels of ethnobotany, ethnophsychiatry, ethnoecology, ethnohistory, ethnolinguistics, ethnomedicine, ethno-

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The dynamics of local knowledge

of mechanized clear-cut harvesting at the northern limits of the boreal forest, noting the changes they had seen in the area. The area in question was an open-crown forest before the trees were cut – that is, they grew far enough apart so that the ground between them is covered with caribou moss. Although forest cutting had taken place several years previously, nothing had grown there since, because the forestry machines had destroyed the sphagnum ground cover. The Cree noticed that, as a result, certain plants that they use as medicines and that once grew in this area no longer did so. Moreover, they told me how the caribou would also seek out certain plants to eat when they were sick, but after the forestry cutting in the area the caribou could no longer find these plants, and so their condition became worse.

In contrast to the way TEK has sometimes been represented as knowledge handed down from ancestors, local indigenous knowledge is dynamic, and engaged in innovation, adaptation, and experimentation. It is also oralbased and rural in nature, and for these reasons it has not been systematically documented. Perhaps because of its character of flexibility and openness to new information, it is incapable of being exhaustively or definitively fixed once and for all through documentation. Aboriginal land users employ and share local knowledge in their everyday lives primarily through the use of an oral mode. Oral knowledge is especially context-dependant, dynamic, and flexible over time. When this knowledge is written down it becomes fixed. Moreover, written accounts of the research can be circulated to people who may lack adequate background knowledge of its context to fully comprehend its significance. As Weinstein has noted, “Within the western science tradition data is rarely used without the appropriate expertise to interpret it. It seems presumptuous to assume that traditional knowledge can be used without equivalent expertise.” (Weinstein 1998). The normally dynamic or flexible spatial aspects of local indigenous knowledge, for instance, can become fixed when they are mapped and formally recognised by external state authorities, with the result that they become static, effectively an externally imposed abstraction.

Another example of incorporation of new observations within existing local knowledge involved Moose Cree informants who told me of their observations of the impact of the herbicides sprayed by forestry companies after harvesting to kill off the first vegetation to grow back, because these species delay the re-growth of spruce and balsam. The Cree observed over many years the detrimental effect these herbicides had on fish in the lakes and rivers. Others mentioned changes they had observed in the flight paths of geese over the past few years. They concluded that the geese had taken to following the new forestry clearcuts and hydroelectric lines instead of the routes they had previously taken. My point here is that these phenomena, and the Cree knowledge of them, are not part of traditional knowledge, but Cree observations of them could incorporate them within the group’s local knowledge.

For example, my own research in the late 1960s drew on the knowledge of local hunters to map the northern Quebec Cree family hunting territories, a central feature of the land tenure system. But I also demonstrated, in this case using a combination of local knowledge and external evidence, that these family hunting territories had been, over several generations, utilized in a flexible and dynamic manner (Tanner 1971). This flexibility allowed Cree hunters to take account of both changes in the size and needs of a particular family hunting group, and to respond to changes in the environment of the territory, such as to forest fires and changes in local animal populations. But it was in their mapped, static form that these family hunting territories became incorporated as legal entities, first within the state’s beaver conservation system, and later in the first modern Canadian land claims treaty, the James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement. But in this new, legally recognized fixed form it became difficult for the territories to be adjusted periodically to remain responsive to local social or environmental dynamics.

Knowledge-in-use and abstract knowledge In general, the most persuasive accounts of indigenous knowledge tend to be those that involve and are used for tasks or problem solving in the real world. This is one explanation for why so much of indigenous knowledge is communicated between Aboriginal peoples by means of stories. This is also the kind of local indigenous knowledge that most directly mirrors the lived-in experience of those who observe the environment, learn its regularities, and from which they can make predictions and plan their activities. Regarding the contrast between local knowledge and science, while local knowledge may begin from different ontological assumptions, it often arrives at parallel conclusions to science, although it may take these conclusions in different ideological directions. For this reason, local knowledge cannot always be simply incorporated by outside observers as just another kind of fact, equivalent to scientific data. An associated issue involves the place of spiritual beliefs and values in local knowledge. Let me approach this issue with two examples. 

In my work among the Cree of both northern Quebec and northern Ontario I have also seen how the knowledge of local indigenous people is constantly developing, with local people paying attention to, and drawing conclusions about, events that were completely new to them, never having been experienced by members of their group in the past. This includes their observations and understandings of the effects of recent commercial forestry and hydroelectric projects on the animals and fish of the region. For example, some Quebec Cree hunters showed me first hand the impact

In the early 1970s when I lived in hunting camps with the Quebec Cree (Tanner 1979) I was taught how to quickly recognize whether a pond in winter had an occupied beaver

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this preference, they point to protection from northwest winds. They also say that they like their doors to be open to the southeast, so that the rising sun greets them as the leave their tents in the morning. Other kinds of behaviour show that the southeast and the rising sun have spiritual connotations, in that Cree hunters make various displays of bones and sacred objects as offerings to the southeast and the rising sun. While Cree hunters are perfectly aware of the material basis for these cases of both animal and human orientation, in terms of maximizing solar radiation and protection from cold winds, many do not simply leave things there – they add a cosmic and spiritual layer to the understanding of these facts. 

lodge, and if it did I was shown how to quickly locate the lodge. This was despite the fact that everything was covered with a thick layer of snow, such that almost any large mound near the shore, like a large rock, could give the appearance of a snow-covered beaver lodge. These skills involved knowledge of two empirically derived facts that, I contend, are fully equivalent to scientific observations. The first of these facts is that when a pond not occupied by beavers freezes over in the fall, some of the water continues to drain for some weeks. This lowers the surface of the ice in the centre, while at the edges the ice remains anchored along the shore at the initial level when freezing occurred. As a consequence, the ice acquires a concave surface, visible to those who know what to look for, even when covered with several metres of snow. In the case of an occupied beaver pond, because of the existence of the beaver dam, the water level does not lower, so that, even under a thick cover of snow, the surface is visibly flat. The difference between these two kinds of pond surfaces under the snow is readily apparent to an observer who had been taught what to look for, and is used by trappers to quickly identify any occupied beaver ponds. 

Another example of the relation between local knowledge and science involves explanations for major changes in local animal populations. For instance, the caribou population of the Quebec Labrador peninsula underwent a severe decline early in the last century, from which it only began to recover by the 1950s. One Cree informant told me that when the decline occurred a shaman held a shaking tent ceremony, something generally used by shamans to make contact with the spirit world, in order to find an explanation for the disastrous state of affairs. While in the shaking tent the shaman saw a lake, with the tracks of thousands of caribou leading into the water. The Spirits told him that the caribou had been offended by some human action, and as a consequence moved temporarily to a land located underneath the lake. But, the shaman reported, the spirits had assured him that the caribou had not left the region permanently, and that they would return some time in the future. This account was told to me while watching hundreds of caribou on a ridge within sight of the modern Cree town where the interview took place, a rather unusual event that was offered to me as proof that the shaman had been correct. The key point of the story for the informant was not the metaphysical claim that there existed a land underneath a lake where the caribou sometimes went, a concept that science would find difficulty to accommodate. Rather, it was that the shaman knew that the caribou had not gone away permanently, a contention supported by the empirical evidence in front of our eyes, a conclusion which also happens to be consistent with a biological science perspective. 

Having established that the pond does have an active beaver colony, a Cree hunter would then search for, and will usually be able to quickly locate, the lodge, which in winter is just a mound of snow. This ability to quickly find the lodge is because the Cree know it is generally located on the northwest side of the pond. Beaver lodges are most generally found here because this happens to be the locality most open to the sun, which in winter is low to the horizon and, in the morning, is in the southeast quadrant of the sky, meaning that the lodge is not shaded in that direction by trees. At the same time the location tends to be protected from coldest winds coming from the northwest quadrant by trees on that side.  In the scientific literature, northern beavers are noted as tending to favour a southeast-facing location for their lodges, because it tends to maximize exposure to solar radiation, especially from the rising sun in the morning (Rue 1964). Other northern animals are described in the scientific literature to use similar strategies for maximizing the benefits of the morning sun, at the same time as being protected by trees from what tends to be the coldest winds, blowing from the northwestern quadrant. For example, moose tend to bed down at places within clearings such that they are exposed to the southeast quadrant of the sky. Ptarmigan and other birds also tend to have a preference for sunning themselves while feeding on plants growing of southeast-facing slopes.

Let us examine this idea that a once-numerous animal population may move away, rather than die off, as one that can also make good sense, even from a science perspective. For example, while working with members of the Moose Cree First Nation, I was told of some species that had been plentiful several decades previously, but were now never seen, although over the same period the populations of other species had been growing. One of the species that local Cree identified as having declined was ptarmigan, which used to be hunted by the Moose Cree in large numbers during the coldest months of the year. This species spends the summer further north on the tundra, but migrates south to the northern edges of the boreal forests for the coldest months. It happens that I was also conducting research around the same time with a Quebec Cree group

Cree hunters are aware of these preferences of these animals, and of certain plants like birch, which at the northern extreme of their range are only found on southfacing slopes. The Cree also tend to locate their own habitations using the same kinds of principles, that is, they prefer to locate their campsites on the northwest shores of water bodies, which are thus open to the southeast or south quadrant. When the Cree give their reasons for

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at Nemsecau, about one hundred km northeast of the Moose Cree. Here I was told that previously the Cree hunters had never seen any ptarmigan in winter, but that beginning a few years previously the birds had begun to appear in large numbers during the coldest months. It appears that the ptarmigan had not died off, but that their migration had shifted north somewhat, possibly in response to climate warming. 

(Widdowson and Howard 2008). The second proposed explanation is that science, and the values it incorporates, represents the perspective of the politically dominant group, that is, mainstream non-aboriginal society. At the end of the day, the viewpoint of the politically dominant group generally prevails, and local indigenous knowledge is listened to politely, but effectively sidelined and devalued (Nadasdy 2004, 2005; Spak 2005). Another aspect of the general tendency to privilege the scientific model is the practice to only ‘cherry-pick’ from local indigenous knowledge – that is, to only cite out of context and make use of snippets of local indigenous knowledge that happen to either supplement or support the perspective of science (Nadasdy 2004). Finally, there is the explanation that while it is indeed the possibility for the two forms of knowledge to be used together, to do so effectively would require the use of certain rules and procedures, ones that, however, are not as yet generally being used (Stevenson 1996). While there is merit in each of these explanations, there is an additional issue, that of communication codes, which also helps to account for the failure to effectively use both forms of knowledge together.

In Canada, the opportunity for documenting and understanding the full array of this knowledge is gradually ending. There are now a small and decreasing number of Aboriginal people who continue living most of the time on the land, and gaining their subsistence from the natural world. While new generations of indigenous people continue to harvest their traditional lands, they are doing so in shorter and shorter bursts, using machines that limit what they can see or hear around them of the land and the animals. We thus need to focus more on observing and documenting this kind of knowledge, as it exists in use. It is questionable if there is any utility in trying to generalize about its abstract characteristics, or what does or does not qualify as indigenous knowledge.

Following the terminology introduced by Basil Bernstein (1971), I want to suggest that science, in communicating its understanding of any particular phenomenon, uses an ‘elaborated’ code, while, by contrast, local indigenous knowledge generally employs a ‘restricted’ code. This kind of distinction was first identified by Bernstein in a study of the contrasting forms of English language speech used among British school children, with those of the working class favouring the restricted code, and those of the middle class tending to use the elaborated code. Others have since noted that, in principle, all speakers use both codes, depending on the social context. The restricted code is suited to situations where much background knowledge is shared between the speaker and listeners. In these circumstances utterances tend to be shorter because they contain implicit references to things assumed to be familiar to a listener. These kinds of utterances would be difficult or impossible to understand by someone lacking this shared background knowledge. The elaborated code, which Bernstein says tends to characterize British middle class speech, is more fully explicit, has less implicit references, and thus is less dependant on shared background knowledge between speaker and listener. Depending on the context, each of these codes of speech has certain advantages. Apart from being more economical with words, the restricted code carries an implied social message of inclusion, acknowledging that the person being addressed is a member of the speaker’s in-group. By contrast, the elaborated code is suited to communication with strangers, and for people whom lack the background knowledge of the subject being discussed. The elaborated communication spells everything out, because it does not rely as much on assumptions of shared background knowledge.

My approach to the understanding of local Aboriginal knowledge is that an account of this knowledge should include both what people articulate with their words, and the skills and values that they embody with their actions. We need to find a way to research both these aspects and, in the way results are presented to a wider audience, to adequately represent both the behavioural and cognitive aspects. It is important that the results not only accurately represent the perspective of the Aboriginal group; they must also be represented in a form that will be understood and respected by other land users, by government officials, and by industrial developers. We also need to find a ways to present results in a form that takes account, as far as possible, of temporal dynamism as an aspect of land tenure and land use. Communicating local indigenous knowledge Finally, I turn to the issue of why it is proving difficult to communicate (Bonny and Berkes 2007), integrate and use local indigenous knowledge alongside science. This kind of difficulty includes, for instance, environmental management or industrial impact assessment decisions, where there may be legal or regulatory requirements to take both forms of knowledge into account. Even when local indigenous knowledge has been documented using satisfactory methods, it still does not enjoy an equivalent status, or degree of credibility, to that of science. A number of explanations for this tendency to sideline local indigenous knowledge have been put forward. One is that there is an innate and self-evident incompatibility between these two forms of knowledge, and that efforts being expended to include TEK in management decisions are merely symbolic tokenism, motivated by political correctness, but otherwise a meaningless waste of time

In applying the elaborated and restricted code contrast to the distinction between science and local indigenous knowledge, at first glance it may seem that both these kinds 38

Adrian Tanner, The Representation of Local Indigenous Knowledge

of knowledge tend to use the ‘restricted’ code. That is, to fully comprehend typical science communications, just as in the case of local indigenous knowledge of a specific group, may require a lot of prior background knowledge. However, the point I am making is that scientific knowledge applied to issues of environmental management, as communicated in reports and associated background studies, generally uses internationally recognized concepts and definitions such that, in principle, they should be fully comprehensible to anyone with a basic science education. By contrast, in its normal everyday use among its practitioners local indigenous knowledge is communicated on the assumption of a large repertoire of shared and implicitly understood background knowledge.

and with theories that will be comprehensible to the reader, that is, by and large, Western-trained intellectuals, using a balance between local representations and scientific ones. The process used in ethnographic writing can also be understood in terms of the restricted-elaborated codes, outlined above. The local explanations and accounts collected by the ethnographer are in the restricted mode; that is, these accounts rely on a great deal of what is tacitly assumed to be knowledge known and shared by all members of the group. Ethnographic writing entails reworking these understandings for the purpose of presentation to an audience that cannot be assumed to be familiar with this tacitly shared knowledge, representing them instead using an elaborated code.

Shifting the self-representation of local knowledge from an emic and restricted mode to an etic and elaborated mode can lead to misunderstanding. An example of this can be seen in the dispute over the popular image of North American Aboriginal people as environmentally caring, the validity of which has recently been challenged (Kretch 1999). Significantly, by this author’s own account, the image of the ‘environmental’ Indian that his book calls into question did not originate with Indians themselves, but derived from European notions, such as the Noble Savage. Moreover, a careful reading of Kretch’s book actually reveals relatively little definitive evidence in support of the contrary idea of the environmentally irresponsible Indian.

This is not to say that local people are incapable of explaining their own cultural understandings in the elaborated code, that is, one that would allow the knowledge and explanations to be accessible to people outside the local group. Where an Aboriginal group finds itself politically encapsulated by a colonial or post-colonial state, leaders may develop forms of self-representation, sometimes known as the Subaltern voice, which may be specifically tailored to what is most likely to be a specially communicative significance to the dominant culture of the colonial or post-colonial state. There are a number of skilled ethnographers and cultural theorists who write about their own cultural group and who have successfully developed this facility to communicate local knowledge to a wider audience, including the necessary but normally tacit knowledge that underlies local understandings.

The controversy surrounding Kretch’s book illustrates some of the political and potentially controversial aspects involved in switching the mode of representation of indigenous knowledge. The image is politically useful for Aboriginal people in general, as it allows them to present themselves in such a way as to appeal to an etic (outsiders) perspective, by means of ideas that parallel and resonate with Western environmentalist ideals and European mythic notions about ‘Nature’. However, the ‘environmentalist’ image of North American Aboriginal people is accurate mainly to the extent that many Aboriginal hunters are close to nature because they spend much of their time on the land, living off that land, and drawing from, and contributing to, local indigenous knowledge, as did their ancestors. For this reason, they are, of necessity, especially keen observers of their surroundings, and carefully accumulate and add to this knowledge over time. With the change from an image of North American Indians as good stewards of the natural environment that was imposed on them by others, to one used for the self-representation addressed at others, there has been a shift away from local emic understandings and practices. Once again the process has sidelined local indigenous knowledge.

To conclude, in the foregoing we have seen that there are many and significant problems entailed in the objective of integrating both scientific and local indigenous knowledge for purposes of environmental management. I have shown some reasons why TEK, both as a concept and in practice, is inadequate to the task. The main, but as yet largely unacknowledged, problem is the issue of how to communicate knowledge in a way that is both true to the indigenous perspective and values, while at the same time can be expressed in a form that allows it to be utilised alongside scientific knowledge, and not sidelined, as is too often the case now. References Berkes, F.1993. Traditional Ecological Knowledge in Perspective, in Inglis, J.T. (ed.) Traditional Ecological Knowledge. Ottawa, IDRC, pp. 1-9. Berkes F. 1999. Role and Significance of ‘tradition’ in indigenous knowledge Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor. 7(1):19. Bernstein, B. 1971. Class, Codes and Control (Volume 1). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Bonny, E. and F. Berkes 2007. Communicating Traditional Environmental Knowledge: Addressing the Diversity of Knowledge, Audiences and Media Types. Polar Record 44(230):243-253.

The ethnographic tradition of writing attempts a compromise between these two modes. In order to communicate their findings, ethnographers report their empirical observations of the group’s patterned activities, along with the local explanations given for these activities. But ethnographers then go beyond this – they attempt to provide explanations for activities and institutions, in terms

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Brody, H. 1981. Maps and Dreams. Indians and the British Columbia Frontier. Vancouver, Douglas and McIntyre. Dods, R. 2004. Knowing ways/ways of knowing: reconciling science and tradition. World Archaeology 36(4):547-557. Eyzaguirre, P. B. 2001. Global recognition of indigenous knowledge: is this the latest phase of ‘globalization’? Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor 9(2). Grenier, L. 1998. Working with Indigenous knowledge: A guide for researchers. Ottawa: International Development Research Centre. Hanks, C. C. 1983. An Ethnoarchaeological Approach to the Seasonality of Historic Cree Sites in Central Quebec. Arctic 36 (4):350-355. Huntington, H. P. 1998. Observations on the Utility of the Semi-directive Interview for Documenting Traditional Ecological Knowledge. Arctic 51(3):237–242. Johannes, R. E. 1993. Integrating Traditional Ecological Knowledge and Management with Environmental Impact Assessment. in Inglis, J.T. (ed.) Traditional Ecological Knowledge. Ottawa, IDRC, pp. 1-9. Kretch, S. 1999. The Ecological Indian. Myth and History. New York: Norton. Lévy-Bruhl, L. 1923. Primitive Mentality. New York, The MacMillan Company. Levi-Straus, C. 1962. La Pensee Sauvage. Paris, Plon. Levi-Strauss, C. 1978. Myth and Meaning. Toronto, University of Toronto Press. Losey, R. 2010. Animism as a Means of Exploring Archaeological Fishing Structures on Willapa Bay, Washington, USA. Cambridge Archaeological Journal (20) 17-32. Moller, H., F. Berkes, P. O. Lyver, and M. Kislalioglu. 2004. Combining science and traditional ecological knowledge: monitoring populations for co-management. Ecology and Society 9(3):2 Nadasdy, P. 2004. Hunters and Bureaucrats: Power, Knowledge, and Aboriginal-State Relations in the Southwest Yukon. Vancouver, UBC Press. Nadasdy, P. 2005. The Anti-politics of TEK: The

Institutionalization of Co-Management Discourse and Practice. Anthropologica 47:214-232. Nakashima, D. J. 1990. Application of Native Knowledge in EIA: Inuit, Eiders and Hudson Bay Oil. Hull: CEARC. Rue, L. L. 1964. The World of the Beaver. New York, Lippincott Company. Spak, S. 2005. The Position of Indigenous Knowledge in Canadian Co-Management Organizations. Anthropologica 47:233-246. Stevenson, M. 1996. Indigenous knowledge in environmental assessment. Arctic 49(3):276-291. Tanner, A. 1971. Existent-ils des Territoires de Chasse? Recherches Amerin­diennes au Quebec 1 (4-5): 69-83. Tanner, A. 1979. Bringing Home Animals. Religious Ideology and Mode of Production of the Mistassini Cree Hunters. London, Hurst Publishers; St. John’s, Institute of Social and Economic Research; New York, St. Martin’s Press. Tobias, T. 2009. Living Proof. The Essential DataCollection Guide For Indigenous Use-and-Occupancy Map Surveys. Vancouver, The Union of BC Indian Chiefs and Ecotrust Canada. Tsuji, L. J. S. and Ellse Ho 2002. Traditional Environmental Knowledge And Western Science: In Search Of Common Ground. Canadian Journal of Native Studies 22(2):327360. Weinstein, M. 1998. Sharing Information or Captured Heritage: Access to Community Geographic Knowledge and the State’s Responsibility to Protect Aboriginal Rights in British Columbia’. Prepared for Crossing Boundaries, the Seventh Conference of the International Association for the Study of Common Property, Vancouver, British Columbia. 9-14 June 1998. Online copy seen 6/7/2010 at: www.iapad.org/publications/ ppgis/martin_weinstein_1998.pdf Widdowson, F. and A. Howard 2008. Disrobing the Aboriginal Industry: The Deception Behind Indigenous Cultural Preservation. Montreal, McGill-Queen’s University Press.

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Chapter 4 Cultural Difference is the Main Factor to Influence Ancient Population Estimates. Analysis of the Ethnoarchaeological Examination Questionnaire from Shijiazhai Village

Xingcan Chen, Liye Xie and Yongqiang Li Abstract: Estimating population size or population density based on archaeological sources may be misleading as it can be closely related with a researcher’s personal perspective. This paper, based on an ethnoarchaeological survey in Shiajiazhai, a small agricultural village of Central China, explores what factors are crucial in influencing our estimates of ancient population size. Analysis of the results of the questionnaire by age, gender, background (Chinese and non-Chinese, urban and rural) and education of the examinees showed that cultural difference is the main factor for the different estimates. Even gender and age could be seen as a concrete expression of cultural difference. It seems that the more you know about the culture, the more accurate your estimate will be.

This question was set to determine how the examinees might find out this information.

Along with the development of settlement archaeology, research into ancient demography and archaeological methods are gradually being put onto the research agenda in China (Wang 2005). Ancient dwellings are one of the principal sources for estimating the population, however researchers usually draw very different or even directly opposed conclusions.

Each informant was asked to note down his/her name, age, gender, birthplace (nationality), background (urban or rural), education level and other personal information for us to analyze the relationships between their answers and their personal situation. We believed that cultural background might determine how people make their estimates. For example, it is not difficult to understand that if someone is more familiar with the local folk customs, he/she will have better understanding of them and this might make it easier for them to make a better judgment. We begin by providing a comprehensive description of Shijiazhai Village.

What are the reasons for this? What are the factors controlling our ideas? To reveal this, we conducted an ethnoarchaeological examination of the old village of Shijiazhai, a completely abandoned settlement in Yanshi City, Henan Province. Most houses had been demolished or had collapsed except for two or three that were still intact on June 20, 2007. To conduct our examination, we surveyed the whole village with a Total Station, and then we interviewed Mr. Li Yuanfu, who has been a resident of the old village before it was abandoned.

The Current Status of the Old Shijiazhai Village Almost all of the buildings in the abandoned village have collapsed, but the overall plan remains as it was when the village was abandoned around 1982. This plan was formed gradually over an extended period; the construction of the buildings was not completed all at once, and the population inhabiting them was also constantly changing. Therefore, the information provided by Mr. Li Yuanfu the old resident of Compound 1, represents the status of the village, the function of the rooms and its inhabitants in 1980. To facilitate our analysis of the answers, we numbered the compound on the northwestern corner as Compound 1, the compound to its south as Compound 2, the compound on the northeastern corner as Compound 3 and the one to its south, Compound 4.

In this interview, Mr. Li Yuanfu provided us with the history of the old village, the function of each house and each room, the number of households that had lived in the village, the number of members of each household, the status of the people living in each room, and so on; then, we marked the functions of these houses and rooms, such as living/bedroom, kitchen, toilet, cellar, etc. onto the surveyed map (Fig. 1). We then provided a group of people (our examinees) with a questionnaire. We asked them to find answers to the following three questions, and provide their reasons for giving these answers. The questions included: 1. How many households had there been in this village? 2. How many people had been in each household? How many people had lived in this village? 3. What kinds of people had been living in these houses?

Compound 1: Li Yuanfu’s home. This couple had five children, four daughters and one son. The southern house was built earlier than the northern. Before the northern house was built, the Li couple and their two younger

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Figure 1 The Plan of Shijiazhai Old Village

children lived in the middle room of the southern house, Li’s mother and his two elder daughters lived in the eastern room of the southern house, and the western room was their kitchen.

three generations: the older couple, the younger couple (the older couple’s son and his wife) and four of the younger couple’s children, two sons and two daughters. The grandfather and the elder grandson lived in the eastern room of the southern house, and the western room of the southern house was the kitchen. The grandmother and the elder granddaughter lived in the eastern room of the northern house, and the younger couple and their two younger children lived in the western room of the northern house. It is said that when the grandchildren were able to walk, they would live with their grandparents, though the grandfather and grandmother did not live in the same room. The toilet was to the west of the compound; the west room was the tobacco-processing room and the eastern one was the sheep pen. The well to the east of the sheep pen was shared by all of the residents, as was the grain mortar at the entrance. The sweet potato cellar in Compound 2, which belonged to Li’s family, was dug very close to the house.

When the northern house was completed, Li’s mother and the two elder daughters moved in. The gate-house was used as a cattle pen and weaving room. To the west of the northern house was the storeroom for odds and ends, and was used for cooking in the summer. The toilet was on the outside of the western wall. To the north of the toilet was a large cellar, which was used as a weaving workshop. It is said that the moisture from underground is favorable for the cloth, so the cloth woven in the underground workshops has a higher quality than that woven in the workshops above the ground. Compound 2: Another Li Family’s home. This family had

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Xingcan Chen et al., Cultural Difference is the Main Factor to Influence Ancient Population Estimates

Compound 3: The Wang Family home. This is a compound formed by three houses on the southern, northern and western sides. The Wang Family also consisted of three generations, the parents, their two adult sons and one son’s family.

to the elder brother’s household. The greatest number of people living in this compound had been eleven. Therefore around 1980, this village comprised six households and 36 residents (though if we exclude the southern house of Compound 3, which was not a permanent residence, this village had five households and 35 residents). These comprise:

The elder son studied away from the village and therefore was not a permanent resident, but a room - the western room of the southern house - was still kept for him, and his belongings were stored here. The room to the east of the elder son’s room was the kitchen. The younger son’s household inhabited the northern house. The younger son had four children; the elder grandson and the elder granddaughter lived with their grandparents in the western house, and the younger grandson and younger granddaughter lived with the their father (the younger son) and his wife in the middle room of the northern house. The room to the west of the middle room of the northern house was used to store odds and ends, and sometimes used as kitchen.

• Compound 1 had eight members over three generations. • Compound 2 and had eight members over three generations. • Compound 3 had two houses, the northern house had eight members over three generations while the southern house, had no permanent residents. Though it has two houses, this compound should be regarded as one household. • Compound 4 also comprised two households; the northern house had six members over three generations and the southern house had five members over two generations.

The Wang Family did not own their house, but did own other bits of the compound. For example, the sweet potato cellar belonged to the Wang Family, as did the livestock shed to the north, and sharing the same back wall with, the northern house of Compound 1. Before this livestock shed (which still exists) was built, there had been another livestock shed in the northwestern corner of the old village, which also belonged to the Wang Family. The cart garage, tobacco-processing room, barn and tool room in the north of the old village and the livestock shed in the northeastern corner of the old village were all facilities of the collective farming team and were built in 1960-1970s.

Because there were not enough rooms, the younger children usually lived in the same room as their parents and the older children lived in the same room as their grandparents. Grandsons always lived with grandfathers and granddaughters always lived with grandmothers, while grandfather and grandmother did not share the same bed. This was the customary situation in the rural parts of Henan Province. Analysis of the Questionnaire The people filling in the questionnaires (the examinees) consisted of 20 Chinese citizens and 12 international people, 16 of whom are male and 16 female; 26 are with urban backgrounds (born in cities) and six with rural backgrounds; two examinees have senior high school education, 16 have college level education and 14 have master or doctoral level education. Among the 30 examinees with higher education backgrounds, 21 are studying archaeology and nine are not. Two of the examinees are teenagers, 13 are between 20 and 30, four are between 31 and 40, 11 are between 41 and 50 and two are over 50 years old (Table 1).

Li Yanfu had once lived in the livestock shed in the northeastern corner, because he was in charge of raising the three collective mules (it was very popular to live in livestock sheds during the people’s collective period). In the middle of these buildings was the collective threshing ground. The livestock manger also used to feed the collective livestock. Compound 4: The Shi Family home. This was a compound formed by two houses facing each other and oriented in an east-west direction. The elder brother’s household lived in the northern house and the younger brother’s household lived in the southern house. The younger brother’s household had five members, all of whom lived in the middle room of the southern house, the left (western) room of this house was the pigsty and the right (eastern) room was the kitchen. Their toilet was in the backyard to the south, the adjacent sweet potato cellar also belonged to the younger brother’s household. The elder brother’s household also had five members, the children younger than those of the younger brother’s all lived in the middle room of the northern house, the right (western) room was the storeroom for odds and ends, and the Shi brothers late father had lived in this room with one of the elder brothers sons before his death. The sweet potato cellar in the compound belonged

Because it is very difficult to do meaningful quantitative analyses to estimate house functions, we simplified the three questions mentioned above into two questions for our quantitative analyses: 1. The exact number of households 2. The total population. Our intention was to understand the estimates for these questions and compare this to the examinees background. We set a standard for each question and compared the results to this. For the estimate of number of households, our standard was ‘six’ and for the estimate of populations our standard was ‘35’. All results were evaluated as either higher or lower than these figures.

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Table 1 The Results of the Ethnoarchaeological Examination Questionnaire to Shijiazhai Village (for convenient calculation, if the examinee does not give exact number of households and population, i.e. 5-6 households, we apply the larger one). Name

Age

Gender

Nationality

Cultural Background

1

22

F

Canada

2

29

F

3

24

4

Household Number

Education

Major

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

11

115

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

8

30

F

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

8

19

53

F

China

Urban

Doctoral

Archaeology

4

24

5

55

M

China

Rural

Undergraduate

Archaeology

4

20

6

48

M

China

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

9

30

7

23

M

China

Rural

Master

Archaeology

6

30

8

43

M

China

Urban

Doctoral

8

30

9

23

F

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

4

35

10

21

F

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

11

70

11

24

F

Japan

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

4

48

Population

12

16

M

Korea

Urban

Senior High School

4

28

13

23

F

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

4

20

14

21

F

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

11

90

15

28

F

China

Urban

Master

3

32

16

24

F

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

6

40

17

22

F

Canada

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

8

40

18

23

M

Canada

Vietnam

Undergraduate

11

70

19

43

F

China

Rural

Master

7

60

20

44

M

China

Urban

Doctoral

Archaeology

6

30

21

33

M

China

Rural

Master

Archaeology

8

40

22

32

M

China

Rural

Doctoral

Archaeology

6

24

23

40

M

China

Urban

Doctoral

Archaeology

4

40

24

47

M

China

Urban

Undergraduate

Archaeology

8

30

25

37

M

China

Urban

Doctoral

Archaeology

9

40

26

50

M

China

Urban

Doctoral

Archaeology

5

35

27

43

M

China

Urban

Doctoral

Archaeology

5

25

8

30

Archaeology

7

42

Archaeology

28

18

M

China

Urban

Senior High School

29

43

F

China

Urban

Doctoral

30

43

F

China

Urban

Undergraduate

5

25

31

44

F

China

Urban

Undergraduate

5

30

32

44

M

China

Rural

Master

5

45

Estimates by Gender

females have a greater tendency to overestimate the number of households.

Number of households

Number of people (Fig. 3).

No obvious differences were found between estimates of number of households by gender (Fig. 2). Eight female and nine male examinees (25% and 28.12%) estimated fewer than (or equal to) six households while eight females and seven males, (25% and 21.87%) estimated more than six. One male and three female examinees estimated 11 households (the largest number): this suggests to us that

Eight females and eleven males, (25% and 34.37%) estimated fewer than (or equal to) 35 residents while eight females and five males, (25% and 15.62%), estimated more than 35 residents. The two examinees that gave the highest population results (90 and 115) were both female. This result appears to tie in with the estimates of household 44

Xingcan Chen et al., Cultural Difference is the Main Factor to Influence Ancient Population Estimates

Figure 2 Estimate of Household Number by Gender.

Figure 3 Estimate of Population by Gender

numbers in that while no obvious difference exists, females are again tending to estimate higher than males.

examinee is, the deeper the concept of a nuclear family is in his/her mind, and the vaguer the concept of an extended family.

Estimates by age

Number of people

Number of households

Nine younger (35 or under) examinees estimated the population as below 35 while eight estimated it as above 35, (28.12% and 25%). Nine of the over 35’s estimated the population as less than 35 and six estimated it as more than 35, (28.12% and 18.75%) (Fig. 5). Though these two figures seem roughly the same, it is interesting to note that the four highest population answers (115, 90, 70 and 70) are all given by under-35’s. This suggests that the younger ones were more likely to overestimate population size. This result also matches the answers to the households. It is interesting here to observe that while younger people may have a deeper concept of the nuclear family, none of these four examinees estimating the highest population answers is

There is a greater discrepancy in the answers given by different age groups. Seven examinees aged 35 or younger estimated that the village had fewer (or equal to) six households while eight estimated more than six households, (21.87% and 25%) (Fig. 4). The over-35’s tended to judge fewer households while the under-35’s tended to judge more; though we are aware that our small sample size limits the value of this result, we can demonstrate this overall tendency. Age is first of all cultural: people of different ages have different social and cultural experiences, the younger an 45

Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Figure 4 Estimate of Household Number by Age

Figure 5 Estimate of Population by Age

Chinese and their understanding of China is largely limited to books and hearsay. For example, the Canadian female student giving the population estimate of 115 thinks that “these four compounds represented four families or clans; the largest compound was occupied by the village head and the largest room might be taken by the clan head. Every room might be resided by the husband and his parents, grandparents and children; wives would be more than one; kitchen, cellars and toilets were shared by the whole clan.

Communist Party ”. Undeniably, their estimates are based on imaginary concepts of large families and clan.

Another Canadian student, born in Vietnam, also believes that “one house represented one family including at least one child, parents and grandparents; they shared the toilet, kitchen and so on. Every family had at least two to three members, but there should have been more, because Chairman Mao encouraged giving birth to more children, therefore each family would have more than six members. Their livestock and grains were evenly distributed by the

Among the non-Chinese examinees, five estimate fewer than (or equal to) six households while seven estimate more than six, (15.62% and 21.87%). It appears that more nonChinese examinees tend to believe the village had more than six households. Meanwhile, 12 Chinese examinees estimated fewer than (or equal to) six households and eight estimated more than six, (37.5% and 25%). It appears that more Chinese examinees believed that this village had fewer than (or equal to) six households (Fig. 6).

Estimates by Nationality. (For our research, China-born people who have been naturalized to other countries are still considered as Chinese because of their cultural background.) Number of households

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Xingcan Chen et al., Cultural Difference is the Main Factor to Influence Ancient Population Estimates

Figure 6 Estimate of Household Number by Nationality

Figure 7 Estimate of Population by Nationality

Number of people

Estimates by different backgrounds (urban and rural).

Among the non-Chinese examinees, five give results of less than (or equal to) 35 and seven, more than 35; (15.62% and 21.87%); it seems that still slightly more non-Chinese examinees tend to think this village had more than 35 residents. Of the Chinese examinees, on the other hand, 14 say the population was less than (or equal to) 35 while six say it was over 35, (43.75% and 18.75%). This result clearly shows that more than twice the number of Chinese examinees estimated this village population as less than or equal to 35, than those who estimated its population as over 35 (Fig. 7). That the examinees of different nationalities show sharper differences in estimating household numbers and population than those of different ages and genders may demonstrate that cultural background might be the main factor in interpretation of population size.

Number of households Among the examinees with urban backgrounds, 13 estimate fewer than (or equal to) six households while 13 estimate more than six, (40.62%). Among those with rural backgrounds, four estimate fewer than (or equal to) six households and two estimate more than six, (12.5% and 6.25%). The rural-background examinees are far more likely to think this village had fewer than (or equal to) six households (Fig. 8). If we exclude the 12 nonChinese examinees with urban backgrounds then we get seven examinees with urban backgrounds estimating fewer than (or equal to) six households and six estimating more than six, (35% and 30% of all of the Chinese examinees). Meanwhile 20% of Chinese examinees with

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Figure 8 Estimate of Household Number by Background

Number of households

rural backgrounds estimate fewer than (or equal to) six households while 10%. estimate more than six. We had very few examinees with rural backgrounds, but the results still clearly show that they also thought the village to have fewer households.

Among the 21 examinees (scholars or students) studying archaeology or with an archaeology degree, 10 estimate the households as fewer than (or equal to) six while 11 estimate as more than six, (31.25% and 34.37%). Among the 11 non-archaeology examinees, seven estimate the households as fewer than (or equal to) six and four estimate as more than six, (21.75% and 12.5%)so fewer examinees estimate too many households (Fig. 10). However, if we exclude the non-Chinese examinees with a background in archaeology (a total of 20), then we get eight Chinese archaeology examinees estimating the households as fewer than (or equal to) six, and five as more than six, (40% and 25%). This demonstrates that the majority of the archaeology examinees estimating more than six households was mainly made by the non-Chinese archaeology examinees. If we also exclude the non-Chinese non-archaeology examinees, then we get four Chinese non-archaeology examinees estimating the households as fewer than (or equal to) six and three estimating more, (20% and 15%), suggesting that there is little difference in this case, between those who are Chinese and those who are not (21.75% and 12.5%).

Number of people Among the examinees with urban backgrounds, 16 estimate fewer than (or equal to) 35 while 10 estimate more than 35, (50% and 31.25%); There are far more examinees estimating fewer than (or equal to) 35; this differs sharply from the question of number of households shown in the previous paragraph. Among the examinees with rural backgrounds, three estimate fewer than (or equal to) 35 while three estimate more than 35, (9.37% each); this also clearly differs from the question of number of households in last paragraph (Fig. 9). If we only consider the 20 Chinese examinees, 14 have urban background. Of these, 11 estimate the population as fewer than (or equal to) 35 and only three estimate the population as more than 35, (55% and 15%). Of the six examinees with rural backgrounds, 50% believe the population is above and 50% believe the population is below 35. Because of the low numbers of people from rural backgrounds, we are unable to offer any conclusion on whether these results are significant.

Number of people Among the 21 archaeology examinees, 11 estimate the population as less than (or equal to) 35 and 10 estimate it as more than 35, (34.37% and 31.25%). Among the 11 non-archaeology-majored examinees, eight estimate the population as less than (or equal to) 35 while only three estimate it as more, (25% and 9.37%), there is a higher proportion of examinees who estimate less than (or equal to) 35. As in the case of the households, most of the archaeology examinees estimating the population as more than 35 are non-Chinese; we suggest this difference may reflect cultural background rather than academic background.

What is interesting is that despite the fact most examinees with urban backgrounds estimate the population as fewer than (or equal to) 35, the highest values of population (over 70) are also offered by examinees with urban backgrounds. This could be either related to their backgrounds, or to their interpretation of Chinese rural life. Estimates by Different Majors (Archaeology and Non-Archaeology). Can studying archaeology make differences in estimating households and population?

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Xingcan Chen et al., Cultural Difference is the Main Factor to Influence Ancient Population Estimates

Figure 9 Estimates of population by background

Figure 10 Estimate of household number by archaeological training.

Figure 11 Estimate of population by archaeological training.

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Figure 12 Estimate of Household Number by Education

Figure 13 Estimate of population by education level

Estimates by Different Education Levels (Archaeology and Non-Archaeology).

15.62%) many more thinking that the village had less than six households (Fig. 12). However, if we only consider the college-leveled examinees with a Chinese cultural background, then we get four estimating the households as fewer than (or equal to) six and two estimating as more, ( 20% and 10%). This ratio (2:1) is not sharply different from that of all graduate-level examinees (28.12% and 15.62%, close to 2:1).

We sorted our examinees into three groups: high school level, college level and graduate level. Number of households. Of the two examinees with high school level education, one estimates the household as fewer than six and one estimates it as more, ( 3.12% each). Among the examinees with college level (undergraduate) education, seven estimate the households as fewer than (or equal to) six and nine estimate as more, (21.87% and 28.12%); a greater number thinking the village had more than six households. Among those with graduate level (master and doctoral) education, nine estimate the households as fewer than (or equal to) six while five estimate it as more than six, (28.12% and

Number of people Both the high school-level examinees suggested fewer than 35, (6.25%); among the college-level examinees, nine estimate the population as less than (or equal to) 35 and seven estimate it as more than 35, (28.12% and 21.87%); among the graduate-level examinees, eight estimate the population as less than (or equal to) 35 while six estimate the population as more than 35, (25% and 18.75%). The

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Xingcan Chen et al., Cultural Difference is the Main Factor to Influence Ancient Population Estimates

ratios of answers given by college-leveled (9/7=1.29) and graduate-leveled (8/6=1.33) examinees are very similar (Fig. 13). There are too few high school-level examinees to estimate the influence of their education level. We believe that the difference in estimates still reflects cultural background rather than education levels; considering that all of the largest population estimates are produced by nonChinese college-level examinees.

their calculations of the kitchens usually led to a mistake in estimating household number. The estimate of the village population depends on the numbers of households and residents in each room. Influenced by the perspective of the nuclear family, young people usually tend to estimate larger household numbers; moreover, the Chinese traditional concept in their mind makes them easily arrange grandparents, parents and children in the same room. Using this pattern, the population calculated by them would be over-estimated. What is outside the experience of most examinees is that in fact, the parents generally share a room with very young children and the grandparents live separately and share rooms with older grandchildren. Even in the poorest families, members of three generations could hardly live in the same room because the traditional houses have very small rooms. For example, the room in the northern house of Compound 1, which was the largest room, was only 1012 square metres, which is too small for the seven or eight members of three generations to live in. In fact, if there was an extreme shortage of space the grandfather or even the father might live in their own or collective livestock sheds. For example, Mr. Li Yuanfu, our interviewee, had once lived in the livestock shed in the northeastern corner of the village, accompanied by three collective mules.

Detailed Analysis of the questionnaire and its contribution to archaeological research The assorted analyses of the questionnaire results by examinees age, gender, background (Chinese and nonChinese, urban and rural) and education demonstrates that cultural difference is the main factor for differences in estimates. Even with the different answers produced by age and gender, cultural background was shown to be influential. Taking “five or six” as the standard answer to the household question and “35 or 36” as the standard answer to the population question, nine (28.12%) examinees provide the correct answer with respect to the number of households. On the other hand, only two (6.25%) examinees hand in correct answers reflecting population number. This suggests that the number of households is easier to judge than the population number, which is influenced and limited by more factors.

No matter how many he/she may estimate, every examinee believes that all of the households in this village were patrilineal; in the words of a Canadian examinee, “every room was lived in by husband’s parents, grandparents and children”. Two Canadian examinees specially mentioned “Husband’s Parents” and so on; the others all implied that all of the households were patrilineal. The reason for this unanimity is that the concept of patrilineal family is now deeply rooted in people’s minds, whether they are from East or West.

Learning archaeology or not, an examinee generally considers the buildings as an architectural complex (a compound) in order to identify a household. This is probably why as many as seven examinees estimated this village as consisting of four households as well as another seven estimating the households as eight (each compound was shared by two households). The second characteristic used by the examinees is the number of kitchen ranges, especially when they estimate household number. Compounds 1, 3 and 4 are mostly thought of as having two households mainly because they had two or more kitchen ranges each. Compound 2 is judged as consisting of one household mainly because it had only one kitchen.

As for the status of the occupants of each room, most examinees believed that the larger rooms were taken by important household members (e.g. the couple running the household) and the smaller ones were taken by less important members (grandparents, children, etc.). This is also a part of our own living experience. However, the answer of every examinee is also a reflection of his/her personal experience. For example, based on the fact that the Compounds 3 and 4 had more kitchen ranges than the other two, and the kitchen ranges were almost equal to the living/bedrooms, a Canadian examinee inferred that these two compounds were taken by single men, who “might be the barterers, servants or caretakers and laborers”. This answer may be a part of Western social experience, but it does not reflect the situation in a traditional rural area of North China.

The third main reference is the living/bedroom and toilet. However, compared to the kitchen, the toilet is more flexible, because one toilet can (and still is sometimes) shared by several households. Perhaps because of this, 12 (37.5%) examinees estimate the households as eight or more their proportion is clearly higher than that of those who give correct estimates (28.12%). The fact is that the households in this region have the habit of using outdoor kitchens in the summer; kitchen ranges are usually set between two houses in a place where odds and ends are stacked in other seasons. Therefore, more than one household may have more than one kitchen (e.g. Compounds 1 and 3). This regional custom is unfamiliar to all of our examinees, so

Very few examinees considered the cellars. In fact, except for the “household” of the elder son of Wang Family in Compound 3, who lived away for much of the time, every household had one cellar, either inside or outside the compound. The cellars were storages of sweet potato,

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

cabbage or other food and vegetables for winter; therefore the cellar is a miniature of the household. However, the tradition of storing food in cellars is no longer common, so more examinees tend to calculate household numbers based on kitchens and toilets.

only criteria – with which to estimate household numbers and population. However we have shown that estimates will inevitably be linked to the personal experiences of the researcher. When we estimate the household number and population of a society, we ought to consider all the accessible data about it (for example economic patterns, settlement patterns, burial types and health of the inhabitants) in order to reach conclusions that best match the facts.

In short, we have shown that cultural background is the decisive factor in estimating number of households and population levels. We are aware that our examination has many shortcomings; for example, there are not equal numbers of examinees with rural and urban backgrounds, there is a difference in age ranges (i.e. the non-Chinese examinees are mostly between 20 and 30 years old), archaeological backgrounds education levels, and so on. Unquestionably, these shortcomings create statistical errors, which will then interfere with our analyses. Moreover, even in this rural area of Northern China, cultural traditions in different regions and cultural characteristics of different times can be very different, these are all embodied in living arrangements. Therefore, the estimates of households, population and different living arrangements are also influenced by temporal and regional customs and personal experiences.

Acknowledgements We hereby express our hearty thanks to all of our examinees who handed in answers to our questionnaire. We also express our hearty thanks to Mr. Li Yuanfu as well as other villagers of Shijiazhai Village, notably Mr. Yang Junfeng and Mr. Wang Facheng who helped us with the map survey. Finally, we are grateful to Mr. Ding Xiaolei who helped us to translate this paper into English and who made very good suggestions. References Wang, Jianhua王建华. 2005. Guanyu renkou kaoguxue de jige wenti关于人口考古学的几个问题 (Some problems on demographic archaeology). Kaogu (Archaeology) 9: 50-9.

Some factors, such as kitchens, rooms, toilets and cellars, have been present since the Neolithic and applicable to a wide area, and become the main criteria - indeed the

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Chapter 5 Shell Middens from the Saloum Delta, Senegal

Abdoulaye Camara It does not rain any longer and there are no more fish; happily God gave us shellfish so say the inhabitants of Balandour (Ziguinchor region) in Amadou A.Seck (translated from French).

Abstract: The Saloum Delta, which lies to the south of Dakar in Senegal contains a vast mangrove swamp. It is home to communities of seasonal shellfish gatherers. Numerous shell middens have been found in the Saloum Delta, both archaeological and modern; shellfish gathering has been a part of life and subsistence here for well over 2000 years. The presence of shell middens has been recognised for some time and numerous historical texts refer to these. Shellfish are processed exclusively by women who create small villages on top of middens, for their seasonal exploitation of this resource.

Environment and resources.

From food to shell middens

The Saloum river reaches the sea in a delta that has three main branches; the Diombos, the Bandiala and the main one which is the Saloum itself. There are around 20 islands in the delta which lies 120km from Dakar. These are formed by channels of brackish water, and surrounded by dense mangrove swamps. The islands are constructed from sand banks, salt pans and mudflats or mangrove swamps.

The preparation of ark shells is carried out near their collection points. After extracting the meat, the discarded shells of these fish accumulate progressively and shell middens are slowly formed. At first it was thought that these vast and numerous mounds of the Saloum Delta were natural accumulations of shelly sand. Eventually they were recognised as the result of intensive collection of molluscs by human populations and that the mounds were in reality shell middens resulting from discard of shells by humans (Fig. 1).

These marshy islands attract a wide range of birds (pelicans, marabous, ibis, egrets, sea eagles, budgerigars, seagulls, geese, terns, storks, herons, pink flamingos) and marine life (crabs, fish, manatees, dolphins), trees (mangroves, baobabs, palms…). Both farmers and fishermen, have been present here since prehistoric times.

Pelissier (1966) records that these important deposits ‘are created during periods of famine. When food is scarce, people move to the coast and to the islands where they collect shellfish. These were harvested then heated in pots which often broke in the fire. The molluscs were collected and the shells were abandoned on site (...) the origins of these shell deposits is clear and current observations confirm that it is Niominka and Socé women who create these middens today using the same collection methods and opening the shells using the heat from fires as has always been the case.’

In this part of the Saloum Delta, shellfish form an important part of the diet of the riverine and coastal populations. Two types of mollusc in particular Anadara senilis (ark shell) and Crassostrea gasar (mangrove oyster) have both been intensively collected throughout the known duration of human occupation of this region. The shellfish are collected and processed today in a traditional manner, by families who move to transient villages in the mangrove swamps for short intensive seasons. The shellfish are accumulated to create huge shell middens and the villages are located on top of the middens. All processing of shellfish is also carried out here. Shell middens can be found across the Saloum Delta dated from 2000BC to today.

Though the shell middens are built up through successive deposition of shells, ‘another essential condition …, is the existence of an area of dry land, such as a sandbank, which needs to be exposed even just for a short period of time, to enable shellfish to be processed and the meat extracted and dried’ (Dioh & Gueye 2006 translated from French).

The ark shell lives buried a few centimetres into the sand in the intertidal zones. They are collected by hand or with a rake. The species in this island environment also include the shells which provide purple dye (Thais haemastoma murex, Cymbium.).

Shell middens and archaeology The human origin of these shell middens was identified

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Figure 1. Shell middens, Saloum Delta (from Thilmans & Deschamps, 1982).

weapons, copper bracelets, remains of threaded shells, and spectacular covered funerary urns (translated from French).

early. In an article titled ‘On the well known shellfish eaters’, Th. Monod (1939) shows that…‘the shell middens are artificial’ and demonstrates ‘that on these mounds it is often possible to find tumuli containing numerous burials placed close together. Finds in the burials also include iron

Archaeological research has been carried out in the Delta since 1939. Survey work was first undertaken at Diorom

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Abdoulaye Camara, Shell Middens from the Saloum Delta, Senegal

Figure 2. Baobab trees spread their roots and grow over middens.

Boundaw by J. de Saint Seine who discovered human burials with remains of bracelets and iron spears. This early work was followed by fieldwork undertaken by Monod (1939), Mauny et al. (1957), Thilmans and Deschamps (1971-2001), and Boucoum and Camara (since 1998). Systematic recording and mapping of the main shell middens was first conducted by Thilmans and Deschamps (1982). 122 shell middens were plotted, of these 22 were completely or partially covered by tumuli, though the total number of shell middens is thought to be around 1000. Thilmans and Deschamps (1982).describe the way the middens came to be transformed into burial places and how these became tumuli. ‘At first the bodies were buried in the shell middens then, following an undetermined period in which deposition of shells ceased, shells were once again placed here and the middens continued to grow. Following from this, and among certain groups who collected shells on the islands, the bodies were covered with shells even in places where the accumulation of shells had ceased. In other cases, bodies were placed on the mound; the repeated deposition of bodies here gave rise eventually to the tumuli. In certain shell middens there was a progression from temporary cemetery to permanent necropolis (translated from French).

The most recent excavations took place in April-May 2000. These were undertaken in Falia Thioupane by H. Boucoum, A. Camara, E. Dioh, M. Gueye, A.A. Seck. Age of shell middens in the delta The age of some of the middens is demonstrated by the huge baobab trees which take root in them (Fig. 2). The baobab tree (Adonsania digitata) is a member of the Sterculiacées family. Its enormous trunk can be as wide as it is tall and can attain 10 metres in Senegal. It grows in calcareous soils or on shelly outcrops in estuarine or lacustrine environments. According to Lafont (1938)‘the baobab trees do not grow out of the middens but their roots spread all over the surface of the middens and can attain an exceptional development. The root system is superficial and the trees can therefore fall or be knocked down easily. This superficial root system which spreads over the middens demonstrates that they grew up after the development of the middens. The age of the middens has also been confirmed by radiocarbon dates’ (translated from French). According to Thilmans and Descamps (1982), ‘the 14C dates for the build up of the middens fall between the IVth and the XIVth centuries AD while the tumuli date to between the VIIIth and the XIVth centuries AD’ ( translated from French).

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The middens in historical texts Certain historical texts demonstrate that shellfish were exploited on a large scale in the XVth century. Valentin Fernandes relates that: ‘In the Lagos river (Diombos), near the sea, was a place called Gebandor (an old village on the island of Poutaké called Diofondor). Here they are all potters and both men and women make pots and the clay they use is mixed with crushed oyster shell and other big shells that can be found in the area. And these shells are so big and there are so many of them that people do not even eat them raw, but only ever eat them cooked. The people collect many oysters and other shellfish and they put them in the fire until they open, then they remove the meat and dry this in the sun. And when these are dry, they take them to markets in other villages to sell’ (in Lafont 1938 translated from French). As is clear, the collection of these shell fish was not only for personal consumption; the dried meat became an object of trade and commerce sometimes over long distances.

Figure 3. Anadara senilis L,

With regards to the construction of tumuli, Dr Corre recounts information from nearby places in his journal. ‘When someone dies the body is taken to a place marked out for the burial. The body is placed on a bed of shells, under a straw hut which is then covered with shells; these are the oyster or ark shell tumuli that foreigners think are working quarries. Many of these can be found around Joal and Fadiouth. When a family member dies, the tumulus is opened to place the new body beside the remains of those already there, then the tumulus is closed once more. Offerings of meal and milk are made to the dead. The dead are never slow to consume these; the offerings have always disappeared within a few hours of them being placed there’ (from Debien 1964, translated from French). The villages of the delta Figure 4. Pugilina morio growing on mangrove roots

The villages of the delta were established between the 8th and 18th century AD. They lie on sand banks or natural accumulations of Anadara senilis L, (West African bloody cockle) (Fig 3.). The modern villages of Fadiouth and Falia still lie today on their shell foundations which expand and extend as the villagers continue to consume the shell fish. Some explanations of land extension are offered by Bourgain (1971): ‘To gain land, stumps of strong palm wood are dug in rows into the lake sand. These can stand up to one metre above the high tide mark. In this way the extent of the future area to be recovered is marked out. At low tide, all types of rubbish is packed into this space. During this phase this new area resembles a rubbish pit, and is popular with the small, local black pigs’. (Translated from French) Shellfish collection, a woman’s activity Still today, the people of the Saloum Delta islands continue to collect shellfish. Ark-shell collection in the Low Saloum remains a woman’s activity, and continues much as it has always been. It is the women who move through

Figure 5. Cymbium sp.

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Abdoulaye Camara, Shell Middens from the Saloum Delta, Senegal

molluscs for food today is only sufficient to meet local needs for shells as a source of building material. It does not address the growing needs of nearby villages and their businesses and public works. Canoes full of shells taken from archaeological sites now leave the islands each day to supply the nearby coastal towns and the port of Kaolack: The shell middens and the tumuli inside them are now a source of raw material, and consequently are being exploited and are disappearing.

the mudflats and mangroves at low tide. They collect the shellfish either by hand or with machetes. They take the collected shellfish to the villages where they boil them to open and remove the meat, after which they dry it. This activity is no longer purely for food and exchange; it has become an economic activity, as people now sell the fish. The principal shellfish collected by women today are arkshell (Anadara senilis), mangrove oysters (Crassostrea gasar), giant hairy melongena (Pugilina morio), sea snails (Cymbium sp.) and murex (Murex sp) (Figs. 4, 5). The collection and processing of these species of shellfish represent the main source of revenue for women.

A heritage in danger The huge middens of Faboura, to the east of Joal, date to the VIth century AD, despite their vast size (400 metres in diameter, 12 metres high and 8 hectares surface area), have now disappeared as the shells were removed by the Public Works to build the Tiadiaye-Ndangane road (42 km) and the Ndangane-Djifère road (30 km). Rescue excavations carried out by IFAN recovered around 40 items of pottery, anklets, copper and iron bracelets and some human bones. This removal of shells which occurs across the Saloum puts the heritage of the Saloum at immediate risk.

Use of empty shells after meat extraction After the fish have been extracted and eaten, the shells have other uses. They are used in house construction, as floor surfaces, in lime manufacture, and for craft work and tourism. Empty shells are used to: • cover pathways in and around houses, village streets, and national roadways, • lime manufacture (through the incineration of shells) • corner stones and bricks (through mixing shells and sand).

One example of shell midden exploitation According to Monsieur Djibril Sarr, head of the village of Niodior, the exploitation of shell middens at Guior (2,5 km south east of Niodior) began in the 1970’s (Fig. 6). The site, which is easily identified by a group of baobabs, now has numerous small mounds of shells which have been created by the people exploiting the middens. We observed mounds of up to between 1.5–3metres high each time we visited. The most common species was Anadara senilis. The removal of the shells is carried out by excavation which opens up pits which reach up to 2 –3 metres deep. Visible in the pits are a variety of archaeological remains and human bones. The exploitation of the middens, according to the people of the village of Nodior, is due to economic necessity. A full canoe-load of shells is sold in the port of Kaolack for between 150,000 and 200,000 Francs CFA (around €230 to 300 in 1998). Large sieves are used for separating out the shells. These sieves, containers to carry the sieved shells to the boats and shovels can all be found today at these midden sites. They demonstrate the organised exploitation and removal of shells from the middens by the people of the village of Niodior.

‘Since colonial times lime has been manufactured in this way. On a wooden platform, 4 metres in diameter and around a metre high, a pile of shells is built up; all this is covered and set alight. In the old canoes, which are no longer in use, a type of concrete is prepared with the lime, shells and sand, all bound with sea-water. An agricultural tool (iler) is used to mix it. ‘Still today, in these areas where shells are processed, this concrete mix is prepared in wooden crates with no bases or lids, using the 4 walls to create the brick shape. The bricks measure roughly 35x15x12 (cm); these are left in the open air to dry. Pieces of shell mixed with clay are also used as temper in pottery manufacture, and the pots themselves are also decorated with shells’ (Brasseur 1952, translated from French). From subsistence economy to market economy

Protection of the shell middens

In the Saloum Delta, the exploitation of natural resources has increased substantially, largely due to population increase but also due to the change from subsistence to market economy. Over-collection and exploitation of nonmature shellfish has led to a reduction both in numbers and in size, of a range of different shellfish species. The secondmost popular shellfish species is oyster; these are often collected directly from mangrove roots (Fig 5); these roots are also used as wood to make fires to cook the shellfish. Their exploitation is causing a reduction in the mangroves.

In order for this archaeological resource to be protected, a number of conditions need to be established. • Use of the laws governing protection of the Senegalese cultural heritage (notably Law number 71-12) need to be consolidated and implemented. • The local community needs to be involved in the care and protection of their cultural heritage • A higher category of protection needs to be implemented where large numbers of middens are found or where

The empty shells discarded as a result of collecting

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Figure 6. Exploitation of shell middens at Guior.

Conclusion

these contain archaeological material that is particularly interesting. • Exploitation of shell middens which contain tumuli should be prohibited.

Traditional shellfish collecting continues to be an important economic activity today in the Saloum Delta. Ethnoarchaeologiocal study of these communities can provide important information on the traditional livelihood of the inhabitants of the region as well as broader insights into the way in which shell middens build up. But the production of shells that the collecting provides (in addition to the food), is not enough to supply the necessary raw materials for road and building construction. Consequently numerous archaeological shell middens are being destroyed and action needs to be taken to protect this archaeological heritage.

Being aware of the suite of problems in relation to the degradation of fishing stocks, and the ecosystem that they depended on for their survival, the people of the Bamboung river system have created a Protected Marine Zone (Aire Marine Protégée -AMP) in which certain activities are forbidden. These include: • Fishing (except next to the AMP buffer zone, towards Niodior and the Bassoul islands), • Exploitation and collection of shellfish (though in the long term this may be waived). • All cutting down of mangrove trees. • Hunting of manatees, dolphins, and other land animals (monkeys and warthogs). • All use of motor powered boats (except for surveillance boats, eco-tourism and scientific research).

