Securing a Place: Small-Scale Artisans in Modern Indonesia 9781501732539

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Securing a Place Small-Scale Artisans in Modern Indonesia

Elizabeth Morrell

Securing a Place Small-Scale Artisans in Modern Indonesia

SouTHEAST AsiA PROGRAM PUBLICATIONS

Southeast Asia Program Cornell University Ithaca, New York

2005

~--------------1!--1--------------~

Editorial Board Benedict R. O'G. Anderson Tamara Loos Stanley J. O'Connor Keith Taylor Andrew Willford

Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications 640 Stewart Avenue, Ithaca, NY 14850-3857 Southeast Asia Program Series Number 21

© 2005 Cornell Southeast Asia Program All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Cornell Southeast Asia Program. Printed in the United States of America Cover Design by Judith Burns, Publications Services, Cornell University ISBN: 978-0-87727-139-0

CONTENTS

List of Tables

6

List of Figures

7

Acknowledgments

9 13

Preface Chapter 1

Artisans in Society

15

Part One: Lowlands Enterprise Chapter 2

Identity, Silk, and Status

41

Chapter 3

The "City of Silk"

61

Chapter 4

The Sound of Life

85

Chapter 5

Commerce, Autonomy, and Creativity

99

Part Two: "Toraja Handmade" Chapter 6

"We Have No New Art ... "

109

Chapter 7

An Emergent Art Industry

141

Chapter 8

The Artisans

165

Chapter 9

Innovation and Transition

179

Chapter 10

Negotiating Change

191

Glossary

201

Bibliography

205

LIST OF TABLES

Table 1: Differentiated Silk Weaving in Kabupaten Wajo

67

Table 2: Registered Weaving Units in Kabupaten Wajo

73

Table 3: National Land Area under Mulberry Cultivation, 1993

75

Table 4: Weaving Incomes, Kabupaten Wajo

80

Table 5: Artisanal Production Units, Kabupaten Tana Toraja 1995, 2000

145

Table 6: Woodcarving Incomes, Tana Toraja

156

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1. Map of South Sulawesi, Indonesia

14

Figure 2. Wajo Bugis in ceremonial dress

21

Figure 3. Map of ethnic groups, formerly known as Torajan

22

Figure 4. Old erong coffins, Ke'te Kesu' village, Tana Toraja

24

Figure 5. Incised facade of a Torajan rice barn

24

Figure 6. A former ruler of Luwu with her family and court officials

42

Figure 7. Map of Kabupaten Wajo

62

Figure 8. A backstrap weaver works beneath her house in Kabupaten Wajo

68

Figure 9. Elaborate supplementary weft silk sarongs

69

Figure 10. Simple, repetitive ikat motifs

70

Figure 11. Variations of zigzag motifs

70

Figure 12. Weft threads for ikat cloth

71

Figure 13. Map of Kabupaten Tana Toraja

110

Figure 14. Tau-tau figures that conform to Aluk To Dolo custom

113

Figure 15. Antique kandaure made of knotted headwork

119

Figure 16. Images from a modern block-printed sarita cloth

121

Figure 17. Central panel from a modern maa' cloth

122

Figure 18. Author's fieldwork sketch of an antique ampang bilik

123

Figure 19. Screen-printed postcard design based on ampang bilik imagery

125

Figure 20. Antique door for sale in Rantepao, Tana Toraja

127

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Securing a Place

Figure 21. Reinterpreted tomb doors made for the tourist art audience

128

Figure 22. Modern figural sculpture by a Mamasa artisan

129

Figure 23. Miniaturized tau-tau figures in a cliff balcony

130

Figure 24. Screen-printed postcard design of the warrior image

131

Figure 25. Postcard imagery in the style of a sarita cloth

131

Figure 26. Wooden masks made for the souvenir market

132

Figure 27. Pastoral scene incised onto a pemandangan landscape panel

133

Figure 28. Incised wooden ukiran souvenir trays and plates

134

Figure 29. "Primitive" screen-printed postcard design

136

Figure 30. Variations of the Pa' Tedong buffalo-head imagery on architectural panels

137

Figure 31. Sa' dan Toraja sculptor works beneath his home

143

Figure 32. Kain Pio Uki', an embroidered banner, pineapple fiber

147

Figure 33. Modern cotton supplementary weft textile

147

Figure 34. Customary motifs on cotton ikat textiles

148

Figure 35. Detail from incised wooden mural in the foyer of the Bank Rakyat Indonesia

153

Figure 36. A cabinet maker assembles incised panels

154

Figure 37. Detail from a modern, block-printed Tree of Life maa' cloth

160

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Major events in our lives are often sparked by seemingly minor matters. Some years ago, an undergraduate university lecture discussing Indonesian belief systems introduced me to the Toraja people in the beautiful mountains of South Sulawesi and their neighbors, the lowland Bugis. This initiated a long and winding period of study and, ultimately, the writing of this book. Throughout that process, the commitment of Indonesianists who work towards deepening the understanding of this region has been instrumental in stimulating and maintaining my interest. In particular, the multidisciplinary character of my own research has been shaped by the academic environment of the Flinders Asia Centre, in Adelaide, South Australia. Staff at Flinders University encouraged me and provided the opportunity for studying-and later, teaching-the diverse range of human activity found in the Indonesian archipelago. A secure environment for productive research and writing during a four-year period was created by an Australian Postgraduate Research Award scholarship and an Australian Government Priority Award for the study of Asia. Twelve months' intensive fieldwork in Indonesia was made possible by a Research in Asia award from the Australian Vice-Chancellor's Committee. An invaluable opportunity to discuss fieldwork findings and conduct additional library research came with a period as National Visiting Scholar in the Department of Anthropology at the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National University, Canberra, generously funded by that organization. Field research was sponsored by the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI) and the South Sulawesi Office for the Preservation of Historical and Archaeological Heritage. One of the first lessons learnt by writers is that, although the process is necessarily solitary, it is also dependent upon the assistance of many people. Sections of the book have benefited greatly from discussions following seminars presented at Flinders University and at the International Seminar on South Sulawesi History, Culture, and Society, held in Makassar, in December 1996. Throughout the long period leading to this publication, especially helpful comments, suggestions, and criticisms have been made in various ways by Greg Acciaioli, David Bulbeck, Firdaus, Keith Foulcher, James Fox, Anton Lucas, Barbara Martin-Schiller, Robyn Maxwell, Kathryn Robinson, Jim Schiller, Paul Tickell, Toby Volkman, and Roxana Waterson. Heartfelt thanks are expressed to Professor Darmawan M. Rahman, whose deep interest in South Sulawesi culture and society extended his role of research sponsor far beyond that of standard bureaucratic requirement. Library staff at Flinders and Adelaide Universities, the Australian National University, and the National Library of Australia have been unfailingly helpful, and special appreciation must go to Robyn Walden at Flinders. In Indonesia, friendly support was given by staff of the Office for the Preservation of Historical and Archaeological Heritage, Hasanuddin University Library, and the Indonesian

10

Securing a Place

National Archives. Officers at the Departments of Industry and Statistics in Kabupatens Wajo and Tana Toraja always assisted generously with the provision of reports, information, and advice. In both those regions, many people provided personal and practical assistance to help me settle into extended fieldwork, and special acknowledgment must be given to the welcoming generosity of Nyonya Toding Tandilolok and her family in Tana Toraja. My greatest debt of gratitude is to all the research participants who worked with me in an atmosphere of mutual interest. The talent and skills of the artisans described in this book deserve wide recognition and acknowledgment. However, I am required by university ethical policies to protect the privacy of the people who so generously provided information and time to assist my research. Pseudonyms have been used for the names of individuals and the immediate environment in which they live, although if that environment is large enough to afford sufficient privacy, only personal names have been altered. Deborah Homsher and Michael Wakoff at Cornell University prepared my initial manuscript for publication with perceptive and sensitive editing. Geographer Stephen Fildes produced the maps from my tentative outlines. All photographs are my own, except where otherwise acknowledged. Earlier versions of some sections in the book have appeared as "Symbolism, Spatiality, and Social Order" in Living Through Histories: Culture, History and Social Life, ed. Kathryn Robinson and Mukhlis Paeni (Canberra: Australian National University and the National Archives of Indonesia, 1998), pp. 151-167; and "Economics and Icons: Overview of a Transitional Artform," Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology 1,2 (2000): 26-48. Finally, the enforced discipline of research and writing is made tolerable by family and friends who recognize the alternating need for distance and human contact. I owe them enormous gratitude for their interest and encouragement, for understanding my preoccupation with this project, and for keeping me aware of other realities. The book is dedicated to Morgan, Brendan, and Alexa for their love and patience from start to finish.

Indonesia

N

1

0

100km

South Sulawesi Province at the time of fieldwork. In September 2004, the Indonesian government approved the formation of a new province of West Sulawesi, covering the northwestern coast and hinterland region to the Central Sulawesi border.

PREFACE For more than a decade I have been observing the working lives and fluctuating fortunes of artisans on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi (formerly known as the Celebes). This involvement began in the early months of 1991 when I first visited the region. At the end of 1994, after a year of intensive fieldwork, I felt optimistic about the gradual but evident socio-economic progress being made by these resourceful individuals. This feeling was consolidated during subsequent follow-up visits over the next three years. However, crises precipitated by the economic downturn of 1997, then exacerbated by political instability, civil unrest, and terrorism, have since obstructed their progress. These events vividly illustrate the uncertainty encountered by people working within the microenterprise sector. The small safety margins many artisans had built for themselves prior to 1997 had largely disappeared when I returned in that year, and by 2004 had still not been regained. The present vulnerability is the result of internal Indonesian factors and also global forces. Lowland South Sulawesi silk weavers have been disadvantaged by shortages of silk thread and increased prices, in part created because farmers replaced mulberry trees with cocoa trees to attract the high profits of that exportoriented sector. Conversely, those export crops protected South Sulawesi from the severest impacts of the economic crisis, and the relatively strong local economy provided loyal markets for silk cloth. At the same time, in the highlands of Tana Toraja, where for several decades tourism had provided residents with opportunities to generate income, visitor numbers drastically declined. In 1996, Tana Toraja attracted a total of 277,159 tourists, of whom 58,777 were foreign and 218,382 were domestic. In 1997, as the Indonesian economy disintegrated, domestic tourist numbers fell by 70 percent. The following year, civil violence elsewhere in Sulawesi led to a 70 percent reduction in foreign visitors, and from that time total visitor numbers have fallen to between 60,000-70,000 annually. 1 Fears of international terrorism have prolonged this situation, and although tourism was strengthening in Bali by the early months of 2004, this trend had not extended to Sulawesi, where locals described the situation as "lebih parah lagi" (even more serious). Artisans themselves are unable to solve the overarching issues that have had an impact on their livelihoods. For most, life has again become a matter of survival on the periphery of modernization and development. Yet, as the earlier optimism moves through disappointment to resilience, people search for new strategies to overcome diminished circumstances. With the introduction of new regional autonomy laws in the post-Suharto reform period, the responsibility for local development has devolved to local government. In regions with little or no industrialization, the success of small enterprise and microenterprise has become essential to provide the revenue necessary for future growth. Department of Tourism, " Tana Toraja, Kunjungan Wisatawan Mancanegara dan Nusantara 1998-2002" (Foreign and Domestic Tourist Visits 1998-2002), unpublished report, 2003.

1

14

Secun·nga Place

N

Largest ethnic groups

~ Mandar ~ Bugis

~ Toraja

[}J

0

Makassar

100km

. I donesia (to Sep tember 2004), th Sulawesi, t ethnic groups. n homelan Figure 1. M a p o.f Sgou d s 0 f larges showm

CHAPTER ONE

ARTISANS IN SOCIETY

Ne' Avip twisted a sarong until it formed a thick rope. She wound it into a small circular pad, placed it on her head, then bent down to pick up the sack of wooden sculptures. Carefully, she balanced this on top of the twisted sarong, which cushioned the weight. Together we set off to walk to the nearest point at which we could board a public minibus for the thirty-five minute journey to the town of Rantepao. There, Ne' Avip would sell the contents of the sack to the owners of art galleries and souvenir shops. Her sculptures were setting off on the first stage of their travels to a different world. Many would be taken or delivered by freight to foreign countries. For now, however, they were being carried by Ne' Avip as she walked deftly along the steep, narrow path leading away from her home in the central mountains of South Sulawesi, Indonesia. The path met a rough, unpaved vehicle track, and we negotiated our way through the potholes and puddles. As we neared a settlement, the road surface improved, and when we eventually reached the main sealed road, we stopped to wait for a minibus. Ne' Avip lowered the sack containing her potential income for the following weeks, placed it at the edge of the road, and relaxed in anticipation of her trip to town. This sixty-year-old woman is one of the many small-scale artisans who are part of the vast sphere of informal income generation activity taking place throughout Indonesia. The volume of informal activity indicates the resourcefulness, tenacity, and resilience shown by individuals engaging with a developing society. However, the position of most is vulnerable. Many people have noted that Indonesians engaged in small enterprises providing essential goods and services must practice survivalism. 1 What then, of the prospects for artisans producing non-essential items? Handcraft industries have emerged from many traditional communities in developing countries. Creating objects of material culture that have a strong historical connection with their originating societies would appear to be an anachronistic enterprise if these objects are produced for less predictable markets. Nevertheless, these industries have been promoted as methods of income generation because they require only low levels of technology and are not obstructed by workers' poor literacy skills, as informal training is usually carried out within households. Artisan activities have also been encouraged in the belief that high degrees of skill are not necessary, although this judgment underestimates the 1 Sarah Turner, Indonesia's Small Entrepreneurs: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), p. 201.

Trading on the Margins

(London:

16

Securing a Place

expertise required to manipulate successfully the often unresponsive raw materials into the desired form or image. Yet, how sustainable are these endeavors? Artisans belonging to the geographically adjacent, yet culturally diverse, Sa' dan Toraja and Bugis ethnic groups of South Sulawesi are each attempting to follow their own paths to economic development. These two groups have different ethno-historical backgrounds and produce different types of objects for different audiences, although the same principal influences govern modern production in each region. The economic imperative of income generation is the primary motivator, as many artisans have no alternative employment options. However, another stimulus is the articulation of ethnic identity, an effort that encompasses recollected history, the assertion of group identity within the Indonesian nationstate, and the expression of religious belief. Material objects manifestly fulfill wider and more multifunctional roles than that of representing identity alone/ yet, in South Sulawesi, the motivation to express ethnic identity is so compelling that it shapes modern creativity. The economic factor can be described as the catalyst for production, and the urge to articulate one's ethnic identity provides the medium and character of expression. As a mode of communication in pre-modem societies, material culture provided tangible expressions of ethos and belief. In the southern peninsula of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, artisans created objects that held positions of great esteem in spiritual and secular domains. As the agents who gave material form to belief, they were integral to the functioning of society. Now, within a framework of custom, modern artisans create artifacts for local, national, and international audiences, generating new roles for themselves and the objects. Such commodification is at times seen as destructive to the iconographic or social meaning of artifacts because art is idealized as an activity that should be "unaffected by capitalist relations and market constraints." 3 In particular, the commercial production of traditional artifacts has been disparaged by critics who believe that cultural legitimacy can only be achieved if production of this sort is safeguarded from commercialization. Bourdieu describes this as the legitimation of symbolic capital through the denial of economic considerations.4 However, as he reminds us, the characteristics of accumulated economic and symbolic capital (or prestige) are similar, as each is pursued for personal gain and each allows access to power. Symbolic capital can be accumulated, distributed, expanded, and manipulated in the same manner as economic capital, and exchanges involving symbolic capital also result in material gain, although the consumption process is usually disguised by validating procedures that seek to distance the transaction from any economic associations. Moreover, for Bourdieu, the opposition of economic and symbolic transactions is a product of the modem world, which separates cultural or aesthetic interests from materialism in a manner that did not exist in pre-capitalist society. 5 2

3

N. Thomas, Entangled Objects (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991), p. 26.

J. Wolff, The Social Production of Art (London: MacMillan, 1981), p. 18.

Pierre Bourdieu, "The Production of Belief: Contribution to an Economy of Symbolic Goods," Media, Culture, and Society 2,3 (1980): 261-293. 5 Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 177. Du Gay takes the relationship between culture and economics even further with the concept of "cultural economy," which gives meaning to mass production through such 4

· Artisans m Society

17

In modern South Sulawesi, the nexus between the economic and symbolic roles of objects has long been accepted by artisans and their societies. Artisans maintain historical links between wealth accumulation and iconography, and tensions between the spiritual and material roles of objects do not exist. For centuries the region's weavers have been producing textiles for commercial trade. Wood carving is part of the exchange economy upon which ritual is organized and thus has not been isolated from notions of returns for labor. Woodcarvers and their patrons have accumulated symbolic capital, not through the deliberate "disavowal of commercial interests," 6 but as originators and interpreters of iconography in a society that honored wealth as a sign of close association with ancestral spirits, linking material and sacred advantage. Despite the Western world's separation of cultural expression from materialism, the participation of indigenous artisans in the world economy, even from a remote physical and ideological distance, has cemented the interrelationship between economics, socio-cultural factors, and aesthetics. Graburn's early studies of transitional art in developing societies found the market to be "the most powerful source of formal and aesthetic innovation." 7 The interaction between economic, socio-cultural, and aesthetic elements, then, cannot be disregarded.

ARTISANS, OBJECTS, AND AUDIENCES

Modem Bugis silk weaving and Torajan woodcarving are each produced for local consumption, as well as for external markets. In both cases, local consumption is principally for ceremonial use and therefore dependent upon the continuation of traditional ceremony. The external markets in each region offer differing opportunities and constraints. Silk is aimed at the export market, and wood at the tourism market, both of which have been identified as key elements in the survival of microenterprise. 8 Artisans are required to negotiate a range of strategies in response to diverse market demands from expanded audiences. Although external markets often provide the catalyst for cultural revitalization, the interaction of production may be dominated by consumers in the wealthier purchasing society.9 In particular, the nature of ethnographic art is that it should reflect its originating culture, although consumer interpretations of authenticity vary. 10 Artisans are often constrained by activities as the aestheticization of manufactured functional objects. Paul Du Gay, ed. Production of Cultures, Cultures of Production (London: Sage Publications, 1997). 6 Bourdieu, ''The Production of Belief," p. 261. 7 Nelson Graburn, ed., Ethnic and Tourist Arts: Cultural Expressions from the Fourth World (Berkeley, CA: University of California, 1976), p. 15. 8 E. A. Pye, ed., Artisans in Economic Development: Evidence from Asia (Ottowa: International Development Research Center, 1988), p. 30; Hal Hill, "The Emperor's Oothes Can Now be Made in Indonesia," BIES 27, 3 (1991): 89-127. 9 Warner W. Wood, "Flexible Production, Households, and Fieldwork: Multi-sited Zapotec Weavers in the Era of Late Capitalism," Ethnology 39,2 (2000): 133-48. 10 See, for example, opinions discussed in B. Spooner, "Weavers and Dealers: Authenticity and Oriental Carpets," in The Social Life of Things, ed. A. Appadurai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 195-235; M. A. Littrell, L. F. Anderson, and P. J. Brown, "What Makes a Craft Souvenir Authentic?" Annals of Tourism Research 20,1 (1993): 197-215; Shelly

18

Securing a Place

external audiences that may disparage any attempts to incorporate modernity into their work, and when indigenous artisans display innovation, their economic viability can be threatened.U Conversely, production for external markets can impose pressure on artisans to diverge from customary practice.U This divergence, either voluntary or involuntary, can lead to feelings of cultural lossY And yet, changes made to satisfy external audiences can also be integrated into practices and art forms of the originating society. 14 The external market is also a protagonist in the loss of historic material· culture, through the theft and coercive sale of heritage items. At present, despite Indonesian government regulations requiring permission for the export of objects more than fifty years old or other items of cultural significance, the transportation of such goods is difficult to control, a condition that threatens the material heritage of the region. Theft is not unrommon, and the combination of the sellers' poor economic circumstances and the antique dealers' powers of persuasion facilitates the sale of family heirlooms. Foreign desire for the acquisition of exotic artifacts has generated an active international antique trade in South Sulawesi. One Western dealer gleefully boasted to me after visiting an isolated settlement in the Toraja highlands, "I bought everything they had. I cleaned them out, there's not even a carved spoon left in the village." At the same time, organizers of a government-funded regional museum were unable to assemble a collection for preservation and public display. Public collections in other museums of the province are also inadequate. Although the emergence of an indigenous fine art genre can help prevent such depletion, the role of creative modern art in the protection of heritage is not yet acknowledged by Indonesian development planners. Instead, the sometimes highly sophisticated sculpture and weaving produced by modern artisans is usually relegated to the low-status realm of mass-market souvenir production. However, if Indonesian artisans are encouraged to create objects of high quality, acceptable to collectors of fine art, as has happened, for example with African and Australian Aboriginal art, the theft and illicit sale of heritage items may be reduced. Errington, The Death of Authentic Primitive Art and Other Tales of Progress (Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press, 1998); Andrew Causey, "Making a Man Malu: Western Tourists and Toba Bataks in the Souvenir Marketplace," in Converging Interests: Traders, Travelers, and Tourists in Southeast Asia, ed. J. Forshee, C. Fink, and S. Cate (Berkeley, CA: University of California, 1999), pp. 279-91; Erik Cohen, The Commercialized Crafts of Thailand: Hill Tribes and Lowland Villages (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai'i Press, 2000). 11 S. L. Kasfir, "African Art and Authenticity: A Text with a Shadow," African Arts xxv,2 (1992): 41-53, 96-7; L. Moss, "Art Collecting, Tourism, and a Tribal Region," in Fragile Traditions, ed. P.M. Taylor (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai'i Press, 1994), pp. 91-121. 12 R. Waterbury, "Embroidery for Tourists," in Cloth and Human Experience, ed. A. B. Weiner. and J. Schneider (Washington, OC: Smithsonian Institute, 1989), pp. 243-71. Cohen, The Commercialized Crafts of Thailand, p. 20. 13 Jill Forshee, Between the Folds: Stories of Cloth, Lives, and Travels from Sumba (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai'i Press, 2001). 14 Grabum, Ethnic and Tourist Arts, p. 19. Erik Cohen, "Introduction: Investigating Tourist Arts," Annals of Tourism Research 20,1 (1993): 1-8.

Artisans m Society

19

THE SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT OF MATERIAL CULTURE

Settlement patterns and ethnic development on the island of Sulawesi were determined largely by the topography of the four peninsulas that form its land mass. It is said that, at any location, the coast is never more than one hundred kilometers distant. The mountain ranges unfolding from the island's central region created natural borders between communities and generated diversity among inhabitants of the approximate 189,000 square kilometers of mainland. The coastal-inland divisions rommon throughout the Indonesian archipelago are particularly apparent in Sulawesi, where more affluent and expansive communities developed in agricultural and trading centers along the coastal plains, while mountain societies lived in varying degrees of isolation. Of approximately fourteen million inhabitants, over eight million live in the southern Sulawesi peninsula, most in regions closely identified with specific ethnic groups. Principally because of an emphasis on national unity, ethnicity statistics had not been recorded in Indonesia since a colonial survey in 1930. However, the first post-Suharto population census, in 2000, sought detailed data, and showed that over 40 percent of residents in the peninsula are Bugis who originate from the central rice-producing plains. Almost two million Makassar people live in the southernmost regions, and around 700,000 Toraja come from the northern and central mountains. Adjacent to the Toraja highlands are the vast Luwu homelands, where over 800,000 people from twelve different ethnic groups live in mountain and coastal environments. Approximately 500,000 Mandar people have their homelands along the north western coast and hinterland. The entire peninsula had constituted South Sulawesi province until late September 2004, when the Indonesian parliament approved formation of a new province in the Mandar region, called West Sulawesi (Sulawesi Barat). This separation demonstrates the strong local identities and sense of place found amongst each of the ethnic groups. Calls for autonomy in the Mandar region began fifty years ago and were reinvigorated by decentralisation policies of the current reform period, when residents cited dissatisfaction with the South Sulawesi government, and argued that their ethnic identity differentiated them from the majority Bugis-Makassar population. A similar movement is underway in the Luwu region, and also has a strong basis in ethnic politics. 15 Distinctive languages have developed, attesting to the diversity of these groups, yet many similarities exist. In particular, the two dominant lowland groups have often been described as Bugis-Makassar, as they share an interactive history, similar traditional socio-political structures and cultural elements; as well as the Islamic religion. Differences between the two groups have decreased significantly in the capital Makassar (formerly Ujung Pandang) and in border areas where residents see themselves as campuran, or of mixed heritage. This is not to suggest that the two groups have become completely assimilated, for identity is still strongly asserted in the ethnic homelands, and the Makassar people often express 15 The rationales for

these new province movements are examined in Elizabeth Morrell, "How Many Degrees of Separation? Observations from South Sulawesi," Antropologi Indonesia, Special Online English-language edition (2002), http.www.jai.or.id/jurnal/2002. A preliminary analysis of ethnicity evident in the 2000 population census has been carried out by Leo Suryadinata, Aris Ananta, and Evi Nurvidya Arifin, Indonesia's Population: Ethnicity and Religion in a Changing Political Landscape (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2003).

20

Securing a Place

dissatisfaction with Bugis dominance in commerce and local government. However, integration for political and commercial reasons has long been a factor of lowland South Sulawesi life. 16 Within this framework, material culture is utilized to assert ethnic identity and sense of place. One of the earliest recorded examples of such expression occurred prior to the end of the fourteenth century. To avoid payment of taxes to the powerful Bone state, inhabitants of a neighboring settlement indicated membership of their own community by roofing their houses with sword grass, thus distinguishing them from the palm thatch roofs found in Bone. 17 The historical role of material culture is difficult to assess, as some residual objects were destroyed during the Japanese Occupation of World War II and others during fundamentalist Islamic guerilla warfare that took place between 1950 and 1965. Lowlands material culture has been influenced by Islam since adoption of the religion in the early years of the seventeenth century. Throughout the coastal plains, notably in architecture and textile motifs, similarities developed in the basic forms of material culture, with ethnic identity expressed through divergent detail. In these Islamic societies, the iconic object did not develop, and surface decoration on functional items is the prime symbolic medium. Architectural forms, clothing and personal adornment, ceremonial accoutrements and pavilions, as well as painted motifs on boats and small horse-drawn carriages are the principal vehicles of ethnic, religious, and aesthetic expression. One of the most cogent identity symbols is the silk sarong woven into plaid designs. The basic grid configuration common to plaid motifs is differentiated from one region to the next by variations in the size of the plaid. Large, open motifs were associated with Makassar, medium-sized plaids with the Bugis, and a smaller version with the Mandar region. 18 Today, these distinctions are often not adhered to, even at ceremonial events for which pakaian adat (traditional clothing) has been stipulated as required dress. The different ethnic associations of the plaids are still acknowledged but, in modern practice, unification precedes differentiation (Figure 2). Upland groups also display a number of common elements within their often extremely distinctive practices, although fewer than is indicated by the arbitrary designation of the title Toraja. The name, believed to have been adopted from the Bugis term indicating "mountain people," was assigned by nineteenth-century Dutch missionaries who broadly classified a number of different highland societies in South and Central Sulawesi as Southern, Western, and Eastern Toraja. 19 Central Sulawesi groups are no longer known as Torajan and have rarely used that term to describe themselves. Nevertheless, the external audience commonly integrates 16 Barbara S. Harvey, ''Tradition, Islam, and Rebellion: South Sulawesi 1950-65" (PhD dissertation, Cornell University, 1974), pp. 42-3; Zainal Abidin, Wajo Pada Abad XV-XVI (Bandung: Alumni, 1985), pp. 7-8. 17 Zainal Abidin, Wajo, p. 530. 18 As this is a study of silk weaving in a Bugis community, I often describe only the Bugis manifestations of specific concepts and practices when, in fact, these elements may be shared with other groups. Similarly, I usually use only Bugis or Indonesian terminology to avoid the complex introduction of other languages. 19 For a discussion of these groups and their categorization by various researchers, see P. Pakan, "Orang Toraja: Identifikasi, Klasifikasi dan Lokasi," Berita Antropologi ix,32/ 33 (1977): 21-49.

Artisans m Society

21

their identity with that of the highly publicized Sa'dan Toraja who, as the focus for tourism, are seen to represent the many highland groups. The people known today as the Sa'dan Toraja are named for the river that flows through their homeland in the Kabupaten (local government region) of Tana Toraja, or Land of the Toraja. Although the highlanders of South Sulawesi share underlying linguistic and cultural similarities, individual groups did not unite under the umbrella of ethnicity until the 1930s.20 That generalized ethnic category, Toraja, originally created by the Dutch administration, has more recently been reinforced by tourism, even though modem local government boundaries divide the Sa' dan Toraja from their culturally related neighbors in the western Mamasa mountains, the northwestern Kalumpang region, and the Rongkong settlement in the north and northeast (Figure 3). According to oral tradition, the Mamasa Toraja migrated to the mountains west of the Sa'dan river valley and developed in comparative isolation from their homeland, so that some elements of belief, ritual, and material culture were maintained and others disused or adapted to suit the newer society. Language in the Mamasa region is similar to that of the Sa' dan Toraja, marked by influences

Figure 2. Wajo Bugis in ceremonial dress, waiting to welcome the governor of the province to an official ceremony. The large, open plaid designs worn by two oi the young men are sarung

Makassar.

20 T. W. Bigalke, "A Social History of 'Tana Toraja' 1870-1965" (PhD dissertation, University of Wisconsin, 1981), pp. 15-16.

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Securing a Place

from the western coastal Mandar language. 21 The Sa'dan and Mamasa Toraja are each now predominantly Christian with residual animism, yet as the two groups have interacted with the external world in different ways, their cultural divergences have become more pronounced. 22 Mamasa houses, for example, though

N

j

Western Toraja

Eastern or Bare'e Toraja

Rongkong

0

Figure 3. Map of ethnic groups, formerly known as Torajan.

similar in form to the unusual and ornately decorated Sa'dan tongkonan (ancestral) houses, are lower, larger, and carved only on front and rear facades. Additionally, although many architectural motifs are . shared between the two groups, many 21 M. A. Muttalib, ed. lAporan Pengumpulan Data Peninggalan Sejarah dan Purbakala Kecamatan Mamasa, Kabupaten Polmas (Ujung Pandang: Kantor Suaka Peninggalan Sejarah dan Purbakala

Sulawesi Selatan, 1986), p. 17. 22 Koubi's French language study of Marnasa and Sa'dan ritual and verse remains the only major comparative research study, and, indeed, the only comprehensive study of the Mamasa Toraja. See J. Koubi, Rambu Solo' (lA fumee descend) (Paris: CNRS, 1982). Little research has been conducted into material culture of the region, apart from brief reports by the South Sulawesi Office for the Preservation of Historical and Archaeological Heritage (see Muttalib, ed. Laporan Pengumpulan Data, 1986), and some descriptive literature such as T. Karyadi, M. Zubair, E. Praptanto, and H. Djamaluddin, eds. Sulawesi Selatan Oakarta: P.T. Info Budaya Nusantara and Pemda Tingkat 1 Sulawesi Selatan, 1992). Textiles and ceramics from Kalumpang and textiles from Rongkong have received some attention, although the originating cultures have not. For information on textiles, see Bronwen Solyom and G. Solyom, Fabric Traditions of Indonesia (Pullman, WA: Washington State University Press, 1984); Robert J. Holmgren, and Anita E. Spertus, Early Indonesian Textiles From Three Island Cultures (New York, NY: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1989). For ceramics see H. R Van Heekeren, The Stone Age of Indonesia (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1972).