References Bourgain V. 1971. Fadiouth. Monographie d’un village Sérer. Unpublished Masters thesis. Faculté des Lettres, University of Dakar. Brasseur G. 1952. A propos des maisons en dur de Fadiouth , Notes africaines, no. 56: 117-119. Debien G. 1964. Journal du Docteur Corre en pays sérère,

The only activities that are permitted in the zone are ecotourism and scientific research.

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Sénégal (décembre 1876-janvier 1877). Bulletin IFAN, B, no.3-4: 532-600. Dioh E. et Gueye M. 2006. Les amas coquilliers de la lagune de Joal-Fadiouth (région de Thiès, Sénégal). Sénégalia. Etudes sur le patrimoine ouest-africain. Hommage à Guy Thilmans: 323-328. Editions Sepia. Lafont F. 1938. Le Gandoul et les Niominka. Bulletin du Comité d’Etudes historiques et scientifiques de l’A.O.F., juillet-septembre:385-458. Mauny R.1957: Buttes artificielles de coquillages de JoalFadiouth. Notes africaines, no. 75: 73-78. Monod Th. 1939. De fameux mangeurs de coquillages. Notes africaines, octobre, no.4:55. Monod Th., Teixeira Da Mota A. et Mauny R.1951. Description de la côte occidentale de l’Afrique (Sénégal

au Cap de Monte, Archipels) par Valentim Fernandes (1506-1510). Mémoire no. 11, Centro de Estudos da Guiné port. Bissau. Pelissier P. 1966. Les paysans du Sénégal: Les civilisations agraires du Cayor à la Casamance. St-Yrieix, Imp., Fabrègue. Seck A. A. 2006. L’arche (Anadara senilis L.) espèce dominante des amas coquilliers du Sénégal in Senegalia: Etudes sur le patrimoine ouest-africain. Hommage à Guy Thilmans. Editions Sepia, 2006 : 319-322. Thilmans G. and Descamps C.1982. Amas et tumulus coquilliers du delta du Saloum, in Recherches scientifiques dans les parcs nationaux du Sénégal. Mémoire IFAN, 1982, N° 92:.31-50.

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Chapter 6

Traditional Hunting Ceremonies in Modern Yakut Culture

Nina D. Vassilyeva Abstract: Traditional game hunting by Yakutia’s indigenous people is a complex cultural multi-component phenomenon which has deep historical roots. It includes such elements as the tool complex, clothing, means of transportation, the organization of the hunt and sale of produce and hunting rituals. Today, as always, hunting and fishing play a significant role in the day-to-day life of the indigenous peoples of Yakutia. In this paper we describe the ceremonial and ritual activities that accompany hunting and fishing. These ceremonial features are conducted as a means of connecting with Nature.

Introduction

and performed before and after hunting. They reflected the norms of the relationship between a human being and the spirit-masters of hunting, house and hearth and the surrounding environment. They were composed of four elements: (a) preparation of the ceremony, (b) the feeding ceremony, (c) fortune-telling, and (d) thanksgiving.

As is well known, the Yakuts along with other nations of the North practised animism, a concept according to which everything in Nature has a living soul. Luck or misfortune in hunting depended on the spirits (itchi) which live in the earth i.e. in the Middle World, according to the religious and mythological conception of Yakuts. The most important of the spirits in this pantheon were Aan Alakhchïn Khotun –goddess of the earth, Khatan Timiriyä – master of house and fireplace, Äräkä-Djäräkä children – the spirits of flora, and Uukaan Toyon – master of water, lakes and rivers. Baai Bayanai was the main spirit for the hunting ceremonies; ‘Baai’ means ‘rich with fur’. The Yakuts from the region of the Vilui River call it Baai Barïlaakh which means ‘rich with everything’.

(a) The preparation of the ceremony included manufacture of ritual clothing including a salama (2–3 metre-long string woven of horse mane and decorated in 7 or 9 spots with bird feathers, rabbit or bat skins for the northeastern Yakuts). The Yakuts of the Vilui region, if the ceremony was to be performed at home, would make a wooden idol ähäkään which resembled a man. (b) The ceremony itself could be performed at home before the hunt as well as at the place of hunting or fishing. It usually began with the hanging of salama. This was followed by feeding the spirits. People hewed an idol ähäkään made of wood or made on a wooden stump. After focusing on the spirits, they anointed ähäkään with grease and chanted the blessing algïs. This extolled the spirit of hunting and the participants promised to donate a share of their game if their hunting was successful. Then they fed a fire with food or scattered it in four directions to represent the four corners of the earth. Feeding consisted of providing dairy products, salamaat (wheat flour and cream porridge), intestinal grease, pancakes, melted butter, and strong drinks (the traditional drink is now substituted by Russian Vodka). (c) Fortune-telling was performed simultaneously with the feeding or straight after it. To undertake the fortunetelling, people usually threw a wooden spoon or idol ähäkään. If the spoon or wooden idol landed face upwards, a good hunt was predicted. (d) The final part was the thanksgiving, malaahïn, on completion of the hunt. Structurally, this part was similar to the pre-hunt ceremony, but it served as payment to the spirit of hunting to ensure the good attitude of the spirit.

The master of the hunting could have numerous brothers and sisters. According to the beliefs of some Yakuts, the spirits (itchi) of hunting were in fact the transformed souls (kut) of the hunter’s household; while according to other beliefs, a family of Bayanai was derived from the souls of game animals (kut-sür). Today, in the context of the modern village/urban culture, the religious and mythological constituent of hunting ceremonies and the beliefs connected with it are almost lost. Despite this, even today people everywhere in Yakutia observe a ceremony in which they feed/donate items to the spirits (itchi) of certain locations, notably rivers or lakes, while they are travelling. The aim of this is to keep the spirits (itchi) happy and to avoid any possible problems during travel. This ceremony is observed by everybody, including representatives of non-indigenous peoples. The role of this ceremony becomes more important for a long or difficult journey, and, of course for journeys related to hunting and fishing. Originally, all hunting ceremonies and beliefs were subdivided into three groups. The first and second groups, according to S. K. Kolodeznikov, were structurally close

Today, only the ceremony of feeding the fire and the spirit/master of hunting, Baai Bayanai, remains and this

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is performed as in the past. The participants feed the fire, which symbolizes the spirits (itchi) of certain locations, notably lakes or rivers, and also the spirit of hunting and fishing. The customs connected to hunting are those that have survived the best. For instance, people still take precautions against the desecration of hunting or fishing tools: women should never touch them or step over them. If this occurs, a ceremony of cleansing needs to be performed over a fire. A superstition has also survived that a man should not go to hunt or fish if any of his close relatives has recently passed away, as this can bring misfortune. It is also forbidden to boast of good hunting, because good luck can turn into misfortune. In the past people believed that the spirit of hunting liked to listen to stories and that the telling of these would bring good luck. The hunters would therefore tell different stories beside their campfires in the evening.

Figure 1. Positioning the ice holes

The third group of ceremonies stands somewhat apart. A ceremony of initiation for hunters does not appear to be practised any longer. Other ceremonies that are no longer practiced are the ceremony known as Barïlaakh Tardar (invocation to Barïlaakh – a spirit of hunting). This ceremony which was conducted by a shaman, used to be practised by the people of the central part of Yakutia. The Yakuts of the Vilui region used to perform a ceremony to cleanse the hunter and his hunting equipment and tools. The ceremony was called Chïchïpkaan, and this ceased to be used for a while, but it has been recently reinstated in the Vilui region and is now performed regularly by the local hunters. The ceremony takes the following form: An anthropomorphic idol, called Chïchïpkaan, up to 2 metres long, is hewn out of wood. One part of the idol is given a face, the other part is split. A stick is inserted under the head of Chïchïpkaan; this symbolizes hands. The idol is fastened vertically between two trees and faces west. The split part is pulled apart and fixed to the ground so a man can creep through. On the left-hand side of this figure, people place a peg with a conventionalized face and bind a wooden image of a fish to it. This figure represents a fellow spirit of Bayanai carrying a pike whose name is Sämäkäi. On the right-hand side of the figure Chïchïpkaan, they stick in another peg, but without a fish. This is a son of Sämäkäi called Kältägäi Kälääni Käläğäi Uol. A wooden image of a bird Öksökü (a mythical eagle) is attached to the right hand of Chïchïpkaan.

Figure 2. Hollowing out the ice holes

Salama is hung in front of Chïchïpkaan, and beneath this another string decorated with fur skins is hung. A fire is made, the sacrificial cattle are slain and the lips, hands and knees of Chïchïpkaan are painted with its blood. Following this people feed the fire by throwing bits of fat and flecks of horse’s mane into it. A hunter with a gun and a cane walks around Chïchïpkaan clockwise and after that creeps in between its legs three times from the west, and replaces Sämäkäi on the right-hand side. He then chants an invocation to Bayanai to the effect that evil spirits should not hinder him in hunting. In the event that the hunter

Figure 3. Laying the net out

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happened during a field expedition in the Tomponsky region in the 1990’s. A man from the village of Khandïga came across a bear cub and thinking that it was lost took it away to Yakutsk and handed it over to the zoo. The cub was not actually lost and the mother bear observed this. The whole summer the bear roamed around the village in search of that man. One day the man’s wife went to pick berries with her friend. The she-bear tracked them and attacked the man’s wife. The other woman shouted and beat the bear with a stick but it did not touch her. After killing the man’s wife, the bear escaped to the woods. There is still a belief in some areas that bears were once human beings. People believe they are intelligent animals with a supernatural ability to hear everything that is said about them. That is why, when cutting the killed bear into pieces, people cry out the exclamation huuk (which imitates the sound of a raven) to let the bear know that it was killed not by human beings but ravens instead. Our ethnographers recorded some interesting features in the Kobeisky region of Yakutia. Some Evenk hunters say that when they kill a bear (it is a custom in winter time to wake up a sleeping bear) they say the “Yakuts came to kill it, not the Evén people”

Figure 4. Moving the net along underwater

Collective ice-fishing i.e. mungkha (which means ‘seine’ in Yakut) has also retained a certain number of ceremonial details and is a popular kind of hunting/fishing which is important to the Yakuts even today. As is well known, there are many small and larger lakes in Yakutia which all have very plentiful fish, mainly crucian carps. Mungkha is usually carried out at the beginning of winter or in spring. Mungkha (collective ice-fishing) usually involves all the inhabitants of a village including children, who learn the process of fishing and the ancient ceremonies required for a good catch and for the veneration of the Master/Goddess of certain lakes (Repin 2007). This person is allegorically called Äbä (‘grandmother’ in Yakut). Figure 5. Pulling the net out.

The following rules are observed from of old: all participants should be allotted an equal portion; it is prohibited to swear and quarrel during fishing and distribution of the catch; women should not step over the nets; and a person who has recently been in a funeral should not take part in fishing. Fish should be distributed to the older people of the community who could not take part in the fishing themselves. Previously the fish obtained through ice-fishing provided enough food for a family for a whole winter period. Because of this, great festivities accompanied an ice-fishing event. People would gather in their festive clothing, makes bonfires, conduct the blessing ceremony to Äbä (the Master/Spirit of the lake), and hold traditional sports competitions such as dancing and games. Structurally this ceremony included the following elements: preparation of the ceremony, ceremony of feeding, fortune-telling and thanksgiving.

succeeds in his hunt, some game will be offered after this ceremony. He will make a fire and feed it while addressing the spirit of the hunt. If he is particularly successful and kills an important animal, he will smear Chïchïpkaan’s face with the heart of the killed animal. Some researchers believe that the Vilui Yakuts borrowed this ceremony from the Evenki people. The word chïchïpkaan is of Evenki origin and means ‘crutch’ (Alekseyev 1980). In the northern part of Yakutia, if a man is a very successful hunter he may be allowed to use somebody else’s gun. Certain beliefs and ceremonies connected with bears are also well established. The Yakuts never call a bear a bear. They prefer to use metaphors such as tïa toyono – the master of woods, kïrdjağas – an old man or ähä – grandfather. They believe that bears like humans have a soul, kut, and that this originates from a woman and that it can take revenge upon a guilty person. We were told of a tragic accident that

This traditional ceremony, called Toyon Mungkha, continues to be held today. Since 2004, the ice-fishing ceremonies have been held in Volchia Protoka; here all the famous

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Nina D. Vassilyeva, Traditional Hunting Ceremonies in Modern Yakut Culture

using the fork-headed stick. When the head of ütümekh reaches the following ice-hole, they catch it with a hook, take out a string (a special implement to fasten the net) from the ice-hole and pull it with the help of the stick. In this way, the net is moved along under the ice to the final ice-hole (chaardaat), which is situated close to the shore, and there it is pulled out of the water. Beaters stand in two lines to drive the fish in the direction of the net opening (a piece of net appr. 8 steps wide). As the net comes out of the water, its lower and upper edges come together, and fish are turned out onto the ice. The fish are then collected and taken to maidan (a special spot which has been cleared of snow). The distribution of the fish then begins. Once the ice-fishing and distribution is complete, a ceremony takes place in which people give thanks to the Spirit/Master of the lake, sing songs, perform traditional dances and arrange competitions.

fishermen from Yakutia gather. The people of the Kobeisky region first developed the idea of a communal ceremony as their environment is well-known for the abundance of delicious fish and rich traditions in fishing. The collective ice-fishing is held during Mungkha. Mungkha is organized in the late autumn or early winter when ice on lakes is still comparatively thin. Additionally the weather is still relatively warm and daylight hours are longer, which makes fishing easier. First the number of ice-holes and the position of these are estimated; the distance between the ice-holes is worked out by experienced fishermen and the chief manager of the ice-fishing event; distances should not be too big between holes. Once this is decided, the participants hollow the ice. One person takes responsibility for arranging and laying out the large net. There are a number of beaters (nïrïïhït). The beaters take their nïrïï (long sticks made of young pine with cleaned bark) and put these into the ice-holes, they shake up the mud, make a noise and thus disturb the fish. The beaters are positioned in two parallel rows with a distance between them of not more than 10-29 steps. They are divided into groups of three or four, and one of them makes an ice-hole. They gradually move towards the direction of the main ice-hole where the net will be taken out. The beaters follow the net but never pass in front of it. As they and the net advance, people make new ice-holes to stretch the net as it passes. At the final ice-hole they draw the net together and pull it to the main ice-hole.

The description above describes a traditional hunting method and the ceremonial features that are associated with it. To us, who live in the North, it comes as no surprise that Yakuts and other indigenous nations of the North, who live in such extreme natural and climatic conditions, know and understand that humans are a part of nature and that it is necessary to co-exist with the natural world. References Alekseyev N. A. 1980. Early Forms of Religions Amongst Turkic-Speaking Nations of Siberia: 295-297. Novosibirsk Repin P. N. 2007. Ice-Fishing with Seine: 342-344. Translated from Yakut by N. N. Ephremov, Doctor of Science. / Kobeisky Region: History, Culture, Folklore. – Yakutsk.

They then they tie it to ütümekh (two thin sticks, each 17-18 steps long) using a special knot. The sticks are manipulated underwater using a fork-headed stick. In this way, the net is moved under the ice by pushing the ütümekh forward

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Chapter 7 The Evenks of Northwest Yakutia: Culture and Landscape (2001 and 2006 Expeditions)

Sardana Boyakova Abstract: The information is this chapter is based on the collection, from 2001 – 2006, of field and archival material on the Evenks from Anabar and Olenyok, the most northerly districts of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). All aspects of their traditional economy (reindeer-breeding, hunting, fishing, gathering) are interconnected, though hunting is of primary importance. The socio economic effects of the diamond industry is examined and the ways in which the hunters and reindeer-breeders have adapted to the market economy of post-Soviet Russia, is discussed.

Introduction

Khaya villages in the Anabar national Dolgan-Evenk ulus (district), 2. Zhilinda Evenks residing in the village of Zhilinda in the Olenek national Evenk district, 3. Olenek Evenks living in the territory of Olenek and Kharyialakh villages in the Olenek national Evenk district.

The Evenk people are dispersed over a vast territory from the middle Ob to the Okhotsk sea and from North China to the Arctic Ocean (Figure 1). Though they are combined into a single ethnographic group of Yakut-speaking Evenks, there are numerous cultural and linguistic distinctions between ethnic units inside the group.

In the literature, the Evenk population of the Olenek and Anabar River basins in Northwest Yakutia is commonly attributed to the northern Evenk group. This is the most northerly group of Evenks and they live entirely within the Arctic Circle. Throughout the Soviet period, despite fundamental changes in social, economic, and cultural life, the Northern Evenks were one of those Tungus-Manchurian groups who managed largely to preserve their specific ethnic features.

This chapter discusses the impact on these people of the far north of recent historical changes associated with Soviet and post-Soviet economy. It also highlights the important role detailed scientific investigations of the traditional economy can have in assisting in the adaptation of the indigenous people to a changing economic climate. From 2001 – 2006 research expeditions were led into the most northerly district centres of Olenek and Saskylakh, specifically in the villages of Kharyialakh and Zhilinda, and in some neighbouring camps. The tasks of these expeditions included:

Beside Evenks, other representatives of other indigenous groups including Dolgans and Yakuts, have lived in the region for a long time. Complex processes of intercultural relations deserve special attention and thus will not be touched upon here.

• Collecting data on demography, socio-economy, and migration movements. • Studies of the present state of the traditional economies. • Research into the processes of development of local government bodies. • Study of the activities of tribal communities. • Study of the changes in spiritual life and material culture.

The Yakutian northwest comprises three natural zonal complexes of tundra, tundra forest, and arctic taiga. The landscape of the northern part of the area is formed by uniform undulating plains with altitudes as low as 50 to 60 m. Tundra swamps with dwarf shrubs prevail, with lichen and moss vegetation. Parts of the territory are considered highland with average altitudes of 300 to 400 m. This serves as a drainage region for the two main transversal river flows, and is called the Olenek-Anabar highlands. Besides this, there are smaller rivers including the Arga-Sal, the Large and Small Kuonamka, the Siligyr, the Byrekte, the Udzha, the Uele and others. Thermokarst lakes made by permafrost thawing are widespread. Vegetation is for the most part formed by sparse, subarctic Dahurian Larch (Larix gmelinii) with small spruce patches along the riverbeds. Aside from lichen and moss, the shrubby

People and their environment On the basis of current knowledge the following territorial groups have been defined: Their differences among the groups are based mainly on economic/cultural factors which, are related to differences in their landscape and natural environments. 1. Anabar Evenks residing in Saskylakh and Yuryung-

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Sardana Boyakova, The Evenks of Northwest Yakutia

Figure 1. The contemporary Sakha Republic, above showing its location within the Russian Federation and to the right showing the location of the capital city, Yakutsk, the two research districts, Anabar and Olenek and its regional centers, Saskylakh and Olenek.

The entire territory of the Northern Evenks is north of the Polar circle; here the sun does not set in summer (polar days) but does not rise for about a month in winter. The climate is continental, with temperatures varying from -30оС to -65оС in winter and reaching +35 to 40оС in summer. In the tundra zone, which has relatively moderate winter temperatures, strong winds are common. The region is constantly influenced by cold Arctic air masses that make winters long and cold, with snow cover lasting for 8.5 months a year, from September to May. The rather extreme natural landscape has influenced the cultural way of life and subsistence economy of the native inhabitants of the Yakutian northwest. M.G.Levin and N.N.Cheboksarov propose two economic cultural types for the Paleolithic (40,000-12,000 years ago); tundra reindeer herders and tundra/forest tundra fishermen (Levin & Cheboksarov 1955: 3-17). In the middle Neolithic (5,0004,000 years ago) reindeer hunting appears to change to reindeer domestication, thus making the foundations of the only Northeast Asian economy based on reindeer breeding. There is however another view (as stated by M.G.Levin and Cheboksarov 1955, I.S.Gurvich 1985, B.O.Dolgikh 1960) in which reindeer breeding was a relatively late (1st millennium AD) development, undertaken by the Northeast Asian people of the Tungus-Manchurian tribes. It was in the 1st half of the second millennium A.D. that the Tungus-speaking tribes of Azyans, Synigirs, and Lalkagirs

Figure 2. Interior of an Evenk home

component is well developed and is made up largely of willow, birch and blueberry. Here and there dog rose, cowberry, and red currant are abundant. Twelve species of riverine, river-lacustrine, and lacustrine fish include salmon (Salmo taimen), lake herring (Leucichthys artedi), grayling (Thymallus vulgaris), pike (Esox lucius), burbot (Lota lota), white-fish (Coregonus peled) and others. Large mammals include wolf, elk, and reindeer. Of trade value are sable, elk, Arctic fox, and wild reindeer which regularly migrate from the tundra to the forest zone. 65

Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Figure 3. Evenk settlement locality, Olenek district.

appeared in the Olenek and Anabar river basins, ousting the indigenous Paleo-Asian and Sami tribes, who moved eastward and westward. Thus, by the mid-17th century AD a type of “Tungus corridor” was formed, which stretched from North China to the Arctic Ocean (Vasilevich 1969: 32-41; Turov 1998: 12-25).

herders. If this happened, the Evenks simply turned from being “nomadic” into “settled”. Indeed, large herds even interfered with some traditions of the taiga hunters. Reindeer were never a way of accumulating wealth, as their purchase and sale were prohibited; they could only be given away as a gift.

The traditional economy was based on reindeer breeding. The Evenk’s natural economic cycle matched the climate and the landscape features of the Arctic. Winter was the time for hunting Arctic fox, spring and summer for wild reindeer, early autumn was devoted to hunting moulting birds: geese, wild ducks, whooper swans. Fishing was conducted from summer to late autumn. These seasonal changes in economic activity were complemented by a flexible pattern of seasonal resettlements. In winter the Evenks moved to the forests, where rich deer pastures and low trees shielded the herds from the fierce northern winds and snowstorms. In summer they returned to the coast; this ensured lesser exposure of their herds to mosquitoes, midges, and gnats (figure 3)

Common characteristics of the Tungus (Evenk) reindeer breeding people are thought to comprise exploitation of deer as pack and riding animals, deer milking, an absence of herding dogs and the construction of smoke fires and hedges. Deer herds of the Olenek and Anabar Evenks tended to be larger than those of their southern neighbours. They were guarded by men all the year round. Animals were kept for riding and transportation of goods and were butchered only when they were injured or for shaman rituals. Migratory movements were relatively long and depended on deer foraging requirements. Wild deer calves were raised to improve the breed, and trained to carry loads and gear (but only as outrunners). Deer produced much milk, which was used to make dairy products. This economic pattern continues today (Klokov 2001: 14).

It should be noted that if the Evenks lost the reindeer herds they were following, this never created hardship for them in the same way that it did for other tundra reindeer

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Economic changes.

were supplied with necessary technical equipment. Herder crews were given landrovers, snowmobiles, radio stations, and rifles. Helicopters were also put at their disposal. Intermediate stations made up of prefabricated houses were built along their usual routes. Salaries were brought in by helicopter, and herders were able to buy essential items, which were delivered to them on the same flights. There were great efforts made to provide for the scientific support of the land and livestock breeding, including new access to veterinary medicines.

Political and economic transformations during Soviet times damaged the integrated nature of the traditional economies of the Northern Evenks (a combination of hunting and fishing as major activities with reindeer breeding and plant gathering as a supplement), resulting in economic specialization that in its turn affected the entire cultural pattern of the indigenous population. Reindeer breeding and the fur trade, which had started to become commercial in the late 19th century, became predominant. With the formation of collective farms (kolkhoz) and especially state farms (sovkhoz), the major part of the Evenk population became settled and was deliberately moved into larger settlements. No less important in this transformation of the traditional culture was large-scale geological survey in the area in search of diamonds and oil.

The socioeconomic crisis of the 1990’s in Russia had a dramatic effect on the Evenk way of life. The uncontrolled, spontaneous increase in costs of industrial goods, means of production and transport, the disintegration of the centralized supply system and rash premature structural changes led to the collapse and decay of agriculture and traditional trades. This had the most disastrous effect on reindeer breeding; it rapidly decreased in Olenek as elsewhere in the Sakha Republic. In 1985-2000 the reindeer population in 15 Arctic and northern regions of Yakutia fell by an average of 34.6%, while in the Olenek district it declined by a factor of four. Today there are only 3,914 reindeer in the district, while in 1990 there were 20,047. In the Anabar region the decrease in the reindeer population is also quite noticeable: there were 10,678 on January 1, 2007 and 24,758 in 1990.

The late Soviet and post-Soviet period sharply complicated the picture because of the general crisis in Russia. The local population tried to find solutions to new problems. Manufacturing unions were formed, local authorities looked for developmental opportunities for their settlements and districts and so forth. Now around twenty years have passed since the start of these reforms and this may be long enough to analyse the effect of these reforms on the indigenous populations, what their present conditions are and what socio-cultural changes the Northern Evenks in Yakutia underwent in the 1980s–1990s. With this in mind, research officers from the Centre of Arctic Studies of the Institute of Humanities of the Academy of Sciences of the Sakha Republic (Yakutia) made a series of expeditions in the Anabar and Olenek regions of the Republic aimed at field studies and analyses of economic, political, legal, social, and cultural problems as well as questions related to interethnic relations and preservation of their historical and cultural heritage.

In the early 1990’s most of the state farms in Yakutia were converted either into “state unitary enterprises” (SUEs) or tribal communities where reindeer are considered collective property. In the Olenek district two state farms, “Oleneksky” and “Zhilindinsky”, were transformed into three SUE’s and later into “municipal unitary enterprises” (MUE’s). There are also 37 tribal communities still in the district. In the Anabar region, state property was left unchanged; here two MUE’s continue to operate; the “Hero of Socialist Labor Spiridonov” MUE, which specializes in reindeer breeding, and the “Arctika” MUE, which is engaged in hunting and trade. Additionally, there are 10 tribal communities still in the Anabar region.

In Soviet times the Olenek and Anabar districts developed mainly as agricultural regions. Because of their existing specializations, the traditional economies of reindeer breeding and fur trade were developed. Breeding reindeer for transport was the major focus until the1960s. Collective farms provided foodstuffs and manufactured goods, transport, mail delivery, and supply and storage of firewood. After World War II, with the start of intensive geological surveys of the area, deer herders participated in numerous expeditions and exploration parties.

The process of forming tribal communities started in 1991 and was especially active in 1992–1994 after the Law of the Sakha Republic (Yakutia) “On Nomadic Tribal Community of Indigenous Peoples of the North” was adopted. By the beginning of 2007 tribal communities had in their possession 6,026 hectares of land, mainly deer pastures and game-preserves. The communities independently distribute deer pastures and game-preserves among their members. Those who leave the community have no allotment rights. In view of the sharp decrease in the reindeer population, the major source of revenue for the communities is wild deer hunting and the fur trade. Today, domestic reindeer only remain in the Anabar region and in the centere of the Olenek district in the “Oleneksky” MUE area of activity.

Around the mid-1950’s, a gradual transition from reindeer as transport animals to commercial reindeer breeding took place. In 1959 collective Olenek and Anabar farmers were given public contracts for government purchase of meat by live weight. This situation continues today. In 1961 “Anabarsky” and “Oleneksky” state farms (sovkhoz) were established in the two districts. In the sovkhoz period the state assigned considerable financing to support reindeer breeding. A campaign was launched to eliminate the nomadic life of deer herders. Reindeer breeding farms

Despite some improvement in economic conditions, reindeer breeding is still socially and economically critical to the region. Average earnings here are among the lowest

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Figure 4. Reindeer breeders tent, Olenek district.

in the Republic, conditions of nomadic life in the rural far North are primitive, and medical services, trading opportunities and cultural services for herders no longer exist. Of all the traditional trades of the northern economy – reindeer breeding, fishing, and hunting – today, reindeer breeding appears to be the least profitable. The majority of the reindeer herders have turned to hunting and fishing.

placement agency of the Olenek district officially registered 111 unemployed or 5.4% of the entire economically active population. At the same time, the local authorities define the rate of the actual unemployment, i.e. the number of those without even temporary or seasonal occupation as 251 persons or 12.3% of the total adult population. Of these only 66 receive unemployment compensation.

This paradoxical situation in which hunting wild reindeer is more profitable than keeping domestic ones is leading towards a shift from reindeer herding into an economy based around hunting and fishing all across the northern regions of Yakutia. Estimates made by the Republic’s economists have demonstrated that labour input for one metric centner (50 kgs) of meat is 6 times less for wild animals than for domestic ones. This perhaps explains why the local people have begun to focus on wild food resources as the main means of subsistence (Safronov et al. 1999: 46). It is also an interesting observation with regards to the development of herding and animal domestication at the onset of the Neolithic.

Against this background, local authorities are trying to start new manufacturing and processing works. In 1998 the ALROSA company, together with the Fund of Social Economic Development of the Anabar region, have established the public corporation “Almazy Anabara” (Anabar Diamonds). Since 2004 diamond placer deposits have been developed in Khara-Mas and Talakhtakh localities in Olenek district. The development of the diamond industry forms the starting point for the creation of an effective economic basis for the municipal authorities of the regions. There are plans to develop such enterprises as the production of bottled drinking water, production and processing of dairy and meat food, collection, preservation, and freezing of wild resources, and manufacture of goods based on intensive processing of reindeer products using up-to-date technologies.

The decline of traditional reindeer breeding, which has been the essence of life and the subsistence base of all indigenous peoples in the Russian North, has predetermined all other issues they are facing. For instance, in July 2007 the

The attention of the world community as well as certain

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Gurvich, I.S. (otv. red) 1985. Narody Dalnego Vostoka SSSR v XVII–XX vv.: Istoriko-etnograficheskije ocherki. Moskow: Nauka. Klokov, K.B. 2001. Olenevodstvo I olenevodcheskie narodi Severa Rossii. Chast 1. Respublika Sakha (Yakutia). Sankt-Peterburg: Sankt-Petersburg University press. Levin, M.G., and Cheboksarov, N.N. 1955. Khozajstvennokulturnije typi i istoriko-etnograficheskije oblasti. Sovetskaja etnografija 4: 3-17. Safronov, V.M., Reshetnikov, I.S., Akhremenko, A.K. 1999. Severnij olen Yakutii. Novosibirsk: Nauka. Turov, M.G. 1998. K probleme etnogeneza i etnicheskoj istorii evenkov. Etnografocheskoje obozrenije 3: 12-25. Vasilevich, G.M. 1969. Evenki. Leningrad: Nauka.

steps taken at the federal and regional levels to support the indigenous peoples of the region, have managed to alleviate at least the most negative consequences of the transitional economy for the people of the Arctic. However, there is a current lack of effective measures to protect the population of the northern regions in post-Soviet Russia, and to help it to adapt. We need serious scientific investigation and a better understanding of the social situation of the population, as well as the development, on the basis of more information, of delicately balanced programs of economic development for the region. References Dolgikh, B.O. 1960. Rodovoj i plemennoj sostav narodov Sibiri v XVII veke. Moskow: Nauka.

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Chapter 8 Hunter-Gatherers of the Simlipal Forest Range: A Study of Change and Continuity

Asok Datta Abstract: The Hill Kharia is one of twenty-two listed marginal hunter-gatherer groups in India. They live in the Simlipal Hills, which span different states including Bihar, Madhyapradesh, Orissa and West-Bengal. The people of the Hill Kharia are divided into three endogamous sub-groups, Paharia/Hill Kharia, Dudh Kharia and Delki Kharia. The Hill Kharias sustain themselves largely through forest-based hunting and gathering and fishing. At present they occupy three distinct habitat zones in the forest. The present paper attempts to examine the nature and extent of symbiosis between the Hill Kharia and the neighbouring farming communities. It explores how far contact with the farmers has affected and modified the traditional economic base of hunting, gathering and fishing.

Introduction: Scope of the Problem

of Mesolithic culture across the Indian sub-continent (Fig. 1). For example, the lower limit of Mesolithic culture at Sarainahar Rai is 8000BC (Allchin & Raymond 1996:6977) while the upper limit of Mesolithic culture of phase III at Bagar is 200AD (Misra 2007) indicating a long sequence of hunter-gatherer subsistence technology. In fact the sophisticated Mesolithic hunting-gathering technology continues to be a very successful means of adaptation in the present-day environment. It is only from around the middle of the 3rd millennium BC onwards (i.e around the mature Harappan phase) that some extraneous elements started entering into India with the knowledge of agriculture, resulting in extensive movements of people across the entire Gangetic plains including the plateau fringes of the Vindhyans in the west and Chotonagpur in the east. These early agricultural communities were variously Neolithic and Chalcolithic.

Archaeologists have been using ethnographic analogies from recent traditional societies to interpret archaeological data and reconstruct past patterns of life since the earliest days of prehistoric studies (Sollas 1924). In the earlier days ethnographic data were mainly sought about social and religious life. Today the focus of ethnoarchaeology is more on technical aspects and material culture. Over the last three decades however, there has been a growing debate among archaeologists about the value of ethnographic analogies (Nagar and Misra 1990). The science of ethnoarchaeology offers a potential link between the prehistoric past and the ethnographic present, though it is unclear how much longer we may have access to these traditional societies. Natural habitats have been destroyed or altered, which has affected the symbiosis between hunter-gatherers and their environments.

The introduction of agriculture and subsequent forest clearance have obliged surviving Indian hunter-gatherers to take shelter in remote areas, where the forest ecology persists but of more restricted extent. The sophisticated hunting and gathering modes of subsistence were not, however, necessarily wholly replaced by the early agricultural communities of Neolithic or Chalcolithic cultures, or, in some geographical areas, by later historical societies. In fact, there was a range of differing subsistence modes including pure hunting and gathering (such as for example the hunter-gatherers of the Simlipal forest range), communities combining hunting and gathering with pastoral activities, agrarian and pastoral communities, and pure agrarian communities. The high mobility of these population groups of the west India and Ganga plains and plateau fringe areas facilitated a symbiosis with mutual advantage and profit for both sides in a balanced system of reciprocity and exchange (Possehl, 1990). The result is that the people of this region frequently adopted more than one form of subsistence economy to supplement their

Ethnographic studies among surviving hunter-gatherer communities help us to understand their adaptive mechanism and we can use that knowledge in the interpretation of archaeological data of past hunter-gatherer societies (Nagar and Misra 1989,1990; Gould 1980; Lee 1979; Yellen 1977). In India, the study of ethnoarchaeology was developed mainly by Malti Nagar (Nagar 1982, 1985), V.N. Misra (Misra 1990), M.L.K. Murty (Murty 1981a, 1981b), D.R. Raju (Raju 1988) and Dilip K.Chakrabarti (Chakrabarti1994). Post-Pleistocene Scenario : Archaeological Contexts India is a vast country with diverse climatic and environmental conditions. The successful adaptation of post-Pleistocene hunter-gatherers in the Indian subcontinent is demonstrated by the extensive distribution of Mesolithic sites. The stability of their self-sufficient mode of subsistence economy is indicated by the spread

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Asok Datta, Hunter-Gatherers of the Simlipal Forest Range

Figure 1. General distribution of Mesolithic sites in the Indian subcontinent

diet. Possehl (1990) has referred to the cases of Mesolithic Langhnaj in Gujrat and Bagor in Rajasthan, where this kind of mutually balanced system of reciprocity and commodity exchange is very evident from excavations. This kind of situation was present from the middle of the 3rd millennium BC in the rest of India, except in very isolated areas, mainly hilly and inaccessible forest.

still derive their major subsistence from gathering of forest products and occasional hunting. They still employ the same traditional methods for hunting and gathering though now they use iron implements instead of stone and they largely depend on plant foods and plant medicine. There are today twenty two recognized hunting-gathering tribal communities in India, yet hunter-gatherers constitute less than 1% of the total population (Adhikari1989). Sinha (1978) split them into those from the Andaman and Nicobar islands, who are economically self-sufficient and relatively isolated, and those from mainland India who have regular economic symbiosis with neighbouring settled peasantry. Modern and marginal hunter-gatherers are now mainly confined to hilly and forested regions such as Aravalli, Vindhyan, Satpura, Western and Eastern ghats, Chotonagpur plateau and north-east India outside the Brahmaputra valley. All of the groups from these areas are in the process of social and economic transformation, though the extent of transformation is largely dependent on the nature and extent of contact with settled people.

Hill-Kharia: A Case Study The hunter-gatherers of Mayurbhanj or more specifically the Simlipal forest range areas continued to derive their subsistence from their sophisticated hunting-gathering technology until they came into contact with nearby agricultural communities in the historical period, at which point they developed some kind of symbiosis with them based on a balanced exchange system. The present day Hill Kharia of the Simlipal forest are marginal huntergatherers who appear to have been present in this region for an extensive period of time. Due to restrictions on hunting imposed by the government, the Hill Kharia of Mayurbhanj have become dependent on a number of other subsistence activities to survive, such as becoming agricultural labourers. Whether they are direct descendants of the Mesolithic hunter-gatherers of Mayurbhanj or migrated from other places is open to question, however despite government support the Hill Kharia of Mayurbhanj

The Landscape The central part of Mayurbhanj district comprises a group of hills known as the Simlipal range. These hills occupy an area of 1000 square miles and attain a maximum height of

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Table 1. Villages, Police Station and Hill Kharia Population in 1992-93 and 2007 along with number of households Sl.No.

Police Station

Village

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Jashpur

Kiajhari Thakurgoda Matiagarh Kumrabadi Khejuri Gurguria Padagarh Badjhili Palgoda Astakunar Rajpal Kabatghai Jenabil Kuanribil Budhigaon Ramjodi Batpalsa Beunria Bathainsira Kapand

Karanjia

Jashipur

No. of Population 1992-93 108 50 120 65 108 116 103 42 107 55 17 131 39 17 108 115 53 61 45

2007 147 70 146 77 255 145 108 77 137 77

No.of Households 1992-93 38 17 34 18 52 32 30 14 32 19 7 35 9 5 34 31 16 16 14

173

TOTAL

1512

3,824 feet. The highly elevated area gradually decreases from the centre towards the east and west. The Panchpir sub-division lies in the western part which is again divided into two halves by another range running in a western direction from the northern portion of the north-south line. The Simlipal hills are composed of pre-Cambrian quartzite, lava and intrusive rocks. Average annual rainfall is 140– 150cm while the population density is 186 per square mile, which is the lowest in the region.

1412

2007 51 22 48 28 74 48 40 25 50 24

51 453

461

speak a branch of the Munda language (Mundari), which is a member of the Austro-Asiatic sub family of languages. The Hill Kharias also speak the languages of the regions they live in, such as Oriya, Bengali, Hindi etc (Upadhyay 1996). Hill Kharias are the indigenous inhabitants of Mayurbhanj district. They are so called as they live in and around the hilly tracts. According to Ray (Ray 1937) the Hill Kharias are related to the agricultural Dudh and Delki Kharias. He believed that the centre of dispersal of the Hill Kharias was the Mayurbhanj district of Orissa. He based this on the occurrence of some Oriya words in the dialects of the Hill Kharias of the Singhbhum and Manbhum districts of Bihar (Oriya is the language of the modern state of Orissa in eastern India bordering West-Bengal). This was confirmed by Dasgupta (Dasgupta 1971) who also found some Oriya words in the dialect of the Hill Kharia from the Purulia district of West-Bengal. By contrast, Sinha (Sinha 1984) did not find any trace of Austro-Asiatic dialect among the present Dudh and Delki Kharia, which might be expected if the Dudh and Delki Kharia were related to the Hill Kharia.

Rivers The Khairibandhan, Deo and Kharkai Rivers together with their tributaries form the major drainage system. All the rivers originate from the Simlipal hills. The Deo River flows in a westerly direction before it merges with the Baitaranir River. The Khairi and Bandhan rise from the Simlipal hills and flow towards the west to meet together near Joshipur; their combined flow is known as Khairibandhan. The river flows westwards and finally merges with Baitarani near Khiching. Kharkai is another important river that flows through the north-western part of the district and finally joins with the Suvarnarekha River.

According to the Tribal Development Project officer at Joshipur, the total number of Hill Kharia in the Panchpir sub-division was 1512 individuals, distributed in 19 villages in and around the Simlipal hills when we visited the area in 1992–93. There were 716 males and 722 females with 453 households. By 2007 the number was reduced to 1412 with 461 households containing 695 males and 717 females. These are now distributed in 13 villages and live in government-built houses (Table1). In 1996, the Hill Kharias relied on their hunting and gathering forest economy for as

People The Kharias are distributed in Madhya Pradesh, Bihar, Orissa and West-Bengal. The Kharia tribe is divided into three sub-groups known as Hill Kharia, Dudh Kharia and Delki Kharia. Among these three sub groups, Hill Kharias depend largely on hunting and gathering while the Dudh Kharia and Delki Kharia are settled agriculturists. The Hill Kharia people belong to Proto-Australoid racial stock and

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Secondary Ecological Base The Hill Kharias who occupy the edges and peripheries of the forest derive 30% of their subsistence from the forest and the rest as agricultural labourers. Tertiary Ecological Base The Hill Kharias who settled outside the forest edge are called tertiary and they derive their subsistence from different sources though only 5% of their subsistence is derived from the forest. They have regular contact with the urban population of Joshipur and work as labourers in the forest for Dudh Kharias. The Hill Kharias of the Simlipal reserve forests do not have any landed property. We made a detailed study of the Hill Kharia of Badjhili village of Joshipur. The village is situated on the left bank of the Bandhan River. It lies in the secondary ecological base. In 1993 there were 42 people, but in 2007 when we revisited the village, the population had increased to 77 (according to the Tribal Development Officer). This may be due to rearrangement of Kharia villages by the Orissa Government H.M.D.P (Hill Kharia/ Man-Kharia Development Project). Today the people live in brick built houses provided by H.M.D.P

Figure 2. Ecological bases occupied by the Hill Kharias of Mayurbhanj.

Food Collection Strategies Gathering of roots, fruits and tubers and collection of forest products play an important role in the economy, and hunting is also important. But due to recent government restrictions on hunting of forest animals and reduction in the size of the forest, the hunter-gatherers of Simlipal forest have adopted new subsistence strategies. They combine a variety of activities to procure the minimum requirements of food in which hunting becomes secondary, gathering and collection are still major contributors to the economy, and working as agricultural labourers and fishing are equally important (Sinha 1963).

much as 80% of their needs while the Delki Kharia relied on the forest for 3% and the Dudh Kharia for 5% of their needs (Upadhyay 1996). In 1992, the Tribal Development Project, which focused on the Hill Kharia and Bir-hors of Joshipur, was established by the Orissa government. Before this, 19 Hill Kharia villages remained either in the forest or its periphery and people lived in their own traditionally built houses. By 2007, the number of villages was reduced to twelve (12) as the total Hill Kharia population (1512) was rehoused with little thought for their ecological background. For example, Rajpal was a small Hill Kharia village with a total population of 17 individuals in the core area of the forest, but the inhabitants were shifted to Khejuri, another Hill Kharia village in a different ecological zone. As a result of their rehousing, the Hill Kharias of Simlipal now have more contact with the nearby settled communities. Because of this an attempt has been made to study the Hill Kharia of Panchpir, a sub-division of Mayurbhanj district, to try to identify the changes and the continuity in their hunting and gathering mode of subsistence. Our preliminary survey in 1993 demonstrated that the Hill Kharias occupied three distinct ecological bases viz. Primary, Secondary and Tertiary (Fig. 2).

Gathering The collecting season starts from September and continues to June. This is the time when the Hill Kharia people move into the forest for 3-4 days at a time and stay in temporary huts made of leaves in the forest. They take a wooden stick, iron axe (Gandara) and Basket (Pachia). They sell much of what they collect from the forest including honey, resin, gums, beeswax, firewood, wood, different types of medicinal roots (Fig. 3), herbs and barks. They also collect Sal (Shorea robusta), Siali (Bauhimia vahlii), Salai (Boswellia serrata) leaves (for making utensils), Kendu (Diospyros melanoxylon) leaves (used as tobacco paper), Mahua (Madhuka latifolia) flowers (for making liquor) Mahua (Madhuka latifolia) fruits /kusum (Schleichera) (for making oil) and three different types of myrobalams (trifala, a kind of fruit). For their own consumption they gather different types of edible roots and tubers, and fruits like Teo (Fig. 4), Bela (Aegle marmelos) Bankhira

Primary Ecological Base The Hill Kharias who lived in the core area of the forest are more or less isolated and largely derive 80% of their subsistence from a forest-based economy.

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Figure 3. Medicinal roots

(Kydia calycina), Amla (Phyllanthus emblica), Jam/Jamira (Eugenia jambolana), Tentuli (Tamarindus indica), Kadam (Anthocepha luskadamla), and Tal (Barassus flabellifer). They also collect edible herbs, leaves and grass (such as mamuri saka, pita saka and kuitari saka). The people of Badjhili village also collect vegetables, fruits and mushrooms.

Figure 4. Teo fruit

Hunting Traditionally, the Hill Kharia of Badjhili village used to hunt sambar (Cervus unicolor), Deer (Axis axis), wild boar (Sus scrofa), hare (Lepus nigricollis), porcupine (Hystrix indica), jungle fowl (Gallus gallus), pigeon (Treron phoenicoptera), night heron (Nycticorox nycticorox) and paddy bird (Ardeola grayii), as well as different types of snakes like pythons (Pythos molurus ), rat snake (Plyas mueosos)and different types of birds. They eat them and sell their skins and horns. They are expert at catching birds and animals such as mongoose and squirrel, which they sell in the market. But due to recent restrictions on hunting imposed by the government, the present day Hill Kharia are dependent on small game hunting such as different types of birds, and insects such as termites (Fig 5), while they also exploit riverine resources such as crab, prawn and a range of fish species.

Figure 5. Insects

this depends on their success in hunting. They purchase oil, spices, cloth, and matches, earthen and metal utensils from the market by selling forest products. Homemade rice beer (hadia), mahua (liquor of mahua flower) and sometime distilled liquor from the market are also popular among the Kharias. But due to government restrictions on hunting, change in habitats and deforestation, they often do not have sufficient forest products and as such starvation is a common feature among the Hill Kharia societies.

Implements The major implements used in hunting are the bow and arrow, two types of axe locally called Buria and Gandara (figure 6), baskets (known as Pachia), nets, Batuli (for the use of sling ball) and trained dogs. For fishing they use nets, fish-hooks (made of iron), and the gamcha or dhoti (the towel and garments for Hindus). The popular catches are silua, khejura, baria, shol, bambi (different types of fish), crab and prawn.

Education The Hill Kharia of Mayurbhanj district speak the Oriya language for inter-group communication. They are mostly illiterate; previously they were not enthusiastic about education, but now with the establishment of many tribal schools by the government, many now send their children to school. Previously they only used traditional tribal medicine, though now they also use modern allopathic medicine supplied to them through the Tribal Welfare Society.

Though the government wants to provide them with houses and agricultural land, they are still attached to the forest. They do not undertake agriculture and still depend on forest collection and gathering, which constitute a major part of their subsistence. Rice is their staple food; they procure this from the weekly market in exchange for forest products. Along with the rice, they eat edible roots, fruits, vegetables, edible herbs and leaves. They also eat fish and meat, though

Burial customs The Hill Kharias bury their dead in graves with the head

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Figure 6. Hunting implements

lying towards the north. Mukhagni is done by touching a lighted branch of a Bel tree on the mouth of the deceased. Previously it was customary to offer food, new clothes and one or two implements with the dead body, though they no longer practise this custom. Until recently, one year after the first burial, a second burial took place. At this time, after performing the ritual customs, the priest would collect the little toe of the left leg and any other bones of the skeletal remains of the dead and would place these in a new earthen pot, which was placed in a new hole. A new stone slab (Dolmen) was horizontally placed over this hole. In the case of unmarried people, the grave slab was placed perpendicular to the earthen pot. This practice has ceased due to economic constraints.

specialist known as Dehuri, who serves as village headman and priest. He is supposed to be the guardian of religious and social life. Concluding Observation: Archaeological Evidence The district of Mayurbhanj (which includes the Panchpir sub-division) is one of the few districts in eastern India that is enormously rich in both archaeological and ethnographic data. Hence, it has great relevance to ethnoarchaeological studies. The region was first colonized by Palaeolithic hunter-gatherers during the middle Pleistocene period. Evidence of Stone Age cultures continues in an unbroken sequence through the Lower, Middle (Mahapatra 1965, Bose and Sen 1948) and Upper (Datta, 2000) Palaeolithic and into the Mesolithic and Neolithic (Thapar 1985) throughout the district. The district has the distinction of having the first excavated Lower Palaeolithic site in India, at Kuliana, which was conducted by De Terra and T.T.Paterson in a valley in north-western India in 1939, then by N.K.Bose and D.Sen of Calcutta University in 1948. Our own exploration in the upstream region of the Kharkai River and the lower course of the Bandhan River has yielded 15 Mesolithic sites and a number of Upper Palaeolithic sites (Datta 2000) in the region. Important sites such as Sonarua, Kharaikuta, Bonaikola, Budamara, and Domohani are located on Kharkai River, while Dhabadiha, Gandapoka and Joshipur are located on the Bandhan River.

Social Structure The Hill Kharias belong to the totemic clan of Khanda Patra (Sword, symbolic). Previously they had a multifamily concept, but now with marriage, a nuclear family consisting of father, mother and their children has become the norm (Fig. 7). Inter-clan marriage is popular in Hill Kharia society, while intra-clan marriage is prohibited. The system of bride purchase (for money) is still practised. The Hill Kharias have their own village deity known as Thakurani in every village. She is worshipped within the Manda (temple). The first collection of each product in every season is offered to the village deity. The animistic religious practices include ancestor worship and worship of earth, sun, moon, hills, jungles and other material objects that are considered sacred. They have their own sacred

The Mesolithic industry of the region is dominated by blades and blade tools, which include points, borers,

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Figure 8. In situ tools

Figure 7. Mother and child

Palaeolithic Industries in Panchpir, Orissa, India. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 66:47-59. Gould, R.A .1980. Living Archaeology. Cambridge University Press. Mahapatra, G. C. 1965. The Stone Age Cultures of Orissa. Pune. Misra, V. N. 1990. The Van Vagris. “Lost” Hunter-Gatherers of the Thar Desert, Rajasthan. Man and Environment 15(2): 89-106. Misra, V. N. 2007. Rajasthan: Prehistoric and Early Historic Foundations. New Delhi. Murty, M. L. K.1981a. Hunter-Gatherer Eco-system and Archaeological Pattern of Subsistence Behaviour on South-east Coast of India: An Ethnographic Model. World Archaeology 13(1):47-58. Murty, M. L. K. 1981b. Symbiosis and traditional behaviour in subsistence economics of the Kanchapuri Yerukulas of south India : A predictive model. Puratattva.10: 50-61. Nagar, M. 1982. Fishing Among the Tribal Communities in Baster and its Implication for Archaeology. Bulletin of the Deccan College Post Graduate and Research Institute 42:116-25. Nagar, M.1985. TheUse of Wild Plants by Aboriginal Communities in Central India. In V.N. Misra & P. Bellwood (eds.) Recent Advances in Indo-Pacific Prehistory : 337-42. Delhi. Nagar, M. and V.N. Misra 1989. Hunter-gatherers in an Agrarian Setting: The Nineteenth Century in the Ganga Plain. Man and Environment 13:65-78. Nagar, M. and V.N. Misra 1990. The Kanjaras. A HuntingGathering Community of the Ganga Valley, Uttar Pradesh. Man and Environment 15(2):71-88. Possehl, G. L. 1990. The Harappan Civilization in Gujrat: The Surat and Sindhi Harappan. Eastern Anthropologist 45/1-2:117-52. Ray, R.C. 1937. The Kharias. Man in India 1-2:68-87, Ranchi. Raju , D. R.1988. Stone Age Hunter-gatherers: An Ethnoarchaeology of Cuddapah Region, Southeast India. Pune. Sinha, S.C. 1963. Levels of Economic Initiative and Ethnic

scrapers, burins, lunates, trapezes, triangles, obliquely blunted blades, pen knife blades, leaf points, backed blades, cores etc. (Fig. 8). It is impossible to know whether the present Hill Kharia hunter-gatherers of the Simlipal forest are direct descendants of the Mesolithic hunter-gatherers. The hunter-gatherer way of life has continued in some areas even during the historical period and beyond in India (as referred to earlier), so there is a possible connection particularly in view of the fact that the Hill Kharias of the Simlipal forest range are understood to be autochthonous and that they have retained a huntinggathering subsistence economy. There are however, many differences in the material manifestations of the Mesolithic hunter-gatherers and the present day Hill Kharia huntergatherers of the Simlipal forest range. The contrast is also evident in the archaeological and ethnographic materials of the region. However, it remains useful and of interest to observe the ways in which the present-day Hill Kharias conduct their lives, and this can offer us insights into to potential subsistence base for the earlier hunter-gatherer inhabitants. References. Adhikari, A.K. 1989. Hunter-Gatherers in India. A Preliminary Appraisal of their Structure and Transformation, in, S.C. Sinha, Bose and Bose (eds.) Man and Environment: 8-16. Ranchi. Allchin, B. and Raymond 1996. Rise of Civilization in India and Pakistan. New Delhi. Bose, N.K. and D. Sen 1948. Excavation of Mayurbhanj. Calcutta. Chakrabarti, Dilip K. 1994. Some Ethnographic Dimensions of the Archaeology of Chotonagpur Plateau and Adjoining Areas in West Bengal in eastern India, in B. Allchin (ed) Living Traditions: Ethnoarchaeology in South Asia: 218-233 New Delhi. Dasgupta, K. 1971. An Introduction to the Nocte Language. World Archaeology 2:300-320 Datta, A. 2000. The Context and Definition of Upper

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Groups in Parganas Barabhum. Eastern Anthropologist 16(2):65-75. Sinha, D. 1984. The Hill Kharia of Purulia. Impact of Poverty on a Hunting-Gathering Tribe. Calcutta. Sollas W.J. 1924. Ancient hunter s and their modern representatives. MacMillan, London.

Thapar , B. K. 1985. Recent Archaeological Discoveries in India. Tokyo. Upadhyay, V. S. 1996. Kharia. In, Encyclopedic Profile of the Indian Tribes, vol. 11:425-7. Yellen, J.E.1977. Archaeological Approaches to the Present: Models for Reconstructing the Past. London

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Chapter 9 Megalithic Practices in Upland West-Bengal: A Case Study on Change and Continuity Among the Hill Kharias of Kulabahal Village, Purulia

Rita Dutta Abstract: The relationship between archaeological and modern megalithic monuments is reflected in the typology, which remains more and less constant. The common types are menhir, cist, cairn and dolmen, all of which still continue to be used in upland Bengal with little or no modification. In respect of grave goods, these can alter depending on the changing socio-economic conditions. In certain cases the people switch over to cremation from megalithism due to symbiosis with the caste Hindus. Sometimes, post-cremation burials also are found. Cremated bones are collected and kept in earthen pots which are concealed in a cairn circle. The practice is prevalent among the Kharia/Ho in the Parihati area of Belpahari police station. The Bhumijas on the other hand have their own burial ground where they erect a stone slab over the dead. The present paper attempts to study the present megalithic practices among Bhumija, Kharia and Ho of upland Bengal and then detect similarities between the past and present.

Introduction

Megalithic practices are found to exist in Africa and the Middle East, particularly in Algeria, Palestine, Abyssinia and Sudan. Eastwards in Asia they are reported from the Caucasus, Iran, Baluchistan, India, Japan, Indonesia and the Polynesian islands (Childe 1948; Hunt 1933; Krisnaswami 1949; Clark 1955; Rao Gururaja 1972). In most places the practice ceased at the end of the Bronze Age though in some countries it continues even today though in a modified form.

Death is inevitable for all forms of life. Human beings are no exception and the disposal of mortal remains is a social duty in every human society. Disposal methods in human societies are basically of three types, burial, cast away and cremation. In the early days the burial system was the most popular form of disposal of the dead in India followed by cast away, a practice that is still prevalent among the Parses. Cremation was introduced in India with the Aryans who arrived from the northwest sometime between 2000BC and 1500BC.

India is a vast country with diverse ecological settings. Moreover, it offers unique opportunities for ethnoarchaeological study due to the prevalence of a number of tribes in a non-industrialized economy. One of the outstanding contributions of Indian archaeology is the discovery of Megalithic culture and subsequent excavation at a number of sites like Brahmagiri, Hallur, Tadakanahalli, which have brought the nature and character of Megalithic culture in India comprehensively to life.

The earliest evidence for the disposal of the dead in human society is found in association with the Neanderthals. Shanidar cave in Iraq provides the best example of Neanderthal burial practices dating back to 60,000B.P. (Solecki et al. 2004). The concept might have developed out of the relationship between the deceased and his or her relations in the context of a magico-religious society. Gradually, the system has been regularized and elaborated over time and space. The disposal methods and the associated funerary rituals were probably designed to serve religious practices and, to a large extent, to regulate social life whose norms were largely laid down by the elders. Naturally, in an ethnically and culturally united society, the funerary methods remain stable, unless they are disturbed by some unwanted situations.

Megaliths are the pyramids of common people. The term megalithic (derived from Greek word Mega = huge and Lithic = stone) means huge stone. Fergusson (1872) was the first to draw attention to the fact that the architectural style of the megalithic monuments is very similar in different parts of the world. In India they generally occur in groups forming spectacular cemeteries on high ground, hill terraces and agricultural fields. The belief in the returning of the soul and spirit prevalent among non-industrialized communities must have contributed substantially to the growth of megalithic practices in India. They are likely to have grown out of the need to appease the spirit by providing all material necessities of life to the dead. The trouble taken in carefully burying the mortal remains of the dead may have been due to the fear that they, or rather their ghosts, might return to haunt the living and harm them. Naturally, the dead bodies

The Megalithic practice, as it is commonly known, originated in the Eastern Mediterranean region (Clark 1955) during the early Neolithic phase. This practice was subsequently introduced in the Western Mediterranean countries. From here it spread into Western and Southern Europe and became widespread during the Neolithic and into the Bronze Age. The structural activities associated with megalithic burials came into being during this period.

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in megalithic burials are provided with all kinds of material items they were associated with during their lifetime so that the needs of the spirit of the dead might be fulfilled. In this way the study of megalithic burials and their grave goods may well reflect the socio-economic-religious features of the contemporaneous societies. Megalith use among the Hill Kharia The present study is an attempt to formulate an ethnographic understanding of the megalithic system through research among the current communities of Hill Kharia, one of the 22 distinct nomadic or semi-nomadic tribes in India (Adhikary 1978, Datta, this volume). The Hill Kharia is one of the largest tribal communities in India. It has an economy based on hunting and gathering. It mainly occupies the tract adjoining the states of Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Orissa and West-Bengal. On the basis of its geographical location, identity, culture and a few other important aspects of life, the Kharias are subdivided into three major subtribes, Hill, Dhelki and Dudh Kharia. The Kharias show some regional variation in terms of clan and ritual observances. Among the listed twenty marginal hunter-gathers in India, the Hill Kharia is the least technologically developed group; until recently they depended entirely on hunting and gathering for subsistence. They have been unable to adapt to the changing environmental conditions and the rapid destruction of the forest ecology (Roy & Roy 1937). The Dhelki Kharias and the Dudh Kharias are more technologically developed. Among the three subtribes, Dudh and Dhelki Kharias live in the adjoining areas of Orissa, Bihar and Madhya Pradesh, while the Hill Kharias of upland Bengal are found in the plateau region of Purulia, Bankura and Midnapore. They are known as Sainthia Kharia, (i.e. Kharia inhabiting Samanthabhum). The Hill Kharias who inhabited the Purulia district of West-Bengal are sometimes referred to as Erenga or Mura or Pahari Kharia. They derive their name from their natural habitat, which is generally located in or around hills.

Figure 1. Map of Purulia showing the migration of the Hill Kharia tribes. From Rangarana Village to Kulabahal village. Courtesy Dikshit Sinha, 1984.

village of Kulabahal was originally surrounded by forest, which was once very dense, and the Hill Kharia subsisted mainly on hunting and gathering of forest products, though now much of the forest is lost. Only occasional trees and thickets attest to the past environment and members of the tribes have begun to work as agricultural labourers, though to a limited extent. Kulabahal village is situated in the Hura police station region. Geographically it is a part of the Chotonagpur plateau consisting of rolling uplands and intervening hollows and infertile lateritic soil. The Chotonagpur tract forms a heavily forested and hilly area belonging to the Vindhyan complex, which has become the haven of innumerable tribes. It lies between 22˚ 60` & 23˚ 50` north latitude and 85˚ 75` & 86˚ 65` east longitude. It is about 26 kilometres east of Purulia town. There are altogether 24 Hill Kharia families in Kulabahal Village (figure 2). They do not live in a single hamlet, instead they are scattered in two segments separated by a stretch of forested land. The main concentration of the Hill Kharia consists of twenty families who live in the settlement situated at the south-east corner of the main village. The smaller of the two hamlets is situated in the southern part of the village and consists of four families. A little further away at the south-western end of the village is the ossuary or the burial ground popularly known as the Muragarha. The Kharias share all public places with their neighbours but have separate burial grounds (figure 3). The Kharia generally bury their dead and perform an annual rite for their ancestors.

The Hill Kharias of the Kulabahal village in the district of Purulia are the subject of this study (figure 1). The tribe now uses the mythical term Sabar as their name, and remains in substantial isolation from its fully agricultural neighbours. They belong to the Proto-Australoid racial stock and speak the Mundari language. They claim to have originated from a “Pea-fowl’s egg” and are considered to be an ethnically distinct community (Dikshit Sinha 1984). In tribal society every clan or group or family has a totem, which is a natural object or an animate being, such as an animal or bird. This is assumed as the emblem of the clan. At present Kulabahal village has 10 ethnic groups including the members of the Hill Kharia tribe. These occupy the lowest position in the inter-ethnic hierarchy of the region. The origin of these Hill Kharia families was Rangarana village. They migrated in search of food to Kulabahal village, crossing Gagda, Motipur and Madhupur. The

Upright stones on the graves, enhancing their visibility and making them focal points, are to be seen all over the burial ground. The models presented here are essentially based on study of the megalithic burials of the region constructed mainly to convey the presence of the past. The burials are

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Figure 2. Settlement pattern of the Hill Kharia tribes in Kulabahal village at Purulia. Courtesy Dikshit Sinha, 1984.

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namano” or the way to dispel the spirit of the dead from the shoulders of the four persons who carried the dead person. Then all the inhabitants of the hamlet take another bath after smearing their bodies with turmeric and oil (Dikshit Sinha, 1984). One year after the first burial, the second part of the mortuary rite takes place. This is called “Dothupa”, which means second burial. On the appointed day the priest brings one unused stone slab to the burial ground (Nishangarh or Muragarh), and worships it by applying vermillion (red colour) and sun-dried rice. Then he goes to the first burial ground and sacrifices one red peafowl after making it peck a few grains of sun-dried rice. Then it is struck by means of a kend (Melanoxylon) stick at its neck. If it does not die straight away, it is killed by twisting its neck. This is done to appease the spirit of the dead. Then the priest collects the peafowl’s little toe from its left leg and places this and the skeletal remains of the dead body in a new earthen pot which he covers with a new piece of cloth. This is then carried to the burial ground (Nisangarh) and placed in a hole. A new stone slab (Dolmen) is horizontally placed over it above the ground. After performing the rituals, the sons of the dead person then return to their hamlet, where their wives wash the feet of their husbands and other elderly persons. On the same night sons go to the (“Nisangarh”) burial ground with freshly cooked rice and place it in five Sal leaf plates. They bring their mouths close to the pot in which rice was cooked and pray to their parent to come and take the food. The ceremony is called “Nabadaka”. In the case of an unmarried person, this rice-giving ceremony is not performed and the gravestone selected is also different to that of the married person. The gravestone is placed perpendicular to the earthen pot containing the mortal remains and a Menhir is erected over the burial (Dikshit Sinha 1984). These mortuary rituals are performed particularly for successful people.

Figure 3. Burial ground of the Hill Kharia tribes in the Kulabahal village atPurulia Courtesy Dikshit Sinha, 1984.

distributed in a linear pattern. In the present context, the megaliths and the ceremonies connected with them are interpreted on the basis of fieldwork carried out for a short period of two seasons (15 days each) in the Kulabahal village. The information regarding the megalithic rituals as practised by the Hill Kharias has been collected from the elderly inhabitants and from published reports, journals and books. The survey conducted in the Kulabahal village of Purulia has revealed two kinds of burial systems based on their structure and function. Menhirs are monolithic upright slabs and dolmens are monolithic horizontally placed slabs. Functionally, they are memorial stones, raised one year after the first burial. Although the world of the dead is regarded as a separate domain, the Hill Kharia regard it as obligatory on their part to keep contact with their dead ancestors by building enduring monuments. The mortuary rituals amply demonstrate this. After a person dies, the dead body is carried to the burial place. There the dead body is placed in a grave with its head lying on the southern side. Then a torch is made up of branches of bel tree (Aegle marmelos) and the dead body is lit by placing the torch on the person’s mouth. The eldest or the youngest son usually does this job. In the absence of sons, daughters may also perform this job. Once the body is burned the grave is filled up. Previously it was customary to deposit food, new clothes and one or two implements with the dead body, but now this custom is no longer adhered to. On their return to the hamlet, the priest (laya) performs a ritual called “Kantaduari” at a junction of two roads. Here the priest places a big stone in the middle of the junction and covers it with a few thorny twigs. All members of the funeral party leap over these thorny twigs. On reaching the hamlet they all take baths. The idea behind this ritual of the “Kantaduari” is to prevent the spirit of the dead from coming back to the hamlet. Ten days later the “Ghatasraddha” is performed. During this ceremony the priest applies vermillion (red colour) and sun dried rice to the shoulders of the four persons who carried the dead body to the burial ground. Two small peafowls are then allowed to feed on the rice and are later killed by striking with branches of Kend. This procedure is called “Kand kataya

Among the Hill Kharia tribes there are two groups, one performs the second mortuary ritual and the other does not. This latter group is known as the Turukthupa Kharia and they also refrain from the customary feast usually hosted at the end of the ceremony (Dikshit Sinha 1984). Dating megalithic monuments was a problem for number of years, and has been studied by scholars including Fergusson (1872), Krishnaswamy (1949), Banerjee (1956), Rao (1972), Leshnik (1974), Sundara (1968), Narasimhaiah (1980) and others. Wheeler (1947-48) proposed 200 BC as the probable date of the Megalithic culture based on evidence from the Brahmagiri excavation. However, Childe (1948) suggested an earlier date of 1100 and 700 BC, which is when they dated the arrival of iron using people who came to South India from the Mediterranean. Radiocarbon dates from Hallur (Agrawal & Kusumgar 1990) and from Tadakanahalli (Kennedy 1975), both from Karnataka, provide a date of 1100/1200 BC for the beginning of the megalithic tradition in India. Since this time megalithic structures have continued to be used among some non-

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industrialized tribes throughout the length and breadth of the Indian sub-continent.

of how customs and religious beliefs have gradually degenerated as we find that even at the level of preliterate tribal community, economic constraints hamper the optimal operation of some traditions of the society. 6. It is very difficult to give an absolute date for the erection of the Hill Kharia megaliths. This information could be achieved through selective trial excavations of megalithic sites in order to understand their cultural status and chronology. But this is currently not possible since the megalithic fields in the village are considered as living monuments and are protected by the villagers, who are not inclined to accord permission to dig or disturb the megalithic structures even on the outskirts of the village. 7. We have been able to reconstruct the past burial customs of the Hill Kharia tribes of the region on the basis of observation of present day megalithic burial customs in the Kulabahal village of Purulia.

Megalithic monuments invariably contain iron objects of high antiquity. But despite one hundred years of research on megalithic culture, we still do not know the origin, the authorship or the relationship between iron technology and the megalithic people. In India megalithism can be classified into two units: a) the ancient or earlier megaliths; b) the present or living tribal megaliths. There are similarities and dissimilarities between these. It is difficult at this stage to give an exact date for the erection of the megaliths found among the Hill Kharias. Observations: From the foregoing review we can summarize certain observations about the burial customs of the Hill Kharias: 1. The burial custom is followed by a number of ritual ceremonies that have been described above. 2. The burial monuments of the megaliths are divided into the following two broad groups depending on their structure and function. (a) A memorial stone, menhir, is placed perpendicular to the earthen pot as a mark of honour, after the death of an unmarried person. (b) A memorial stone, dolmen, is placed horizontally over the earthen pot as a mark of honour, after the death of a married person. It is raised by the sons of the married person. Both menhir and dolmen are distributed in a linear alignment. They are constructed and concentrated at a particular point on the outskirts of the village. These monuments are raised in the burial ground, which is situated on the south-western corner of the habitation area. The Hill Kharia share all public places with their neighbours except the burial ground.

Discussion Megalithic practices were very popular in South India (1200 BC-200AD), including in Andhra Pradesh, Tamilnadu, Karnataka and Kerala. Indeed these even extended to the Vindhyan and Chotonagpur plateau fringe area. They are also associated with iron-using people in South India where thousands of megalithic sites have been discovered. Though more than one hundred sites have been excavated (Krishnaswami 1949, Nagaraja Rao, Gururaja Rao), most of the problems relating to origin, authorship, material culture, distribution, chronology etc. remain unanswered. This is however, a living tradition among some of the tribes in India and among them the Hill Kharia is the most important. The present study is limited in the sense that the Hill Kharia of Kulabahal village are migrants from elsewhere, which makes the antiquity of this practice among them difficult to estimate. It does, however, throw light on the mortuary and ritual practices associated with the megalithic burial customs of the present day Hill Kharia of Kulabahal village.

3. The characteristic feature of these burial monuments is that they are both funerary and commemorative. The Hill Kharias bury their dead bodies in graves. One year after the first burial the mortal remains of the dead person are collected in a pot and reburied. 4. Study of burial customs and skeletal remains can provide information relating to burial systems, rituals, orientation, grave goods etc. With regard to orientation, they bury the body with its head lying to the south. In the first, funerary part of this ritual, grave goods include food, new clothes and one or two implements. In the later commemorative part, grave good include the little toe from the left leg of a peafowl and the skeletal remains of the dead. This ties in with their belief that they originated from a peafowl’s egg. 5. Hill Kharias continue to depend on occasional hunting and forest gathering for their subsistence economy. In view of the changing socio-economic conditions, they have dropped the second part of their burial system. Those Hill Kharias who have dropped this second rite are known as the Turukthupa Kharia. This is an example

Megalithic monuments can be found in many parts of the world. This living example of the use of megaliths offers an interesting insight into their role as burial slabs. Further work combining study of archaeological megalithic sites and burials in the region as well as ethnoarchaeological work could develop our understanding of the extent to which a continuity between the past and present use of megaliths exists here. References Adhikary A.K. 1978. Society and world view of the Birhor: A nomadic hunting and Gathering tribe of Orissa. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Calcutta. Agrawal D.P. & Kusumgar S. 1990 Prehistoric chronology and radiocarbon dating in India. Delhi. Banerjee N.R. 1956. The Megalithic problem of Chingleput in the light of recent exploration. Ancient India 1:21-34. Childe V.G. 1948. Megaliths, Ancient India 4:5-13.

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Leshnik 1974. South Indian Megalithic burials. Narasimhaiah 1980. Neolithic and Megalithic cultures in Tamilnadu. Rao Guru raja B.K..1972. Megalithic culture in South India. Roy S.C. &Roy R.C.1937. The Kharias Vol. I, & II, Man in India, Ranchi. Solecki, R. S.; Anagnostis P. Agelarakis 2004. The ProtoNeolithic Cemetery in Shanidar Cave. Texas A&M University Press. Sundara 1968. Some new types of Megalithic Tombs, Bijapur district, Mysore State, Quarterly Journal Of the Mythic Society, Vol. LVII:1- 4. Wheeler R.E.M. 1948. Brahmagiri and Chandravalli, Megalithic and other cultures in the Chitaldurg district, Mysore State, Ancient India, 4:181 – 308.

Clark J.G.D. 1955. Colliers Encyclopedia, (366) New York. Dikshit Sinha 1984. The Hill Kharia of Purulia Calcutta. Datta A. (this volume) Hunter-Gatherers of the Simlipal Forest Range: A Study of Change and Continuity. Fergusson J 1872. Rude stone monuments in all Countries, their age and uses. Heinmendorf C.Von Furer.1943. Megalithic rituals among the Gadabas and Bondos of Orissa. Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal (letters) Art. IX (5): 149 -178. Hunt E.H. 1933. Megalithic burials in South India. Journal of Royal Asiatic Society:508-511). Kennedy K.A.R 1975. The physical anthropology of the Megalithic builders of South India and SriLanka:1-24. Krisnaswami 1949. Megalithic types of South India, Ancient India, 5:35-45.

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Chapter 10 The Disappearing Art – the Quichua Pottery

Aleksandra Wierucka Abstract: The Quichua Indians of Ecuador are well known for their ceramic art. It is an art that belongs especially to women of Quichua families and it is handed down from generation to generation. Today, in the age of plastic and metal, Quichua women still teach their daughters how to make clay bowls and pots for everyday and ceremonial use. Special care is given to the process of making as well as decorating with Quichua symbols. The majority of Quichua live in the Pastaza region of Ecuador, but some groups moved north about two generations ago. They now live along the Napo River. In this group of Quichua, women do not practice the art of pottery. Two years research was conducted to find out why the women needed to give up something that was very important for them as women in the tribe. The findings were that the generation that now is more or less in their fifties still knows how to make pottery but did not hand this knowledge down to their daughters. Some homes still have the large cooking bowls but do not use them anymore. In some families there are relatives still making ceramics but they do not live along the Napo River (although they did before). The research tries to give an answer to the question of the mystery of this disappearing art.

Introduction

known that tourists take it as a trademark of the Ecuadorian indigenous culture. However most modern pottery does not reflect this origin. As a result, Quichua pottery is sold in many parts of the country as Whitten pointed out (1976:17) some of the Canelos Quichua pottery is sold as Jivaroan pottery; this may have its source in mixed marriages between these two groups1. Pottery is created exclusively by the women of the tribe – the knowledge is handed down from mother to daughter (sometimes from mother-in-law to daughter-in-law) and the reasons for creating clay utensils are much deeper then just their practical use (Whitten 1993).

Quichua people from the Ecuadorian Amazon region are famous for their pottery. Extensive research has shown that pottery has practical, mythological and religious meaning (Whitten 1976:173-74; Whitten 1981; Cevallos 1986). The Quichua people live mainly in the southern part of the Ecuadorian Amazon region, but many years ago some of them moved north (figure 1). One of the groups which migrated is called the Napo Quichua. They settled on one bank of the Napo River while the Huaorani people lived on the other side. Today, Napo Quichua live in separate houses that can be kilometres away from one another, yet they consider themselves to be a group even if they do not resemble it in the construction of the village (understood as the group of houses in one place).

There are mainly two kinds of Quichua pottery: one for storing and serving chicha (asua in Quichua) and the second for cooking. They can be distinguished at a glance as chicha bowls are multicoloured and decorated while cooking pots are ash-colored with a black interior. The whole process of creating bowls and jugs is similar in all cases and can be divided into two simultaneous phases: physical and metaphysical.

The traditional ways of living are not sustained in all of the Napo Quichua groups; some people celebrate traditional Quichua holidays, some celebrate Spanish ones; some groups have shamans, some do not; some people speak Quichua, some speak Spanish, some speak both; some parents educate their children in Quichua history, some do not think it is necessary in the modern world; and so on (Uquillas 1982, Lane 2003, Uzendoski 2003).

The same materials are used now as have been for generations. First the woman needs to find clay, sometimes at a distance. The clay is then cleaned and stored for later use. All Quichua pottery is made by coiling. When the bowl or jar is roughly shaped it is polished with the fingers and then with corn leaves or a calebash piece. For the pots used for cooking and storing utensils, decorations are added at this stage, usually just some finger-made dots or lines as the clay is still wet and quite soft. The ceremonial pottery, used

This paper will focus on one of the long lasting Quichua traditions – making and using pottery. People along the Napo River no longer continue the art of pottery-making and I was trying to discover not only when it ceased but also to establish the reasons for its disappearance. Background

Jivaro and Quichua live in the Amazon part of Ecuador. Jivaro is the pejorative name given long ago by Quichua people to Shuar people. Nevertheless mixed marriages between these two groups have their own history now and are widely practiced. 1

Quichua pottery is recognized by many people. It is so well

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Figure 1 The Quichua people from the Pastaza region of Ecuador migrated to the Napo region.

for making and drinking asua, is burned before adding any design. Before burning, it dries (which takes a few days) and then is polished with a special stone. After the pots have been hardened in the bamboo fire (which burns quickly but has a very high temperature), patterns are added in different

colours, most often in so called “boa colours”, which means white, black and red. Colours are obtained from stones that are crushed into powder and then made into paste. The maker puts different patterns on her ceremonial bowls;

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usually these are connected with the tortoise, boa, frog, iguana, cayman and so on. Decorating is made with a brush made from human hair, usually the maker’s. Lines are very fine and precise and all of them have their own meaning. Pottery design contains a basic set of symbols that asserts male continuity only through the body of the woman (Whitten 1976:90). It is achieved by black and red which are called male and female colours. After the bowl is burned in the fire (for about 20 minutes) the resin shilkuliya is added as a glaze. The bowl is checked for temperature by touching with a piece of resin. When it no longer sizzles, it is rubbed on the whole utensil. As the utensil cools down, the resin hardens. The making of the pottery bowls takes a lot of time and patience and accumulated knowledge and experience that has been passed from generation to generation. As stated above, creating pottery consists of two simultaneous parts, physical and metaphysical. The metaphysical aspect makes the whole process worthwhile and is very important for the whole of Quichua society.

Figure 2. Quichua ceremonial macahua

the maker and her family (Whitten 1976:91). If a person knows the family well enough, he may be able to uncover this story from the patterns and colours on the bowl.

Each part of the physical process is accompanied by symbols, songs and meanings. At the phase of polishing the dried but not yet burned clay bowl, the “female stone” is used to impart the first of the three souls that are in every pottery piece.

Through her pottery, every woman links the family with the long lasting traditions of her tribe. Pottery making is also an important part of Quichua celebrations. Thus creating pottery is one of the ways of being a woman in the Quichua tribe, and it is one of the most important roles of a woman in this society3. Even though Quichua use metal and plastic utensils, women still make clay utensils – mostly for drinking asua. The importance of women’s work and their role in the society is thus maintained.

The three souls imparted into the bowl are: 1. The soul of the Nunghui, the clay giver. This is imparted through polishing (the dry but not yet decorated or burned bowl) using a special stone and also later by the design, 2. The soul of the maker of the bowl. This is imparted through her labour, knowledge of the technique and design, 3. The household soul of continuity. This is imparted into the bowl through the designs and the songs that were taught to the maker of the bowl by other women.

My fieldwork among the Napo Quichua reveals that for some reason this group does not continue the vital role of the woman in the household described above. My research suggested that it had not always been that way. Along the Napo River, in places where there are no houses and people left, many broken pieces of clay utensils can be found. We excavated a few clay jugs smashed into pieces in the place where a house once stood. We were able to determine how the house was built, and realized that the clay remains were found in the place where the kitchen had been. The remains of the pot suggested that it was simple, it had no decorations or colours. Nevertheless it was a clay pot estimated to be around 100 years old.

The first one is the soul of the Nunghui2, the clay giver. Later, in the process of adding patterns, the Nunghui will get her symbols on the bowl also. Using the black and red colours imparts the second and the third soul. The maker’s soul is built into the utensil through her knowledge and skill and the final soul is that of the house (which also contains the parents and their children). All these souls are imparted through design (these men’s and women’s lines mentioned above), and a special song is sung as the design is being created (it does not have to be sung out loud) (Whitten 1976:90).

This suggests that one or two generations ago Quichua women were still continuing the art of pottery-making. Why did they stop? How is it possible that women of this group gave up a generations-long art that gives them a special status and place in society? What does it mean to be a Quichua woman without the art of pottery? Is there any knowledge of pottery left along the Napo River?

The macahua, which are special ceremonial bowls for drinking asua (Figure 2) not only have these souls imparted into them, but the designs also tell some secret story about

The answers were found among the Quichua people themselves – though they were unable to give clear answers or fully resolve this problem.

Nunghui or Chagra mama is considered to be the wife of the Amasanga, the spirit of the forest in Quichua mythology. Nunghui takes care of soil and all women’s business: gardening, pottery making and so on. 2

As in most tribal societies work is divided accordingly to sex: men hunt, grow plantains and corn, women take care of children, grow manioc and other roots, make and serve chicha and make pottery. 3

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Figure 3. Napo River. The numbers 1, 2 and 3 indicate the location of the houses of the three interviewed women along the Napo River: 1, Flora’s house, 2, Senaida’s house, 3, Romo’s house

The stories

bamboo is used for burning; human-hair brushes are used for painting; the sap is put on hot bowls to create glaze; and so on.

My research took me to different Quichua houses along the Napo River. My informants were women of different ages and experience (Figure 3). From their stories the picture of a mosaic Quichua culture emerged, in which the elements of this mosaic seemed to have different intensities.

Flora mentioned all of the different kinds of pottery in Spanish and in Quichua, described them easily and told what they were used for and how they differ4. Her most vivid memory about the importance of the clay utensils is about putting the wood pieces into the fire when pottery is being burned. She said this was a very crucial moment as the baked utensil can easily break and be ruined. Once, when Flora was a young girl, she was putting the logs into the fire and broke a utensil. Her mother made her cut her forearm with the broken pieces. From that time Flora was much more careful with the fire and the pottery. This part of her story comes from the time when Flora was with her family in Pastaza.

Flora This Quichua woman lives on the small island right on the Napo River. Her husband is a Shiwiar, one of the few left in Ecuador. He teaches in the small local school and Flora moved here with him. The cultural mixture is even more complicated as Flora’s father is Shuar married to a Quichua woman (in fact a Shuar shaman turned into a Quichua shaman). But Flora states she is Quichua because of her mother’s lineage and traditions.

After moving to the Napo region, Flora tried (along with her mother) to make pottery, but she was not satisfied with the outcome. She could not exactly say why and concluded that probably the clay was too sandy (I will come back to this later).

Flora was taught the art of making pottery. It turned out that her family is from Pastaza, where the Quichua pottery survived colonial times and is still manufactured. Flora, just as tradition demands, learned pottery from her mother. At the age of 10 she started to coil small bowls, then bigger ones. She gradually learned the whole process beginning with the lump of clay up to the finished utensil. All the details of creating pottery she talks about are the traditional ones: polishing is done with stones or calebash pieces;

There are many types of Quichua pottery: ones for preparation and drinking chicha (including storage jars asua churana manga, serving bowl macahua, figurine ones jista puru and others), cooking ware (including the cooking pot yanuna manga, the huaiusa cookng pot yacunda and others). 4

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Flora has a daughter and a son. She plans to teach her daughter to create pottery along with all the traditions and stories, but she will wait until her daughter is a little older. She also plans to bring her mother to the Napo River for a while, because when Flora left home she was taught to make only small utensils and would like her mother to teach her how to make big ones for preparing chicha. Flora is one of those Quichua women who came to the Napo area from other regions (in her case from Pastaza) and stopped making pottery. One of the reasons could be that nobody else is doing it where she is now, and making pottery is always done in a group. Her argument about “sandy clay” was objective but it may be that the reasons were deeper than this, particularly as there are some other Pastaza women in the area that do not complain about the quality of the clay.

Figure 4. Senaida during work.

Senaida Senaida is a young Quichua woman who is learning the art of pottery from her aunt. She lives at the house on the bank of the Napo River, further down the river than the other interviewed women. It turns out she was not taught pottery as a child as was usually the case among Quichua people. Senaida started to learn when she was in her teens and now she knows the whole process. She makes mainly small bowls and pots using three different kinds of clay (Figure 4). The whole process is similar to the one in the Pastaza region, but it seems that only the outside, physical part of creating the utensils survives; the young woman did not sing or even murmur as she created a macahua for serving chicha and she talked only about the techniques she uses. Both women, Senaida and her aunt, came to the Napo area from elsewhere.

Figure 5. Manga, the last piece of pottery made in Napo region

they lost the need for making pottery. In Romo’s house we were served chicha in plastic bowls. Romo also recalled that even if her mother was making clay utensils they were never decorated or painted, just plain for cooking and storage.

Romo Romo lives with her husband and children on the eastern bank of the Napo River. Their house, like most of the houses in the region, is more similar to the Western style ones; it has a separate kitchen, one big room and two-three small ones. It does not look at all like a traditional Quichua house5.

Between many unused things around her house I managed to find yanuna manga – a big clay jar that may be the very last piece of Quichua pottery made in the Napo area (figure 5). Romo comes from a family in which women continued to create pottery to maintain cultural continuity, by connecting it to its history and traditions. She herself not only was not taught to maintain this vital tradition but does not even see the need for this.

Romo’s mother was the one who made pottery in their family. It was a long time ago and Romo does not recall everything on the subject. Clay utensils were very precious and very fragile, so the children were not even allowed to touch them (Romo gave a cause for this, their hands were dirty). Also Romo’s mother, as Romo put it, did not permit her daughters to make bowls. Romo herself cannot make pottery at all. She has not had any practice since childhood and what is more she states that supposedly there is not any good clay in the area. Romo’s mother was finding and bringing clay from far away; for Romo it did not make sense as they had plastic and metal utensils. As she put it,

At the end of a very long day which we spent in her house, Romo mentioned her aunt who lived far away. She lived in the Napo area and even though she moved away she was still creating clay bowls of all kinds. They are all black (this is how the ash-grey bowls with black interior are called) with no added colours or patterns. Romo did not know exactly where her aunt lived (she mentioned some big road and how far it was but either she did not know or did not want to tell us the name of the village).

The traditional Quichua house is based on an oval plan with one big room inside. The roof was covered with palm leaves and this is the only element of the traditional house that survives today.

5

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These descriptions include three types of attitude towards pottery tradition that can be found along the Napo River. Women who arrived to this area from Pastaza or other regions where Quichua pottery is sustained tend to continue it in their new surroundings; those who found themselves close to relatives who could teach them (even late in age) and also come from somewhere else would learn pottery; women that were born in the Napo area were not taught the art of pottery by their women relatives and do not see it as important. Conclusions Some informants state that losing the art of pottery by Quichua women along the Napo River is the outcome of four hundred years of contact with Western culture and migrations. They suggest pottery making was simply lost along the way. We were able to trace (by talking to older women) that making multicoloured pottery with designs (that is the trademark of the Pastaza Quichua to this day) was lost in the Napo area about one hundred and fifty years ago. Since then only black pottery was made and with the passage of time this kind of pottery making was also abandoned. Women born in the Napo area no longer learn or teach the making of clay utensils and, what is more important, they do not see the need for it anymore. It seems that my question about what it means to be a Quichua woman without pottery was misunderstood. This is understandable as the meaning, importance and the art of Quichua pottery has to be handed down by a woman relative who has a connection with ancestors and traditions. Why would a young woman who was never told anything about pottery by her mother or aunt think about making it and about its significance to the tribe? The art is lost along with all its meanings.

Figure 6. Quichua woman of Pastaza origin making macahua

the perspective of making a profit out of it and so on. It seems that the old way of thinking has been lost. Quichua women that came to live in the Napo area from different parts of Ecuador are still making pottery. They also see the interest of tourists who more and more often visit the area. In one of the lodges on the way to Yasuni National Park, a Quichua woman from Pastaza makes some ceremonial bowls and sells them on the spot. People come, see and learn. They ask questions. Quichua men from the Napo area are eager to marry Pastaza women. A reason for this was given by one of them. He claimed that Napo women are lazy because they cannot make pottery. The men demonstrate in this way that they still feel the importance of the pottery even if they do not use it anymore on an everyday basis.

Nevertheless I do not feel satisfied with the explanation that clay utensils were fragile and hard to obtain and as a result they were simply replaced by plastic and metal ones. If this had been the case women in Pastaza would have stopped making pottery a long time ago; however they still do make it and are widely known because of it. The argument about the poor quality of the clay in the Napo area also does not sound convincing. The Quichua women that come from Pastaza or other regions still maintain their art and do not complain about “sandy clay” (Figure 6). The reason for the disappearance of pottery making along the Napo River seems to be much deeper than just the lack of the good clay or availability of plastic and metal utensils. The cultural change that Quichua people have undergone these past decades is very significant. During interviews it was quite evident that these people have lost much more than just pottery. When asked about old Quichua myths they gave stories with Christian origins; when asked about forest knowledge, they talked about using the forest from

Nevertheless some of these clay utensils can still be found. There is a small local museum in Pompeya in the Napo area that houses the permanent exhibition of Quichua pottery though there is no mention of the metaphysical qualities or meanings of the pottery here. Losing the art of pottery not only took from the Napo Quichua people some beauty from their everyday life and

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the old methods of making a highly skilled craft. It also took from them the generational knowledge and connectivity with the tribe’s history. The linkage that was made by the pottery maker to the long lasting continuity of her tribe ensured continuity and stability for the people of her family. The meanings that were hidden behind the shapes, patterns and colours gave them hope for the years to come.

and their families in the Napo area for sharing their stories and experiences. References Cevallos, M. P. Merlo de 1986. Cerámica quichua de la Amazonía. Quito: Museo de Banco Central. Lane, C. 2003. Haunting the Present: Five Colonial Legacies for the New Millenium, in N. E. Whitten Jr. (ed.) Millenial Ecuador. Critical Essays on Cultural Transformation & Social Dynamics :75-101. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Oberem, U. 1980. Los Quijos. Historia de la Transculturatión de un grupo indígena en el oriente ecuatoriano. Otavalo: Istituto Otavaleño de Antropología. Uquillas Rodas, J. 1982. Ocupación de la región amazónica ecuatoriana: La colonizatión en la provincia de Napo. Quito: INCRAE. Uzendoski Michael A. 2003.Purgatory, Protestantism, and Peonage: Napo Runa Evangelicals and the Domestication of the Masculine Will, in N. E. Whitten Jr. (ed.) Millenial Ecuador. Critical Essays on Cultural Transformation & Social Dynamics: 129-153. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Whitten, N. E. 1976. Sacha Runa: Ethnicity and Adaptation of Ecuador Jungle Quichua. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Whitten, N. E. 1981 Cerámica y Simbolismo del Centro Oriente Ecuatoriano. Miscelánea Antropológica Ecuatoriana, Boletín de los Museos del Banco Central del Ecuador: 1, Guayaquil. Whitten, N. E. 1993. The World of the Canelos Quichua. Culture, Ceramics and Continuity, in N.Paymall & C. Sosa (eds.) Amazon Worlds. Peoples and Cultures of Ecuador’s Amazon Region : 96-111. Quito: Sinchi Sacha Foundation.

Hopefully, if young girls are able to learn the art of potterymaking, they will be able to learn of its importance as a means to connect to the ancestors and the spirits that constituted the Quichua life long ago. It is hard to understand why some customs or traditions get lost. Usually the need for the particular tradition fades away. Some traditions lose their roots, their place in the culture and some are just not needed anymore. In the case of traditional pottery making among Napo Quichua people, it looks like the women simply chose an easier way of doing household chores. They did, though, lose something that they may have not known they had when they lost the art of pottery manufacture. Pottery making was a way of connecting their families to the history and traditions of their tribe. How have their lives changed now, without this? Their place in their society is now limited to child-bearing, cleaning, taking care of the children and the house. In the hard living conditions along the Napo River these are not trivial tasks, but the most important role of the women of this tribe, retaining the story of their family’s place in the society, is lost. Acknowledgements This research project was made possible by a grant from the University of Gdansk, Poland. I thank my main informant and friend, Sr. Hector Vargas and his wife Martina Wagner for their help and understanding and also all the women

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Peter Sutton Abstract: Donald Thomson’s classic 1939 paper, ‘The seasonal factor in human culture’ (Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 5:209-21), was preceded by Lauriston Sharp’s unpublished paper on the same basic ethnoarchaeological theme: in places where the technology is largely organic and the climate tropical, there will be little left to show where and how people lived long ago. This makes it even more important that archaeologists looking for sites in such places have a well developed predictive model of likely camp locations. My own paper analyses the indigenous logic of selecting campsite locations in just such an environment (indeed in the same region), based on detailed reconstructive ethnography carried out with Aboriginal people of the Cape York Peninsula wetlands who grew up in a semi-nomadic economy in the early 20th century. My interest as an anthropologist is not so much in being able to suggest where others might dig holes, but in understanding the interplay between the key factors of seasonality, resource availability, abstract rights in places and resources, conflict resolution, defense, safety from dangerous animals, personal comfort and sociality, in building the rational and emotional logics of camping.

Introduction

Cape York Peninsula in 1975-76, and while collaborating with Chase to map the Flinders Islands area of the Peninsula in 1974. John C. Taylor and von Sturmer had pioneered this intensive ethnographic mapping technique in Cape York Peninsula from 1969 (Taylor 1976, von Sturmer 1979). I was able, over the course of several years, and at times in collaboration with David Martin, Athol Chase, John von Sturmer, Dermot Smyth, Roger Cribb and John Adams, to map hundreds of sites in the Wik region with many dozens of different informants. Much of the enthusiasm for this, at times, gruelling program of research came from the traditional owners of the land themselves, as they sought to have their claims and selves recognised and their knowledge placed on record. Typical informants included people old enough to have spent childhood and in some cases their younger adulthood living off the land, and who had retained some degree of contact with their home areas. We used a pro-forma approach, recording parallel data where we could. The data were later collated in a homemade geographic information system invented by Roger Cribb in the 1980’s at the South Australian Museum (Sutton et al. 1990). This paper draws on contributions to that report by the author and David Martin.

The Wik Aboriginal people of Cape York Peninsula, north Australia, began long-term contact with colonial and commercial intruders in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. A Moravian Mission was established at Aurukun, on the Archer River, in 1904, and an Anglican Mission at Edward River in 1938, and it was to these centres that Wik people eventually gravitated (Figure 1). Before this period the people had been semi-nomadic, more sedentary on the rich coast and less so inland where resources were scarcer. Contact with the Mission, and with the economic activities beyond it in the maritime and pastoral industries, took place slowly and tentatively. A number of Wik people moved seasonally between outside employment, and off-season subsistence foraging back home, through the first half of the twentieth century. By the mid 1950’s only one substantial Wik group remained living off the land through the year, the Kugu-Nganhcara of the Kendall-Holroyd Rivers area (Figure 1). As Wik people gradually settled at missions and other sites of permanent occupation, their hunting and foraging economy was increasingly displaced by one centring on employment, rations and state welfare, although bush holidays remained a regular feature of life, and fishing, especially, retained its attractions. The last bands still dependent on bush resources for day-to-day survival in the Aurukun region dwindled to two in the 1960’s, and the last one (Old Tiger Mob) died out in about 1974.

The coastal Wik people lived in an environment of both geological and habitat extremes and of climatic extremes (Chase & Sutton 1981). The dominant physiographic factors are the drainage systems, broadly running from the upland east to their embouchures in the west, and two roughly parallel sandridge systems: a Pleistocene duneline on the inland, and a Holocene duneline forming the present coast. Between the two there are vast and very flat grass plains and salt plains which offer little or no shade, and little or no water other than when inundated in the wet season or monsoon (January-March). These floodplains are depositions of silts and result from a quite rapidly prograding landform system (Rhodes 1980). Much of the

In 1976 the author began intensive anthropological and linguistic field-work based mainly in the Cape Keerweer area, on the Kirke River system (Figure 1) in the Wik heartland, with people who had become based at Aurukun. One of my principal ethnographic tools was site mapping, something I had learned from colleagues John von Sturmer and Athol Chase while assisting them map sites on eastern

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Figure 1. Cape York Peninsula, Australia

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beach foredune area along the coast is similarly lacking in surface waters and much of it is open, affording little shelter from the sun and winds, although stands of casuarinas, or single trees, create vital shade points (Figure 6 below). However these absences became positive virtues at night when people needed to camp away from the mosquitoes, snakes and other problematic species which tend to be associated with wet and heavily vegetated areas. A breeze is a good deterrent to mosquitoes and sandflies, which in this region can be a major problem for campers. Much of the flatter country is under water for two or three months during the monsoon and is often still waterlogged as late as August. When in flood the plains can only be accessed by wading or water craft, traditionally the bark canoe, which was used, among other things, to gather magpie goose eggs from the flood plains. However these people did not build dwellings in trees as did those in the Arafura Swamp of Arnhem Land (Thomson 1939a).

the residential range pattern of the band. While a band’s membership was typically drawn from several clans, and was rather labile, and a band moved across many different estates during the year, estates were by definition owned by single patrilineal totemic clans of stable membership. As we shall see below in the case of the need for linguistic performance to mirror tenure status when spirits were addressed at campsites, this seasonal marking of ownership by key men brought together politics and tenure, band and clan, economic range and sacred estate. It was such specific markedness behaviours, not any allegedly perennial physical occupation of the estate, that reflected and asserted tenure status. Although estates were not units of bounded economic production, nevertheless, estate sizes inland of the Pleistocene shoreline are perhaps ten times larger than those on the coastal strip. That is, estate size is a good rough index of economic productivity in the region. Second, there were short-term only camp sites, at which people slept for one to a handful of nights, either while away on forays from a base-camp or in transit across country between main camps.

At the other extreme there are environments in the region which offer great abundance and biological diversity. These include Indo-Malaysian dune thickets, mangroves fringing the saltwater reaches of waterways, riverine gallery forest, and a few freshwater lakes of variable permanency. The dune thickets were avoided at night during any season except the main wet season, when people built huts under the shelter of large trees, such as Ficus, or built huts in clearings surrounded by the forest (Figure 2). This was the season of lowest food supply and the time when people were at their least active, sleeping long hours in smoke filled huts.

And thirdly there were what are locally called ‘dinner camps’, temporary daytime camps, where people would cook the food they had obtained, process raw materials to a stage of lightness that allowed them to be carried home easily, and rest in the shade in the heat of the day, before returning to or moving on to one of the other two types of camp for the night. There are many other special-purpose site categories which I won’t discuss in detail here, such as resource-only sites, named features such as islands or grass plains, refuges or ‘hiding places’ where people would secrete themselves when being pursued by enemies, cremation mounds and their associated prescribed spear-fighting grounds, totemic increase centres, long inactive shell mounds, historic period burial sites, and so on. And there is a historically recent form of bush camp, which I discuss briefly: the outstation. In the Wik case these usually have had a building, a concrete-lined well, an airstrip, a generator, a two-way radio, and even, in some cases, a satellite television dish.

Kinds of camp There were basically three main kinds of Wik camp along classical lines (see Table 1 below). There were base camps, where people would remain for many days or several weeks, and up to two or three months, making occasional forays to forage for resources or to visit relatives in other camps, usually returning to sleep at night or returning after a night or two away. Some of these base camps were season-specific, some were used in more than two seasons, and some were used at any time of the year (Figures 2-5, Table 1). There was a compound verb in Wik languages with the specialised meaning of ‘to spend the wet season camped at [site X]’ (e.g. kaap-theyn, Wik-Ngathan. There was another verb with the meaning ‘to camp overnight/ for several nights at [site X]’ (e.g. piiype-, Wik-Ngathan). This latter verb was also used to refer to taking part in a ceremony, which crucially would have involved visitors coming to camp near each other. Hosts told visitors where to camp.

Outstation settlements proliferated on Wik lands, as across much of outback Australia, in the 1970s and 1980s in a period of part-time returns to the bush, but by 2008 most of those in the Wik region had fallen into disuse. I lived based at one such place (Watha-nhiin, on the Kirke River drainage system) for about 12 months, including a wet season, in the years 1976-79, and maintained close links with the people of that area by many revisits up to 2007. By 2008 the Wik had become largely permanent township dwellers at Aurukun. In that earlier period we had no imported protein, only flour, rice, sugar, powdered milk and baking soda, so hunting and fishing were daily activities. I was able to observe something of how people had lived in the past. People did not always hunt and forage even when there was no food. I was impressed by people’s very high tolerance for hunger, a difficult art to acquire as a

The wet season base camp where the land-owning clan’s male leadership usually had their monsoon quarters frequently gave its name to the whole estate of which it formed a part. This naming role of the key residential site used at the season of least mobility provided a nexus between the estate (the totemic descent group’s owned country), social patriarchy, structural patrilineality, and

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Figure 2. Wet season base camp site (Waathanem-ompenh) on elevated sand ridge, Kirke River 1977. Photo: P. Sutton.

young adult Westerner. Many of those living with me had been reared in the bush beyond regular contact with nonAborigines, and during extensive site mapping were able to speak of the past from direct experience, recording much place-specific oral history, mythology, and ethnobiological knowledge, as well as information on mundane site use. People said they had had a number of reasons for staying in one camp for an extended period of time in the days of their youth. Avoiding the effort of moving meant not just avoiding a march but also avoiding the need to dig new wells and clear away debris and erect shelters. Minimisation of labour was a basic principle, here as elsewhere in Aboriginal Australia (e.g. Peterson 1973). But thinking of it more positively, an established camp was also one near which footpaths had become re-established and movement thus less inhibited; the state of resource availability in the site’s vicinity had become ascertained and discussed; and people had usually become more at ease with the place. Some have told me that the spirits of a place ‘settle down’ and get used to one’s presence after a while, so one becomes less likely to be ‘tormented’ by one’s deceased kin, and can sleep. And then there are, again, the mosquitoes: it is sometimes said by Wik people that, after a few nights in one place, you find there are fewer mosquitoes about. There were times when I wondered about whether, if true, that meant the mosquitoes were being put off by the fire smoke, or merely getting full.

Figure 3. Noel Peemuggina with evidence of recent occupation, Waathanem-ompenh, Kirke River 1977. Photo: P. Sutton.

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Figure 4. Early dry season base camp site (Thooerpenith) with wells (one centre), Kirke River system 1976, Photo: P. Sutton.

Figure 5. All dry season base camp site (Weenengkutheng, Big Lake), Kirke River system 1976, Photo: P. Sutton.

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Criteria for choosing a campsite

and identified with by the clan owners of the estate into which the occupational site fell. One had ideally to use the particular dialect that had been implanted in that particular soil at the beginning of the world and at the founding of the patrilineal clan that owned it (Sutton 1997). This is something many people of the region could do, because systematic multilingualism was the norm, though preference in carrying out this task of addressing the Old People normally went to the most senior local landowners, if present, or at least someone already known to the place. This is something a total stranger, ignorant of the local dialect, could not do.

In deciding where to camp, Wik people were guided not only by the pragmatics of economic need, resource availability, seasonal biota conditions, weather, state of inundation and distance, but by a range of other cultural and personal factors, many of them rich in emotion. They had to consider, for example, whether or not an area had been ritually closed to access following the death of one of its people, or had been later ‘opened’. They had to consider whether or not they had sufficient social and spiritual links to the place, or to its regular occupants, to legitimise their presence and avoid an aggressive response if discovered. As people could identify the foot-tracks of large numbers of individuals in their region, trespass could be detected after the fact and come to haunt one later. This was said to be one basis of accusations hurled at opponents during spear-fighting at the close of cremation ceremonies. Visitors also had to consider whether or not the spirits of the place’s dead, the ancestral owners of the place, would recognise their body smell. If not, the spirits might cause them sickness or death, the allegedly common fate of straying strangers. If someone familiar to the spirits of the place were to rub their own armpit sweat on those not from the area, the Old People would recognise a familiar presence, and things would usually be all right. That is, so long as the vast array of restrictions and prohibitions on behaviour in the places was also respected and adhered to.

This is not just protocol. It is an aspect of the way vivid and yet highly conventionalised feelings, at times formally stylised in expression, permeate the cultural construction of almost any kind of essential activity in such a society. Digging a well went better if you talked to the deceased ancestral owners of the site. If the digging wasn’t going well it was the Old People holding the water back, so you could also blame them and swear at them. Sites were in this sense embodiments of people, specific people. Like one’s living relatives, they could be generous and they could be dangerous. The names of the deceased were tabooed for a formal period of mourning. So also could be the name of a key occupational site associated with a prominent and recently deceased person: both their name and the site’s name could be suppressed for a time. Such a site would for a while be called by an avoidance-term with the literal meaning of ‘at the name’. Sites were not merely material culture, or economic furniture, they were also a central structuring engine for the society and the affective psychology of its members. They were animate. They could get touchy.

Many of these taboos were site-specific, such as bans on breaking the branches of certain important trees, or bans on collecting food from a particular side of a site. Perhaps the most elaborate prescription of this kind in the region was one that applied at a saltwater site north of Aurukun: one was allowed to spear fish only when standing on one leg and holding a large baler shell (Melo amphora) on the top of one’s head. When moving around the bush with Wik people in the 1970s I was constantly aware that the natural beauty of the landscape lived under a constant shadow of potential danger, fear, restrictions on behaviour, anxiety about spirits, and anxiety about the living. For example, one day on the vast salt plains of the Kirke River our group stood transfixed in fear, watching a shimmering black apparition in the distant heat haze. Some thought it might be a lone spearman, or a pam moenp (sorcerer), coming towards us. The silence was deathly. My mind flew immediately to the scene in David Lean’s film Lawrence of Arabia when a shimmering Omar Sharif rides out of the desert mirage to shoot the man who is stealing his well water. It turned out to be nothing, tumbling weed, or a dog perhaps. People of that generation seemed constantly on alert for signs of the presence of the malevolent. Anxiety and fear were among the more salient emotions in Wik society.

In choosing a site for occupation people had also to consider the cost of the location in relation to its benefits. One cost could be the danger of pain, and potentially of dangerous infection, in the case of mosquitoes, sand flies, leeches, green ants, hairy grubs, centipedes, scorpions, snakes and crocodiles. Given the virtual universality of nakedness prior to colonisation, one has to recall that there was no permanent shield between one’s body and the environment. Deaths from snakebite and crocodile attacks recurred quite often in Wik genealogies. Similar costs applied to hunting and foraging in certain locations, with additional hazards to be found in marine environments, where sea snakes, stingrays, sharks, sawfish, stonefish, and crocodiles were in their most efficient predatory element. And covering the distance to a campsite had to be measured not merely in walking time but in terms of the difficulty of the terrain, which altered dramatically according to season, as well as the surface temperature of the terrain to be crossed. Pain again is a criterion. People did make sandals for walking on hot sand, but not often, and blistered feet were a cost people usually avoided by other means, by sprinting (Fig. 6), or by resting in the middle of the day. And women made paperbark G-strings to prevent

Not all hidden powers were malevolent, and potentially dangerous ones could be placated and soothed. People newly arrived at a long-disused camp would often speak to its dead for some time, usually around dusk, the time when ghosts tend to become active for the night. This had to be done in the local language, the dialect owned

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Figure 6. Johnny Lak Lak Ampeybegan (left) and Alan Wolmby sprinting across hot sand to a day-shade or ‘dinner-camp’ (Poechelen Puthen), coast north of Kirke River, October 1976, Photo: P. Sutton.

campsites, although I did quite often come across used shells and evidence of hut or sleeping platform construction in such places (Figure 3). The combination of a preference for sandy floors with a largely organic material culture meant that surface evidence of people’s presence quickly disappeared. Using the Wik area as his example, Donald Thomson made this important point in his classic 1939b paper, ‘The seasonal factor in human culture’, based on field work based at Aurukun in 1933. Lauriston Sharp, who worked south of the Wik region in 1933-35, at Mitchell River, made the same point a little earlier in a paper that remains unpublished (Sharp n.d.). For a description of rapidly disappearing evidence in another part of Cape York Peninsula see Anderson and Robins 1988.

themselves being penetrated by leeches when gathering corms in swamps. The most abundant places tended also to be the most hazardous. The estuarine environment combined maximum protein and maximum danger. People took significant risks with their bodies, as many continue to do under their new circumstances. I once watched in sympathetic agony as Morrison Wolmby robbed a large nest of English Bee of its honey near Cape Keerweer in about 1977. Although stung repeatedly he was determined to get the honey, and did so. So when I now discuss some of the preferential criteria for campsite location one should keep in mind that at times these criteria could also be sacrificed in favour of other considerations.

Not only were dropped objects trodden into the sand, but Wik people kept the immediate dwelling areas of their old bush camps extremely clean and raked them over, giving the finishing touches with a large goose wing. This was not entirely about appearances, or perhaps even about appearances at all. Objections to camp fouling were centred on smell, not the mere sight of rubbish. One of the advantages of any smooth, soft surface in a campsite is that it allows one to monitor who has walked where. There was and is a constant monitoring of the whereabouts of others, and tracks are one optimal way of doing this in a bush camp. Tracks are an index of relationships. Relationships were the chief source of conflict. There is also the defensive aspect: on a smooth soft surface one can see who or what has been prowling about in the night. Clearing a camp of leaf litter or ants by the use of fire was also done, to improve the comfort of where one was to sleep. I’m not sure there was much of the aesthetic involved in these cases.

The preferred camp floor was sand. It was soft to sleep on, and its absorption of waste helped reduce the fouling of camps by rubbish and dog’s and children’s faeces. Fouling was one of the factors that led to people deciding to shift to another location. Another was becoming bored with the monotony of the food from any one location. While major food preparation was often done away from sleeping areas it was not usually very far away. In a hot, humid climate the smell of offal can be extra pungent and the blowflies it attracts can be a daytime nightmare, and moonlit torture. Coastal wet season and perennial base camps were typically on the raised part of a sand dune (Figure 2), often on the nose of the dune where it came to an end, giving excellent visibility for at least two thirds of the horizon. This preference for sand is one reason why little evidence of human activity remained on the surface of so many

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This western Cape York wetlands material culture tradition was one in which stone was hardly ever used. Spear points were of hardwood, bone or stingray barb, knives and scrapers were usually made of readily replaceable organic materials such as shell and bamboo, hardwood mallets were used for smashing things up, and there were no wooden bowls or dugout canoes to require adzes. A wallaby incisor tooth, still in the jawbone, formed a natural graver, and it could also be set in a hardwood palette that was used for smoothing sealants on artefact joins. People used baler shells for digging and for carrying provisions and frying liver, conch shells for transporting water, bark buckets for honey storage, and woven string bags and fibre baskets and bark containers for carrying and in some cases processing food. Drills were made from a spiral shell, necklets were made of shells, grass bugle, string and beeswax, filets were made from feathers, wax and Abrus precatorius beads, and armbands were usually of pandanus leaf (Thomson 1939b, McConnel 1953, Sutton 1994).

(Big Lake) had a dry season base camp at its southern end where people camped neither on saltpan (there are none) nor on sand (there is none) but on the hardened cracking clay of the grass plain, an unforgiving surface (Figure 5). When camping for any length of time people built sleeping platforms (used at least by men), and used paperbark mattresses. Paperbark was the ubiquitous utility material. I found that Wik people had over twenty uses for it (Sutton 1994). Simple abundance of one type of food or resource at a place was not enough to determine the location of a base camp. There may be an exception to this, and that is the siting of large but ephemeral ceremonial gathering camps close to swamps containing large numbers of edible corms which were in season for a time. Women gathered and processed this periodic staple. Funding large gatherings in classic Aboriginal Australia was not based so much on accumulation and storage but on periodic abundance, as with the cycad nuts of Arnhem Land, the bogong moths of the south-eastern highlands, and the bunya nuts of the south-east Queensland forests (Jones 1978 , Flood 1980, Petrie 1904).

There is a slim record of a type of stone knife that was formerly traded into the area (McConnel 1953:24), but no specimen survives. Axes, ground-edged and hafted, were made from exotic stone as there is no naturally occurring stone along the Wik coast and its pericoastal area, apart from outcrops of soft shale. The shale could be used for earth oven cooking as a second-choice heat retainer after the much preferred termite mound. The exception to this lack of real stone is a single boulder of hard material, that is geologically anomalous (it is on top of a prograding dune system), and which is a sacred object on the beach dune system near Cape Keerweer. It is said to move about by itself and to be female.

Many of the preferred Wik campsites lay at the conjunction of more than one ecological zone, sometimes several zones. Among these campsites, if not the same as them entirely, was the aak mu’em or ‘main camp’ which was open to stays by known visitors from other places. Such visitors would camp on the side of the place that lay in the direction of the estates owned by their principal personnel, typically the senior men. A good example of such a camp is Aayk, on the south side of Man-Yelk (the Kirke River estuary, Figure 1), where a large saltwater body lies right next to a rich Holocene dune system covered in Indo-Malaysian dune thicket, containing a large and deep permanent freshwater lagoon, less than an hour’s walk from a lower riverine system with its massive fish population and large colonies of flying foxes (fruit bats), as well as intervening grass plain. The grass plain formerly yielded good harvests of mice, wallabies and reptiles under organised fire drives.

In walking over hundreds of Wik sites since 1976 I have only twice ever found an axe head. One of these was at Weenengkutheng (Figure 5), at the southern end of Uthuk Aweyn (‘Big Lake’), where the dry season floor is hard clay. The other was at Love River to the north (both are now held by the South Australian Museum). My colleague David Martin also found one in the region. The only regular purpose for an axe was to cut a hole in a tree so as to extract wild honey, although axes may also have been used as hammers (e.g. for marrow extraction). This use in getting honey made the axe an object of enormous value and heightened sexual symbolism. A single stone pounder, found at the inland lagoon of Wanke-niyeng (Tea Tree) in the Wik region, was sold through the local craft shop at Aurukun in 1987 and is now in the South Australian Museum, but this is the only other type of stone tool known from the Wik region.

Aayk in this sense could fund the sociality, the investment in close alliance relationships, and the mutual invitation to share in seasonal abundances, that allowed for a largely amicable relationship between the groups owning both sides of the lower Kirke River system in remembered times, and their capacity to act together in times of wider conflict. I was told these relatively open sites were ‘Just like a pub’. Other sites in the same estate would be closed to unaccompanied visitors. Some sites were exclusively used by their senior owners – ‘poison grounds’ and ‘secret waters’ fell into this category.

In the dry season many camps were also on sand, but, when close to mangroves, swamps and lakes, there was a preference for camping on flat open plain areas, especially saltpans. Towards the onset of the Wet these saltpans are inundated by the annually highest saltwater tides and then the floodwaters of the Wet itself. Here again any surface deposits from occupation are likely to end up deep in the mud. An enormously rich location such as Uthuk Aweyn

Unlike eastern Cape York Peninsula, the primary economic orientation in the Wik region was not to the coastal foreshore but to the dune thickets, estuaries, lakes, swamps, plains and forests that lay behind the sea coast. Unlike the east coast people the Wik had no ocean-going watercraft, no harpoons, no specialised vocabulary by sex and age-grades for dugong

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and sea turtles. They used the sea but the land and inland waters were by far richer. An ideal pericoastal Wik base camp location was one where there was sand to sleep and sit on, soft ground in which to dig wells without too much effort (dune sand, shellgrit), a good water table to keep the wells supplied with water (such as an aquifer), a clean medium through which the water would strain purely into the well (clean sand, ideally fine shellgrit), a place where there were edible tubers that could be harvested from the ground, there were fish and file snakes and swamp turtles in the freshwater to the inland, saltwater species including fish, dolphins, shellfish, mangrove oysters and turtle eggs in or near the sea to the west, land mammals such as wallaby and egg-laying scrub turkeys inhabiting the dune systems, fruiting trees of sufficient species diversity to offer at least some in the edible stage at several times of the year, and an array of the trees, roots and vines used for material culture production (Munpunng and Aayk are such sites). The ideal base camp site had good shade trees for daytime use, big trees or thick vegetation for storm shelter if it were used in the wet, and a clear, open area for cooking, night life and sleep. It also had good screening vegetation on two different sides, at a discreet distance, where men and women could separately urinate and defecate.

about narrowing down a field survey in order to look for evidence of prehistoric occupation in such a landscape? I am assuming here that one could expect to find more than just stone axes, given that the cremation mounds in active use in the early twentieth century, as I can say from observation, contain large numbers of human teeth, and some of the burnt shell material at base camps, at least, must outlast most of the other organic evidence. It may be possible to extrapolate backwards in this particular landscape to a time when the Pleistocene sand ridge system was the shoreline. It may have functioned differently from the Holocene dune system that forms the present shoreline, because it does not appear to have been backed by a large floodplain, as is the case for the Holocene system of today. But there are certain modern human-use features that one could treat hypothetically as having been constant in the deeper past, so as to narrow down the search. Aquifers and their attractions for diggers of wells, sand ridges and domed areas as places of breeze, freedom from flooding, defensive visibility, botanical complexity leading to attractive junction points of two or more ecotones, as typifiers of attractive camp sites, are unlikely to have been entirely new as features of life in such an area. I would search along a Pleistocene ridge system, for example, for points where it was broken, perhaps now detectable only by the presence of a paleochannel. I would suggest that a palaeobotanist look for evidence of proximity of saltwater and freshwater plant species, as part of this emphasis on areas of conjoined differences rather than on areas of superabundance as foci of residence.

And a preferred base camp had good defensive features. That is, it should either have been in a dense thicket so that light and sound were hard to detect from a distance, or, much more frequently in my experience, and certainly for sites other than wet season camps, it should have been positioned, with or without being on a raised area, so that its people had a commanding view of the landscape and thus of the potential approach of others. It was of the utmost importance, in earlier times, that the approach of others to a camp not be unannounced, and it was customary for visitors of good will to mark their approach by the lighting of smoke-fires along the way. There was, however, also a constant underlying fear of strangers or enemies who might approach by night and with murderous intentions. Scanning the full distance to the farthest horizons was a habit deeply ingrained in the people with whom I have camped in this region, as elsewhere in Aboriginal Australia where past ways of life have persisted to a significant extent. Being the first to see or hear an approaching person or vehicle when in the bush was a highly competitive endeavour, one that began in early childhood.

Old shorelines, on this count, are likely to have a lot more stone artefacts than new ones, because suitable organic material was far less abundant there before the current coastal wetlands were created by progradation (Rhodes 1980), and the landscape is simply a great deal older. On the other hand the creation of the flood plains must have multiplied the local population enormously, and it is full of very small estates (see above). The social insularity and economic independence funded by the riches of the prograding floodplain and the strikingly high population densities that would have developed there, would probably have reduced any earlier emphasis on maintaining extensive ties of political geography and can be expected to have reduced mobility if not also trading. Camp site types

Of course there were no sites which had everything. It was the norm in earlier times for coastal people to visit their inland relatives, and vice versa, and one of the aspects to this mutuality was that the Eucalyptus bark needed for the construction of canoes was an inland species, while conversely the place where canoes were needed the most was along the coastal wetlands and river systems. Honey was also more abundant inland and its attractions in a largely unsweet bush diet can hardly be underestimated.

What follows is a table (Table 1) briefly summarising Wik camp site types and their seasonal uses, selected from the central part of the coastal and pericoastal Wik region (our mapping covers several times this area). Nonetheless about 300 mapped sites are represented, giving some measure of the intensity of land use in this very rich environment before people settled at Aurukun. This intensity is even more remarkable, given that the table also excludes the large number of other mapped sites within the selected area that do not fall into the three types that are my focus here (base camps, short-term camps, dinner camps).

Site predictability? So if one had no living informants, then how would one go

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key-en, and first storm (‘buildup’) is paayem. The timing of these seasons varies from year to year calendrically, but very roughly:

It is possible that one should not make too much of the high relative frequency of base camps in the data, although it is impressive. This is because the process of ethnographic mapping, unless it involves a long, slow, exhaustive siteby-site coverage of an area, is likely to privilege base camps as places of focal attention and historical memory. Still, the high base camp frequency matches Thomson’s (1939b) statement, based on field work in this very area in 1933, that people generally moved from base camp to base camp, staying weeks and sometimes months at one place.

• • • • •

wet season: late December-March after-wet: March-May mid dry: June-August late dry: September-November first storm: November-December

Conclusion

The five seasons have their different names in the different Wik languages but here are provided in English translation. For example, in Wik-Ngathan the wet season is called kaapem, the after-wet season onchen, the mid dry (‘burngrass time’) is kathuk, the late dry (‘hot time’) is

In Table 1 there are 147 base camps for which we also have evidence about their seasonal use. This particular evidence is summarised in Table 2:

Table 1: Estate No.

Site ID

Base camp

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 2

239 248 357 412 414 424 435 473 527 551 590 613 626 656 672 722 764 765 767 769 774 792 793 794 795 796 797 800 813 833 857 858 2607 2608 2623 2625 2626 240

X

Night camp

Day camp

Wet season

Postwet

Mid dry

X

X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X

Late dry

First storm

X

X

X

X

X

X X

X X X X X X X X X X

X

X X

X X

X X

X

X

X

X X

X

X X

X X

X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X X X X X X X

X

X X

X X X X X X X X X

X

X X

X X X

X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X

X X

X X X X X

X

X

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Peter Sutton, The Logic of Wik Camping, North Australia

Estate No.

Site ID

Base camp

2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4

385 439 462 463 620 818 824 825 827 828 835 838 840 853 854 855 856 3 4 6 7 32 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 44 46 47 48 49 50 51 78 79 82 84 125 242 247 387 457 549 641 775 871 9 10 11 14 16 17 18 19

X X X

Night camp

Day camp

Wet season

X X

X X X X

Postwet

Mid dry

Late dry

X X X X

X X X X

X

X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X

X

X

First storm

X

X X

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X

X X

X

X

X X

X X X

X

X X X X X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X

X X X

X X X X X X X X

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Estate No.

Site ID

4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 5 5 5 5 5 5 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 8 8 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 10 11 11 11 11 11 11

20 21 22 24 25 52 56 97 253 333 351 632 746 758 759 1 63 85 86 91 101 102 103 104 106 107 109 110 111 159 160 167 227 228 234 235 116 542 2085 2087 2140 2141 2165 2210 2211 2212 2213 2226 2259 2260 204 2151 2153 2154 2157 2163 2168

Base camp

Night camp

Day camp

Wet season

Postwet

Mid dry

Late dry

X X X X X X

X X X X X

X X X X X

X X X X X X X X X

X X

X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X

X

X

X X X

X X X

X X

X X

X

X

X X

X

X

X

X X

X X X

X X

X

X

X X X

X

X

X

X X X X X

X X X X X

X

X X X X X X X

First storm

X X X

X X

X X X X

X X

X

X X

X X

X X

X X

X X

X X X X

X

X X X X X X X

X

X X

X

X

X X

X

X X X X

X X X

X X X X X X X X X X X X

X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X

102

X

Peter Sutton, The Logic of Wik Camping, North Australia

Estate No.

Site ID

Base camp

11 11 11 12 12 12 12 12 13 14 14 15 15 15 15 15 15 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 17 18 18 18 18 19 19 19 20 20 20 20 20 20

2170 2171 2252 147 2147 2167 2185 2186 2088 120 745 129 130 134 138 2068 2176 149 157 158 2077 2079 2081 2084 2100 2125 2509 2539 154 458 2101 2103 2105 2106 2107 2108 2111 2113 2116 2117 2118 2119 2132 2248 127 2065 2066 2071 2006 2010 2046 222 223 726 727 728 730

X X X X X X X X

Night camp

Day camp

Wet season

Postwet

Mid dry

Late dry

First storm

X X

X X

X X

X X X

X

X

X

X

X X X

X X

X X

X

X

X

X

X

X X X X X X

X X X X

X X X X X X

X X

X X X

X X X

X X X

X

X X

X X

X

X X X

X X X

X X X X X X X

X

X X

X X

X X

X X X X X

X X X X X

X X X X X

X X

X X

X X

X X

X X

X

X X X

X

X X X

X X

X X X

X

X

X X X X

X X

X X X X X X X X X X X

X X

X X X X X X

X

X X X X

X

X X X X X X X X X X X

X X

X X X

X

X X X X

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Estate No.