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others are unique to each specific region. Mamasa house carving techniques are less precise, and their motifs are bolder than those seen in the controlled intricacy of Sa' dan imagery. There is also greater use of pictorial representation in Mamasa architectural carving, and three-dimensional figural sculpture of human and animal forms has held a greater significance than is apparent in the Sa'dan river valley. The Kalumpang and Rongkong settlements, separated from the Sa' dan valley by mountain ranges, are similarly believed to have shared origins with the Sa' dan people.23 The Mamasa, Kalumpang, and Rongkong areas are less accessible to tourists, hence old and new artifacts from those remote regions are traded through the antique and souvenir shops of Tana Toraja. As a result of this practice, a collective identity encompassing these groups has been attributed to the Sa' dan Toraja, contributing to the genericization of "Torajan" material culture. Tourists are attracted to Tana Toraja by the distinctive practices of the religious belief known as Aluk to Dolo (the way of the ancestors), in which homage and propitiation to ancestors is manifested through a series of rituals and related objects. The austere simplicity of traditional Islamic lowlands material culture is replaced in Tana Toraja by complex and elaborate structures and surface imagery (Figures 4, 5). Torajan material culture is an expression of the animism that has been modified, rather than destroyed, by the gradual adoption of Christianity from the second decade of the twentieth century. Material culture is being reinterpreted by Torajans as they continue to adjust beliefs and norms to secure their place in modem Indonesian, and wider global society. The Toraja have introduced their own version of modernization through the manipulation of a tourist industry that has emerged from tourists' growing interest in archaic customs. 24 Income from tourism is facilitating Torajan participation in higher education, the professions, business, and public life. Yet modem Torajans are actively participating in customary animistic funeral rituals as well. Carved ancestral houses continue to be built, although not as dwellings, for modem housing offers greater comfort. Elaborate consecration ceremonies are conducted for those ancestral houses. The rationale for continuation of the seemingly anachronistic practices has been attributed to the desire to maintain or increase status, and to assert identity and power within wider society by reinventing the past and by essentializing specific aspects of culture, notably funerary customs and traditional houses. The interest shown by foreign tourists, academics, and museum curators is enabling the Toraja, whose primitiveness was formerly disparaged by lowland inhabitants, to 23 R.

F. Mills, ''The Reconstruction of Proto-South Sulawesi," Archipel10 (1975): 205-24. 1he emergence of tourism, its development, and influence upon Torajan traditional society and ritual has been well documented. Comprehensive discussions of various aspects of tourism are found in Eric Crystal, ''Tourism in Tana Toraja," in Hosts and Guests: The Anthropology of Tourism, ed. V. Smith (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania, 1977), pp. 109-25; Toby Volkman, ''Tana Toraja: A Decade of Tourism," Cultural Survival Quarterly 6,3 (1982): 30-31; Toby Volkman, Feasts of Honor (Chicago, IL: University of lllinois Press, 1985); Toby Volkman, "Visions and Revisions: Toraja Culture and the Tourist Gaze," American Ethnologist 17,1 (1990): 91-110; Kathleen Adams, "Carving a New Identity: Ethnic and Artistic Change in Tana Toraja, Indonesia" (PhD dissertation, University of Washington, 1988); Kathleen Adams, "Ethnic Tourism and the Renegotiation of Tradition in Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia)," Ethnology 36,4 (1997): 309-20; Kathleen Adams, "More Than an Ethnic Marker: Toraja Art as Identity Negotiator," American Ethnologist 25,3 {1998): 327-51; S. Yamashita, "Manipulating Ethnic Tradition: 1he Funeral Ceremony, Tourism, and Television among the Toraja of Sulawesi," Indonesia 58 (October 1994): 69-82. 24

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claim a place in the national and international spheres. Commercial objects are recalling notions of primitiveness to capture the attention of these modern external audiences.

Figure 4. Old erong coffins, Ke'te Kesu' village, Tana Toraja.

Figure 5. Incised facade of a Torajan rice barn.

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Many artifacts continue to be made for customary purposes, as well as for tourist art. The continuation of cultural activity provides opportunities for generating local income to artisans who create carved houses and rice barns, memorial sculptures of the deceased, carved coffins, funeral biers, textile banners, and other .ceremonial materials. For the Toraja, then, local consumption and the souvenir industry can both be utilized. Bugis silk weavers, on the other hand, rely principally upon local markets created by the elaborate Bugis wedding ceremony and other religious and official occasions at which silk clothing is worn. Despite attempts to attract tourist and export markets to purchase Bugis silk, these alternatives remain elusive, and market expansion has become a principal objective for industry planners.

ARTISANS IN ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT

Strong Indonesian economic growth from the late 1960s involved the expansion of manufacturing industries. However, South Sulawesi's distance from principal Indonesian sea and air ports has impeded the establishment of a manufacturing base in that region. Attempts have been made to address this situation through the upgrading of Makassar airport to international status, and through massive redevelopment of harbor facilities, intended to provide easier cargo access to Eastern Indonesia. Yet, partly as a result of the economic crisis and civil unrest, which has deterred foreign investment, these facilities remain under-utilized. Employment opportunities are found principally in agriculture, with limited positions available in government administration, education, tourism, and the service sector. The lack of local employment options was highlighted in 2002 with the enforced return of thousands of South Sulawesi illegal workers from the plantation, logging, and construction industries in adjacent Malaysian Borneo. 25 Eighty-seven percent of South Sulawesi's population resides in rural areas, where household industry is an important source of non-agricultural employment, especially for people with low levels of education. Almost 93 percent of the 82,000 cottage industry owners in the province have not received any secondary schooling. 26 Not surprisingly, household industry is an important income source for women, who constitute 60 percent of owners. Over 13,600 household industries throughout the province are weaving enterprises, and in the Kabupaten (Regency) of Tana Toraja, over two thousand handcraft-producing household units are recorded. Throughout the developing world, entrepreneurial activity conducted by larger organizations is assumed to offer greater opportunities for the alleviation of 25 "5,000 lllegal Indonesian Workers from Malaysia Arrive in Parepare Harbour," Antara, July 29, 2002. 26 Bureau of Statistics, Sulawesi Selatan Dalam Angka 1993 (Ujung Pandang: Bureau of Statistics, 1994), Table 3.1.3; Bureau of Statistics, Statistik Industri/Kerajinan Rumah Tangga 1993 (Jakarta: Bureau of Statistics, 1994), Tables 19.1-19.3, 22.1. The Indonesian Bureau of Statistics defines household or cottage industry as undertakings not having the status of corporate bodies. Such enterprises are conducted by individuals or several household members, and have four workers or less transfonning raw materials into finished or semi-finished products or converting low-value goods into higher value for the purpose of sale or exchange (Statistik Industri/Kerajinan Rumah Tangga 1994: xxvi).

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unemployment and to facilitate entry into valuable export markets. Microenterprise is seen as the predecessor to industrialization. 27 Therefore, policies of growth encourage the expansion of small and medium-sized industries rather than attempting to achieve stability and viability for independent household producers. However, the consequence of focusing upon large-scale market economies, which introduce the concomitant need for capital-intensive technology, is that people living at subsistence level or below usually form a low-paid, low-skilled labor pool. In the pursuit of growth, development policies often view the smallscale or peasant economy as unproductive, transforming available labor of that sector into "fuel [for] the modem one." 28 Joel Kahn has demonstrated that larger units are not necessarily more productive, although small-scale artisans frequently suffer in the process of modernization when confronted by larger industries with access to wider markets. 29 Moreover, competition from global markets often impels modernization through increased mechanization. To improve export potential by lowering the price of silk cloth, government planners and larger-scale entrepreneurs have recommended the introduction of fully automated looms and mechanical printing techniques. 30 Such a move would deny income to thousands of people who currently participate in existing rural household industries. Already in Indonesia, smallscale and household weavers have suffered greater losses than other small industries following the introduction of mechanized competition.31 Because of the shift in skills required by higher technology, and the divisions of labor that characterize large-scale production, employment levels in the industry have been maintained, but at the expense of independent producers. Indonesian development policies provide greater acknowledgment to small and household industries than do policies in many other developing countries. In the Suharto era, these policies were formalized as five-year development plans known by the . acronym Repelita (Rencana Pembangunan Lima Tahun). For example, Repelita VI (1994-99) aimed to "improve the quality and capabilities of small27 B. Grosh, and G. Somolekae, "Mighty Oaks From Little Acorns: Can Microenterprise Serve as a Seedbed of Industrialization?" World Development 24,12 (1996): 1879-90; Hennine Weijland, "Microenterprise Clusters in Rural Indonesia: Industrial Seedbed and Policy Target," World Development 27,9 (1999): 1515-30. 28 A. Escobar, Encountering Development (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 79. 29 Joel S. Kahn, Minangkabau Social Formations: Indonesian Peasants and the World Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 100. See also Joan Hardjono, "Small-Scale Industry in Majalaya, West Java," in Indonesian Economic Development: Approaches, Technology, Small-Scale Textiles, Urban Infrastructure and NGOs, ed. R C. Rice (Clayton: Monash University, 1990), pp. 93-105; H Sandee, P. Rietveld, H Supratikno, and P. Yurono, "Promoting Small-Scale and Cottage Industries in Indonesia: An hnpact Analysis for Central Java," BIES 30,3 (1994): 115-42; M. N. Dalal, "Rural Women of India and the Global Economy," Development 3 (1995): 40-42. 30 Department of Trade, South Sulawesi, "Mekanisme Pemasaran Sutera Alarn, Sulawesi Selatan" (South Sulawesi Raw Silk Marketing Mechanisms), unpublished paper presented at Temu Usaha Sutera n Sengkang, November 10, 1994; Fachruddin Palapa, "Butuh Investor dan Teknologi Modem" (Need Investors and Modem Technology), Harian Fajar, August 29, 2001, p.

2.

31 H Poot, A. Kuyvenhoven, and J. C. Jansen, Industrialisation and Trade in Indonesia (Yogyakarta: Gadjah Mada University Press, 1990), p. 205.

Artisans in Society

27

scale, informal, and traditional businesses," as well as to assist the expansion of small businessY Post-Suharto decentralization policies have increased the need for locally generated income and thus intensified regional reliance upon micro- and small business success. However, the administrative structure of planning and development creates an environment in which the implementation of assistance programs occurs principally among larger entrepreneurial enterprises, rather than with independent artisans. By 1993, less than 2 percent of South Sulawesi household industries had ever received any form of official guidance. 33 My recent discussions with small artisans indicate that this situation has not improved. Clustering of microenterprise can be a means of overcoming the economic and geographical disadvantages that typically hobble rural small enterprise. 34 To facilitate the allocation of resources, and the dissemination of information, development programs focus upon clusters of small producers, called sentra. Each must represent a collective minimum capital investment of five million rupiah,35 and can be formed from a small or large number of enterprises. In the South Sulawesi silk industry, sentra are usually groups of at least fifteen producers within one village location. Independent artisans usually do not participate in this clustering because for them individual capital investments are minimal. This cohort is therefore neglected by planners and program organizers. In the Kabupaten of Wajo, the largest area producing silk cloth, only 28 percent of registered weavers are members of sentra. In Tana Toraja, Department of Industry estimates show that less than 1 percent of artisans are clustered as sentra. 36 Often in South Sulawesi handcraft industries, sentra are largely bureaucratic structures that simplify government administration and play little part in assisting small producers. Furthermore, the government's emphasis upon expansion can discourage participation in training programs by artisans who do not possess sufficient capital to develop their businesses after they have completed the training, a response similar to that identified by Joseph among artisans in the Javanese batik textile industry. 37 Thus greater expansion and development have occurred among entrepreneur-led workshops that employ a pool of workers who each contribute to only one particular phase of the production process. 38 The preference for larger-scale entrepreneurial activity rests upon assumptions that the landless and land poor cannot advance themselves because they have neither the physical resources, nor the personal initiative, to improve their socioDeparbnent of Information, Repelita VI: Indonesia's Sixth Five-Year Development Plan, 1994/5-1998/9 Oakarta: Department of Information, 1994), pp. 23-4. 33 Statistik Industri/Kerajinan Rumah Tangga 1993, Table 31.1. 34 These are discussed in Weijland, "Microenterprise Clusters in Rural Indonesia." 35 At the time of initial fieldwork during 1994, approximately USD 2200. A decade later, following the economic and political crises which devalued the rupiah approximately USD 600. 36 Sources: Laporan tahunan industry 1993, Kabupaten Wajo: Table 38; Laporan tahunan industry 1993, Departemen Perindustrian, Kabupaten Tana Toraja:1-7. 37 R Joseph, "Women's Roles in the Indonesian Batik Industry," in Artisan Industries in Asia: Four Case Studies, ed. S. Kathuria, V. Miralao, and R Joseph (Ottowa: International Development Research, 1988), p. 88. 38 I use the tenn "entrepreneur" to denote employers, rather than self-employed individuals. Although many independent artisans can be described as micro-attrepreneurs, their desire for independence, rather than commercial expansion, is reflected in my terminology. 32

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economic circumstances. However, many independent artisans in Kabupatens Tana Toraja and Wajo are generating income at least equivalent to, and often in excess of, wages paid in larger enterprises. These artisans are showing they can alleviate poverty without being absorbed into entrepreneurial production systems. Prospects for employed workers to advance beyond poverty alleviation in these two regions are usually no greater, and are often weaker, than for those engaged in independent production. Moreover, the employee of a larger enterprise is locked into a limited skills-base leading to dependency upon the managerial and marketing abilities of the employer. Exhibiting resourcefulness in difficult circumstances, Torajan and Bugis small-scale artisans have grasped the opportunities presented by modernization. Independent artisans work on the periphery of the tourism and mass-produced textile industries, yet have become significant contributors to them. MAINTAINING VIABILITY

The latent strength and viability of Indonesian small-scale artisan activity has been dearly shown. 39 As Dean Forbes stated in his study of petty traders over two decades ago, poverty results not from an individual's inadequacy in exploiting opportunities, but rather from a lack of opportunity. 40 More recently, Lea Jellinek described the successful alleviation of poverty through individual endeavor, which is most often impeded not by personal inadequacy, but by government intervention and the destruction of income generation possibilities.41 The economic crisis that began in 1997 further demonstrated that small-scale enterprises need not be inherently vulnerable. The weakening of the Indonesian rupiah, and subsequent increased cost of imported goods, created consumer demand for locally made products, benefiting many petty commodity producers and small tradersY Independent handcraft production is often disparaged by development planners as a field that can generate only secondary household income. Yet, for many Bugis and Torajan artisans, this is their only source of revenue. For some, agriculture provides periodic earnings, but cannot be relied upon for the consistent provision of daily needs. As in many other developing rural societies, it is not uncommon that artisanal profits constitute the major part of a household's income, exceeding that earned from subsistence agriculture. 43 Generating that income, however, in the face 39 Some examples are discussed in: Kahn, Minangkabau Social Formations; S. Dunham, "Peasant Blacksmithing in Indonesia: Surviving and Thriving Against All Odds" (PhD dissertation, University of Hawai'i, 1992); Willemijn de Jong, "Women's Networks in Cloth Production and Exchange in Flores," in Women and Households in Indonesia: Cultural Notions and Social Practices, ed. J. Koning, M. Nolten, J. Rodenburg, and R Saptari (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 2000), pp. 264-80; Forshee, Between the Folds; Geoff Harley, Western Influences on the Sasak Pottery of wmbok, Indonesia, Center of Southeast Asian Studies Working Paper No. 114 (Melbourne: Monash Asia Institute, Monash University), 2001. 40 Dean Forbes, The Pedlars of Ujung Pandang, Center of Southeast Asian Studies Monograph 17 (Melbourne: Monash University, 1977), p. 10. 41 Lea Jellinek, The Wheel of Fortune: The History of a Poor Community in Jakarta (Sydney: Asian Studies Association and Allen & Unwin, 1991). 42 Lea Jellinek, "Blacksmith Boom: Small Enterprise Relishes the 'Economic Crisis,"' Inside Indonesia 59 (1999): 25-6; Turner, Indonesia's Small Entrepreneurs, p. 191. 43 C. Liedholm, "The Economics of African Dress and Textile Arts," African Arts 15,3 (1982): 71-4; C. Ng, "The Weaving of Prestige: Village Women's Representations of the Social

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of competition from larger-scale enterprises, requires the creation of objects that cannot be viably produced using standard mass-production methods. Thus, in weaving communities throughout the archipelago, independent producers use complex techniques. 44 Where market opportunities exist, higher quality, intricate handcrafts can earn higher profits, and income for specialist independent weavers may exceed wages paid to employee weavers in mass-production handloom enterprises. 45 Similarly, in the Jepara carved furniture industry of Java, higher returns for labor are achieved by artisans with more advanced skills who produce complex designs; the specialized knowledge required by indigo dyers engaged in Kodi (Sumba) ikat weaving production also brings higher financial reward. 46 Economic returns in modem markets are often linked to innovation which may involve varying degrees of compromise between commercial return, customary values, and the desire for self-expression. However, innovation is not associated with economic factors alone, for as Jill Forshee describes, regarding conditions in Sumba, change arises for many reasons and from many sources. 47 A creative artisan may simply find introduced elements to be aesthetically or emotionally appealing. Globalization stimulates innovation, especially through encouraging interaction between local communities and international tourist audiences. Innovation may be facilitated by a separation of customary and commercial roles, and change may be more readily accepted for secular objects than those with religious associations.48 In the secular domain of Bugis and Makassar commerce, innovation can be restricted by social hierarchies that deter employees from displaying initiative in deference to the higher status of the employer. 49 Inventiveness is often facilitated by economic security. 50 In his African study, H. R. Silver found that successful carvers were wealthier and therefore able to Categories of Minangkabau Society" (PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1987), p. 135. 44 Examples are described in M. Mohamad, "Production Relations and Technology in the Malay Handloom Weaving Industry," in Technology and Gender: Women's Work in Asia, ed. C. Ng. (Kuala Lumpur: Universitas Pertanian Malaysia and the Malaysian Social Science Association, 1987), p. 18; B. Hauser-Schaublin, M-L. Nabholz-Kartaschoff, and U. Ramseyer, Balinese Textiles (London: British Museum Press, 1991), p. 27; Ayami Nakatani, "'Eating Threads': Brocades as Cash Crop for Weaving Mothers and Daughters in Bali," in Staying Local in the Global Village: Bali in the Twentieth Century, ed. R Rubinstein and L. H Connor (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai'i Press, 1999), p. 212. 45 Hal Hill, "Choice of Technique in the Indonesian Weaving Industry" (PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1979), p. 240; C. Ng, "The Weaving of Prestige," p. 123; Cohen, The Commercialized Crafts of Thailand, p. 260. 46 Jim Schiller and Barbara Martin-Schiller, "Market, Culture, and State in the Emergence of an Indonesian Export Furniture Industry," Journal of Asian Business 13,1 (1997): 9; J. Hoskins, "Why do Ladies Sing the Blues?," in Cloth and Human Experience, ed. A. B. Weiner and J. Schneider (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989), pp. 141-73. 47 Forshee, Between the Folds, pp. 98, 106, 139, 200. 48 B. Jules-Rosette, The Message of Tourist Art: An African Semiotic System in Comparative Perspective (New York: Plenum, 1984), p. 21; Harley, Western Influences on Sasak Pottery, p. 17. 49 Turner, Indonesia's Small Entrepreneurs, p. 170. 50 H. Silver, "Calculating Risks: The Socioeconomic Foundations of Aesthetic Innovation in an Ashanti Carving Community," Ethnology 20 (1981): 101-14; Henry Sandee and Piet Rietveld, "Upgrading Traditional Technologies in Small-Scale Industry Clusters: Collaboration and Innovation Adoption in Indonesia," The Journal of Development Studies 37, 4 (2001): 150-172.

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expend time and money on experimentation; poorer carvers often created inappropriate forms as they were hurriedly pressed to adapt their repertoire to expanded market demand. Historically in Toraja, where participation in ritual and possession of a carved house were determined by social hierarchy, it is likely that rank also governed innovation. The majority of modem artisans in Toraja and Wajo are not members of the local elite, but are dependent upon that group for patronage via commissions and the sale of work in trading enterprises. Interaction between the two groups is therefore a significant element of creativity, and informs most levels of production.

SILK AND SOCIETY Hand-loomed textiles in South Sulawesi did not suffer the severe decline experienced in Java under colonialism, and silk weaving skills in particular were retained. There was, nevertheless, a considerable lessening of weaving activity with the increased use of mass-produced Western style clothing. From the time of Indonesian independence, however, hand-loomed textiles have undergone a renaissance, motivated by the quest for export and tourism markets, and also by identity. Regional traditional dress has been actively promoted within the national philosophy of Unity in Diversity. As a result, the role of the silk sarong has been reinforced as a key marker of ethnic identity for men and women in the Bugis, Makassar, and Mandar societies. Invitations to official functions often stipulate pakaian adat (traditional dress), which for the majority will mean that they choose a plaid or checked motif, usually in silk. At other formal occasions, notably the elaborate Bugis weddings, hand-woven silk sarongs are popular items of clothing, especially for the religious and more traditional aspects of the ceremony, which precede the celebratory reception. Many of those who cannot afford to buy silk will borrow or hire a sarong from family or friends. Despite the significance of silk weaving, historical development of the medium is difficult to trace in detail beyond the late nineteenth century. 51 Frequent references in poetic literature, especially the La Galigo mythic history of Bugis settlement, attest to the social and spiritual importance of looms, weaving, and silk. Several factual manuscripts, the earliest originating from the seventeenth century, describe the cotton weaving process, and other occasional references demonstrate the high status of luxury textiles and clothing. 52 Yet in the documents 51 See the extensive research of Pelras for descriptions of the role and function of textiles in the South Sulawesi lowlands. Christian Pelras, "Textiles and Weaving of the South Sulawesi Muslim Peoples: A Preliminary Report," in Weaving Patterns of Life: Indonesian Textile Symposium 1991, ed. M. L. Nabholz-Kartaschoff, R Barnes, and D. J. Stuart-Fox (Basel: Museum of Ethnography, 1993), pp. 397-418. 52 The La Galigo is part of the rich heritage of South Sulawesi mythical and historical texts, originating with oral traditions and recorded on lontara' palm manuscripts after the advent of writing. This may have occurred around the fourteenth century, as indicated by Ian Caldwell, "History of South Sulawesi, Indonesia from 131h-161h Centuries: Ten Bugis Texts" (PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1988), p. 171. Approximately four thousand manuscripts have been identified and microfilmed by the Office of the National Archives in Makassar. These cover a wide variety of topics and include reports of battles, aspects of traditional law and punishment for its contravention, prayers for specific purposes, histories, medicinal formulae, tracts on astronomy, genealogical lists, discussions between rulers, records

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translated to this date, weaving activity is largely ignored. History appears simply to accept that women have woven sarongs, of both cotton and silk, as a household and commercial activity for centuries, without recording details about the practice and evolution of the activity that is acknowledged to have occupied a large proportion of their daily lives. The origins of silk in the peninsula are also not known. Despite statements that the region first encountered silk through "Chinese contacts after the seventeenth century," 53 European sources from the year 1540 report that the inhabitants "manufacture much good cloth of silk of many sorts." 54 Crawfurd suggests early Indic links in the Sanskrit origin of the Malay /Indonesian term sutera for silk, although this etymology may not be appropriate for the Bugis term sabbe (silk). 55 It is tempting to assume that regional trade in silk originated with the Chinese, since one of the earliest Bugis settlements recorded in the La Galigo epic is named Cina. The text refers to maritime trade in the settlement, describing scenes of excited activity that accompanied the arrival of merchant ships, and the acquisition of foreign goods in exchange for Bugis sarongs, gold dust, and other items. 56 The high economic and social value placed on Chinese trade ceramics, particularly their use in royal burials, is an indicator of the prestige accorded to exotic imported items, seemingly providing a clue for the designation of the name Cina. However, Cina is a modern Indonesian term for China, and the older term, "Tiongkok," is not associated with the Cina settlement in the manuscripts. 57 In the absence of written records, and because of the perishable nature of textiles, the origins of silk weaving in South Sulawesi must remain uncertain. What is known, however, is that woven silk-Chinese and Indian imports as well as the indigenous product-has been socially significant for centuries. Historically, imported textiles, especially Indian silk patola cloths, were accorded the highest status, and were reserved for use by the nobility, usually as ceremonial hangings. 58 of inheritance laws, government treaties, reports of trading between South Sulawesi and other islands, of marriage, divorce, mythology, illness, and Islain. Arabic stories, descriptions of talismanic objects and their meanings, interpretations of dreams, lists of duties of religious functionaries, and agricultural advice. 53 Joseph Fischer, "The Value of Tradition: An Essay on Indonesian Textiles," in Threads of Tradition: Textiles of Indonesia and Sarawak, ed. J. Fischer (Berkley, CA: University of California, 1979), pp. 9~14. 54 Diogo do Couto, Da Asia (Decadas V, Livro VII, Lisboa Occidental, 1736), pp. 479-80. 55 J. Crawfurd, A Descriptive Dictionary of the Indian Islands and Adjacent Countries, 1856 (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, reprint 1971), p. 394. Maxwell points to the similarity between the Bugis term sabbe, and the word sabai, which describes "various items of silk apparel in many parts of coastal Southeast Asia." Robyn Maxwell, Tradition, Trade and Transformation: Textiles of Southeast Asia (Canberra: Australian National Gallery, 1990), p. 162. Sabbe may also relate to the Bugis term sarebba used to describe a particular type of sarong. Pelras suggests that loom terminology indicates the weaving of silk was introduced by the Malays, citing similarities between the Malay pesa (cloth beam) and the Bugis passa. Christian Pelras, The Bugis (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1996), p. 248. 56 R. A. Kern, ed., I La Galigo Oakarta: Gadjah Mada Press, 1989), p. 202. 57 Personal communication with Dr. Ian Caldwell and Dr. David Bulbeck. Their recent archaeological excavations in the region are described in David Bulbeck and Ian A. Caldwell, Land of Iron: The Historical Archaeology of Luwu and the Cenrana Valley (Hull: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Hull, 2000). 58 Patola are closely patterned ikat dyed and woven silk textiles, originating in northwest India, and introduced via trade to Southeast Asia from around the mid-fifteenth century. They became

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However, over time, the indigenous silk cloth in its characteristic plaid patterns became emblematic. The history of sericulture is also uncertain. Anthony Reid indicates the production of a coarse yellow silk thread in South Sulawesi during the sixteenth century, similar to that which existed in Sumatra from the fifteenth century. 59 This was harvested from silkworms found in forests and gardens, suggesting some degree of cultivation. Records indicate that the Sumatran silk thread was exported to India early in the seventeenth century, although production declined during the next century, probably because of combined factors: superior Chinese silk became available, and rice and pepper cultivation were introduced, which led to the clearing of the forest homelands that had previously sustained the silkworms. 60 This decline is probably the reason for Crawfurd's claims that no sericulture existed in the Malay archipelago and that all raw silk was imported from China. 61 Nicolas Gervaise in 1701 was ambiguous, although he suggested that raw silk was indigenous to South Sulawesi, stating that weavers in Makassar "have there great plenty of cotton and silk, which are brought from the neighboring towns and villages." 62 During the mid 1990s, South Sulawesi was Indonesia's main producer of raw silk thread and had the nation's largest land area under sericulture. However, by 1999 production had fallen and the province had become the lowest producer.63 Modern silk production has met with varied fortunes, although it is now targeted as desirable agribusiness to foster the long-term export potential of silk thread and woven cloth from throughout the province. 64 The silk industry is seen to be especially appropriate to village development, as many of the required skills are extant, production and marketing infrastructures are well established, and the industry is environmentally acceptable in rural areas. Mulberry cultivation can occur in poor soils, requires little water, and is believed to offer an economically highly valued heirloom articles amongst the nobility, with a strong ceremonial role. The significance of patola throughout the archipelago has been explored by many writers, notably Maxwell, Tradition, Trade, and Transformation. 59 Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce 1450-1680, vol. 1 (New Haven, Cf: Yale University Press, 1988), pp. 92-93. 60 A. Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, p. 93. The most commonly cultivated silkworm ir1 modern sericulture, Bombyx mori, thrives best on young mulberry leaves, but various species of silkworm exist, suited to different foliage and climatic conditions, producirlg coarser, less lustrous silk. The Ailantus glandulosa tree, native to China, India, and many other Asian countries, is often a successful alternative to mulberry. Further irlformation is found in Y. Nik, Sericulture in Trengganu (Trengganu: Jabatan Pertanian, 1974), p. 1; and in C. Brady, The Ailant Silkworm (Sydney: Government Printer, 1868), pp. 2, 17. Small quantities of wild silk harvested from silkworms feeding on a variety of non-mulberry leaves, irlcludirlg mahogany, have recently been produced ir1 Java. These have found popularity (and earned high prices) with Japanese markets, poirlting to a future direction for the silk industry. "Sutera Liar Yogya Diminati Pasar Jepang," Kompas Online, Oct. 17, 2001, http:www.kompas.com/kompas/ cetak/ 0110/0117 /jateng/ sute0125.html. 61 Crawfurd, A Descriptive Dictionary of the Indian Islands, p. 394. 62 Nicolas Gervaise, An Historical Description of the Kingdom of Macasar in the East Indies, 1701 (Famborough: Gregg International, reprint, 1971), p. 61. 63 "Persuteraan Sulsel Lesu," Pedoman Rakyat, January 27, 2000, p. 6 64 Bupati Kepala Daerah Tingkat II Wajo, Rencana Umum Pembangunan Tahunan Kabupaten Daerah Tingkat II Wajo 1996-7 (Sengkang: Kabupaten Wajo, 1995), p. 22.

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viable means of soil rehabilitation. 65 Six months after planting, the young trees produce sufficient leaves for harvesting. Pruning limits the size of plants, facilitating cultivation in smallholder plots and home gardens, and allowing household income generation. Despite these advantages, the modem South Sulawesi silk industry has never really flourished, for reasons which will be discussed later.