Site ID

20 20 20 20 20 20 20 21 21 21 21 21 21 21 21 21 21 21 21 22 23 23 23 23 24 24 24 24 28 28 28 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 29 30 30

731 2009 2011 2060 2062 2063 2200 2001 2007 2008 2019 2022 2031 2036 2037 2038 2043 2047 2196 2017 177 180 181 184 2014 2015 2016 2064 755 756 469 2311 2314 2316 2317 2318 2319 2320 2321 2323 2324 2329 2330 2337 2348 2350 2352 2353 2354 2355 2356 2357 2360 2362 2551 2325 2331

Base camp

Night camp

Day camp

Wet season

Postwet

Mid dry

Late dry

X

X

X

X

X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X

X X X

X X X

X X

X

X

X

X X X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

X X X

X X X

X

X X X X X

X X X X X

X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X X X

X X

X X

X X

X X X X X

X X

X X X X X X X X X

First storm X X X X

X

X X X

X X X X X

X X X

X X X X X X X X X X X

X X

X X X X X

X X

X X X X X X X X X X X

X

X

X

X X X X X

104

X X X X X X X X X

X X

X

X X X X X X

Peter Sutton, The Logic of Wik Camping, North Australia

Estate No.

Site ID

Base camp

30 30 30 30 30 30 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 31 33 33 35 35 35 35 35 36 36 36 36 36 42 42 42 42 42 43 43 43 44

2335 2338 2345 2382 2384 2547 2383 2385 2386 2388 2390 2391 2392 2396 2418 2419 2421 2422 2424 2425 2549 2366 2371 2242 2399 2407 2447 2456 2374 2445 3822 3824 3828 843 846 849 850 851 662 2616 2620 2310

X X X X X X

Night camp

Day camp

Wet season

X X X

x X X

X X X X X X X

Postwet

Mid dry

Late dry

X X

X

X

X X X X X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X

X X X X x X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X

First storm

X

X X X

X X

X X X X X

X

X

X X

X X X X

X X

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

X

X

X X

X

X

X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X

X X

X X

X

X

Seasonal data on short-term camping sites in Table 1 are summarised in Table 3:

X X

• base camps that could be used in any season also outnumbered wet season-only base camps (18% as against 16%) • 36% of recorded base camps could be used in the wet season • 83% of recorded base camps were used in one or more of the non-wet seasons • no base camp sites at all were recorded as having two seasons of use • no camp sites used for between three and all five seasons were recorded as having been normally occupied during non-contiguous seasons (e.g. wet and mid and late dry, or early dry, mid dry and first storm)

It may be concluded from the figures in Tables 2 and 3 that: • only a minority of base camps had single-season remembered uses (36%) • the largest category of base camps was that of camps used in dry seasons 1-3 (37%) • base camps used in the same three dry seasons plus first storm the expanded dry season category (i.e. all seasons except the wet proper) constituted 48% of the total, while the wet-only category constituted only 16%

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Table 2: Seasonal range

No. of base camps

Percentage

Dry 1: post-wet only Dry 2: mid-dry only Dry 3: late dry only Dry seasons 1, 2 & 3 only Dry seasons 1, 2, 3, & first storm Wet season only Wet + dry seasons 1, 2, 3 All seasons

9 2 10 54 16 24 2 27

6 1 7 37 11 16 1 18

TOTALS

147

100%

Table 3: Seasonal range

No. of overnight camps

Percentage

Mid dry (2) only Late dry (3) only Dry seasons 1, 2 & 3 Dry seasons 1, 2 & 3 & first storm Wet only Wet & Dry 1 (post-wet) All seasons

1 2 17 5 13 1 4

2 5 40 12 30 2 9

TOTALS

43

100%

• short-term only camp sites constituted only 24% of all the camp sites for which seasonal occupation was recorded (43 out of 180); this is comparable to shortterm only sites as a proportion of the total in Table 1 (20%, 60 out of 299) • short-term only camp sites used in the wet season constituted 30% of the total, indicating a greater wet season mobility than expected • only 7% of short-term only dry season sites were recorded as being used in a single season only, as against 30% of wet season short-term only sites • 61% of short-term only sites were used in one or more of the four non-wet seasons.

The picture we can derive from Tables 1 and 2, however, is not one of long-term wet season base camps alternating with an opposite pattern of high mobility and mainly ephemeral use of occupational sites in the non-monsoon parts of the year. While the wet season was one of relative immobility people still visited short-term camps on trips away from their base-camps. If by degree of nomadism we mean frequency of movement, hence shortness of stays, then it seems, from the survey data presented above, that there was much use of longer-term or base camp sites throughout the Wik year. However, wet season camps, sited as they were above the flood-line and in forested areas, would not have been subject to the possibilities for scouring and mobilisation of archaeological materials presented by many of the more low-lying dry season sites.

One limitation of this study is that we did not generally record data on the short-term use of base-camp sites. Had we the data, the least surprising pattern would have been one in which dry season base-camp locations were used for short-term stays quite often, while wet season base-camp locations were used for short-term stays rather less often.

Acknowledgements Research for this paper was funded by the Australian Research Council (APF grant DP0452390). I thank David Martin for generously allowing me to make use of some of the site data he contributed to Sutton et al. 1990. Data for sites numbered in the 2000 series were ethnographically mapped by David Martin, the others by myself.

Donald Thomson, working in the same region in 1933, but with extremely limited land-based site survey data, concluded that Wik peoples’ nomadic wanderings were much restricted in the wet season (late December – early March). Their camps then broke up after the wet, so that by the mid and late dry season (late July – early October) they were in the ‘[g]reat nomadic period’ of the year. Nomadic activity then became ‘much less extensive’ in late October – early December during the build-up to the next wet season. (1939b:214).

References Anderson, C., and R. Robins 1988. Dismissed due to lack of evidence: Kuku-Yalanji sites and the archaeological record. In B. Meehan & R. Jones (eds.), Archaeology with Ethnography: 182-285. Canberra: Department

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of Prehistory, Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University. Chase, A., and P. Sutton 1981. Hunter-gatherers in a rich environment: Aboriginal coastal exploitation in Cape York Peninsula. In A. Keast (ed.) Ecological Biogeography of Australia: 1817-52. The Hague: W. Junk. Flood, J. 1980. The Moth Hunters: Aboriginal Prehistory of the Australian Alps. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Jones, R. 1978. Calories and bytes: towards a history of the Australian islands. The Wentworth Lecture 1978. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. McConnel, U. H. 1953. Native arts and industries on the Archer, Kendall and Holroyd Rivers, Cape York Peninsula, north Queensland. Records of the South Australian Museum 11:1-42. Peterson, N. 1973. Camp site location amongst Australian hunter-gatherers: archaeological and ethnographic evidence for a key determinant. Archaeology & Physical Anthropology in Oceania 8:173-193. Petrie, C. C. 1904. Tom Petrie’s Reminiscences of Early Queensland (Dating from 1837) Recorded by his Daughter. Brisbane: Watson, Ferguson. Rhodes, E. G. 1980. Modes of Holocene coastal progradation, Gulf of Carpentaria. PhD thesis, Australian National University. Sharp, R. L. n.d. [c1936]. Archaeology and living culture. Typescript ms. 20pp. Sydney: University of Sydney Archives, Elkin Papers item 1/4/13.

Sutton, P. 1994. Material culture traditions of the Wik people, Cape York Peninsula. Records of the South Australian Museum 27:31-52. Sutton, P. 1997. Materialism, sacred myth and pluralism: competing theories of the origin of Australian languages. In F. Merlan, J. Morton & A. Rumsey (eds.) Scholar and Sceptic: Australian Aboriginal Studies in Honour of L.R. Hiatt: 211-242, 297-309. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press. Sutton, P., D. Martin, J. von Sturmer, R. Cribb & A. Chase 1990. Aak: Aboriginal Estates and Clans between the Embley and Edward Rivers, Cape York Peninsula. Adelaide: South Australian Museum. (Unpublished report, 1000pp + maps.) Taylor, J. C. 1976. Mapping techniques and the reconstruction of aspects of traditional Aboriginal culture. Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies Newsletter 5:34-43. Thomson, D.F. 1939a. Tree dwellers of the Arafura Swamps: a new type of bark canoe from central Arnhem Land. Man 39:121-126. Thomson, D. F. 1939b. The seasonal factor in human culture illustrated from the life of a contemporary nomadic group. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 5:209-21. von Sturmer, J. 1979. Maps and mapping. In D. Barwick, M. Mace and T. Stannage (eds.), Handbook for Aboriginal and Islander History: 112-121. Canberra: Aboriginal History.

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Chapter 12 Evenk Shamans – a non-exotic Approach. Ethnoarchaeological Observations

Ole Grøn Abstract: This paper outlines on an empirical basis the Evenk shaman’s social role and function as well as his/her position in the ideological, economic and social context she/he operates in. Because Evenk shamans do not live as isolated individuals in an empty social space, it is important to understand them in their social context. As other members of their society they often have a series of normal daily functions in the group they are related to, such as hunting, wood chopping, etc. in addition to their specialised functions. The Evenk shamans are themselves often very explicit about their obligations and duties in relation to their society. The way the Evenk shaman plays a role in this hunting-gathering society is not only informative with regard to the relation between the shaman and her/ his local society, but also with regard to the basic character and organisation of the society in itself. The shaman’s central role, for instance, seems to have been reflected in that their hunting territories often encompassed the central sacred sites of the groups they belonged to and served. In contrast to the Evenk shaman’s roles in their social context, the spiritual and ‘magic’ sides of their activities are not dealt with here, except where these support the understanding of the shaman’s relation to her/his society.

Introduction

informant can say: ‘You should ask that old grandfather or grandmother’. This means that the informant (who will often know the answer to your question but has not got the right to expose the answer to you because they are not keepers/owners of this part of the groups knowledge) leads you to the elder in the clan (rod in Russian) who is the ‘keeper’/owner of the information you look for so that she/ he can decide if it should be passed on to you - or not.

Descriptions of shamans in the literature tend to focus on either their ‘magic’ performances or on their mental characteristics, obviously ignoring the fact that the main part of their activities belong to the daily life sphere of their clans. For an understanding of the key role they hold in their society the less exotic sides of their lives are probably at least as important as their much more exotic professional abilities.

Even though a practising shaman is a well defined entity in Evenk society, other members of the society can be said to have more or less of ‘a shaman’s gift’. For instance old and experienced hunters, because of their ability to predict the behaviour of animals, are said to have a greater shaman’s gift than young hunters with less experience. It is also the case that more Evenk have been trained as shamans than those who actually practice shamanism. These nonpractising shamans can serve as ‘back-ups’ if the local practising shaman should die (normally there will only be ‘space’ for one practicing shaman in an Evenk clan). Some have chosen not to practise because it can be mentally very tough. In essence, Evenk society does not seem to have a sharp and well-defined border between those who master the shaman’s techniques and those who do not, though practising shamans still do have quite a well-defined role.

The ‘secrecy’ of Evenk shamans today is probably to some degree a feature developed during the Stalin Period when the Communists persecuted everything connected with religion (Forsyth 1992:287-296). Before that the shaman’s dwelling was, according to the Evenk informants, marked with a human figure carved in wood – or some other sign placed immediately outside it. Today, a discrete and secret sign is used to mark some shaman’s dwellings. But their present ‘secrecy’ to outsiders is mainly an expression of respect for the knowledge/abilities they control/are the owners of. It allows them to choose who they want to expose themselves to, this is not dissimilar to the way the word ‘bear’ is never mentioned directly in respect of this animal’s power and intelligence. This ‘secrecy’ is related to the fact that shamans and elders in Evenk society are ‘keepers’ or ‘owners’ of different parts of their clan’s sacred as well as practical knowledge. That means that they have a monopoly on disseminating the information they control and the right to choose whom it should be disseminated to.

Shamans and their society Evenk shamans are normally not visible in daily life. They wear the same clothes as other Evenk, they hunt and are active in normal day to day activities.

When you ask a question, your informant can typically answer: ‘I know nothing about that’, even though it is obvious that she or he knows quite a lot. To be helpful the

The traditional pattern was that each ‘larger’ Evenk clan (about 10 households) had its own practising shaman.

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Smaller clans normally formed strong alliances of approximately 10 households. Each of these alliances would normally function in a similar way to the larger clans. In this way, each alliance would typically have one practising shaman and, like the larger clans, its own smith and possibly a harness-maker.

few groups, and I have information about an Evenk woman who lost her 8-year-old son in the taiga, during such an exercise in the 90s. The methods of knowledge transfer in Evenk society differ significantly from those employed in our society. A central element of this is the physical demonstration of some activity for the ‘apprentice’ to imitate with a minimum of oral instruction. When oral instruction is used the strategy is to organize it as anecdotal indications or to let the receiver ‘guess’ solutions to ‘riddles’ (Barth 2002; Dunfjeld 2001:28; Fors 2004:6; Hamilton 1980; Native Science 2006; Sillitoe 1998).

It is important to understand that the members of Evenk hunter-gatherer society are normally quite specialised. This includes hunters; different hunters are specialists in different types of hunt. The younger hunters do the active hunting while the older ones go into support functions when their physical abilities decrease (drive supplies on sledges, transport and store the meat, etc.). The oldest daughters often become the best at processing skin and fur because they become their mother’s helpers to a higher degree than their younger sisters. The practising shaman is the most important of the specialists belonging to his group, but it is important to recognise that he is one of several specialists. Additionally, under normal circumstances he will still be hunting to obtain food, fishing, trapping, and repairing his gear etc. with support from the other experts.

In a society, where observation is of primary importance, it is not surprising that an ‘expert-observer’ can observe things that to us give an impression of magic. The shamans observe the animal’s behaviour, the cyclic variations in the different animal populations, the plant’s development, the weather, etc. - altogether such a large amount of data that she/he is not able to deal with it all in a conscious way. On the basis of this information they are able to make ‘intuitive’ predictions about the future. They underline the importance of intuition in their predictions. As several of those I know have stated clearly, they can never be 100% sure that their predictions are correct, but the more observations and experience they compile the better their predictions tend to become. Aleksandra Chirkova’s (2) reaction was typical for a shaman’s attitude, when I used the concept ‘supernatural’ in a discussion with her. ‘There is nothing above nature – and therefore it is nonsense to talk about anything supernatural. We observe nature and we use what we observe’. However, one must be aware that they do not delimit the concept ‘nature’ in exactly the same way as we do.

An Evenk shaman has to win the acceptance of his society to become accepted as a practising shaman. If there is more than one trained candidate, this can develop into proper competition. According to an informant, in one village there was a veritable competition between three candidates, to be accepted as practising shamans. They were young men of approximately the same age. According to his information they all won acceptance, but practiced in different areas. One of them was apparently a ‘travelling’ shaman with the informant serving as his assistant for a period, before he settled. A proper Evenk shaman can never receive regular payment for his services. His ‘duty’ as a shaman is to ‘be kind to people (mainly his own clan) and to help them as best he can’. But of course he receives presents from those he helps. Therefore a shaman will often be one of the wealthier people in his group, though he does not distinguish himself significantly because of this.

Some Evenk shamans are more naturalist than believers in the ‘religion’ they officially promote in their own society (spirits, deities etc.). They distinguish between the formal ‘religious’ terminology they operate within, and the more ‘observation-based’ techniques they employ. They see it as their duty as shamans to provide the ordinary members of their society with a world concept that makes it easier to live their lives in a ‘difficult world’. However, it is important to understand that the naturalist shamans tend to see nature and its forces as controlled by some inner spiritual principle, so that one can say that they are ‘atheists’ in relation to the formal religion they promote, but that they, as observers of nature, accept a spirituality that differs from their society’s ‘conventional’ spirituality/religious ideology.

Another typical statement Evenk shamans often make is that they ‘are observers of nature’. To understand the importance of ‘observation’ in Evenk society, one must understand its role in the way individuals obtain knowledge. Traditionally the boys went through an extremely hard ‘training’ from their 6th to their 12th year. They were often left alone in the taiga and had to rely on their own observations of the animals, the vegetation, the weather, the landscape, etc. to survive and find the way back to their household. Those who were not able to do that would lose their way, starve and become the prey of predators. No ‘developed’ initiation rite has been identified in Evenk society (some had contests at some assemblies where the boys had to prove that they had ‘strong legs’ by being able to jump over four to five sledges standing side by side) and it seems likely that the boy’s 6-years period of hardship served as their main initiation rite. This practice is still followed by a

In my opinion the best way to describe a practising shaman’s role in the clan/clan-alliance is as its expert observer of nature as well as a qualified user of some of the phenomena she/he observes in the service of society. Practising shamans were/are not often clan leaders (Shirokogoroff 1935:378). They are important advisors that the clever clan-leader will normally consult before making any important decisions. At the annual autumn

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assemblies among the hunting and gathering Evenk groups the shamans normally have an important role as advisor in the negotiations about which of the clan’s households will occupy which parts of the clan’s territory in the following season. The individual household’s territory can vary from year to year. The strategy attempts to place good elk-hunters where there should be a good population of elk that year, good trappers where the sable will appear in large numbers that year, etc. It can take into account all kinds of matters that are relevant for the members of the group, for instance that fanatic card-players become neighbours (so that they just have to walk one or two days to have a game of cards), that a person who is good at building birch-bark canoes will get access to birch trees with the right quality of bark, etc. As the group’s expert-observer of nature, a qualified shaman will be the one with the best overview of the total situation.

arrived at a camp with three tents in the taiga, the mistress of the clan-leaders tent told us: ‘How nice that you came! For half a year we have only had our own faces to look at!’ When the Communists tried to get the Evenk to settle in villages they successfully used entertainment such as banja (sauna) and films as bait. The shaman’s performances, which serve as entertainment as well as healing (sometimes only as entertainment), traditionally were carried out in a tent where small children were not allowed access. The children were placed in another tent with a grown-up to look after them. To improve the audience’s ability to ‘see’ people were normally given a brew made with mushrooms before the séance started. It was not unknown among the better informed members of the society that hypnosis and drugs were part of the performance, however but this did not reduce the entertainment-value, rather even though we know that the actors killed in a film are not killed in reality, this does not reduce our excitement watching it.

One of the central roles of the shaman is as a curer of diseases. In this field they employ a number of different techniques, such as healing, hypnosis, plant medicine, etc. Different shamans can develop expertise in different methods. Like other keepers of knowledge they also have an obligation to up-date their knowledge. That means they need to include new, useful methods into their repertoire. In this perspective Aleksandra Chirkova’s attitude is interesting and has provoked a number of more conservative shamans. In addition to her training as a traditional Eveni shaman by her famous father (Chirkova 2002) she also has been educated as a medical doctor. To my question if she didn’t feel a conflict between using traditional and modern medical methods her answer was: ‘No. For some diseases the methods of the traditional shaman are best; for some, modern medicine is best. As a shaman my duty is to cure my patients by using the methods that are best suited’.

Evenk Shamans living in sacred sites and villages At the assemblies (for the hunting and gathering Evenk the main assemblies are normally in September-October when the reindeer migrate to their winter quarters), the groups would agree on the annual movements of single households within their clan territories – as already mentioned with the shaman as the main negotiator. This meant that everybody would know where everybody would be located through the coming season. For social groups dispersed across large areas, it is essential that they are able to find each other should that become necessary. Because the shaman of a clan/alliance was such a central person, he would stay in the sacred assembly site for most of the year so that he would be easily accessible if he was needed. Old people, who were unable to follow the movements of their households, would stay with the shaman at their clan’s sacred assembly site. Evenk informants around 30-40 years of age can still describe how, as children, they participated in large assemblies at ‘very sacred sites’ where the shaman lived. They also remember the shaman’s séances in which they were not allowed to participate, though they remember sometimes managing to peep under the cover of the performance tent if they succeeded in making their grownup guard fall asleep.

It is interesting that from a traditional perspective she may have a relevant point in this respect. As the keeper of a shaman’s knowledge, she is not only obliged to maintain the knowledge she has received, but also to up-date it, so that it is still relevant for the one she is going to pass it on to. The keeper’s role is not static. At the moment there is a heated discussion between, on the one side conservative traditional shamans, who claim that healers using modern medicine cannot call themselves ‘shamans’, and on the other side a group including Aleksandra Chirkova that states that the conservative shamans, by rejecting the new medical methods available and by not coming forward and taking on a public role in their own groups, have not fulfilled their roles as shamans. Chirkova believes that had they done so, they would have provided the different indigenous groups with a much stronger self-identity that would have been helpful for their adaptation and ability to cope with modern society.

The central sacred sites can be recognised as concentrations of features such as faces and figures carved into the tree trunks, frames of shamans tents with helping spirits carved in wood and indications of heavy general settlement such as tent-rings, remains of platforms, burials, old hearths, birth-huts etc. Because the assembly sites over time will be moved around within a somewhat larger area to let the ground regenerate after intensive habitation (‘the camp starts to stink’ as the Evenk put it) as well as for other reasons, a ‘central assembly site’ can easily develop over time into a 10 km long ‘blurred’ concentration of features along a river (Grøn 2005; Grøn & Kosko 2007).

Traditionally, the shaman was also an important entertainer. Entertainment is of enormous importance in a society where the population the main part of the year is dispersed in groups of one or a couple of households. They get bored and they develop an urge for after entertainment. When we

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Some central sacred sites were in use not more than 20 years ago and may in some places have been in use even more recently. A group of clans would normally alternate their main assembly between their different assembly sites, so that a larger group could meet on an annual basis. According to some informants the visiting clans organised their tents in a circle. People would dance around ‘the centre pole of the tent of the universe’, a pole with a ‘gagara’ (loon) carved as its top. Those I know danced around a tree that performed the same symbolic function (Grøn & Kosko 2007).

were normally directly related to the clans’ central sacred sites and they had a responsibility to look after old people and ensure they had food. The logic of this system is that the old people would also be located where the best health care was. Travelling shamans were quite rare. The norm was that shamans had a permanent connection with the clan/ alliance with which they stayed. The travelling shamans normally travelled because they had not won acceptance as practitioners in their own group. They travelled to find a place where they could win acceptance. If they were not successful, they would normally give up their attempts to become practising shamans (Shirokogoroff 1935:350).

The Communists preferred the Evenk to live in permanent villages with wooden houses in the Russian style. In some cases they forced them. What seemed to happen in many cases where the Evenk moved into villages whose function was as ‘hunting-gathering’ collective farms, the active hunters would used the village as an extra assembly camp. They would in fact only be resident in the summer, when the hunting is at its lowest and their children would be home from boarding-school (if the village didn’t have one of its own). So for the main part of the year many of these villages were – and are – populated by old people who would have lived previously in their clan’s assembly sites.

It is difficult to obtain information about evil shamans – or ‘black’ shamans – because the Evenk do not like to discuss them. This may be because they are afraid but also because of a general custom, that one should never say bad things about others, no matter how disliked they are. It took many years to obtain information that a ‘black’ shaman had actually lived in one of the villages I worked in. To gain information about this individual’s name, social relations, position, status, attitude etc. was practically impossible, even though he seemed to have left the village only about 10 years before we started our work there.

The sacred assembly sites tended to become removed from the villages even before the Communist Period (at the latest at the end of the 19th century – but possibly earlier), They were apparently hidden in the forest a few kilometres away from transport corridors, often not far from the villages, so that they were invisible and accessible at the same time. During the Communist period, when religious activity was prohibited, the tendency seems to have been that the more religious and ritual parts of the assemblies were celebrated in the hidden sacred assembly sites out of sight of the local Communist administrations residing in the villages (but quite often with their knowledge), whereas other parts of the assemblies were held in the villages.

Spirituality in Evenk society – shamans and commoners So-called spirits have an important place in Evenk world-view, society and practical daily-life. Good spirits, bad spirits, protecting spirits, helping spirits, spirits of dead persons, spirits of lakes, rivers, trees, mountains, etc. all exist, though confusingly enough, the Evenk are monotheists. Their central God possesses all power in the world and owns everything, but because ‘he is not aware of it’ one has to negotiate with the local spirits and lower Gods. Through offerings and other manipulations one can attempt to win their acceptance and support.

That many Evenk shamans live in the villages today is a logical continuation of their practice of staying in the central assembly sites. As it has recently become legal to celebrate the festivals that traditionally are part of the main assemblies, one can also observe a new tendency to carry out religious celebrations in recently organised assembly sites in the immediate vicinity of the villages (Grøn & Kosko 2007). In modern Russia, developing as it is on the basis of a formally atheist Communist Regime, there is a diverse representation of religions. To practise pagan religion is today largely unproblematic (for instance shamanism the official ‘state religion’ of the Sacha Republic). Aggressive missions from Baptists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and other Christian groups however, may be in the process of changing that.

It is quite normal that practicing shamans distinguish between persons, who are well-informed about religion, cosmology and ritual on one side and on the other side the ‘commoners’ (Shirokogoroff 1935:375). It is quite obvious that to these ‘commoners’ the rituals, they perform are often just a matter of routine – conducted in order not to hamper their hunting luck, etc. They may forget to ‘feed the fire’ (to give a bit of the meat to the fire in the hearth), when they have killed an animal. They regard the shamans as serving the spirits and gods of their religion and in control of supernatural powers. They are practical people who are not very concerned about or attracted to, the spiritual world. That there is a significant distinction between the knowledge and world-view of the ‘professionals’ and the ‘commoners’, and that it has always been like this, is a generally accepted fact in Evenk society as well as in other small-scale societies (Læstadius 2003:52; Shirokogoroff 1935:375).

According to Shirokogoroff some male shamans were not very good hunters (Shirokogoroff 1935:378-379). However those I know and have obtained information about in many cases lived with their families and hunted just like the other male members of their groups. Their hunting territories

The naturalist world-view of some of the shamans I know

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is of such a character that they actually reject the idea of individual and conscious spirits as anything other than a ‘popular’ belief which serves to provide the commoners with a more comfortable existence. Their belief system seems to focus on the souls of the living creatures and on the three basic cosmological elements: fire (the upper world), earth (the middle world) and water (the underworld), with fire and water being the most important ones. Alexandra Chirkova explicitly stated that the features her father called spirits is what she today calls ‘forces’ – ‘but they are the same thing’. The central point for her was the acceptance of the soul of living individuals and objects as an inner entity that could not be explained through science.

the atmosphere today that a sent signal would tend to drown. As a more realistic alternative they have pointed to features related to ‘electron spin’. One such feature is that electrons that once had opposite ‘spins’ in relation to each other, seem able to coordinate spin changes with each other in absolute parallel, that is, with a speed that exceeds that of the light (Aspect et al. 1982) and thus violate the speed of the light as Einstein’s stated maximum speed of the universe (Einstein 1905). This opens the way for an alternative type of physical signal transmission that does not ‘lose its energy’ because of the distance between sender and receiver, and possibly represents a case where the idea of ‘sender’ and ‘receiver’ may lose its meaning.

A similar point of view was expressed to Knud Rasmussen by the Alaskan Inuit shaman Najagneq, who admitted that he at times deceived his fellow-Inuit. Asked what the Human Being consisted of, he answered: ‘Of the body, which is what you see; of the name, which you have inherited from a deceased [you are thought to be a reincarnation of]; and then of something else, a strange force, which we call Yutir – the soul, that which gives all the living life, shape and appearance’ (Rasmussen 1943:129).

Interesting in relation to telepathy is the recent research into magneto-receptor systems used by animals for navigation. Many animals do apparently rely on two parallel magneto-receptor systems; a chemical reaction mechanism involving a specialized photoreceptor molecule called the ‘radical pair model’ relying on an electron spin phenomenon and furthermore an iron-mineral based system (Phillips & Borland 1992; Ritz et al. 2004; Solov’yov & Greiner 2007). Continued research in this field could offer a scientific explanation for telepathy. It could confirm the opinion of the Evenk shamans, and that of Shirokogoroff, who understand it to be a natural phenomenon.

The medical techniques of the shamans discussed so far - hypnosis and the use of drugs/plant medicine - are not in conflict with modern science. Their highly developed ability to diagnose by visual screening of their patients is also in good accordance with what good practitioners of western medicine were able to do before widespread access to X-ray equipment made this type of skill less important. Hand scanning of patients bodies (to survey the state of the patients inner organs by scanning their body with the hands) as well as their telepathic techniques (mind-reading, distant communication with other individuals), which to the Evenk represent simply exploitation of natural features, have a problem gaining general acceptance as anything other than super-natural phenomena by today’s standards.

As I have no observations of the Evenk shamans’ use of ‘auto-suggestive regulation of dreams’ and ecstasy, which Shirokogoroff regards as a part of their telepathic abilities or of the phenomenon of hand scanning, I have at present no comments on these abilities. In general the shamans’ methods are also used to a lesser extent by other members of their society, though not with the same systematic approach and authority. Conclusion With the somewhat excessive interest the theme of shamans tends to raise today, which is generally based upon a blind focus on a restricted and ‘exotic’ fraction of their activities and abilities and totally ignores their social and environmental context, it is important to understand the less exotic aspects of their lives to obtain a reasonable balance in the way they are understood. Like the conceived ‘primitivism’ of small-scale cultures, the ‘magic’ of their shamans is one of the fascinating ‘traps’ of our attention, that easily blurs our understanding of what actually goes on in small-scale societies.

In Evenk terminology the soul is a central concept in the ‘explanation’ of the telepathy-related phenomena. The shaman ‘sends his soul’. He can take control of the soul of another human being or animal. The ability to control the souls of other creatures is the essence in the tests applied by the Evenk to travellers who claim to be shamans. They are asked to describe the immediate situation with some recognisable characteristics in a place they have never visited. If a check demonstrates that they were correct, they are accepted as real shamans and not rejected as charlatans. The technique employed by the claimed shaman is to ‘make contact with the soul of an animal in the specified location and control it so that she/he can move it around within the area and make observations through its senses.

The way the individual Evenk shaman serves as keeper of her/his professional knowledge, is similar to the way other members of their society, generally elders, serve as keepers of the knowledge of how to put up a tent, how to process skin and fur, how to build bark boats, etc. The way the Evenk shamans disseminate their knowledge is also not special for them, but typical for their society. They are highly skilled and often intelligent individuals with observation skills that are exceptional compared to ours, but in principle not different from for instance the good

Shirokogoroff regards the Evenk shamans use of telepathy as based on a physical phenomenon that was not fully understood at the time (Shirokogoroff 1935:361). Physicists I have discussed the phenomenon with suggest electromagnetic signals are an unlikely candidate for a physical explanation, because there is so much noise in

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Evenk hunters’ ability to observe and intuitively understand the processes in their environment.

and furthermore to discuss with her on email. She is a bit more consequent in her attitude than the ‘naturalist’ Evenk shamans I know/knew (unfortunately some of the important ones have died recently) and therefore a good example of the direction of their thinking.

The Evenk shamans are their society’s specialists in curing diseases, creating mental well-being and understanding the dynamics of the resources in their environment. Many of them have a very ‘naturalist’ approach to the world and reject the term super-natural, because as they see it, nothing can exist above the nature they observe and deal with. According to their belief everything in nature has a soul. This is not seen as supernatural but as a ‘spiritual’ aspect of nature.

References Aspect, A., Dalibard, J., Roger, G. 1982. Experimental Test of Bell’s Inequalities Using Time-Varying Analyzers. Physical Review Letters, vol.49, no.25. 1804-1807. Barth, F. 2002. An Anthropology of Knowledge. Current Anthropology, vol. 43, No.1, Feb. 2002. P.1-18. Chirkova, A. 2002. Shaman: Life and Immortality (шаман: жизнь и бессмертие). Yakutsk. Dunfjeld, M. 2001. Tjaalehtjimmie. Form og innhold I sørsamisk ornamentikk. PhD-thesis from the University in Tromsø. Einstein, A. 1905. On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies. Annalen der Physik vol.17. 891–921. Fors, G. 2004. Selskinn som en mulig ressurs. Bruk av sel i Finnmark, Grønland og Island. Master’s thesis from Høgskolen i Finnmark, Norway. Forsyth, J. 1992. A History of the Peoples of Siberia. Russia’s North Asian Colony 1581-1990. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. Grøn, O. 2005.  A Siberian perspective on the north European Hamburgian Culture: a study in applied hunter-gatherer ethnoarchaeology. Before Farming [online version] 2005/1 article 3. Grøn, O. & Kosko, M.M. 2007. Stonehenge – Olenok, Siberia: Universals or different phenomena? Ethnoarchaeological observations of a midsummer rite. (eds. Larsson, M. & Parker Pearson, M.) From Stonehenge to the Baltic: Living with Cultural Diversity in the Third Millennium BC. British Archaeological Reports International Series No. 1692. Oxford. Hamilton, A. 1980. Nature and Nurture. Canberra 1980. Læstadius, L.L. 2003. Fragmenter I Lappska Mythologien. Gudalära. Angelica Forlag AS. Tromsø. Native Science 2006. www.nativescience.org/html/ traditional_knowledge.html, 17/01/2006. Phillips, J.B., Borland, S.C. 1992. Behavioural evidence for use of a light-dependent magnetoreception mechanism by a vertebrate. Nature, vol. 359, 10 September 1992. 142-144. Rasmussen, K. 1943. Den store slæderejse. Gyldendalske Boghandel. Copenhagen. Ritz, T., Thaulau, P., Phillips, J.B., Wiltschko, R., Wiltschko, W. 2004. Resonance effects indicate a radical-pair mechanism for avian magnetic compass. Nature, vol. 429, 13 May 2004. 177-180. Shirokogoroff, S. 1935. Psychomental Complex of the Tungus. Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co., Ltd. London. Sillitoe, P. 1998. The Development of Indigenous Knowledge. A New Applied Anthropology. Current Anthropology vol. 39, No. 2. 224-252. Solov’yov, I.A., Greiner, W. 2007. Theoretical Analysis of an Iron Mineral-Based Magnetoreceptor Model in

The way the Evenk shamans traditionally seem to have been located in the single clan’s central sacred sites and thus were easily accessible for their user-group underlines their practical importance in the Evenk society. Today shamans often stay in villages that have a similar function - as central sites for a larger number of clans. In my opinion it is difficult to imagine hunting-gathering societies without the roles and functions taken on by the Evenk shamans. It seems logical that somebody in a human social group must take responsibility for curing diseases, for connection with the deities who control the hunting luck, etc. Since these functions involve highly skilled manipulation of the groups other members, which is also ideal for entertainment, it is natural that a dichotomy will develop between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ with regard to these powerful techniques. This has the result of placing the shaman in a powerful and central social position in her/ his group. Since generally acceptable indications of the presence of shamans in Old Stone Age societies are as rare as one should expect given the lack of physical visibility of recent Evenk shamans, the most reliable approach to the problem seems to be the assumption that the function of the shaman is necessary in a such small-scale societies. The question is then how far back one can stipulate such a model. Notes 1) The ethnoarchaeological research in Evenk huntergatherers has been carried out as part of initiatives from the Polish Research Council, the Norwegian Research Council, and the Ethnographic Context Module within the Baikal Archaeology Project supported by Major Collaborative Research Initiative grant no. 421-2000-1000 from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. 2) Information not covered by references to publications is based on recorded interviews and the authors’ field notes from the period 1997-2005. Because the Evenk shamans are generally not happy about exposure I have in some cases used the Eveni shaman Aleksandra Chirkova from Yakutsk in the Sacha Republic (Yakutia) as an exponent for the points of view of the ‘naturalist’ shamans. She has deliberately exposed herself in the public debate, and I have had the opportunity to meet her two times in Yakutia

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Birds. Biophysical Journal, vol. 93, September 2007. 1493–1509.

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Chapter 13 Strategy Blurring: Flexible Approaches to Subsistence in East Timor1

Sandra Pannell and Sue O’Connor Abstract: Anthropological accounts commonly characterize East Timorese societies as swidden agriculturalists. Subsistence is primarily based upon the cultivation of corn, dry rice, root crops and vegetables, and small-scale animal husbandry of buffalo, goats and pigs. These accounts invariably point to the precarious nature of the agricultural cycle across most of Timor, governed as it is by the harsh physical environment of the island and dependent upon the often unreliable rains of the northwest monsoon. As several anthropologists point out, in East Timorese society, indigenous rituals are accorded a pivotal role in local efforts to overcome these adverse ecological conditions. While agricultural rites represent an important social measure to influence the outcome of cultivation practices, little if anything is said in the anthropological literature pertaining to Timor about local hunting and gathering as a risk-minimisation subsistence strategy commonly utilized by swidden agriculturalists. In contrast to the anthropology, the archaeology highlights the problems underlying the characterization of the island’s late Holocene subsistence economy as agricultural. Archaeological findings from all sites excavated to date reflect a predominantly hunter-gatherer lifestyle up until the historical period. Despite the orthodox view that agriculture was the catalyst propelling the dispersal of Austronesianspeakers through ISEA and out into the Pacific in the mid to late Holocene (Bellwood 1997:70, 202-3), the archaeological record holds little other than pottery to attest to economic or socio-cultural change (O’Connor 2006). Most of the agricultural crops grown today are of limited antiquity being predominantly South American introductions, post dating Portuguese contact. Focusing upon local strategy switching and blurring, in this paper we explore how an ethno-archaeological approach to subsistence addresses the anthropological invisibility of hunter-gatherer lifestyles and also provides a more complex view of the archaeological record in East Timor.

Introduction: ‘A Geography which Struggles’

increasing population (Geertz 1963). While not intended as such, Geertz’s conclusions about swidden agriculture appeared to reinforce existing and overly negative perceptions of these systems as primarily “attended by serious deforestation and soil erosion” (Geertz 1963:1516).2

The island of Timor could be regarded, to borrow Edward Said’s expression, as a ‘geography which struggles’ (1993:6). Our understanding of this geography is dominated by a discourse of destruction and degradation. Writings about the island and its people commonly talk about the ‘Timor tragedy’ or the ‘Timor problem’. As James Dunn’s account reveals, the tragedy of Timor (see Dunn1983:xi) is a story of gross injustice and local suffering, linked to the dismal failure of the international community to respond to Indonesia’s invasion of East Timor in 1974. Since independence in 2002, it seems that ‘poverty and unemployment” are contributing to a ‘new tragedy’ in the world’s latest nation-state (BBC World News Service, AsiaPacific, Country Profile – East Timor).

The characterization of local subsistence systems as “voracious slash-and-burn agricultural regime[s]”, with “low agrarian production” (McWilliam 2002:1), responsible for Timor’s environmental ‘problem’, has prompted a significant national and international development effort aimed at changing local land use practices and improving the country’s economic circumstances. Yet, as delegates attending East Timor’s first ever conference on ‘Sustainable Development and the Environment’, held in Dili in 2001, identified, “400 years of colonization by Portugal, and 25 years of occupation by Indonesia” (Doares 2001:11) has also contributed to the process of ecological degradation.

Timor’s ‘problem’, on the other hand, is said to be an island-wide ecological crisis, caused by swidden agricultural systems and population pressure. While first identified by F.J. Ormeling in 1956, it was Clifford Geertz’s study of ecological change in Indonesia, which popularized the notion that local shifting cultivation systems in the ‘Outer Islands’ were inherently fragile and maladaptive to

While conference delegates emphasized the rampant “destruction” (Doares 2001:20) of the environment resulting Since the publication of Geertz’s study in the early 1960s, there has been a considerable body of research and commentary contesting what Michael Dove identifies as the “then-orthodox deprecation of the ecology and economy of marginal peoples” (Dove 2000:239). As a number of authors have observed, these academic contestations went hand-inhand with the mid 1960s “rediscovery and reinvention of Indigenous Knowledge” (Ellen and Harris 2000:12) and the concomitant critique of western knowledge and its application to economic and social development (see Hobart 1993). 2

1 A version of this paper was originally presented at the World Archaeological Conference Inter-Congress entitled ‘Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge: Ethnoarchaeology, Huntergatherers, Ephemeral Cultural Aspects’, 5-8 Sept. 2007, Institute of Archaeology, University of Lodz, Poland.

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from this history of colonization and forced occupation, it is a history which also alerts us to the adaptive nature of Timorese subsistence practices. For many so-called ‘farming’ communities throughout East Timor, critical to their survival throughout this turbulent history was a reliance upon a variety of resources gained from hunting and gathering activities in local forests and woodlands, waterways and inshore marine areas.

East Timor indicates that agricultural production was only carried out, at a fairly non-intensive level, late in the prehistoric record. Although much of the archaeological evidence is derived from cave deposits, which as Glover suggests arguably reflect a restricted range of subsistence activities, there is a mounting body of evidence from coastal sites, fortified settlements and burial contexts to suggest that as late as the historic period there was a significant reliance on a diverse range of ‘wild’ resources.

The anthropological and economic literature on East Timorese societies is somewhat silent about these practices, often depicting shifting cultivation as the sole means of subsistence or as the predominant “life paradigm” (Forman 1981:96). Yet, as the pages of history and the stuff of archaeological deposits indicate, an agricultural-centric model of Timorese life hasn’t always predominated.

Like Almeida, and as indicated by the archaeological record, McWilliam observes that so-called swidden agriculturalists “continue to draw heavily on the existing diminishing forest resources” (2001:89). However, he also suggests that the exploitation of forest-based resources for firewood, building materials, natural medicines and for ‘supplementary hunting’ is contributing to the “deteriorating condition of forest ecology” (ibid:90). Other accounts, notably by members of the government’s forestry unit, give the impression that these activities are relatively recent, and that local people are forced to exploit forest resources as a result of unemployment and high prices for staple items (Martins 2001:32), producing even further environmental degradation.

For example, on his visit to East Timor in 1861, Alfred Russell Wallace reports that “almost the only exports of Timor are sandal-wood and bees’-wax” (1872:199). Identifying bees-wax as the more ‘valuable’ and ‘important’ of these two products, Wallace provides a detailed and vivid description of native men harvesting honey and wax from a wild bee colony in the forests above Dili.3 Sandalwood and wax are also mentioned as two of the products of Timor recorded by Pigafetta in 1522, while one of the first European references to Timorese sandalwood, dating from 1518, identifies “sanders-wood, honey, wax, slaves and also a certain amount of silver” (Dames 1921:195-96) as traded items from the island.4 Some three hundred years later, George Grey, summarising the state of trade in the Indian archipelago, reports that the produce of Timor consists of “goats, pigs, poultry, maize, paddy [sic], yams, plantains, fruit, sandal-wood, bees-wax and tortoiseshell” (Grey 1841, Volume 1:282).

The anthropologist, Claudine Friedberg, is one of the few writers to explore the relationship between the activities that take place in these forested areas and agricultural practices (1989). As Friedberg discusses, among the Bunaq, whose traditional lands fall around the southern border area, agriculture is dependent upon the ritual hunting of wild pigs and the gathering of forest fruits and medicinal plants. Critical to local ritual is the exchange of these noncultivated items with the ancestors of the ‘upperworld’ and between members of the village community prior to the sowing and harvesting of the rice and maize crops. Friedberg’s discussion points to a more integrated view of subsistence, where hunting and gathering and agricultural cultivation are inter-dependent and mutually linked to the reproduction of the village’s social and territorial integrity.

In the twentieth century, the archaeologist, Ian Glover, makes mention of non-agricultural subsistence practices in East Timor, and discusses how caves are used as “temporary camps for parties out hunting in the dry season” (1986:206). According to Glover, “cave occupation reflected mostly the hunting and collecting aspects of life”, which he believes did not reflect the “total Timorese way of life” (1986:206-207). In contrast, the Portuguese archaeologist, Antonio de Almeida, found that hunting and fishing by the inhabitants of East Timor contributed to a “great part of their maintenance” (1957:241). Almeida discusses at length communal hunting of deer, boar and buffaloes, and reports upon the local procurement of shrimps, eels, fish, lobsters, oysters, crabs, turtles and tuna in from the rivers, fresh and salt water lagoons and the seas of East Timor.

In this sense, so-called Bunaq ‘farming rituals’ represent the ongoing work required in the ‘production of locality’ and a distinctive subjectivity or ‘sense of place’ (see Appadurai 1996). As Appadurai points out, place is produced through the intersection of social relations, expressions of identity and the practice of culture. As the Bunaq example illustrates, the production of locality thus involves various relationships to land and landed practices, not simply those designated as ‘swidden agriculture’ or characterized as ‘hunting and gathering’.

While the twentieth-century observations of Glover and Almeida appear at odds, archaeological evidence from

Acknowledging the problem with isolating and packaging specific practices as such and thus disregarding the social and cultural context in which knowledge is generated and put to practical use, in this paper we adopt a more holistic view of subsistence than previously reported. For example, in a recent paper focused upon the Fataluku-speaking5

Gunn reports that in the early nineteenth century, more than 20,000 piculs [a local measure of weight, equivalent to 137 lbs, according to Echols and Shadily (1990:428)] of bees wax was exported annually from Portuguese ports in Timor (1999:115). 4 Other products recorded by Pigafetta are “ginger, buffaloes, pigs, goats, fowls, rice, bananas, sugarcane, organs, lemons … almonds, beans and gold” (cited in Glover 1986:11). 3

Throughout this paper we adopt the orthography identified by the ‘Fataluku Language Project’, a community-based project conducted under 5

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Alahu and Tahi (forest & sea)

districts of Com and Méhara, we briefly reported on inshore reef fishing and littoral zone foraging, and observed that “various species of game birds, together with deer, wild pigs, monkeys, civet cat and cuscus are regularly hunted by local people” (2005:196-197). Also commenting on the subsistence practices of Fataluku people in the Lautem district, McWilliam reports that “hunting in the forests and coastal margins is regularly undertaken and states that the local population relies on a “wide variety of forest products” (2006:2). While these references to Fataluku hunting and gathering practices constitute notable exceptions in the overall literature, there is a strong suggestion that these activities are merely secondary or supplementary to agricultural production.

The agrarian image of Timorese society is reinforced by the overall impression presented in the literature that East Timor comprises a “harsh” arid landscape which has been cleared, cultivated and, ultimately, degraded by the actions of humans. Yet, throughout this same countryside can be found tracts of primary rain and montane cloud forest, as well as swathes of secondary vegetative growth. Reported upon by several commentators from as early as 1885 (see Forbes 1885:454), many of these forest ‘groves’ persist into the present because of the ‘lulic’8 or ‘sacred’ status accorded them by the local custodial community (see also Ormeling 1956:85; King 1963:148-50; Metzner 1977:98; Glover 1986:21; Traube 1986:295; Therik 2000; McWilliam 2001:90). As the naturalist, Henry Forbes discovered, much to his disappointment, a range of ritual prohibitions exist regarding access and use of forested tracts designated as lulic.

Once again focusing upon the Fataluku-speaking district of Lautem, and more specifically the posto or ‘sub-district’ of Tutuala, we aim to make visible those livelihood practices eclipsed by the prevailing and materially visible picture of cleared fields and unproductive farmers.6 In this presentation we attempt to explore the more varied and dynamic nature of local patterns of ‘making a living’.7 Like the Bunaq context, in Tutuala these projects of placemaking are mediated by a quotidian engagement with the non-human beings endemic to this part of the Timorese landscape. As Friedberg’s discussion indicates, the ‘lifeforce’ emanating from these beings traverses social groups and “cuts across village boundaries”, blurring any sense of local places and livelihood practices as immutable, bounded or homogenous.

‘Sacred’ or tei forests also exist throughout the district of Lautem, which is a fertile and well-watered region, supporting large expanses of primary and secondary-growth forest (see figure 1). The existence of extensive tracts of forested land as an integral part of this landscape is not just, however, a function of the protection offered through the local value placed upon ‘sacred groves’. As we discuss in this paper, the concept of lulic, or tei in Fataluku, is inextricably linked to other cultural conventions, social relations and place-making activities. In the Tutuala area, we argue that forests persist because social identities are forged in these spaces and “they take on the complexity of associations with the forest landscape as a fabric of diverse social and natural resources” (Tsing 1993:62).

As we discuss, the diverse nature of Fataluku economic practices, entailing and blending agricultural and huntergatherer type activities, provides the kind of subsistence flexibility which enables local people to deal with chronic environmental uncertainty and radical political change. This flexibility certainly facilitated local, forest-based resistance to the Indonesian occupation in the period 1975-1999, with local Falintil members relying upon their extensive knowledge of forest foods and medicines and their expert hunting skills to survive and defeat the numerically superior Indonesian forces (see Pannell and O’Connor 2005; Collins et al. 2007).

In the Fataluku language, there are a number of terms used to describe forested spaces, which don’t specifically conform to the scientific classification of forest as ‘primary’, ‘secondary’ and so on. The general term for forest is alahu. Hoto is a term which is also used to generally describe forest but it also, more specifically, refers to ‘wilderness’, while forests containing wild animals are known as caikeri. Forest containing large, closed canopy trees is called irinu9 – a reference to the mature or ‘old’ (irine) status of these trees, while young, re-growing brush is called totoku. The forests around Tutuala also hold one of the richest and most diverse concentrations of painted rock art anywhere in Island Southeast Asia (see O’Connor 2003).

the auspices of the Instituto Nacional de Linguística at the Universidade Nacional Timor Lorosa’e. This project is sponsored by the Endangered Languages Program of NWO (Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research) and involves professional linguists from the University of Leiden. The orthography developed by this project differs slightly from the one used by researchers at the Language Documentation Center at the University of Hawaii at Manoa for the Fataluku language. 6 Michael Dove provides an insightful critique of the view of shifting cultivation as a delinquent pattern of resource extraction and its practioners as wasteful and unproductive (Dove 1983). 7 Tutuala is one of five posto or ‘sub-districts’ in the district of Lautem (the other posto are Iliomar, Lautem, Lospalos, and Luro). The district of Lautem has a population of some 57,453 residents (as of 2004). Previously the district capital was Lautem, but for some time now Lospalos has performed this function. Each sub-district is divided into a number of villages (suco), which in turn may contain several hamlets or aldéia. The posto of Tutuala includes the suco of Tutuala, Mehara, and Maupitine. The administrative head of the sub-district, the Chefé de Posto, resides in Tutuala. In the nested structure of local government in Timor Leste, each suco and aldéia also has an administrative head (the Chefé de Suco and Chefé de Aldéia, respectively). The suco of Tutuala comprises the hamlets or aldéia of Pitileti, Ioro, Vero and Cailoro.

Throughout these forests grow economically-important stands of bamboo (liru - four species are identified by informants), sugar palm (tua ma’arau), tamarind (kailemu) and timber (ete). The forest is also home to various species of game birds (aca hoto), together with deer (vaka hoto), wild pigs (pai hoto), monkeys (lua), bats (maca), civet Lulic is a Tetun word and equivalent terms exist in the other languages spoken in East Timor (see McWilliam 2001). 9 In his wordlist from Oirata, a “Timorese Settlement on Kisar”, Josselin de Jong records irim(i) as the word for “forest, bush” and also the term for “old”. Iririmi is given as the term for ‘brushwood’ (1937:24). 8

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Figure 1: Forests surrounding the settlement of Tutuala.

cat (pusa hoto) and cuscus (acuru), which are regularly hunted by local people. In addition to these faunal and floral resources, Fataluku men collect bees’ wax10 (vani capu) and honey (vani ira), the nests of swallows (lelilawu), building materials, root dyes, medicinal (eteasa)11 and poisonous plants from the forest, and in more recent times, graze buffalo (arapou) throughout this area.

and women regularly walk down the series of up-lifted limestone terraces to fish for both demersal and pelagic species, hunt for turtles, octopus and crustaceans, and collect various species of shell-fish in the inter-tidal zone and on the fringing reefs. In Late February and March, the Fataluku speaking communities in the Tutuala area and beyond collectively participate in the ceremonial harvest of sea worms (meci). We have also recorded the communal collection of sea urchins (see figure 3) and observed that during the low spring tides, the entire community combs the reef for shellfish, octopus and shellfish. More than a hundred years ago, the residents of Tutuala were photographed by members of the Siboga Expedition (in 1900) engaged in similar reef-based gathering activities (see figure 4). Hunting (haware) and gathering in the coastal zone is facilitated by the use of wooden canoes and boats (loiasu),12 bamboo spears (api coro), and hand-lines, while dogs, blow-pipes (tutufa), air guns, metal spears (coro) and twine and other kinds of traps (hilu) are used to hunt deer, monkeys and pigs in the forest (see figures 5 and 6).

Throughout the forest important subsistence resources such as lontar palms (kakalu), bamboo stands and coconut palms, as well as former garden sites (pala), are marked by ritual signs called lupurasa (see figure 2). Lupurasa signs, such as young coconuts and monkey skulls, warn others against using the marked object. Ignoring this warning is said to result in injury, sickness and sometimes death. According to informants, ratu groups possess their own distinctive lupurasa signs. In the Tutuala area, the forested landscape extends to the coast, and embraces both the ‘male sea’ (tahi calu) in the south (the Timor Sea) and the ‘female sea’ (tahi tupuru) in the north (the Strait of Wetar). Fataluku men

In the forest and along the coast, Fataluku hunter-gatherers obtain water from a range of sources, including permanent springs (ira ina) emerging at around an altitude of 300

10 Earl reports that in the 1850s ‘quasi-Papuan tribes’ from ‘Kapalla Tanah’ or the far eastern point of the island of Timor, in other words, Fataluku speakers, traded bees wax with traders from the ‘Serwatty Islands’ [the Southwestern Islands northeast of Timor, including Leti, Moa and Lakor] (Earl 1853:182-183). 11 A recent ethnobotanical study of medicinal and poisonous plants used by the East Timor resistance, undertaken in the proposed Nino Conis Santana National Park in the Lautem district of East Timor, identified more than forty medicinal and poisonous plants (see Collins et al.2007).

Loi is the term for ‘boat’ in the Austronesian language spoken on the island of Leti (Engelenhoven 1997:14). Josselin de Jong gives ‘rusunu’ as the term for a ‘native boat’ or ‘canoe’ in the Fataluku language spoken in the village of Oirata on the island of Kisar (1937:270). As McWilliam points out, there is considerable lexical borrowing from Austronesian languages in contemporary Fataluku speech (2004:6). 12

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Figure 2: A lupurasa structure, constructed of bamboo and adorned with unshelled coconuts, in a garden near Tutuala.

Figure 3: Collecting sea urchins on the beach near Ira Ara, July 2004. This is a collective venture involving men, women and children. The urchin contents are placed in glass jars.

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Figure 4: Residents of Tutuala hunting and gathering on the reef adjoining Valu beach, photographed by members of the Siboga Expedition in January 1900.

metres in the up-lifted limestone terraces; a number of spring-fed sources along the coast only accessible at low tide; seasonal rockholes (piaru) (often protected with a rock lid); ephemeral creeks and rivers (veru); temporary rain-filled depressions (luri), and drip seepage (cupucupu) and drip-fed pools in caves. The forested and coastal environment of the Tutuala region is known to local people in terms of a series of named locales. Names for an identified area often derive from the name of a former settlement located within that area. Conversely, some former settlements, such as Tutuhala, take their name from a nearby mythological site, which also defines the identity of the general locale. In some cases, locality names derive from specific environmental features. Throughout the forests of the Tutuala region, locales may also be known by the name of an individual tei site. In the district of Lautem, tei sites are marked by a specific configuration of physical structures. Most commonly, these sites are indicated by a platform of layered stones, at the middle of which is a hole. This hole contains either a carved wooden post or a plain, upturned tree root. In the forest environment, these wooden structures are often replaced by an upright stone(s) (matar teinu). Along the coastal zone, ancestral landing sites (ia mari tulia) and the ‘stone boats’

Figure 5: A Fataluku hunter in the forests of Tutuala, holding a bamboo blowpipe and darts.

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bears testimony to the indivisible relationship that exists between the physical environment and local traditions. The archaeological record points to the antiquity of this relationship, particularly to those activities associated with hunting and gathering in this part of East Timor. There are now ten cave sites with well excavated radiocarbon dated sequences from East Timor, which cover the Holocene period and which indicate changes in subsistence and lifestyle (see figure 8). Glover (1972, 1986) excavated Bui Ceri Uato (Fetu) and Lie Siri cave sites on the Baucau Plateau and Uai Bobo 1 and 2 in the mountains near Venilale, as well as carrying out a test pitting program at a number of other sites. In the period 2000-2003, an Australian team, which included the authors, excavated the cave sites, Lene Hara, Matja Kuru 1 and 2, and Telupunu in the district (distrito) of Lautem. Nuno Vasco Oliveira, from The Australian National University, returned to the Baucau Plateau in 2005 and carried out an excavation aimed at recovering a large sample of macro-botanical material from a cave known as Bui Ceri Uato Mane, adjacent to Glover’s Bui Ceri Uato (Fetu) (Oliveira 2006). Jerimalai cave in the posto (‘sub-district’) of Tutuala was excavated by the authors in 2005 and provides the longest continuing sequence of modern human occupation in Island South East Asia, dating back to 39,000 BP (O’Connor 2007). In the Pleistocene levels, the near coastal cave deposits contain a wide range of marine shellfish, fish and marine turtle. Other fauna include snakes, lizards, bats and a number of genera of large endemic rodents. The large endemic rodents weighed up to 4 kg and the archaeological evidence indicates that they formed part of the diet throughout prehistory.

Figure 6: Monkey trap, constructed of sharpened bamboo stakes, with a suspended corn lure, in the forests near Com.

of immigrant ratu (loiasu mataru) are also identified as tei sites.

In the early Holocene, predation on these species continued with the addition of the New Guinea cuscus, Phalanger orientalis, which must have been a human translocation (O’Connor 2006, 2007; O’Connor and Aplin 2007).

Tei are seen as malevolent and motivated forces, which occupy pre-existent places within the local landscape. They are said to ‘guard’ an area and the people of the clan group or ratu associated with it. Ratu members perform rituals at the tei to ensure prosperity, fertility and good health. While tei are often described as ‘wild’ or hoto, and many are said to be located throughout the forest, tei-based rituals involve ‘feeding’ these ‘wild’, indigenous beings with offerings involving predominantly exotic and ‘domesticated’ resources (see figure 7), such as “rice, eggs, pig meat and palm spirit” (Pannell 2006: 208).13 Unlike humans, however, to ‘cool’ the tei it is necessary to ‘feed’ (fane) it uncooked (u’ureke) food.

A range of exotic species (presumed to be domesticates) appear in the cave sequences in the late Holocene but in small quantities and not, as often stated, as a ‘package’ in tandem with pottery (O’Connor 2006). Recent research in the eastern reaches of the island indicates that pig and dog were brought to Timor sometime between 3000 and 4000 BP (O’Connor and Aplin 2006). A dog burial from Matja Kuru 2 is directly dated on the bone by AMS to 2967+/-50 BP, 3337 (3160-3081) 2952 calBP (WK-10051). Goat has not yet been detected at all in the eastern cave deposits and cattle and buffalo appear to be very recent arrivals. Chicken has also not yet been detected in the faunal suites of the cave sites but the bird fauna remains to be fully identified. Wild introductions in the late Holocene include deer, monkey and civet cat, as well as the commensal species the Polynesian and black rats Rattus exulans and Rattus rattus. The Polynesian and black rat distribution in the cave deposits closely mirrors that of pottery. Deer and monkey appear only in the most recent levels and may have been introduced in the historic period. Significantly, the

Ceremonies conducted at tei sites are not just for humans but for the environment as a whole. As such, the cultural beliefs and social practices associated with tei have wider ecological effects. As this suggests, for Fataluku people, nature and culture do not exist as separate realms of meaning or practice. The landscape of the Tutuala region This said, a colleague attended an ‘increase’ ceremony in the nearby village of Com, where only non-domesticated, but introduced resources, such as monkey, were consumed (Spriggs pers. comm.).

13

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Figure 7: ‘Feeding’ the tei at Lene Huca, in the forests of Tutuala, with a suckling pig, the juice from green coconuts, and palm spirit (in plastic water bottle).

Figure 8: The location of the ten excavated sites with radiocarbon dated sequences.

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same range of marine and terrestrial fauna found in early Holocene levels continue into the post-ceramic levels.

walls, while others are built along the extreme edge of steep cliffs and utilize the natural fortification provided by the cliff drop off.

The extinction of all the large endemic rodent fauna may bear witness to widespread forest clearance. The giant endemic rodents decline and ultimately disappear in the late Holocene, well after the appearance of pottery and exotic species, heralding their extinction in East Timor. While the giant rodents survived 35,000 years of human predation and the arrival of exotic species of domesticate and rats, they may have been susceptible to habitat loss. Direct dating of rat bones to determine with precision the timing of the extinction of the different giant genera is underway.

Landscape mapping carried out by the authors does not indicate any close spatial correlation between the location of these fortifications and water sources such as springs (see Lape and Chao 2008:13). It seems they were sited to take advantage of natural protection, rather than because of proximity to water or other resources. An exception to this observation appears to be the site of Ira Ara (‘water source’) on the coast near Com, which was occupied between the 15th and 19th centuries AD (Lape and Chao 2008: 16). As the name implies, this site is located close to a permanent spring. Ira Ara also contains burials. In units 3 (AD 1470 to 1660) and 2 (AD 1650-1810) fish made the greatest single contribution to the fauna (% NISP), complemented by bovid, chicken, pig (S. scrofa), dog and a variety of wild fauna such as deer and cuscus (Lape and Chao 2008: 17; Lape pers. comm.). Although assessing dietary contribution based on percentage NISP undoubtedly biases for small bodied animals, such as fish, from which many bones are discarded, and potentially underestimates meat contributed by large animals, such as buffalo, that are likely to be slaughtered and boned away from the living area, the Ira Ara NISP counts nonetheless demonstrate the important contribution that hunted/fished species were still making in the diet of these villagers. Interestingly, Lape (pers comm.) reports no giant rodents from Ira Ara, which may indicate that these animals were extinct by 1400 AD.

Forest clearance would have been facilitated by the introduction of metal tools, particularly iron, however, we do not yet know when iron use became widespread in East Timor. Glover (1986: 130 –131) reports a copper ornament at Uai Bobo 1 in a level dated to about 2000 BP and a bronze axe surface find in a cave in Baucau, but no iron tools have been recovered from any of the East Timor excavations. The date and the extent to which East Timorese had access to iron knives or to other tools is currently unknown. So far, stone axe/adze heads have not been recovered from the excavations, nor do we find the distinctive small flakes with faceted polished edges detached from the edges of stone axes or axe performs. A shell axe made on the hinge section of a giant clam (Tridacna sp.) was a surface find in Tutuala (O’Connor 2006: 81), while Glover (1986: 117, Plate 32) recovered a small fully polished shell adze in the Neolithic levels of Bui Ceri Uato. While these may have been useful for small woodworking tasks they would have been inadequate to the task of forest clearance. Prior to the widespread availability of iron, forest clearing in East Timor must have been undertaken predominantly by burning.

Ira Ara is just one of the hundreds of stone fortified settlements found throughout the Lautem district and, as indicated by the previous discussion, a number of these sites have now been test pitted and/or material obtained from within the perimeter of the stone walls for dating. Results of radiocarbon dating on marine shell and charcoal and OSL dating of pottery from the test pitted sites suggest that the fortified structures began to be constructed about 1300 AD (Lape 2006; Lape and Chao 2008).14 These results match well with the mainland trade ceramics recorded within the walled enclosures. Oral accounts indicate that walled villages continued to be constructed and used up until the middle of the twentieth century.

Lata – settlements related to mobility The popular characterization of Timorese society as agrarian conveys a sense of stable human settlement, with social identities forged in domesticated villages. In the sub-district of Tutuala, however, permanent village enclaves mostly date from the first years of the Indonesian occupation and the efforts of the governing authorities to practically control the populace through their resettlement on the edges of roads or along the coast. In contrast to the idea of fixed agrarian communities, heavily promoted and forcibly implemented during the Indonesian period, the oral histories of Tutuala-based ratu or ‘clan groups’ are stories about mobility, recalling as they do the establishment and abandonment of occupation sites by specific ratu as they moved throughout the forested upland areas of Tutuala. These sites include former walled and current open settlements (lata), caves (veraka) occupied by ancestral figures, and rock shelters and caves used in prehistory and during the Japanese and Indonesian occupation of the island. Several former settlements are also found on Jaco Island (Totina). The fortified compounds are built in remote hilltop locations. Some are completely enclosed by high

Lape (2006) and Lape and Chao (2008) link the emergence of fortified settlements in East Timor post 1000 AD with a period of rapid climate change associated with ENSO variation leading to resource scarcity and inter-group conflict. There is some evidence to suggest that the regional trade in slaves also played a role in the continued occupation of these fortified structures in the 17th and 18th centuries. For example, Andaya reports on the existence of established slave networks in Maluku in the early 1600s and further observes that the demand for slaves from the east increased when the VOC in 1689 “forbid the use of slaves from Butung, the Malay areas, Makassar, Bali and Java” (1991:83). In a commentary on ‘Papuans’ in the Indian Archipelago, Earl reports on the ‘quasi-Papuan tribes’ [I take this to be Fataluku speakers] of southeast Timor (1853:182). He observes that these people are wary of strangers and have good reason to be so because the “great slave mart of the Bughis and Macassar traders, Kapalla Tanah, or the Land’s-end, is in their immediate neighbourhood” (1853:182). ‘Kapalla Tanah’ [Kepala Tanah or ‘Head of the Land’] is the name that appears on maps from this period for the most eastern point on the island of Timor (Weber 1902), occupied by Fataluku speakers today. As Earl’s account indicates, slavery was certainly a very real fact of life in the mid 1800s for Fataluku people. 14

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Survey and test pitting within the boundaries of these settlements in the shallow soils overlying the limestone bedrock indicates that marine shellfish and other ‘wild’ faunal resources complemented domestic species in the diet of people living within the fortifications. Unfortunately no plant material has been preserved at any of these sites investigated to date. Thus, despite being fortified, the evidence to date suggests that these settlements functioned as a loci from which a variety of subsistence pursuits were carried out across a large geographic area encompassing widely spaced gardens, marine reefs and rock platforms and primary and regrowth forests.

sites have been dated. One stratified shell midden (Tim 18), immediately west of the port of Hera, which also contained pottery, was dated on marine shell to about 600 years BP (ANU 11318 570±70 BP material dated Lambis lambis; ANU 11320 780±60 BP, material dated Trochus maculatus), and another on the Baucau Plateau was dated to about 2000 BP (Spriggs et al. 2003). These sites were not excavated, but inspection suggested that they included a range of shellfish but little other subsistence remains, perhaps representing one facet of a mobile daily or seasonal subsistence schedule. Former named settlements are often described by presentday Fataluku speakers as lata irata, a reference not only to the ‘over-grown’ (irinu)16 status of these previous occupation sites but also a statement about the integrated nature of forests and human settlement in this part of East Timor. Like the situation described by Valeri for the Huaulu in Seram, the forest here also claims “back the spaces that humans have managed, at one point, to cut out of it” (2000:15). In this sense, the forests of the Tutuala district are imbued with a history of human movement, occupation and use. The history of these forests is not just a story about the journeys taken and settlements occupied by ratu groups, but it is also a story about gardens and gardening.

Today, lata and other site types provide the ritual and occupation focus for dispersed kin groups exploiting the surrounding forests and tending nearby swidden gardens (pala). Oral accounts, together with the mapping of the fortified structures and their internal features, indicates that these settlements also contained circumscribed ceremonial spaces called sepu and ancestral graves (calu lutur or narunu), while both settlements and the caves occupied by Fataluku ancestors contain guardian tei sites (lata toton). Our research also indicates that gardening and other subsistence-related activities took place outside the walls, while domestic animals, such as cattle and buffalo, were brought into the enclosures in time of threat. As additional elements to the stone walls that apparently served to fortify lata, several species of cacti (latu), each possessing different repellant properties, were planted along and around the perimeter enclosure.15

Pala – former garden sites In a recent article on ‘Fataluku Forest Tenures’, Andrew McWilliam identifies Fataluku people as “a predominantly agrarian society”, and states that they have “for centuries pursued systems of … dry land swidden agriculture combined with irrigated rice production” (2006:3). Fataluku people from the Tutuala area associate wet rice production with the agricultural extension programs introduced by the Portuguese government in the 1960s and the efforts of the Indonesian authorities, post 1977, to promote a more familiar idea of what constituted landed productivity and agricultural stability (see Tsing 1993; Fox 2000).

While prehistoric sites abound in the eastern reaches of the island, and most likely elsewhere on the island, Neolithic village sites have so far eluded discovery in East Timor. This in probably due both to poor site preservation and difficulties associated with detection. Indeed, Neolithic open sites are rare throughout Island Southeast Asia. The few known early sites such as Minanga Sipakko and Kamassi, near Kalumpang in south Sulawesi, are located on the highest upstream point on the navigable Karama River. The location of these sites indicates that proximity to freshwater, arable land and a protected mooring with access to the sea were the prime considerations in site selection (Bulbeck and Nasruddin 2002). The steep hills and valleys rising from the narrow coastal plain on the north coast of East Timor have been severely eroded. If early village sites were similarly positioned to those in South Sulawesi, on the alluvial fans and low terraces at the entrance of permanent rivers, or at the back of sheltered coastal embayments, they are likely to have been destroyed by flooding or buried beneath metres of colluvium, washed off the steep hill slopes.

Portuguese and Indonesian-sponsored rice-cultivation programs were certainly hampered by the ‘problematic’ geography of East Timor, resulting in limited rice production in the drier parts of the island. Along the dry northern coastal corridor, wet rice can only be grown in areas where there are permanent rivers, which can be used for irrigation and such areas are few and far between. Even in the late historic period there is little indication of intensive crop production in East Timor. Elsewhere in Island Southeast Asia there is better evidence for cereal cultivation at an early date. Paz (2002) proposes the expansion of rice agriculture into the Philippines and Sulawesi about 2500 years ago, although the cave sites in Sulawesi yield evidence only for the consumption of pulses, nuts and tubers at this time (Paz 2004). The earliest direct evidence for cereal cultivation in Sulawesi comes from the Maros region, where excavated charred rice grains from Ulu Leang cave were dated to ca. 1500 years BP (Bulbeck et al. 2000: 86). Despite the lack

While not yet locating a Neolithic site, we have recorded many open scatters, which include stone artefacts and pottery, along the north coast of East Timor. Few of these On a visit to the former settlement of Locami, informants identified five different species of cacti (latu), latu irinu, latu uku, latu pokala, latu lépenu, and latu sériku growing along the perimeter walls of the lata. 15

The term, irinu, is also used to describe dense stands of primary rainforest. 16

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no doubt inform us about past vegetation changes but have not yet been undertaken in East Timor.

of direct evidence, a change in the stone tool technology marked by the appearance of a range of long thin blades with distinct glossed edges in South Sulawesi at about 2,500 years ago may signal the beginnings of rice cultivation. Di Lello (2002) has suggested that these were used as finger knives for harvesting rice.

While the exact timing of the extinction of the large genera of endemic rodent fauna is currently unknown it appears that it occurred significantly after the appearance of pottery and the introduction of the Polynesian and Black rats Rattus exulans and Rattus rattus. Although it is speculative, it seems possible that early East Timorese pottery-making peoples relied on a diversity of crops, many of them endemic species. These crops did not lend themselves to mass cropping or storage and therefore did not support surplus production or storage. Hunting and gathering continued to represent an important facet of everyday life. As previously mentioned, caves are acknowledged as preserving limited facets of social and subsistence activities. Although early Neolithic open sites have not been found to date in East Timor it seems likely that the people making pottery were living in houses in open settlements such as they do today, and that these would preserve a more rounded picture of subsistence.

While Andrew McWilliam reports that Fataluku people have for centuries practiced swidden agriculture, the archaeological record is not so convincing regarding the antiquity of this form of subsistence.17 The sequences from the cave sites excavated to date all evidence a change in the mid to late Holocene, marked by the appearance of earthenware ceramics. While the presence of pottery in Island Southeast Asia is still widely regarded as a proxy for the arrival of agriculturalists (eg. Lape and Chao 2008), there is currently no direct archaeological evidence for agriculture or other indicators to attest to changing lifestyles accompanying its introduction into East Timor. Glover (1986:197) argued for earliest pottery in East Timor at 5000 – 4000 BP. Based on recent dating of cave sites and pre-ceramic middens, Spriggs and his colleagues (Spriggs et al. 2003; Spriggs 2003, 2007) have suggested earlier dates may be the result of disturbance and that a date for pottery in East Timor “in the range 3,800-3,600 BP… seems a reasonable estimate on current evidence, again very close to the likely range from the Philippines, northeastern Borneo and Sulawesi” (Spriggs 2007: 110).

For Fataluku people, this somewhat brief archaeological history (rata) of shifting cultivation is marked by the stone walls (lutur) of former gardens, which criss-cross the forest landscape, and also by the particular history of plant succession associated with these areas. In a similar manner to the way in which former settlements, particularly those regarded as the earliest occupation sites, are associated with gigantic forest tress, especially strangler figs (hama), the memory of former gardens (pala cenu) is also linked to particular plants and plant communities. Long grass and bushy growth (mainly, Imperata cylindrical, Chromolaena odorata and Lantana camara L.), remnant fruit trees, and lontar palms (tua ma’arau) often mark more recently abandoned gardens, while sites gardened in grandparental times have become forest again in the eyes of Fataluku people. As this suggests, forests in the Tutuala area are truly anthropogenic spaces, where old gardens become new forested areas and mature forests in turn are potential garden sites. The memory of this transformation is articulated as a history of human use and social relationships, as people walk through the forest remembering the gardens of their kin and neighbours, and the stories associated with them.

The extent to which pottery-using societies in East Timor were agricultural and what types of crops were grown prior to the introduction of the South American crops maize, cassava and beans, is currently unknown. Oliveira (2006) selected Bui Ceri Uato Mane in the Baucau region because test pitting in the previous year had revealed that it had good macro-botanic preservation and might be free of some of the biasing effects of caves in remote forested locations. Veth et al. (2005: 181) suggested that nearby Bui Ceri Uato Fetu may have acted as an adjunct to a more permanent village settlement as it was located next to a permanent freshwater spring and contained large quantities of pottery sherds, including decorated ware, as well as a large number of stone artefacts. The extensive stone terracing outside the entrances of Bui Ceri Uato Fetu and Mane also indicated that these sites might preserve evidence of “a wide range of subsistence activities, including agriculture” (Oliveira 2006: 95). Oliveira’s recovery methods were specifically targeted at recovering plant materials and charcoal. The results so far from Bui Ceri Uato Mane indicate that while a range of seeds, nuts, fruits and tubers were exploited in pre-ceramic and ceramic units, firm evidence for cultivation is lacking and no evidence of exotic cereals has been found.

Most people maintain at least one garden for several years, which is planted with a wide range of edible and non-food plants, including corn (cele), cassava (ete lusu), pumpkin (tau), various kinds of yams and beans, bananas, papaya, tobacco, and an array of herbs and spices (see figure 9). The emphasis on phased planting and multiple cropping in Fataluku gardens makes them similar to Hanunóo swidden plots (see Geertz 1963:19). As Clifford Geertz observes, these subsistence practices “give[s] an excellent picture of the degree to which this [type of] agriculture apes the generalized diversity of the jungle which it temporarily replaces” (Geertz 1963:19).

If we accept that pottery is not a reliable proxy for agricultural activity we must look for other lines of evidence that might indicate agricultural activity. Pollen studies will However, Earl reports that in the 1850s ‘quasi-Papuan tribes’ from ‘Kapalla Tanah’ or the far eastern point of the island of Timor, in other words, Fataluku speakers, “grow maize and yams” (1853:182). 17

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Figure 9: Mixed garden at Lote, near Tutuala.

ratu-identified lands. The mosaic landscape of gardens which emerges each year in the Tutuala region not only conveys a sense of current social connections, but it also links present gardeners to the actions of previous users, and to the powerful beings which control fertility in this area.

In June and July, when the nights turn cold,18 Fataluku people start to prepare their swidden gardens for planting later in the year. For existing gardens, preparation largely entails weeding, while for new gardens, extensive tree cutting and undergrowth clearing takes place, enabling the burning and fencing of the garden that takes place around October or November. The period from July through to November is called mokurahunu and is defined by the prevailing southerly winds and the eventual onset of dry season. Around November, the winds shift to the north, marking the commencement of the period known as aianhisinu, associated with the first soaking rains and the commencement of the phased planting cycle. This period continues through to April when temuru, or the wet season proper, begins.

The creation of a new garden or the opening of a fallowed plot entails making offerings (siri ho catu fane) to the tei being ‘guarding’ that particular area. When ritually fed, this being is said to ensure the fertility of the land and protect those involved in associated gardening activities. Gardening is an inherently social undertaking and the opening of a new garden and the subsequent harvesting of garden produce, particularly corn, involves the collective assistance (lehen pala fai) of other ratu members and collateral kindred. Like the situation described by Friedberg for the Bunaq, in Tutuala the rituals associated with the cultivation and harvesting of gardens are accompanied by hunting and gathering, and the shared consumption of mainly forestbased products by the extended kin groups formed on these occasions. The dual nature of ‘harvesting’ here, from forest and garden, together with the shifting and recycled nature of the landscape, as a back and forth movement between garden and forest, erodes the neatly-drawn semantic boundaries between agrarian societies and hunter-gatherers.

Given the history of swidden cultivation in the area, and the long cycles of forest-plot rotation, most gardens in Tutuala are developed out of secondary forest land which has lain fallow for a number of years. In the Tutuala area, demarcated tracts of land are readily identified in terms of their ancestral ratu-based association. However, individuals do not confine their gardening activities to the lands linked to their particular ratu group. In this sense, gardening reflects a person’s position in a diverse network of consanguineal and affinal kinship ties, which cut across clan group membership and the boundaries of

Conclusion

This period of coolness is divided into sakar lafai (‘big cold’) and sakar moko (‘small cold’). 18

While the presence of pottery in Inland Southeast Asia

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Figure 10: A stone-lined cooking oven from Matja Kuru 2, bracketed by dates of 8,966+/-55 BP (NZA 18656) and 10,078+/-60 BP (NZA 17009). This type of oven would have been ideally suited for cooking roots, tubers and tree pith.

is still widely regarded as a proxy for the arrival of Austronesian agriculturalists, bringing with them a range of exotic domesticated crops, in the absence of any direct evidence there are many good reasons to be circumspect.

Secondly, it appears that the endemic giant rodents survived well after the introduction of pottery and domestic species supporting the view that their extinction was not brought about by the introduction of domestic animals or farming activities associated with the arrival of pottery. If their demise signals wide-scale forest clearance this may not have occurred until late in the prehistoric/historic record.

Firstly, it is possible that some form of cultivation based on root and tree crops was already underway in East Timor prior to the introduction of pottery. The cuscus Phalanger orientalis introduced into Timor in the early Holocene (O’Connor 2006) derives from PNG; an area where horticulture based on root and tree crops such a taro, yam and banana were independently developed beginning around this time (eg. Denham et al. 2003; Denham 2004). Latinis and Stark (1989; and Latinis 2000) have argued for a long tradition of aboriculture in Wallacea. A stone lined cooking oven from Matja Kuru 2 (see figure 10), bracketed by dates of 8,966+/-55 BP (NZA 18656) and 10,078+/-60 BP (NZA 17009), would have been ideally suited for cooking roots, tubers and tree pith (O’Connor 2006: 81-82). It is possible that this type of horticulture was based on endemic crops or that crops and/or the knowledge about their propagation were introduced into Timor with the cuscus. As O’Connor queries, “after all, if people put live cuscus into their canoes when they sailed west, then why not tubers fruits and seeds?” (O’Connor 2006: 83). Stone lined ovens also occur in pre Lapita levels in Island Melanesia (Spriggs 1997: 60).

Thirdly, the archaeological evidence indicates that as late as 1500 AD coastal-dwelling villagers at Ira Ara were still reliant on marine resources and continued to hunt wild species such as deer, cuscus and civet cat, as well as eating the presumably domesticated pig, chicken and bovid.19 Cultural materials found in association with the Ira Ara burials provide no evidence for craft specialization and suggest the limited possession of luxury goods. This is in keeping with the surface finds of ceramics and other materials found during survey by the authors of the fortified villages found in cliff top locations. Fourthly, there is no evidence for large scale storage in the archaeological evidence or in local oral traditions, and it seems likely that the extensive tracts of old garden walling found throughout the secondary forest in the Tutuala region attest to the longevity of the practice of creating small mixed gardens. Lape (pers. comm.) notes that some of the pig may be feral animals hunted in the forest. 19

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Finally, we should be mindful that there is no a priori theoretical reason why pottery manufacture or even sedentism should go hand-in-hand with agriculture. The Jomon of Japan are a case in point, demonstrating a high degree of sedentism, well constructed houses, villages and ceremonial areas, extremely sophisticated pottery and a degree of social complexity by 13,000 BP, in the absence of well developed evidence for agriculture (Imamura 2002: 1112; Pearson 2007: 361). The current consensus is that from early Jomon times some crops may have been manipulated or even cultivated but that this made a small contribution to the overall subsistence or lifestyle of Jomon people and was not a factor in the rise of social complexity (Matsui and Kanehara 2006:267-268; Rowley-Conwy 2002:62). Buckwheat (Fagopyrum esculentum), rapes (Cruciferae), hemp (Cannabis sativa) and yam (Discorea) have been found in Early Jomon contexts, while rice, barley, barnyard millet (Echinochloa esculenta), foxtail millet (Setaria italica) and common millet (Panicum miliaceum) are found from Middle Jomon contexts and later (Pearson 2007: 363). While there is good evidence for cultivation by the Middle Jomon it seems that it “remained a minor activity” and was never a mainstay of the diet (Pearson 2007:363). In fact it has been argued that Jomon culture shunned full-scale agriculture in favour of diversity (Hudson 1997).

and sometime field co-researcher, Dr Peter Lape, from the Burke Museum, University of Washington. References Almeida, A. de. 1957. Hunting and fishing in Timor,in: Proceedings of the Ninth Pacific Science Congress, Bangkok 1957, Volume 3: Anthropological and Social Sciences: 239-241. Bangkok: Secretariat, Ninth Pacific Science Congress, 1963 Andaya, L.Y. 1991. Local trade networks in Maluku in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries. Cakalele 2(2): 71-97. Anon. Sustainable Development and the Environment in East Timor. Proceedings of the Conference on Sustainable Development in East Timor, held from 2531 January 2001. Appadurai, A.1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis & London: University of Minnesota Press. Bellwood, P. 1997. Prehistory of the Indo-Malaysian Archipelago. Second Edition. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Bulbeck, D., M. Pasqua, and A. Di Lello. 2000. Culture history of the Toalean of South Sulawesi, Indonesia. Asian Perspectives 39: 71-108. Bulbeck, F. D. and Nasaruddin. 2002. Recent insights into the chronology and ceramics of the Kalumpang site complex, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. Bulletin of the Indo-Pacific Prehistory Association 22: 83-99. Collins, Sean, W.M. Xisto Martins, Andrew Mitchell, Awegechew Teshome and John T Arnason. 2007. Fataluku medicinal ethnobotany and the East Timorese military resistance. Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine 3(5): 1-10. Dames, M.L (ed.). 1921. The Book of Duarte Barbosa. London: The Hakluyt Society. Denham, T.P. 2004. The roots of agriculture and aboriculture in New Guinea: looking beyond Austronesian expansion, Neolithic packages and indigenous origins. Debates in World Archaeology P. Rowley-Conwy (ed.) World Archaeology 36 (4): 610-620. Denham, T.P., S.G. Haberle, C. Lentfer, R. Fullagar, J. Field, M. Therin, N. Porch, and B. Winsborough. 2003. Origins of agriculture at Kuk Swamp in the highlands of New Guinea. Science 301:189-93. Di Lello, A. 2002. A use-wear analysis of Toalian glossed flakes from South Sulawesi, Indonesia. Bulletin of the Indo-Pacific Prehistory Association 22: 45-50. Doares, D., B. 2001. East Timor: perceptions of culture and environment, in Sustainable Development and the Environment in East Timor: 18-21. Proceedings of the Conference on Sustainable Development in East Timor, held from 25-31 January 2001. Dove, M. 1983. Theories of swidden agriculture and the political economy of Ignorance. Agroforestry Systems 1/3: 85-99. Dove, M. 2000. The life-cycle of indigenous knowledge, and the case of natural rubber production. In: R. Ellen, P. Parkes and A. Bicker (eds.), Indigenous Environmental Knowledge and its Transformations:

In summary, the archaeological evidence from the Lautem district indicates a very mobile type of sedentism and subsistence based upon a diverse array of wild resources, as well as shifting cultivation and domesticated animals. This appears to be the case even during the time of fortified village construction from 1200 AD, where family groups living in villages continued to acquire some of their subsistence requirements from the forests and seas well after they had domestic animals and garden plots. Monocropping would appear to be a very recent activity and one that has been unsustainable in the dry areas of East Timor, where rainfall is unpredictable. Acknowledgements This study was supported by an Australian Research Council Large Grant, and in Australia, was conducted under the auspices of The Australian National University and the Rainforest Cooperative Research Centre, James Cook University. In East Timor, research was undertaken under the auspices of the Ministero da Educacau, Cultura, Juventude e Esporto, and we would like to extend our general thanks and appreciation to the Ministry staff, who assisted us in the course of this research. Particular thanks go to the Ministerial Secretary of State, Senor Virgilio Simith, for his warm and much-welcomed support of our various research endeavours. We would also like to acknowledge that without the support of the people of Tutuala this research would not be possible. In this regard, we are particularly indebted to Senors Rafael Quimaraes, Custodio Quimaraes, Pedro Morais and Mecario de Jesus for their intellectual input, constant interest and warm friendship while in the field. Last, but not least, we would like to acknowledge the invaluable support of our colleague

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Imamura, Keiji 2002 Jomon no Yutaka to Genkai (Jomon Abundance and It’s Limits), Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha J. de Jong, J.P.B. de. 1937. Studies on Indonesian Culture: Volume I: Oirata: A Timorese Settlement on Kisar. Amsterdam: Foris. King, M. 1963. Eden to Paradise. London: Travel Book Club. Lape, P. V. 2006. Chronology of fortified settlements in East Timor. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 1 (2): 285-296 Lape P.V. and Chao C-Y. 2008. Fortification as a human response to late Holocene climate change in East Timor. Archaeology in Oceania 43: 11-21. Latinis, D.K. 2000. The development of subsistence system models for Island Southeast Asia and Near Oceania: the nature and role of arboriculture and arboreal-based economies. World Archaeology 32(1): 41-67. Latinis, D.K. and Stark K. 1998. Subsistence, arboriculture and prehistory in Maluku. In: S. Pannell and F. von Benda-Beckmann (eds.), Old World Places, New World Problems: Exploring Issues of Resource Management in Eastern Indonesia:34-65. Canberra: Centre for Resource and Environmental Studies, The Australian National University. Martin, J. R. 2001. Development of forestry conservation. In: Sustainable Development and the Environment in East Timor: 31-33. Proceedings of the Conference on Sustainable Development in East Timor, held from 25-31 January 2001. Matsui, A. and Kanehara M. 2006. The question of prehistoric plant husbandry during the Jomon period in Japan. World Archaeology 38(2): 259-273. McWilliam, A. 2001. Prospects for the sacred grove: valuing lulic forests on Timor. The Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology 2(2): 89-113. McWilliam, A. 2002. Paths of Origin, Gates of Life: A Study of Place and Precedence in Southwest Timor. Leiden: KITLV Press. McWilliam, A 2004. Austronesians in linguistic disguise: Fataluku cultural fusion in East Timor. Unpublished Manuscript. McWilliam, A 2006. Fataluku forest tenures in the Conis Santana National Park in East Timor. In: T. Reuter (ed.), Carving the Earth, Sharing the Land: Land and Territory in the Austronesian World. Canberra: Pandanus Press. Metzner, J. 1977. Man and Environment in eastern Timor: A Geo-ecological Analysis of the Baucau-Viqueque Area as a Possible Basis for Regional Planning. Monograph No. 8, Canberra: Development Studies Centre, Australian National University Press. O’Connor, S. 2002. Pleistocene Timor: further corrections, a reply to Bednarik. Australian Archaeology 54: 46-51. O’Connor, S. 2003. Nine new painted rock-art sites from East Timor in the context of the western Pacific region. Asian Perspectives 42(1): 96-128. O’Connor, S. 2006. Unpacking the Island Southeast Asian Neolithic Cultural Package, and Finding Local Complexity, in: E. A. Bacus, I. C. Glover and V. C. Pigott

Critical Anthropological Perspectives: 213-253. The Netherlands: Harwood Academic Publishers. Dunn, J. 1983. Timor: A People Betrayed. Milton, Queensland: Jacaranda Press. Earl, G. W. 1853. The Native Races of the Indian Archipelago: Papuans. London: H.Bailliere. Echols, J.M. and Shadily H. 1990. Kamus Indonesia Inggris: An Indonesian-English Dictionary. Jakarta: PT Gramedia. Ellen, R, Parkes P. & Bicker A. 2000. Indigenous Environmental Knowledge and its Transformations: Critical Anthropological Perspectives. The Netherlands: Harwood Academic Publishers. Ellen, R. and Harris H. 2000. Introduction. In: R. Ellen, P. Parkes and A. Bicker (eds.), Indigenous Environmental Knowledge and its Transformations: Critical Anthropological Perspectives: 1-35. The Netherlands: Harwood Academic Publishers. Engelenhoven, A, van. 1997. Words and expressions: notes of parallelism in Leti. Cakalele Vol. 8: 1-27. Forbes, H.O. 1989. A Naturalist’s Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago. Singapore, Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press. Forman, S. 1981. Life paradigms: Makassae (East Timor) views on production, reproduction and exchange. Research in Economic Anthropology 4: 95-110. Fox, J.J. 2000. Tracing the path, recounting the past: historical perspectives on Timor. In: J. J. Fox and D. B. Soares (eds.), Out of the Ashes: Destruction and Reconstruction of East Timor: 1-30. Adelaide: Crawford House Publishing. Friedberg, C. 1989. Social relations of territorial management in light of Bunaq farming rituals. Bijdragen tot de taal-, land-en Volkenkunde 145. Part I Nusa Tenggara Timur, 4: 548–563. Geertz, C. 1963. Agricultural Involution: The Processes of Ecological Change in Indonesia. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press. Glover, I. 1972. Excavations in Timor. Unpublished PhD thesis. Canberra: Department of Prehistory Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University. Glover, I. 1986. Archaeology in East Timor, 1966-67. Terra Australis 11, Canberra: Department of Prehistory Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University. Glover, I. 1989. The prehistoric background to Timorese culture. Paper presented at the Colloquio Timor, Museo de Etnologia, Lisbon 11th-15th October 1989. Grey, G. 1841. Journal of Two Expeditions of Discovery in Northwest and Western Australia, 1837-39. Vol. 1. London: T. and W. Boone. Gunn, G., C. 1999. Timor Loro Sae 500 Years. Macao: Livros do Oriente. M. Hobart, (ed.). 1993. An Anthropological Critique of Development: The Growth of Ignorance. London and New York: Routledge. Hudson, Mark 1997 Noko o Kobanda Jomonjin (The Jomon people’s rejection of agriculture). Nihonjin to Nihon Bunka (Interdisciplinary Study of the Origins of Japanese Peoples and Cultures Newsletter) 2: 19.

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(eds.), Uncovering Southeast Asia’s Past – Selected papers from the Tenth Biennial Conference of the European Association of Southeast Asian Archaeologists, London, 14th – 17th September 2004, pp. 74-87. Singapore: Singapore National University Press. O’Connor, S. 2007. New evidence from East Timor contributes to our understanding of earliest modern human colonization east of the Sunda Shelf. Antiquity 81: 523-535. O’Connor, S. and Aplin K. P. 2007. A matter of balance: an overview of Pleistocene occupation history and the impact of the last glacial phase in East Timor and the Aru Islands, eastern Indonesia. Archaeology in Oceania 42 (3): 82-90. O’Connor, S., M. Spriggs and P. Veth. 2002. Excavation at Lene Hara establishes occupation in East Timor at least 30,000 – 35,000 years on: results of recent fieldwork. Antiquity 76: 45-50. Oliveira, N. V. 2006. Returning to East Timor: prospects and possibilities from an archaeobotanical project in the new country. In: E. A. Bacus, I. C. Glover and V. C. Pigott (eds.), Uncovering Southeast Asia’s Past – Selected papers from the Tenth Biennial Conference of the European Association of Southeast Asian Archaeologists, London, 14th – 17th September 2004 : 88-97.. Singapore: Singapore National University Press. Ormeling, F.J. 1956. The Timor Problem: A Geographical Interpretation of an Underdeveloped Island. Groningen/ Jakarta: J.B. Wolters. Pannell, S. 2006. Welcome to the Hotel Tutuala: Fataluku accounts of going places in an immobile world. The Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology 7(3): 203-221. Pannell, S. and O’Connor S. 2005. Toward a cultural topography of cave use in East Timor: a preliminary study. Asian Perspectives 44(1): 193-206. Paz, V. 2002. Island Southeast Asia: spread or friction zone? In P. Bellwood and C. Renfrew (eds) Examining the Farming/Language Dispersal Hypothesis: 27585, Cambridge: University of Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Paz, V. 2004. Of nuts, seeds and tubers: The archaeobotanical evidence for Leang Burung 1. In: S.G. Keates and J.M. Pasveer (eds.). Quaternary research in Indonesia, Modern Quaternary Research in Southeast Asia 18: 191-220. Leiden/London/New York/ Philadelphia/Singapore: A.A. Balkema Publishers. Pearson, R. 2007. Debating Jomon social complexity. Asian Perspectives : 46 (2): 361-388. Rowley-Conwy, P. 2002. Time, change and the archaeology of hunter-gatherers: How original is the “Original Affluent Society”. In: C. Panter-Brick, R. Layton

and P. Rowley-Conwy (eds.), Hunter-Gatherers: An Interdisciplinary Perspective:39-72. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Said, E. 1993. Culture and Imperialism. London: Vintage. Spriggs, M., O’Connor S. and Veth P. 2003. Vestiges of early pre-agricultural economy in the landscape of East Timor: recent research. In: A. Kallen and A. Karlstrom (eds.), Fishbones and Glittering Emblems: Proceedings from the EurASEEA Sigtuna Conference: 49-58. Stockholm: Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities. Spriggs, M. 2003. Chronology of the Neolithic transition in Island Southeast Asia and the Western Pacific: a view from 2003. The Review of Archaeology 24(2): 57-80. Spriggs, M. 2007. The Neolithic and Austronesian expansion within Island Southeast Asia and into the Pacific. In: S. Chiu and C. Sand (eds.), From Island Southeast Asia to the Pacific Archaeological Perspectives on the Austronesian Expansion and the Lapita Cultural Complex: 104-125. Taipei, Taiwan: Centre for Archaeological Studies, Research Centre for Humanities and Social Sciences, Academica Sinica. Therik, T. 2000. The role of fire in swidden cultivation: A Timor case study. In: J. Russell-Smith, G. Hill, S. Djoeroemana and B. Myers (eds.), Fire and Sustainable Agricultural and Forestry Development in Eastern Indonesia and Northern Australia:77-80. Proceedings of an international workshop held at the Northern Territory University, Darwin, Australia, 13–15 April 1999. Canberra: Australian Centre for International Agricultural Research. Traube, E. 1986. Cosmology and Social Life: Ritual Exchange among the Mambai of East Timor. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Tsing, A. L. 1993. In the Realm of the Diamond Queen: Marginality in an Out-of-the-Way Place. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Valeri, V. 2000. The Forest of Taboos: Morality, Hunting and Identity among the Huaulu of the Moluccas. Madison, Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press. Veth, P., M. Spriggs and S. O’Connor. 2005. The continuity of cave use in the tropics: examples from East Timor and the Aru Islands, Maluku. Asian Perspectives 44(1): 180-192. Special Issue, G. Barker (ed.), The Human Use of Caves in the Indo-Pacific Region. Wallace, Alfred Russel. 1872. The Malay Archipelago: The Land of the Orang-Utan and the Bird of Paradise. London: MacMillan. Weber, M (ed.). 1902. Siboga-Expedite. Monographie I de: Uitkomsten Op Zoologisch, Botanisch, Oceanograpisch en Geologisch Gebied. Leiden: E.J. Brill.

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Chapter 14

Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation in the Garo Hills, Meghalaya, India

Hari C.Mahanta Abstract: Traditional shifting cultivation practices in the Garo Hills have their foundation in prehistory. The hoe and axe continue as the principal tools, operated exclusively by human energy. We cannot say whether today’s populations are the descendents of the Neolithic population, but analogy between the material cultures of the past and present should not be ignored. Chronologically the culture under study is modern, but economically Neolithic. There are differences in the raw material of the tools. Formerly they were made of stone, today they are constructed of iron. This difference does not result in a major variation in production between past and present. The hoe and axe have inherent limitations in working capacity. This technology, under the given ecological conditions, can support only 4 to 5 persons per square kilometre. Under the traditional agricultural system, intensification contributes little to improvement, as was the case during Neolithic times also.

Introduction

• The Garo Hills Zone • The North Cachar Hills and Kamrup District Zone and • The Naga Hills Zone

Krishnaswami (1960) and other subsequent researchers into the Indian Neolithic tried to reconstruct the Neolithic pattern of India by dividing the whole country into broad cultural zones. These include the North Indian Neolithic, South Indian Neolithic and Eastern Indian Neolithic. In this scheme the former Assam, now called Northeast India, was grouped with Bengal, Bihar and Orissa under one Neolithic zone within which there was a sub zone for Assam, distinguished by a cultural pattern called the ‘Assam Neolithic Complex’. Subsequent writers including Thapar (1964) and Allchin (1968) preferred the term Eastern Indian Neolithic for this zone. Thaper (1978) in his latest review of the Indian Neolithic pattern has identified three distinct zones for Eastern India.

The distinctive artefacts of the Northeast Indian Neolithic are shouldered celts, flat celts, quadrangular axes/adzes, chisels, cord-marked and plain grey brown pottery and nonedge tools such as grinding stones, mortars and pestles. The tools of these zones are however different to each other in terms of size, shape and raw materials; this may be the reason earlier researchers divided the whole Northeast India into several micro-zones as stated above. Neolithic artefacts were first found in the Garo Hills, Meghalaya over 30 years ago. Most early work focused on the typological and technological aspects of these archaeological materials with little focus on their functional aspects (Goswami and Bhagabati 1959a, 1959b; Gowsami et.al. 1969; Sharma and Sharma 1968; Sharma and Singh 1968; Sharma 1966, 1967; Sharma 1972). Likewise little emphasis was given to the economy of the people who used these artefacts.

• The Northeastern which includes Assam, Meghalaya and the Darjeeling district of West Bengal; • The Central Eastern which includes Chotanagpur, Orissa, Bengal and Eastern U.P. • The Mid Eastern which includes the Ganga plains of North Bihar where the site Chirand is located.

The materials covered in this study are mainly from the Central Garo Hills, where 17 Neolithic sites have been discovered. In the present study 302 complete and utilized tools were examined, and their length, breadth, thickness and edge wear patterns were recorded. The main focus of this study is the adze (hoe blades), which constitutes the major portion of the collection. In the present study an attempt has been made to work out the functional relationship of the adzes in relation to agricultural activities during the Neolithic past and what they suggest about the economic structure of the population during that period. We assume that these artefacts were agricultural tools. We attempt to understand how efficient they were in carrying

Sharma was the first to study the Neolithic of undivided Assam (1966). Although this part of India is included in the Eastern Indian Neolithic Zone, Sharma is of the opinion that “the archaeological data available from this zone suggest that the Neolithic culture of Assam is characterized by its own regional peculiarities which distinguished it from those of other parts of India” (Sharma 1984:41). Among the different regions of Northeast India only three provinces are prolific as far as Neolithic culture is concerned. Based on the qualitative and quantitative aspects of the material cultures, the provinces have been divided into three Neolithic zones.

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out agricultural activities during Neolithic times and we aim to reach a crude approximation of this by using ethnographic data from the geographical area where the tools were collected. Goals and Method of the Present Study Taking into account the previous archaeological and ethnographic data, we formulated three goals for our present study. • To improve knowledge of cultural assemblages, subsistence systems and settlement patterns in the study area • To examine the functional attributes assigned to specific tool categories in terms of ecology and environment • To explore the continuity of human occupation from Neolithic times to the present day.

Figure 1. Map of Meghalaya

Altogether 17 sites with exact locations have been recorded in the study area, but only one site, Selbalgre, has been excavated. The present work focuses on the artefacts from this site. The excavation revealed two distinct cultural horizons: • Aceramic Phase: yielded chipped adzes and axes (performs of Neolithic ground tools) and chisels etc. • Ceramic Phase: yielded cord-marked pottery along with stone tools particularly ground adzes and axes, grinding stones, mortars and pestles etc). Geography and Geomorphology The Garo Hills of Meghalaya are situated between latitude 25° 9` and 26° 0` North and longitude 89° 9` and 91° 2` East (Fig. 1). The total area measured is 8080 square kilometres with a population density of 30 to 50 persons per square kilometre (Census 1991). The Garo Hills border Bangladesh on the south and west, Assam on the north and Khasi and the Jaintia Hills districts on the east. There are two distinct hill ranges: the Tura range which extends from Siju in the south east; and the less extensive Arbella range which is situated north of the Tura range. The district is a combination of hills with some plains bordering these in Assam and Bangladesh.

Figure 2. India, annual rainfall.

The area is in the sub-tropical climatic zone and experiences a moderately heavy annual rainfall, which is suitable for the luxuriant growth of deciduous forest that forms a heavy cover over the hilly surface. When the climate and vegetation pattern of this area are compared with those of neighbouring areas a distinct homogeneity between this area and other Southeast Asian countries is evident (Figs. 2 and 3). Topographical, climatic and vegetation similarities between the two areas are often mentioned in relation to the similar cultural patterns and techno-economic development (Roy 1977a, 1977b, 1980). The area is more akin to Southeast Asian highland than to the rest of India. Figure 3. India, natural vegetation.

The drainage system, floral and faunal embodiment and

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Hari C.Mahanta, Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation

the soil coverage in the gentle valleys of the rivers and streams emphatically provide a suitable habitat and means of livelihood for the population today as well as in the past. This physiographic setting not only makes the area a suitable habitat but also helps the people to grow their subsistence crops and provides abundant natural resources, which they collect or hunt on a seasonal basis.

available natural resources like bamboo, wood, thatch, cane, bamboo leaves etc. It is worth mentioning that the Neolithic sites of the Garo Hills are contiguous with the present day settlement/habitation of the Garos. All the sites in the study area are located in and around the village within a radius of about 3 kilometres. Though they have permanent village settlements, at certain occasions (mainly during agricultural seasons), they shift their settlements and sometimes move the whole village temporarily to the jhum field. In the past they also used to shift their settlements for other purposes. When a family member died or something untoward happened to their family, they would construct a new house near their earlier settlements. One household would start this process and finally the entire village moved to the new area.

Ethnography of the Garo Hills The early inhabitants of the Garo Hills were shifting cultivators. The present day technology of shifting cultivation does not appear to be substantially different from that of the earlier Neolithic culture, in respect of the similarity between the metallic hoe blades used in the jhum (shifting cultivation) operations today and the stone hoe and axe of the past. Together the archaeological evidence from the Garo Hills (Sharma and Roy 1980; Lal 1969:8) and the homogeneity in size and shape of the earlier stone tools with the later iron tools suggest continuity (Goswami 1972).

The Garos have an intimate knowledge of their habitat and the behaviour of the animals and birds that they hunt. They are remarkably efficient hunters and trappers. Their most important hunting aid is the dog. During our observation periods, it became evident that they never missed an opportunity to throw at or chase a wild animal whenever they come across one. They also practiced fishing almost throughout the year using a range of different techniques. The most important among these however, is the use of poison to catch fish (Makhal deka). The roots and barks of Barringglonia acutangula are used to stun the fishes. Sauer (1952) has suggested that there may be a connection between preparation of bark cloth and bark fibre for cordage and catching fish using plant extracts. The vegetable juice, which is commonly alkaloid usually stuns or stupefies the fish when it is mixed with water in a stream, without affecting the food quality of the fish. This technique is also common among all hill tribes of Northeast India but they use barks, leaves and roots of different plants to obtain the poisons. It has been argued that this way of fishing may be forerunner of agriculture. It is curious that such a possibly ancient tradition is still used today and exists alongside the more advanced technological devices.

Nothing is known of the origin of today’s population of Garo though legend has it that they migrated from Tibet. However there is no archaeological evidence to confirm this. Linguistically, this Mongoloid population is related to the Bodo group of the Tibeto - Burman family, which is distributed all over Northeast India. (Playfair 1909:2; Majumder 1978:17). The Garo may be broadly divided territorially into ‘Hill Garo’ and ‘Plains Garo’, on the basis of their habitat. Playfair (1909) distinguished the following territorial groups among them. These are – Akawe or Awe (who live in adjoining areas of Assam Plains), Chisak, Daul, Machi, Metabeng, Kachu, Atiagra, and Abeng. Apart from the main groups, there are several other smaller groups. One of them is the Megam or Lyngangam, which represent a fusion of the Garo and Khasi and should be looked upon as a hybrid tribe though Majumdar (1978) suggests they are a sub-tribe of the Garo. They trace their descent through the mother and are divided into three exogamous sets of clans (Katchi) viz. Marak, Sangma and Momin (Playfair 1909).

Traditionally, the Garo have subsisted primarily on wild plant food. Since the introduction of jhum and other type of cultivation methods such as wet cultivation and horticulture, wild plant gathering has reduced considerably. However they do still collect a range of wild plants in particular roots, tubers and shoots etc. for both food and medicine (Figure 4, 5). The Garo employ a range of simple tools for gathering. These include the digging stick (matea), the hoe (gitchi) and the chopper (ate). They buy the hoe and chopper, from the local market and make their own digging sticks.

The Garo believe in the existence of the Supreme Being like other Hinduized communities. They believe in the existence of a multitude of benevolent and malevolent spirits. These good and evil spirits are everywhere, in the sky above, on the earth below, in the depth of water, in the dark caverns and so on. The followers of these traditional religious beliefs and practices are known as Songsarek (a sect of Hindu religion). At present larger and larger numbers of Garos are converting to Christianity and the areas which were strongholds of the Songsarek are today inhabited by very few Non-Christian Garos. Nowadays it appears that traditional Garo religion no longer has a place and there is no other religion to compete with Christianity.

Folklore among the Garo has it that in earlier times people cleared shifting plots but did not grow cereals. They used to grow yam and other root crops like sweet potato, tapioca, colocasia, and ginger etc in shifting plots. Rice was a later introduction into this area possibly during the late Neolithic or early historic periods. Rice varieties cultivated in plough, field or wet cultivation differ from the varieties used in shifting cultivation. The rice domesticated in Southeast Asia has innumerable generic varieties that are suited to each

They build their villages in the river valleys/terraces or on hill slopes close to water sources. Traditionally, they construct platform house/pile dwellings by exploiting

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honey. The wild roots and tubers collected from the forest are colocasia antiquorum, amorphophailus campanulatus, dioscorea, manihot utilissima, ipomoea batatas, trapa, vangeria spinosaa, castanopsis indica, kaempfaria galanga, and D. hamiltonii etc. Animals are hunted and fish are caught in the rivers and streams. This is similar to a “native model of stone age economics” as referred by Suckling (1976:105-115). The Labour of Shifting Cultivation: The shifting cultivation or jhum farming practiced by the Garos has a series of stages. • • • • • •

Figure 4. Collection of ginger.

Selection of Plot (Aba Nika) Clearing of the plot (Burung O’a) Firing the jungle (Wal daka) Sowing of seeds (Bitchil sata) Weeding (Aba game) Harvesting (Marakhu denga)

Land ownership is almost absent among the Garos. For shifting cultivation, a family has to select a plot and get the permission from the village headman (Nokma). After being given the plot they begin by clearing the jungle. They fell trees and lop bushes (clearing the jungle is done during the dry months, notably between November and January). The main tools used for these tasks are the axe (rua) and the choppers (ate and ate mongreng). The felled trees are set on fire when they have become sufficiently dry. Firing is done before the onset of rains (normally in March). All the stages of clearing and firing the jungles/trees are exclusively male activities. The next stage of the operation consists of sowing, weeding and harvesting, which are the responsibility of the females ( Figure 6). Although less physically strenuous, this stage calls for the involvement of the female for a longer period. The main tool for weeding is the hoe, and for sowing is the digging stick. In some cases the seeds are sown on the ash left after burning. According to them the ash not only works as a fertiliser but also as pesticide. The varieties of crops raised and the time taken from sowing to reaping are shown in Table 1

Figure 5 Gathering tubers.

different environment (e.g. highland). In Northeast India the traditional shifting cultivators mostly cling to the traditional variety of rice like manggni, rongdal-gipa, misirang, mimikdelong- aginchi etc. The shifting cultivators have grudgingly accepted some of the newly introduced varieties. During our investigation we interviewed some of the elderly persons in Selbalgre village regarding newly introduced varieties of rice. According to them, they accepted the new varieties because of their productive quality, the fact that they were less prone to disease and most importantly the harvesting period, which is shorter than the early varieties. It is still not clear where rice cultivation first came from in this region; it could have come down from the hills into the plains or vice-versa.

Artefacts used in Shifting Cultivation The similarity observed in edge wear pattern between the stone hoe (Neolithic) and the iron hoe blades (present day hoe) and their presence and use on the same shifting plot (hill slopes) is significant. The tools, though made of different raw materials, are discharging similar functions. To understand the functional character of the stone hoe blades under study, use and edge wear patterns of the modern iron ones were studied. Other agricultural tools are also considered and described briefly.

The prevailing agricultural systems as well as other subsistence strategies in the Garo Hills are very seasonal. Because of the inherent uncertainties of annual rainfall patterns, dry crops are sown along with wet crops. The character of the cropping pattern reflects the erratic nature of the monsoon climate. Wild roots and tubers grow abundantly in the forest and these are collected along with

Hoe (gitchi): This consists of two parts- blade and shaft. The blade is made of iron and its length, breadth and thickness average 20.0-23.0 cm, 6.0 to 7.5 cm, and 0.2

134

English name

Paddy

Finger millet

Maize

Deccan hemp

Manioc Melon White gourd Red gourd Chilli Brinjal Gourd

Arum

Yam Bean Ginger Turmeric Sponge gourd Snake Gourd Okra Bitter gourd Cotton

Local name

mi

misi

mekop

kosta (goru)

tabolchu te’e akaru kobok gobinda jallik baring rau

ta’a

135

ta’matchi ta’jong narikep karek nakap e’ching heldi sosra alakongsi dorai galawareng kil

Dioscorea sp. Phoselus sp. Zingiber officinale Curcuma longa Luffa cylindrica Roem Trichosanthes anguina Hibiscus esculentus Momordica Charantia Gossypium arboreum

Colocasia antiguorum

Manikot utilisimma Cucumis melo Benincasa cerifera Cucurbita maxima Capsicumannum Solanam sp. Lugenaria vulgaris

Hibiscus cannabinunus

Zea mays

Eleusine corakana

Oryza sativa

Botanical name

kanem, belat te’raja, te’sosra, te’walsri, te’gisim chringa, dokra , bek, pong ta’ma, ta’ring, ringdubi-sarang (E), ta’ampok, ta’kiltom,, ta’mansang, manai → -

mima, mikotchu, malbok, padrop, mikidip, misokmil, mirimit, misarang (E), midokru, mimitim doka, mimitim dokang, mimikdelong aginchi (E), chambak, mijenggin, sankira, mimsgisim → mimitim gitchak → Sarang (E), ribok (E), redimgisim, jongsu, binni, eto (E) → akinte (E), bolma, aria, bador, babret → gitchak → gipbok →

Varieties (E= Early)

Table-1: Crops Grown and Collected at Selbalgre

Recent introduced; only stalks are eaten Grown for selling only Used to grown as a cash crop

Grown as cash crop Used for making receptacles

Used for popcorn Grown as cash crop

Used for brewing only

Used for preparation of rice beer only Used for preparation of rice beer only

Remarks

Hari C.Mahanta, Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation

136

Paddy

Finger millet

Cotton Maize Brinjal Chilli White gourd Red gourd Arum

mi

misi

kil mekop baring jallik akaru-kobok gomida ta’a

Edible plants collected from jungle

English name

Local name

Gossypium arboreum Zea mays Solanam sp. Capsicum annum Benincasa cerifera Cucurbita maxima Colocasia antiguorum

Eleusine coracana

Oryza sativa

Botanical name

Rengsi, akinte or jonggiting (E), wasok ta’ma, ta’ring, ringdubi, ta’mitim, ta’ma-singkam Monihot utilissima, ipomoea batatus, colocasia antiquorum, solanum tuberosus, amorphophallus campanulatus, Lathyrus, bamboosa tulda (collected shoots),

mikidep,mimagisim, ronggitchon (manggni) (E), ronggitchon (padrap), ronggitchon (sangrema), chualjo, chualjo (rongdal-gipa) (E), mimitim doka → mimitim dokru → michibol → Sarang (E) → sarangagatchi (E) → bilni → jongni (gisim) → jongni (gipbok) → agra → ato →

Varieties (E=Early)

Table-2: Crops Grown at Misimgra (Shifting Plots)

Used for special preparations and for preparing rice beer only Used for special preparations and for preparing rice beer only Used for special preparations and for preparing rice beer only Used for preparation of beer only Used for preparation of beer only Preferred for making beer Preferred for making beer Preferred for making beer Exclusively used for making beer Preferred for brewing A cash crop Used as popcorn -

Remarks

Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Broadcast Dry

Figure 6. Weeding.

to 0.4 cm respectively. The shaft is made of wood or a piece of bamboo with internodes at short intervals. A piece of bamboo with short internodes has high rigidity and is less easily breakable than one with internodes at longer intervals. Hence they preferred a piece of bamboo with internodes at short intervals for making shaft. Where the blade is inserted the diameter of the shaft varies from 5 to 7 cm and its length varies from 44 to 48 cm. The shaft and the blade form an angle varying from 40° to 50°. This tool is exclusively used for weeding (Figure 7). Digging Stick (matea): This is used solely for sowing. It measures approximately 100cm to 125cm in length and 5cm in diameter. It is made of a straight branch of wood and is very simple in construction: - both ends are pointed and sometimes charring is used to harden these. The ends are kept pointed by frequent rubbing against exposed rocks when they become blunt from use. (Figure 8) Chopper (Figure 9), The choppers used by the Garos consists of two types: Ate: This is made with an iron blade and a shaft of bamboo or wood. The pointed tang of the blade is inserted into the compact end of the shaft. It has emerged as a multipurpose tool used for felling bushes, lopping the branches of trees, and occasionally for weeding

-

• Ate mongren: This is a heavy-duty tool made of iron blades and a shaft of bamboo or wood with a function similar to an axe (rua). Indeed, it is more an axe than a chopper, and is used for slashing bamboo and lopping the branches of trees. • Axe (rua): In traditional eastern Garo villages this differs considerably from the rua found in the Central part of the Garo Hills. In the eastern part it is a carpentry tool, and has an elongated shape with one pointed end which is inserted into the wooden shaft. Axes are of different types and these are used as carpentry tools. During the time of clearing of shifting plots axes are used extensively, particularly for felling of big trees and

kosta (Jute) Olitonius capsularies

mimitim gipbok or bija minel, mimitim gitchak

Grown for selling only Transplanted Wet

Fine rice grown for selling only Not used for principal meals, preferred for brewing Transplanted Wet jaha, bok

Transplanted Wet mi (Paddy), Oriza sativa)

sil-katuri or kochuamon, mairanga, heldiram,

Usually broadcast Dry mibanggal, kainal,

Fine rice grown for consumption Usually broadcast, occasionally transplanted asu gipbok,

Remarks Method of Planting

Cropping pattern (Wet/Dry) Dry Varieties Local name (English name) Botanical name

Table-3: Crops grown at Misimagre: Permanent Plots

Hari C.Mahanta, Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

The hoe is employed with a forward arching movement and loose soil is moved towards the operator. The movement of the operator is always forward. The body of the operator remains more or less parallel to the surface. While working, the operator cannot draw the hoe backwards in a straight movement; for a right-handed operator the blade becomes slightly angled towards the right side. In this manner the right side of the blade gradually becomes unsuitable for work, a condition that is very often compensated for by rotating the blade in the shaft to use the other side, though in most the cases the old blade is replaced with a new one. After wearing down a blade to a particular length it ceases to function effectively and is ultimately discarded. The point at which the blades cease to be functional can be determined by comparison with an unused hoe blade (length 23cm to 26cm), which may be taken as a standard size.

Figure 7. Construction of hoe

Tools from the Selbalgre Neolithic Site Neolithic artefacts have been recovered as a result of systematic archaeological investigations in various parts of the Garo Hills. Some of the most notable sites are: Rongram Alagre, Chitra Abri, Ganolgre, Selbalgre, Rongchengre, Ringigre, Molmegre, Dilmagre, and Rongjeng (figure 10). But there are very few excavated sites; so far only two sites, Selbalgre and Chita Abri have been test pitted. The present study is based on the materials collected from the Selbalgre site though all the Neolithic sites of the Garo Hills were developed around exploitation of locally available resources employed in tool manufacture. The raw material has been identified as a fine-grained dolerite; it was used extensively for making all types of Neolithic implements. Artefacts from the Selbalgre consist of chipped and ground celts, plain gray-brown pottery and non-edged tools including grinding stones, mortars and pestles etc. Examination of the chipped celts suggests that they represent a stage in the production of ground celts. They are considered to be ‘preforms’ (Bradley 1975:5-13), since none of them exhibits any edge wear marks. The tools recovered from the site are divided into two broad groups:

Figure 8. Digging stick

• •

Figure 9. Choppers.

Tools related directly to agricultural activity; Tools used in carpentry.

Archaeological carpentry tools (chisels) are used mainly for dressing and preparing the shaft for the insertion of stone adze (hoe) and axe (rua) blades. The stone tools directly related to agricultural activity consisted of 14 flat (without shoulder) and 13-shouldered axes; and two types of adzes (hoe blades): 163 flat type (without shoulder) and 139-shouldered variety. The other agricultural tools were 2-grinding stones and 1- pestle. The tools used in carpentry were 7 adzes and 3 chisels (Figures 11 – 15.). Almost 85% Neolithic tools of the Garo Hills are manufactured through grinding. Grinding was used not only to sharpen the edge, but also to smooth the entire tool though Neolithic celtshaped pebbles are also naturally available in the riverbed along with other river-worn pebbles. These may have been

lopping of bushes and branches of trees. The axe used by the Garos resembles the socketed axe of the plains of Assam. Iron Hoe (Edge wear Pattern): To understand the edge wear pattern of the iron hoe used in jhum cultivation, it is important to consider how it was used, that is, the angle of inclination of the surface (hill slopes). This involves understanding the angle of the hoe, the angle of inclination of the surface of the field, and the flexion of the body of the workers (jhumias).

138

Hari C.Mahanta, Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation

Figure 10 Notable Neolithic sites.

used and would have reduced the amount of labour incurred in grinding.

tools, which includes grinding stone, mortars and pestles. For this study, only the agricultural tools were studied.

Axe and adze (hoe blades) cannot be differentiated from one another since typologically, they exhibit several common characteristics. The differences between the two become clear in relation to their functional and metric characteristics. The working edge of the axes has a largely convex outline and is double beveled. The cross section is mostly biconvex and lenticular. By contrast, the working edge of the adzes is convex in outline and single beveled. The cross section of both tool types is similar. The functional study reveals that more than 95% of all these tools are directly related to agricultural activity. The remaining 4-5% tools are carpentry tools. Among the agricultural tools adzes are almost entirely used in agriculture (89%), 8% of axes and 3% of other agricultural

Adze (Hoe Blade) Measurements Determination of the standard size and shape of the archaeological Neolithic hoe blade remains a problem, which a comparative study of the iron and stone blades from this area should help to clarify. When used, a blade is gradually reduced in length and breadth. This reduction in size continues until it is no longer suitable for its function, at which time it is generally discarded. This being the case, most of the adzes that we recovered had reached the point where they were no longer of use. It is apparent from the above that the ideal and useful size of the adzes (hoe blades) was longer than the recovered tools. Taking this into consideration, we looked at the measurements. The most

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Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Figure 14, Shouldered and unshouldered celts Figure 11 Ground celts

Figure 15. Grinding stones.

Figures 12, 13 Chipped celts

frequent length of the flat hoe blades is from 7.0 – 7.4 cm; the breadth is from 5.0 – 5.4 cm and thickness is 1.4 – 1.5 cm. The length of shouldered hoe blades is 6.0 – 6.4 cm; the breadth is 6.0 – 6.4 cm and the thickness is 1.4 -1.5 cm. While the thickness of the shouldered and flat blades is very similar, there is an obvious difference in length and breadth, with the flat hoe blades about 1.0 cm longer and 1.0 cm narrower than the shouldered ones. Most of the hoe blades become worn to a greater extent on one side only, normally

Figure 16. Dimension of flat celts

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Hari C.Mahanta, Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation

the right (86.42%) rather than the left side. This is same for both groups (flat 93.25%; shouldered 78.41%). (Fig 16)

exhibited by Garo society and the economic forces that bind the families’ together result in an egalitarian society.

Adze and Axe- Duration of Use

The ethnographic data from Garo Hills shows that even after the development of socio-economic organization there was no development of group specialization. The chances of specialization are minimized because of the use of some of the naturally available materials such as bamboo, bamboo tubes, and leaves and by growing some horticultural items such as gourds which are not meant for food but as vessels for carrying and storing water and country liquor (chubitchi). During the Neolithic, people used locally available raw materials for making tools and collected forest products for different uses. Both Neolithic and existing ethnographic cultures show a low level of techno-economic development, coupled with a close relationship between nature and culture. The genesis of this economic character may be understood from the interplay of environment and technology. A family in relation to the whole socio-economic system may be taken as an independent and self-contained unit, but in isolation it cannot survive. Economically, all are almost equal and part and parcel of the whole socio-economic system.