A CURIO TRADE

Because of the impermanence of timber, and the absence of a written Torajan language prior to the twentieth century, the historical evolution of woodcarving is also difficult to establish. However, many Torajans believe that residual material culture, oral history, and genealogies indicate an efflorescence of woodcarving during the seventeenth century. According to this interpretation, carvings were applied to architectural forms around that time, apparently following the appearance of carving used on large wooden coffins for the aristocracy. These coffins, known as erong, were incised with intricate motifs common throughout the Sa'dan region, having spiritual and secular associations, signifying the aristocracy's leadership role, their wealth, and the respect accorded to them (Figure 4). The shift from carved erong to architectural forms followed the desecration of tombs during seventeenth-century territorial incursions by lowlands kingdoms. Carved houses then replaced the coffin as the symbolic link between the living and their ancestors. 66 Hauser-Schaublin has suggested that house carving originated with the practice of hanging sacred textiles around the houses for ceremonial purposes, and Roxana Waterson has pointed to arguments linking the decoration to the advent of metal forging in the region, which provided tools for the widespread adoption of carving techniques. 67 Another possible reason for the appearance of carvings, as yet unexplored, is status competition resulting from increased affluence generated by trade of gold dust, forest products, and coffee, following Torajan interaction with coastal communities. 68 From these early origins emerged a symbolic repertoire of over one hundred schematized motifs with religious, social, and ecological significance, stylistically derived from flora, fauna, and material objects. Whereas lowlands cloth had a long history as a desirable commodity in external trade, Torajan artifacts have a much shorter engagement with the outside world. Nevertheless, a vigorous local market system was in existence by the late nineteenth century. Dutch settlement in Toraja from 1905 stimulated the 65 Department of Trade, South Sulawesi, "Mekanisme Pemasaran Sutera Alam, Sulawesi Selatan" (South Sulawesi Raw Silk Marketing Mechanisms), unpublished paper presented at Temu Usaha Sutera IL Sengkang, November 10, 1994. 66 Elizabeth Morrell, A Visible Minority: Image and Identity amongst the Sa'dan Toraja, Monash Asia Institute Working Papers on Southeast Asia No. 112 (Melbourne: Monash University, 2001). 67 B. Hauser-Schaublin, "Textiles as the Probable Source of House Decoration Among the Sa'dan Toraja," in Indonesian Textiles, ed. G. Volger and K. von Welck (Cologne: Rautenstrauch-Joest Museum, 1991), pp. 185-193. Roxana Waterson, "The House and the World: The Symbolism of Sa'dan Toraja House Carvings," Res 15 (1988): 34-60. 68 Bigalke, "A Social History," p. 31.

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commoditization of culture, and the modem souvenir industry has grown from this. From the 1930s, literature and photographs show Torajans trading jewelry and other headwork items, woven cloth, metalwork, basketry, woven mats, hats, and incised bamboo containers used for tobacco and betel. 69 As early as 1930, foreign tourists were advised to visit the Makassar markets to purchase Torajan artifacts?0 In 1949, Raymond Kennedy noted the production of carved wooden boxes in Toraja for the tourist trade in Makassar. 71 By 1962, the Indonesian Government was describing South Sulawesi artifacts as "arts and crafts" and listing their availability in Makassar "curio-shops." 72 The arrival of large-scale tourism expanded the scope of commercial activity. Torajans have been accustomed to Western visitors since the Dutch took control, when tourism began in a very small way with visits by colonial officials and their families. By the 1930s, asS. A. Reitsma's guidebook of that period indicates, other foreign visitors were also being attracted. These were mainly the wealthy, educated Westerners who had discovered Bali at that time. Tourist development was brought to a halt by World War II, and political violence of the 1950s and 60s prevented any expansion of the industry. However, it was re-established and energetically encouraged by the Indonesian New Order government. The number of visitors strongly increased from the late 1960s until the recent decline prompted by the economic crisis and civil unrest in areas adjacent to the Toraja highlands.

CREATIVITY AND COGNITION

Why did the simple, austere plaid sarong emerge as emblematic of Bugis society? Why is Torajan imagery so intricately detailed, with surfaces completely covered by elaborate patterns? To seek answers to this, in Chapters Two and Six, I examine art forms as the manifestation of elements significant to the originating society. The relationship of art to ideology and social thought has been illustrated in many sociological studies of art and creativity, notably influenced by Jean 69 Although some trade occurred between the

Sa'dan Toraja, other mountain communities to the north and west, and the adjacent coastal kingdom of Luwu, little is known of the exchange and market systems prior to, or even following, Dutch settlement of the region Today' s large market towns of Rantepao and Makale were developed as administration centers by the Dutch bum previously small settlements, shown in photographs in A. von Grubauer, Unter kopfjagern in Central Celebes (Leipzig: Voigtlanders, 1913), figures 122, 160. In 1902,Van Rijn had recorded the existence of local markets, and three decades after the Dutch arrival, the 1937 photographs of F. van der Kooi show an active regular Rantepao market of local traders, including displays of small incised containers. See Hetty Nooy-Palm, The Sa'dan Toraja: A Study of their Social Life and Religion, vol. 1 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1979), p. 9, Photographs. In 1938, Claire Holt reported a market in Rantepao with vigorous trading and social activity. Claire Holt, Dance Quest in Celebes (Paris: Les Archives Intemationales de Ia Danse, 1939), p. 42. 70 S. A. Reitsma, van Stockum's Travellers' Handbook for the Dutch East Indies (The Hague: van Stockum, 1930), p. 505. 71 R Kennedy, Field Notes on Indonesia: South Celebes, 1949-50 (New Haven. CT: Human Relations Area Files, 1953), pp. 33, 173. 72 Department of Information, Arts and Crafts of Indonesia Gakarta: Department of Information, 1962), p. 125.

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Baudrillard, Arnold Hauser, and Pierre Bourdieu. 73 Material culture cannot be isolated from socio-political structures, spiritual beliefs and practices, economic conditions, and audiences. These all contribute toward defining the form, imagery, and use of material objects. The nexus between specific aspects of material culture and social institutions has been shown in diverse studies, and Janet Wolff has articulated the "various social constituting and determining processes" involved in creation?4 Daniel W. Ingersoll and Gordon Bronitsky have pointed out that studies of the material require close understanding of the non-material elements of culture, and are best achieved through cross-disciplinary investigations. 75 Semiotic analyses show that correspondences link many components of society, as demonstrated by Alice Dewey's discussion of the cognitive similarities that link batik motifs to the cooperative competition of the Javanese market system, and to other cultural practices. 76 With the exception of some tentative semiotic investigations of Torajan textiles by Robert J. Holmgren and Anita E. Spertus, 77 material culture studies in South Sulawesi relate the history, function, and revealed significance of objects. As has happened elsewhere in countries colonized by European powers, Sulawesi material culture research has built upon early descriptive studies written by European scholars. These studies, which record late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century explorations, usually provide brief descriptions of social function, and some also attempt classification according to usage, form, and imagery. In Toraja, the early post-independence research of Parada Harahap introduced the social context for artifacts, although symbolic analysis did not occur until K. Kadang in 1960 and L. Pakan in 1973 published taxonomic surveys of iconographic motifs?8 Hetty Nooy-Palm expanded previous research by the linguist H. van der Veen to establish modern Western scholarship in the region. The socio-religious function of Torajan material culture was identified in her work, and also in that of Eric Crystal, one of the first researchers to enter the area after 73 Jean Baudrillard, The Mirror of Production (StLouis: Telos Press, 1975); Jean Baudrillard, For a Critique of the Political Economy of the Sign (St. Louis: Telos Press, 1981); Arnold Hauser, The Social History of Art (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1977); Arnold Hauser, The Sociology of Art (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1982); Pierre Bourdieu Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984); Bourdieu, "The

Production of Belief," pp. 261-293. Janet Wolff, The Social Production of Art (London: MacMillan, 1981), p. 137. Some others are M. J. Adams, "Structural Aspects of East Sumbanese Art," in The Flow Of Life, ed. J. J. Fox (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1980), pp. 208-20; M. Johnson, "Notes Towards an Archaeology of Capitalism," in Interpretative Archaeology, ed. C. Tilley (Oxford: Berg, 1993), p. 334). 75 Daniel W. Ingersoll and Gordon Bronitsky, Mirror and Metaphor: Material and Social Constructions of Reality (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1987), p. 12. 76 Alice Dewey, "Boundary and Batik: A Study in Ambiguous Categories," in Cultural Values and Human Ecology in Southeast Asia, ed. K. L. Hutterer, A. T. Rambo, and G. Lovelace (Ann Arbor, MI: Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, University of Michigan, 1985), pp. 177-93. 77 Holmgren and Spertus, Early Indonesian Textiles, p. 62. 78 Parada Harahap, Toradja (Bandung: Van Hoeve, 1952); K. Kadang, Ukiran Rumah Toradja {Jakarta: Balai Pustaka, 1960); L. Pakan, Rahasia Ukiran Toraja (Makassar: Pakan, 1973). 74

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the cessation of guerilla warfare. 79 More recent studies have increased understanding of the significance of the artifact in Torajan society through investigations of metal working, funerary sculpture, architecture, iconography, and textiles. 80 The austerity of Islamic South Sulawesi aesthetics has discouraged semiotic research of Bugis material culture, although studies have discussed the historical, social, and cultural roles of domestic architecture and textiles. 81 Although my own study retains a strong socio-cultural basis, I seek also to interpret underlying themes that are evident in the imagery. To do this, I adopt Bourdieu's concept of habitus, as a "system of internalized structures, schemes of perception, conception, and action" which is unconsciously acquired through participation in daily activities. 82 A key element of this concept is the relationship between an individual and space. For Bourdieu, within the world of objects one can find the metaphoric interpretation of the "fundamental schemes" of society, inculcated into collective and individual cognition. Artifact production, 79

Hetty Nooy-Palm, "Dress and Adornment of the Sa' dan Toraja," Tropical Man 2 (1969): 16294; Hetty Nooy-Palm. The Sa'dan Toraja. A Study of their Social Life and Religion, vol. 1 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1979); Eric Crystal, 'Toradja Town" (PhD dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1971); Eric Crystal, "Mountain Ikats and Coastal Silks: Traditional Textiles of South Sulawesi," in Threads of Tradition: Textiles of Indonesia and Sarawak, ed. J. Fischer (Berkley, CA: University of California, 1979), pp. 53-62. 8 For metal working, see Charles Zemer, "Signs of the Spirits, Signature of the Smith: Iron Forging in Tana Toraja," Indonesia 3,1 (1981): 89-112; for funerary sculpture, see Eric Crystal, "The Soul That is Seen: The Tau-Tau as Shadow of Death, Reflection of Life in Toraja Tradition," in The Eloquent Dead: Ancestral Sculpture of Indonesia and Southeast Asia, ed. J. Feldman (Los Angeles, CA: Museum of Cultural History, University of California, 1985), pp. 129-46; for architecture, see L. T. Tangdilintin, Tongkonan (Rumah adat Toraja): Arsitektur and Ragam Hias Toraja (Tana Toraja: Yayasan Lepongan Bulan, 1985); J. Kis-Jovak, H. Nooy-Palm. R Schefold, and U. Schulz-Domburg, Banua Toraja (Amsterdam: Royal Tropical Institute, 1988); for iconography, see Waterson, ''The House and the World"; see also Roxana Waterson, "Hornbill, Naga and Cock in Sa'dan Toraja Woodcarving Motifs," Archipel 38 (1989): 53-73; Nigel Barley and Stanislaus Sandarupa, The Torajan Ricebarn, Occasional Paper 72, Department of Ethnography (London: British Museum, 1991); and for textiles, see Hetty NooyPalm. "The Sacred Cloths of the Toraja: Unanswered Questions," in To Speak With Cloth: Studies in Indonesian Textiles, ed. M. Gittinger (Los Angeles, CA: Museum of Cultural History, University of California, 1989), pp. 163-80. 81 Architecture is described in Christian Pelras "La Maison Bugis: Formes, Structures et Functions," Asie du Sud-est et Monde Insulindien Vl,2 (1975): 61-97; 1 Mardanas, R Abu, and Maria, eds., Arsitektur Tradisional Daerah Sulawesi Selatan (Makassar: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1985-86); Roxana Waterson, The Living House: An Anthropology of Architecture in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1991); Kathryn Robinson, "The Platform House: Expression of a Regional Identity in the Modem Indonesian Nation," in Culture and Society in New Order Indonesia, ed. Virginia M. Hooker (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 228-44; Kathryn Robinson, "Traditions of Housebuilding in South Sulawesi," in Living Through Histories: Culture, History, and Social Life in South Sulawesi, ed. K. Robinson. and M. Paeni (Canberra: Australian National University, and Jakarta: National Archives of Indonesia, 1998), pp. 168-95. For textiles, see Eric Crystal, "Mountain Ikats and Coastal Silks," pp. 53-62; Rukmini, Tenun Tradisional Bugis-Makassar (Ujung Pandang: ProyekPengembangan Permuseuman Sulawesi Selatan, 1979); Charles Zemer, "Silk from Southern Sulawesi," Orientations 13,2 (1982): 46-55; R. L. Welsch, "Traditional Silk Sarongs of Mandar, South Sulawesi, Indonesia," Field Museum of Natural History Bulletin 59,4 (1988): 13-22; W. Subagyo, ed., Perajin Tradisional di Daerah Propinsi Sulawesi Selatan (Jakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1992); Christian Pelras, 'Textiles and Weaving of the South Sulawesi Muslim Peoples," pp. 397-418. 82 Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, pp. 85-91.

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then, is part of the social interaction within which individuals respond to group norms that "gain power over the thoughts and volition of the individual as soon as he enters the social sphere." 83 Interaction with the ambient landscape shapes concepts of space and has been identified as influential in many social practices. 84 However, although response to the surrounding natural environment is apparent in the dense imagery of the highland Toraja forest dwellers, and in the open, regular plaid patterns of the Bugis coastal plains people, I discuss concepts of social space rather than the sense of physical place. These concepts have been differentiated by Eric Hirsch, who describes place as having correspondences to everyday experience, whereas space transcends the everyday, the two being "relatively separate and detached though never disconnected." 85 Thus, space has a basis in the physically defined boundaries in which life is conducted, but more closely relates to the social organization that situates the individual in the community. 83

Hauser, The Sociology of Art, p. 48. B. Bender, ed. Landscape: Politics and Perspectives (New York: Berg, 1993); E. Hirsch and M. O'Hanlon, The Anthropology of Landscape (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995). 85 Eric Hirsch, "Landscape: Between Place and Space," in The Anthropology of Landscape, ed. E. Hirsch and M. O'Hanlon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), pp. 1-30. 84

PART ONE

LOWLANDS ENTERPRISE

CHAPTER

Two

IDENTITY, SILK, AND STATUS "The Bugis people are rather dark and alert-looking and wear very bright colors, glaring blues and greens and reds, which give a beautiful effect." The Honorable Theodora Benson, English novelist and traveler, 1938. Around the end of the nineteenth century, photographs were taken of many South Sulawesi rulers accompanied by family members and court officials, dressed in their characteristic plaid sarongs, woven from shining silk (Figure 6). 1 The photographs mark an era that saw expansion of Dutch control throughout the peninsula and the concomitant decline of the indigenous kingdoms. From that time, these regions have undergone massive, and sometimes traumatic, social, political, and economic change, throughout which the plaid silk sarong has remained a principal symbol of identity. This chapter discusses social, political, and religious influences from which the iconography emerged. I suggest that the textiles may have originally described a pre-Islamic classificatory system known as sulapa' eppa (literally "four sides"). This system then coexisted with the requirements of Islamic belief and the religion's aesthetic of abstraction and rationality. The concurrent Bugis sarong trade throughout the Malay-Indonesian archipelago led to widespread recognition of the plaids as identity symbols, recognition that continued through the Dutch colonial period and remained relevant in the modem Indonesian nation-state. By this I do not mean to imply that weavers intentionally developed a symbolic system. As Pierre Bourdieu's concept of habitus describes, representation can be intuitive, and the motifs may have subconsciously evolved and then endured. It is not known when the motifs developed, although they had become ubiquitous by the late eighteenth century. Writing of his voyage between 1763 and 1776, T. A. Forrest noted the Bugis cotton sarong: which ... much resembles tartan, and is often wore [sic] like a sash gathered upon one shoulder over a tight waistcoat, and breeches that reach within a span of the knee. Altogether a Bugis resembles much a Scotch highlander. 2

1 See, for example, the photographs published in P. Sarasin and F. Sarasin, Reisen in Celebes, Ausqefuhat in den jahren 1893-96 und 1902-03, 2 vols. (Wiesbaden: C. W. Kreidel's Verlag, 1905), fig. 69; and A. von Grubauer, Unter kopfjagern in Central Celebes (Leipzig:

Voigtlanders, 1913), plate 6 and fig. 176. T. A. Forrest, Voyage from Calcutta to the Mergui Archipelago Lying on the East Side of the Bay of Bengal (London: J. Robson, 1792), p. 80.

2

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Figure 6. A former ruler of Luwu with her family and court officials, wearing the plaid silk sarung Bugis. The women are also wearing the overblouse known as baju bOdo. Credit: A. von Grubauer, Vmgtlanders, 1913, plate 6. Nicolas Gervaise in 1701 made frequent reference to the presence of highly skilled silk and cotton weaving in the region, but did not specify a dominant image. Do Couto's brief 1540 report of the "manufacture . .. [of] cloth of silk" indicated diversity in Makassarese silk weaving without describing techniques or designs. 3 The diversity he described may suggest regional variations, for until the end of the seventeenth century the term "Makassar" was used universally by Europeans to describe all weaving that originated from the peninsula.4 Dutch records reveal that indigenously woven silk cloth was a highly valued commodity by 1669. At that time, shortly after the seizure of Makassar by the Dutch with assistance from the kingdoms of Bone and Soppeng, the raja of Soppeng, together with other rulers, appealed for the return of royal regalia earlier lost to Gowa, the more powerful of the two kingdoms that made up the polity of Makassar. These claims listed 369 separate textiles or items of clothing, 3

Nicolas Gervaise, An Historical Description of the Kingdom of Mi1casar in the East Indies,

1701 (Farnborough: Gregg International, 1971), pp. 21, 30, 61, 65, 74. Diogo do Couto, Da Asia (Decadas V, Livro VII, Lisboa Occidental, 1736), p. 480. 4 Anthony Reid points out that textiles from the island were commonly described by Europeans as Makassarese during the seventeenth century, but became known as Bugis after that period. Anthony Reid, "The Pre-colonial Economy of Indonesia," BIES 20,2 (1984): 51167. This shift may have been prompted by the Dutch suppression of Makassar trade, and the increasing activity of Bugis maritime traders (much of which was considered illegal by the Dutch).

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43

including twenty-six Makassarese silks, two of which were embellished with gold. 5 Some South Sulawesi historians believe that plaid styles indicated the political hierarchy in the peninsula prior to the late seventeenth-century Dutch annexation of Makassar. Large plaids may have identified the powerful Makassar kingdom, and smaller motifs were used by the (then) less powerful Bugis. If this was indeed the case, it is also significant that the well-known, smaller Mandar plaid represented a minor political region. 6 Local historical manuscripts that have been translated to date give no direct evidence for the linking of specific patterns and kingdoms. However, it is likely that some motifs had been adopted as symbols of statehood by the late seventeenth century, for oral history from the Sidenreng region records the death of a political figure, killed because she dared to wear a sarong associated with a rival kingdom? By the early years of the sixteenth century, local traders and mariners had established a reputation built upon adventure, initiative, energy, and bravery. Tome Pires, in his voyage of 1512-1515, noted their prosperity and described them as "robust, great warriors ... They go about the world and everyone fears them." 8 Early in the latter half of the eighteenth century, Pierre Poivre found them to be "fond of adventures, emigration, and capable of undertaking the most dangerous enterprises." S. H. Wilcocke, in his translator's notes accompanying the report of the voyage undertaken by Stavorinus in 1774-5, stated that "the people of 5 The complete list of items included both indigenous and imported clothing, ceremonial hangings, silk belts, and cotton shrouds. The list is contained in KITL V manuscript H802:65, discussed by R. Laarhoven, "The Power of Ooth: The Textile Trade of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) 1600-1780" (PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1994), vol. 2: Appendix D. 6 South Sulawesi political life has been characterized by conflict from internal and external sources. Throughout early history, inter-regional warfare was common Then, following the entry of the Dutch East India Company to Makassar during the latter part of the seventeenth century, Dutch control became the focus of opposition from some kingdoms, notably Wajo. Resistance continued in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and some opposition persisted after the Dutch had entered all South Sulawesi regions. According to Barbara Harvey, the Dutch colonial administration expanded throughout the peninsula during the years 19051910 primarily in order to control instability, rather than to implement the Dutch ethical policy which was at that time influencing colonial activities throughout the archipelago. Barbara S. Harvey, "Tradition, Islam, and Rebellion: South Sulawesi 1950-65" (PhD dissertation, Cornell University, 1974), pp. 49, 56. Further conflict arose later as a result of the Darul Islam rebellion between 1950 and 1965, which resisted the Java-based power of the new Indonesian government and sought the establishment of an Islamic State. Although no single, complete account of political and military hostility has yet been written, extensive accounts of particular episodes, with summaries of preceding events, are found in Harvey's description of twentieth-century warfare, and Leonard Andaya's analysis of seventeenthcentury conflict. Leonard Y. Andaya, The Heritage of Arung Palakka: A History of South Sulawesi (Celebes) in the Seventeenth Century (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1981). 7 This oral history is believed to have existed in the form of written verse, although the manuscript has been destroyed. Interview with historian Dr. Mukhlis Paeni, Hasanuddin University, Ujung Pandang, September 30,1994. 8 A. Cortesao, A. The Suma Oriental of Tome Pires: An Account of the East, From the Red Sea to Japan, Written in Malacca and India in 1512-1515, Hakluyt Society 2nd series, vols. 89-90 (Liechtenstein: Hakluyt Society, 1967), pp. 226-7.

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Celebes are very industrious; they are also adventurous merchants." 9 William Marsden's History of Sumatra stressed the superiority of the Bugis and Makassar traders who made annual trading voyages to Bencoolen during the late eighteenth century, recording that the local inhabitants "affect to copy their style of dress, and frequent allusions to the feats and achievements of these people are made in their songs." By the mid-nineteenth century, the Bugis were assessed by John Crawfurd to be the most enterprising group in the region and had earned his respect as some of "the mpst advanced people of the Archipelago." 10 During the period of those historical descriptions, sarung Bugis, traded to Islamic societies throughout the archipelago, became universally recognized as a symbol of enterprise. The reputation for dynamic trade, and the austerity of the sarong imagery, suggest that the Bugis textile aesthetic is based upon market orientation and ease of production. Technically, plaid motifs require little explanation. Of greater interest is the reason why the unadorned motifs remained so significant in an archipelago renowned for elaborate cloth. Trading connections would have provided the required ideas and technology for producing more elaborate designs had they been desired. Yet that did not occur, and close diachronic investigation of society reveals systems of belief within which the simple iconography can be situated, and from which it entered the commercial world of the Bugis merchantsY QUADRATE DOMAINS

Social order was a major theme of Bugis life and mythology.U This was informed by the quadripartite world view expressing totality, known as sulapa' eppa. Historical manuscripts show that the philosophy structured a wide range of beliefs and practices in both spiritual and material form, and was located within cosmology, government, and social life. In South Sulawesi, sulapa' eppa articulated the ideal of perfection. It seems likely, therefore, that the geometric textile motifs were also manifestations of this philosophy-elements of the 9 Pierre Poivre, Travels of a Philosopher, 1769, quoted in J. S. Stavorinus, Voyages to the East Indies, 1798, vol. 2 (London: Dawsons, reprint, 1969), p. 185. 10 William Marsden. The History of Sumatra, 1811 (Singapore: Oxford University Press, reprint, 1986), p. 209; John Crawfurd, A Descriptive Dictionary of the Indian Islands and Adjacent Countries, 1856 (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, reprint, 1971), p. 74. 11 Indian textile historian Jasleen Dhamija has also resisted merely technical and commercial explanations for early Madras checked cloth. Instead, she has noted a "sacred grid" in the parallel lines, and relationships to the mandala as a center of power. Interview, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, June 28, 2003, discussing the exhibition "Sari to Sarong: Five Hundred Yearsoflndianand Indonesian Textile Exchange," held at the National Gallery of Australia, Canberra. 12 Aspects of this are described by E. L. Poelinggomang, "Keserasian Sosial dalam Dunia Nilai Bugis-Makassar," in Dinamika Bugis-Makasar, ed. Mukhlis (Ujung Pandang: Pusat Latihan Penelitian llmu-llmu Sosial, 1986), pp. 42-78; Gilbert Hamonic, "Gods, Divinities and Ancestors: For the Positive Representation of a 'Religious Plurality' in Bugis Society, South Sulawesi, Indonesia," Southeast Asian Studies 29,1 (1991): 3-34.

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45

cultural characteristic described by Gilbert Hamonic as the "perpetual search for ... equilibrium." 13 Quadripartite classification, aligned to the basic division of the world into wind, water, fire, and earth, still retains significance for many people. 14 These elements were linked to aspects of human endeavor, including intellect, speech, honor, good behavior, and to other correspondences, including the classification of colors. In the political sphere, the governing structures of pre-Islamic society formed a quadripartite unit. These were a de', which established ethical norms for social and political life; bicara, which was a system of criminal and civil justice; rapang which provided guidelines for the conduct of kinship and political relationships; and wari', which classified and ordered society. Islam later introduced a fifth element, that of Islamic law, or sara'. The philosophy was demonstrated at the inauguration ceremony of the first Arung Matoa, or raja, of the kingdom of Wajo, in 1474. The Wajo chronicles, the "Lontara' Sukku'na Wajo," describe the ceremony in which the potential raja was seated in one comer of a room, facing the kingdom's senior functionaries, who sat in the other three comers and sought the candidate's agreement to four principles of leadership prior to inauguration. 15 The numeric structure also applied to many guidelines for acceptable behavior. These were recorded in written form and show that lowlands South Sulawesi rulers often gave and received counsel in aphoristic statements constituted of four basic component parts, although some other numerical divisions also occurred: There are four things that will damage a nation; the first is greed, leading to loss of self-respect; the second is excessive force, which will lead to the loss of mutual sympathy; third is deceit, which severs the family relationship; and fourth is lack of moral responsibility, which will keep justice away. 16 13

A. Zainal Abidin, "Filsafat Hidup 'Sulapa Appaka' Orang-orang Bugis-Makassar,"

Bingkisan 11,12 (1969): 2-17; A. Zainal Abidin, Wajo Pada Abad XV-XV {Bandung: AlUIIlili.

1985), p. 467; Hamonic, "Gods, Divinities and Ancestors," p. 7. 14 Similar philosophies and numeric classifications based upon four elements-or often five, with a central item forming the fifth element-were common in many other societies throughout the archipelago and the wider Austronesian domain. Symbolic numeric divisions noted by scholars in the archipelago include those found in Bali, see J. L. Swellengrebel, Bali: Studies in Life, Thought, and Ritual (The Hague: van Hoeve, 1960), pp. 46-51; in Java, see Th. G. Th. Pigeaud, "Javanese Divination and Classification," in Structural Anthropology in the Netherlands, ed. Josselin de Jong (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1977), pp. 64-82; in Sumba, see M. J. Adams, "Structural Aspects of East Sumbanese Art," in The Flow Of Life, ed. J. J. Fox (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980), pp. 208-20; in Sumatra, seeS. A. Niessen, Motifs of Life in Toba Batak Texts and Textile (Dordrecht: Floris, 1985}, pp. 216-7; in Madura, see A. Horridge, "A Summary of Indonesian Canoe Ceremonies," Indonesia Circle 39 (1986}: 317; and in Buton, see M. Southon, The Navel of the Perahu: Meaning and Values in the Maritime Trading Economy of a Butonese Village (Canberra: Australian National University, 1995), pp. 106-109. 15 Zainal Abidin, "Filsafat Hidup," p. 5; Mattulada, "South Sulawesi, its Ethnicity and Way of Life," South East Asian Studies 20,1 (1982): 4-22; Zainal Abidin, Wajo, pp. 460-1. 16 My English translation from Z Hakim, Pangngajak Tomatoa Oakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayan, 1992}, p. 98.

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Thus the four strengths of a successful political unit will be threatened by four of humanity's weaknesses. Many similar statements exist, often prefaced with the phrases, "there are four matters which ... " or "there are four types of ... " Christian Pelras, in his definitive study of Bugis society, notes that the four essential characteristics of a good leader (bravery, intelligence, wealth, and religious devotion) recorded in historical texts remain "consistent driving forces in [Bugis] development." 17 Language also offers evidence of the philosophy. In the written BugisMakassar alphabet, known as urupu sulapa' eppa (the four-sided letters), the rhomboid, or diamond shaped, symbol signifying the consonant Sa denotes oneness, both semantically and in the tangible form of the enclosed symbol. In this script, originally Bugis but later also extended to the Makassar language, Sa takes vowels to form the prefixes Se and Si, which indicate singularity as a quantifier, and totality, as in sewajo, "the whole of Wajo," or the poetic phrase siawalangi', meaning "everything beneath the one sky," or the whole world. As well, the philosophy is apparent in a colloquial Makassarese expression indicating that a person becomes complete, or has sulapa' eppa, when a partner is taken in marriage, and in a Bugis statement that "only when you are adopted by a leader do you have sulapa' eppa." 18 The concept of sulapa' eppa may have emerged from quadripartite ordering of the universe that was rommon to many ancient societies throughout the world. This usually followed the compass directions, often radiating from a spiritual center, although the concept was modified by different interpretations according to particular local philosophies. Many of the Bugis and Makassar kutika charts that utilized astronomy (and other agents) to determine favorable times for agricultural, religious, and personal activities are based upon schematic representations of the cardinal points. 19 Zainal Abidin's suggestion that preIslamic cosmology viewed the universe as four-sided is substantiated by religious practice in the South Sulawesi region of Kajang, which maintains pre-Islamic belief and follows cosmology in which four "hangers of the world" and "supports for the sky" provide the foundation for a totalistic belief system. Quadrate Christian Pelras, The Bugis (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1996), pp. 210, 339. Mattulada, "Bugis-Makassar: Manusia dan Kebudayaannya," Berita Antropologi 4,16 {1974): 1-64; U. Sirk, The Buginese Language (Moscow: Nauka, 1983), p. 50; Zainal Abidin, "Filsafat Hidup," p. 3. Rahman and Salim have pointed to the existence of other regional scripts that do not resemble the square sulapa' eppa characters, but which were subordinated by it. Dates of origin of the various scripts are disputed, although it is possible that the domination of sulapa' eppa began during the seventeenth-century rise of Bugis power, then was consolidated as a result of the influence of nineteenth-century Dutch scholars. A. Rahman and M. Salim, Pelestarian dan Perkembangan Aksara Lontara' di Sulawesi Selatan Oakarta: Proyek Pengkajian dan Pembinaan Nilai-nilai Budaya, 19%), pp. 64-65. 19 P. Wheatley, The Pivot of the Four Quarters (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1971), pp. 428-451; R Pinxten, 1 van Dooren, and F. Harvey, Anthropology of Space (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983), p. 208. For information about kutika charts, see B. F. Matthes, "De Makassaarsche en Boegineesche Kotika's," 1869, reprinted in Dr. Benjamin Frederick Matthes, ed. H. van den Brink (Amsterdam: Nederlandsch Bijbelgencotschap, 1943), pp. 458-96; Kathryn Robinson, "Traditions of House-building in South Sulawesi," in Living Through Histories: Culture, History and Social Life in South Sulawesi, ed. K. Robinson and M. Paeni (Canberra: Australian National University, and Jakarta: National Archives of Indonesia, 1998), pp. 168-95. 17 18

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divisions also appear in Torajan cosmology and rituai practice, where they bear strong relationships to the cardinal points. 20 Today it is difficult to determine if the South Sulawesi worldview originated through associations with the compass directions. It is possible to draw parallels with the Islamic concept of the cosmic axis of the Ka'bah, the object towards which the faithful turn during their daily prayers, to which the niche, mihrab, of all mosques is oriented, and around which the seven circuits of devotion are performed during the pilgrimage to Mecca. All Islamic worship is convergent upon the central point of the Ka'bah, which symbolizes the center and origins of Islam. As the four comers of the Ka'bah face the cardinal compass points, their intersection is the center of the physical Islamic world and is given the title of Divine axis. 21 However, the system of sulapa' eppa existed in South Sulawesi prior to the adoption of Islam, so it did not originate from that religion, although it was compatible and became integrated with Islamic belief. 22 CENTER AND PERIPHERY

The balance of quadrate forms refers to another element of the textile imagery: the relationship between center and periphery. Eliade has demonstrated that, throughout history, society was often organized in an entity of four aspects encompassing a strong center. Settlements often dispersed from a central point, usually called the navel, with spiritual or political power as the focus. By incorporating the "symbolism of the center" into villages, houses, places of worship, and other objects or entities, power could be associated with those structures. In South Sulawesi, centrality, known as posi, signifies potency, and is apparent in social, religious, and political spheres, forming a cultural institution which, as Hamonic suggests, probably originated with the human navel, then was adapted to changing influences and conditions to signify the navel of the earth, kingdoms, villages and houses. 23 Zainal Abidin, "Filsafat Hidup," p. 2. For discussion of the Kajang, see K. M. Usop, "Pasang ri Kajang: Kajian Sistem Nilai Masyarakat Amma Toa," in Agama dan Realitas Sosial, ed. Mukhlis and K. Robinson (Ujung Pandang: Lembaga Penerbitan Universitas Hasanuddin, 1985), p. 124; for the Toraja, see Hetty Nooy-Palm, The Sa'dan Toraja: A Study of their Social Life and Religion, vol. 1 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1979), pp. 114, 135. 21 L. Bakhtiar, Sufi: Expressions of the Mystic Quest (London: Thames & Hudson, 1976), p. 63; T. Burckhardt, "The Spirituality of Islamic Art," in Islamic Spirituality, ed. S. H Nasr (New York, NY: Crossroad Publishing, 1991), pp. 506-27. The Koran states that the original Ka'bah was built by Abraham and Ishmael, his son. The name describes its cubic form. It has often been destroyed during a turbulent history, but today is a masonry structure measuring twelve meters long, ten meters wide, and approximately sixteen meters high. The external walls enclose the sacred Black Stone representing the core of human spirituality, and the entire structure is covered with a black brocade cloth. Covering the structure with cloth is analogous to clothing the human body. The Ka'bah containing the symbol of spirituality is clothed as is the human body containing a soul. See Burckhardt, "Spirituality," pp. 508-9; A. J. Wensinck and J. Jomier, "Ka'ba," in The Encyclopaedia of Islam (Leiden: Brill, 1978), pp. 31720

9.