The axes are essentially primarily used for clearing the jungle, and their use remains confined to the initial phase of jhum operation. The adze or the iron hoe blades are thin to reduce weight and thus reduces the energy required during their use in the field (weeding). The axe blade is made to be thicker and heavier than the hoe. The hoe blade is used for longer periods in jhum operation; its blade wears more rapidly than that of the axe with the result that many more hoe blades than axes are needed. While the wear of the hoe blades and axes made of stone cannot be equated directly with that of blades and axes of iron, it does suggest that there would be a somewhat similar demand for replacement of the stone tools. The Neolithic tools recovered from the site at Selbalgre include both axes and adzes and other agricultural tools, though there are more adzes, which may be explained by the fact that they wear down more quickly and need to be replaced more often. Jhum Cultivation and its Carrying Capacity:

References

In the past the jhum cycle was 15 to 20 years in the Garo Hills. The growth of population has reduced the cycle to 4 to 5 years and in some areas even less. Such a reduction in the jhum cycle has in turn reduced the fertility of the land as well as the yield. The range of population estimated at Selbalgre and Misimagre is 6 to 7 per square kilometre respectively with a jhum cycle of 6 to 7 years. The jhum field, which is called aba is a compound cropping field. The principal crops of the villages based solely on shifting cultivation, barely produce a surplus. Production from jhum is not sufficient to sustain its population throughout the year. To compensate, the inhabitants must depend on other means of livelihood. These include: • • •

Allchin, F.R. and B.Allchin. 1968. The Birth of Indian Civilization, London: Pelican, Marmondeworth. Bradley, B.A. 1975. Lithic Reduction Sequences: A glossary and discussion, in Tax S. (ed.) Lithic Technology: Making and Using Stone Tools :5-14, The Hague: Mouton. Census of India 1991, Hand Book. Goswami, M. and A.C.Bhagabati 1959a. A typological Study of Shouldered Celts from Rengchangiri (Garo Hills), in Journal of the University of Gauhati, 10 (2): 105-122 Goswami, M. and A.C.Bhagabati 1959b. A Preliminary Report on the collection of Neolithic tool types from Western Assam, in Man in India 39 (4): 312-324. Goswami, M.C., H.C.Sharma, and S.K.Roy.1969. Typological Study of Stone Implements from Rengigiri, in Journal of Assam Science Society 12: 12-22. Goswami, M.C. 1972. A Report on an Iron celt from Garo Hills, in Bulletin of the Department of anthropology, Gauhati University I: 97-98. Krishnaswami, V.D. 1960. The Neolithic Pattern of India in Ancient India, 16:25-64. Lal, B.B. (ed). 1969.Exploration in Garo Hills District, in Indian Archaeology: A Review, 1967-1968:7-8. Majumdar, D.N. 1965. The Garos, Lawyers Book Stall, Guwahati, Assam. Majumdar, D.N. 1978. Culture Change in Two Garo Villages, Antropological Survey of India. Playfair, A. 1909. The Garos, Gauhati and Calcutta: United Publisher, Reprinted 1975. Roy, S.K. 1977a. A Study of Ceramic from the Neolithic to the Mediaeval Period of Assam: An Enthnoarchaeological Approach, Unpublihsed Ph.D.Thesis, Gauhati University.

Seasonal hunting/fishing Gathering of forest food Association with nearest urban centers (this was not so in the past)

Each household is economically self-contained and depends exclusively on its own labour resources, though families pursuing both shifting and wet cultivation are economically stronger. The stages of the jhum operation have to be completed within a stipulated time. These include burning of jhum plots, weeding and harvesting; the shortage of labour is tackled by a traditionally evolved system of manual labour exchange (baragrika) (Table 4). Conclusion A comparative study of agricultural tools from the Neolithic and the ethnographic contexts reveal a functional homogeneity. The constraints that the traditional people of this area face today are similar to those faced in the Neolithic. ‘Reciprocity and co-operation’ are major features

141

142

September-October

November-December

August

December-January

November

July (20-25 days after sowing)

Weeding not necessary

March-April (20-25 days after sowing)

March-April (20-25 days after sowing) and in September

March-April (20-25 days after sowing) and in September

March-April (20-25 days after sowing) and in August

-

(Working hours maximum during June-July and harvesting time)

The initial 3 months e.g. March, April and May experience heavy rainfall, and weed grown rapidly, hence the involvement of tools becomes greater.

-

Working hours decline steadily through October-November

The initial 3 months e.g. March, April and May experience heavy rainfall, and weed grown rapidly, hence the involvement of tools becomes greater. (Working hours maximum during March to September)

Remarks

Source: Majumder 1978; Playfair 1975, personal observation Note: Weeding starts 20-25 days after sowing. The main tools used in shifting plots are hoe, axe and digging stick. The dao is not uncommon. The plough is the main tool in wet cultivation. E=Early; L =Late

Jute (Dry) usually broadcast

Paddy (Wet) Transplanted

Paddy (Dry) usually broadcast

Permanent Plots

Cotton Lae

Ginger Beans Sesame etc

September

October

March-April (20-25 days after sowing)

September

Melon/gourd/other vegetables

Brinjal Chilli Paddy (L) → Manioc Yams Deccan hemp

March-April (20-25 days after sowing)

Weeding period

August

Month of Harvesting

Millet (E) Millet (L) Paddy (E)

Shifting Plots

Crops

Table-4: Time Schedule for Weeding and Harvesting Crops from Shifting and Permanent Plots

Archaeological Invisibility and Forgotten Knowledge

Hari C.Mahanta, Continuance of Neolithic Agriculture and Shifting Cultivation

Archaeology of Northeast India, in Journal of Assam Research Society, 27: 41. Sharma, T.C. and H.C.Sharma. 1968. A Report on the Investigation into the Prehistoric Archaeology of the Garo hills, in Journal of Gauhati University 16-17 (2): 73-84. Sharma, T.C. and O.K.Singh. 1968. S t u d i e s on Prehistoric Archaeology of the Garo Hills, in Journal of Assam Science Society 11: 35-50. Sharma, T.C. and S.K.Roy. 1980. A report of the Excavation at Sebalgiri, Garo Hills District, Meghalaya. Unpublished manuscript. Suckling, J. 1976.A Native Model of a Stone Age Economy, in CA 1 (17): 105-115. Thapar, B.K. 1964.Neolithic Problem in India, in Mishra V.N. (ed.) Indian Prehistory, Deccan College PostGraduate and Research Institute, Pune. Thapar, B.K. 1978. Early Farming Communities in India, in Journal of Human Evolution 7: 11-12.

Roy, S.K. 1977b. Ceramic of Arunachal Pradesh and their Nature of Adaptation, in Cultural and Biological Adaptability of Man with Special Reference to N.E.India, Bulletin of the Department of anthropology, Dibrugarh University, 6:117-129. Roy, S.K.1980.A note on Carpentry tools (rua), Eastern garo Hills, Meghalaya, in Bulletin of the Department of Anthropology, Dibrugahr University, 9:202-205. Sauer, C.O. 1952. Agricultural origins and dispersals, in American Geographical Society, New York. Sharma, H.C. 1972. Prehistoric Archaeology: Stone Age Cultures of the Garo Hills, Unpublished Ph.D.thesis, Gauhati University, Assam Sharma, T.C. 1966. Prehistoric Archaeology of Assam: A Study of Neolithic Cultures, Unpublished Ph.D.thesis, London University. Sharma, T.C. 1967. Assam in Prehistoric Times, Kamrupa: Assam Science Society 83-89. Sharma, T.C. 1984. Recent Advances in Prehistory and

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Chapter 15 Women’s Work: Skin Processing in Northern Hunter – Gatherer Settlements and the Archaeological Context

Torunn Klokkernes Abstract: The invisibility of women’s knowledge in hunter -gatherer societies is caused by poor preservation of organic materials. This is the traditional approach, which is correct. There is however another reason and that is the lack of knowledge of what to look for in a settlement to allow us to see women’s work more clearly. The richness of the knowledge and the variation of methods and materials used in skin processing technology, indicate that cutting and scraping tools found in archeological contexts, is only a fragment of the knowledge systems related to this meticulous craft. In order to understand what to look for in a settlement, it is important to recognize the principles of skin processing. It is furthermore important to be aware of the variety of methods employed to obtain specific material qualities used under various climatic conditions. A glimpse into the principles of skin processing technology in arctic and sub arctic cultures, the physical structures and manifestations associated with it, provides a starting point for this understanding.

Introduction

primarily culturally determined, but seems to be more related to the availability of natural resources. The flora and fauna in a region will indicate the choice of skin materials, along with tanning substances that are most likely to be used in the skin processing technology (Klokkernes, 2007). It is, for example, shown that in regions where wild reindeer migration occurs or where reindeer herding is the basic subsistence activity, people will most likely use reindeer skin for winter clothing and reindeer leg skin for boots, whereas in regions where reindeer do not migrate, other skin materials, for example, elk, deer and wolf skin may be used in the production of winter garments (Grøn, 2005, pers. comm.).

The skill of skin processing technology in the Eurasian arctic and sub arctic was learned from an early age chiefly by women, although men also need to know how to process skins, and especially how to maintain and repair skin and fur garments. Traditional knowledge systems encompass not only the practicalities of the skin processing itself – but also the beliefs and rituals surrounding the preparation practice, the gathering of materials and tanning substances and subsequently how to use, maintain and preserve the skin, as well as the clothing item itself. Traditional knowledge is part of person’s culture and is accumulated throughout a person’s life. It changes gradually into new experiences without necessarily discarding former knowledge (Borgos, 1993). Even though the term ‘traditional’ is used, it is emphasized that all traditional knowledge is contemporary and dynamic, and continuously revised and updated (Cochran, 1997). Skin processing technology is accumulated knowledge and experience: knowledge of materials, how materials may be physically manipulated to acquire the properties that are needed for a specific purpose, and the ability to adapt materials and methods according to current conditions. Ole Henrik Magga describes traditional knowledge as follows: “Indigenous traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions, i.e. what we today sometimes refer to as their cultural heritage, arises as a result of a particular way of life. It is not a result of one or a group of individuals’ endeavours. All members of the society contribute. Indigenous traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions vests in the collective, rather than with specific individuals. It is modified and enlarged over time, from one generation to the next” (Magga, 2003).

The adaptation to natural resources is well described by Shirokogoroff (1935). He writes: “The elements of the Tungus complex of clothing and household, beginning from the wigwam, are indicative of two facts, namely that the Tungus gradually and regardless of origin have accumulated knowledge of using the materials found-athand in the most economical way in the given conditions and that their complex of the clothing and household with a few exceptions is well adapted to the local conditions and needs of a hunting mode of life” (Shirokogoroff, 1935). This human-environmental interaction (Müller-Wille, 2001) can also be illustrated with regards to tanning substances, for example by the use of willow bark extract and marine oils in the North Sámi culture in Finnmark, Norway and the use of brown rotted larch wood and fatty substances from land animals in the northern part of the Sakha Republic in Siberia. Skin processing on a settlement Skin processing is an integrated part of seasonal activities on a settlement. Depending on the main subsistence activity of the family unit, the initial stages of the processing may be

Skin processing technology in the circumpolar area is not

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performed as the animals are slaughtered. This is observed in the Sámi culture, where the traditional subsistence activity is reindeer herding, and where the early autumn slaughtering is an opportunity to obtain good skins for the required number of garments. Cleaning and drying is initiated as soon as the animal is skinned, as well as determining what each particular skin could best be used for. In the Sámi culture five to six reindeer skins are used to produce a winter coat, and it is an advantage if the skins match in thickness, colour and quality. These skins are often taken from young calves, from the early autumn gathering. If producing festive winter coats, often made from white reindeer calf skin, years may pass until enough skins of the preferred colour and quality is obtained. Skin processing is performed outside, close to or inside the dwelling/house or in an adjacent dwelling/house. The location for the various stages in the skin processing is dependent on the nature of the process itself, the size and weight of the skin; it is furthermore dependent upon the season and the weather, the amount of mosquitoes and upon the space required for performing certain processes. Parts of the process may be performed whilst also doing other chores, and one needs to be able to go to and fro. It may be carried out by oneself or together with family members or neighbours.

Figure 1. The inside of a smoking structure. The structure is covered with skins and also cloth. Sredniy Kalar, Chita County, Russia, 2001. Photo O. Grøn.

There is no visible spatial pattern for skin processing on a settlement. It is, however, possible to indicate three areas in a settlement where the different skin processing stages may take place, one area being close to water, another being some distance away from the dwelling and a third being located close to the dwelling. Certain processes may occupy more space than others, such as dehairing the skins in lakes or ponds, and the drying of skins on the ground, on racks or nailed to walls. Informant Malchakitova Ludmila Vasilievna from Chapo Ologo in Transbaikal, Siberia, describes drying in terms of the winter method and the summer method: “The process takes place outside. You choose two trees, which are placed opposite each other at a distance a bit larger than the width of the skin. Then you take two loose trunks and fasten them horizontally on the trees at a distance of the length of the skin. Nails or string are used to fasten the trunks. Between these trunks you stretch the skin by pulling string through holes in the edges of the skin, and ‘sew’ the skin to the frame. You always start with the top, then bottom and then sides. In the end the string is pulled to stretch the skin evenly.” The winter method follows the same principle. The only difference is that the two vertical trunks are not rooted and the frame with the stretched skin is leaned against the wall of the dwelling. If the smoking of skins is a regularly applied process, as in the Evenk culture, informants have specified that this should take place a safe distance from the dwelling and preferably close to water. There are several possible smoking structures, one example is a tipi shaped structure and another example is a dome shaped structure, both made from twigs and tent cloth or skin. These temporary structures are, according to the informants, are removed

Figure 2. A more permanent smoking structure covered by metal sheets and cloth. Nichaka, Chita County, Russia, 2000.

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and rebuilt when required. Smoking structures may also be larger, permanent structures covered with bark and/or cloth, with the smoke being lead through a pipe from an iron oven dug into the river bed (Fig. 1 and 2). Tools, implements and physical structures The geographical and historical distribution of tools and implements used in indigenous cultures in the circumpolar area covers a wide field of inquiry. In recent centuries tools and implements have changed according to the availability of natural resources, trading possibilities, and the continuous change and improvement of the technologies which have been used in their production. The creativity in constructing tools and implements has few limitations. As long as the tool provides the effect that is required, it may be constructed in a number of ways and from a number of materials. Even so, the main shape of the various scrapers is maintained over time. The foremost tool types are referred to in Gudmund Hatt’s thesis from 1914, and are described as one handed (end scrapers) and two handed scrapers made from various materials (Hatt, 1914). Regarding the distribution of tools and implements across the circumpolar area, the semi-lunar knife (the ulu) is a central tool in the Canadian arctic and in Greenland (Fig. 3). This tool is not observed in the Scandinavian and Siberian arctic and sub arctic area. The ulu is known as a women’s knife and the style of the ulu changes slightly according to location (Issenman, 1997). However, the ulu appears in the coastal areas of the Bering Sea in the Chukchi and Koryak cultures (Antropova & Kuznetsova, 1964; Antropova, 1964; Bogoras, 1909), which, not surprisingly, would suggest contact across the Bering Strait.

Figure 3. Ulu. Used as a knife and a scraper by Inuit women.

5) and is also found in the Nentsy and Nganasan’s cultures (Popov, 1964; Middendorff, 1953) and in the Khanti culture (Sirelius, 1904) which suggests contact between the Nordic and Russian Sámi culture and the west Siberian indigenous cultures. As far as it can be established the s-shaped blade or the ulu is not found in the central parts of the Siberian arctic and sub arctic. The use of a particular scraper is dependent upon the skin material which is being processed. The scraper is chosen which has the correct combination of properties for a given skin material: The angle of the tang, the length of the handle and the structure of the edges (smooth or serrated, sharp or dull). It can also be both smooth and serrated as in double edged two-handed scrapers.

The characteristic two handed scraper, with the s-shaped blade, which is used widely in the Sámi culture (Fig. 4 and

Figure 4. The characteristic Sámi culture skin scraper with the s-shaped blade, used here in the removal of the subcutaneous tissue on a reindeer leg skin. Finnmark, Norway, 2004.

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Figure 5. An Evenk culture end scraper (sharp), used here in the removal of the subcutaneous tissue on a reindeer leg skin. Kharyyalach, Sakha Republic, Russia, 2001.

The initial cleaning of the skins and the possible removal of hairs are the first stages in the processing of skins. If the preservation of the epidermis is important for the water repellent properties of the skin material, a sharp knife or ulu is used. This has been, for example, observed in central Inuit cultures, in the removal of hairs from fresh sealskin. The scraper blade is angled close to the skin’s surface and the blade’s edge may be bevelled on both sides. The cutting of the hairs is also highly dependent upon grip and upon skill and experience. In this process, the knife or scraper needs to be sharp to be able to cut the hairs by the root without damaging the epidermal layer, and the blade is continuously sharpened throughout the process (Fig. 6). Today the blade of the skin scraper is primarily made from iron or steel but previously it was also made from stone, antler or bone. The blade is attached to a handle made of any available material, e.g. set in a slot, tied with a rope, sinew or leather straps, or attached with nails or screws (Antropova & Kuznetsova, 1964; Bogoras, 1909; Hatt, 1914; Mason, 1895; Middendorff, 1953; Popov, 1966). After drying the skin, it is prepared for the tanning substances if these are to be applied. To be able to control the scraping process, the skin may be placed on a solid surface, (though it is not always) either the floor, a flat stone or on a slightly rounded wooden scraping board/ tripod. Before the tanning substances can be applied it is important to remove the subcutaneous tissue on the flesh side of the skin. This is often done with fairly sharp scrapers that have a smooth edge. Both one and two handed scrapers may be used. The process of removing the subcutaneous tissue is carefully controlled; it is important to remove the dry subcutaneous layer on the surface of the flesh side of the skin, but not to remove the underlying collagen fibres, and thereby decreasing the thickness of the skin’s dermis (Fig. 4 and 5). Failure to remove the subcutaneous layer inhibits the skins ability to absorb the tanning substance, and it also decreases the skins ability to stretch and become soft. In this process, the angle of the skin scraper blade on the skin is fairly perpendicular to the skins surface, and the scrapers edge is often bevelled only on one side. When the subcutaneous tissue has been removed from the flesh side

Figure 6. The removal of hair from fresh sealskin, using a sharp ulu. Churchill, Manitoba, Canada, 1993.

of the skin, the skin is ready to receive a tanning substance, if that is desired. The use of scrapers with a dull edge has the purpose of softening the skin as well as to stretch and shape the skin. In this process, the skin fibres (the collagen fibres) are pulled apart and to a certain extent realigned. Dull edged scrapers are also used to work the tanning substances into the skins

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Figure 7. Collection of tools and materials used in skin processing technology. From left to right, placed on a tanned reindeer skin are two lumps of brown rotted larch wood and above these, thin wooden sticks for drying whole skins. The typical tools; a sharp end scraper, an end scraper with a serrated edge and an extended handle, and a two-handed scraper with a smooth but not sharp blade is shown next to the scraping board. Presented by: Tomskaya Rosalia Ivanovna, Egerova Maria Ivanovna, and Stepanova Valentina Vasilievna, in Kharyyalach, Sakha Republic, Russia, 2004.

A number of implements which assist during the different stages of changing a raw pelt into material suitable for manufacturing clothing and footwear include frames or racks for drying, scraping boards, and implements to soften the skin, such as the skin press and the ‘softening chair’ (Fig. 10). The shape and size of the scraping boards differs slightly from area to area, but the worker’s position (sitting on a stool or chair) is identical. The tripod uses the same principles, but it is customary for the user to stand during the scraping, softening, and stretching process. The ‘softening chair’ observed in the Evenk culture, is used mainly to soften the skin. A parallel in the Sámi culture is the scythe shaped iron (Fig. 11) which may be fastened to the wall, and where the skin also is drawn back and forth across the dull edge of the scythe (Drake, 1918; Fjellström, 1985; Nesheim, 1964; Hætta, 1993). In some areas in Siberia the skin press (talki, also called “crocodile”), is used for softening the skin. It comes in various sizes, depending on the size of the skin, and is utilized on depilated skin as well as on leg skin (Fig. 12 and 13).

structure or in the removal of excess tanning substances from the flesh side of the skin. The blade of the scrapers used for these processes should be dull but may also be serrated (Fig. 7 and 8); the angle of the blade on the skins surface is less important and the scraping activity is more irregular, absolute control is less important than when a sharp scraper is used (Issenman, 1997; Bogoras, 1909; Hatt, 1914). The visual characterisation of skin materials may indicate the type of scraper used in the processing stages. This has been observed in historic indigenous culture skin materials (Klokkernes, 2007). The use of a scraper with a serrated edge may leave parallel lines in the skins surface, indicating the coarseness or fineness of the scraper (Fig 9). In the examination of the skin fragments from the Hauslabjoch find, Joachim Lange, in his article from 1992, describes long fine parallel lines in the skin, suggesting the possible use of a tool in the processing of the material (Lange, 1992). Depending on the regularity of the lines, a scraper with a serrated edge may have been used, or the marks may be from manually thinning or splitting the skin, using a sharp knife or knifelike object. However, manual splitting or thinning does not produce marks with the same regularity as a serrated scraper.

Teeth are used mainly for softening thick skins or rough parts of a skin by chewing the skin, as well as holding skins or parts of skins, in place during other operations.

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The archaeological context Skin materials and tanning substances leave few traces in the archaeological record, unless certain environmental conditions are present (Cronyn, 1990). Ideal conditions include very dry, desiccated conditions or desiccated and salty environmental conditions (salt mines), where mummified tissue and leather artefacts may be well preserved. An example is the mummies recovered from saline conditions in northern China, with well-preserved textile clothing items as well as skin materials, such as the deer skin boots of the so-called Cherchen man (Barber, 1999). The Hallstatt salt mines in Austria are another example where skin materials have been well preserved (Grabner, et al., 2007; Goubitz, 2007; Piggott, 1965). The introduction of salt, which acts as a preservation medium, the low stable relative humidity, and the low input of oxygen, will have favourable effect on the condition and the preservation of organic material remains. Frozen conditions also provide a good milieu for the preservation of skin and fur materials. Several archaeological sites are known for their well-preserved skin and fur artefacts and human remains. These include the man from Hauslabjoch on the Italian/Austrian border (Spindler, 1994; Egg, et al. 1993), the mummies of Qilakitsoq in Greenland (Hansen et al., 1985), the Scythian frozen tombs in the Altai region in Russia (Van Noten & Polosmak, 1995), and the human remains and artefacts found at the traditional territory of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations in British Columbia in Canada (Kwädāy Dän Ts’ínchi) (Beattie et al., 2000). The common denominator of these sites is that the human remains, the clothing and the artefacts associated with the bodies have been kept more or less frozen since death/burial. In a frozen state the biological processes, which are responsible for the deterioration of organic materials, are inhibited or significantly delayed, thereby preserving the material. The retreat of glaciers, uncovering both human remains and artefacts, may be responsible for several archaeological finds in recent decades.

Figure 8. An end scraper with a serrated edge exhibited at the Olenek Historical-Ethnographical Museum of North Peoples in Olenek, Sakha Republic, Russia, 2001.

Bogs and other anaerobic sites are also known for the good preservation of organic materials (van der Sanden, 1996). Depending on the type of bog or the conditions at the site, the organic materials on the site may be more or less preserved. In general one may say that protein based materials, such as skin and wool, is preserved to a greater degree under acidic (low pH) conditions than under more basic (high pH) conditions (van der Sanden, 1996; Cronyn, 1990). Investigating the possible use of vegetable tanning agents is difficult in skin materials found in waterlogged sites, such as bogs. The skin material will most often have received a secondary tanning, through substances present in the ground (Groenman-van Waateringe et al., 1999). Even though the skin may be well preserved, analysis of possible tanning agents present in the skin will be obscured by these secondary substances.

Figure 9. Tool marks on the flesh side of an Evenk culture coat, probably from the use of a scraper with serrated edge. Notice the various directions of the parallel lines.

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Figure 10. Nikolaeva Maria Vladimirovna using the softening-chair. The flesh side of the leg skin faces the iron blade, and the skin is pulled back and forth over the blade. Settlement north of Kharyyalach, Sakha Republic, Russia, 2001

Figure 11. A scythe shaped iron from the Sámi culture, used as a softening tool. Historic photograph. © Museum of Cultural History, University of Oslo.

An example of sites where this secondary effect is lacking is very dry sites or frozen sites. In these types of sites there is a much higher probability of being able to, for example, identify vegetable tanning agents, than in ground burials.

although Joachim Lange observes weak traces of vegetable tannins using thin layer chromatography (Lange, 1992). During the analysis of skin fragments from the Hauslabjoch find, it is indicated that the skin may be have been treated with a fatty substance and smoked. This is based on Groenman-van Waateringe’s (1995, 1999) experiments on how pollen fastened in the hair coat of a skin sample is affected by smoke, and by studying literature sources. Identifying smoking as a tanning method in historic skin sample material is a complicated affair, mainly because clothing and footwear as well as other items have on a

The skin material clothing of the man from Hauslabjoch has been identified as being made of calfskin, as well as skins from red deer, goat, and bear (Groenman-van Waateringe & Goedecker-Ciolek, 1992; Lange, 1992; Groenman-van Waateringe, 1995). The preliminary analyses of the skin materials, however, do not reveal a definite tanning method,

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Figure 12. A newly built skin press (talki), used to soften larger skins. Nichatka, Chita County, Russia, 2000.

Figure 13. Malchakitova Ludmila Vasilievna softening a leg skin in a small skin-press (talki). Chapo Ologo, Chita County, Russia, 1999.

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regular basis been exposed to smoke in the dwelling. This is especially true if they have been regularly dried in the dwelling close to the hearth. A modern parallel is the observation of reindeer leg skin boots in the Sámi culture, where the smoking of skins is not used as part of the skin processing method. Informants have, however, indicated that they have noticed a strengthening of the skin as it ages, and perhaps so because the boots are kept and dried in a smoke filled environment (Eira, 2005, pers. comm.).

nativescience.org/html/traditional_knowledge.html “What is traditional knowledge? When an elder dies, a library burns”. Reading date: 27.5.2005. Cronyn, J.M., 1999. The Elements of Archaeological Conservation. London:Routledge. Drake, S., 1918. Västerbottenslapparna under förra hälften av 1800-talet. Etnografiska Studier. Lapparne och deras land. Skildringar och studier. 7. Stockholm. Wahlström & Widstrand. Egg, M., Goedecker-Ciolek, R, Groenman-van Waateringe, W. & Spindler, K., 1993. Die Gletschermumie vom ende der steinzeit aus den Ötztaler Alpen. Mainz: Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseum, 39. Eira, T. M., 2005. Personal communication Fjellström, P., 1985. Samernas samhälle i tradisjon och nutid. P.A. Norstedt & Söners Förlag. Stockholm. Goubitz, O., 2007. Stepping through time. Archaeological footwear from prehistoric times until 1800. Zwolle, Stichting Promotie Archeologie. Grabner, M., Klein, A., Geihofer, D., Reschreiter, H., Barth, F.E., Sormaz, T. & Wimmer, R., 2007. Bronze age dating of timber from the salt-mine at Hallstatt, Austria.” Dendrochronologia, 24:61-68. Groenman-van Waateringe, W. & Goedecker-Ciolek, R., 1992. The Equipment made of hide and leather, in: F.Höpfel, W. Platzer & K. Spindler (eds.). Der Mann im Eis, vol. 1. Bericht über das Internationale Symposium 1992 , Innsbruck. Eigenverlag der Universität Innsbruck. Groenman-van Waateringe, W., 1995. Pollenanalyse als indikator fü das gerbeverfahren bei der tierfelle des mannes vom Tisenjoch, in: K. Spindler, E. RastbichlerZissernig, H. Wilfing (eds.). Der Mann im Eis, vol. 2: 67-71. Vienna, Springer-Verlag, Groenman-van Waateringe, W., Kilian, M. & van Londen, H., 1999. The curing of hides and skins in European prehistory. Antiquity, 73: 884-890. Grøn, O., 2005. Personal communication Hansen, J. P. H., Meldgaard, J. & Nordqvist, J., 1985. Qilakitsoq. De Grønlandske mumier fra 1400-tallet. København. Det grønlandske landsmuseum, Chr. Ejlers forlag, København. Hatt, G., 1914. Arktiske skinddragter i Eurasien og Amerika. København , J. H. Schultz Forlagsboghandel.. Hætta, I. H., 1993. Sisti. Unpublished Masters thesis. Statens Lærerhøgskole i forming, Oslo. Issenman, B. K., 1997. Sinews of survival. The living legacy of Inuit clothing. Vancouver. UBC Press and Études/ Inuit/Studies. Klokkernes, T., 2007. Skin Processing Technology in Eurasian Reindeer Cultures. A Comparative Study in Material Science of Sámi and Evenk Methods — Perspectives on Deterioration and Preservation of Museum Artefacts. Ph.D. thesis, The Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, School of Conservation. LMR Press, Rudkøbing. URL: http://www.langelandsmuseum. dk/LMR%20Press.htm Lange, J., 1992. Vorläufige befunde der untersuchungen an pelzlederprobe, in F.Höpfel, W. Platzer & K. Spindler (eds.) Der Mann im Eis, vol. 1: 419-435. Bericht über das

Conclusion Characterising and identifying skin processing methods in the course of archaeological excavations is a challenge, and identifying tanning substances, if skin materials are among the finds, is equally challenging. Using ethnographic parallels in the study of prehistoric skin processing technology including the use of various tools and implements may, however, give indications as to what to look for in an excavation and in the artefact material itself. Visual characterisation and a range of analytical techniques which are under continuous development is available for the study of prehistoric skin materials, and yields information both on the animal skin type, on features in the processing stages, on tanning substances, and on the condition of the artefact. However, the alterations of the material, under certain burial environments such as bogs and other waterlogged, anaerobic conditions, may interfere with and obscure the analytical results. It is therefore important to treasure the relatively few finds which have not been exposed to, for example, a secondary tanning, and to refrain from any post-excavating treatment which would alter the composition of the material. References Antropova, V. V., 1964. The Koryaks, in M. G. Levin & L. P. Potapov (eds.) The peoples of Siberia: 851-876. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Antropova, V. V. & Kuznetsova, V. G., 1964. The Chukchi. in M. G. Levin & L. P. Potapov (eds.) The peoples of Siberia: 799-836. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Barber, E. W., 1999. The Mummies of Ürümchi. New York : W. Norton & Company. Beattie, O., Apland, B., Blake, E. W., Cosgrove, J. A., Gaunt, S., Greer, S., Mackie, A. P., Mackie, K. E., Thorp, V. & Troffe, P. M., 2000. The Kwädāy Dän Ts’ínchi discovery from a glacier in British Columbia. Journal Canadin d’Archéologie. 24:129-147. Bogoras, W., 1909. The Chukchee. The Jesup North Pacific Expedition. Memoir of the American Museum of Natural History. Vol. 7. Ed. F. Boaz. G. E. Stechert & Co. New York. Borgos, J, 1993. Tradisjonall Samisk kunnskap og forskning, in: L. Lasko (ed.). Traditionell samisk kunskap och forskning. Dieðut 5:7-21. Cochran, P., 1997. Traditional knowledge systems in the Arctic. Bering Sea ecosystem, workshop report, Anchorage, Alaska: 93-98.Online: http://www.

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Potapov (eds.) The peoples of Siberia: 571-582. Chicago and London. The University of Chicago Press. Popov, A. A., 1966. The Nganasans. The material culture of the Tavgi Samoyeds. Vol. 56. Uralic and Altaic Series. Bloomington. Indiana University. Shirokogoroff, S. M., 1935. Psychomental complex of the Tungus. London. Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. Sirelius, U. T., 1904. Die Handarbeiten der Ostjaken und Wogulen. Journal de la Société Finno-Ougrienne. 22. Helsinki. Spindler, K., 1994. The man in the ice. London. Weidenfeld and Nicolson, van der Sanden, , W., 1996. Udødeliggjorte i mosen. Historien om de nordvesteuropæiske moselig. Amsterdam. Batavian Lion International, Van Noten F., Polosmak N., 1995. The frozen tombs of the Scythians. Endeavour. Vol. 19: 76-82. Vasilievna, M. L., 1999. Personal communication

Internationale Symposium 1002. Innsbruck. Eigenverlag der Universität. Magga, O. H., 2003. Tangible and Intangible Cultural Heritage. An indigenous perspective. The World Heritage Convention: Future challenges and possible lines of actions. European Conference, Røros, Norway, 3-5. September 2003. Online: http://www.unesco.no/. Reading date: 20.5.2005. Mason, O. T., 1895. Woman’s share in primitive culture. London and New York. Macmillian & Co. Müller-Wille, L., 2001. Cultural identity among Sámi and Inuit: Issues of ethnic groups and boundaries. Études/ inuit/studies. Vol, 25: 285-294. Middendorff, A. Th. von, 1953. Auf Schlitten, Boot und Renntierrücken. . Leipzig. Veb F. A. Brockhaus Verlag. Nesheim, A., 1964. The Lapp fur and skin terminology. Reprint from Studia ethnographica Upsaliensia, 21:199218. Piggott, S., 1965. Ancient Europe from the beginning of agriculture to classical Antiquity. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Popov, A. A., 1964. The Nganasans, in M. G. Levin & L. P.

All photographs by author unless otherwise noted. Copyright photos: Torunn Klokkernes.

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Chapter 16 Domestic Space and Cultural Transformation Among the Awá of Eastern Amazonia

Alfredo González Rubial, Gustavo Politis, Almudena Hernando, Elizabeth Beserra Coelho Abstract: In this article we offer a descriptive review of the domestic structures of the Awá. The culture of the Awá is being transformed due to the pressure that the National Indian Department (FUNAI) is exerting on them after their inclusion in protected reservations, where they are forced to cultivate. The Awá however present different degrees of resistance to this pressure, which are expressed through the use of space and house building, among other things. We aim to show how their economic and cultural strategy and the degree of acceptance of an agricultural way of life are closely associated with certain types of domestic structure.

Introduction

both during the dry season (July-August, December) and the rainy season (January-February) (figure1).

The architecture and organization of hunter-gatherer camps and villages has been one of the central themes in ethnoarchaeological research (among many others; Yellen 1977; Binford 1978; Kent 1987; Whitelaw 1991a, b; Politis 1992; Greaves 2006). One of the main reasons for this popularity is that it is possible to derive archaeological perspectives from camp structure, and from these perspectives to explore a variety of cultural patterns including mobility, social and kinship organization, demography and group size, sharing behaviours and intrasite activity areas. The contribution of ethnoarchaeological information on site structure and activity areas (see summaries in David and Kramer 2001, González Ruibal 2003) has been crucial in the interpretation of some aspects of the archaeological record of past hunter-gatherers (Whitelaw 1991a and b, Tani 1995). On the other hand, mobility, household units and camp structure have been very sensitive to the cultural changes brought about by western colonization and globalization in general. These are some of the first things to be modified when hunter-gatherers are impacted by westernization. Some traditional patterns still persist however, allowing for an investigation of settlement organization and inter- and intra-site variability among hunter-gatherers in transition (see for example Kelly et al. 2006b).

The Awá, who are also called Guajá, is an indigenous, traditionally hunter-gatherer group who live in the state of Maranhão, Brazil (Balée 1994; Forline 1997; Cormier 2003) (figure 1). Currently they number around 300 individuals; these are the remnants of a larger population decimated by massacres, epidemics and, in general, a chaotic contact with Brazilian society between the mid-1970s and the mid1980s (Treece 1987). Although they were all pure huntergatherers until 1973, when the people who are now living in the Guajá post were contacted, the great majority of them have been forced to cultivate on their reservations by the National Indian Agency (FUNAI) which is also responsible for their sedentarization. Only a few dozen remain isolated. Manioc and rice are currently complementing - and to a large extent superseding - babassu palm fruits (Orbignya/ Attalea speciosa) and other carbohydrate-rich fruits and seeds. However, and in spite of the efforts to stop them by the FUNAI, the Awa are still gathering palm fruits and other forest products during their foraging trips. Moreover game is still their only source of meat and provides a significant part of the diet. They hunt a large array of forest animals with bows and arrows and shotguns. These include a variety of monkeys; they have a predilection for howler monkey (Alouatta beelzebul), tapir (Tapirus terrestris), peccary (Tayassu sp.), agouti (Dasyprocta sp.), paca (Agouti paca), deer (Mazama sp.), and caiman (Melanosuchus niger). They also capture and eat land turtles, catfish, large electric eels (Electrophorus electricus), and other minor fish species. Large fish are killed with harpoons and arrows.

The aim of this paper is to contribute, with fresh data, to the construction of a database related to settlement patterns and site structure in hunter-gatherer societies. To achieve this we will describe the domestic structures and campsites of the Awá foragers and their use and organization of this domestic space. Our observations come from three field seasons in what was deemed their most traditional settlement (Juriti) between 2006 and 2007 totaling around 10 weeks in the field, and a preliminary field trip of three weeks to all four established Awá villages (2005); Juriti, Awá, Guajá and Tiracambú. Fieldwork was carried out

Short foraging trips take place almost every day although their purpose and length vary according to whether it is the dry or rainy season. The Awá catchment area is located in the eastern flanks of the Brazilian Amazon and although it is usually defined as a tropical humid forest it would be more accurate to describe this area as a seasonally dry tropical

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Figure 1. The location of the Awá in Brazil and the state of Maranhão.

forest (Forline 1997: 84). The climate is characterized by two distinct seasons, a rainy season which occurs between December and early May, and a dry season running from June through November (ibid.). Depending on the season, Awá subsistence strategies change as they focus their daily trips on collecting vegetables; this occurs more often during the rainy season than in the dry season. During the dry season, hunting is the almost exclusive aim of their

foraging trips. This also implies a different pattern in their movements, as they travel further and with more organized groups in the dry than in the rainy season. Let us give two examples: Rainy season foraging daily trips from January 16th to 31st 2007: n = 12.

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Distance: X= 8.08 km, min=1.69 km, max =13.8 km;

As well as the consequences of invasions by loggers, sedentarization itself has changed Awá architecture and the use of space. Many identifiable spatial patterns can be linked to the nomadic period however, and we discuss these below. It is important though to remember that all ethnoarchaeological work carried out on hunter-gatherer societies is conducted in colonial or postcolonial settings and this frequently influences many aspects of human behavior (David and Kramer 2001: 227).

Duration: X= 7.11 hrs, min= 2.14 hrs, max=11.06 hrs. Number of participants: X= 7, min.1, max=15 with a wide variation. Dry season foraging daily trips from July 20th to the August 7th 2007: n= 9. Distance: X= 9.74, min=4.5 km, max= 20 kms.

The typology of Awá domestic structures

Duration : X= 7.95 hrs, min= 4 hrs, max= 13.20 hrs.

Today there are three main types of Awá domestic structure:

Number of participants: X= 5.6

1. Traditional Awá structures, used before contact. These include: 1.1 Wooden grills for hunted meat. 1.2 Basic shelters to protect from the rain. 1.3 Traditional huts, which can be used for domestic or ritual purposes. 2. Open rectangular houses. 3. Wattle-and-daub peasant-style houses.

Longer logistical expeditions are also still frequently undertaken. These expeditions last between three days and several weeks and they sometimes involve the construction of camps not further than 10 km away from Juriti. There are strong variations between seasons. During the rainy season, they build camps with substantial structures whereas during the dry season they just spread their hammocks among the trees and make a wooden grill. There are some families who are particularly keen on these temporary camps and who spend long periods of time in the forest. One of the families living in Juriti, composed of two adult males their wives and three children, usually spends around one month at a time in foraging camps. The FUNAI personnel usually prefer the Awá to remain near their outpost so as to avoid problems derived from invasions or attacks by strangers, normally peasants (caboclos) and woodcutters who often enter the indigenous reservation to hunt, fell trees or open clearings for cultivation. As a consequence, these expeditions are often curtailed in terms of intensity, duration and purpose.

Traditional Awá huts are most often found in foraging camps but they sometimes occur in permanent settlements where they usually occupy a peripheral position. Open rectangular houses and peasant-style houses only appear in sedentary villages sponsored by the Brazilian State through the National Indian Agency (FUNAI). 1. Traditional structures 1.1. Wooden grills (makapá) The Awá have two ways of cooking the meat they hunt; boiling or grilling. To grill, they construct simple wooden structures that are associated with huts or hammocks (figure 2). Grills associated with temporary camps are often equally temporary; they are assembled and disassembled swiftly. In some hunting camps, they represent the only built structure. In other cases however these structures are more durable, such as in the villages of Juriti and Awá where they are associated with permanent houses and used collectively. In Juriti there are two grills, each of which belongs to (and is used by) a different faction within the community.

In July 2007, we had the opportunity to observe the construction of a dry-season camp. Although we did not observe the preparation or use of any rainy-season camps, we saw several of these campsites that had been abandoned at the time of our visit.

The grill presents an irregular but usually triangular or trapezoidal shape. It is often built in a few minutes by one person alone. In one of the camps that we visited (Rio Caru), a man (Chipa cha’a Ramãj) made the structure in just 15 minutes. First, two young trees were cut down and all leaves removed. These were then stuck into the ground in a triangular pattern. Then, another stick was tied horizontally to these at the base of the triangle with a strip of bark. Several sticks were then set on top of this horizontal stick and tied to the pole on the opposite side, also using bark strips. This basic structure was constructed on top of a previously existing hearth. The grill can be further improved by covering it with big palm leaves to prevent

Figure 2. A grill built in a foraging camp (Mau de Onça 2).

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the sun and rain from spoiling the meat (figure 3). Racks can be added also. When the structure is fully constructed, meat or arrows are left to be smoked here, along with other implements and provisions. Arrows are smoked to keep them strong and flexible, whereas the meat is smoked to preserve it as part of it is carried back to the village to share with neighbours and family.

a house site, instead the house is built around the trees or the trees are used as upright supports. In this sense, houses are inserted into the forest strata. A basic lean-to is made with a series of thin trunks from young trees (usually four or five) set obliquely against a transverse leaning pole supported by two medium or largeseized trees. The structure is then covered with leaves from the babassu palm-tree. Similar lean-tos are found among other forest hunter-gatherers in South America such as the Nukak (Politis 2007: 100 ff) and Siriono (Homberg 1985: 34-36), and elsewhere for example the Mlabri of Thailand and Laos (Chazée 2001: 42-43, 46) and the Negrito foragers in the Philippines (Rai 1990). A similar shelter is made by lashing a horizontal pole to two sticks which are themselves tied with lianas to two medium-seized trees. The supporting sticks can be further reinforced with thin, forked trunks. A rack for bows and arrows made of two thin trees is usually hung under the roof and a hammock is tethered to the trees that support the shelter. This type of structure was observed by us in a recently abandoned camp that we call Mão de Onça 2, located 4 km away from the village of Juriti (figure 5). In the same camp we recorded another type of shelter, a rectangular structure made with thin vertical poles and a range of different tree sizes. Four horizontal, thin trunks created a flat roof, which was covered with palms. As in the previous example, the structure was endowed with racks for bows, arrows, fishing rods and other objects. Similar huts are found among other groups belonging to the Tupi-Guarani family, such as the Asurini (Lukesch 1976:

1.2. Rain shelters The Awá construct shelters to escape the rain during their foraging trips. It takes them a few minutes to have these ready, depending on the availability of adequate palm trees in the vicinity. They cut a big palm leaf (or two) and lash its lower part to a big tree. The edge of the leaf falls forward gently creating a shelter under which they stand until the hardest rain is over (figure 4). This system is also used in dry season camps, where hammocks are normally hung in the open air. If it does start to rain, this type of shelter can be made very quickly by lashing one big palm leaf to each of the trees to which the hammock is tethered, to provide a roof. 1.3. Traditional huts The Awá build a variety of shelters and huts. Shelters themselves adopt a variety of shapes due to their adaptation to the local trees and vegetation. Similar to other tropical foragers such as the Siriono (Holmberg 1985: 35) and the Nukak (Politis 2007), the Awá do not cut down trees to clear

Figure 3. Racks on top of one of the makapá in the camp Mau de Onça 2

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Figure 4. A rain shelter made with a large palm.

Figure 5. A basic lean-to in Mau de Onça 2.

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Figure 6. An evolved version of the basic lean-to: Mituruhũ’s house in the surroundings of the village of Juriti.

Figure 7. An A-frame hut in the camp Igarapé Juriti.

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Figure 8. A domed hut: Takanehé’s house near the village of Juriti.

Americhá’s hut, as it looks now, was built from scratch but its core is a basic lean-to which was expanded through the addition of a grill, hearth, poles and babassu palms. This is often the case among foragers who extend their stays in certain places (Kent 1992; Kelly et al. 2006a). We documented another example of a complex, permanent house in the same village in December 2005. This house, which belonged to Takanehé, had originated as a basic structure, though it was subsequently destroyed by its owners, early in 2006. The inner structure was very similar to that of the shelters described above. The babassu palms, which covered the structure, gave the hut a domed appearance and an elliptical plan (figure 8). In this house the wooden grill was at one end of the ellipse, while the hammocks were hung at the opposite side of the hut subparallel to the major axis.

figure 16). The same kind of structure is used by one Awá individual (Mituruhũ), on the outskirts of the village of Jurití (figure 6). Another type of shelter is the A-frame. Here, a mediumsized trunk is fixed horizontally to two large trees and tied with lianas, as in the previously described shelters. Several trunks from young trees are then set at 45º against the horizontal pole on both sides. These trunks are lashed together with lianas and tree-bark strips, so that the whole structure can subsequently be thatched with palms. This model has racks hanging under the central horizontal pole where bows and arrows can be stored (figure 7). The huts of the Igarapé Jurití camp did not have independent grills; instead there was one collective grill for the three lean-tos in the camp. A-frame structures are frequent in other forager groups both in South America and elsewhere, but they are usually constructed from scratch and do not lean on trees (e.g. Oliveira 1996: fig. 6; Kelly et al. 2006a: 408, fig. 3).

The Awá sometimes call this kind of palm-lined hut takaya, which is also the name for a ritual construction used to travel to the iwa, which is the name of the spirit world, (figure 9) and as a hunting blind (figure 10). The same type of structure with a double function (hunting and ritual) is observed among other Tupi-Guarani groups such as the Kayabi (Grünberg 2004: 121). According to our team’s linguist, Antônio Santana, the name takaya probably

In some cases, very simple lean-tos can evolve into larger, more complex structures as evinced in the case of an elderly woman (Americhá) residing in Jurití. “Evolution” in this context does not have temporal connotations or implications of gradualism:

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Figure 9. Ritual takaya in the village of Juriti.

means “[human] shelter”, the t- in takaya being the index for a human product (the same occurs with [t]ipá the Awá word for house). In all the structures mentioned, the main hearth is located in a corner or edge of the structure where a wooden grill (makapá) is often placed. This latter feature may be absent if there is a common grill in the camp (as is the case in the Igarapé Juriti camp). In the fieldwork season of January-February 2007, the structure of a takaya (without leaves) was still standing in Juriti. This takaya had been erected two months earlier to perform the mourning ritual for To’o, one of the “leaders” of the group. Based on information obtained from the participants, the men entered the takaya in strict order and from there they reached the iwa, a kind of heaven, where they met their ancestors. Once the ritual was performed, the takaya remained and after the leaves had decayed, the framework was used for mundane purposes such as hanging wet clothes. 2. Open rectangular houses The open rectangular house is widespread among the indigenous populations of Amazonia and Orinoquia where it is common among the Ka’apor Indians (Balée 1994: 5355; Ribeiro 1996: 26-27). This structure is composed of six vertical poles that enclose a rectangular space covered with a palm-thatched gabled roof. Hammocks are hung on the poles and hearths are located in several places, usually small hearths are located near the hammocks for warming

Figure 10. Hunting takaya.

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Figure 11. A typical open rectangular house: Kamará’s household near the village of Juriti.

Cultural transformation and the use of space

and a large hearth, with a wooden grill (makapá) is placed in a corner for cooking and making arrows (figure 11).

As explained previously, the Awá are going through a complex process of cultural transformation in which the FUNAI, by forcing them to become sedentary and horticulturist, plays a crucial role. The organization of the Awa into reservations has been traumatic. Families and bands have been split up and people have been forced to reduce their mobility in order to be closer to the FUNAI posts. This has had a direct effect on their domestic structures, material culture and almost every other aspect of their lives. The degree of acceptance by individuals to their new cultural parameters varies. Acceptance and rejection and the continuum between the two depend on a range of factors including age, date and history of contact and kinship relations with other members of the village, etc.

In some cases it is possible to find a mixture of both the traditional house and the Brazilian peasant house. This occurs when rectangular huts are completely covered with babassu palms likening them to the traditional dome-shaped houses, only larger and more spacious. The dome-shaped structure in the village of Jurití is superseded here by an open rectangular house but is also densely covered with palms. This is the case in the villages of Awá and Guajá. The spatial organization in this type of house seems to follow two different patterns; either it is similar to that of more traditional houses and shelters or it is compartmentalized with “rooms” reproducing structures of the local peasant community houses (caboclos). 3. Wattle-and-daub peasant-style houses

As a general rule, it could be said that the more recent the contact, the more resistance there is to the performance of agricultural tasks and to other features of western culture. Contacted Awá are in the process of constructing their identity in very different ways. This can range from those who insist on retaining their most traditional activities, structures, clothes and material culture, to those who try to emulate behavior, appearance and domestic structures from the FUNAI representatives. Space is a very expressive dimension of this, and the built environment clearly reflects the negotiations and conflicts that are going on. The spatial arrangements of the huts in the village also reflect tensions

Peasant houses, which were introduced by the FUNAI, are structurally similar to those described above, the main difference is that they have wattle-and-daub walls. Sometimes they are endowed with a porch (figure 12). Among the Awá of Juriti, these houses are basically used for sleeping; indeed their structure hampers all activities except sleeping. Social interaction for example is conducted in open buildings. In the village of Awá some hybrid-type houses exist and these combine the traditional, open model covered with palms and the peasant-style house.

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Figure 12. Wattle-and-daub houses in the village of Tiracambú.

among people and families. These were resolved through the splitting up and reassembling of bands and the exile of individuals who caused conflict when the people lived a nomadic life in the forest.

of the same process and that these two factors occur together; the Awá who like hunting in the forest camps construct their domestic structures following traditional models. Nevertheless, the organization of domestic space indoors has so far retained the traditional model in the open rectangular houses, revealing itself as an element much less prone to change. It is the wattle and daub houses that offer a more radically changing concept of indoor space.

The most traditional families refuse to live in the village. They construct their houses in the surroundings, establishing a clear conceptual distance from the village. They always build traditional or semi-traditional huts, spend most of the time hunting, go for longer foraging trips and camp in the forest for as long as the FUNAI will allow them. By contrast, some young Awá show a clear tendency to imitate attitudes, clothing and behaviour patterns seen at the FUNAI post. They constantly ask for presents, construct their houses in peasant style and do not like to sleep in the forest, avoiding foraging trips that last longer than a single day. As soon as their process of identification with mainstream culture begins, nature starts to be perceived as a hostile environment.

The organization of domestic space Prior to contact, the Awá used to move around in small bands composed of two to four nuclear families (Forline 1997: 32). During the first phases of contact with Brazilian society the bands sometimes split into individual families. These bands interacted in aggregation sites which consisted of babassu palm-tree groves where they exchanged partners and information. In this sense, their social organization followed the same pattern as other Amazonian huntergatherers such as the Hupdu Makú, the Nukak and the Sirionó among many others. Today, they live in villages of 40 to 150 individuals and their social organization is played out in different ways. In the village of Juriti, for example, there are four clusters with 6, 6, 11 and 12 individuals, which might well be the current materialization

In this sense, it could be said that the frequency and duration of the camps could be an index of the degree of transformation of the Awá culture, expressed by their different members. Simultaneously, it could also be said that the use of distinct architectural styles is also an expression

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Figure 13. Map of a rainy-season camp: Igarapé Juriti.

of pre-contact bands. These groupings have both a spatial and a social dimension; sharing, collaboration and social interaction are more intense within clusters and the spacing of houses is tighter. A similar situation has been recorded among the Nunamiut in reference to a large sedentary camp. Here camping patterns were “a perpetuation of the social formations that were characteristic of the mobile period but now played out as internal clusters” (Binford 1991: 85-88).

are considered to have an “owner” who may invite other families to join him. The members of a camp can reject unwelcome guests. We had occasion to join the Awá in two summer camps: Mão de Onça 1, where they stayed for about a month, and Rio Carú, where they camped for five days. The camps are not far from the settled villages (5 and 10 km respectively) and people go back and forth between the two. This seems to be the case with other sedentarized foragers (Kelly et al. 2006a: 409).

Temporary camps Traditional spatial and social patterns are also visible during foraging trips and in both dry and rainy season temporary camps. Both Mão de Onça 2 and Igarapé Jurití (figure 13) are rainy season camps and both of these had three structures, each hosting a nuclear family. This can be compared to the Nukak (Politis 2007: 106) where the average number of shelters per camp is 3.9. The main structures in rainy season camps are reused constantly, reuse of camps has been also recorded among the !Kung and Efe (Brooks and Yellen 1987: 69-88; Fisher and Strickland 1989: 482). With regard to dry season camps the two sites that we visited were newly established and we have not yet collected enough data to draw many conclusions. Camps

The camp of Mão de Onça 1 was composed of two nuclear families totalling 9 individuals (four men, two women and 3 small children). In Rio Carú, the camp consisted of two nuclear families and an individual from another family (figure 14) with a total of 7/8 individuals (three men, two women, plus one visiting man). Before setting up the camp the space was perfunctorily cleared of vegetation, clearing activities were basically limited to the locations where the hammocks would be set up. No medium or large-sized trees were cut down but the cleared and used space increased through time, a phenomenon that has also been observed elsewhere (O’Connell 1987:81). This expansion over

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Figure 14. Map of a dry-season camp: Rio Caru.

time explains the different surface area of the Rio Caru camp (25m2) where the anticipated stay was less than five days, and Mão de Onça 1 (100m2), where the number of individuals was roughly the same but the occupation was six times longer (30 days).

has a small bonfire lit nearby for warming up during the night. The same happens among the dry season residential camps of the Nukak (Politis 2007: 106-114) and among the temporary camps of the Hoti (Politis and Jaimes 2005). Bone debris is tossed behind the hammocks in a radius of 4-5metres. Camps that are used for just a few days leave very little refuse however, since most of the meat obtained is carried back to the village.

Although they do not follow a strictly circular model (Yellen 1977: 125-131), hammocks (and shelters in substantial camps) are arranged in a ring (or an arc) leaving an empty space in the middle, as is often the case with tropical foragers. The inner space is sometimes covered with a few palms. Hammocks are tied very close to one another, often to the same trees, especially when the owners belong to same nuclear family (figure 15). Married couples and babies often use the same hammocks. The collective grill is not situated in the middle; it forms part of the ring. Another collective feature is the place where meat is butchered. This is covered with palms and is situated on the periphery of the ring behind the grill and hammocks. This is similar to the pattern used by the Efe foragers (Fisher and Strickland 1989: 477). There is no collective hearth; each hammock

The same spatial configuration is found in rainy-season camps although households are more spread out and grills are, in some cases, incorporated into the huts (Mão de Onça 2). Even so distribution is compact, with houses located on average 3metres apart from each other. The surface area of substantially built camps is somewhat larger for example in the case of Igarapé Juriti, it is around 200 square metres. House spacing and surface area of both substantial and nonsubstantial camps are similar to those documented for other forest hunter-gatherers (Fisher and Strickland 1989: 476; Politis 2007: 106) and contrast sharply with those of desert and arctic environments (O’Connell 1987; Binford 1991),

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Figure 15. Location of hammocks in a dry season camp: Mau de Onça 2.

where much larger areas are occupied and households are more spread out (Gould and Yellen 1987; Politis 2007: 124). The tight spacing among tropical foragers has been explained in different ways, one explanation focuses on food sharing (O’Connell 1987: 100-102). Although it is true that the Awá share food continuously, it is also true that people living on the outskirts of the main village are still strongly involved in the sharing networks and in this case spatial distance does not affect social distance. For example an adult man called Pirama’a, who lives in a hut 900metres from the village of Juriti regularly receives a share of the game hunted by people in the settlement.

hunters of the group, it seems that the young Hamó Komá is taking advantage of his experience. What Kamará gains from the relationship is not clear, although it is probable that as the most recently contacted individual, he is compelled to pay some kind of service to the already established households of Juriti if he wants his family to be socially integrated in the village. Whether similar institutions and their reflection in the organization of space - existed prior to contact is hard to say, but in any case, this kind of situation resembles those described by Binford (1991) for the Nunamiut, in his discussion of labour organization as a determinant of household spacing.

Kinship, among other causal factors, has also been used to explain the spacing of households (Gould and Yellen 1987: 87; Fisher and Strickland 1989: 479-480). Although kinship affects the intra-site structure of Awá camps and villages, it is certainly not the only aspect at work. Pirama’a, the owner of the house located furthest away from the village has several relatives in the village including a married son. Conversely, a young man called Hamó Komá and his family usually spend time in foraging camps with Kamará, to whom they are not linked by direct kin ties (although given the limited population of Juriti, everybody has some degree of kinship with everybody). Hamó Komá has a complex identity, showing a mixture of traditional and mainstream culture features of personality. He has a love of hunting and being away from the village on daily foraging trips or preferably long-term stays. As Kamará is one of the best

Houses The houses recorded in the village of Juriti may be informative of pre-contact spatial patterns. This is at least the case with open rectangular structures and domed shelters, which are the features that will be discussed here. In both cases the spatial structure is very similar, male activities tend to concentrate in a corner of the house where the main hearth and grill are placed (as happens also in the foraging camp of Mão de Onça 2) (figure 16). Men spend a large part of their time here making or mending arrows (an average of three or four hours a day), preparing fishing rods, tending to the fire or cooking. Cooking is a male activity among the Awá, however only certain men cook everyday. These are always the same men and they always use in the same grills. They cook not just for themselves,

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Figure 16. Map of an open rectangular hut, showing the area where most activities are carried out: Kamará’s household.

but for relatives, friends and affines too. Cooking, like all other activities, is part of a complex and fluid network of reciprocity. Lying on the floor around the cooking area a range of items can be found including bows, arrows, knives, machetes, tucum (Astrocaryum vulgare), string and resin for arrows, bones, firewood, metallic pots and saucepans, expedient baskets and metallic spoons. Arrows are placed near or above the main hearth and grill, as they believe that arrows need to be “warm” in order to be usable or active. This idea should be understood in the frame of the Amazonian cosmology where spirits are everywhere (Viveiros de Castro 1996) and vital forces connect people and objects (see discussion in Politis 2007: 335-337). This area is also readily identifiable even when there is no debris left and the place has been abandoned because of the mound of fine, compacted ashes produced by the repeated use of the hearth, and the trodden and packed soil around it.

industrial bags hanging from the house frame, and bones and seeds are thrown or swept away. Nevertheless, from an archaeological point of view, it is worth noting that in abandoned domestic structures one or more circular areas of compact fine soil reveal locations where people stood more often; these represent areas that were continuously trodden by people sitting on hammocks. The floors of the houses are swept regularly and often very thoroughly. Consequently very little debris, if any, remains in situ. This sweeping was observed in Igarapé Juriti camp also. The floors of all three shelters had been swept clean and not a single discarded item could be detected on any of them. When people abandon a campsite or hut, all implements are carefully looked for and transported to the new house or camp. A detailed screening of the layer of humus and dead leaves around the houses would probably yield some secondary refuse since no rubbish heaps were detected either.

Pots, knifes and other items related to cooking are arranged on a raised platform, called kipea. This structure has no parallel in the hunting forest camps, where artefacts are hung from trees and bushes or stored on racks in the shelters. The rest of the house is used for storage, sleeping, eating and socializing. These activities leave few material traces on the floor, items are stored in traditional baskets or

Maintenance activities produce a ring of debris around houses just beyond the edge of the used space (1-5metres) in the village of Juriti. This is very common among huntergatherers (O’Connell 1987: 81; Kelly et al. 2006: 409, 411). Refuse close to the house includes ashes, dust, wood

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Figure 17. Cleaning activities and refuse management in Takanehe’s hut.

shavings, bones, batteries, leaves, wood, expedient baskets and broken tools. Turtle shells are regularly discarded beyond the 5metre radius (usually in scrubby areas) perhaps due to their bulky nature. Contrary to expectations, a longer stay in a place does not necessarily imply an extension of the radius where refuse is tossed away, a phenomenon also noted by others (Kelly et al. 2006: 411, 415). This is obvious in the households of Kamará and Pirama’a which lie on the outskirts of the village of Juriti. Both houses have been used for over a year but debris is still concentrated well within the five-metre radius. Indeed, across the whole village of Juriti rubbish is still thrown in dumps adjacent to the inhabited space despite being occupied for almost 20 years. Once in while the Awa remove this rubbish and burn part of it though some broken artefacts and bones remain around the houses for months.

and his family. His house lies some 700metres from the village of Juriti. Here there is a double ring of waste. The outer ring stretches from just outside the house to a distance of about 5metres. This diffuse ring is formed by a shallow accumulation of leaves, seeds and a few bones, all tossed from the house. The density of refuse is greater around this grill and in a wide arch in front of the entrance to the house. The second ring is inside the house, at the base of the leaf walls. This elliptical ring is built up by the inhabitants of the dwelling as they displace or rake the floor. This is usually carried out using their feet or with a sort of expedient raceme or branch in the form of a brush. This activity is very common and creates piles of dust and rubbish which build up to form an inner circle in the house (figure 17).

In the summer camps virtually no sweeping, cleaning or clearing were recorded during our stay and no dumps were identified. It is possible that these more short-lived sites preserve a larger amount of primary refuse around hammocks and hearths particularly in overgrown areas. Differences in waste management between summer and winter camps were also noted for the Nukak (Politis 2007: 137-159).

The case we present here reinforces two basic ideas already stated in the ethnoarchaeological literature. One is the variability present in camp/village structure in given hunter-gatherer societies. The second is that the transition from nomadism to sedentism is not necessarily fast and irreversible (Kelly et al. 2006b). The archaeological consequence of this is that we should be aware of domestic variability that reflects the way people construct and use their settlements and the way they adapt to their natural and social environments. In this sense, archaeologists may come across camp remains generated by a wide range of

Concluding remarks

Another interesting example, which shows variability in waste management in relation to the degree of adoption of western culture, is given by the domed shelter of Takanehé

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Figure 18. A peccary’s pelvis with an anthill.

settlement options which may have developed concurrently and/or sequentially (Kelly et al. 2006b:75).

This is done near the river as the tuber is placed in water for a few days prior to peeling, a process called pubar in Portuguese, which is necessary to soften the manioc for grinding and for reducing its toxicity. As small game such as monkey and agouti are usually consumed in their entirety only small pieces of cleaned bones are discarded. Pieces of bones from bigger animals such as peccary and deer are less common and survive longer, though ants can create anthills (figure 18) around them, and remove the remaining flesh quickly. On the whole, the main waste material that is found around the dwellings are the racemes of palm fruits and the nuts neither of which produce a bad smell nor attract mosquitoes. Archaeologically however, it is the toughest bones that are more likely to survive rather than the seeds or nuts.

The other interesting outcome of this study has to do with the management of waste material. We observed a simple method of disposal by the Awa in that they throw refuse directly from the place of production and clear it laterally once in a while by sweeping up discarded items and therefore moving them from their primary location. In some instances waste material is heaped up and burned. We observed more or less the same pattern in different household units in Juriti; this appears to be independent of the shape of the unit and the period of contact. A similar pattern was also revealed during our visit to the other Awa villages. Other studies however, indicate that waste accumulation can occur further from its origin as the length of time of occupation increases (Hitchcock 1987).

As the main waste materials consist of small bones, palms fruits and racemes, there appears to be a balance between the amount of waste material generated by the inhabitants and the speed of biological disintegration of this. This balance prevents the accumulation of waste in the village so that the amount of long-term waste is not necessarily dependant on the length of the occupation.

On the one hand, the tropical forest environment is biologically very active and degrades organic material very fast. Therefore the piles of plant matter waste are regularly and rapidly disintegrated by micro-biological processes. Ants and many other insects also clean bones quickly and degrade all kinds of plant remains. This prevents the accumulation of a great quantity of waste in the village. On the other hand, the main domesticated plant now consumed is manioc (it was introduced by the FUNAI). The principal waste material produced when this tuber is processed (the peel) is thrown into the nearby river as the Awá peel it.

Another interesting aspect is that sacred places among hunter-gatherers may be contingent and highly restricted in time and space. This is the case with the takaya, a built structure placed inside the village which is used for funerary rituals and visits to the realm of spirits (iwa) and which

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Chazée, L. 2001. The Mrabri in Laos. A world under the canopy. Bangkok: White Lotus. Cormier, L. 2003. Kinship with monkeys: The Guajá foragers of Eastern Amazonia. New York: Columbia University Press. David, N. and Kramer, K. 2001. Ethnoarchaeology in Action. Cambridge University Press. Fisher, J.W. and Strickland, H.C. 1989. Ethnoarchaeology among the Efe Pygmies, Zaire: Spatial organization of campsites. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 78: 473-484. Forline, L.C. 1997. The persistence and cultural transformation of the Guajá Indians: Foragers of the Maranhão State, Brazil. Unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Florida. González Ruibal, A. 2003. La Experiencia del Otro. Una introducción a la Etnoarqueología. Madrid: Akal. Greaves, R. 2006. Foragers landscape use and residential organization, in F. Sellet, R. Greaves and P.L. Yu. (eds.) Archaeology and Ethnoarchaeology of Mobility: 127152. University Press of Florida. Gould, R.A. and Yellen, J.E. 1987. Man the hunted: determinants of household spacing in desert and tropical foraging societies. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 6: 77-103. Grünberg, G. 2004. Os Kaiabi do Brasil Central. História e etnografia. São Paulo: Instituto Socioamebiental. Hitchcock, R. 1987. Sedentism and site structure: Organizational change in the Kalahari Basarwa residential locations, in S. Kent (ed.) Method and Theory for Activity Area Research: 374-423. Columbia University Press. Holmberg, A.R. 1985 [1969] Nomads of the long bow. The Siriono of Eastern Bolivia. Illinois: Waveland Press. Kelly, R.L., L. Poyer and B. Tucker. 2006a. An ethnoarchaeological study of mobility, architectural investment, and food sharing among Madagascar’s Mikea. American Anthropologist 107(3): 403-416. Kelly, R.L., L. Poyer and B. Tucker. 2006b. Mobilty and houses in Southwestern Madagascar. Ethnoarchaeology among the Mikea and their neighbors, in Archaeology and Ethnoarchaeology of Mobility: 75-107. F. Sellet, R. Greaves and P.L. Yu. (eds.) Gainsville: University Press of Florida. Kent, S. (ed) 1987. Method and theory for activity area research. New York: Columbia University Press. Kent, S. 1992. Studying variability in the archaeological record: An ethnoarchaeological model for distinguishing mobility patterns. American Antiquity 57(4): 630-660. Lukesch, A. 1976. Bearded Indians of the tropical forest. The Asurini of the Ipiaçaba. Notes and observations of the first contact and living together. Graz: Akademische Druck. O’Connell, J. 1987. Alyawara site structure and its archaeological implications. American Antiquity 52(1): 74-108. Myers, F.R. 1991. Pintupi country, Pintupi self. Washington DC. Smithsonian University Press.

becomes a mundane place used for any domestic task after the performance. Of course we are not denying the longterm permanence of sacred places or even built structures as many ethnographic accounts describe (Myers 1991). What we want to stress is the fluidity and the reversibility in the use of places where the materiality of the human and the supernatural domains are deeply embedded. What we witness among the Awá living in the village of Juriti and its surroundings is a tendency to maintain some of the spatial and cultural patterns from nomadic times, a tendency which is more accentuated in some cases and especially among those people who have decided to live outside the village. Comparison between sedentary villages and camps allows us to find out what is changing in the organization of space and what is preserved. The cultural patterns from pre-contact times are in some cases hardly compatible with their newly acquired sedentism. Studies of hunter-gatherer site structure tend to emphasize functional coherence and adaptation in a wide spectrum of economic, environmental and social situations. The Awá case proves that deeply ingrained cultural behavior is not so easy to change and furthermore, that some individuals are not willing to change, notwithstanding the inconveniences that their resistance might imply. We also point out that the organization of domestic space encapsulates social and cultural patterns, relations and homologies that are less obvious and visible because they are not expressed verbally, though they can be recovered archaeologically. Studying and understanding those patterns is one of our future research objectives. Acknowledgments We thank Louis C. Forline for his useful comments to this text. Research for this paper was funded by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Technology (Project I+D HUM2006-06276). References Balée, W. 1994. Footprints of the Forest. Ka’apor Ethnobotany - the Historical Ecology of Plant Utilization by an Amazonian People. New York: Columbia University Press. Binford, L. 1978. Nunamiut Ethnoarchaeology. New York: Academic Press. Binford, L.R. 1991. When the going gets tough, the tough get going: Nunamiut local groups, camping patterns and economic organization. In C.S. Gamble and W.A. Boismier (eds.) Ethnoarchaeological approaches to mobile campsites: 25-137. Ann Arbor, MI: International Monographs in Prehistory, Brooks, A.S. and Yellen, J.E. 1987. The preservation of activity areas in the archaeological record. Ethnoarchaeological and archaeological work in northwest Ngamiland, Botswana, in S Kent (ed.): Method and Theory for Activity Area Research An Ethnoarchaeological Approach: 63-106. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Oliveira, J.E. de. 1996. Guató. Argonautas do pantanal. Porto Alegre: EDIPUCRS. Politis, G. and Jaimes, A. 2005. Patrones de descarte entre los Hoti del Amazonas venezolano. In E. Williams (ed.): Etnoarqueología: el contexto dinámico de la cultura material a través del tiempo. Michoacán: El Colegio de Michoacán, 237-266. Politis, G. 2007. Nukak. Ethnoarchaeology of an Amazonian people. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Rai, N. 1990. Living in a lean-to. Philippine Negrito foragers in transition. Anthropological Papers.Museum of Anthorpology. University of Michigan No. 80, Ann Arbor. Ribeiro, D. 1996. Diários Índios. Os Urubus Kaapor. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras. Tani, M. 1995. Beyond the identification of formation processes: Behavioral inference based on traces left by cultural formation processes. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 2 (3): 231-52. Treece, D. 1987. Bound in misery and iron. The impact of

the Grande Carajás Programme on the Indians of Brazil. London: Survival International. Viveiros de Castro, E. 1996. Os pronomes cosmológicos e o perspectivismo ameríndio. Maná 2(2): 115-144. Whitelaw, T. 1991a. Some dimensions of variability in the social organization of community space among foragers, in C. S. Gamble and W.A. Boismier (eds.) Ethnoarchaeological approaches to mobile campsite: hunter-gatherers and pastoralist case studies:139-88. Ann Arbor MI: International Monographs in Prehistory. Ethnoarchaoelogical Series 1. Whitelaw, T. 1991b. Order without architecture. Functional, social and symbolical dimensions in hunter-gatherer settlement organization, in M. Parker Pearson and C. Richards (eds.): Architecture and order. Approaches to social space: 217-229. London; New York: Routledge. Yellen, J.E. 1977. Archaeological approaches to the present: models for reconstructing the past. New York: Academic Press.

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Chapter 17 The Neuropsychological Basis of Rock Art: Hyperimagery and its Significance for Understanding the Archaeological Record

Derek Hodgson and Patricia A. Helvenston Abstract: Most traditional explanations of rock art take either an ethnographic or inferential approach to understanding the archaeological record. One alternative, but not exclusive line of research that has shown potential for understanding such phenomena, comes from the study of the psychology of perception. This vast database includes knowledge of underlying neuropsychological mechanisms responsible for enabling the behavioural manifestations of “art works.” The behavioural expression of basic neuropsychological capabilities is based upon fundamental emotional, visual perceptual and cognitive abilities of the human brain, and even more importantly upon the expressive skills that make these abilities manifest in the material record. By taking this approach we seek, in conjunction with previous analyses that have taken a similar line (Hodgson and Helvenston 2006; Hodgson 2003; Sperber and Hirschfeld 2004; Guthrie 1993), to present new evidence that will push the debate in the appropriate direction and to provide a more sound footing on which to understand the manifest complexities of the creation and production of artistic, religious, and technological artefacts, as well as to gain insight into how they were made meaningful to those who produced them. In order to achieve this, it is necessary to take account of how the human brain processes visual information, and how cognitive and emotional factors influence such processes. This paper, therefore, seeks to present specific examples of how an approach based on neuropsychology and related disciplines, in conjunction with an understanding of the production of artefacts by corporeal, embodied agents, can be applied to the archaeological record in ways that can supplement more conventional modes of interpretation.

Introduction

the past and the present (Schacter 1996). In this respect, how the world is interpreted at a given moment can bias memory for past events, just as much as memory for past events, erroneous or not, can bias how the world is viewed in the present moment. It is the dynamic relationship between these two dimensions that underwrites how an artefact comes into being. It is the success of the artefact in performing the duties for which it was developed that will determine whether or not it is sustained in a culture, and help to explain how it was viewed by a culture. Artefactual rejections, however, are not uncommon in the archaeological record and it seems parsimonious to assume that they were unfit to perform the functions for which they were created based upon some specific criteria of the makers.

A central part of archaeology’s invisibility essentially concerns what was in the minds of the individuals who created the surviving artefacts, i.e., how a community might have related to and thought about the things they produced which are the behavioural manifestations of neuropsychological abilities that evolved over millions of years. One way of exploring this is by recourse to modern neuropsychology, especially with respect to visual perception, recognition, and memory. Understanding how visual processes function has been shown to be a way of connecting the created material objects with how these objects were interpreted by a cultural group. This is because the making and perceiving of such objects necessarily requires the involvement of visual channels that may, in terms of behavioural expression, have certain constraining and boundary-breaking effects on how artefacts are both made and interpreted. Visual recognition and memory more generally, are thought to be based on fragmentary information encoded in neural networks and therefore prone to error (Schacter 1996), but not too much error as effective visual recognition and memory are purified by natural selection in relation to survival. Although the ability to produce artefacts likely facilitated more lasting storage of cultural information, at the same time the original incentive that inspired the creation of these items will, nevertheless, have initially been dependent on memory itself with all its faults and inadequacies. For example memory of a past event can be infected by present concerns so that the actual memory becomes an interaction of two different inputs,

How visual images are interpreted Retrieving an image from visual memory often makes a person feel as though they are recalling the actual details of a real event, but memory is coloured by the dominant present and that remembered image may be distorted accordingly. This may, in part, be due to the fact that the same brain regions are often involved in both the remembered visual image and in the initial visual perception (Kosslyn 1994; Kosslyn and Thompson 2003). Thus, a current external image stimulates areas correspondingly involved with the visual memory of that image and with the accompanying emotional and cognitive components associated with actual memories of and emotions pertaining to that image. This may account for the fact that people from many different

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groups, if asked to destroy a photographic of kin, often feel great unease at the prospect - because the photo conjures up all the associations, emotional and cognitive, linked with the actual person. For example, indigenous groups tend to imbue photographs of dead kin with the actual soul of the departed, making the photograph much more than a simple visual representation; a tendency that is also found in communities with no tradition of pictorial representation. Even a photograph of a living person is held to contain the essence/soul of the individual portrayed.

increasingly be employed, allowing for greater behavioural flexibility. An illustration of the processes of Point Two is the fact that infants at an early age tend to confabulate (make up stories about) and imbue representations with meaning. This may be related to the fact that infants seem also to attribute real objects with agency - that is they relate to things in the world as if they are infused with an animate spirit or essence. This tendency appears to persist into adulthood which is demonstrated by a study where a cartoon of two different sized triangles and a circle were seen to move around a square (Heider and Simmel 1944). Adults viewing this array interpreted the geometric forms as having intention and even made up stories whereby the geometric forms became individuals vying with one another. The sense that objects have human or animal-like intention and agency may therefore be a universal trait of humans that seems easily aroused in response to minimum cues and may well account for the universal phenomenon of anthropomorphism.

This effect is all the more surprising considering a picture is obviously a representation of an individual and not the actual person. An examination of the processes involved may help us understand the reactions of traditional cultures which are less distanced from photographic or other images than are members of more highly objectified (no value judgment intended) Western Civilization. For example, there are two aspects of this inclination to view photos or images as containing the soul of the imaged person. 1. Representations (signifier) are interpreted as actual objects, i.e., human beings, (signified) while, at the same time, not wholly accepted as being real objects, i.e., the photo contains the soul of the imaged subject, even though the viewer knows the image is not the actual person. But, the representation is so close to the actual person in its imagery that the emotions associated with memories of that person are aroused and result in attributing a soul to the image. This reaction is largely automatic, i.e. reflexive, suggesting an inborn tendency, but not ruling out the influence of cultural and individual learning. 2. There is a marked tendency to imbue representations with agency that is similar to assigning agency to a real object – a tendency that can even be found in highly literate cultures as we will see when we discuss hyperimagery.

Even though modern human populations may not regard a representation as the same as the actual object portrayed (Point One) at the same time the sense of the representation having a soul or agency (Point Two) can be quite compelling. This is especially true when an observer has a strong emotional attachment to the real person portrayed. In such cases, the emotional dimension of an individual’s sensibility will not be as discerning or discriminatory because cognitive capacities have been overwhelmed by emotional reactions. A conflict can therefore arise between the two tendencies (Point One and Two) so that the observer may even begin to regard a representation as having traits that would not ordinarily be countenanced. In this respect, we seem to apply special significance to those animals and people with whom we have a close emotional affinity, and with whom we perceive as having identical traits. This response, sometimes termed “identification” or “self extension,” differs from anthropomorphism in that we are assuming a specific similarity between our personal traits and other animals or people when we “identify” with them, but anthropomorphism refers to the attribution of humanlike traits (but not necessarily our own traits) to inanimate objects and animals.

The processes described in Point One appear to be deeply rooted in the evolutionary past of humans. One example would be the discovery by early hominins that hunters using disguises, in order to approach closer to prey animals, had a greater likelihood of a successful kill (Hodgson 2003; Hodgson and Helvenston 2006). This has obvious survival advantages for those hunters employing camouflage in that, to the prey, disguised hunters would have appeared to be just another member of the herd. In fact, what differentiates humans from animals in this regard is that the latter tend to completely mistake a representation for the real thing, whereas the former have the ability to inhibit this automatic response in order to manipulate and exploit this propensity to their own advantage. Moreover, human infants, up to about the age of two, also tend to mistake a representation for a real object and this fact suggests that sometime during the evolutionary history of homo, a shift occurred whereby the automatic response of mistaking representations as objects came to be inhibited such that humans were able to make a more discriminating and measured response, i.e., cognitive factors associated with frontal brain regions could

As researchers (Kosslyn and Thompson 2003; Schacter 1996) point out, intense (internally-produced) visual imagery, accompanied by powerful emotions, can sometimes activate the primary visual cortex (Area 17) which is usually only active when viewing the real world but relatively inactive during subjective imagery. When this occurs the individual can misconstrue subjective images for reality. This subjective image, especially when imbued with emotion, has a powerful salience for the person concerned which we refer to as a hyperimage. Thus, the emotional intensity accompanying an image has a direct effect on the way the visual system processes it. In other words, depending on the emotional profile of an event,

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Fig. 1. This is an example of hyperimagery because the outline of the maiden involves a subjective, imaginative projection of a human body onto a collection of stone cliffs and rocks. Associated with that projection are emotions of wonder, awe, sorrow, empathy, in response to the observers’ knowledge of the myth of Timpanogos. At the same time, the observer is aware of the mountains existence as a real assemplage of rocks.

an individual could either be biased towards a subjective (hyperimage) or objective sensibility i.e., disposed more to either external or internal stimuli. Theoretically, in extreme circumstances, the individual can be totally consumed by subjective hyperimagery but, crucially, such imagery is triggered by particular cues from the external world that can also, at the same time, be seen realistically by the observer. For example (see Fig. 1), in Utah, USA, about 30 miles south of Salt Lake City, there is a high mountain that the Ute Indians named Timpanogos, or sleeping maiden. When this mountain is viewed from the west looking east, one can see the outline of a sleeping maiden with head, breasts, arms folded on stomach, legs and feet. According to Ute lore this Indian maiden was once a sacrificial victim for her people and supposedly jumped from one of the high cliffs to her death. We would view this as an example of hyperimagery because the outline of the maiden involves a subjective, imaginative projection of a human body onto a collection

of stone cliffs and rocks. Associated with that projection are emotions of wonder, awe, sorrow, empathy, in response to the observers’ knowledge of the myth of Timpanogos. At the same time, the observer is aware of the mountains existence as a real collection of rocks. Near the summit of the mountain are three caves (Fig. 2) with numerous speleothems. One rock formation, shaped and coloured reddish orange, was said to be the heart of Timpanogas. Clearly the legend imbues the visual image of the “heart” with human properties - another hyperimage - the heart of a long dead princess, but the rock can also continue to be viewed simply as a rock. Ute lore maintains that the caves of Timpanogas were associated with rituals in the distant past and artefacts have been associated with both the caves and the mountain itself. As this example shows, hyperimages differ from the associated external objects being viewed, in that they

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Fig. 2 Near the summit of the mountain are three caves, with numerous speleothems. One rock formation, shaped and coloured reddish orange, was said to be the heart of Timpanogas. Clearly the legend imbues the visual image of the “heart“ with human properties, the heart of the long dead princess - another hyperimage - but also simply a rock. Ute lore maintains thet the caves of Timpanogas were associated with rituals in the distant past and artifacts have been connected with both the cave and the mountain itself.

are invariably created by the human mind with a view to communicating a particular “message,” usually emotive in character connected to religious, ritualistic, totemic concerns etc., thereby accentuating their potency. In this regard, it is probable that the objects ancient people “saw” as hyperimages were those concerning emotional responses associated with myths to the extent that Points One and Two became closely intertwined such that the ability to see anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figures in an assemblage of rocks began to be used to create myths or interpret known myths that were important to the group viewing them.

instance to other similar circumstances. However, with time the original reason why the event occurred may have become distorted or lost to future generations yet the ritual surrounding the original event persists taking on yet more significance because of this. Now, we need to examine the foregoing in terms of what are known as cognitive domains. Interaction with everyday objects, things and animals can put a strain on cognition such that the individual is obliged to concentrate on more immediate concerns that depend largely on automatic cognitive mechanisms (Malle and Pearce 2001). The dependence on automatic processes is an indication that evolutionarily defined modes are operative which is commonly referred to as a proper domain. A corresponding second mode, however, is termed the actual domain (Sperber and Hirshchfeld 2004; Sperber 1996). A proper domain is the naturally disposed cognitive mode that has been shaped by long-term evolutionary pressures such as the need to recognize a predator from incomplete and ambiguous visual cues. The recognition of that predator will be accompanied by a variety of emotions, fear, awe, admiration, veneration, and a rapid, largely automatic behavioural response such as when flight is required. Chimpanzees possess innate cognitive domains for sorting an array of visual categories, i.e., prey from predator, stranger from familiars, dangerous animal from non dangerous animals, animate from inanimate and so on (Tomasello and Call 1997: 100-135; Vauclair 2002: 239-47). Humans possess the same abilities

Although we understand today the reason why the visual system is prone to see animate objects in inanimate things, early people would have remained oblivious to this fact and therefore will have responded differently. This response will have been related to and reinforced by an animistic outlook that assumes an all pervasive essence or spirit found in animals, artefacts, art works, natural rock formations, etc. This outlook may have stemmed, not only from the tendency to project human qualities onto stones, but also an inductive disposition whereby one instance is generalised to many, e.g. one instance of seeing animal or human features in a rock would be sufficient to confirm that beneath the surface living beings inhabited a hidden world in many other rocks. This may be related to the tendency of indigenous groups to regard a coincidental event, for example something unusual happening when an animal is killed, as auspicious i.e. again generalising from a single

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different entities (the actual object and the hyperimage) may have inspired early communities to award such items special status. This also suggests that very early on in human evolution anthropomorphism and similar tendencies, such as animism, were a typical feature of the psychology of humans and may be more influential in modern societies than is realized. For example, a hyperimage from Cannon mountain of New Hampshire, USA (Fig. 3) consists of a rocky outcropping of a craggy human face, referred to as “The Old Man of the Mountains.” In modern times this image has resonated with some deep emotional well-spring in the human psyche as it has appeared on a US stamp, the reverse of the state quarter of New Hampshire, and it has inspired numerous poems, the most famous being “The Great Stone Face” by Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1850. Many photographs and artistic representations of this figure have been made and it has been a popular tourist site. Several crags that comprised the “face” collapsed in 2003, causing great distress to many as evidenced by the letters sent to the forest service in New Hampshire. Now, a plan is underway to collect donations such that the face can be reconstructed at considerable financial cost. As well as continuing to exert influence on indigenous groups, such examples reveal how long standing cognitive events not only influenced prehistoric communities but still serve to constrain behaviour in modern Western scientific societies in certain circumstances.

Fig. 3. For example, a hyperimage from Cannon mountain of New Hempshire, USA, consists of a rocky outcrop of a craggy human face, referred to as “The Old Man of the Mountains.“

(Hodgson and Helvenston 2006; Hodgson 2003;Caramazza and Mahon 2006; LaDoux 1994; 1998) and it seems safe to assume that early hominins also had a similar capacity. In contrast, the actual domain is one that stretches the boundaries of the proper domain through an exploitation of the contingencies of the latter. Utilization of the actual domain involves planning as well as cognitive and behavioural flexibility in more considered circumstances and is more dependent upon cultural factors. For example, the ability to recognise familiar versus unfamiliar faces is an activity belonging to the proper domain, but the ability to exploit facial recognition by creating masks, portraits, caricatures, etc (Sperber and Hirschfeld 2004) belongs to the actual (more artificial) domain. Crucially, actual domains have been exploited and expanded by human cultures through the making of artefacts with all the benefits (and sometimes disadvantages) that flow from this.

Guthrie (1993) suggests that there is a close relationship between anthropomorphism and animism in that both derive from an unconscious perceptual strategy to quickly and automatically detect categories such as humans or animals. Tomasello and Call (1997) as well as Vauclaire (2002) have provided the research that demonstrates specific neural substrates involved in sorting such categories. Although this propensity can lead to lots of false positives, at the same time it increases the likelihood of survival in that there are more advantages in following this strategy - hence we quickly “jump to conclusions” in response to minimum cues rather than requiring more detailed information. This strategy has been confirmed by neuropsychology where a fast track, preconscious pathway for processing visual information appears to exist (LaDoux 1994, 1998) connecting the visual pathways to the amygdala in the limbic system. This faster, reflexive pathway, however, is only concerned with those diagnostic cues that might help quickly identify an object such as a dangerous predator whereas the slower visual channels enroute to association areas of visual cortex (Areas 18 and 19) serve to “flesh out” this template.

We would argue that the human tendency to interpret and project meaning onto objects constitutes a cognitive contingency that resides within a proper (natural) domain that has been exploited by culture to create an actual (artificial) domain specifically for purposes to do with display, reinforcement of myth, the promotion of identity etc. – all of these activities are accompanied by a variety of emotional reactions. How did the ability to perceive an object as having two states, i.e., the object as a mountain or the object as a sleeping maiden (hyperimage) come about? The answer would seem to reside in the increasing ability to inhibit automatic reactions to events in the world so that a more considered appraisal of a situation could be achieved (as in Point One) to the extent that an individual was no longer dependent upon the immediate stimulus. Any natural features of the landscape with a slight resemblance to an animal or human would therefore have been enough for that object to be seen as a representation of such. The dual nature of these objects, i.e. appearing to exist simultaneously as

In the folk myths of various regions of the U.K. many strange outcrops of rock still retain their link with the past that continue to be named after humans or animals based on resemblance e.g. “The Eagle Stone,” in the Peak District believed to have a Celtic origin, and we would refer to these formations as hyperimages. One finds the same throughout Europe and we have discussed two examples from the US.

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The initial tendency of apportioning agency to inanimate objects later became a question of purposively changing the appearance of such objects in order to emphasise the inherent iconicity. We find this in Franco-Cantabrian cave art as well as during the Epi-Palaeolithic and Mesolithic. By the Mesolithic, sites such as Lepenski Vir (Borić 2005) had expanded the proper (natural) domain to such an extent that boulder sculptures, that are thought to be an expression of the suggestive fish-like features already contained in these river stones because of their fish-like natural form, become much more emblematic and contextualised as part of a rich communal tradition. These objects are thought to be the first monumental sculptures of Europe (Srejović 1972). It is interesting to note that this community was highly dependent on fish caught in the local river and this seems to have become an ingredient in their myths as embodied in sculptures. Interestingly, these artefacts also have engraved on them human-like fish faces so there seems to have been a crossing of boundaries between proper domains for animal forms and humans respectively (see Fig. 4). In short, this culture created a therianthropic– animal-fish hybrid that was likely accompanied by assorted myths and ritual funeral functions, and these hybrids would have been highly memorable. This tendency to imagine therianthropic figures can be related to the notion, often held by indigenous cultures, whereby human and animals can be seen as interchangeable quantities. That is, because of the all-pervading life-force it is possible for one thing to change into or transmute into another thereby crossing the divide that separates natural category boundaries. This crossing of boundaries is reflected in the fish-human hybridisation of the boulders and is further reflected in the notion that such items, according to Borić, signified the bridging of the divide separating the living and the dead.

˝Fig. 4. Human-fish hybrid “Water Fary“ (no.12) from Lepenski Vir made from river stones with suggestive fish-like features (Figure 16 from Borić 2005 - reproduced with permission of author and Cambridge Archaeological Journal).

This dynamic is confirmed in the association that seems to exist between the human-fish hybrids, river stones and the deceased. As the human/fish-like figures are seen to emerge from the interior of the stone (in some cases the internal bony structure of the fish is depicted on the surface of the stone) to envelope the actual surface, Borić sees this as a response to the inevitable mutation and change of the body as it moves from birth to death, death being the more decisive transformation. Identity, as socially constructed, is therefore about trying to control and manage change by way of the fish-human stones where deceased humans metamorph into hybrid beings by achieving a stage of animality in death. In this example, we see the dual nature of representation helping, if not encouraging, the crossing of boundaries in a process that involves agency, animism, anthropomorphism and zoomorphic traits, whereby the dead are thought to transcend the body by entering a spirit world that lies behind the ordinary, everyday world. We also see how the main aspects of this culture’s lifeways become translated into myths surrounding fish and the river. As Boric states:

Fig. 5. Some Finnish rock painting sites that have been perceived as anthropomorphic. A) Astuvansalmi, b) Lakiasouonvouori, c) Viherinkoski, d) Mertakallio. (Photos by Eero Siljander (a), Antti Lahelma (b and d), Mikka Pyykonen (c) from Fig. 3 in Lahelma n.d.)

“What these artworks undoubtedly convey, regardless of the multiplicities of their immanent functions and meanings,

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Fig. 6. The sledi of Samsjaryri in Enontekio, Finnish Lapland: a human profile can be distinguished on two sides of the stone (Lahelma, n.d.)

of cognition that are common to humans (Boyer 1998, 1999). In this sense, belief systems cannot vary infinitely but are obliged to conform to cognitive demands related to problems of survival. “Religious” ideas, however, seem to run counter to natural behaviour. Anthropomorphic and zoomorphic rocks can not only lead to an expansion of natural categories, as in Sperber’s sense, but may also be seen as both having agency and at the same time existing merely as stones. The idiosyncratic nature of such rocks, exemplified by hyperimages, makes them a prominent vehicle for the transmission of cultural knowledge to future generations. There is the added advantage that by “labelling” rocks in this way early people would have had at their disposal useful navigational aids in the form of distinctive landmarks. From this perspective animism becomes a means of relating to the environment by focussing on aspects of how things might be connected together. The term animism has, consequently, been replaced by what is now referred to as “relational epistemology” (Bird-David 1999) that sees the ways in which people related to their environment as a means of making sense of the world by creating what appeared to be a consistent world view in the face of an often unpredictable and threatening environment. Such a definition implies that humans believed they could comprehend human behaviour, and, by projecting human qualities onto nature understand and control it.

is a universal and cross-cultural interest, shared by the collectivity at Lepenski Vir, in the instability of form, the transformational character of being, and the forceful potency that lies therein.” These are preoccupations that seem to concern most traditional societies that refer to the constancy of form and being in relation to what lies beneath the superficial world of appearances. In this sense artworks are not something simply painted onto a surface but an activity whereby the instigator brings out the natural qualities inherent to the material (Ingold 2000), something that the Walibiri of central Australia similarly aspire to (Munn 1973). In parallel to Lepenski Vir, Lahelma (n.d.) has found that the Saami people of Finland worshiped anthropomorphic rock outcrops know as sieidi by sacrificing a share of hunted animals or fish to the rock thus promoting future hunting exploits, health, and safe travel etc. Again, these are examples of what we refer to as hyperimages, imbued with imaginative meanings; in fact, rock outcrops with prominent human or animal-like features were considered as especially sacred or powerful (See Figs. 5 and 6). Of the 220 rock cliffs worshipped by the Saami throughout Finland, 28 have human-like and 25 zoomorphic features that were believed to be inhabited by people from the underworld. As Lahelma states, rock formations of this kind were often associated with painted or engraved rock art, which suggests that some rock art may be closely related to idiosyncratic features of the landscape. Similar rocks have been considered animate by people worldwide including, for example, the Ojibwa of North America (Hallowell 1960) and the Nayaka of South India (Bird-David 1999).

Conclusion These examples demonstrate how understanding perceptual and cognitive processes can help to understand the invisible aspects of meaning a community might apply to artefacts. We have also shown how visual recognition/ memory is closely linked to such artefacts, especially in relation to representation, and how the potency of these

This universality may be connected to enduring aspects

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various forms of representation can be increased by way of imagination steeped in emotional associations. We have termed the emotionally imbued, subjective images that can be perceived as containing anthropomorphic or zoomorphic qualities as hyperimages. Increased emotional arousal has also been shown to have consequences for understanding how animism, or its modern equivalent, relational epistemology, is related to understanding how meaning was accorded to material culture. The close interaction of emotion and representational imperatives may have been crucial to anthropomorphosis that led to the apportioning of human and animal like hyperimages to distinctive landmarks which occasioned a world view based on mythic structures.

Hodgson, D. and Helvenston, P. A. 2006. The Emergence of the Representation of Animals in Palaeoart: Insights from evolution and the cognitive, limbic and visual systems of the human brain. Rock Art Research 32(1)3-40. Ingold, T. 2000. Totemism, animism and the depicton of animals. pp. 111-131. In, The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. T. Ingold (ed.). London: Routledge. Kosslyn, S. M. 1994 Image and Brain. Cambridge, Mass: Bradford (MIT press). Kosslyn, S. M. and Thompson, W. L. 2003. When is early visual cortex activated during visual mental imagery? Psychological Bulletin. 129, 723-46. Lahelma, A. (n.d.) Communicating with “Stone Persons”: Anthropomorphism, Saami Religion and Finnish Rock Art. Iskos 15, 121-142 The Finnish Antiquarian Society: Helsinki. [online] available from: LaDoux, J. E. 1994. Emotion, memory and the brain. Scientific American (June): 32-39. LeDoux, J. E. 1998. The emotional brain. Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London. Malle, B. F., and Pearce, B. E. 2001. Attention to behavioral events during interaction: Two actor-observer gaps and three attempts to close them. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 81: 278 - 294. Munn, N., 1973. The spatial presentation of cosmic order in Walbiri iconography. pp. 193–220. In, Primitive Art and Society, A. Forge (ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schacter, D. L, 1996. Searching for Memory - The Brain, the Mind, and the Past. Basic Books: New York. Sperber, D. and Hirschfeld, L. A. 2004. The cognitive foundations of cultural stability and diversity. Trends in Cognitive Sciences. Vol. 8. (1) : 40-46. Sperber, D. 1996. Explaining culture – A naturalistic approach. Oxford: Blackwell. Srejović, D. 1972. Europe’s First Monumental Sculpture: New Discoveries at Lepenski Vir. London: Thames and Hudson. Tomasello, M. and Call, J. 1997. Primate Cognition, New York, Oxford U. Press, pp. 100-135. Vauclair, J. 2002. Categorization and Conceptual Behavior in Non-human primates. In, The cognitive Animal: empirical and Theoretical Perspectives on Animal Cognition, (Eds.) M. Bekoff, C. Allen, and G. M. Burghardt, Cambridge, MIT Press, pp. 239-47.

References Borić, D. 2005. Body Metamorphosis and Animality: Volatile Bodies and Boulder Artworks from Lepenski Vir. Cambridge Archaeological Journal. 15: 1, 35-69. Boyer, P. 1998. Cognitive Tracks of Cultural Inheritance: How Evolved Intuitive Ontology Governs Cultural Transmission. American Anthropologist, 100 (4), 876–889. Boyer, P. 1999. Cognitive Aspects of Religious Ontologies: How Brain Processes Constrain Religious Concepts. In, Approaching Religion. T. Ahlbäck. (ed.) Part I. Scripta Instituti Donneriani Aboensis XVII: I, 53-72. Almqvist & Wicksell, Stockholm. Bird-David, N. 1999. “Animism” Revisited. Personhood, Environment, and Relational Epistemology. Current Anthropology, Vol. 40 (Supplement), 67-91. Caramazza, A. and Mahon, B. Z. 2006. The organisation of conceptual knowledge in the brain: the future’s past and some future directions. Cognitive Neuropsychology. 23 (1), 13-38. Guthrie, S. 1993. Faces in the Clouds: a New Theory of Religion. Oxford University Press, New York. Hallowell, A. I. 1960. Ojibwa ontology, behaviour and world view. In, Culture in History: Essays in Honor of Paul Radin. Diamond, S. (ed.). Columbia University Press, New York. Heider, F. and Simmel, M. (1944) An experimental study of apparent behavior. American Journal of Psychology. 57: 243–249. Hodgson, D. 2003. The biological foundations of Upper Palaeolithic art: stimulus, percept and representational imperatives. Rock Art Research. 20 (1), 3–22.

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Chapter 18

An Ethnoarchaeological Approach to the Selknam Ceremony of Hain: A Discussion of the Impact of Ritual on Social Organisation in HunterGatherer Societies

María Estela Mansur, Raquel Piqué Abstract: A basic problem for the archaeological study of ritual is that the focus of archaeology is mainly on the material record from past societies whereas ritual is dominated by non-material features. But in our opinion an archaeological study of ritual in prehistoric societies is not impossible. Ethnographic information about the Selknam of Tierra del Fuego is exhaustive and covers ideological aspects of this hunter-gatherer society. Included in this, is the well-documented ceremony of young male initiation called Hain. This ceremony played a central role in the organization and reproduction of the Selknam social system. The aim of our research was to identify material expression of this ceremony. Survey and excavation were undertaken in the Ewan valley region (Tierra del Fuego, Argentina), in a location that had been identified as a Hain hut. This allowed us to explore the potential to identify, archaeologically, ritual activities in past hunter gatherer-societies.

Introduction

models to assist in the interpretation of the symbolic world in general and ritual in particular.

A basic problem for the archaeological study of ritual is that the focus of archaeology is mainly on the material record from past societies whereas ritual is dominated by nonmaterial features. As a consequence of this, archaeological research has largely focused on the study of environmental and economic aspects (reduced to technology and subsistence) that is, aspects that can produce material results that can be correlated with the study of the archaeological record. This implies that the interpretative possibilities of archaeology are restricted by a limited archaeological record, which would not permit the consideration of such aspects as symbolism or social relations, merely because of the generalized idea that they are not “materialized” in the archaeological record (Binford 1965).

Thus, ceremonial spaces – places where determined rituals were carried out – have traditionally been recognized as distinct from domestic spaces. However, the division between one and the other is not always clearly defined. Some interpretations have been based on more or less direct analogies with modern communities that maintain a traditional way of life. In other cases shared elements, which could be considered universal, were sought (Owens and Hayden 1997). Other studies have been based on a supposed historical continuity, more diluted when more distant in time, which could reflect a sustained conservation of old meanings in modern rituals (Brown 1997). Without minimizing the contribution that these approaches have provided, it is necessary to say that the limitations of the ethnographic and historic models, concerning the interpretation of ritual in prehistory, have been well recognized and debated. From this point of view, it has been argued that modern hunter-gatherer societies have undergone important historic changes. In fact, most of them were studied when they were already in contact with the modern world, thus, it is likely that they were already disorganized and on the verge of extinction (Mansur 2006).

It has been a general assumption that ritual activities can be recognized merely through the existence of particular material remains or through elements whose characteristics suggest little or no functional use. Likewise, employment of unusual spaces or spatial contexts, point to ritual. The analysis of ritual in archaeology has generally been focused on archaeological remains qualified as “exceptional”. Such is the case of rock or mobile art, burials, etc., to which a certain symbolic significance is attributed. It is frequently also the case with unique or unusual artefacts, which have been classified as “ceremonial” or “ritual” simply because of their particular outstanding features, colour or size for example, which make them differ from others of the same type and which suggest that they were not utilitarian (Welté and Lambert 2004). However, the question remains; how one can identify symbolic significance, which presumably is linked to ideology, in material remains and in their contexts (Brown 1997). Archaeology has used ethnographic

Furthermore, the way in which groups are depicted in historic and ethnographic documents largely depends on the approach of the author who observed and reported them; in consequence, the image that we have of these societies can be strongly biased by ethnocentric and frequently also androcentric prejudices. In our opinion an archaeological study of ritual in prehistoric societies is not impossible. As ritual interacts

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with the social side of society, it will be reflected in the social order but, like any other human activity, also have material consequences. The specifics of ritual are that its activities involve repeating a series of more or less standardized actions, as well as the use of certain material items. We believe that the individual elements used, and their spatial distribution, constitute observable material evidence and that their ideological context should be identifiable using archaeological methods.

the island, in a territory where native hunter-gatherers, the Selknam, lived until the beginning of the 20th century. In this area, a site with a partly preserved log dwelling was discovered (fig.1). Oral testimony of old settlers suggested that this structure might be an old ceremonial Selknam hut. The archaeological investigation confirmed its age as early 20th century. The results of our study have provided an interpretation of it as a hut used in ceremonial activity by Selknam society. Based upon our study, we will now offer a discussion of the variables used in the study of ritual sites among hunter-gatherer societies.

In archaeology, often following theoretical outlines derived from ethnology, various approaches have been suggested for the study of ritual and, more specifically, for extracting ceremonial meaning from the material record (see Fogelin 2007). These approaches have directed research into the origins of religions as well as the functions of ritual as a mechanism for promoting social order and dominant ideology. The latter approach emphasizes the effects of ritual on social relations among participants. From the latter perspective, the impossibility of recognizing the symbolic significance of rituals has not been seen as a problem, as its goal is to analyze its effects in terms of social legitimization (Fogelin 2007).

Ethnographic information about the Selknam is abundant and derived from numerous sources many of which differ with regards to their origin, as well as their quality. Travellers, adventurers, missionaries, administrators, and finally ethnographers have all offered descriptions of the final period of Selknam society from the 17th century onwards. The most complete and best-documented writings were produced at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century. Nevertheless it should be noted that during this period, the Selknam population had already been decimated both by diseases introduced by Europeans, and by persecution from colonists. The Selknam survivors had witnessed the destruction of their way of life and had lived confined in missions, or working as labourers on ranches. But although they had abandoned their traditional economy, they continued to conserve their belief system and knowledge of their traditional social systems.

We believe it is relevant to analyze the social effects of ritual and their role in legitimizing social organization. We understand that ritual has a fundamental function in the process of socialization, especially in hunter-gatherer societies which lack writing, as it contributes to the transmission of social norms and the reinforcement of the social order. In fact, it is important to mention that the symbolism contained in ritual is certainly related to these social norms and, in many societies, leads to the representation of myths dealing with the handling of power. For this reason, we consider symbolic significance important, even though we are still not able to approach it in an archaeological context.

Diverse texts describe the way of life and belief system of the Selknam (Bridges 1951, Lothrop 1928, Gusinde 1937, Gallardo 1910, Beauvoir 1915, De Agostini 1956, Chapman 1986). Many of them focus on ideological aspects, in particular the initiation ceremony for adolescent males, called the Hain. The work of the ethnographer and missionary Martin Gusinde, who participated in what was probably the last ceremony of its kind in 1923, is particularly useful. Equally notable, and more recent, is the research undertaken by the anthropologist Anne Chapman; this includes interviews with the last people to take part in a Hain ceremony (1986, 1989).

The lack of success of archaeology in dealing with ritual is not only due to its lack of ability to recognise symbolic significance, but frequently also due to the analytical approach to archaeological remains in which ritual is identified through the presence of ‘unusual’ objects and features. Objects used in ritual may for instance have consisted of materials not preserved in the archaeological record. Therefore it is necessary to redefine the variables used to identify ritual to emphasize aspects such as food remains, contexts, or working processes; ethnoarchaeology, in which archaeological variables are used to study ritual through the analysis of documented material remains, has been proposed before (Fogelin 2007, Vila et al. 2004).

As one of the principal objectives of the archaeological project was to distinguish features which inferred ceremonial or domestic activities, we began with an analysis of the extensive ethnographic literature. This was followed by excavation and analysis the Ewan site, where, according to oral tradition, a Hain ceremony had been celebrated (Mansur et al. 2007, Vila et al. 2004). Localization and characteristics of the Ewan site

The Ewan Site: Archaeology of Ritual

The Ewan site is located in the centre of the Isla Grande of Tierra del Fuego, approximately 12 km from the Atlantic coast. It is situated in a clearing, which today is being encroached upon by the surrounding forest of ñire (Nothofagus antarctica). Near the northern border of the clearing, there is a conical hut structure formed by wooden

To develop a more suitable approaching to the study of ritual among hunter-gatherers, we have carried out research in the Isla Grande of Tierra del Fuego (Argentina), in the southern extreme of South America, focusing on the analysis of archaeological sites in the Ewan river basin (Fig. 1). The Ewan locality is situated in the central part of

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Figure 1. Location of the Ewan site.

trunks, partially hidden behind a strip of new growth (Fig. 2).

of industrial raw material (glass and metal). This fact, added to the dendrochronological dating obtained from cores taken from the logs at Ewan I, gave the hut a construction date of 1905. As this date corresponds reasonably with the ethnographic observations we decided to carry out a comparative analysis of the specific ethnographic and archaeological data from the sites.

As oral tradition suggested that this hut might have been used for the Hain celebration, the site was selected for field research. The aims were to study the hut, to determine whether an occupation zone could be found, to delineate this zone and to excavate the structures to investigate their ceremonial or subsistence use (Fig. 3).

The study of the Ewan sites included sediment flotation, dendrochronology, archaeobotany, archaeozoology, geostatistics, technological and functional use-wear analysis, as well as an exhaustive review of the pertinent ethnographic bibliography. Detailed descriptions of methods and results of this analysis have already been published (Mansur et al. 2006, 2007).

The fieldwork was conducted over four field seasons. We confirmed that the large hut, Ewan I, lay a few metres from the margin of the forest when it was constructed. The surveys carried out within the forest, in the southern and western boundaries of the clearing, allowed us to discover another site (Ewan II), in which four concentrations of ash, charcoal, and thermo-altered sediments were found, which may correspond to no less than four domestic units. These structures are separated from one another by distances of 10 to 12 m and are found along the forest border, within the forest, approximately 200 m across the clearing to the West of the large hut.

Results The results demonstrate that the use of space in the Ewan sites is in complete agreement with the description of the use of space and construction models used by the Selknam to perform a Hain ceremony. Ewan I

The excavation of one of the four locations (Ewan II-unit 1) revealed the remains of a hut, smaller than that at Ewan I (Fig. 4). At both sites, excavations revealed the presence

Ewan I corresponds to the remains of a conical hut made of

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Figure 2. Floor plan of the Ewan site

Figure 3. Ewan I site a, clearing in the forest, arrow indicates location of the hut; b-c, the hut before and during excavation.

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Figure 4. Ewan II-unit 1. The site, before and during excavation.

tree trunks. The structure rises around a central axis which is marked by three principal trunks, situated at the East, Northwest, and Southwest points, in agreement with the ethnographic data. Ewan I has a diameter of 6metres and a maximum interior height of 3.17metres. The centre of the hut was occupied by a large fireplace, containing a large number of burned bones, charcoal and carbonized seeds. Around the fireplace there were a few scattered small bone fragments, seeds, charcoals, as well as glass microflakes.

Fallen trunks were analyzed for their orientation, size, morphology and anthropogenic marks. Taken together, these lines of evidence suggest that the structure was a log hut with a fireplace in the centre. Just as in Ewan I, the fireplace contained an abundance of burnt bone fragments, seeds, and charcoal. Based on the distribution of archaeological remains the diameter is estimated as between 3.5 to 4metres, somewhat smaller than Ewan I. Remains were very numerous in and around the fireplace and decreased towards the periphery.

The archaeozoological record (n= 21,369) consists primarily of fragments of guanaco bones (about 70% of determinable specimens); these are highly fractured and show different degrees of thermal alteration. Shells of Nacella sp. were also found in and around the fireplace (NMI=145). Artefacts consist of retouched microflakes made on different types of glass (n= 97). Although no retouched tools were found in the site, microscopic analysis of the microflakes suggests the manufacture of both projectile points and endscrapers.

The archaeological remains are largely similar to those from Ewan I, although some quantitative and physical differences occurred. Glass microflakes are much more numerous, they exceed 3,700 and glass flakes and fragments (n=34), retouched tools (3 endscrapers, 3 arrowheads, 4 retouched flakes and broken retouched tools) were also found. The archaeozoological remains (n= 8,573) are similarly fractured and thermally altered but they show a greater taxonomic diversity. The archaeological remains were more widely distributed than in Ewan I however, no materials were found outside the hut structure.

The fireplace had been disturbed both by an earlier excavation and by rabbit activity; this prevented clear determination of its extent. What stands out however is the low density of remains recovered outside the fireplace, as well as the absence of materials around the exterior of the hut.

Comparison between Ewan I and Unit I of Ewan II The study of the remains from Ewan I and from Unit 1 of Ewan II shows clear differences with regards to food consumption and activities at each site.

Ewan II The Ewan II site was located by means of systematic field surveys which included the design of a transect system followed by the excavation of 1m2 test pits and test drillings.

Archaeozoological analysis gave interesting results concerning animal food remains (Camarós and Parmigiani 2007, Camarós et al. in this volume). They are presented in greater detail in chapter 19. Consequently, here we are only stating the main differences with regards to consumed animal taxa and refuse management between the two sites. While Ewan I has a predominant consumption of guanaco, Ewan II-Unit 1 shows that ovicaprids, introduced by Europeans for wool production, were also consumed. Additionally, at Ewan II-Unit 1 there is a greater number of bones showing no evidence of thermoalteration. Additionally, some of these had carnivore bite marks and evidence of exposure. In both structures evidence of molluscs (NMI=169), mainly limpets (Nacella sp) and low

As we have already mentioned, evidence of four fireplaces were found, suggesting the existence of domestic units. The identified fireplaces are characterized by the presence of thermo-altered sediments, charcoal, glass microflakes, and burnt bone. Only the area surrounding the northernmost fireplace has been excavated thus far (Ewan II-Unit 1). During the course of excavation a series of fallen trunks was located which may correspond to the remains of a fallen structure.

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Figure 5. Distribution of taxa identified in carbonized seeds from Ewan I and Ewan I.

numbers of birds and fish were found. The Atlantic coast lies 12 km East of the Ewan site.

environments, were also found at the sites; these plants may have been used for other purposes, such as basketry, etc. (Berihuete et al.2007, in press).

The plant remains also show differences between the two sites. Thousands of burnt fruits and seeds were recovered through flotation and are published elsewhere (Berihuete Azorín 2006). The most abundant plant is Empetrum rubrum, a small shrub with edible berries (crowberry), that grows in Fuegian forests while in Ewan II the remains are mostly Gallium sp. (some pertaining to the species G. aparine which was introduced by Europeans, but others corresponding to local species). In addition, remains from six other genera were recovered (Bromus sp., Carex sp., Cerastium sp., Festuca sp., Lolium sp., Polygonum sp.) and a variety of families were identified, among which the most important are the Gramineae and Ciperaceae (Fig. 5). Other than the principal taxa, the diversity represented in both structures is similar.

Concerning wood utilization for fireplaces, there is no significant difference between the two huts, neither in taxa used nor in the types of firewood collected. The exhaustive study of carbonized and non-carbonized wood remains (Caruso 2008, Berihuete et al. in press) reveals, for both huts, the use of large trunks and branches of Northofagus antarctica, the dominant tree species of the surrounding forest. Also in Ewan I, some charcoal remains and seeds of Empetrum rubrum were found. The presence of Empetrum rubrum could be connected to the use of branches from this species as torches, something that is mentioned in ethnographic sources, or with other activities linked to fire management and ceremonial use (for example Empetrum branches burn with a large constant flame and smoke). However we cannot be sure that Empetrum charcoal and burned seeds did not result from cleaning of the hut floor during construction.

Some of these plants may have been consumed as food though some taxa may have been burned accidentally. For example plants may have been accidentally brought into the camp with firewood as this was dragged back to the camp. Some of these species are restricted to the area immediately surrounding the fireplace which may support this hypothesis. However, the increased frequency of Gallium at Ewan II and Empetrum at Ewan I suggests an anthropogenic origin. Both Empetrum and Gallium grow at present near Ewan I and Ewan II respectively, but species which are found at some distance from the site, such as Cyperaceae and Plantaginaceae, which grow in aquatic

All the tools recovered at both sites were made of glass, an industrial raw material that was introduced by Europeans. There were also some iron remains, though these were highly oxidized and it was not possible to identify them to artefact type. Glass and metal were considered to be high quality raw materials by the Selknam, who recovered fragments on the beaches. The glass came from shipwrecks which had occurred in the area since the end of the

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Figure 6. Distribution of types of glass artefacts found at Ewan I and Ewan II.

seventeenth century. Glass quickly replaced local lithic raw material for the production of arrow points (Gusinde 1937).

origin (iron and glass) suggests that both were used at the same time. The dendrocronology has permitted a date for construction of Ewan I in the spring of 1905, it has however not been possible until now to carry out the cross dating of both structures.

The quantity of glass remains at Ewan II is very high in comparison with glass remains in Ewan I. At Ewan I, there were no retouched tools, and less than a hundred microflakes were recovered (Fig. 6). Nevertheless, the variability of glass types represented in Ewan I is higher than in Ewan II, where only two types of glass artefacts are present. In order to study the characteristics of the microflakes, an experimental programme was carried out in which glass arrow points and endscrapers were replicated to isolate variables that could be specific to the manufacture of one or the other type of tool. This study confirmed that there are at least three types of microflakes with either bifacial or endscraper edge retouch (De Angelis et al. in press). Likewise, the analysis of microflakes at the site confirmed that both arrow points and endscrapers had been retouched (De Angelis 2007).

The Selknam Ceremony of the Hain: Ethnographic Sources The Selknam ceremony of the Hain was devoted to the initiation of adolescent males into adult life. Its fundamental role was socialization and the transmission of social norms. During the Hain, patriarchy was reaffirmed, since it was through the ceremony that the dominant role of men was passed and perpetuated. It was, therefore, a fundamental reminder of social stability, “…an important support for the prevailing social order… ” Gusinde (1937-1986, 2: 785). The Hain was a secret ceremony in which young men had to pass certain tests and in which they were exposed to the “secrets” of adult men. These adolescents, known as kloketen, were reborn during the ritual in the form of adults. The Hain was a masculine secret ceremony, where the major players were adolescent and adult males, though women and children also played a part as observers. As Chapman (1986, 1989) points out, the Hain was a mis en scène in which men as women participated, each one playing their specific role, as an actor or as a frightened spectator.

In Ewan II-Unit 1 we were able to identify fragments of different types of glass (glass pebbles as well as chunks of bottles with fresh fractures). Most of the glass remains are pressure microflakes. Techno-morphological analysis of these microflakes revealed that they represent manufacture of both arrow points and endscraper edges. Concerning tools, the two most represented tool types are arrow points and endscrapers. Microwear analysis of endscraper edges revealed that they were used to scrape hides. It should also be mentioned that ochre was found at both sites, both in the fireplaces and nearby.

At the end of the ceremony, it was revealed to the young initiates that the Hain spirits were, in reality, merely men who were disguised and wearing masks in order to deceive

The presence in both places of raw material of industrial

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Figure 7. Photograph taken during the Hain celebration of 1923, which Gusinde participated in. (Gusinde, 1937-1986).

the women. The importance of maintaining this deception and never revealing the truth to the women was of course also passed on (Chapman 1986). Also disclosed to the initiates was the myth that justified masculine domination. According to the myth the men, who in the old times had been the subordinates, had snatched the power from the women. In those times, women retained the power and subjected the men to terror through spirits who were summoned during a secret ceremony, Hain, in which women were the main participants. The men discovered that the spirits were, in reality, the same women in disguise and, in vengeance against the deceit, killed all women except the young uninitiated girls. From this moment on, men were dominant over women and the Hain came to be a secret ceremony for men, who called on spirits to continue to terrorize the women.

motifs were linked to certain spirits, while for spectators the nature of the body paint was linked to lineage (Fig. 7). The celebration of a Hain also involved a specific settlement pattern that should be archaeologically identifiable. According to Gusinde (op. cit.), the Hain celebrated in 1923 took place in a natural clearing in the forest. A ceremonial hut was constructed at the edge of the forest in the open, near the first line of trees. Many families from different parts of the Island attended the event; each had an individual domestic hut which was located in the surrounding forest. In the Hain in 1923, this “domestic area” of many small huts was situated approximately 200 metres to the West of the ceremonial hut and was also positioned in the forest, close to the clearing. This specific settlement pattern required the Selknam to locate a clearing of particular size and shape (Fig. 8). The domestic units were located to the West of the ceremonial hut, at the opposite side to the entrance to the ceremonial hut, which faced east. This configuration “facilitated” the unobserved coming and going of spirits. According to the mentioned sources, whenever possible a location slightly higher in elevation than the domestic huts was desired for the ceremonial hut, so as to dominate and be clearly visible.

The most detailed information about the Hain is from the ritual celebrated in 1923, in which Gusinde participated (Gusinde1937-1986). It took place in the vicinity of Laguna Pescado, in the centre of the island, near Lake Fagnano. The Hain ceremony employed several material elements which were directly tied to the ritual. To represent the spirits, masks and ornaments were made; these consisted only of organic material, mainly tree bark or animal skins. Body paint was also important; this was made using ochre, charcoal, and bone. Participants as well as spectators painted their bodies; in the case of participants the painted

The ceremonial hut, also called Hain, was constructed of approximately 50 tree trunks. Seven of these trunks were precisely positioned according to the geographic points

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Discussion: Analysis of criteria that demonstrate ritual activities in hunter-gatherer sites Particular objects related with ritual are absent at the Ewan sites. This is not surprising as all the ritual paraphernalia mentioned in the Selknam ethnographic literature was constructed with organic raw materials. Faced with this absence of direct indicators of ritual activities, we were forced to ask ourselves if the material evidence conserved in the sites was sufficient to evaluate the idea that this space was used for ritual purposes. In Palaeolithic archaeology we rarely have the possibility to excavate large surfaces, mainly due to problems of site conservation and the emphasis on stratigraphy over extended areas of excavation. As a result of the investigations at the Ewan sites, however, we demonstrate that only an extensive excavation that includes the different areas of the sites and areas between sites allows for a better understanding of the activities carried out.

Figure 8. Plan showing the location of huts during the Hain ceremony of 1923, in which Martin Gusinde was a participant (Gusinde, 1937-1986).

E, NE, N, NW, W, SW, and S, while the SE point was left empty. The trunks which were orientated E and W constituted the main supports, the other trunks rested on these. The structure gained extra strength as trunks with forked ends were used to support the main trunks.

The whole Ewan locality existed only for a Hain ceremony. Nevertheless, it was created by two different sites where different activities were carried out, mainly subsistence activities in Ewan II and ritual in Ewan I. We do not however pretend to identify the ritual as opposed to the domestic space. All the activities carried out at Ewan are related to the Hain celebration and therefore have an exceptional, rather than everyday significance.

Smaller branches filled in the gaps between the seven main trunks, after which the entire structure was covered with lumps of earth and guanaco hides. The entrance was constructed to face E, to protect it from the prevailing winds. The ground inside the large hut was covered with grass. Around a large central fire the secret activities of the man-spirits were performed. The space between the ceremonial and domestic huts was the scene for the acting of the myths dealing with the origins of social order.

The celebration of a Hain ceremony could last for several months and many families took part. Both the size of the group and the duration of the camp were undoubtedly significant in relation to the waste generated at the sites. According to the ethnographic record, everyday Selknam campsites belonged to individual families and were inhabited more briefly. Other sites excavated in the same region are small camps with few archaeological remains situated around a small fireplace (Mansur 2003, Mansur et al. 2000). In this respect, the characteristics of the Ewan locality are exceptional. Therefore, although ritual paraphernalia is lacking, the size and spatial organization reflect the exceptional character of this settlement.

Once the ritual was completed, the ceremonial hut was abandoned and left standing so that it could be used in the future for the same ritual. According to Gusinde (19371986, 2: 1027), the hut was left completely empty and all evidence that would reveal the nature of the activities that had occurred was destroyed; the interior of the hut was cleaned, all food remains were tossed into the fire and the masks were hidden in the forest. With regards to the domestic huts they were situated 200 metres west of the ceremonial hut. During the Hain of 1923, these huts lay about 20 metres apart (Gusinde op. cit.). These structures were smaller than the ceremonial hut, but similarly organized around a central fire. Their entrances also faced east, to protect them from the winds and to enable observation of the ceremonial hut.

With regard to intrasite features, a comparison between Ewan I and Ewan II-Unit 1 provides a basis for further discussion of the archaeological analysis of ritual in huntergatherer societies. Even though the observed differences between these two sites do not involve parameters traditionally used as ritual indicators in archaeology, the ethnographic information strongly supports such an interpretation.

The Hain itself could last months and numerous people who lived in different territories, or haruwen, would assemble to take part. Thus it served as a means for families of different Selknam lineages to meet. If resources in the surrounding areas began to run scarce, both the ceremonial and the domestic huts were moved to another location. The ceremony took place when there were candidates and the location was decided after discussion.

The differences between the two excavated sites include differences in the log structures (size, location, etc.) as well as in the characteristics and distributions of the archaeological remains. The size of the log hut at Ewan I, where the secret ritual activities of men most likely took place, is larger than that of the log structure at Ewan II where subsistence activities were predominantly carried

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out. This difference might well be related to the number of people using the structures. The Hain hut was a communal space where initiated adult men and adolescents met throughout the duration of the celebration; use was restricted to a certain part of the population (women and children were not allowed access). The domestic units were family huts which were occupied by women and children, and only occasionally by men. These smaller structures are similar to those used during the rest of the year and which, according to ethnographic sources, housed single-family units.

with higher concentrations in the north and west areas. Experimental studies and techno-morphological analysis of microflakes revealed that bifacial pressure retouch and end-scraper edge pressure retouching was carried out in the hut (De Angelis, 2007). Together with the microflakes, retouched tools were present (arrow points, end-scrapers, fragments with bifacial retouch) as well as some glass fragments (remains of the raw material), possibly brought to the site for later use. Conversely, at Ewan I only about a hundred microflakes were recovered, most likely the result of to pressure retouching of bifacial tools and end-scraper edge retouch. No fragments or retouched tools were found. These results indicate that the majority of glass working processes were restricted to finishing or resharpening glass tools.