22

Zainal Abidin, "Filsafat Hidup," p. 4. M. Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return (New York: Pantheon, 1954), pp. 44-7; Hamonic, "Gods, Divinities and Ancestors," p. 9.

23

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Strong residual evidence of the early relationship between cosmological and political centrality was noted in 1975 amongst the people of Tana Towa, in the southeastern region of the peninsula, where pre-Islamic beliefs remain strong and where physical inner and outer domains have been defined. The traditional ruler of Tana Towa lived in the inner domain and access to that immediate area was restricted. The inner domain was located in the village of Positana (literally "center of the land"), where there can be found "several large grey boulders, some with inscriptions and carved geometric figures" around the "navel of the earth," a naturally formed pothole said to be one thousand feet deep and to lead to the sea. 24 The concept of posi developed a strong relationship to the square periphery. In ritual, quadripartite divisions delimit a person or object to unify the center and periphery. During the mid-seventeenth century in Makassar, the Spanish Dominican missionary Friar Domingo Navarette recorded the rommon funeral practice that delegated four attendants to stand at the comers of the bier, surrounding the deceased person. Still today, a strong consciousness of center and periphery exists in massalama' rituals conducted to seek safety and well-being, often following quadripartite divisions in the type of offerings to be made (for example, four types of rice) and the type of misfortune they are intended to counter. Offerings are made first to the posi of the object or person to be accorded the ritual, and then to the four elemental points. This occurs because, as Greg Acciaioli was told, "just as every territorial domain has its rajah, so too a 11 experiential domains have their rajahs who must be appeased." 25 From the time of early societies, posi was given material form. According to the lontara' documents, it was usual for kinship groups to settle at the location of communal sacral objects, which were believed to have either accompanied the ancestors in their descent from the Upperworld or marked the place of their first meeting with local inhabitants. The objects, known by the Bugis as gaukeng in their original metaphysical role, and arajang in their later role as court regalia, formed the spiritual center of the community. 26 Gaukeng were usually housed in shrines, beneath or near a banyan tree, often at locations known as posi tana, the center of the land. 27 Mattulada has pointed to the unifying role of the "commonly 24

Robin Hanbury-Tenison, Pattern of Peoples (New York: Charles Scribner's, 1975), pp. 12830. 25 For the observations of Friar Navarette, see J. S. Cummins, The Travels and Controversies of Friar Domingo Navarette 1618-1686, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Hakluyt Society, 1962), p. 118. Acciaioli discusses the concept as it was understood among members of a diasporic Bugis community in Greg Acciaioli, "Searching for Good Fortune: The Making of a Bugis Shore Conununity at Lake Lindu, Central Sulawesi" (PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1989). 26 Mukhlis, "Landasan Kultural Dalam Pranata Sosial Bugis-Makassar," in Dinamika Bugis-Makassar, ed. Mukhlis (Ujung Pandang: Pusat Latihan Penelitian Drnu-Drnu Sosial, 1986}, pp. 1-41. Gaukeng were not usually of great economic value and were often natural objects, such as rocks, endowed with spiritual properties because of their association with divine ancestors. Later court regalia, or arajang-for the largest kingdoms at least-included valuable gold and jeweled objects. 27 Mattulada, "Pre-Islamic South Sulawesi," in Dynamics of Indonesian History, ed. H Soebadio and C. A. du Marchie Sarvaas (Amsterdam: North-Holland, 1978}, p. 131; Mattulada, "South Sulawesi," p. 15; Sir J. Brooke in 1840 noted that small shrines existed in each Bugis village he visited, at sites associated with spirits, although few people were

Identity, Silk, and Status

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inherited sacred objects," and Leonard Andaya believes that cognizance of communal responsibility arose from the "shared belief of ... protective powers" of the gaukeng/arajang. According to this view, true power resided with the objects rather than the rulers. More recent studies disagree, holding that the objects were status markers rather than receptacles of intrinsic power. 28 Whatever their true role, however, the gaukeng and arajang provided a material link to the authority of the spiritual and ancestral center. The precise nature of centralized power in early South Sulawesi political units has been debated by scholars. Shelly Errington's anthropological findings m kingship in Luwu emphasize the metaphysical connotations of posi, although her analysis has been questioned by Ian Caldwell's interpretation-which relies m evidence from lontara' manuscripts-that power was based in political rivalry, rather than spiritual concepts of the potent center.29 However, whether the foundations of power were spiritual or political, it is clear from historical documents that the concept of strong center existed within many levels and aspects of social and political life. Caldwell has shown that archaeological evidence indicates the establishment of centralized political units from the prehistoric period, and Hamonic's study of posi points also to a long historical development of the concept, with ongoing adaptation to cosmological and political meanings, often concurrently applied. 30 Centrality is an essential element in the concept of sumange', or spirit, described by R. A. Kern as one of the recurrent themes of the Bugis La Galigo mythic history, referring to "life energy" or "inner strength," although semantically the term is more abstract than those concepts express. 31 Sumange' is an animating force, a source of potency and protection. Everything, including the soul, the human body, and one's possessions can be strengthened by increasing sumange'. This force is strongly identified with posi, representing potency and the point of origin, hence for humans the navel is the site of sumange', and in houses the central pillar forms the same function. Traditional Bugis houses are rectangularly shaped, of timber construction, built on timber pillars, or aliri bola, certain of their purpose, and by that time the "better educated" did not share the animistic belief of the majority. Sir James Brooke, Narrative of Events in Borneo and Celebes, vol. 1, ed. R. Mundy (London: John Murray, 1848), p. 114. H T. Chabot recorded harvest rituals being conducted at pre-Islamic shrines during his fieldwork in rural Gowa, however during the fundamentalist Darul Islam rebellion, remnants of pre-Islamic religion, such as these shrines, were destroyed. H. T. Chabot, "Bontoramba: A Village of Goa, South Sulawesi," in Villages in Indonesia, ed. Koentjaraningrat (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1%7), pp. 189-209. 28 Mattulada, "South Sulawesi," p. 16; Andaya, Heritage of Arung Palakka, p. 15; Ian Caldwell, "The Myth of the Exemplary Centre: Shelly Errington's Meaning and Power in a Southeast Asian Realm," Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 22,1 (1991): 109-118; C. Campbell Macknight, The Early History of South Sulawesi (Clayton: Centre of Southeast Asian Studies Working Paper No. 81, Monash University, 1993), p. 41. 29 Shelly Errington, Meaning and Power in a Southeast Asian Realm (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1989); Caldwell, "The Myth of the Exemplary Centre." 30 Ian Caldwell, "History of South Sulawesi, Indonesia from 131h-16th Centuries: Ten Bugis texts" (PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1988), p. 180; Hamonic, "Gods, Divinities and Ancestors," p. 9. 31 R. A. Kern, ed., I La Galigo Oakarta: Gadjah Mada Press, 1989), p. 16.

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usually at least two meters high. 32 The central pillar is known as the aliri posi, or navel post, denoting it as the source of sumange' within the house, just as human life-source and energy originates with, and disseminates from, the navel. The selection of timber for the central pillar is important, for it is that pillar which controls the fortunes of the house and its inhabitants. The timber should be from a tree that bears fruit. Jackfruit is ideal, for it is associated with the achievement of aspirations. The central pillar remains the focus for life-cycle ceremonies and others held during specific stages of house planning, construction, and occupancy. During these ceremonies, offerings are made at the central pillar and the four comer pillars, sanctifying the unified space of the house. The La Galigo records the presence of a guardian spirit at the navel post, and the site as a focus of activity. In the text, the aliri posi was decorated for ceremonial occasions, dances were performed around it, and when voyages were made between the Middle and Upper worlds, the rainbow along which travel occurred appeared at that pillar, thus connecting the celestial and material worlds. Sumange' is transferable. It resides in objects that formerly belonged to the powerful, and these objects, however simple, can achieve talismanic significance, allowing potency to be transferred to the current owner. The former owner may be anonymous, but the special attribute for which he or she was known is vested in the remaining object or fragment. This often takes the form of a jima ', a small object worn close to the body (usually around the waist) or sometimes buried at the base of the central house pillar or beneath the stairway. Clothing can become a source of sumange'. As clothing is worn, so it absorbs elements of the wearer's individual spirit and personality, whether it be aristocratic power or another desired quality, such as bravery or intelligence. Borrowed clothing is also valued for the promise of retaining intimacy with loved ones. The La Galigo hero, Sawerigading, wore a woven waist sash belonging to his new love when separated from her. 33 During fieldwork, I was told that if close friends or family 32 The concept of the house as an animate structure, containing its own spirit, is shared by South Sulawesi societies, as well as many others in Southeast Asia. For specific discussions of the Bugis house, see Christian Pelras, "La Maison Bugis: Formes, Structures, et Functions," Asie du Sud-est et Monde Insulindien VI, 2 (1975): 61-97; Shelly Errington, "The Cosmic House of the Buginese," Asia 1,5 (1979): 8-14; 1 Mardanas, R Abu, and Maria, eds., Arsitektur Tradisional Daerah Sulawesi Selatan (Makassar: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1985-86); Kathryn Robinson, "The Platform House: Expression of a Regional Identity in the Modem Indonesian Nation," in Culture and Society in New Order Indonesia, eel Virginia M. Hooker (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 228-44. Analyses of the meanings and roles of Southeast Asian houses are found in Roxana Waterson, The Living House: An Anthropology of Architecture in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1991); James J. Fox, ed., Inside Austronesian Houses (Canberra: Australian National University, 1993). Today's urban Bugis usually build brick houses on concrete slab foundations. In rural villages, however, the timber Bugis house still predominates, and construction is usually accompanied by a number of rituals. Even for a brick house, a simplified form of houseblessing ceremony is often held. 33 Jima' are often small pieces of wood, roots, or stones, worn to prevent danger or sometimes to attract a marriage partner. Although not financially valuable, many are family heritage items and possess the sumange' of a respected ancestor. For discussions of sumange' and personal possessions, see J. A. Lineton, "An Indonesian Society and its Universe: A Study of the Bugis of South Sulawesi and their Role Within a Wider Social and Economic System" (PhD dissertation, University of London, 1975), p. 96; Shelly Errington, "Embodied Sumange' in Luwu," Journal of Asian Studies 42,3 (1983): 545-70; Kern, I La Galigo, p. 215.

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members are departing for a long absence, items of clothing may be exchanged and worn to overcome the distance between them. CONCORD OR COMPETITION?

The balance of textile motifs parallels the desire for "perfect" social order which Hamonic identifies in Bugis mythology. 34 Sulapa' eppa, posi, and sumange' were all elements of that ordering system. To speak of an ideology of equilibrium in Bugis society appears to contradict the usual characterization of this group as competitive. However, that competition often emerged from the need to maintain or restore harmony and balance that had been disrupted by political hegemony, by rivalry within the social ranking system, or by efforts to defend one's sense of honor and dignity, an impulse key to the related concepts of siri' and pesse. Today siri' is often glossed as the Indonesian word malu, meaning shame or embarrassment, and yet, historically, it was more complex, embodying "social solidarity, social identity, prestige, and self-respect." 35 Modern siri' is therefore more concerned with revenge after being shamed, rather than with possessing and maintaining self-respect. Previously, to lose self-respect or dignity was to lose one's place in society, and if this had occurred through the actions of another party, then one had the right to defend and regain respect, to the point of death. Although siri' as a motivating force for retaliation is now seen as anachronistic by many Bugis, it nevertheless retains significance. It is often cited as a rationale for crimes of passion, especially those involving mistreatment of women, in whom the highest family honor and dignity reside. Conversely, some have blamed civil unrest in recent years en a general lack of the self-respect and social solidarity required by siri' and have proposed to revise the social value system to enhance a sense of shared pride. Related to siri' is pesse, or in the Makassarese language pacce, which Maeda has defined as "compassion or commiseration [which] supports and develops collective identity." 36 It also represents cooperation and reciprocity, expresses communal affiliation and solidarity, and provides the environment of community obligation that compels an offended member to try to regain siri' or honor. Thus pesse places the individual within the overall framework of community, and if one member of that community has been dishonored, the equilibrium of the group is threatened.

34

Hamonic, "Gods, Divinities and Ancestors," p. 19. Mattulada, "South Sulawesi," p. 12. It is not unrommon to find references to siri' in press reports of South Sulawesi criminal cases, including murder. See, for example, Harian Fajar, "Usut Kasus Kades Leppangeng" (Examining the Case of the Village Head in Leppangeng), January 10, 1995, p. 4. Revisionist concepts of siri' are evident in a number of newspaper articles, including "Minta Budaya Siri' Diajarkan di Sekolah" (Request the Culture of Siri' be Taught in Schools), Harian Fajar, September 9, 2001, p. 5. 36 N. Maeda, "Traditionality in Bugis Society," in Transformation of the Agricultural Landscape in Indonesia, ed. N. Maeda and Mattulada (Kyoto: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto University, 1984), pp. 109-22. 35

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COMMERCE AND THE SARUNG BUGIS

Historically, imported Indian and Chinese textiles were valuable and highly esteemed, yet these did not become agents of change in Bugis cloth production. Rather, exported Bugis textiles became influential in other islands, and their popularity increased the emblematic significance of the plaid motifs. Until the importation of mass-produced British cottons in the nineteenth century, domestic Indonesian textile consumption was principally of indigenous manufacture. During the eighteenth century, the strongest demand throughout the archipelago was for checkered Makassar cotton, woven in the dry, cottonproducing southern Bulukumba and Selayar regions. 37 Textiles became one of South Sulawesi's principal trade items, and as Bugis merchants increasingly dominated indigenous mercantile activity originating from the peninsula, sarung Bugis became visible proof of the successful maritime trade, symbolic of their commercial endeavor. It is this success that the modern textile industry hopes to emulate. The ubiquitous cotton plaid sarong described by Alfred R. Wallace as "the universal Malay sarong, of gay checked colors," 38 which today in its massproduced form provides inexpensive clothing, was largely dispersed from South Sulawesi through indigenous trade. Weavers and merchants of the peninsula, aided by a specific set of social and economic circumstances, were instrumental in the popular acceptance of the plaid throughout the archipelago. Its dispersal was contemporaneous with the Islamization of the region, and the compatibility of the plaid to Islamic norms, as will be discussed below, created a demand that was energetically met by Bugis traders. As a result of the trade in plaid sarongs, regional clothing was often differentiated along socio-religious lines, as Marsden found in late-eighteenth century West Sumatra, where Islamic men and women wore cloth "imported from ... Celebes ... , the Buggis [sic] country," and nonIslamic communities wore their own indigenously woven textiles. In the midnineteenth century, Crawfurd noted that checkered South Sulawesi cotton sarongs, renowned for durability, were among the principal Bugis trade items, "maintain[ing] their place in competition with the manufactures of Manchester and Glasgow." In 1857 Wallace described the annual Bugis-Makassar merchant fleet of some fifteen vessels that traveled from Makassar to the Aru islands off the southwestern coast of New Guinea. Among the trade items, he noted "native cloth from Celebes [which] is much esteemed for its durability, and large quantities are sold, as well as white English calico and American unbleached cottons." Although Indian and Javanese cloths were included among the goods Bugis and Makassar merchants traded in the Moluccas during the nineteenth century, kain Mandar, the plaid sarongs woven in the Mandar region, were one of the most popular tradeitems. 39 37 Reid, ''The Pre-colonial Economy," p. 156; Anthony Reid, ''The Rise of Makassar," RIMA 17 (1983): 117-160. 38 Alfred R. Wallace, The Malay Archipelago, 1856 (Reprinted London: Macmillan, 1869), p. 211. 39 Marsden, History of Sumatra, p. 52; Crawfurd, Descriptive Dictionary, pp. 88-9; Wallace, The Malay Archipelago, p. 170; R. Z. Leirissa, ''The Structure of Makassar-Bugis Trade in Pre-modern Moluccas," RIMA 27, 1 & 2 (1993): 77-90.

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The influence of South Sulawesi plaid cloth has been noted by many writers, and Mattiebelle Gittinger has suggested that, with the gradual Islamization of the archipelago, sarung Bugis displaced many earlier indigenous textiles. 40 That influence may have extended beyond the archipelago, as Tome Pires had recorded in the early years of the sixteenth century that merchants from Malacca, a region that traded with Makassar, carried cloth from the archipelago to the Indian kingdom of Cambay. From at least the mid-seventeenth century, plaids were produced in India for European merchants to sell in direct competition with the Indonesian weaving trade, perpetuating the Indian textile producer's practice of imitating the indigenous styles-including Javanese batik motifs-preferred by specific target export markets. During the eighteenth century, Thomas A. Forrest noted that Bugis and Makassar cotton cloth, "generally cambays ... export[ed] to all Malay countries, ... red chequered and mixed with blue," was imitated by weavers on the Indian Coromandel coast, in cloth which was "not so well wove, but of brighter colors." 41 Indian cloth was imported into Makassar by English, Portuguese, Danish, Dutch, Indian, Malay, and Javanese merchants. In 1646, over one thousand bales entered the port, and until at least 1627, cloth was more acceptable than cash in trading transactions with indigenous merchantsY For the English East India Company, deprived of the lucrative spice trade by Dutch dominance, Indian cloth became a major trading item, exchanged for turtle shell, bird's nests, mother-ofpearl, sandalwood, camphor, dye-woods, cloves, and gold, and brought to Makassar by indigenous traders. European and British attempts to control the cloth trade actually increased the popularity and facilitated the wide dispersal of South Sulawesi textiles. Initially, during the seventeenth century, strong international competition kept Indian cloth prices low, although later in that century increases occurred, and by 1740 cloth prices in Madras were "almost double those of 1660."43 By 1683, the Dutch monopoly had ensured their control of trade in Indian cloth, forcing an increase in prices that reduced Indonesian consumption 40 Mattiebelle Gittinger, Splendid Symbols: Textiles and Tradition in Indonesia (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1990), p. 15. The wide influence of South Sulawesi plaids is also indicated in S. Kartiwa, ''The Social Functions of the Kain Songket of Minangkabau," in Indonesian Textiles, ed. Mattiebelle Gittinger (Washington, DC: The Textile Museum, 1980), p. 66; Robyn Maxwell, "Textile and Ethnic Configurations in Flores and the Solor Archipelago," in Gittinger, Indonesian Textiles, p. 144; D. Geirnaert, "Textiles of West Sumba: Lively Renaissance of an Old Tradition," in To Speak with Cloth: Studies in Indonesian Textiles, ed. Mattiebelle Gittinger (Los Angeles, CA: University of California, 1989), p. 75; R Barnes, The Ikat Textiles of Lamalera, Lembata (Leiden: Brill, 1989), p. 53; L. E. Visser, "Foreign Textiles in Sahu Culture," in Gittinger, To Speak With Cloth, p. 83. 41 For a discussion of the production and trade of plaids, see Cortesao, Suma Oriental, pp. 43, 223; B. Schrieke, Indonesian Sociological Studies, Part 1 (The Hague: van Hoeve, 1955), p. 230; K. N. Chaudhuri, ''The Structure of the Indian Textile Industry in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries," The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 11,2 (1974): 127-82; Thomas A. Forrest, Voyage from Calcutta to the Mergui Archipelago Lying on the East Side of the Bay of Bengal (London: J. Robson, 1792), p. 79. 42 D. K. Bassett, "English Trade in Celebes, 1613-1667," Journal of the Millayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society xxxi, part 1 (1958): 1-39; K. N. Chaudhuri, The English East India Company (London: Frank Cass, 1965), p. 41. 43 Barbara W. Andaya, "The Cloth Trade in Jambi and Palembang Society During the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries," Indonesia 48 (October 1989): 26-46; See also Laarhoven, "The Power of Cloth," p. 381.

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of imported cloth and strengthened indigenous home weaving production, a development which the Dutch in Makassar had noted from 1676. South Sulawesi textiles were then able to satisfy the demand for less expensive cloth. During the seventeenth century, although trade in the highly valued imported textiles continued, South Sulawesi merchants expanded their activities and became the largest exporters of indigenous cloth in the archipelago. 44 The Dutch had successfully curtailed trade through Makassar after defeating the kingdom in November 1667, yet were unable to control other trade emanating from the peninsula. For example, in December 1670, after its defeat by the Bone kingdom, which had been assisted by the Dutch, the neighboring kingdom of Wajo was required to sign a treaty with the Dutch agreeing that "Wajo would not admit any Europeans or Indian nations (including Malays}," and that the people of Wajo would not sail without Dutch permission anywhere except to Bali, Batavia, or Kalimantan. 45 From that time, movement along the Cenrana River, which provided access to maritime trade for Wajo and Soppeng, was controlled by Bone. However, despite those restrictions, trade continued, and Wajo defiantly sought English trade connections. From around 1770, English traders supported the indigenous smuggling activities, although this practice declined after the English trading presence was established in Penang in 1786. Nevertheless, the association with English trade continued, as South Sulawesi merchants were eager not only to circumvent Dutch restrictions, but to profit from English freetrade policies.46 In other regions of the archipelago, the Dutch and English trading monopolies suppressed indigenous cloth production to strengthen their own cloth trade. The defiant "illegal" South Sulawesi trade, and the acknowledged superiority of South Sulawesi cloth, protected local textile weaving in that region. However, by the mid-nineteenth century Sir James Brooke recorded that, the chief manufacture of the Bugis land is the cloth for sarongs; and on the product of this cloth the families generally obtain what little money they require, ... [yet] the export of sarongs is very unprofitable, as they usually cost more than they sell for at Singapore. 47 Traders made their profits on the return voyage, through the sale of weapons, gunpowder, opium, and cotton cloth and thread. Imported cotton-weaving yarn was cheaper than that available from local sources, and the finished sarong could therefore be sold at a lower price, although the thread was less durable than that grown and spun in South Sulawesi. Despite the economic vulnerability, commercial production continued, and it was not until the latter part of the nineteenth century that South Sulawesi "yielded before the much cheaper Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce 1450-1680, vol. 1 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988}, p. 94. 45 Andaya, Heritage of Arung Palakka, p. 141. 46 Stavorinus, Voyages, p. 269; Brooke, Narrative of Events, p. iv; E. L Poelinggomang, "The Dutch Trade Policy and its Impact on Makassar's Trade," RIMA 27,1&2 (1993): 61-76. 47 Brooke, Narrative of Events, pp. 117-8. 44

Identity, Silk, and Status

55

imports." 48 This condition was no doubt exacerbated by the introduction of Dutch free-trade policies into Makassar in 1847 to counter threats from indigenous and British trade. Thus, handwoven cotton was no longer a viable material for mass market goods, although it continued to be used for household consumption; silk, a luxury fabric, could still be produced successfully for a specialized market. Trade, and especially maritime trade, has always been a respected occupation among the Bugis. Earliest contacts in South Sulawesi were made via water, either along the lakes and rivers, or via the sea, which is never very far from any part of the peninsula. The La Galigo refers to boats, water travel, harbors, merchants, river taxes, and trading exchanges involving Bugis sarongs. Trade not only brought valuable and exotic items to the inhabitants, but also created wealth from which flowed respect and social mobility. The families of wealthy nahkodas, or ships' captains, formed the majority of Wajo's middle class, and "wealth acquired in trade" enabled persons to marry members of the aristocracy, bypassing the requirement that royal marriage partners be pureblooded members of the aristocracy. 49 Trade led to the proliferation of the sarung Bugis as a ubiquitous item of clothing and intensified its emblematic association with Bugis identity, an identity increasingly allied to the Islamic beliefs that were integrated with pre-existing animism from the early years of the seventeenth century. THE INFLUENCE OF ISLAM

The joint role of the plaid sarong as a symbol of belief and item of trade is not inappropriate to the spiritual and secular characteristic of Islam. Today, Islam continues to influence the imagery and production of Bugis silk, through aesthetic norms and the religion's encouragement of personal economic independence. From the time of its adoption throughout the archipelago, Islam facilitated the enduring use of the geometric motifs that conform so precisely to the religion's own aesthetic and semiotic requirements. The rationality of Islam requires that works of art adhere to the principle of truth to materials, which requires that the methods of construction appropriate to particular materials "must not be concealed but expressed." 50 For example, stone architecture should reflect the characteristic strength of stone and not attempt to emulate organic form through decorative carving. In weaving, therefore, what could be more acceptable to the interlocking of warp and weft than simple plaid motifs? Moreover, the abstraction of geometric patterns is a manifestation of the Islamic principle that art should "create an ambience in which the transient and temporal character of material things is emphasized, in which the vacuity of objects is accentuated." 51 This is achieved through the void, the use of negative space, and lack of ornamentation. The Islamic aesthetic rejects the emotions associated with the Reid, "Pre-colonial Economy," p. 158; Poelinggomang, "Dutch Trade Policy," p. 70. Brooke, Narrative of Events, pp. 74, 110. 50 T. Burckhardt, "The Spirit of Islamic Art," in Fine Arts in Islamic Civilization, ed. M. Beg (Kuala Lumpur: National University of Malaysia, 1977), pp. 13-18. 51 S. H. Nasr, ''The Significance of the Void in the Art and Architecture of Islam," in Fine Arts in Islamic Civilization, ed. M. A. Beg (Kuala Lumpur: National University of Malaysia, 1977), pp. 19-24. 48 49

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material world and instead calls for the expression of spiritual perfection found in religious belief. Islamic art articulates the concept of God as unifier through the three devices of geometry, rhythm, and light, all of which are present in the motifs of the silk sarongs. As in Islamic architecture, the symmetrical, geometric grid networks and the expanse of motifs repeated across a surface suggest infinity. Unity is also achieved through rhythm, which is evident in the textiles through repetition. Rhythm is associated with chanted, evocative repetition of the names of God, and even within the most orthodox interpretations of Islam, the rhythm of Koranic recitation is meant to invoke an emotional response that serves to intensify understanding. H. A. R. Gibb has suggested that language use in the Koran has been structured to promote this response, and that the influence of the Koran "rests as much on its artistic and aesthetic qualities as on its substantial contents." Burckhardt points out that light signifies the omnipresence and transcendence of God, to the extent that "there is no more perfect symbol of the Divine Unity than light." 52 God brings light from darkness, and the final stage of the Sufi mystical experience is represented by light. Darkness and light are oppositions, yet are also symbiotic, and their interdependency is evident in fretwork and plasterwork found internationally in Islamic architecture and furniture. It is also present in the contrasts of light and dark colors that define plaid textile patterns. Architecturally, light is seen in the reflective surface of water and the sheen of glazed ceramic. It is also found in the lustrous sheen of a silken surface, which may explain the adoption of silk as a textile of significance for Muslims, since the use of silk-a luxury item-ought to be discouraged by Islamic tenets, and yet this fabric has been adopted by many Muslim societies. What better justification for the adoption of silk than as a reminder of the Divine Light of God? Today, the reflective light-filled surface is a notable element of the Bugis aesthetic. Bright red textiles, embroidered in a rainbow of brilliant colors and gleaming with metallic sequins and gold embroidery, decorate the lamming, or bridal enclosure, during the elaborate weddings which are the principal focus of Bugis ceremonial activity. Vibrantly colored, light-reflecting silks, glittering metallic threads, gold jewelry, velvet, brass, and almost any other surface that will glisten and shine, are central to any Bugis ceremonial occasion. People who cannot afford the luxuriance of silk may polish cotton textiles with shells and rice-starch to recreate the sheen, using shells sold for that purpose in the markets of Bugis towns and villages. Bugis symbolism conforms with the Islamic article of faith prohibiting imagery that depicts either human or animal forms. 53 The restriction on the use of H. A. R. Gibb, Studies on the Civilization of Islam (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1962), p. 193; Burckhardt, "Spirituality," p. 519. 53 The prohibition of the use of figural imagery in Islamic art is well known, although it has been interpreted differently throughout history. Many rulers and other elites in positions of power have ignored Islamic convention and surrounded themselves with pictorial imagery. The Koran itself does not prohibit representations of either human or animal forms, and the practice appears to have originated with the hadith, written after the Prophet's life, which instruct the faithful that the maker of pictures or images will be seen to assume the creative function of God. T. W. Arnold, Painting in Islam (New York, NY: Dover Publications, 1965). By the third century of the Muslim age, as the hadith gained greater acceptance, the prohibition entered Islamic orthodoxy. Oleg Grabar suggests that the nexus between idolatry 52

Identity, Silk, and Status

57

figural representation does not include images of flora, and paradise represented as a lush garden is a predominant Islamic motif; the garden can be both a literal representation of or a metaphorical reference to paradise.

SILK, ISLAM, AND POWER

The significance of sarung Bugis derives not only from the plaid motifs, but also from the association between silk, wealth, and power. Silk was one of the objects of material culture to be adopted by political incumbents in South Sulawesi kingdoms as symbols of authority. Political history suggests that the significance of silk may have been enhanced by changed conceptions of power following the adoption of the Islamic religion. Hamonic has argued that the use of arajang as symbols of power accompanied the increased political development in the region between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries. This period saw the development of kingdoms, the increasing use of posi, and "an abundance of symbolic images and other ritualistic 'stagings."' 54 Among the materials bearing symbolic status were textiles. Until this century, one means of articulating rank and authority was through the prescribed use of clothing. Silk was reserved for the nobility, as was the imitation silk sarong, lipa garrusu', woven in cotton, starched with rice-paste and polished with a sea-shell. This suggests that it was not only the expense of silk, but the aura of richness and power created by the sheen of the fabric, which was considered inappropriate for commoners. Specific patterns and color combinations were reserved for the nobility. Social distinctions were also established through the method of tying the male sarong, and in a prescribed system of colors for the transparent overblouse worn by women. 55 Although the plaid textile motifs were, and still are, employed m cotton cloth for everyday use, it was the silk sarong, made from a prestigious material, that evolved to gain modern emblematic status. Throughout the Islamic world, despite teachings that opposed the wearing of silk as a sensual pleasure to be reserved for the next life, rather than enjoyed m earth, the use of luxurious silks has often been a feature of court life, reflecting the splendor of royal courts and foreshadowing life in paradise. 56 The ruling South Sulawesi nobility followed and the image arose out of reactions to the art of the conquered Christian world: opposition to representation of the human form came to symbolize the increasing Muslim contempt for Christianity. Oleg Grabar, The Formation of Islamic Art (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1973), pp. 85, 88. T. W. Arnold has pointed out that many tenets of the hadith can be found in the Jewish Tahnud, and notes the suggestion that Jewish converts to Islam may have carried with them their intolerance of idolatry and the pictorial representation found in Christianity. Arnold, Painting in Islam, p. 10. 54 Hamonic, "Gods, Divinities and Ancestors," p. 23. 55 Social distinctions evident in clothing are described by A. N. Sapada, "Traditional Textiles of South Sulawesi," unpublished paper, 1977, pp. 1, 2; Rukmini, Tenun Tradisional Bugis-Makassar (Ujung Pandang: Proyek Pengembangan Pennuseuman Sulawesi Selatan, 1979), p. 15; R. L. Welsch, "Traditional Silk Sarongs of Mandar, South Sulawesi, Indonesia," Field Museum of Natural History Bulletin 59,4 (1988): 13-22. 56 W. B. Denny, "Reflections of Paradise in Islamic Art," in Images of Paradise in Islamic Art, ed. S. Blair and J. Bloom (Hanover: Hood Museum of Art, 1991), pp. 33-43.

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Securing a Place

this pattern of indicating their rank, prestige, and authority through the symbolism of silk. Islam was first adopted in the peninsula in 1603 by the Raja of Luwu. By 1611, the interior mountain homelands of the Toraja were the only substantial area not converted. Despite the use of military force by Gowa early in the seventeenth century, the advance of Bugis troops later that century, and then the incursions of Darul Islam rebels in the early years of Indonesian independence until 1965, this remains the only extensive non-Islamic region in South Sulawesi. 57 Trade provided the means by which Islam became known throughout the archipelago, yet adoption of the religion is more likely to have been prompted by local political-rather than business or religious-motives. Leonard Andaya has argued that a desire for increased power in the South Sulawesi peninsula was instigated by the local rulers' growing awareness of the might of foreign Islamic sultanates. 58 Extant material culture supports this view. For example, the elaborately carved tombs introduced during the Islamic era contrast conspicuously with the unadorned stones marking pre-Islamic royal tombs. Gold and silver metal-work decorated with characteristic Islamic scroll and floral motifs also displayed authority, and it is likely that the status and significance of silk increased in South Sulawesi at this same time. Pre-Islamic authority for most Bugis and Makassar rulers was limited by strong obligations and responsibilities for the welfare of their subjects, often under contracts negotiated between the ruler and other community leaders. 59 As the civil power of rulers was constrained by egalitarian principles and procedures, so, too, were their spiritual powers inhibited by bissu (religious functionaries), who acted as guardians of the kingdoms' sacred gaukeng/arajang objects. Thus, despite the Bugis and Makassar rulers' divine ancestry, their powers were spiritually and politically constrained. Alternative power structures must have appeared attractive to these competitive South Sulawesi leaders. The knowledge of wealthy and powerful Indian and Near East Islamic states, which the Bugis and Makassar rulers absorbed through long contact with Islamic messengers prior to their conversion, provided an awareness of political systems that allowed their heads of state greater freedom. Therefore, as Leonard Andaya suggests, this knowledge of the prestige of Islamic kingship, and recognition of the potential for 57 Some other small pockets of non-Islamic religions still exist. The people of Kajang, in the southeast of the peninsula, follow pre-Islamic beliefs that have been influenced in varying degrees by Islam. See M. Rossler, "Striving for Modesty: Fundamentals of the Religion and Social Organization of the Makassarese Pantuntung," Bijdragen Tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 146 (1990): 289-324. Similarly, in the central region near Sidenreng, the Tolotang maintain strong animist beliefs, as discussed in Maeda, "Traditionality." In other regions, elements of pre-Islamic religions coexist with Islam. 58 See J. C. Van Leur, Indonesian Trade and Society (The Hague: van Hoeve, 1955), p. 112; Leonard Y. Andaya, "Kingship-Adat Rivalry and the Role of Islam in South Sulawesi," Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 15,1 (1984): 22-42. For archaeological studies of royal burial grounds in South Sulawesi, see A. H. Makkulasse, Kompleks Makam Kuna Bataliung Raja Raja Binamu feneponto, Sulawesi Selatan (Ujung Pandang: Proyek Pemugaran dan Pemeliharaan Peninggalan Sejarah dan Purbakala, 1984); B. Kallupa, D. Bulbeck, 1 Caldwell, 1 Sumantri, and K. Demmanari, Survey Pusat Kerajaan Soppeng 1100-198 6 (Ujung Pandang: Australian Myer Foundation, 1989). 59 Mattulada, "Pre-Islamic South Sulawesi," p. 133.

Identity, Silk, and Status

59

increased power as the head of an Islamic state, would have created a strong impetus among South Sulawesi's leaders to convert to Islam. 60 The Islamic concept of kingship was also compatible with the South Sulawesi concept of divine right to rule. Late eleventh- or early twelfth-century Persian teaching, known in the Malay archipelago during the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, states: As you will hear in the Traditions, the Sultan is God's shadow on earth, which means that he is high-ranking and the Lord's delegate over His creatures. 61

Andaya points out that "a vast corpus of Islamic literature" articulating the elevated position of kingship would have been available to theologians within the Bugis and Makassar courts, reaching it through the Persian, Mogul India, Aceh nexus. 62 Thus, erosion of power due to egalitarian processes of government, as it existed in pre-Islamic South Sulawesi, could be overcome by the ideological shift to Islam. No South Sulawesi kingdoms developed into powerful Muslim Sultanates, and the system of rule continued in the manner J. C. Van Leur has described as "patrician" rather than "monarchical." 63 However, following Andaya's argument, it can be seen that silk, already associated with aristocratic ranking, should increase in prestige in accordance with desires for the increased status of leadership.

TEXTILES AS POLITICAL EMBLEMS

Textiles have had a lengthy political role in South Sulawesi. Early Makassar and Wajo kinship groups used flags (bate) to distinguish and unify specific communities, known as bate groups. Lontara' manuscripts record that rival communities conducted warfare under their respective bate. 64 Following their incorporation into kingdoms, the bate chiefs retained leadership over their communities, under the overall authority of the kingdom. In Gowa, these officials were called Bate Salapang (holders of the bate, or standard bearers). The regions they represented held superiority over nine Bate Ana' karaeng (children of the ruler) regions which had all been incorporated into the kingdom of Gowa. 65 In Wajo, battle commanders were designated with the title of Bate Ca'di, or minor flag-bearers, signifying a restricted role that did not include membership of the 60

Leonard Andaya, "Kingship-Adat Rivalry," p. 36. R. C. Bagley, ed. and trans., 1%4, Ghazali's Book of Counsel for Kings (Nasihat al-Muluk), London, p. 14, quoted in Andaya, "Kingship-Adat Rivalry," p. 35. 62 Andaya, "Kingship-Adat Rivalry," p. 36. 63 Van Leur, Indonesian Trade and Society, p. 95. 64 As well as marking identity, the use of bate in battle suggests a protective function, a concept not unknown in the archipelago. In Central Java, for example, textiles known as bangun tulnk, meaning "to repel evil," were believed to offer protection. See Robyn Maxwell, Tradition, Trade, and Transformation: Textiles of Southeast Asia (Canberra: Australian National Gallery, 1990), p. 134. 65 Mattulada, "Sejarah, Masyarakat, dan Kebudayaan Sulawesi Selatan," Harian Fajar, November 6, 1994, p. 3.

61 F.

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governing council. According to the Lontara' Sukku'na Wajo (The History of Wajo), officials known as Bate Lampo, or great standard-bearers, represented three Wajo regions included in the forty-member governing council established during the fifteenth century. They were distinguished by their identifying flags, and the deputy leaders of the respective regions became known as Bate Lampo Pilla' (red), Patola (multi-colored), and Cakkuridi (yellow). 66 Thus, the fifteenth century provides some of the earliest records of the association between textiles, political power, and identity. Textiles were used as symbols of victory. Among the spoils of battle seized by the Dutch during the late seventeenth century Makassar War were 195 pennants. Towards the end of the war, in which the Bone and Soppeng Bugis kingdoms assisted the Dutch to defeat Gowa, a gold silk cloth, considered to be a "robe of honor," was presented to the Gowa leaders by Bone in a traditional method of declaring victory and accepting defeat. References to the political use of clothing are evident also in a verse sung to the Bone ruler, Arung Palakka, during the seventeenth century. This verse refers to him wearing "the sarong in a way in which it should not be worn," suggesting that he did not have true claim by birth to the position of ruler, and that the robes of office were not his to wear. 67 The historical importance of Bugis dress is evident from the frequent references to appropriate clothing found in the La Galigo manuscripts. When the leader of the Underworld was invited to visit the Upperworld, he dressed in clothing that expressed the grandeur of the event. The figures in the epic are often described as wearing valuable clothing, although such clothing was not always depicted as luxurious; it was also simply neat and tidy. Different dress was worn in each of the three cosmological worlds, and visitors between these worlds changed their outfits to make sure they were suitable for their respective destinations. 68 Today, throughout South Sulawesi, personal clothing and adornment remain significant means of stating one's social place, articulating self-esteem, and dressing appropriately to show respect. Modem silk production is a continuation of the historical regard for textiles. This is one of many demonstrations of the way in which the past and its historiography inform modem Bugis life. In fact, throughout the southern peninsula of Sulawesi, modernity is often viewed through the lens of history. Some prominent examples of this are assertions of cultural identity that accompany calls for political change. In the socio-economic spheres, the heritage of sericulture, silk weaving, and the sarong trade are all being recontextualized to assist regional development. D. Patunru Abdurrazak, Sedjarah Wadjo (The History of Wajo) (Makassar: Jajasan Kebudayaan Sulawesi Selatan dan Tenggara, 1965), p. 42; Zainal Abidin, Wajo, pp. 467, 485. 67 Andaya, Heritage of Arung Palakka, pp. 77, 96, 244. 68 Kern, I La Galigo, pp. 22, 39, 50, 53, 65. 66

CHAPTER THREE

THE "CITY OF SILK" Selamat datang di situs Kabupaten Wajo Kota Sutera Welcome to the website of Wajo, the City of Silk (Internet homepage of the Wajo Regency, 2003)

Internationally, sericulture and silk textiles represent a "multibillion dollar trade, with a unit price for raw silk roughly twenty times that of raw cotton." 1 It is not surprising that Indonesia wishes to re-enter that trade. Yet, notwithstanding its long history and role as an identity marker, the South Sulawesi silk industry is now in a critical situation. Dreams of recapturing export markets have never been realized, and since 1997 high silk thread prices have exacerbated other preexisting problems for local weavers. By 2000, many small and medium sized enterprises had become little more than outworker coordinators for Javanese textile factories, supplying plain white hand-loomed cloth, which is then processed further in Java. Although local demand remains relatively strong for brightly patterned silk cloth and sarongs, unemployment has occurred in the small enterprise sector because of decreased production and the new simplified manufacturing methods. Approximately 25 percent of entrepreneurs operating in 1994 have now ceased operations or reduced cloth production. Some of these have become intermediaries, working between the Wajo and Javanese enterprises. Local and provincial governments are advocating revitalization of the industry and extrication from dependence upon Java. Independent household weavers who produce high-quality sarongs have not suffered this decline and retain strong cultural links with a loyal local market. When asked if they own a silk sarong, most Bugis, including urban dwellers in professional occupations, appear surprised at the question. "Yes of course, we all do, because it is sarung Bugis," is a usual reply. 2 In modern South Sulawesi society, traditional dress is worn on formal occasions such as weddings, religious holy days, and official receptions, and at these events, 1

8.

Antero Hyvarinen, "Silk in World Markets," International Trade Forum Gan.-March 1999): 6-

2 In 1994,

silk sarongs cost up to Rp.lOO,OOO, although most were between Rp.45,000-75,000, with prices varied according to complexity of weaving and size of the sarong. By August 2001, top prices had risen to Rp.250,000. To contextualize the expense, in 1994, the monthly mininrum wage in South Sulawesi was Rp.69,000. By mid-2001, this had increased to Rp.300,000, although few employers paid the full amount (interview with spokesperson from the Department of Employment, Makassar, September 4, 2001). In April 2003, I was told the usual minimum wage received by skilled carpenters in Kabupaten Wajo was Rp.7,000 per day.

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silk sarongs known by the Bugis as lipa' sabbe will be prominent. 3 Some make new purchases often, for either personal clothing or gifts, and this local consumption is currently sustaining the silk industry. Appropriate dress and personal presentation remain highly visible signs of self-respect and status. The "extraordinary attention" shown towards the quality of sarongs and other clothing, recorded by

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Figure 7. Map of Kabupaten Wajo.

3 At weddings, the bride and groom often wear imported richly brocaded or embellished sarongs, although other members of the official party usually wear locally woven silk sarongs, especially in rural areas. Guests wear a wide range of clothing, and as most weddings take place over two nights, sarongs may be worn on one night and replaced with other clothing, often made from locally woven silk, for other stages of the ceremony.

The "City of Silk"

63

Eric Crystal during fieldwork in 1968, is still notable more than three decades later .4 The prestige implicit in the financial ability to purchase silk sarongs is also significant. Modern consumer goods have now largely supplanted textiles in the hierarchy of desirable objects, yet silk remains a popular consumer item. This expenditure is part of a status-oriented consumption found in many levels of society.. Among small-scale entrepreneurs in the city of Makassar, such expenditure has been noted as a hindrance to economic advancement. 5 Modern silk production in South Sulawesi has been dominated by the local government region of Wajo following active promotion of the silk industry for over two decades. Silk and other materials are woven in all rural areas of the province. However, the energetic revitalization of commercial weaving by some of Wajo's civic and business leaders positioned the region as the acknowledged center of the hand-loomed silk industry. Forty-eight percent of all registered weaving enterprises in the province are located in Wajo. In 2000, almost 6,800 registered textile producers were recorded in the Kabupaten, employing approximately 19,400 people. 6 Despite the present difficulties, the significance of weaving is immediately apparent as one travels through the region. Silk, and the motifs of sarung Bugis, have become part of the corporate identity of the Kabupaten of Wajo and its principal township of Sengkang. Large billboard-sized signs proudly offer the motivational message, "In the spirit of a united Wajo create the Town of Sengkang as the Town of Silk." Other large signs display the Indonesian word for silk, SUTERA, spelling out desirable civic characteristics, thus Sehat (healthy), Ulet (tenacious), Tertib (orderly), Elok (beautiful), Rapi (neat), and Aman (safe). Large ceremonial gateways arching over the main road at township boundaries are decorated with painted plaid images, simultaneously signifying the traditional patterns associated with Bugis identity and the present-day weaving industry. Brightly colored skeins of thread, drying after dye baths, hang beneath and around some houses. Under many others, looms stand threaded in various stages of the Eric Cystal, "Toradja Town" (PhD dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1971), p. 81. During 1975-76 fieldwork in neighboring Soppeng, Susan B. Millar was chastised for her limited wardrobe, which did not comply with Bugis expectations of a foreign doctoral scholar. Susan B. Millar, Bugis Weddings: Rituals of Social Location in Modern Indonesia (Berkeley: Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, University of California, 1989), pp. 3-4. Twenty years later, I was greeted with similar criticism, despite taking care always to be appropriately dressed. When I returned to Wajo after an absence of some months, close friends on several occasions asked why I had returned with the same clothes and expressed concern that "people will not respect you if they think you don't have many clothes." Any loss of my status would, of course, also have repercussions upon the status of my Bugis associates. The socio-cultural significance of clothing style in other Indonesian regions has recently been discussed by a number of authors. See Ruth Barnes and J. B. Eicher, eds., Dress and Gender: Making and Meaning in Cultural Contexts (Oxford: Berg Publishers, 1997); Henk Schulte Nordholt, ed., Outward Appearances: Dressing State and Society In Indonesia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 1998); Carol Hayman, "Persistence of Traditional Dress in Mesoamerica," in Building on Batik: The Globalization of a Craft Community, ed. M. Hitchcock and W. Nuryanti (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2000); Michael C. Howard, "Dress and Ethnic Identity in Irian Jaya," Sojourn 15,1 (2000): 129. 5 Sarah Turner, Indonesia's Small Entrepreneurs: Trading on the Margins (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), p. 173. 6 Bureau of Statistics, Kabupaten Wajo Dalam Angka (Wajo Regency in Statistics) 2000 (Sengkang, South Sulawesi: Bureau of Statistics, 2001), Table 9.1.15. 4

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Securing a Place

weaving process. The ambient sound of rhythmic clicking testifies to weaving activity, sometimes visible beneath the houses, sometimes hidden inside. Although agriculture and trade sustained the former kingdom of Wajo for centuries, and the present population of a little over 359,000 is still largely reliant upon those two sectors, planners at all levels of government have given high priority to the development of the silk industry, as local employment options are limited. 7 Public service positions in government offices, schools, state-owned banks, and corporations occupy only around 6,500 workers. Providing transport in the network of privately owned minibuses, horse-drawn carts, and pedicabs employs several thousand. Other positions are available in a small hospitality industry and through informal trading, but unemployment and underemployment are high. Agriculture is the highest contributor to Wajo's Gross Regional Domestic Product, at 52 percent in 2000. Small and household industry, of which the silk industry is the major component, provide only 4.5 percent of the GRDP and suffered negative growth in 2000, prompting renewed calls for the strengthening of silk production. 8 Most weaving and associated activity is generated in the farming and fishing villages that have been home to weavers for centuries, although Sengkang, with a population of around fifty thousand, has become the planning and merchandising center. Sengkang is situated adjacent to a large and beautiful shallow lake and at the confluence of two rivers. In the past, these provided merchant and general transport access, and were the conduits along which Wajo's trading reputation developed. Annual floodwaters from the river system interrupt and influence the life of many residents, limiting the technology and production methods available to small-scale weavers in ways that will be discussed later. However, commercial development in Wajo has been facilitated by the usually flat or, at most, gently undulating topography, through which sealed roads offer easy transportation of thread and finished goods between the workshops, outworkers, independent weavers, and their various points of sale. Although independent household weavers work throughout Wajo, three villages became foci for development planners, and were identified as having paling potensil (the greatest potential), for market-oriented silk cloth production. By 2001, another two villages had been designated as holding similar promise. The first three are the villages of Salojampu, Sompe, and Impa-Impa in which many small and medium-sized entrepreneur-led workshops emerged with government encouragement from the early 1980s. The majority of the 1,682 entrepreneur-led weaving workshops are situated within these three villages and provide employment for approximately twelve thousand people, mainly women (see Table 2, below).

7 Unless otherwise stated, all statistics relating to Wajo and silk production have been extracted from Bureau of Statistics, Kabupaten Wajo dalam Angka 2000, 2001. 8 Other workers in Wajo's small industries work mainly in food preparation, furniture manufacturing, and tailoring. Some males formerly employed in the weaving industry have recently entered furniture manufacturing. Personal communication, local government official, Sengkang, September 2001.

The "City of Silk"

65

BUILDING ON HISTORY

Wallace's 1856 description of villages near the port of Makassar remains apposite for many rural South Sulawesi household weavers today, although usually (yet not invariably) with the substitution of kerosene for firewood, and skeins of silk or synthetic thread for home-grown cotton: The time of the women was almost wholly occupied in ... cleaning daily use, in bringing home firewood and water, and in cleaning, spinning, and weaving the native cotton into sarongs. The weaving is the sim~lest kind of frame stretched on the floor, and is a very slow and process.

rice for dyeing, done in tedious

As previously discussed, Wajo had established a strong trading presence throughout the archipelago over the centuries, and hand-woven sarongs were part of that trade. Yet history does not record the organization of weaving in the former kingdom. Written records and archaeological studies of the seventeenth-century fort in the kingdom capital of Tosora reveal that the economy was strong, and that the fort complex included "treasury buildings, metal-working centres, port facilities, [and] rice stores," although weaving is not mentioned. 10 It is likely that a feudalistic system of household production existed, rather than a courtdominated production system, for in 1840 Brooke described the situation in which "every freeman possesses ... a certain number of men or women who ... raise rice, catch fish, weave sarongs for the use of their master's household." 11 During the nineteenth century in Mandar, women worked individually as household weavers, and production was also organized on a larger scale. One enterprise employed fourteen women "continually at work from daylight until eleven at night and sometimes all night," producing sarongs for sale in SingaporeY As some Wajo merchants traded through Mandar, it seems probable that similar organizational structures would be followed in Wajo. Brooke also described Wajo as "the bravest and freest" of the South Sulawesi kingdoms, renowned for its energetic, long-distance traders. He remarked that "distant enterprise [among the Bugis] is almost confined to the people of Wajo," and 9

Alfred R. Wallace, The Millay Archipelago, 1856 (London: Macmillan, reprint, 1869), p. 222. Proyek Pemugaran dan Pemeliharaan Peninggalan Sejarah dan Purbakala Sulawesi Selatan,

10

Studi Kelayakan Bekas Ibukota Kerajaan Wajo (abad XVII) di Tosora, Kabupaten Wajo, South Sulawesi (Ujung Pandang, 1985), p. 7. Wajo became one of the largest Bugis polities, although its fortunes fluctuated with the political instability that characterized the social and political evolution of the peninsula. The Wajo region takes great pride in its democratic history; a governing council of forty members, with an elected ruler, was established during the fifteenth century. 11 Sir J. Brooke, Narrative of Events in Borneo and Celebes, vol. 1, ed. R. Mundy (London: John Murray, 1848), p. 64. 12 J. H Moor, Notices of the Indian Archipelago, and Adjacent Countries, 1837 (London: Cass, reprint, 1%8), p. 77. Entrepreneur-led commercial hand-loom weaving establishments may also have existed in Java prior to the mass imports of European cloth in the early nineteenth century, which destroyed the Javanese weaving industry. It appears likely that differentiated production structures existed that included outworker systems as well as formal manufacturing establishments and court workshops. Paul Alexander, P. Boomgaard, and B. White, eds., In the Shadow of Agriculture: Non-farm Activities in the Javanese Economy, Past and Present (Amsterdam: Royal Tropical Institute, 1991), p. 8.

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that Bugis traders from other kingdoms "must have Wajo blood." 13 The longest Wajo trading voyages started from the lake at the beginning of the easterly monsoon, and the fleets sailed westwards as far as Aceh, Penang, Malacca, and Riau, carrying cargoes of indigenous cotton cloth and the trade goods of the eastern islands, which were gathered during their shorter trading voyages. During the 1859-1860 war, blockades at Bone ports-where the river from Wajo enters the sea-did not deter Wajo traders, who moved to the western coastal port of ParePare. That move in fact shortened the voyage to Singapore, by then a significant Wajo trading destination, which even in 1825 attracted 120 Wajo ships. 14 EXPANSION AND DEVELOPMENT

Modern silk production in South Sulawesi follows the ideology of national development, which advocates the establishment and expansion of agro-industry and agribusiness, and "export-oriented industries, which will become increasingly skill-intensive and diversified over time, including textiles and textile products." 15 Development of the South Sulawesi silk industry is managed by government appointees drawn from provincial and local government, national government Departments of Industry and Trade, and of Forestry, state-owned banks, tertiary educational institutions, and the silk industry. Planners had anticipated that if 1994 levels of market demand were maintained, the industry could eventually support a total of 17,438 enterprises throughout South Sulawesi. Planners further envisaged these would employ almost 39,000 workers in textile production, with almost five thousand employed in 1,500 separate thread preparation enterprises. Seventy-nine percent of that total had been achieved by 1992-93, and growth was expected to be steady until those goals were reached, at an unspecified date. 16 That impetus has slowed since 1997, although attempts to overcome the present moribund conditions continue. In the drive for progress, two highly differentiated streams of silk weaving have emerged. These two streams can be classified as "independent-traditional," and "entrepreneurial-modern." They exist as autonomous, yet complementary, spheres of activity (see Table 1). In the first stream, small-scale self-employed weavers work in their own homes, producing sarongs, usually on simple backstrap looms in which the weaver literally becomes part of the loom, leaning against the backstrap to give tension to the threads. Weavers and the looms sit on the customary bamboo slat floor in the dim interior of their village homes, surrounded by other weaving tools.

Brooke, Narrative of Events, pp. 61, 89. See John Crawfurd, History of the Indian Archipelago, 1820 (London: Frank Cass, reprint, 1967), p. 150; Heather Sutherland, "Power and Politics in South Sulawesi 1860-1880," RIMA 17 (1983): 161-208; "Commerce des Boughis (extrait d'une lettre de Sincapour)," Le Tour du Monde, 2nd ser., 4 (1825): 197-210, quoted in Christian Pelras, The Bugis (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1996), p. 307. 15 Deparbnent of Information, Repelita VI: Indonesia's Sixth Five-Year Development Plan, 1994/5- 1998/9 Oakarta: Department of Information, 1994), p. 28. 16 Deparbnent of Industry, "Kondisi Industri Persuteraan Alam Di Propinsi Sulawesi Selatan 1993," Unpublished paper presented at Temu Usaha Sutera IL Sengkang, November10, 1994, p. 13 14

11.

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67

Table 1: Differentiated Silk Weaving in Kabupaten Wajo Structure Type of Loom

Independent-traditional Stream

backs trap

ATBM (Alat Tenun Bukan Mesin, nonmotorized loom)

50-60cm.

60-llOcm. 1-1.5 meters/day (ikat) 1-3 meters (plain weave) linear cloth up to 100 meter lengths dispersed production with separation of weaving and nonweaving tasks approximately 10 percent male participation retail shops; formal and informal distributors informal borrowing; formal low-interest credit schemes; purchase agreements with thread merchants piecework payments to employees (per meter)

Width Capacity of looms Average Daily Production per Loom

45cm./day

Type of Production

sarongs

Divisions of Labor

usually all tasks carried out by weaver

Gender Divisions

all female production

Method of Sale

market traders; private commissions; informal distributors informal borrowing; purchase agreements with thread merchants

Credit Facilities

Payment

Entrepreneurial-modem Stream

usually cash upon delivery of each sarong

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Figure 8. A backstrap weaver works beneath her house in Kabupaten Wajo. These weavers usually carry out all the processes involved-from the purchase of raw materials to sale of the finished sarong, although at times they will employ others to perform specific non-weaving tasks. They control all aspects of their production and use outside labor only when their own workload is sufficiently heavy to warrant the payment of wages to another person. Raising initial capital can be difficult for women wishing to enter the field. Yet the required investment is small and usually takes the form of thread and dyes, a homemade loom, yarn winders, and other thread preparation tools (the latter may also be borrowed). Weaving equipment is made either by a male member of the weaver's family, or another village resident in a reciprocal labor exchange, and for this reason pricing the backstrap loom is difficult. None of my research participants could, in fact, nominate a capital cost for purchase of equipment. Independent weavers also operate with little working capital. They produce cyclically, usually purchasing only sufficient raw materials for one or two sarongs, and then rely on the sale of those sarongs to purchase more raw materials before proceeding again in a continuous purchase-production-sale cycle. Independent backstrap weavers avoid competition with the entrepreneurial sector by producing either complex brocaded textiles, often embellished with metallic threads, or simpler plain-weave sarongs in brilliantly colored checkered patterns (Figure 9). Neither of these styles is woven in the linear cloth of the modem enterprises, where profit margins govern production. Independent weavers work either to private commissions, or sell their finished sarongs to traders in nearby markets, especially the large permanent Sengkang market. Sales are also

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69

occasionally made to agents and informal distributors who visit villages specifically to purchase sarongs for later resale either in more distant areas of Sulawesi or other Indonesian islands.

Figure 9. Elaborate supplementary weft silk sarongs woven on backstrap looms. The entrepreneurial stream developed from a conscious attempt to improve upon the low production levels of backstrap weaving. The largest entrepreneurs are orang besar, the local elite. Although they may have made financial sacrifices to establish their enterprises, as do smaller entrepreneurs, they are distinguished by their abilities to raise sufficient capital to initiate more expensive ventures, at times by selling family-owned property. Upright treadle looms with varying levels of mechanization are used. Weaving and other associated tasks are separate activities, performed by different people, and labor is coordinated by the owner, who also usually supervises weaving and non-weaving personnel. If patterned textiles are woven, these are sold by the meter in retail outlets in Sengkang and the provincial capital of Makassar. Larger enterprises also own retail sales outlets, whereas the smaller entrepreneurs usually depend upon orders from cloth traders. The larger businesses are, then, merchant manufacturers with control over a 11 stages of production and sale, apart from the supply of raw materials. Smaller entrepreneurs, who may possess as few as three looms, are manufacturers only, with no control over retail sales. Across all levels, entrepreneur-led workshops maximize profits through simplified production. The factory weaving of elaborate, hand-loomed textiles recorded by Mohamad in the Malaysian songket (brocade)

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industry has not occurred in South Sulawesi, where entrepreneurs engaged in factory production eschew intricate techniques.17 The characteristic plaids remain popular, but are now woven principally in the Mandar region. The entrepreneur-led expansion of Bugis weaving in Wajo initially focused upon the weft ikat technique adapted from other Indonesian islands (Figures 10, 11), although less time-consuming styles have since been introduced.

Figure 10. Simple, repetitive ikat motifs produced by Wajo entrepreneurs.

Figure 11. Variations of zigzag motifs produced by Wajo entrepreneurial workshops. 17

M. Moharnad, The Millay Handloom Weavers: A Study of the Rise and Decline of Traditional Manufacture (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1996).