The difference in the food remains of the two sites is also significant. In Ewan I, guanaco is the only medium size mammal represented. During the ritual, the adolescents under initiation followed food taboos, allowing them to consume only certain parts of the guanaco. Such a food taboo seems to be reflected in the archaeological record of the site even though sheep (ovicaprids) may have been more easily available after the arrival of the Europeans. This illustrates the importance of food in these ceremonial activities, but it also shows differences in access to food resources during the ritual. It is not surprising that in Ewan I local species predominate, while in Ewan II, species introduced by Europeans are also well represented. This could reflect the dichotomy between the two worlds; the colonial influence being much more present in the subsistence sphere than in the ceremonial, where the weight of tradition is undoubtedly much greater.

Raw material is more diverse at Ewan I, where six different colours of glass were found. This could imply different collecting locations. As the Hain ceremony gathered men from different lineages who lived in different territories, they perhaps brought their raw materials with them. Conclusion Our aim was to generate a working hypothesis for the analysis of ritual which could contribute to the identification of these activities on archaeological sites and allow us to move forward in their recognition and interpretation. The rich historic and ethnographic documentation concerning the native societies of Tierra del Fuego, specifically the documents concerning the inhabitants of the interior of the Isla Grande of Tierra del Fuego, make this location an exceptional place to conduct ethnoarchaeological work. In its broadest sense, ethnoarchaeology is the study of recent societies using archaeological methods. This type of study permits the testing of correlations between actions and material remains. It is therefore possible to use present day observations in order to interpret the archaeological record, using as its starting point the search for regularities in relationships linking material facts to their interpretation (technical, social, ideological), which enables us to go beyond cultural particularisms (Gallay 2002, Gallay et al. 1992).

As we have already indicated, plant food is less easily identified in the archaeological record. However some differences do occur in the plant species in the different structures, suggesting that different plant species were brought to each structure. The management of waste was different in each hut. One of the characteristics of the activities in the ceremonial hut was that they were secret. Perhaps for this reason generated waste seemed to be purposefully hidden, through cleaning then elimination of all refuse. The ethnographic record actually states that one of the responsibilities of the adolescents was the cleaning of the hut. All food remains were tossed into the fire. This practice would explain why most archaeological remains in Ewan I, including a large number of burnt bone fragments, were recovered inside the fireplace with little outside it (less than 10%). The need to destroy all waste contrasts with the domestic huts where the elimination of waste was also habitual but did not destroy everything so efficiently. In fact, in the domestic structure many archaeological remains with no traces of thermo alteration but with carnivore bite marks and other surface alterations were found around the fireplace, suggesting that they were left exposed to natural agents after being discarded.

Beyond this strict interpretation of ethnoarchaeology, other researchers have also considered it as an interface between archaeology and ethnography, in which both interact dialectally (Estévez and Vila 1995). The approach adopted in this paper is to compare the observed results with those derived from other sources (historical, ethnographic, etc.), as well as conducting experimental work. The results obtained at the Ewan locality allow us to identify the differences between the sites Ewan I and Ewan II, as parts of a complex representing a ceremonial hut and a domestic hut which housed participants during the ceremony. In neither site unusual or exceptional elements found. The analysis carried out however, allows us to identify important differences between the material remains

The activities documented at each site were also different. At Ewan II glass tools were being produced. There is evidence of all stages of glass tool production and many glass microflakes were dispersed around the fireplace

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Arqueología Argentina. Número especial, Pacarina. I: 91- 97. Jujuy. Binford, L. R., 1965. Archaeological systematics and the study of culture process. American Antiquity 31: 203–210. Bridges, L., 1951. Uttermost Part of the Earth. London: Hodder & Stoughton. Brown, J.A., 1997. The Archaeology of Ancient Religion in the Eastern Woodlands. Annual Review of Anthropology, 26: 465-485. Caruso, L. 2008. El uso de la madera entre los selknam de Tierra del Fuego. Trabajo de Investigación de tercer ciclo (unpublished). Departament de Prehistòria, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Camarós i Pérez E. and Parmigiani V., 2007. Análisis del material faunístico de sitios de la localidad Ewan (Tierra del Fuego), in XVI Congreso Nacional de Arqueología Argentina. Número especial, Pacarina. II: 619-623. Jujuy. Chapman, A., 1986. Los Selk’nam. La vida de los Onas. Buenos Aires: Emecé Editores. Chapman, A., 1989 El fin de un mundo: los Selk’nam. Buenos Aires: Vázquez Mazzini Editores. De Agostini, A. M., 1956. Treinta años en la Tierra del Fuego. Buenos Aires: Ed. Peuser. De Angelis, H., 2007. La utilización de materias primas introducidas en el período de contacto europeo en Tierra del Fuego. in XVI Congreso Nacional de Arqueología Argentina. Número especial, Pacarina II: 631-635. Jujuy. De Angelis, H., Lasa A., Mansur, M. E., Sosa L. y Valdéz G. In press Análisis Tecnomorfológico y funcional de Artefactos de Vidrio: Resultados de un Programa Experimental, in Arqueometría. Actas del II Congreso Argentino y 1º Latinoamericano de Arqueometría. Buenos Aires. Estévez, J. and Vila, A., 1995. Etnoarqueología: el nombre de la cosa, in . J. Estévez and A. Vila Mitjà (eds.), Encuentros en los conchales fueguinos:17-23. Barcelona: CSIC and UAB. Fogelin, L., 2007. The Archaeology of Religious Ritual. Annual Review of Anthropology 36: 55-71. Gallardo, C. 1910. Los Onas. Buenos Aires: Cabaut & Cia. (Ed. facsim. 1998. Ushuaia: Zagier & Urruty) Gallay, A. 2002. Maîtriser l’analogie ethnographique: espoirs et limites, in F. Djindjian and P. Moscati (eds) Data management and mathematical methods in archaeology,. Firenze: Archeologia e calcolatori 13:79100. Gallay, A., Audouze, F. and Roux, V., 1992. Questions pour un Colloque, in Ethnoarchéologie: justification, problèmes, limites. XIIe: 13-14. Rencontres Internationales d´Archéologie et d´Histoire d´Antibes. Juan-les-Pins: Éditions APDCA. Gusinde, M., 1937. Die Feuerland Indianer. (Translation: Los indios de Tierra del Fuego. I: Los Selk’nam. 2 vols. Buenos Aires: Centro Argentino de Etnología Americana, 1982). Lothrop, S. K., 1928. The Indians of Tierra del Fuego.

of each site, and to propose that these differences are the consequence of the different activities which took place at these locations. The most important differences include: • • • •

The types of food consumed The activities. Differences in waste and space management. Size of the sites

If however, each site had been analyzed individually, nothing would have indicated the ritual nature of the activities which occured at the Ewan locality. But the results of the excavation of both sites, together with the ethnoarchaeological record, has allowed us to appreciate the individual nature of the ceremonial location. The investigations at the Ewan locality have demonstrated that by detailed excavation and analysis of sites it is possible to identify differences which may indicate different uses for these. Though this is still ongoing work, we believe that it will be possible to identify activities in the archaeological record that are currently considered unobtainable, such as the identification of sites used for ritual activities. Acknowledgements The research project was supported by CADIC, UAB, CSIC and the Generalitat de Catalunya. Fieldwork was financed by the Spanish Ministry of Culture (2003-2005). Our gratitude goes to the families Goodall and Daniels, to the Museo Yámana in Ushuaia, and particularly to B. O’Byrne, for their encouragement and support; to Natalie P. de Goodall, for information and documentation, and to all the students who participated in the project. A special mention is made of Ben Nugent, who read an earlier draft of this article. References Beauvoir, J. M. 1915. Los Shelknam. Indígenas de la Tierra del Fuego. Buenos Aires: Talleres gráficos de la Compañía General de Fósforos. (Ed. facsim, Ushuaia: Zagier & Urruty, 1998) Berihuete Azorín, M. 2006. Aportaciones de la carpología al análisis de la gestión de los recursos vegetales en las sociedades cazadoras recolectoras: el grupo selknam de Tierra del Fuego (Argentina). Trabajo de investigación de Tercer Ciclo, Universidad Autónoma de Barcelona. Berihuete, M., Caruso L., Massaccesi G., Mansur M. E., Mensua C. & Piqué R. In press. El aprovechamiento de los recursos vegetales entre las sociedades cazadoras recolectoras de Tierra del Fuego, in: . A. Capparelli, A. Chevalier & R. Piqué (eds.) La alimentación en la América precolombina y colonial: una aproximación interdisciplinary. Madrid: CSIC. Berihuete, M., Caruso L., Mansur M. E., Massaccesi G., Mensua C., Parmigiani V. & Piqué R. 2007. Estudios arqueobotánicos en Tierra del Fuego: El caso de la localidad Ewan, in XVI Congreso Nacional de

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Contribution 10, Museum of the American Indian. New York: Heye Foundation. Mansur, M. E., 2003. The Heart of the Island: Archaeology of the Central Zone of Isla Grande, Tierra del Fuego, in C. Odone & P. Mason (eds.) 12 Perspectives. On Selknam, Yahgan & Kawesqar:141-161. Santiago de Chile: Taller Experimental Cuerpos Pintados. Mansur, E., 2006. Los Unos y los Otros. El uso de fuentes etnográficas y etnohistóricas en la interpretación arqueológica, in Etnoarqueologia de la Prehistoria: més enllà de l´Analogia. Madrid: CSIC, Treballs d’Etnoarqueologia 6: 316-336. Mansur, M. E, Martinioni D. and Lasa A. 2000. La gestión de los recursos líticos en el sitio Marina 1 (Zona central de Tierra del Fuego, Argentina) in Desde el País de los Gigantes. Perspectivas arqueológicas en Patagonia. Vol. I: 57-72. Río Gallegos: Univ. Nacional de la Patagonia Austral. Mansur, M., Maximiano E, A., Vicente O. & Piqué R., 2007. Arqueología de Rituales en Sociedades CazadorasRecolectoras. Una aproximación desde el Análisis del Espacio Socialmente Producido, in F.Morello, M. Martinic, A Prieto and G. Bahamonde (eds.) Arqueología de Fuego-Patagonia: 741-754. Punta Arenas: Fundación CEQUA.

Mansur, M. E, Piqué R. and Vila Mitja A., 2006. Étude du rituel chez les chasseurs-cueilleurs. Apport de l’ethnoarchéologie des sociétés de la Terre de Feu, in S. de Beaune (ed.). Chasseurs-cueilleurs. Comment vivaient nos ancêtres du Paléolithique supérieur:143-150. Paris: Editions du CNRS. Owens, D’Ann and Hayden B., 1997. Prehistoric Rites of Passage: A Comparative Study of Transegalitarian Hunter–Gatherers. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 16: 121–161. Vila, A., Piqué, R. and Mansur, M. E., 2004. Etnoarqueología de rituales en sociedades cazadorasrecolectoras, in A. Lluís i Vidal-Folch y G. Dalla-Corte Caballero (eds). Fonts i documents de recerca. Actes del I Congrès Catalunya-Amèrica. Col.lecció Amer&Cat 12: 286-296, Barcelona: ICCI. Welte, A. C., Lambert, G. N., 2004. L’art mobilier du magdalénien supérieur des sites de la vallée de l’Aveyron et d’Europe centrale: relations et/ou convergences?. In: M. Lejeune & A.-C. Welte, (eds). L’art du Paléolithique supérieur. Actes des colloques 8.2 et 8.3, XIVe Congrès de l’UISPP, Liège (2-8 septembre 2001).

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Chapter 19 Differential Faunal Resources Management in Ritual and Domestic Spaces in Selknam Society (Argentina, Tierra Del Fuego)

Edgard Camarós, Vanessa Parmigiani, Ester Verdún Abstract: The aim of this paper is to present the results of the archaeozoological analyses from the sites Ewan I and Ewan II (Tierra del Fuego, Argentina). Ethnoarchaeological investigation at these sites demonstrated that Ewan I is a ritual context, and Ewan II is a domestic context. The archaeozoological analysis was undertaken in order to distinguish between ritual and domestic social contexts, something that is normally invisible in prehistory. The comparison between faunal remains was based on the relative presence of different taxa, anatomical parts and distribution of the bone assemblages at both sites. This study demonstrates that management of faunal resources differs between these sites. Consequently, this suggests that faunal remains may be used as a tool to identify differences between domestic and ritual contexts.

Introduction

somewhat larger than their domestic huts. It was separated from the domestic sector by a space of about 200 metres. The domestic huts were placed inside the forest, while the ritual hut was located in a clearing near the border between the forest and the clearing.

Ewan I and Ewan II are two archaeological sites located in the central part of Tierra del Fuego (Argentina) at an altitude of 81 m.s.n.m. (figure 1). They were dated by dendrochronology to the first decade of the 20th century. This region has been occupied by a hunter-gatherer society, the Selknam, since long before the arrival of the first European people in the XVIth century.

The activities that were conducted inside the ritual hut were reserved for men and they were kept secret from women and children. All the evidence of the ritual activities that took place inside the hut was subsequently burnt. This includes bones and all food remains. The masks used during the ritual were hidden, as were the pigments used for body paintings (figure 3).

A comparison between the archaeological and ethnographic data from these sites has enabled us to demonstrate that they are the result of the Selknam ceremonial practice known as the Hain (Mansur et al., 2004; Mansur et al., 2006; Mansur et al. 2007, Mansur & Piqué, this volume). This ceremony was performed as an initiation to introduce male teenagers into the adult masculine world.

The Hain ceremony could last some months. During this period, the ritual hut was never left alone for fear that dogs might enter and stir up the soil looking for the meat and bone remains consumed during the ceremony. Women were not allowed to know what was consumed during the Hain. In order to hide this information, when small groups of men went hunting, they pretended to be hungry on their return to their domestic huts, so women would not realise that they had already eaten in the ritual hut.

Ethnographic information The Selknam was a hunter-gatherer society that lived in the Isla Grande of Tierra del Fuego (figure 2). Ethnographic accounts have sometimes considered them as inland hunters, to emphasize guanaco hunting in the Selknam economy. This is only partly correct as they also exploited marine resources.

Once the ceremony ended, everything had to be removed from the ceremonial hut. According to Gusinde (1937 [1982]: 1027), nothing was left in the hut that could reveal any of the activities. Implications of the Hain ceremony for archaeology are discussed by Mansur & Piqué (this volume).

The Selknam are known through the writings and photographs of travellers and missionaries, as well as ethnographers and anthropologists including Martin Gusinde (1937) and Anne Chapman (1986). The Selknam celebrated an initiation ceremony for young men, to enable them to enter the adult world. This ceremony, called Hain, was described and analysed in a special way by these ethnographers Gusinde (1937) and Chapman (1986).

The sites Ewan I and Ewan II. The sites are located in the vicinity of the River Ewan, in an area of deciduous forest composed basically of ñire (Nothofagus antarctica), and rich in native fauna, including guanaco (Lama guanicoe), red fox

To conduct this activity the Selknam built a hut that was

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Figure 1. Location of Ewan I and Ewan II (Tierra del Fuego, Argentina).

Figure 2. Distribution of aboriginal population of Tierra del Fuego. Map made on the based of data published by Chapman (1986).

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of the clearing while Ewan I, the ritual site, is located at the opposite side of the clearing, near the edge of the forest (figure 4). Additional fireplaces were detected in the proximity of Ewan II, showing that there were at least four domestic units (see Mansur & Piqué, this volume). Ewan I still conserves part of the log structure of the hut. The diameter of the structure is 6 meters and its interior height is approximately 3.50 meters. The entrance of the hut faced east. Excavations at the site led to the discovery of a large fireplace (1metre diameter) in the centre of the structure. Most of the archaeological material, including glass micro flakes, some metal fragments and plant and faunal remains were found inside the fireplace or immediately surrounding it. There is little archaeological material beyond the fireplace, and none outside the structure (Mansur & Piqué this volume). Archaeologically, Ewan II was identified as a smaller hut than Ewan I. Unlike Ewan I, the log structure of the hut had collapsed, but some of the trunks used to construct it were recovered during the excavation. Below these, and in the middle of the hut, there was a fireplace which contained abundant material remains, including micro flakes, tools and fragments made of glass, fragments of metal, carbonized plant remains (charcoal and seeds) as well as a large number of faunal remains (composed of vertebrates and invertebrates).

Figure 3. Selknam men with body paintings and traditional ritual masks during the Hain ceremony celebrated in 1923 (M. Gusinde, 1937).

In terms of the archaeological material, it was not possible to link the sites with ritual or domestic activities, as the same categories of materials were found in both sites. Consequently, studies of these materials paid particular attention to specific variables linked to their spatial distribution (Mansur et al., 2006). The aim of our study was to identify evidence for ritual activity, something that is normally invisible in archaeological contexts.

(Pseudalopex culpaeus) cururo (Ctenomys magallanicus) and also introduced wildlife, represented mainly by rabbits (Oryctolagus cuniculus), beavers (Castor canadensis), and grey fox (Dusycion sp.). Most species represented in the archaeological record are still present today and also coincide with those mentioned in ethnographic sources as resources exploited by the Selknam (Gallardo 1910; Gusinde, 1937; Bridges, 1978; Chapman, 1986).

Animal resource management within Selknam society We begin by describing the ethnographic information on Selknam animal management. We follow this by attempting to compare this information with the archaeological findings from both sites, Ewan I and Ewan II. We believe that our results will demonstrate how current methods for studying archaeozoological assemblages can restrict results, and we will demonstrate how the ethnographic information can help to gain new insights that could be applied to archaeological studies.

Ewan I and II were Selknam hunter-gatherer sites. Ewan I still conserves part of the log structure of a large hut, whereas at Ewan II, the log structure has collapsed, though wood fragments were discovered during the excavations. The sites were dated using dendrochronology on the tree trunks used to build the hut and through comparative analysis of growth patterns from trees in the forest (Mansur & Piqué, 2009). Both hut structures represent different aspects of the same event, the celebration of the Hain ceremony. Based on the ethnographic account by Gusinde (1937) and the results of the archaeological investigations carried out at the sites, it became clear that Ewan I corresponds to the ceremonial hut, while Ewan II represents a domestic hut.

From the ethnographic accounts, and in particular Gusinde (1937), we have a certain amount of information about the animal resource management strategies employed by Selknam society. We know that the Selknam consumed continental vertebrates, as well as marine mammals and invertebrate species (molluscs and arthropods). They also exploited a range of sea birds.

The sites lie 200 metres from each other. The domestic site (Ewan II) is located inside the forest, near the edge

Ethnographic accounts document consumption of high quantities of guanaco (Lama guanicoe), though they also

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Figure 4. Location of Ewan I and II-structure 1 in the forest clearing. Three additional fireplaces are situated in sector South.

Based on the archaeological information, most Selknam occupation sites correspond to small campsites. Borrero (1985; 1991) highlights the exploitation of guanacos (Lama guanicoe) and believes that this resource was so important that many choices, such as mobility and location of campsites, were linked to guanaco hunting.

used their hides and bones for material culture items, fox (Dusicyon cullanicus), which was captured for its furs (for example to make coats for children) and also for food, otter (Lutra felina), and rodents such as tucutuco and cururo (Ctenomys fueguinus and Ctenomys magellanicus). Ethnographic accounts also report the consumption of pinnipeds such as sea lions (Otaria flavescens), fur seals (Arctocephalus australis) and whales (Gusinde, 1937 [1982]).

The archaeozoological record reveals the presence of birds including bustards, (Chloephaga sp.); cormorants (Phalacrocorax sp.) and ducks (Anas sp.). Other exploitable resources were small mammals such as Ctenommys, a small rodent (weight around 100 grams). At sites near the coast there are the remains of seals (Arctocephalus australis and Otaria byronia) and whales. Fish and marine molluscs also appear in the archaeological faunal assemblage (Borrero, 1985).

The Selknam used a range of methods to obtain all these animal resources. Guanaco, for example, was hunted using the bow and arrow, and with the help of dogs. Small rodents, such as coruros, were taken from their nests with long sticks or slings. Seals were caught when sleeping and clubbed using sticks or stones. Other small animals were hunted with bows and arrows. Foxes could be hunted with dogs, bow and arrow, or sticks. Birds were obtained with traps made of rope and torches, and their eggs were taken directly from the nest. Fishing was carried out using nets and bait. Whales were obtained when the animals became stranded on the beach (Gusinde, 1937 [1982]).

Archaeozoological analysis of Ewan I and Ewan II The archaeozoological record of both sites contained a considerable number of bone fragments and remnants (N= 29,942). The type of find, and their levels of conservation are key elements in the characterization of the nature of the occupation of each site (Camarós & Parmigiani, 2008).

Food was prepared by roasting the meat directly over the fire. Small rodents, fish and birds were cooked in burning ashes and molluscs were left inside their shells until they were well cooked and burst. Eggs were also cooked in their shell, though they were pierced first. Plants, including fruits and seeds as well as mushrooms were also important in the Selknam economy (Berihuete et al., 2009).

Ewan I The large number of bone remains from Ewan I (N= 21.369) is due to the large quantity of material that had been fractured by thermoalteration through burning in

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Figure 5. The ceremonial hut close to the forest border built for the Hain celebrated in 1923. (Gusinde, 1937 [1986]).

Figure 6. Vertebrates in Ewan I and II.

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Figure 7. Animal species present at Ewan I. NR: number of remains. MM: Medium Mammal.

Figure 8. Molluscs in Ewan I and II.

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the fireplace. Most fragments are smaller than 2 cm (N= 21.061) and these could not be determined at anatomical or taxonomic level (figure 6).

in the centre of the hut, specifically, in the hearth. We interpret this as being the result of a cleanup of the entire occupation with the specific intention of removing the animal remains (both vertebrates and invertebrates). • Absence of sheep and red fox (introduced species) at Ewan I; both species are present at Ewan II. • Absence of evidence for dogs at Ewan I. This includes neither dog bones nor gnaw marks that could be attributed to dog, on any bones from the assemblage.

Despite this, 308 skeletal remains were identified (243 fragments to taxonomic level, and 65 to anatomical level). Most of them (72%) belong to guanaco (Lama guanicoe). A series of fragments belonging to a medium-sized mammal (MM) could not be identified at a taxonomic level; it is highly probable that they also correspond to guanaco (18,1%). Bird bones, fish, Ctenomys magallanicus and rabbit (Oryctolagus cuniculus) are scarcely represented 1 (figure 7).

Discussion If we consider the number of remains (NR), the archaeozoological analysis proved that medium sized mammals constitute most of the fauna consumed by the Selknam people at Ewan I and Ewan II, though we found that the “small” resources are also important in Selknam diet. Ewan I (ceremonial hut) has a higher percentage of guanaco NR than the other species while at Ewan II the range of animals present suggested consumption of a wider range of animals, including domestic sheep.

Molluscs are also present at Ewan I (MNI2= 145), although the site is approximately 12 kms from the Atlantic coast. The large majority are limpets (Nacella magellanica and Nacella deaurata), all of which are very common in the intertidal zone. Nacella magellanica lives in the upper and middle parts of the intertidal zone, and is out of the water during low tide longer than Nacella deaurata, which lives in the lower part of the intertidal and sublittoral zones. The taxon Nacella sp. has been used in cases where it has not been possible to discriminate between these two species. There are also few mussels (Mytilus edulis) (figure 8).

The fact that Ewan I did not contain remains of sheep is not due to the impossibility of identifying this taxon because of the high fragmentation of the remains, but rather to the fact that Ewan I was used as a specialized space for the enactment of the Hain ceremony. We believe that overall in Selknam society, consumption of sheep instead of guanaco could be equal in terms of food. We believe that the reason for the absence of sheep and the focus on guanaco in the ceremonial hut relates to the fact that the Hain ceremony was devoted to the initiation of young men into the adult male world, where they became hunters. Different rituals took place in which guanaco played an important role, and the guanaco hunt is included in this. By contrast, sheep did not need to be hunted since they could be obtained from estancias (farms). This need for hunting may explain the dominant presence of guanaco and other “traditional” wildlife at Ewan I.

Ewan II At Ewan II (the domestic hut), vertebrate remains are less abundant than at Ewan I. Out of 8.573 bone fragments, 7890 were unidentifiable at a specific or skeletal level. This is because most of them (85,2 %) are smaller than 2 cm; this is a very similar percentage to Ewan I. The number of archaeofaunal remains that were identified anatomically is 105, and we have identified 578 to species level ( figure 7). Archaeozoological analysis revealed that medium size mammals (MM) constitute approximately 90% of the assemblage. These include guanaco (Lama guanicoe), unidentified medium size mammal and domestic sheep (Ovis aries). The remainder of the sample consists of canidae (Pseudalopex culpaeus), rodents (Ctenomys sp.), fish and bird bones (figure 7). The mollusc assemblage at Ewan II (MNI = 169) is almost identical to that from Ewan II (figure 8).

It is also important to mention that no bone remains with gnaw marks that could reveal intrusion by carnivores, were found at Ewan I. By contrast bone remains at Ewan II, the domestic hut, do show marks of carnivores (figure 9). This absence of any evidence for gnawing by animals at Ewan I corresponds with Gusinde’s statement that no dogs were allowed into the ceremonial hut: “The hut of Hain was never left completely alone because there was a danger that dogs entered the hut and stirred land in search of remnants of flesh and blood there deposited” (Gusinde, 1937: 985-986).

Results A comparison between the bone assemblages from Ewan I and Ewan II reveals a series of important differences between the huts. • The main difference is the greater degree of fragmentation resulting from the thermoalteration found at Ewan I. • At Ewan I, over 90% of the faunal remains were found

Bone remains at Ewan II reveal that different consumption activities took place in the hut. These activities are not the same as at Ewan I. Bone remains also show that there was an intentional deposition of waste into the fireplace. There is a higher degree of fragmentation of skeletal remains in the ritual hut than in the domestic hut. Moreover, the distribution of waste differs between Ewan I and Ewan II. At Ewan II, waste is more widely distributed and occurs

1 Rabbit is an intrusive taxon that we can classify as a taphonomic modification agent. Rabbit is an introduced species which has adapted successfully to Argentina. They live largely in Tierra del Fuego and the mounts areas of Patagonia (Gallari et al., 1996). 2 MNI: Minimum Number of Individuals.

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Figure 9. Distribution of bones modified by carnivores at Ewan II.

outside the hearth as well as inside it and there are different degrees of thermoalteration between huts (figure 10). The presence of rodent and carnivore gnaw marks also differs, demonstrating that they remained longer on the ground at Ewan II before being thrown into the fire.

and fish at both sites demonstrates a relatively high degree of mobility and a wide radius of movement of people. Conclusion The archaeozoological analysis of the Ewan I and Ewan II assemblages has allowed us detect subtle differences in faunal resources. Using the ethnoarchaeological information, we can go further than basic subsistence in our interpretations of the archaeological record using faunal remains, and reveal different aspects of social relations.

On this basis, we can propose a hypothesis to explain differences in waste management at each site. At Ewan II, waste thrown into the fireplace suggests simple cleaning activities. At Ewan I, intensive cleaning suggests that the intention was primarily to eliminate any evidence of the activities undertaken in the ceremonial hut.

The main aspects to be highlighted are taxa represented and bone conservation. With regards to taxa, at Ewan II European introduced fauna (notably sheep) are present, while at Ewan I, the guanaco is the only medium size mammal represented. We believe that this emphasis on guanaco at Ewan I is related to the ritual nature of activities that took place on the site in relation to hunting activities and consumption traditions. During the ritual, the adolescents under initiation followed food taboos,

The intensive exploitation of guanaco by the Selknam is demonstrated both in the ethnographic literature and from archaeological evidence. The use of other resources, small mammals, birds, fish and molluscs is also demonstrated at both sites. We have to remember here that the nearest coast is about 12 km away from the sites in a straight line. Despite the relative distance of the coast, the presence of molluscs

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Figure 10. Degrees of thermoalteration of bone remains from Ewan II.

allowing them to consume only certain parts of the guanaco. As Mansur and Piqué (this volume) point out, this is an example of the importance of food in ceremonial activities

Universitat Autònoma of Barcelona (UAB), CADIC (Centro Austral de Investigaciones Científicas) and CONICET (Consejo Nacional de Investigaciones Científicas y Técnicas, Argentina), under the direction of Dr. Raquel Piqué (UAB) and Dr. M. Estela Mansur (CADIC). We would like to thank particularly Inma Santmartín and Benjamin Nugent for reading and making preliminary corrections to the English manuscript. Very special thanks to Estela Mansur for her constructive comments.

The case of Ewan I is an excellent example of a ceremonial hut in a hunter-gatherer context. The archaeological investigation has shown that there are no “special” or “exotic” elements that reveal the ritual nature of this context. Nevertheless, by combining the archaeology with the ethnographic record, we have been able to identify specific traits that suggest the ritual nature of the assemblages and which allows us to propose an explanatory hypothesis.

References Berihuete, M., Caruso, L., Mansur, E., Massaccessi, G., Mensua, C., Piqué, R. 2009. El aprovechamiento de los recursos vegetales entre los Selknam de Tierra del Fuego (Argentina), una aproximación etnoarqueológica, in A. Capparelli, A. Chevalier, R. Piqué (eds.) La alimentación en la América precolombina y colonial: una aproximación interdisciplinaria. Treballs d’Etnoarqueologia, CSIC, Institució Milà i Fontanals, Madrid, 7 Borrero, L. A. 1985. La economía prehistórica de los habitantes del Norte de la Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego, Unpublished Phd dissertation, Facultad de Filosofía y Letras, Universidad de Buenos Aires Borrero, L. A. 1991. Los Selk’nam (Onas). Evolución cultural en la Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego, Búsqueda-Yuchán, Buenos Aires. Bridges, L. 1978. El último confín de la tierra. Ed. Marymar, Buenos Aires. Camarós, E., Parmigiani, V. 2008. Análisis del material faunístico de sitios de la localidad Ewan (Tierra del Fuego). Actas del XVI Congreso Nacional de Arqueología Argentina: 619-623. Chapman, A. 1986. Los Selk’nam. La vida de los Onas. Emecé editores, Buenos Aires. Gallardo, C. 1910. Los Onas. Ed. Facsimilar, Zagier & Urruty, Ushuaia. Galliari, A., Pardiñas, U., Goin, F. 1996. Lista comentada de los mamíferos argentinos. Mastozoología Neotropical; 3(1): 39-61 Gusinde M., 1937. Die Feuerland Indianer. (Traducción:

Identification of social aspects of the past is a challenge. We believe that the case presented here shows that we must rethink the methodology with which we face the archaeological record; ethnography can help us understand social events that seem invisible archaeologically, in this case the differentiation of domestic and ritual spaces in a hunter-gatherer context. We believe that a focus on the apparently minor differences in assemblages may in fact be highly significant in terms of functional or social differences between sites. We have seen that ethnoarchaeology is a very important element in the interpretation of the faunal assemblages from Ewan I and II. With only the material record (which is the usual case with most hunter-gatherer assemblages), it would have been difficult to distinguish between the ritual and domestic contexts. We think that in a purely archaeological context, it may be possible to identify potentially significant differences in assemblages by highlighting these apparently small variations. These small variations could in turn be relevant in terms of differences in site use and in addressing aspects of social relations, which is our ultimate objective (Mansur et al., 2007). Acknowledgements The study of Ewan I and Ewan II was conducted within the framework of a collaborative project between the

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1982. Los indios de Tierra del Fuego. Volume 1: Los Selk’nam. (2 vols.) Centro Argentino de Etnología Americana, Buenos Aires. Mansur, M.E., Maximiano, A., Vicente, O., Piqué, R. 2006. Arqueología de Rituales en Sociedades CazadorasRecolectoras. Una aproximación desde el Análisis del Espacio Socialmente Producido, in Arqueología de Tierra del Fuego-Patagonia. Levantando piedras, desenterrando huesos… y desvelando arcanos: 741-754. Fundación CEQUA, Punta Arenas, Chile. Mansur, M. E., Piqué R. (this volume). An Ethnoarchaeological approach to the Selknam ceremony

of Hain. A discussion of the impact of ritual on social organization in hunter-gatherer societies. Mansur, M.E., Piqué, R., Vila, A. 2004. Sociedad y Ritual en Tierra del Fuego. Excavaciones Arqueológicas en un Sitio Ceremonial del Corazón de la Isla, in: Actas del XV Congreso Nacional de Arqueología Argentina, Río Cuarto. Mansur, M.E., Piqué, R., Vila, A. 2007. Etude du rituel chez les chasseurs-cueilleurs. Apport de l’ethnoarchéologie des sociétés de la Terre de Feu. In: Restituer la vie quotidienne au Paléolithique supérieur : 143-150 Ed. S.A. de Beaune. Editions du CNRS.

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Chapter 20 Archaeological Materiality of Social Inequality Among HunterGatherer Societies

Assumpció Vila-Mitjá, Jordi Estévez, Daniel Villatoro and Jordi Sabater-Mir Abstract: The organization of subsistence and reproduction is the essential issue that characterizes and distinguishes societies, and this organization (social relationships) is not directly visible in Archaeology. We argue that to explore and identify these social relationships is an essential part of prehistoric studies. Hunter-Fisher-Gatherer (H-F-G) ethnographic studies show two main universals in the organization of social relationships: gender-based division of tasks (labour) and social inequality between males and females. Although inequality is not directly visible in Archaeology, it is materialized in the different degree of effort invested by men and women in subsistence and reproduction. This difference is measurable through the consequences of labour (analysis of products) and can be objectively evaluated for every product through the calculation of labour invested and available technology.

The opportunity to explore the physical consequences of the gender-based divisions of labour in subsistence and reproduction in an H-F-G society, is offered by the ethnographic record in Tierra del Fuego. Based on the work undertaken there by us over the past 20 years, we have proposed a system for the objective evaluation of input (the real value) by men and women and we have applied this to an ethnoarchaeological context.

these specific relationships and to make them visible and to permit the understanding of their origins as well as the causes of continuity and change. Due to this commonly accepted archaeological invisibility, we use Hunter-Fisher-Gatherer (H-F-G) ethnographic studies (generalized or particular samples) in order to consider these social aspects of organization in our H-F-G archaeological studies. In this way, we extrapolate deductive assumptions from the present and the recent past to Palaeolithic-Mesolithic times.

This links us to another line of research, which is the development of a Multi Agent System (MAS). Our work is designed to experiment with combinations of different variables in an artificially generated society, in which the interaction of agents lead to the generation of social norms. Our first attempts have demonstrated that altruism may have a coherent place in an H-F-G society given certain environmental premises. Finally, we attempt to apply the system to test ideas concerning the origins of social norms such as the social division of labour. In a first phase, in order to calibrate and test the MAS we apply the social norms and features of Yamana society that are found described in the ethnographic literature.

These assumptions argue for instance that ethnography describes most H-F-G as egalitarian societies in which gender-based division of labour has a biological base resulting from the unavoidable features of the biological differences between sexes, or from technical strategies based on the complementarity of male and female features that produce the most successful adaptation (and is therefore willingly accepted). This means that the division of labour and the differences between men and women are natural-biological and not political. Since Morgan (1987 [1877]) most H-F-G societies have been described in this way. Hayden (2008) suggests that this reality then gives way later to transegalitarian and non-egalitarian societies. Prehistoric H-F-G societies are likely to have been similarly egalitarian.

The Invisibility of Inequality The social organization of work-processes associated with subsistence and reproduction is the essential feature that characterizes and distinguishes different human societies. Specifically, it is the relationships that people adopt to achieve what they need/want for survival and to reproduce their society both physically and socially (this includes physical reproduction as well as all the items and activities involved in the transmission and continuity of the social structure). These social relationships (organizations) are not visible using current archaeological techniques and methodologies. But archaeology is the only way to approach

A non biased, objective analysis of ethnographic information demonstrates two main universal features in the organization of H-F-G social relationships, namely genderbased division of tasks (labour) and social inequality/ asymmetry between males and females. The divisions based on age or other features in these societies are transitional or uncommon (at least not universally shared).

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A particular feature of this inequality includes the power of decision–making, which is exercised mainly by men. The gender-based division of labour and social asymmetry seem to be a foundation of H-G-F social systems (Brightman 1996).

effort invested by men and women in the work related to subsistence and reproduction. This difference is measurable through the consequences of labour and can be retraced by considering the work effort invested in the products. It can be objectively evaluated for every product through the calculation of labour (time*effort) invested using the available technology (Barceló et al. 2006).

However these relationships are without doubt not caused directly by the biology of men and women, despite their universal appearance. This statement is self evident if we look at the large variability in the morphology and in the intensity of the different cases. In addition, the association of a social value with the tasks and with the different people in charge (men and women) is clearly a social option (e.g. Brightman 1996). Thus, as they are social and because there are alternative possibilities, we have to look to ascertain how these relationships arose, and how they could be maintained and sustained (at least in recent H-F-G societies which may be considered as the most successful of their kind).

Archaeologically we can do it through modelling different alternatives based on the data from the analysis of tools, products (e.g. faunal remains) and palaeo-landscape features. Beyond inequality we can even convey that there is some kind of exploitation, if the inequality is not socially recognized and subsequently equalized in some way. Thus we can address the origin of inequality between men and women in H-F-G not just by describing forms and technological procedures, but also by analyzing products and redefining goals (see below). This may lead us to define measurable criteria to obtain measurements and data relevant to our search for the degrees of effort invested by both genders in obtaining goods.

The question is how we approach an understanding of social relationships in an archaeological context if we assume that Archaeology cannot access the invisible ties of social relationships. Rather than accepting this old archaeological premise, we need to reassess established archaeological methodologies, as well as new technologies. One of these new technologies is ethnoarchaeology. Step by step we have to find out how to demonstrate and measure inequality in an ethnographically well-documented H-F-G society. First, we need to identify the indicators for inequality in this known society, and then we identify indicators that may be archaeologically visible in a prehistoric context. Lastly we need to understand how to identify these inequality indicators in the archaeological record.

1. A Practical Ethnoarchaeological Test We have tried to demonstrate this approach with Tierra del Fuego H-F-G societies (Estévez and Vila 1996 and 2007, Vila and Estévez 2006). In the first part of our project, we compiled and analyzed all the available ethnographic sources. Our aim was to obtain an objective view of the H-F-G people. From this ethnographic information we were able to synthesize an image of the Yamana/Yahgan people and their social norms. The Yamana/Yahgan people were H-F-G living along the southern-most coasts of the Tierra del Fuego Archipelago. They displayed mainly strategies of coastal resource exploitation and used seafaring technology.

Measuring Inequality As mentioned above, gender-based division of labour is related to the different social value (status) assigned to men and women. In fact, identifying different goods with specific producers allows one to establish a social difference between producers (men and women in H-F-G societies) by attributing different subjective values to the products obtained by them.

The existence of a controlled division of labour among H-F-G of Tierra del Fuego has been well documented ethnographically, although subjectively qualified and not evaluated, by ethnographers. These people did not organize themselves as tribes. The basic production unit moved around permanently (alone or with a few other units). Larger gatherings of people in villages (50–70 individuals) were never long lasting.

We can assume that in most H-F-G communities there is generally no overproduction. Nature provides the storage and a delayed killing is more adaptive than a delayed consumption of stored “dead” meat. Almost all the food produced is consumed in a relatively short time and little is exchanged for durable wealth that could be accumulated and exchanged again, later, for food. Therefore we can also assume that the basic consumption by men will be equal to the consumption by women. We define this consumption as the satisfaction of needs (subsistence, maintenance and social reproduction) through produced goods (the products such as food, utensils, social items, as well as socially integrated people themselves). Therefore if women invest more labour than men, there is an asymmetry (an inequality) in the relationship. Inequality is materialized in the different

Despite constant mobility, they identified themselves using geographical reference markers even though in reality there were no strict frontiers, exclusive territories or organized warfare. There were instead gradual clines of relations, and consequently language communities (see Gusinde 1937, Orquera and Piana 1999). There was no centralized power or government, just some directors of the Ciexaus and Kina ceremonies as well as “some” patterns of traditional social norms. These patterns of social daily life and production behaviour were reinforced for adolescents of both sexes during the

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Ciexaus ceremony, which is exhaustively described in the ethnographic literature.

Both men and women gathered mushrooms, berries, eggs and nestlings, collected firewood, set and maintained the fire, built the hut, and made other items like buckets and jars of bark. Together they moved the canoe onto land or into the sea.

The supremacy of men was sustained by the authority of the father (a male figure) in each social unit. It was reinforced during the Kina ceremony (also well described). This ceremony was designed only for men and was meant to reinforce the general authority of males.

The only social norms (that is the need for regulations and punishments for non-compliance) concerning social relationships were actually those that had to do with biological and social reproduction. These were marriage norms, with whom, when and how people could get married or have sexual relations. That is they controlled the behaviour that was linked to procreation.

Marriages or unions were regulated; people could only marry after passing through the Ciexaus ceremony. They could not marry their Ciexaus godfather. Women could not decide whom to marry and widows had to marry their brothers-in-law. Single persons were rare (unless they were disabled). Polygamy was usual but seldom did a man have more than four wives. A husband’s physical abuse of women was reported as was adultery though men were not punished (women faced infidelities with resignation, as they were instructed to do in the Ciexaus ceremony). Husbands could break the marriage when they wanted. There were robberies of women, even if married. Finally the relocation of a new couple was the norm. There was neither matrilocality nor patrilocality.

These social norms of course are closely tied to subsistence production because of the gender-based division of labour. But the social norms specifically related to the working processes (who does what and how) were not so clearly established. They were part of daily life and were learned from childhood. These social norms were explicitly remembered and reinforced just once in their life, during the Ciexaus ceremony. Social order based on discrimination of women was enhanced from time to time with the spectacle of the Kina ceremony for men’s eyes only.

2. The Division of Labour in Yamana H-F-G The organization of resource exploitation was strictly conducted along a gender-based division of labour. Women collected molluscs (mainly mussels), sea-urchins and crabs. They spent much time fishing from canoes and hunted cormorants, ducks and other birds. They sometimes even hunted the largest terrestrial prey, the guanaco, with the help of dogs. They were in charge of the maintenance of the canoe, they had to paddle, moor and unleash it. At the same time they had to tend the fires and take the prey obtained by their husbands from the water.

The norms of “marriage” were male oriented and performed by men and this fact demonstrated the effectiveness of this education and the Kina ceremony. The power of decision belonged to men; fathers or male relatives and boyfriends decided marriages, they could steal women, and separate from their partners or increase their number of their wives. They were the authority (and they had the power of decision-making and of enforcing norms) in the basic unit of production. All the above created an asymmetric image founded on the social division of labour, the inequality of values and the control of reproduction exercised by men over women (Vila and Ruiz 2001).

Women were also responsible for preparing fishing lines, line weights and hooks; for fetching water, gutting fish, plucking and butchering birds, preparing sausages, drying mushrooms, cooking, caring for household equipment and preparing hides, making clothes, baskets, bags made of leather and gut, braids made of tendons, ropes of rushes, ornaments (necklaces, bracelets and ankle ornaments) and searching for dyes. They had to care for and educate the children.

The Quest for Objectivity and Quantification Having addressed the inequality and exploitation recorded in the varied ethnographic sources, we wanted to analyze these sources in a more objective way by developing an algorithm to quantify the inequality between genders.

Men, on the other hand, hunted guanaco with spears or bows, killed sea lions with harpoons and sometimes with bows or confronted them directly with clubs and daggers. They caught fish using harpoons and traps. They hunted birds with arrows and traps, and took them from their nests at night. They butchered big game. Men also cut trees, removed bark pieces and manufactured canoes and paddles, harpoons, bows and arrows, slings, bone chisels, stone tools, as well as some of the utensils that were used by women, and they made toys for children. They cut sea lion leather to obtain long straps and of course made the masks for the kina ceremonies.

Our first attempt (Barceló et al. 1994) was a system (we called it KIPA) that worked by applying a localized neural network shell. The units in the model represented agents, actions and beneficiaries. The agents were designed as old male, old female, young male, young female, male children and female children. This system reported with efficiency the differences between the returns obtained relative to the work undertaken by men and women. “Adult men” was the category which most benefited in this type of social relationship.

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3. Real Value Calculation

procurement with a scale of scores as reflected in Table 1. d. Physical effort involved in transportation.

We then tried to evaluate real value (the effort invested) in concrete situations that could be modelled and applied to actual archaeological cases (in our experiment to ethnoarchaeological cases). We considered the main environmental features and conditions, we compared the ethnographic data with experimental and archaeological data and finally we replicated almost all working procedures, to gain a more objective and quantitative perspective.

At the end of the calculation each raw material will have a sum of points (a theoretical value) based on all these parameters. (The marking system is experimental and continues to be refined). Manufacturing 1. extraction of raw material, 2. preparing and transforming the raw material, 3. assembling composite goods.

Combining all this information, we were able to calculate inequality and exploitation through the study of the time invested in producing goods by each population/social segment (Barceló et al. 2006).

The parameters of each successive step can be found in Table 2:

First we calculated the effort invested in the documented ethnographic objects. We studied all the objects in ethnographic collections from this perspective. Items were classified broadly into large classes; weapons and catching implements (those used to obtain raw materials and catch/ capture food, e.g. bows, harpoons, sticks...), tools and labour items (designed to make other artefacts: knives, scrapers...), utensils (items that help to manage other processes of production and consumption: plates, baskets, as well as the huts themselves) and finally social items (those devoted to the maintenance and reinforcement of social reproduction such as ornaments, masks and clothes).

All the information used in the scoring system issues from the general context of the Beagle Channel in Tierra del Fuego, where our Yamana sites of ethnographically reported times are located. For the scoring we have considered the ethnographic reports as well as our own experimental replication experiments. Of course this marking system has very broad categories and could be recalibrated. We can then calculate a value index by the addition of all the particular values accumulated over the production processes for each final consumption item. These values are added to a main value for each social category. In our experiment after a first calculation we decided to retain only four social categories: female, male, and female and male children.

Our eventual aim is to conduct this analysis with the archaeological record, taking into account the specific taphonomic processes and conditions in Tierra del Fuego (which we have experimented with over the years), and the preservation conditions documented on our sites. In this way we will be able to extrapolate and predict the kind of items or parts of items that could be preserved in the archaeological record and what could be inferred from other items or from other contextual information. Some objects will not be found at all in our archaeological record, though most can be inferred using contextual information or will be documented in the record directly or by sub products or residues. Here we will briefly describe the main features of our system.

Once we allocated the scores they were then measured against the values (the sum of the points) in terms of consumption for each item in order to produce a statistical value, which measures degree of exploitation or inequality (Figure 1) Stage 2 is the comparison between our results and the items preserved in the archaeological record. Experimental application to an archaeological context was carried out using two recently excavated sites. The scores afforded (the generated values) can be contrasted with the benefits derived from the consumption of the final value (that is the added scores of the final products consumed by each social category). In that way we can quantify and gain a statistical visualization of degree of exploitation.

First we reconstructed all the major steps involved in the production process for all products. The scheme of the production process that we developed follows a line from the acquisition of raw materials to finished goods, ready to use/consume. Having identified these steps, we calculated indices to quantify the relative working effort involved in every step of the production of every item which we then applied and added up to obtain a final score for each product throughout its production

We have calculated these scores for the ethnographically documented items and processed them statistically to represent “inequality” in a graph (Figure 1). We can contrast these results with the time invested in the archaeologically preserved or inferred objects. The differences in the working effort between men and women are well documented both in the ethnographic as well as in the potential archaeological record even without considering the effort invested in reproduction (the production of viable people).

Raw materials. The main parameters are: a. Distance to the Source Material, b. Temporal (Seasonal) Availability c. Spatial Availability /Weight from the area of

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Table 1. Scores of the different parameters involved in obtaining raw materials.

Table 2. Scores of the different parameters involved in manufacturing products.

We are currently working on applying this algorithm to the actual record obtained from two recent archaeological sites (of ethnographic age) that we have excavated, Tunel VII and Lanashuaia (Estévez 2008.). Our aim is to test the potential of applying this system to real archaeological sites and to verify the variability in different settlements with different activities of the same social group. We want to see if we can detect the existence of inequality, the degree of inequality,

and the durability of inequality in the archaeological records obtained at both sites. We have succeeded in producing a calculation of value for each social segment and we can demonstrate the changes that occurred. We have been unable to identify a relationship between labour force, the objects of labour and the relationship between production and reproduction. We

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Figure 1. Graphic of a non linear regression model of the relationship between generated versus appropriated value by men and women derived from the application of our score system to the ethnographic record.

4. Why simulation?

have created a static image but we are unable to reconstruct the process of emergence and continuity of the system and their social norms.

The reason why simulation is carried out in general is because there are some phenomena that cannot be repeated for any reason, and specialized scientists want to gain deeper understanding in the area to be simulated. Simulation offers a way to imitate a process. Once the model of a real society has been constructed, social scientists can test their theories using their ’artificial society’, to see how the evolution of the studied society takes place. In our study the ancient Yamana society has disappeared (as have almost all H-F-G societies of the distant and recent past). We cannot directly reproduce the dynamics of these societies but we can experiment using different variables and relationships dynamically with an “artificially created society”.

Simulation with Multi-agent Systems What we have created up to now, is a static image. We have not been able to create a process of emergence and continuity of a system and its social norms. Our aim, with MAS, is to study the process of the emergence of inequality in controlled artificially generated societies using a dynamic model. We aim to study the mechanisms that create a set of standards and social norms that are used (and kept) by a majority of the components of a society. We will explore how people internalized these social norms to create a structured society, in other words how did these social norms emerge from the decentralized interaction between members of a collective without being imposed by a central authority (Bicchieri 2006)?

Simulation is particularly useful in social science as it allows for theories to be tested and for a deeper understanding of processes to be reached. It is particularly useful in archaeology where a certain amount of factual information is available from the ethnoarchaeological study of recent communities.

We can succeed in calculating archaeologically the value produced by every social segment. We can see the changes that occurred but we miss the relationships that may have been established between the labour force, the objects of labour and the relations of production and reproduction.

What is “Simulation”? In the first instance there is the model itself. This is normally constructed around a ’real world’ phenomenon

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in which the researcher is interested. This is known as the target. The objective is to create a model of this target; this is simpler than studying the target itself. The aim is that conclusions drawn about the model will also apply to the target because the two are sufficiently similar. However, if it is to be useful, the model always needs to be, and indeed will be, simpler than the target since our modelling abilities are limited (Gilbert and Doran 1994). Gilbert remarks that in the social sciences the target is always a dynamic entity, and so should the model be (Gilbert and Troitzsch 1994). The use of an abstract model is always needed when doing simulation. Currently there is no standardized way to construct the model, though this would be useful.

behaviour. MAS allow us to control the environment where our individuals act, and to observe how they interact. In MAS, individuals (agents) are modelled as computational entities that interact in a defined environment. An agent has several properties but perhaps the most essential is that of autonomy. The fact that an agent acts according to its internal goals and that it is influenced by, and therefore reacts to, the environment, makes this technology very interesting for those situations where the singularity of the individuals and the interactions among them are the key. Current technology allows us to put thousands of these entities in detailed modelled environments and analyze their evolution through time. Of course the complexity of these entities is far from that of human beings. However, by identifying and focusing on the specific aspect that will be studied, and programming the agents accordingly, it is possible to obtain results that can be extrapolated to human societies.

However, there is an obvious set of steps to be followed in most cases (Gilbert and Doran 1994). These include:• Considering what is known about the target and clarifying modelling objectives. • Choosing the aspects of the target to be modelled. • Choosing the type of model to be deployed (including the level of abstraction of the model and the technical repertoire and the formal language in which it is to be specified). • Establishing the detailed content and specification of the model. • Verifying that the model is as intended. • Validating and checking the model as specified, against already available data. • Deriving the model’s behaviour - the two possibilities are a direct inference from the specification or simulation. • Sensitivity Analysis - determining the relative significance of the various assumptions embodied in the model. • Relating the results back to the target, interpreting them and assessing their validity. • Reporting the conclusions.

Social Simulation using MAS is now a vast area in the world of science and there are numerous applications and platforms. At least three independent social simulation systems exist. These different systems have been developed for different purposes and choice of system depends on the level of specification and specialization needed for the simulation experiment. • Heavily oriented to a specific society such as EOS (Doran 1995) or TongaSim (Small 1999). • Interpreted rapid-development library such as MICROS (Younger 2002) or Sugarscape (Terna 2001). • Compiled social complexity toolkits such as SWARM (Langton et al. 1996), Mason (Luke et al. 2004) or Repast (Repast Development Group 2003). In conclusion, there are several options when choosing a technique for building simulation software, each one with its own advantages and limitations. It is necessary to balance completeness of the model against computational complexity.

With this set of assumptions and trying always to keep the objectives of the subject to be simulated clear, we can proceed to develop our own model. It is very important in social simulation to focus and clearly define the objectives, as these could be very different, for instance, in Economics or in Archaeology.

Nowadays, and looking back into the past, we can see that all the work done in simulation of societies has been directly related to resource harvesting and its social impact.

In the last fifteen years multi-agent systems technology (MAS) has developed and nowadays is being applied to several different areas of research and development in many scientific branches as well as other commercial and entertainment areas. The properties of multi-agent systems, together with some social norms, offer an excellent combination for studying a society, in which each agent will represent an individual in that society, and the social norms are played out through the interaction rules between these individual agents.

Current trends are pushing multi-agent systems to a more evolutionary perspective in social simulation. Concepts such as electronic institution (Esteva 2003), norm emergence (Sen and Airiau 2007), model evaluation and social evolution are today’s hottest keywords in multi-agent social simulation. Norm emergence basically deals with the emergence or the foundation of social and behavioral norms within a society and their evolution. Norm emergence is the process by which a norm will be created after the continued interaction of the members of the society.

One of the main benefits that MAS offers is the possibility of modelling the individual in order to act with designed

We believe that MAS is an optimal device to experiment with and to test our hypotheses about the emergence of

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Conclusions

the social-gender-based division of labour and the resultant asymmetrical relationships that lead to inequality between the values and the social consideration of men and women in H-F-G societies.

Our simulation model suggested we could measure inequality in Prehistory if we were able to identify the gender-based distribution of tasks in the archaeological record. These results could be used in the future as baselines to establish parameters when we start introducing dynamics into the system and allow it to evolve with multi agent systems (MAS).

5. Discussion We began our experiment by selecting a series of norms, or variables. We used simulation techniques (Axelrod, 1986) to analyze our selection process.

In a second line of research within a new research project, we will improve and test the possibilities of MAS for our objectives. A multidisciplinary research project, using Anthropology, Archaeology and Experimental Economy and Artificial Intelligence Sciences, will try to model with MAS the different social mechanisms that stimulate the emergence of social inequality between men and women, and we will test the hypothesis that it was created to handle reproduction and management of the irregular distribution of limited resources, and that the process was implemented through the gender-based division of labour (which resulted in an imbalance of the objective value of men and women).

Using a simulation model, we have tested an evolutionist approach (selection of the best choice) between a set of norms (based on the concepts of altruism and the notion of image) using a series of autonomous individuals who had to survive on a limited amount of resources (Villatoro and Sabater-Mir 2007). Our long-term aim is to study the different social mechanisms that favour, and in some case are necessary for, the emergence and optimum application of social norms in virtual societies of autonomous agents, and our work will develop along these lines.

To increase the veracity of the model we will continue to add a decision-making framework to the platform. This will allow agents to select dynamically the mechanism they employ to coordinate their inter-related activities and we will add in the law of decreasing returns.

We aim to model the different social mechanisms that stimulate, and in some case make necessary, the emergence and optimum application of social inequality between men and women. We will test the (hypo)thesis that it was based on the need to manage reproduction in the face of an irregular distribution of limited resources and that this was implemented through the gender-based division of labour (identifying producers and products), which in turn permitted an imbalance in the subjective values of men and women.

In the first instance we will apply the system to the known information from the Tierra del Fuego hunter-gatherers to try to simulate the emergence of social norms and to isolate the significant variables. Acknowledgments

Our hypothesis is based on the assumption that the distribution of resources is correlated with altruism if the goal is to maximize life expectancy and the survival of individuals. This assumption is based on the belief that in some environmental conditions with limited resources, altruism emerges as the best option. This assumption is based on an extensive list of examples from H-G ethnographic literature. We have one final doubt, which is why, in a society, there is a need to maximize numbers of people or life expectancy beyond the point of decreasing return.

Thanks to the other members of our Research Group AGREL (supported by AGAUR- Generalitat de Catalunya) for the always exciting discussions about these themes. And thanks to Derek Congram for his revision of our first English version. References Axelrod,R 1986. An evolutionary approch to norms. The American Political Science Review, 80(4):1095–1111 Barceló, J. A., Vila A., and Argelés T. 1994. KIPA: A Computer Program to Analyze the Social Position of Women in Hunter-Gatherer Societies, in I. Johnson (ed.) Methods in the Mountains :165-172. Archaeological Method Series 2. Sydney: University of Sydney. Barceló, J. A, Briz I., Clemente I., Estévez J., Mameli L., Maximiano A., Moreno F., Pijoan J., Piqué R., Terradas X., Toselli A., Verdún E., Vila A., and Zurro D. 2006 Análisis etnoarqueológico del valor social del producto en sociedades cazadoras recolectoras, in Etnoarqueologia de la Prehistoria: más allá de la Analogía. Departament D’Arqueologia i Antropologia IMF ed. Pp.189-208. Treballs d’Etnoarqueologia 6. Madrid : CSIC.

We developed a norm selecting process using a Repast model (a simulation platform) by adapting a genetic algorithm that can be defined as a “Genetic Configurable Repast Simulator”. We programmed homogeneous normative agents without reproduction (that is an experiment with egalitarian and non-sexed individuals). We let them play (gather and share resources) and activated a selective algorithm which searched for the “best solution -norm-” to maximize the survival of the artificial agents. Altruism emerged as the most significant in a typical hunter-gatherer environment with enough resources, but resources that were concentrated in time and space.

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Bicchieri, C. 2006. The Grammar of Society: The Nature and Dynamics of Social Norms. Cambridge University Press. Brightman, R.1996. The Sexual Division of Foraging Labor: Biology, Taboo and Gender Politics. Comparative Studies in Society and History 38 (4): 687-729. Doran, J.1995. Simulating prehistoric societies: Why? and how?. Proceedings of Second International Symposium on Computing and Archaeology : 40–55. Esteva, M. 2003. Electronic Institutions: from specification to development. Ph D. Monography, IIIA-CSIC, Vol. 19. Barcelona. Estévez, J.2008. Ethnoarchaeology in the Uttermost Part of the Earth. Arctic Anthropology 46(1-20:132-143. Estévez, J. and Vila A (eds.) 1996. Encuentros en los conchales fueguinos. Treballs d’Etnoarqueologia 1. Bellaterra-Madrid: CSIC-UAB. Estévez, J. and Vila A. 2006. Colecciones de museos etnográficos en Arqueología. In Departament D’Arqueologia i Antropologia IMF, ed. Etnoarqueologia de la Prehistoria: más allá de la Analogía : 241-254. Treballs d’Etnoarqueologia 6. Madrid: CSIC. Estévez, J. and Vila A. (DEVARA Group) 2007. Twenty Years of Ethnoarchaeological Research in Tierra del Fuego: Some Thoughts for European Shell-Midden Archaeology in N. Milner, O.E. Craig and G. N. Bailey (eds.) Shell Middens in Atlantic Europe:183-195. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Gilbert, N. and Doran J. (eds) 1994. Simulating societies: The computer simulation of social phenomena.London: UCL Press. Gilbert, N. and Troitzsch K. G. 2005. Simulation for the social scientist (Second ed.). Milton Keynes. Open University Press. Gusinde, M. 1937. Feuerland Indianer, Band II: Die Yamana. Mödling bei Wien: Verlag der Internationalen Zeitschrift “Anthropos”. Hayden, B. 2008. L’Homme et l’Inégalité. CNRS Editions: Paris.

Langton,C., Minar N., Burkhart R., and Askenazi M.1996. The swarm simulation system: A toolkit for building multi-agent simulations. Technical Report, Santa Fe Institute. Luke, S., Cioffi-Revilla C., Panait L., and Sullivan K. 2004. MASON: A New Multi-Agent Simulation Toolkit. Proceedings of the 2004 SwarmFest Workshop. Morgan, L. H.1987 [1877] La sociedad primitiva. Madrid: Endymion Orquera, L. A. and Piana E. L.1999. La vida material y social de los Yámana. Buenos Aires: Eudeba. Sen, S., and Airiau S. 2007. Emergence of norms through social learning. Proceedings of IJCAI-07: 1507-1512. Small, C. 1999. Finding an Invisible History: A Computer Simulation Experiment (in Virtual Polynesia) Journal of Artificial Societies and Social Simulation 2 (3). Terna, P. 2001 Creating artificial worlds: A note on sugarscape and two comments. Journal of Artificial Societies and Social Simulation 4(2). Vila, A. and Ruiz G. 2001. Información etnológica y análisis de la reproducción social: el caso yamana. Revista Española de Antropología Americana 31: 275–91. Vila, A. and Estévez J (design and text) 2006. Investigaciones en el Fin del Mundo: La gente canoera de Tierra del Fuego. Interactive DVD (3 videos y 27 Powerpoint presentations). Produced y Edited by I.C.E. Universidad Autónoma de Barcelona. Financed by DURSI (Generalitat de Catalunya). ISBN: 84-8948975-0 Villatoro, D. and Sabater-Mir J. 2007. Norm selection through simulation in a resource-gathering society. Proceedings of 21st European Simulation and Modelling Conference (ESM). Younger, S. 2002 Discrete agent modelling as a tool for the study of individual and social development: The micros code. Technical Report, Los Alamos National Laboratory.

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