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Figure 12. Weft threads for ikat cloth, painted with a design based upon the Samarinda floral motifs, prior to binding of the colored threads and a firial dye bath. The term ikat means "tie," and this is a highly labor-intensive procedure, in which strands of thread are painted and tightly tied to form motifs prior to dyeing and weaving (Figure 12). Care must be taken during weaving to ensure the pre-dyed motifs are not distorted. This technique was first used in the peninsula during the early decades of the twentieth century, spurred by the Dutch colonial administration's attempt to revitalize commercial weaving. Around the midtwentieth century, a wider range of ikat patterns was introduced, and so too were supplementary weft motifs and increased use of metallic threads. These influences were also adaptations from other regions in the archipelago, stimulated and facilitated by the emergent consciousness of Indonesian nationalism. 18 Brilliant colors had arrived with the introduction of synthetic dyes. These were noted by Western travelers in the 1930s/9 and the vibrancy created through color and shining surface continues to characterize modern Bugis textiles. However, larger-scale weaving enterprises, seeking to reduce expenses in the face of competition from mass-produced textiles, slowly moved away from the i kat 18 In another example of integration during this period of nationalist political and cultural awareness, Javanese dance forms were introduced to South Sulawesi by a local noblewoman to add intricacy and grace to Bugis and Makassar dancing. At that time, local dance forms, characterized by minimal movement and simple musical accompaniment, were considered inferior to the more elaborate Indic-influenced Javanese dance. Personal communication with Andi Nurhani Sapada, Makassar, December 19%. 19 Theodora Benson, "Touring With the Dutch in Sulawesi," in To the Spice Islands and Beyond, ed. G. Miller, 1938 (New York: Oxford in Asia Paperbacks, reprint, 1996), pp. 181-93; Frank Clune, "Mucking About in Makassar," in To the Spice Islands and Beyond, pp. 194-206.

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technique. From the early-1990s, post-loom decoration was developed, using tiedye, batik, and silk-screen techniques applied to a base of plain white handloomed silk. By 2003, even these processes had largely been discontinued, and most of the Wajo workshops were principally manufacturing plain white silk cloth, which was sent to Pekalongan in Java for dyeing and further decoration. Entrepreneurial activity has also introduced different textures to Bugis silk, which has traditionally been woven from heavy filaments. Finer silk sarongs are produced in Mandar, but in Wajo the sarung Bugis usually retains a strong texture. Wajo Bugis men and women express enjoyment of the sound made by silk cloth as they walk, hence heavier silk is appreciated for its phonic quality. However, as finer silk is preferred by the national and international fashion industries, this commodity has been introduced into the repertoire of many Wajo entrepreneurs. TECHNOLOGY

Backstrap weavers prefer those looms because the arm movements are shorter and slower, making the weaving process less physically demanding than is the case with upright, treadle-operated ATBM looms. However, modern commercial development has been made possible by the ATBM (Alat Tenun Bukan Mesin, nonmotorized looms), a non-powered loom with a flying shuttle, available in widths of 60, 90, and 110 centimeters. These were introduced to Wajo in 1957 and are used by those involved in the entrepreneurial stream and a small number of independent weavers. 20 In ikat production, for an average working day of between five and six productive hours, ATBM looms produce one and a half meters of cloth. Over the same period, twice as much plain cloth can be woven. These levels of production are considerably more than the forty to fifty centimeters achieved by the backstrap loom. Varying levels of mechanization are available with ATBM looms. The most sophisticated looms increase productivity, although close interaction between the weaver and her weaving is diminished. The weaver is removed from the creative process and relegated to a role as machine operator. The type of cloth produced is largely governed by the type of loom upon which it is woven. The narrower ATBM looms have a width capacity of only sixty centimeters and are used for sarong weaving, rather than to produce cloth sold by the meter. Cloth is woven in a continuous length, then cut and stitched to form individual sarongs. On backstrap looms, sarongs are usually either woven as separate units or in a length sufficient to produce two or three sarongs. The narrower ATBM looms thus represent a transition between the two technologies; production is limited to sarongs, but faster weaving allows higher output. By far the majority of entrepreneur-led workshops employ the narrow ATBM. Less than 10 percent of enterprises use the wider 90 or 110 centimeter looms, which 20 The ATBM is known colloquially as the alat bola-bola (Bugis) or alat rumah-rumah (Indonesian), the "house" loom, because of its rectangular timber construction and the supporting legs, which resemble the tall poles of the Bugis platform house. Bola and rumah each mean "house," and the termirtology follows the language convention of duplicating nouns to indicate a miniature, or a model, of an original object. Backstrap weavers in Wajo rarely use the Indonesian term gedokan to describe their looms; rather, these are also known as the bola or rumah because they are used inside the house. See Pelras, The Bugis, pp. 242-248, for a description of backstrap looms and techniques.

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73

have the capacity to contain up to 100 meters of woven cloth. Wider looms cost between Rp.150,000 and Rp.400,000, depending upon the place and materials of manufacture, width of the loom, production capacity, and levels of mechanization. Table 2: Registered Weaving Units in Kabupaten Wajo Year 1994

2000

Type of Loom

Number of Units

Number of Employees

Total of

Total

6,664

18,100

12,524

Backs trap

4,982

5,983

5,553

ATBM

1,682

12,117

6,971

6,780

19,405

Unstated

Total, combined

looms

Sources: Department of Industry, Kabupaten Wajo, 28 November 1994, unpublished figures. Kabupaten Wajo Dalam Angka 2000, Table 9.1.15.

However, because these wider ATBMs are capable of more rapid production, many entrepreneurs are gradually upgrading to them, creating a secondhand market for the narrow models, which sell for less than half the cost of new looms. The availability of secondhand looms makes it easier for weavers to enter the market and also facilitates the expansion of small businesses. SERICULTURE

The first successful silk textiles in the modem industry were not produced and marketed until the early years of the 1980s. This followed a United Nations Development Program training scheme instituted during the late 1960s and 1970s by local civic leaders in Wajo, aiming to generate a modem hand-loom silk industry resembling that of Thailand. 21 At that time, the principal market aimed at satisfying demand for the traditional Bugis overblouse known as the baju bodo and 21

Thailand's best known producer and retailer, the Thai Silk Co., was established in 1948 by American Jim Thompson, who famously disappeared in Malaysia in 1967. In 1990, the business recorded a net profit of US$8.2 million from total sales of US$40 million. Carl Goldstein, "Mystique of Silk: Exotic History Gives Thai Firm Rosy Future," Far Eastern Economic Review 151,23 (1991): 46. Seventy percent of sales were domestic, with approximately 40 percent of those sold to Japanese tourists. As incomes rise with economic progress, domestic demand for silk cloth is expected to increase in many Asian countries where silk has long been popular, including China and Vietnam. See Hyvarinen, "Silk in World Markets." In the Western world, however, demand has fallen in the past decade.

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some cotton sarongs. In 1971, only an estimated 10 percent of ATBM looms in the 272 registered weaving enterprises were engaged in silk weaving. 22 Still today, almost 80 percent of ATBMs are utilized in workshops producing synthetic textiles. Many entrepreneurs using synthetics state they would prefer to transfer to pure silk production. However, thread shortages and high prices create obstacles. In 1994, according to one of Wajo's largest entrepreneurial producers, the cost of silk thread represented 38.6 percent of the total production cost. By 2000, silk thread prices had increased by approximately 400 percent. To survive, entrepreneurs who wished to continue using silk were forced to change production, shifting away from ikats to the plain white cloth ordered from Java. In the more traditional stream, which concentrates on satisfying local market demand for the silk sarung Bugis, the majority of independent weavers use pure silk thread. The investment in thread represents between 30 and 50 percent of production costs for independent weavers, depending upon the type of weave and quality of the silk. In 2000, many had moved to synthetic thread, or mixes of silk and synthetic. However, because of the loyal local market and the status associated with silk, most backstrap weavers have been able to continue using silk, although sarong prices have risen accordingly. The industry's credibility has been damaged somewhat by the marketing of synthetic textiles which are sold as silk. As the future of the industry depends upon reliable supplies of raw materials, local planners have given a high priority to improvements in local sericulture. Early sericulture expansion programs instituted by the Indonesian Department of Industry and Trade and the Department of Forestry aimed to achieve selfsufficiency in raw silk production by 1999, although this has not been accomplished. 23 South Sulawesi has the largest land area under mulberry cultivation in Indonesia (see Table 3). However, Javanese thread quality has always been higher because of more efficient processing facilities. Javanese silk thread is, in fact, preferred by the larger entrepreneurs because it requires less preweaving preparation, facilitating faster cloth production. A significant loss of potential local income occurs as a result of these factors, as these enterprises individually purchase approximately one hundred kilograms of thread each month. This problem has been intensified by reform-era decentralization policies, which increase the fiscal responsibilities of local government, requiring higher local revenues. In 1995, throughout South Sulawesi over five thousand farming households grew mulberry plants for sericulture either as part of their own cottage industry or to sell to other cocoon producers. 24 This number has since fallen to 4,200 because recent high export prices for cocoa have encouraged many households to enter that 22 Usaha Bahagia, Sulawesi Selatan, Pertenunan Sutra (Makassar:, n.p., 1971), p. 6; Department of Industry, Tabel Perkembangan Industri Pertenunan Kabupaten Wajo (Table of Weaving Industry Development Wajo Regency) (Sengkang: Department of Industry, 1993). 23 This is not only a problem in South Sulawesi. Although India is the world's second largest producer of raw silk, it is also unable to meet domestic demand and has become the world's largest importer. See Hyvarinen. "Silk in World Markets." The largest sericulture industries exist in China and India. Formerly Japan, the Republic of Korea, and Brazil were also among the largest producers, but now sericulture industries in these countries are declining. 24 Balai Persuteraan Alam, "Data Perkembangan Persuteraan Alam di Sulawesi Selatan" (Data on the Development of Raw Silk in South Sulawesi), unpublished report from Bili-Bili, South Sulawesi, 1996.

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75

sector. As well as providing valuable foreign earnings, cocoa requires less processing prior to economic return. Nevertheless, mulberry trees are ideal for cultivation in small household garden plots. Regular harvesting and pruning limits the size of the plants, which reach a maximum height of two meters prior to repruning. To meet present South Sulawesi weaving needs, more than two hundred metric tons of silk thread are required annually. Government programs aim to achieve a total area of seven thousand hectares under mulberry cultivation, including private agribusiness plantations and others controlled by the public forestry corporation, Perum Perhutani. Table 3: National Land Area under Mulberry Cultivation, 1993

Province

Hectares

South Sulawesi West Java Central Java East Java Bengkulu (inactive) West Sumatra Aceh

2,600 1,200

National Total

5,150

600 400

200 100 50

Source: Indonesian Raw Silk Producers' Association, unpublished paper presented to the Wajo Silk Producers' Association, Sengkang, November 10, 1994.25

By 1993, 2,600 hectares of mulberry plantings had been established throughout the province, producing almost eighty tons of thread. In 1996, this had increased to 3,800 hectares, although a drought in 1996-7 caused a decrease to 30.3 tons. 26 Prices rose at that time and have remained high despite easing of the drought conditions. Clearly, shortage of supply is a principal factor in high prices, yet people feel this factor alone does not justify the severe price inflation. Few are able to explain the increase satisfactorily. Weavers and thread merchants simply shrug their shoulders-it is for them to develop strategies to survive this crisis, not to offer answers. Some officials in the Department of Industry and Trade blame the weak rupiah. According to this view, local thread prices are linked to international prices, and weavers are the victims of globalization. Others disagree, citing the 25

By 1996, national plantings had increased to 6,693 hectares. Kompas Online, "Mutu Sutera

A1am Indonesia Merosot (Indonesian Raw Silk Quality Declines)," July 31, 1996,

http:/ /www.kompas.com/kompas/ cetak/9607 /9631/ daerah/mutu.html. In March 2003, 2,795 hectares were under mulberry cultivation in South Sulawesi. Unpublished Monthly Report, Department of Forestry, South Sulawesi. 26 Soemyono, Usalu! Persuteraan Alam (Raw Silk Enterprises), unpublished paper presented to Temu Usaha Sutera II, Sengkang. November 10, 1994; Balai Persuteraan Alam, "Data Perkembangan Persuteraan Alam," 1996. As a comparison. in 1997 China produced 72,000 tons, Japan 1,902 tons, and the Republic of Korea 110 tons. See Hyvarinen. "Silk in World Markets."

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fact that local thread is not exported. Moreover, sericulture requires no imported components. Some officials of Balai Persuteraan Alam (the Raw Silk Institute), which oversees silk thread production in the province, suggest that high prices are the consequence of production difficulties that complicate exchanges between cocoon producers and pemintal (thread winders and spinners). Although some sericulture takes place in large workshops and the mechanized mills of the state-owned Perum Perhutani, 60 percent is conducted by small farmers and pemintal who produce more thread per cocoon than the mechanized mills. Unless space and facilities are available for drying, cocoons must be spun within seven days, and pemintal cannot cope with large quantities simultaneously ready for harvesting. Cocoons can be stored for up to thirty days if sun-dried, or for longer if oven dried, although that requires the use of special equipment that is too expensive for most small cocoon farmers. 27 Many cocoons are wasted as a result, and, trapped together in a stalemate at the local level, farmers blame the pemintal for their inadequacies and pemintal blame the farmers for poor coordination and planning. These difficulties are compounded by lack of specialized knowledge in sericulture procedures. Household silkworm cultivation takes place in the underfloor area of the Bugis house, so maintaining the clean environment required for cocoon production is difficult. Silkworm eggs are often of poor quality, and mistakes are made in the selection of cocoons for spinning, especially during the wet season, when the moist atmosphere causes filaments to break easily. Although some training programs have been established, these are hindered by limited capital and infrastructure deficiencies at all levels, from the household to the provincial government. Within the Wajo regency itself, 757 hectares were under mulberry cultivation in November 1994, dispersed among 851 farming households and some plantations owned by Perum Perhutani. By March 2003, this number had declined to 294 hectares and 428 households. Neighboring Soppeng had been the largest producer in the province, with 1,344 hectares and 1,900 farmers in 1994. By 2003, this number had been reduced to 983 hectares and 1,245 farmers. By default, the Enrekang region on the western side of the peninsula came to produce the highest amounts of silk, assisted by a large private sericulture agribusiness plantation. Modern sericulture began in Soppeng and Wajo during the early 1960s, and reached peak production-138 tons-in 1971. Yields were then reduced to negligible quantities by prolonged dry seasons and disease. 28 Several years later, with Japanese assistance, more appropriate silkworm eggs were introduced, advanced breeding technology was initiated, and from 1977, when improved mulberry seed stock was established, the industry slowly developed until it reached the present stasis.

27 Roslina Alam, "Analisis Pengaruh Beberapa Faktor Terhadap Kualitas Kokon Sutera dan Pendapatan Petani Sutera Alam di Sulawesi Selatan" (An Analysis of Some Factors Influencing Silk Cocoon Quality and the fucome of Silk Farmers in South Sulawesi) (MA thesis, Hasanuddin University, Makassar, 1995), pp. 78, 109. 28 Forestry Department, Program Kerja Pengembangan Persuteraan Alam Sulawesi Selatan (Working Program for the Development of Raw Silk) 1989-1994 (Ujung Pandang: Forestry Department, 1988), p. 1.

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DISPERSING SKILLS

Weaving is preceded by a complex process of thread preparation and dyeing, prior to threading the loom. In particular, the painting and tying of threads for ikat patterns is a time-consuming activity carried out by skilled outworkers who live principally in one Wajo village. Payment for ikat processes can absorb up to 33 percent of production costs, and it is not surprising that many entrepreneurs have discontinued ikat production. 29 Unfortunately, the reduction in ikat weaving has also reduced income for many of these workers, most of whom are women. Preparatory tasks in the entrepreneurial stream are performed by different workers in a system of dispersed labor that speeds production and ensures the regular supply of thread for the looms. Typically, an enterprise employing between twenty and thirty weavers will require up to six workers in thread preparation for patterned cloth. Although this increases employment opportunities, this modified "assembly line" method of production means that no single worker acquires the skills to complete the process from concept to finished textile. Apart from informal advice and assistance from perhaps a father or husband, no male labor is involved in independent household weaving. The skill has always been considered feminine, pekerjaan halus (fine work), and at odds with South Sulawesi notions of masculinity. As weaving moves towards manufacturing, however, male participation is more acceptable, and within the entrepreneurial system approximately 10 percent of workers are male. They carry out non-weaving tasks, while weavers are always female. Large-scale entrepreneurs and workshop heads are usually male, and, although some women are small and medium-sized entrepreneurs, they remain the minority. My survey among small, medium, and large entrepreneurial businesses showed approximately 15 to 20 percent were owned or managed by women. most of whom were under forty-five years of age. In some cases, wOm.en were considered to be the owners of the businesses, although daily management was carried out by a male family member. Cloth traders are both male and female, although large-scale traders and distributors who take sarongs to other islands are usually male. Women often act as small-scale distributors between Wajo and the urban centers of Pare-Pare and Makassar. Some also take the opportunity to trade textiles when visiting family members in more distant areas or on other islands. However, the requirements of long-distance travel often preclude regular commercial participation by females since, among conservative rural Bugis, women are still viewed as upholders of family honor and respect, meant to be shielded from situations where that position could be compromised. Many traveling agents are young men. for whom such adventurous activity is desirable, following the custom of merantau, or traveling to find employment, for which the Bugis are well known. Informal distributorships and trading such as this can be lucrative, and one informant described how he regularly sold Bugis sarongs throughout the province and other areas of Sulawesi at a mark up of 75 percent above the wholesale price, earning sufficient funds over a period of years to pay for his trip to Mecca, a considerable expense. 30 29 Akil Muhammad, "Pola Pengembangan lndustri Pertenunan Sarong Sutera" (Development Patterns of the Silk Sarong Weaving Industy) (MA thesis, Hasanuddin University, Makassar, 1993), Table 11. 30 This trader participated in the pilgrimage in the mid-1980s. During 1994, the cost of travel to Mecca was over Rp.7,000,000, or approximately US$3,100.

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INCOME

At present, in a situation fostered by low outputs, labor within the entrepreneurial stream is flexible, and workers receive piecework payments per meter of cloth, rather than regular wages. Most non-weaving employees are also paid piecework rates. Many workers in both streams cease weaving-related activity to participate in rice harvests, which may occupy two months each year. In some areas of Wajo, harvesting is a twice-yearly activity, and these regions will expand as irrigation projects proceed. Similarly, workers are excused from duties during periods of family ceremonial obligations, such as weddings, which may demand ten days of their time. When asked, weavers and others are ambivalent about piecework payments. Whereas it accommodates their need for adaptable working hours, it also restricts income. Also, whereas the piecework system limits demands that can be made upon them, it inhibits the establishment of shared loyalty between employer and employee, a situation that exacerbates workers' insecurity in a region of high unemployment. Entrepreneurs also utilize the piecework system to ensure quality control without close supervision, as weavers are aware that full payment will not be made for work of inferior quality. In addition, employers state that they are able to increase efficiency if the worker receives direct financial reward for greater productivity. Piecework wages are less expensive for employers and eliminate the necessity of maintaining a permanent labor force. Yet the flexible labor arrangement disrupts expansion of the industry as, at times, entrepreneurs have been forced to refuse large orders because continuous labor could not be guaranteed within the time period specified by the purchaser. If wages were increased, weavers would not need to seek short-term higher paid work. The current structure may change if younger, increasingly urbanized and educated employees enter the field and influence labor organization and relations. However, over the decade of my observations, the continuing lack of alternative employment impeded improvements to wages and conditions. In the entrepreneurial stream, weaver income is usually calculated at approximately 8 percent of the total production and raw materials cost, or 6 percent of the total wholesale price of cloth or sarongs. 31 Non-weaving labor costs usually add approximately 9 percent to production costs for plain textiles, or as much as 42 percent for ikat cloth. However, many different working systems exist, and precise average incomes are difficult to calculate. Some weavers own their looms, and others hire looms owned by entrepreneurs, then receive a rate of pay from which rental fees have been deducted. Working hours also vary. To avoid physical discomfort, weavers usually work in periods of no more than two hours uninterrupted by a rest-break. In full production, employee and independent weavers alike tend to work a maximum of five to six productive hours each day over a five- or six-day working week. Weavers employed by smaller entrepreneurs using the 60 em. ATBM receive the lowest of all incomes. These produce some of the least expensive sarongs, usually using cotton or synthetic thread, and most workers engaged in this sort of production use looms and raw materials supplied by the entrepreneur. According to complexity 31

Muhammad, "Pola Pengembangan Industri Pertenunan."

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of the weave, between two and three sarongs can be woven each week, earning monthly incomes of only Rp.35,000-60,000. Weavers using the widest looms, with faster operation, can earn up to Rp.300,000 per month if weaving the highest quality cloth for an enterprise engaged in full production, although that situation is rare and difficult to achieve con~istently. Weavers are usually paid Rp.3,000 per meter for plain cloth, of which they can weave up to three meters per day. In practice however, most weave between one and two meters per day because the arm movements and sitting position at the ATBM loom become uncomfortable over time. Average monthly incomes for weaving plain white cloth are said to be between Rp.120,000-150,000. Weavers are paid more for patterned cloth, but because this is slower to produce, monthly incomes earned for such work are not necessarily higher. Independent weavers state that raw materials and other overheads consume between 30 and 50 percent of the sale price. In 1994, skeins of locally produced silk thread cost between Rp.40,000 and Rp.50,000 per kilogram according to quality and levels of processing. In 2003, this expense had risen to Rp.250,000 and Rp.350,000. Sarongs require 250 grams of thread, and because many weavers can buy only sufficient thread for one sarong, the relative kilogram cost is increased. Whereas the financial capabilities of entrepreneurs enable them to buy thread more cheaply in bulk, household weavers with low levels of working capital are forced to lock themselves into higher raw materials prices. If local stocks are unavailable, more expensive Javanese or imported thread must be purchased. The simplest backstrap loom sarongs are produced over five days, and the most elaborate (and expensive) sarongs occupy approximately twenty working days. A common pattern is to produce one plain weave and one elaborate sarong each month, earning a net income of approximately Rp.150,000-Rp.180,000. Whereas lower incomes are to some degree offset by the flexibility of working hours, weavers and other workers in the industry are disadvantaged by the incomes currently available. Nevertheless, people I interviewed felt these are preferable to factory wages and conditions, for example in the Makassar Industrial Zone. Between 1995-1998, factory wages in that zone were recorded at Rp.2,700-8,200 per day for an eight to ten hour day. 32 Small enterprises in Makassar do not offer greater prospects. Pieceworkers sewing blouses earned between Rp.3,500 and 4,000 per day, with daily incomes for embroidering blouses even lower, with a maximum of Rp.3,000. 33 Throughout Indonesia, enterprises with fewer than twenty-five employees are exempt from minimum wage regulations, and enforcement of wage laws is rare among enterprises with fewer than one hundred employees. 34 Because of this, many young Wajo women, lacking education and skills, feel that seeking employment elsewhere will be neither more remunerative nor satisfying. Also, many such women are taking up weaving because they do not wish to leave families and friends. Although income is low, life as a weaver is preferable to becoming a pembantu (housemaid), which has traditionally been the principal employment option for poorly educated village women. However, for those involved in the weakening mass-production stream of South Sulawesi handloom weaving, incomes and working conditions are unlikely to improve. The Rachel M. Silvey, "Diasporic Subjects: Gender and Mobility in South Sulawesi," Women's Studies International Forum 23,4 (2000): 501-15. 33 Turner, Indonesia's Small Entrepreneurs, p. 116. 34 Peter Van Dierman, Small Business in Indonesia (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1997), p. 134. 32

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Indonesian Textile Association, citing low profit margins, is often the first employer group to oppose increases in the minimum wage. Moreover, as Jonathan Rigg has described, textile and clothing industries throughout Southeast Asia continually seek low-wage environments, moving to other countries if necessary. 35 Table 4: Weaving Incomes, Kabupaten Wajo Activity

UsualmonflMyincomerange (rupiah)

Piecework weaving, non-silk, 60 em. ATBM

35,000 - 60,000

Piecework weaving, linear cloth, 110 em. ATBM

80,000 - 300,000

Self-employed weaving, sarongs, backstrap loom (net)

100,000 - 250,000

Source: Fieldwork interviews, 2001. 36

CAPITAL AND CREDIT

Piecework employment in the entrepreneurial stream is sought only by women who lack either weaving skills or sufficient capital to establish their own backstrap loom enterprise. The costs of purchasing a loom and initial raw materials can present insurmountable obstacles for women who tidak mampu (lack financial and other ability). Although a number of government-initiated small-credit programs exist, these are rarely utilized by any weavers. Such women especially avoid programs administered by banks, for most of them are intimidated by the bureaucratic procedures of financial institutions. They are also wary of formal repayment systems and prefer informal arrangements, which allow greater scope for renegotiating the loan should it be necessary. Rather than borrowing from any source, the majority of weavers established their enterprises using family savings accumulated from harvest profits, or with help from a spouse or parents. Entrepreneurs are more likely to have a trading background or to be members of the local elite, which means they are more favorably positioned to take advantage of credit programs. However, most have followed a pattern of slow incremental growth from a small base, using personal or family savings. Loan funds 35

See, for example, Republika Online, "UMR naik 10,07 persen" (Regional Minimum Wage to rise by 10.07 percent), January 23, 1997; The Jakarta Post, "Wage hikes may force companies to relocate," November 24, 2001; Jonathan Rigg, Southeast Asia: The Human Landscape of Modernization and Development (London and New York: Routledge, 1997), p. 24. 36 During my fieldwork, I was told that Rp.1,500,000 per month provided a "comfortable" middle-class family income. Two years later, in a reader survey conducted by the largest daily newspaper in the province, 24.7 percent of respondents reported a monthly income of between Rp.1-1.5 million; 26.4 percent Rp.l.S-2 million; and 21.4 percent Rp.2-3 million. Thus, according to the survey, over 72 percent of readers earned between one and three million rupiah per month. Harian Fajar, "Profil Pembaca" (Reader Profile), February 20, 2003.

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are available through small industry credit programs, although some of these have a minimum credit limit that disqualifies · cottage industries from participating. Other low-interest loans can be negotiated with state-owned enterprises (Badan Usaha Milik Negara), which are required to expend a percentage of net profits for small industry development. However, these are rare in Wajo, and none of the independent weavers or the smaller entrepreneurs I interviewed had received financial assistance from this source. Most were unaware of the schemes, and many others are suspicious of such programs. 37 Weavers are frustrated by a long wait for income. Those producing white cloth for the Javanese market must wait for payment from intermediaries; such that payments are often not received until after the cloth has been delivered to Java, and the intermediary has returned to Wajo. Independent household weavers must wait for the completion of sarongs before they are reimbursed, which may take between one and three weeks. The most popular sarongs are elaborate and timeconsuming. Upon payment, a percentage is immediately reinvested in raw materials, and the remainder is used for domestic expenditure. Usually, weavers purchase raw materials from rriarket traders following the sale of their latest sarong. However, household expenses sometimes must take precedence over working capital, and weavers in such situations are forced to borrow sufficient funds for supplies of thread and dyes. As few weavers can maintain a reserve of either capital or raw materials, those with limited financial resources will search for a private commission for which they can request a deposit to purchase thread. If such a commission is not available, they will pursue informal credit sources. The easiest, and most popular, method is to borrow from friends or other family members. Weavers can also obtain thread on credit from market traders. In some cases, the completed sarong is sold to the trader, who then deducts the cost of thread from the purchase price. At other times, the trader and weaver work on a "fifty-fifty" basis in which, for example, one kilogram of thread is supplied to the weaver. This is sufficient to make four plain weave sarongs, two of which are given to the thread merchant as repayment of the loan. The purchase of thread increases in complexity as the supply of credit is introduced into the transaction and both parties seek the most advantageous terms. Weavers who use credit receive no cash discounts when buying thread and lose their bargaining power when selling the finished sarong. By avoiding credit, weavers avoid being locked into dependency on one market trader, thus preserving the flexibility to seek the most favorable terms with both the sarong and thread traders. Weavers and traders were always adamant that no interest was ever charged, and, because of social embarrassment about the payment and receipt of interest, it was not possible for me to determine if this is true. Entrepreneurs buying larger amounts of thread can bargain for better prices and often maintain continuous interest-free credit, using a variety of different methods. For example, a medium-scale entrepreneur may purchase thirty kilograms of thread each month, paying cash for ten kilograms, then paying the balance one or two weeks later when sufficient sarongs have been produced and sold. Interest is 37 D.

Sutopo, "The Basis of Development of Small-scale Enterprises," Prisma 53 (1994): 47-49. For a discussion of the problems inherent in many small credit and poverty alleviation schemes in Indonesia, see Michael R Dove and Daniel M. Kammen, "Vernacular Models of Development: An Analysis of Indonesia Under the 'New Order,"' World Development 29,4 (2001): 619-39.

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avoided by paying within a short period, and most entrepreneurs deal through one thread distributor, so that those involved establish their reliability and payment can occasionally be deferred if necessary.

TRAINING

Silk weaving in Mandar has declined because of low weaving incomes and the availability of higher profits earned through other pursuits, including fish trading. 38 However, the lack of alternative employment in Wajo has led to increased participation in backstrap weaving, creating competition in an overcrowded market. Many weavers expressed their desire for training in design and marketing to increase creativity and income. Weavers and industry planners recognize low skill levels as an obstacle to production, yet the few training and assistance schemes have had little success, often because training focuses on basic skills rather than more advanced techniques and concepts. In both sectors of the industry, basic instruction is widely available through informal means. Independent weaver skills are described as keturunan (inherited), acquired within the family and passed between generations. Outside the family, women may teach friends in a social environment. Within the entrepreneurial stream, training is largely workshop based, with new employees sometimes unpaid until they become productive. The piecework rates they earn may then be lower than standard while their skills improve. They are, thus, in an informal apprenticeship. Training programs have also been conducted by the Work Skills Development Office (Balai Latihan Kerja) in formal classroom situations and in the field. These provide separate training courses in mulberry cultivation, silkworm raising, thread reeling, dyeing, and weaving. Similar programs, with an emphasis on sericulture, are conducted through the network of Village Cooperatives (Koperasi Unit Desa). Many of these courses, however, are conducted by public servants with little practical knowledge or experience, and participants report that the training is often of little benefit. From 1989, technical education has been provided under the government-sponsored mentor scheme known as Bapak Angkat (literally, adoptive or foster father), through which large corporations assist smaller enterprises. All of these programs, however, are limited by lack of resources, and only several hundred industry participants from throughout the province are assisted each year. Assistance is often dependent upon the presence of active Village Cooperatives which, theoretically, have the potential to be of considerable benefit to independent artisans and small entrepreneurs. However, bureaucratic structures, poor management, corruption, and lack of expertise have hindered their effectiveness. In Wajo, the Folk Handcraft Industry Cooperative (Koperasi Industri Kerajinan Tangan Rakyat, KOPINKRA) attempts to provide umbrella organizations to assist small weaving industry participants. The strongest KOPINKRA operates a wholesale and retail sales outlet and has provided new members with training and small amounts of initial capital in the form of raw 38 Toby A. Volkman, "Our Garden is the Sea: Contingency and Improvisation in Mandar Women's Work," American Ethnologist 21,3 (1994): 564-85.

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83

materials. Members range from individual backstrap weavers to entrepreneur-led enterprises with up to thirty employees. The cooperative is a distribution point for raw materials, and also for orders received from retail outlets in Makassar and other Indonesian cities. Orders are dispersed by the manager according to the type of textile specified, and members are paid in cash upon delivery of the finished textiles. With the easing of restrictions on non-government organizations in postSuharto Indonesia, one NGO has established a workshop equipped with ATBM looms. This is part of local poverty alleviation programs, and includes a small rotating credit scheme. Women using the workshop borrow sufficient funds to buy silk for one sarong, and this is repaid upon sale of the doth. More than one hundred women use the facility, most producing plain white doth for the Javanese textile industry. MARKETS AND MARKETING

The corporate image of Sengkang as the "city of silk" was conveyed in part by the presence of silk cloth merchants, often operating from modern two- or threestoried premises. These were shopfronts for large commercial workshops where weaving, dyeing, and post loom decoration could be observed by potential customers. In 2003, few remained because the move to plain white doth production had reduced direct retail sales. Most patterned cloth produced by the entrepreneurial stream is now sold in Makassar, where there is greater demand from the population of over one million. The principal outlet for small-scale weavers is through traders in the Sengkang market, or pasar. Cotton hand-loomed sarongs are also sold at the smaller produce markets in surrounding villages. This is the lowest level of trading, and is often the only selling method for women forced by lack of capital to weave cotton sarongs. Competition is strong, and traders are often required to sell hand-loomed cotton sarongs for prices similar to those of mass-produced items. Few silk sarongs are sold in village pasar, for traders cannot usually obtain a sufficiently high retail price in such venues. Typically, between twelve and fifteen male and female traders attend the market, each displaying up to one hundred sarongs arranged on bamboo mats placed on the ground, or in cardboard boxes. The smallest traders may simply hold a handful of sarongs for sale. Some are weavers selling their own work, hopeful of obtaining a direct sale and avoiding a trader's commission. The more successful traders display their stock of sarongs in plywood boxes which also serve as containers to transport the goods to the market via public minibuses or horse-drawn carts. Others carry their stock in plastic or calico bags. Sales take place under a roofed shelter on a bare earth floor, and in the wet season, traders and customers negotiate in muddy conditions. Customers are usually individual purchasers, although occasionally the larger traders from Sengkang market, and distributors taking sarongs to other regions, will come to buy at wholesale prices. The major sales outlet for small-scale weavers is the permanent Sengkang food and clothing market. This is also an important wholesale distribution center to other areas. Although some pasar traders sell cloth by the meter, most sell sarongs, the traditional Bugis baju bodo, and some finished goods, such as silk handbags, men's ties, and gift items. Some of these stalls also stock skeins of thread, and

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others expand their stock by selling either Islamic male and female hats, or the jewelry worn with traditional dress for weddings and other formal occasions. The traders do not usually visit villages to purchase sarongs. Instead, weavers deliver their work to the market, and while there, also note interesting stylistic changes in the work of other weavers, which they may then adopt for their own repertoire. The tourist industry is seen as a potential source of sales, and the silk industry is viewed as a tourist attraction by local government planners. However, although Wajo is the second largest tourist region in the province, after Tana Toraja, visitor numbers are low. In 2000, only 14,500 foreign and domestic visitors passed through the township. 39 The majority stay for just a few hours, visiting the lake m conducted tours and inspecting a weaving enterprise before continuing to their final destination. Most tourists do not purchase silk, finding it expensive and often not in accord with Western fashion. Tourism, therefore, often results in disruption to production, with the weavers providing picturesque entertainment for little economic return. At present, most benefits from tourism pass to that industry rather than to the silk industry. 40 The highest demand for South Sulawesi textiles comes from within the province, although some are sold in other Indonesian islands and in Malaysia, especially throughout the extensive Bugis diaspora. Industry planners seek expansion from that local base, although entry into the national market is limited by competition from silk textiles originating elsewhere in Indonesia. Tentative incursions into overseas markets have been made with government-sponsored participation in trade fairs in Australia, Japan, Germany, Italy, China, Singapore, and the United States. International consumer response, however, has not been encouraging, although some small orders have been received. Because of the minimal interest in these exports, Department of Trade advisers have recommended that the quality of textiles be improved, costs lowered, and design adjusted to international rather than local tastes before further attempts are made to enter global markets. 39 Bureau of Statistics, Kabupaten Wajo Dalam Angka (Wajo Regency in Statistics) 2000 (Sengkang, South Sulawesi: Bureau of Statistics, 2001), Table 10:1.2. 40 Difficulties are also encountered by village weavers attempting to sell hand-loom cloth directly to tourists in Flores. Willemijn de Jong, "Women's Networks in Cloth Production and Exchange in Flores," in Women and Households in Indonesia: Cultural Notions and Social Practices, ed. J. Koning, M. Nolten, J. Rodenburg, and R Saptari (Richmond: Curzon, 2000), pp. 264-80. Although incomes could be trebled when sales were successful, the process was tim~nsuming, and sales suffered from the availability of less expensive textiles in larger tourist centers elsewhere on the island.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SOUND OF LIFE The soft beat of backstrap looms or the louder clap of flying shuttles on ATBMs

(Alat Tenun Bukan Mesin, non-mechanized looms) is a rommon background refrain in many Wajo villages. Residents describe this as the bunyi kehidupan desa,

literally "the sound of village life." Yet, although there are many people working within the overarching framework of pertenunan sutera (silk weaving), they participate in many different ways and for many different reasons. Nevertheless, stereotypical images are difficult to avoid when describing the many weaving villages of the region. The hamlet of Lopisabbe, for example, is characteristic of many rural Bugis settlements in which women weave and men fish or farm. Local residents estimate that all eighty households have at least one weaver and a loom, and, in fifty of the households, more than two of the female family members are weavers. The Bugis build their wood and bamboo dwellings on tall timber pillars. The elevation of the houses combined with their lightweight construction create an impression of fragility and vulnerability, although they are as resilient as their occupants. Inside, furniture rather than walls often delineates the living areas. Large cast-iron beds in which a number of family members sleep may share space with cushioned rattan and timber chairs for receiving guests. Carved wooden glassfronted cabinets, made by Sengkang carpenters, display china and glassware. Nearby are small tables for the tea and coffee that, by Bugis convention, welcome each guest. Around Islamic holiday periods, such as the Idul Fitri celebrations that end the fasting month, small, sweet biscuits, stacked decoratively in glass jars, are also displayed and served to guests. The interior of the house is a social space and the arena for exhibiting family possessions. Income-generating objects, such as looms, are permitted to intrude on this space only in the poorest houses, where the furniture may simply consist of a few plastic chairs. There are timber and bamboo platforms under many of the houses, raised approximately sixty centimeters above the ground. Here, in the coolness of the underhouse area, women sit at their backstrap looms, weaving brilliantly colored silk sarongs that brighten the drab village landscape of dry, cracked, clay soil and weathered, unpainted houses. The weavers span several generations, and their ages vary from girls in early adolescence to women in their sixties. Beyond that age, most weavers find failing eyesight and declining physical suppleness prevent them from weaving. Also, the economic need to weave often diminishes as women move from what are considered their productive years to a form of semi-retirement in which they are financially supported by adult children. In return, they provide domestic and child-minding support. Many of the weavers are young, unmarried women. Others are mothers of young children-babies often sleep in sarong-

86 Securing a Place

hammocks hanging from the underfloor beams while their mothers weave. Older children play among the house poles and along the riverbanks. Some of the younger children wear a small cloth bag tied around the waist containing a fragment of their umbilical cord as a jima (talisman). The houses sit in a ribbon development between the river and the rice fields. Transport and communication infrastructures are poor, despite the village's close proximity to the commercial center of the town of Sengkang. There is no telephone or postal service. A dusty, pot-holed, dry-season track provides access for pedestrians, small horse-and-cart rigs, known as bendi, bicycle riders, and motorcyclists, but it cannot be traversed by motor vehicles. The weavers sell their sarongs and purchase raw materials in Sengkang, although the rambling unsightliness of Sengkang is barely visible and its noise is not audible from the village. A large suspension footbridge has been built approximately one kilometer upstream, providing access to the town and points further afield. However, this means a long walk, which is uncomfortable when carrying goods in the heat or rain, and most people pay a small fee to cross the river in long, shallow canoes. The tropical climate and its physical location dictate the village's lifestyle. During the wet season, the hamlet is flooded for up to three months. All the agricultural land and the houses are inundated. For several more months, during the slow rise and fall of the floodwaters, residents wade through water and mud to conduct their daily activities. In the dry season, some pumpkin vines and tomato plants twine between the bamboo fences, but other vegetables must be purchased, for they do not grow successfully. Around most houses, the only crops that can survive the constant cycle of inundation and dryness are coconut, banana, mango, and papaya trees. The rice fields, however, are fertile and produce two harvests each year, although not all villagers have access to sawah (wet rice fields), and approximately twenty-five villagers must purchase rice. An estimated thirty own rice fields, and others rent or sharecrop. Eggs are provided by chickens that scratch among kitchen scraps in the bare earth. When the floodwaters arrive, these chickens spend their time on tall bamboo platforms built above the flood level. There are upturned Bugis dugout canoes beneath some houses, awaiting the rains when they are used as both fishing boats and family transportation. Those without a boat must pay for motorized river taxis to travel between their house and Sengkang. The cost of transport rises during flood periods because people travel greater distances, and the fast currents that accompany the rising river prevent the use of non-motorized canoes. After the floodwaters arrive, the villagers use timber planks or, more often, single spans of giant bamboo to form temporary suspension walkways that connect many of the houses. These walkways are supported by bamboo struts and reinforced with strands of wire or thinner lengths of split bamboo that serve as handrails. Despite their apparent fragility, these footbridges provide a line of communication between the houses that stand in water as deep as two or three meters. Life during the wet season is difficult, and deaths by drowning sometimes occur. Nevertheless, life surrounded by water becomes the daily norm. Children are transported to nearby schools, women mappasa (Bugis: visit the market), and farmers become fishers. Looms are often silent because silk thread becomes sticky and hard to manipulate in wet weather. Although their incomes are low, the weavers in this hamlet are a 11 independent and self-sufficient. None are employee weavers. They do not seek employment in the entrepreneur-led section of the industry, citing inadequate

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returns for their labor. They also take pride in their autonomy as individual producers. They sell their sarongs either to private purchasers, to Sengkang market traders, or, occasionally, to informal distributors who visit the village. They have built strong working relationships with market traders, and their clientele, who appreciate finely woven sarongs produced oo the backstrap loom, loyally support them. Some looms remain inside the house all year. But for women with young children, moving their looms outside during the dry season provides them with an opportunity to work while overs~ing their children's activities. Other women simply enjoy the increased personal contact found outside and the greater sense of participation in daily village life. Most women laugh at the suggestion that weaving is a lonely occupation for the solidarity that exists among the many weavers in the hamlet overcomes the isolation that their craft sometimes imposes. Some weavers, especially younger unmarried women, enjoy greater contact with their peer group and overcome loneliness by moving their looms to the homes of friends. The portability of the backstrap loom facilitates personal interaction because it is easily rolled up and carried between houses. Conversation with friends does not interfere with the weaving process. If a weaver is busy, she simply withdraws from the exchange and concentrates oo the problem at her loom and attends to it before rejoining the conversation. WOMEN AND WEAVING

Rukmina, aged thirty-five years, weaves with her thirteen-year-old daughter, Yanti. They prefer working outside as the strategic location of their house at the entrance to the settlement gives them an opportunity to chat with passers-by. Rukmina weaves for approximately five or six hours each day, usually six days each week. She weaves from economic necessity alone and would prefer other work if it were available. If she can raise sufficient capital, she will establish herself as a market sarong trader. Rukmina ceases weaving for a period of several weeks twice yearly during the rice harvests that are her only alternative income source. She and her husband own rice-producing land that provides enough rice for the household and also yields a surplus for sale. During the wet season, her husband fishes in the lake and river, selling his catch to traders in the Sengkang market. At other times, his fishing canoe rests beneath the house adjacent to the bamboo platform on which Rukmina and her daughter weave. Their house is simple yet comfortable, and their relatively new television set is often watched by other villagers who cannot afford such a luxury. Three children live at home, and their eldest child, a son, is living with relatives in Kalimantan while attending junior secondary school. It is not unrommon for Bugis children, especially boys, to live with other family members who are in a financial position to assist with their education, and many adolescents live with relatives far from their birthplace and immediate family. Similarly, many young men have emigrated, either temporarily or permanently, to seek employment on other islands. Rukmina was born into a farming family in a village some thirty kilometers away. Her mother was not a weaver, and Rukmina did not learn the skills until trained by a friend in Lopisabbe approximately five years ago. She weaves both plain and supplementary weft sarongs according to market demand and produces her most intricate sarongs for private commissions. Privately commissioned sarongs

88 Securing a Place

provide increased income, for she negotiates a higher price for them than the normal wholesale price that market traders are willing to pay. She is compensated for the increased working time needed for complex motifs by the increased return for her labor. It is not unusual to receive commissions for two identical, elaborate sarongs for a husband and wife to wear on formal occasions, especially at the wedding of a son or daughter. Rukmina and Yanti consider weaving an economic necessity, and the satisfaction they derive from weaving comes not from any sense that they are being creative or continuing a tradition, but from the income it generates. They do, however, find great satisfaction within self-employment. For this reason, when Rukmina began weaving, she and her husband saved money from harvest income to invest in her home-made loom and other weaving apparatus. Similarly, they felt it wiser for Yanti to establish her independent weaving skills rather than join an entrepreneur workshop. Yanti, thirteen-years-old, finished primary school one year ago and has been weaving full-time since then. Her formal education will not be continued because, as her father explained, "basic education is enough for girls to become weavers, they do not need more than that." After a year at the loom, she is adept at producing simple patterns and often weaves a multi-colored checkered motif in brilliant colors. She takes only five days to produce these sarongs, yet she earns a higher income than for some other, more elaborate motifs because the vibrant colors and bold design are popular. Nearby, three backstrap looms sit beneath Ita's house, where bamboo slat walls enclose the underfloor area and offer protection from rain and dust. These walls form a barrier between the weavers and the external world, although the three young women using the looms can seek companionship in adjacent houses when desired. All three women are Ita's daughters, aged in their late teens and early twenties. All have a junior secondary school education. They have been unable to find other work in Sengkang and are reluctant to seek work in Makassar. They have no extended family in the city, and unsupervised living away from home would expose them to suspicions of promiscuity. Despite increasing modernization, as Rachel Silvey has also noted, social values in Islamic rural South Sulawesi often associate independence and urban employment with immorality. 1 Ita's husband and oldest son are both fish traders in the Sengkang market. A younger son is still at school. They do not have access to any rice-producing land, nor do they participate in rice harvesting. With five members contributing to household income, the family has accumulated a number of modem consumer goods, although the major items, a refrigerator and a motorcycle, are considered business assets required for fish trading. There is no television, and popular music from a cassette player provides entertainment. They own their home, which was initially built using reciprocal village labor. Interior timber walls have gradually been added to separate the sleeping and living areas. Their comfortable furniture includes a new upholstered sofa. The family unit possesses all the required thread-preparation tools, and that equipment is not made available on loan to other weavers, for with three active looms, household requirements are high. The young women work individually in cycles that produce two sarongs. They contribute around one-third of their profit from the sale of their sarongs to the household and retain the remainder for 1

Rachel M. Silvey, "Diasporic Subjects: Gender and Mobility in South Sulawesi," Women's

Studies International Forum 23,4 (2000): 501-15.

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personal expenditures. All three expect to marry and may cease weaving if their husband's incomes are sufficiently high. Closer to the river is the home of Dyana, whose husband manages, but does not own, a small fleet of canoes that ferry residents between the many riverside settlements and Sengkang. At times, he uses the canoes to transport tourists on boating trips along the waterways. These tourist trips provide Dyana's husband with the opportunity to stop at the village in the hope that the visitors will buy sarongs. Dyana is thirty-seven-years old and has four children, aged between six and seventeen years, after marrying at eighteen years of age. Another child died in infancy. The eldest son is living with relatives in West Papua while attending secondary school, and he plans to seek employment there. Dyana was raised on a small nearby family farm and was taught to weave by her mother, whose own weaving provided a source of non-farm income. Prior to her marriage, she assisted her parents on their wet-rice farm, then acquired weaving skills after marriage, when she had children, which prompted the need for higher family income. She has been weaving for eleven years using a backstrap loom that formerly belonged to another family member. Dyana now weaves only part time. Her husband is a low-ranking member of the former local aristocracy and, as he has secure employment, is considered the family's primary source of economic support. Dyana and her husband feel Dyana's weaving profits are no longer a necessity, and it is a source of pride to Dyana that her husband's employment offers sufficient stability for her to work in a relaxed manner. Moreover, their status in the community is enhanced by the freedom Dyana enjoys, even though their home and possessions are similar to those of the other villagers. With freedom from economic demands, Dyana enjoys the creative process of weaving and innovates elaborate designs. She does not seek other employment; indeed, as she speaks only Bugis, not the national Indonesian language, alternative employment opportunities would be extremely limited. Although their material possessions could be increased or updated if Dyana escalated her sarong production, she feels no urge to do so. In contrast to Dyana, who has other sources of income and therefore more freedom of choice, Arna relies on her weaving income. She is a widow in her early twenties with two small children and has recently learned to weave following her husband's accidental death. Prior to his death, she had established a small kiosk in the front room of their rented home, selling dried noodles, biscuits, salt, sugar, and cigarettes. However, this income proved insufficient, and Arna learned silkweaving techniques by observing a friend in the village. She purchased her initial silk thread on credit provided by a thread trader, and her backstrap loom was constructed by a family member using secondhand and found materials where possible. Because she is dependent upon quick economic returns, she does not weave the most intricate designs. Rather, she selects less complicated supplementary weft patterns that add visual interest to an otherwise plain sarong. She finds these patterns also give a psychological stimulus to the weaving process, helping to overcome the monotony of plain weaving. Her sarongs are popular among consumers who prefer more complex designs, but who cannot afford expensive brocades. These sarongs command only the minimum price for elaborate weaves, yet provide a regular monthly income. Across the river, in the township of Sengkang, Siti lives and works in a crowded, hot, and dusty, residential area of Bugis houses close to the commercial

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center. This location is far from any intruding floodwaters, allowing Siti's loom to be placed permanently in the cooler, underfloor space. She is in her mid-forties, has six children and four grandchildren, and has been weaving since shortly after her marriage in mid-adolescence. Her mother-in-law taught her the necessary skills as her own mother was unable to weave, although Siti's grandmother had been a weaver. Siti has, in tum, taught her three unmarried daughters who share backstrap looms beneath the house. They gathered their equipment over many years; most of it was constructed by male family members using existing equipment as models. Siti, who has little formal education, speaks only Bugis, although her children have benefited from post-Independence education and all speak both Bugis and the Indonesian language. None of the women has any other employment, and all rely entirely upon weaving as their only source of income. Although Siti and her family live comfortably and have the usual furnishings and possessions, they remain financially vulnerable. For example, during one of my visits, the costs associated with providing food and gifts for the ldul Fi tri celebrations at the end of the fasting month had forced Siti to stop weaving. For this important cultural and family occasion, she required all the income generated by selling her recently woven sarongs, and she could not put aside sufficient funds to buy raw materials for continued weaving. After the Idul Fitri holiday, she borrowed sufficient working capital from a family member to begin another production cycle. This interruption of Siti's production and income is similar to that described by Ayami Nakatani among weavers in Bali. 2 Religious and ceremonial obligations often present difficulties because weavers are compelled to lose earnings at periods when financial demands for food and gifts are highest. Although many of these obligations are reciprocal, and help given will later be returned, the short-term losses can be considerable for people dependent upon subsistence-level incomes. Moreover, although demand-and therefore prices-for sarongs is higher at these times, social obligations prevent independent weavers from increasing their production levels to capitalize on the increased demand. Tuti lives in another weaving hamlet adjacent to the river on the outskirts of Sengkang. She is in her mid-twenties and, unlike most of her peers, has completed tertiary studies. Tuti's father, at one time head of the village, is a farmer with his own rice fields, and her mother works at domestic duties within the home. The family has a television set, which is one of the few in the settlement. As one of six children, including two sisters, Tuti considers herself fortunate that her parents valued education for all of their children. Although increasingly higher levels of education mark the new generation of weavers, Tuti pointed out that the highest level usually achieved is only middle secondary school because education for women is "still not considered important" in the environment of high unemployment. Indeed, Tuti acquired weaving skills because of the lack of suitable local employment in the teaching field for which she has qualified. She did not want to move to the city to search for work. Her loom and thread preparation equipment have been handed down through her family and are considered to be heritage items. When necessary, they are repaired by male members of the family. 2 Ayami Nakatani, "'Eating Threads': Brocades as Cash Crop for Weaving Mothers and Daughters in Bali," in Staying Local in the Global Village: Bali in the Twentieth Century, ed. R Rubinstein and L. H. Connor (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai'i Press, 1999}, pp. 203-29.

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Tuti lends her thread-reeling and thread-winding tools to other women in the hamlet who do not own the full range of required equipment. She also borrows other tools. These exchanges minimize the need for capital investment, thus encouraging wider participation in the local weaving industry. This informal cooperative arrangement builds the social capital identified by Hermine Weijland as a requirement for successful clustering and expansion of microenterprise.3 However, in this village, as in most Wajo locations, backs trap weavers do not wish to expand their household enterprises, and the exchange of tools assists instead in maintaining independent production. Many weavers in this hamlet work mainly on sarongs commissioned by customers living in Sengkang. Usually following word-of-mouth recommendations, these customers seek out the weaver in the village to discuss their requirements. When a weaver works directly with a client, she does not have to pay any fees to an intermediary trader, which increases her income as a result. Her status is also enhanced when she is sought for private commissions. Another economic benefit of this system is that the customer pays a deposit to allow the weaver to purchase thread. There is also a social dimension to these private commissions. As I sat with Tuti one day, the wife of a Sengkang public servant arrived to commission a sarong for a forthcoming wedding. She and Tuti discussed colors, materials, and motifs, then after a period of polite negotiation, agreed upon a price. During the three weeks of weaving, the customer visited Tuti several times to oversee the progress of the sarong and sat chatting and watching while Tuti wove. The manufacturing process was not merely one that produced a commodity, but it took on an air of social interaction. A close rapport developed between the creator and the consumer, with the sarong as a conduit. ENTREPRENEURIAL ENVIRONMENTS

Whereas backstrap weavers enjoy independence, those in the entrepreneurial stream are circumscribed by labor divisions and production methods determined by the owner. Entrepreneurs, rather than weavers, control the mass production handloom industry. The majority own small- and medium-size enterprises and are situated in the key villages thought to have the greatest potential for expansion. One of those is some ten kilometers from Sengkang, along a main north-south arterial road. Although the village borders the low plain of the lake basin, its distance from the main body of the lake ensures that any floodwaters are shallow and do not extend throughout the village. Transportation and communication are, therefore, not interrupted by floodwater. ATBM looms can be permanently situated beneath the houses and have been used here since the 1960s, increasing in number with the entrepreneurial development of the past twenty-five years. Despite the proximity to the main road that divides the village, the rural environment is peaceful, and each day the dominant sound is the rhythmic clicking of looms. The settlement is traversed by lanes which, although narrow and unsealed, can easily accommodate vehicular traffic. The local government body earmarked parts of the village for tourism development, and tour guides occasionally accompany tourists to the silk producers' home workshops and sales Hermine Weijland, "Microenterprise Clusters in Rural Indonesia: Industrial Seedbed and Policy Target," World Development 27,9 (1999): 1515-30.

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centers. All housing in the village adheres to the traditional Bugis style, although many homes are of stronger construction than those found in the smaller villages in which the backstrap weavers live. Here, some homeowners have enclosed the underfloor area with either timber or brick to provide added security and privacy. Male residents follow a wide range of employment as farmers, public servants, drivers, traders, goldsmiths, and carpenters. The majority of women, however, have little or no other paid employment. Without weaving equipment of their own or sufficient capital with which to purchase it, about 75 percent of women have become employee weavers. These women work in the many small businesses that cluster up to eight A TBM looms in the underfloor area of a family home. Usually one room or a part thereof in the entrepreneur's home is reserved for storing silk skeins and stocks of finished fabric. The family home also serves as an administration center. Some businesses in the village employ up to fifty weavers and four or five non-weaving staff, but the majority of enterprises are smaller. Although these businesses are contained in the same production environment, they operate independently and within an atmosphere of competition. Pak Sali is a farmer and goldsmith, creating jewelry that he sells in the few gold shops in Sengkang. He owns one of the smallest textile enterprises. His wife, lbu Joia, is a weaver and cares for their three school-aged children. Beneath the house are three sixty centimeter ATBM looms, all made by local carpenters. The most recent loom is made of teak to ensure durability. No outworkers are used, hence production is limited. The two piecework employee weavers are married women who live in the hamlet with young children and rely upon the employment for essential income. They are members of Pak Sali's extended family. One is married to an agricultural laborer, the other to a building worker. Both women acquired their weaving skills in Pak Sali's enterprise, although they were previously familiar with the basic techniques because of the prevalence of weaving in the village environs. Neither weaver owns rice-producing land, and, although one has completed junior secondary school, they neither envisage any opportunity for alternative employment nor think they will accumulate sufficient capital to establish their own weaving enterprises. In fact, in the surrounding atmosphere of entrepreneurial production, they admit to feeling intimidated (tidak berani) by the negotiation, sales, and financial skills required for business success. The workshop does not weave pure silk, but uses rayon thread instead, which has the sheen of silk but at a cheaper price. The synthetic sarongs are popular and, although lacking the high status of pure silk, they sell in large quantities. Pak Sali would like to begin producing pure silk, but thread shortages, the need for increased working capital, and the possible loss of existing markets are obstructions to change. As the owner of one of the smallest textile enterprises, he cannot take the financial risk of entering a new market. Pak Sali's family owns the looms, and they pay the weavers for each completed sarong. A weaver can complete a sarong in one full working day, but they usually take two, so that the task does not become too physically arduous. Each weaver produces a maximum of three sarongs weekly. The workshop is active every day, although, because of the preparatory tasks, not all the looms are continually in operation. To reduce spending on wages, Pak Sali and lbu Joia prepare most of the thread themselves. The enterprise produces only four different designs in a limited range of color combinations that are specified by Pak Sali according to market

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demand. The designs are not original, nor uniquely Bugis, and are based upon the pan-Indonesian motifs which entered the Bugis repertoire during the 1950s and 1960s. Marketing is Pak Sali's responsibility, and he sells the sarongs either to traders in the Sengkang market or directly to agents and retailers who have earlier placed orders. Most of the small entrepreneurs have minimal working capital, and, therefore, use synthetic fibers. The least expensive fiber is a coarse, synthetic mixture that requires less weaving time than the finer silk or rayon yarns and is often used in conjunction with inexpensive non-colorfast dyes to produce low-priced sarongs. lbu Sri deliberately established her business at this lower end of the market to avoid high initial capital costs. She is one of a minority of female entrepreneurs and has sole control of her enterprise. Sri was born in Kalimantan, where she met and married her Bugis husband. She had no weaving experience until the late-1980s when, after returning to Wajo and following the birth of her first child, it became apparent that her husband's monthly income as a minibus driver was insufficient for their needs. Using funds borrowed from a family member, she purchased a secondhand narrow ATBM loom and was taught to weave by her husband's mother. She worked independently for two years, selling her sarongs in the twice-weekly village market, gradually acquiring the commercial expertise to expand her business. She used savings from her profits to purchase an additional secondhand loom, which she installed beneath her house, and then she employed a neighbor at piecework rates. Sri's net monthly income now exceeds that of her husband. She possesses three looms and has a workforce of thirteen outworker weavers at locations within a radius of several kilometers. Ten of these work at their own narrow ATBM looms. Most had previously worked independently, producing cotton sarongs, but found that profit margins in this market sector were not viable for low-volume production. They had not learned to work with silk, which is finer and more difficult to weave, and as elaborate sarongs are not woven in this village they were unfamiliar with the complex techniques that would increase profits. By joining Sri's enterprise as piecework weavers, they avoid the time-consuming thread preparation and sales activities that previously reduced their production time. Hence, weaver income in the minimal profit sector can be optimized by becoming part of a higher-turnover enterprise. As her business expanded, Sri's role changed from weaver to manager. She purchases thread, carries out dyeing and reeling tasks assisted by other family members, and distributes the prepared thread to the weavers, whom she visits twice weekly by public minibus. At that time, she also collects finished sarongs. She helps with threading the three looms at her home, although other weavers thread their own looms. The enterprise produces only two sarong designs, which are woven in five different colors and embellished with simple lines of metallic thread to introduce the characteristic sheen beloved by the Bugis consumers. Sri sells the total weekly production of up to forty sarongs in the village market to individual customers or distributors. Pak Rusli, in his thirties, manages a nearby business which began in 1985 after his mother purchased an ATBM loom. Previously, she had woven for commercial sale on her backstrap loom, as had her mother. This enterprise produces synthetic silk sarongs known as sarung Samarinda. These have a plaid design with a panel of floral imagery (Figure 12, Chapter 3). The style has become an identity marker

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among the diasporic Wajo Bugis community now living in the province of East Kalimantan and, especially, the city of Samarinda. These sarongs provide a major market for Wajo weavers, particularly in the period approaching ldul Fitri celebrations at the end of the fasting month. Although the basic design of sarung Samarinda does not change, weavers introduce variety through a range of color combinations and different floral motifs in the panels, menurut selera konsumen (according to consumer taste). Many of the sarongs are sold to retail shops within South Sulawesi, and others are traded to Kalimantan, Sumatra, and Java through distributors who come to the village. Pak RusH's enterprise has never participated directly in inter-island sales, but always uses either independent selling agents or those employed by cloth distributors. Pak RusH's business owns fifty narrow ATBMs. Some are grouped together under family houses, others are used by individual weavers on their own properties. Outworkers live in many different locations, up to several kilometers from the administrative center, and Pak RusH's sons use two motorbikes to maintain weekly contact, collect completed sarongs, deliver thread, and oversee quality control. At the principal location, eight looms are crowded into the dark underfloor space, with fluorescent lamps placed over each loom to combat the gloom. Working hours are not fixed, but no work continues habis Magrib (after the Muslim sunset prayers). Because of the large number of textile enterprises in the village, some weaving staff have come from other Wajo areas. The eight weavers at the central site are young, unmarried women who have moved, seeking employment, from villages up to forty kilometers away. They now live in the house above the looms. None had any prior weaving experience, and all received training for three to five days before starting commercial production. Weavers from the immediate village environment do not need training because the skills are as ubiquitous as the sound of the looms and the sight of skeins of thread hanging to dry in house gardens. Pak Majid is a former textile merchant, now in his sixties, and has been conducting his small business from the family home for twenty years. The female members of his family were weavers, and his enterprise began with one loom, operated by his wife. He expanded slowly, using savings accumulated from textile production and harvest surplus from family rice fields. He employs twenty weavers, some of them members of the extended kin-group. All use wide ATBM looms, which are owned by the business to retain control over equipment maintenance and cloth quality. Eight looms are located beneath the family house; the others are placed in the weavers' own homes throughout the village. Some· years ago, management passed to his son who, with his wife and young child, shares the house. Under his son's administration they moved from producing the ubiquitous Samarinda motifs to a limited range of new motifs woven in synthetic silk. One, in particular, represented a considerable departure from the norm and, as such, was a significant financial risk. It was an adaptation of the popular Indonesian zigzag motif that usually appears in a small, repetitive pattern. The motif was magnified, and the alteration in scale transformed the image into a bold, modern design (Figures 10, 11, Chapter 3). This was a deliberate attempt to attract a wider market. Prior to test marketing, comments from workers within the enterprise provided the only estimate of market response. Following this, a small quantity was placed in retail shops for consumer appraisal. The design was popular, and the financial risk was justified, but many producers cannot undertake such innovation.

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Limited resources and markets in the lower-price sector force the majority of village-based entrepreneurs into conservative economic management and product development. Many combine textile production with an alternative source of earnings, especially agriculture. Their weaving enterprises are merely another form of income generation. Modernization through developing textile designs for wider markets, such as that introduced by Pak Majid's son, could have taken the industry into a new phase. However, only a minority of producers possessed the skills to identify possible new directions for the industry and had access to the required capital. Pak Majid's innovation occurred shortly before the increase in thread prices. His workshop is still producing patterned cloth, although most production is now oriented towards the higher profit kain palos (plain cloth) for the factories in Java.

THE BUSINESS COMMUNITY

Although this study focuses upon participants in microenterprise, any description of the silk industry would be incomplete without a brief introduction to the larger textile enterprises. During the optimistic years of the booming Indonesian economy, the most celebrated merchant-manufacturers conducted their activities from the town of Sengkang. This allowed close access to policymakers and bureaucrats in local government, finance, and silk industry administration offices. Most also had retail outlets in Makassar. Although they were few in number, these enterprises were the public face of the modem Wajo silk industry, epitomizing kemajuan (progress) and providing models for development. The owners had stronger trading and business backgrounds than their counterparts in the rural villages, which enabled them to establish enterprises with larger amounts of initial capital. Most operated from residential property, often including the family home, yet the premises were more closely aligned to factory production than were the smaller entrepreneurial units in rural villages. Residential property was used for economic reasons and in the absence of suitable manufacturing premises. As weaving in Kabupaten Wajo has always been based upon household units, a large-scale manufacturing infrastructure has not developed, and most activity still takes place on small premises. These larger units, however, can be considered as textile factories that mass-produce hand-loomed cloth. Sutera Sitolo was one of the earliest enterprises to develop from the silk revitalization programs. This business expanded during the early 1980s from an existing family backstrap silk-weaving enterprise, which had, in tum, evolved a decade earlier from a family business in cloth trading. Initial production was limited to cloth for the baju bodo (women's traditional overblouse). Although the enterprise introduced ATBMs into the workshop in 1975, the only immediate change was an increase in the width of the baju bodo fabric to the ninety centimeter capacity of the new looms. Several years later, using capital gained from the sale of family property, the business began to develop slowly under the guidance of Department of Industry training programs. The owner experimented with weaving techniques, fade-resistant chemical dyes, and diversification of design. From 1983, the business prospered, at one stage employing around one hundred local people. Its peak of production was in 1990, when it produced over 13,000 meters of silk cloth. Since then, output has declined by approximately 50 percent. According to the

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owner, because of high thread prices, his enterprise was unable to compete with the growing number of local workshops as well as the supplies of cloth and massproduced silk and synthetics imported from other Indonesian regions. At its peak, the business operated a central workshop and an administrative center on commercial premises in Sengkang as well as smaller production workshops located beneath a number of houses in the township environs. Until 1997, a retail sales area and showroom were attached to the principal workshop, although this has now been closed. Twenty employees, the majority under the age of thirty years, worked in the main unit, and an average of eight looms were used in each of the outlying workshops. A further fourteen ATBM looms and facilities for dyeing and preparation of the thread were located within the main factory-style building. The owner did the design work himself, although he had no design training, drawing instead on designs encountered during his extensive business travel. Cognizant of the Islamic requirement that images must not depict kehidupan (life), he rejected human and animal imagery and realistic floral designs. In 1994, he introduced some non-traditional abstract designs, a tentative innovation. However, by 2001, this innovation had disappeared, and production was restricted to the now ubiquitous white cloth and a small range of traditional colored textiles for the local market. Elong Sutera is a sprawling, modem, three-storied, whitewashed brick residence in the Sengkang commercial center, where approximately thirty young men and women work each day. They dye and prepare thread, tie-dye white cloth, paint colored cloth with gold or other metallic finishes, and stitch sarongs prior to packaging and sale. Stocks of thread are stored here, and, until recently, a retail showroom occupied part of the ground floor. The employees perform only nonweaving tasks at this location since outworkers do all the weaving in their own homes. Because the owners assign the weaving to skilled outworkers, knowledge of the textile industry is not a prerequisite for employment, and the owners do not need to provide specialized training to the young staff. Most of the staff are under the age of thirty and have no previous employment other than as casual agricultural laborers or housemaids. Some were born in Sengkang, others have come from outlying villages to find employment. This is one of the few local workshops using the post-loom dyeing and overpainting processes typically found in Java. Production follows customary gender divisions with male dyers and female weavers, although, in the non-traditional areas of tie-dyeing and fabric painting, no such divisions occur, and males and females share the various duties. In most areas, however, males fill the supervisory roles. In one room of this workshop, swathes of silk are suspended from the ceiling, and each worker applies gold textile paint to ten meters of the fabric each day, using a canting, the tool used by batik painters in Java and Bali. The enterprise owner, who has no design training, usually suggests the new motifs, relying upon observation of other textiles seen on business trips. He has assembled a repertoire of many different motifs, which he has recorded in hand-drawn pattern books from which workers can copy designs as required. Elong Sutera fills many large orders for the national market. On one of my visits, they were overpainting one hundred meters of ikat fabric with gold for use as dress uniforms for the staff of a government office. On another visit, a stylized spiral motif had been woven and overpainted for sale in Medan, Sumatra, using a curvilinear motif of Sumatran origin that had been specifically ordered and was

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not intended for sale in South Sulawesi. Post-loom decoration requires design and other skills not previously found in the province. Perhaps for this reason, local designs have not been popular, with the result that Javanese producers who are familiar with batik and other textile printing techniques have taken over the decoration system. Sutera Lacca in an enterprise lauded as one of the most successful in W ajo, and it has received several nationwide awards for employment generation. The thirtyyear-old son of the owners manages the business, maintaining close contact with national textile industry planners and familiarizing himself with modern business practices and marketing and management techniques. Because of his understanding of the wider Indonesian silk industry, the enterprise has become a pioneer in W ajo textile design and production. It operates at a number of premises in a highly dispersed production process. The administration and preparation of thread is conducted in, underneath, and around the substantial and well-maintained traditional Bugis house, which is the family home. Until 1995, the home also housed a showroom, although sales are now conducted from Makassar. A workshop containing twenty-four ATBM looms is situated in a village outside Sengkang adjacent to another family home. At first, individual outworkers used looms in their own homes, but as quality control was difficult to maintain with weavers in diverse locations, Sutera Lacca discontinued this practice. All the weavers now work under supervision in the principal workshop and in other smaller clusters of up to eight looms beneath village houses. Initially, the owners found that poor quality led to loss of market credibility, fewer sales, and lower prices. For this reason, they seek experienced weavers, rather than untrained staff, although they do train a small number of weavers. Inexperienced weavers inevitably make inferior cloth, but Sutera Lacca considers this to be part of staff training, and they sell the lower-quality cloth within the Sengkang environs, rather than through the city showroom. Although weavers often produce identical cloth, they are each individually responsible for what they produce from their own loom. If the quality is unsatisfactory, the weaver will be paid less. A male workshop supervisor coordinates the stocks of thread, oversees production, quality control, and the packing and transportation of the finished cloth. The weaving workshop is crowded with twenty-four looms in two rows. Space around each loom is sufficient only to enable someone access to thread the loom and carry out maintenance or other tasks. The workshop is well-ventilated although dark. Each loom is fitted with a fluorescent lamp to provide direct lighting, but an unreliable electricity supply often prevents its use, as does management's awareness of the cost of electricity. Noise levels, arising from the shuttles moving back and forth across the cloth, are hazardous even though all the looms are very rarely in operation at any one time. At one stage the enterprise produced over one hundred different designs, most of which were created by the owner and manager. He also supervised another younger male designer. Their innovations have included heavily textured fabrics and subdued colors, in direct contrast to the brilliance enjoyed by the Bugis. More recently, they have also adopted the plain cloth and post-loom decorating techniques. Mustar, the young designer, began working for Sutera Lacca following a period of prolonged unemployment after finishing upper secondary school. He also supervises ikat painting and post-loom decoration. He has no design training, but

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was chosen for this position because of his experience as an amateur painter. Nor does he have weaving experience, although he feels that he has a strong background knowledge of the medium because "masyarakat menenun," ("the people weave"). His own mother does not weave, although his grandmother did. The enterprise lacks the educational facilities that might further Mustar's design development, so his textile motifs rely upon bakat alam (natural talent). He works intuitively, painting experimental designs on paper. Those considered appropriate are then woven in small lengths, and the design enters a test-marketing stage with consumer response governing its adoption or rejection. Mustar develops some of his designs from textiles seen by his employer at trade exhibitions in Jakarta in which the larger Sengkang businesses participate. Thus, the generic Indonesian field of design that emerged during the period of nationalism is now being consolidated. Mustar feels that he works within the W ajo tradition, stating that his designs are "tidak lepas dari ciri khas Sengkang" ("always recognizably distinctive to Sengkang"). In practice, this means that his designs are based upon the range of repetitive stripes, checks, zigzag, and abstract floral motifs that the Bugis associate with their own modern textiles, although many are, in fact, common to the pan-Indonesian silk industry. From this brief introduction to the textile industry, it can be seen that Wajo weaving encompasses diverse activities and levels of engagement. In the economically constrained market, this heterogeneous production has helped people to participate and subsist. The different types of involvement have emerged organically and were largely determined by existing skills, technology, funds, and access to ideas. Establishing long-term security for the range of participants will require more targeted means and support.

CHAPTER FIVE

COMMERCE, AUTONOMY, AND CREATIVITY How have artisans and their artifacts fared in the attempted development of Wajo's silk industry? Disappointment was expressed by the local noblewoman who was instrumental in the initial revitalization during the late 1960s and early 1970s. At that time, she had envisaged a small, specialized hand-loom industry producing high-quality fabrics. As an elderly woman in 1995, she bitterly recounted to me how the Wajo plans had been appropriated by officials and entrepreneurs interested only in commerce and economic growth. As she pointed out, attempts to establish a mass-production hand-loom industry seem ill-advised when similar cloth can be produced more easily and cheaply through mechanized manufacture already widely available elsewhere. Wajo's entrepreneurial stream is now in real danger of losing its former economic and social role. However, without any direct assistance from industry planners, independent backstrap weavers have retained a niche that could be extended further. The differentiation occurring in Wajo weaving follows characteristic patterns of industrialization summarized in Esther N. Goody's historical study of European textile production as the "growing complexity of the division of labor; technological innovation; the relations of production which articulate the division of labor; and the expansion and differentiation of the market." 1 In Wajo, as in other doth-producing regions in developing countries, output is increased by the division of labor into discrete tasks confined to particular stages of manufacture. Expanded productivity is facilitated by introducing improved technology in thread preparation, looms, and the communications infrastructure required for marketing and management. Yet levels of industrialization vary considerably, even within that stream, and the overall situation in Wajo is more appropriately described as proto-industrial, in transition between the industry's original domestic methods and complete conversion to industrialized production methods. Manufacturing units are small, and working hours remain flexible. As silk weaving was initially targeted as an industry able to utilize existing infrastructure, appropriate technology has been introduced in the form of nonmotorized looms. Because of this, expansion of the extant cottage industry into larger-scale production units has not reduced employment for women. Nevertheless, in the entrepreneurial stream, those technologies have been found inadequate, for even modernized enterprises in South Sulawesi have been unable to compete with global industrialized pricing structures. If power looms and mechanized textile printing are introduced, Wajo weaving would be further differentiated in its Esther N. Goody, "Introduction," in From Craft to Industry: The Ethnography of Protoindustrial Cloth Production, ed. E. Goody (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), p. 7.

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production methods. The increased capital expenditure required for more advanced technologies would reduce the participation of smaller entrepreneurs and females, who constitute almost 91 percent of textile producers. ARTISANS AND INDUSTRY

Although the weaver appears central to the creation of hand-loom textiles, mechanization reduces that primary function. In the two streams of Wajo activity, weavers occupy markedly different roles. Weavers in the entrepreneur-led stream have been increasingly relegated to the position of loom operator. Conversely, independent weavers operating outside the mainstream of entrepreneurial activity retain individual control. Yet despite the success of these artisans in creating a place in the market and earning enough to support themselves, thus alleviating poverty in the region, independent weaving activity is still widely dismissed by industry leaders and planners as insignificant to regional and national economic develop~ent. This response follows patterns identified in other developing economies, where small-scale producers are disadvantaged by the prioritization of larger ventures, especially those with an export orientation. 2 Silk weaving has defined the corporate image of Wajo, and, increasingly, that of lowlands South Sulawesi. In this process, those planners who have advocated and celebrated progress and modernity through expanded manufacturing use backstrap weavers only to provide the historical context in which social and economic change can be enacted. The two textile production streams, in fact, were articulate the two principal avenues of modernization that characteristically championed by New Order Indonesia-economic expansion with a concurrent upholding of traditional values. Within that framework, development policies assigned backstrap weavers to a passive and narrow cultural role, rather than one of active participation in social and economic development programs. Indonesian development plans emphasize village development and improvements to the efficiency of household industry, stating in part that "development measures for ... home industries need to take into account local human resource potential." 3 Despite this, officers of the Department of Industry are not aware of the total numbers of independent household weavers in the Kabupaten, because, as members of the informal sector, many are not included in industry statistics. Large numbers of independent weavers-and their significance to the industry-are being ignored. According to Department of Industry officials, household weaving is carried out in all sub-districts. Yet the present and potential economic contribution of weavers to both household and community is unknown. 2 H. Antlov and T. Svensson, "From Rural Home Weavers to Factory Labour: The Industries of Textile Manufacturing in Majalaya," in In The Shadow of Agriculture: Non-Farm Activities in the Javanese Economy, Past and Present, ed. P. Alexander, P. Boomgaard, and B. White (Amsterdam: Royal Tropical Institute, 1991), pp. 122-2; A. Escobar, Encountering Development (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 162; I. Tinker, "The Human Economy of Microentrepreneurs," in Women in Micro- and Small-scale Enterprise Development, ed. L. Dignard and J. Havel (Boulder: Westview Press and London: I. T. Publications, 1995), pp. 2540. 3 Department of Information, Repelita VI: Indonesia's Sixth Five-Year Development Plan, 1994/5-1998/9 Gakarta: Department of Information, 1994), p. 29.

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Because they have been excluded from official recognition, very little detailed knowledge of their productive capacity, reliance upon weaving incomes, patterns of expenditure, or other data-which might assist in securing them a viable future-has been made available to policy makers. In both streams, weavers contribute to the "human economy," in which investment is made to secure family welfare rather than gain profits and foster growth. 4 Yet independent weavers are not considered to have the productive potential required for the larger markets that industry policy makers seek to penetrate. Planners in South Sulawesi commonly assume that small-scale backstrap weaving is principally a leisure activity, or at best, pekerjaan sampingan, a secondary occupation carried out by housewives only when time permits. 5 However, backstrap weaving provides the only regular source of income for a large number of young single women, and is an essential component of household income for married women with children. Although the output generated by backstrap weavers is considered insignificant to national development, weaving income is vital at the personal and household level, and collectively has considerable regional significance. These women are puzzled by the sampingan categorization. They point out that weaving is their sole source of income, and that, if they worked for an entrepreneur, their advanced skills would not be fully utilized and their incomes might well be reduced. Ironically, only in such a case would their work be acknowledged by their own government. Most independent weavers work as consistently as do employee weavers. An artisan who must respond to family duties is less commercially productive than a counterpart free of those obligations, irrespective of his or her status as either employee or independent artisan. Furthermore, a person's commitment to professionalism is not necessarily enhanced by high turnover, fixed working hours, a formal working environment, or more advanced technology. In Indonesia's developing economy, it is common for many people to work in a variety of occupations, as income from a single source is often insufficient. In these circumstances, weaving that continues steadily throughout a commercially productive lifetime must be considered a primary occupation, even though it may be a task shared with other necessary employment, including domestic production. Independent weavers are a dynamic group of people who generate a prolific collective output. Their ownership of assets in the form of simple looms provides earnings and autonomy within the constraints of small-scale artisanship in a relatively poor regional economy. They have demonstrated the ability to establish and maintain weaving activities, managing many difficulties through informal cooperative arrangements involving training, shared equipment, and childcare assistance. Under good market conditions, when demand for their sarongs is strong, independent weavers can negotiate high prices. They have no desire, or need, to be incorporated into the entrepreneurial stream. They instead prefer to follow a path of self-sufficiency which is denied to employees in the more industrialized sector. 4

Tinker, 'The Human Economy," p. 33; Louise Dignard and Jose Havet, "Introduction," in

Women in Micro- and Small-Scale Enterprise Development, pp. 1-21. 5

This view is perpetuated in government studies of South Sulawesi hand-loom weaving. See W. Subagyo, ed., Perajin Tradisional di Daerah Propinsi Sulawesi Selatan Oakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1992), p. 63.

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Employee weavers, on the other hand, are principally those who lack the economic resources to purchase their own equipment and stocks of raw material. The real advantage for employee weavers is in the provision of employer-owned equipment and raw materials, which allows them to participate in the industry without capital investment. Their employment is generated by the expanded marketing system accessible to the entrepreneurs, and the greater production capacity of the ATBM (Alat Tenun Bukan Mesin, non-mechanized loom), although they must forfeit independence to their employers, who control decisions and strategies. INDEPENDENCE AND PRODUCTIVITY

Expansion and incomes for backstrap weavers are limited by the low production capacity of their looms. If they could switch to more technologically modern looms, weavers could increase production by at least 100 percent. However, the size and weight of these the ATBM looms renders them unsuitable for placement in most Bugis houses, even if space were available. Furthermore, as ATBMs are not portable, they cannot be feasibly set up below houses in the many Wajo villages, since these locations are subject to severe annual flooding. The development of a low-priced portable loom that would increase daily production capacity, while still making it possible to produce complex weaves, would potentially increase income among these workers. A further advantage of the backstrap loom is that it can be easily constructed from relatively inexpensive materials. Few village weavers could purchase a wide ATBM; even if capital could be raised, considerable time would elapse before they could recoup their purchase price and any interest charges, reducing the benefits of increased production. Small-scale artisans existing on little better than subsistence incomes must receive immediate returns for labor. Working comfort is another advantage cited by backstrap weavers, as the upright ATBM requires the worker to perform an exaggerated arm movement that can lead to muscle stress if continued for long periods. 6 The ATBM is operated by a weaver sitting on a stool with no back support, whereas the backstrap weaver, in providing tension for the loom, is continually supporting and supported by the loom itself. Both looms are fatiguing to operate, however, and weavers must break from their tasks at intervals of approximately two hours. Household weavers can remain active in domestic production during these breaks, an opportunity not usually available to employees engaged in formal manufacturing units. Working conditions in entrepreneur-led units are often extremely poor. Space is usually dark and cramped, with minimal rest facilities, although simple meals are usually provided at midday, when workers sit on the floor to eat. Most household weavers also work in dark conditions, and judgments about working environments must take into account the economic limitations of developing society. In this context, as others have concluded, "the transplanting of Western models of professionalization," is problematic. 7 Nevertheless, modem expansion has 6

A discussion of physical health problems experienced by Indonesian weavers is found in Erna T. Nursalim, "Upper Extremity Work-Related Musculoskeletal Disorders among Textile Workers in Indonesia" (PhD dissertation, University of Pittsburgh, 2000). 7 For example, Felicia Hughes-Freeland, "Performers and Professionalization in Java: Between Leisure and Livelihood," Southeast Asia Research 9,2 (2001): 213-33. Throughout the

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exacerbated neglect of worker safety and comfort. Weavers in entrepreneur workshops are at risk from noise generated by multiple looms in confined spaces, and with the recent move to post-loom decoration, especially batik painting, some employees must work over a kerosene flame and melted wax to complete their tasks. Incomes are at present limited by high raw materials costs. Yet to increase the incomes of small-scale weavers whose monthly outputs are relatively low, a reduction in the price of thread must be accompanied by other production improvements. Artisans might earn more income by simplifying their weaving methods, shifting from supplementary wefts to plain weaves. However, supplementary weft textiles are popular with consumers, and as this sort of laborintensive weaving is avoided by the entrepreneurial workshops, the production of elaborate textiles enables small-scale weavers to circumvent competition from that sector. As in other modernizing hand-loom industries, independent weavers unable to compete with the larger producers' economies of scale instead create intricate textiles. Although this strategy tends to increase an item's price and thus reduce the size of its potential market, 8 in Wajo, the marketability ofbackstrap weaving has not suffered in competition with ATBM enterprises. The two streams supply different sectors within the textile market. Moreover, during the years between 1994 and 2003, prices for backstrap woven sarongs increased steadily whereas prices for ATBM cloth remained static, indicating consumer attraction to the complex weaves. Despite the skills base of backstrap weavers, and although hand-woven pure silk sarongs are valued by the Bugis as a prestige item, the future development of this stream is restricted by the limited wealth of the local consumer base. Wajo's reliance on the local market is similar to that described by Erik Cohen in his study of northern Thailand, where revitalization of the weaving industry was intended to attract external markets, but instead local consumers became the mainstay of support for a variety of reasons. 9 A market for interior design items may develop with the emerging Indonesian middle-class, yet if incomes fail to increase in the domestic sphere, expansion of the industry would require entry into external markets. developing world, greater awareness of labor issues and worker safety has emerged during the past decade, yet is often disregarded for a variety of reasons. Transferring and applying that awareness to the informal sector is even more problematic. 8 For cases in which audiences have been reduced, see B. Hauser-Schaublin, M-L. NabholzKartaschoff, and U. Ramseyer, Balinese Textiles (London: British Museum Press, 1991), p. 27; M. Mohamad, "Production Relations and Technology in the Malay Handloom Weaving Industry," in Technology and Gender: Women's Work in Asia, ed. C. Ng (Kuala Lumpur: Universitas Pertanian Malaysia and the Malaysian Social Science Association, 1987), pp. 1738. An alternative, and less remunerative, form of niche market developed among hand-loom weavers in Majalaya, West Java, following the introduction of power looms. There, weavers focused upon low-value products, such as unfinished cotton textiles and loosely woven cleaning cloths and bandages, as described in Joan Hardjono, "Small-Scale Industry in Majalaya, West Java," in Indonesian Economic Development: Approaches, Technology, SmallScale Textiles, Urban Infrastructure and NGOs, ed. R C. Rice (Clayton: Monash University, 1990), pp. 93-105. 9 Erik Cohen, The Commercialized Crafts of Thailand: Hill Tribes and wwland Villages (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai'i Press, 2000), p. 263.

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This development would increase the need for education and training. It is difficult for artisans who lack the relevant experience to develop new products and markets, and backstrap weavers are effectively denied these opportunities. I did not meet any weavers who had received assistance from the Dewan Kerajinan Nasional (the National Craft Council), Yayasan Pengembangan Desain Kerajinan (the Association for the Development of Craft Design), or any other similar organization more closely attuned to individual rather than mass production. Even craft development authorities in Indonesia tend to focus upon entrepreneur-led artisan-labor organizations, as has happened with the jewelry and batik industries and many fields of ethnographic artifact production in Indonesia. The artisans of Wajo have received some assistance, including publicity, through exhibitions and other activities coordinated by women's organizations. Independent weavers also receive minimal trickle-down benefits from the promotion given to the overall silk industry and the products of larger enterprises. However, they rarely benefit directly from government-sponsored promotional activity. 10 When asked to identify their major problems, independent weavers invariably replied "modal dan pemasaran" (capital and marketing). Increased capital is often mistakenly viewed as a universal remedy for all problems, yet limited expertise in the development of appropriate designs and goods for extended audiences is of greater significance. The majority of artisans, through lack of experience and limited education, are unfamiliar with the methods that facilitate market expansion outside the Wajo region. Independent weavers need training programs to help them meet the requirements of markets in which silk textiles are used to create items other than ceremonial and gift-exchange sarongs. Education and financial assistance are also required to alert weavers to simple technological improvements that would increase earnings within the home-working environment and to disseminate information about small-scale financial assistance and about entry into wider markets. These skills would provide sufficient expertise for independent weavers to increase productivity through the creation and use of specialized, limited-range designs.

"FROM ONE COME A THOUSAND •••

II

As items of clothing commonly worn in many situations by the majority of Indonesians, everyday cotton sarongs obscure differences of social rank. The silk sarong, however, maintains popularity among the status-conscious Bugis for the distinction it exhibits as a proclamation of wealth. This prestige, and the association with identity, ensures loyalty from the local consumer base, and these local loyalties are currently supporting small-scale weavers. As I was often told, "orang Sengkang lebih suka yang asli" (the people of Sengkang prefer authentic sarongs). It is also locally accepted that backstrap-woven cloth is stronger and 10 The decline of Wajo' s silk-manufacturing entrepreneurs indicates that promotional and other government support did not sufficiently assist that sector either. This is due to many factors, including rnismanagernent corruption, and an over-reliance on bureaucratic structures. Recent reforms promise reduced bureaucratic control and increased support from private industry. However, the manner in which such reforms might be implemented, and the likelihood that they will be adopted, are not yet clear.

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longer-lasting than that woven with the ATBM. Sarongs sell consistently throughout the year, with especially strong demand in the wedding season prior to the commencement of Ramadan, the Islamic fasting month. Demand for gifts and ceremonial clothing is also strong at the end of Ramadan. Weavers are especially reliant upon the continuing significance of marriage ceremonies. Although nontraditional dress is becoming popular for guests, participants in weddings continue to wear sarongs and thus figure as mainstay clients for silk sarong weavers. The local audience is familiar with the range of basic designs and, when purchasing sarongs, buyers make aesthetic judgments according to the manner in which a traditional motif has been reinterpreted and color combinations selected. As industry participants seek wider markets, textile imagery accommodates more than local loyalties and ceremonial functions. For example, the basic designs are all named, and some of these names embrace modernity. One supplementary weft sarong motif that incorporates a round, coin-spot image is known as "parabola" after the satellite television receiving discs. Its square counterpart is known as "television." All weavers and entrepreneurs respond to market demand. Nevertheless, those demands differ depending on audience, and concepts of asli Bugis are paradigmatic for sarong consumers. The term asli (authentic), however, is fluid and variable. Independent weavers produce motifs they describe as "traditional," created from memory, using no written notes or sketches. Change is introduced on the loom, and it is not difficult to alter the form and juxtaposition of design elements. In the method of altering a pattern known as seribu semacam, "from one come a thousand," one basic motif offers opportunities for innovation through modest experiments and gradual changes. Variations are introduced into constantly evolving repertoires. Informed by observation of other sarongs, and discussions with traders and clients, weavers experiment with new motifs in a process that involves adaptation and a progressive development of shape and color. Innovation is a slow and measured process, regulated by what has gone before. Hence, an image or configuration may slowly become enlarged, simplified, altered in shape, or decreased in size and incorporated into other patterns. The slow and deliberate design evolution reflects concern with identity and a social conservatism that requires high levels of conformity. Yet it also emerges from the need for financial security and accommodates the inventive, artistic talents of small-scale weavers who cannot afford to expend their economic resources on radical innovation. Independent weavers rarely have the opportunity to experience a wide range of textile design. Instead, new variations are often suggested by clients who travel to places or participate in ceremonial events that provide contact with a larger range of influences. Once introduced into the market, the new motifs are quickly incorporated into the repertoires of other weavers. Innovations are also introduced through exposure to other Indonesian weaving. This may, at times, occur directly when Bugis weavers are asked to replicate traditional designs from regions in which weaving is no longer practiced. Occasional traveling exhibitions also stimulate change, such as the Motif Tenutla1l Tradisiotlal Nusantara (Traditional Weaving Motifs of the Archipelago), an exhibition that visited the province in late 1996. Because innovation is influenced by regional interaction, often initiated by government unification policies, many designs develop pan-Indonesian characteristics, so that material culture throughout the archipelago has become increasingly generic.

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Islam still governs the Bugis textile aesthetic. The population of Wajo is almost entirely Islamic, with less than one thousand followers of pre-Islamic religion, and even fewer Christians. The township of Sengkang is dominated by two large mosques. It is home to a well-known Islamic pesantren boarding school that attracts students from throughout Indonesia, and a large Islamic religious, educational, and administrative center. The modernist Muhammadiyah organization established one of its first South Sulawesi rural branches in Sengkang in 1928, only two years after its entry into the province, followed shortly by a Muhammadiyah school supported by two leading members of Wajo's nobilityY Yet, the region also retains a reputation for strong residual animist beliefs, especially among village populations. It is not surprising, therefore, that many household weavers, although professing the Islamic faith, claim not to adhere to Islamic aesthetic conventions and express their desire to weave only according to Bugis custom. In fact, by working within the Bugis aesthetic, they are indirectly accepting Islamic tenets. Hand-loomed silk textiles continue to command high esteem as markers of group identity and individual prestige. The emblematic status of sarung Bugis has been retained even as the industry and region have experienced modernization. Yet, while weaving skills are respected, weavers and other artisans engaged in the industry are among some of the poorest members of society. Whereas the silk industry has been publicized by regional and government developers to project a corporate image of progress arising from highly respected traditions, the textile industry is dependent upon low wages and on structures of employment that restrict development of the individual capabilities and resourcefulness which characterize small-scale household weavers. In the political economy of development, the status accorded to silk textiles is greater than the status accorded to the makers, and the artifact takes precedence over the artisan. 11 Mattulada, "Islam di Sulawesi Selatan," in Agama dan Perubahan Sosial, ed. Taufik Abdullah (Jakarta: Rajawali, 1976), pp. 209-321.

PART TWO

"TORAJA HANDMADE"

CHAPTER SIX

"WE HAVE No NEW ART

•••

II

Engagement with tourism in Tana Toraja initiated a self-conscious promotion of ethnicity through ceremonial activity and customary architecture. This has been extended by the emergence of a tourist art industry. Encouraged by national development policies, Tana Toraja increasingly oriented itself towards tourism, and prior to the decline that began in 1998, following the onset of the economic crisis, hospitality infrastructure in the region was expanding rapidly. Although this is now in stasis, most Torajans feel the downturn is temporary and are planning for a future in which visitor numbers will again increase. 1 "Toraja handmade" has become a slogan of the local art industry. Antique and souvenir shops (known as toko seni, literally "art shops") accompanied tourism and proliferated from the late 1980s, as did informal art dealers. Private and public museums have been built. Interest by foreign collectors with a stronger concern for possession than local heritage has led to theft and the illegal exportation of funerary artifacts and other antiques. Yet, this vigorous adoption of the art industry coexists with an underlying respect for custom. Many artifacts have joint commercial and ceremonial roles, and others fulfill a new role introduced by tourism-that of communicating identity to an external audience. "Dari dulu-dulu, sebelum ada petani di sini" (from long ago, before the land here was farmed), Ne' Avip replied when I asked about her ideas concerning the tourist artworks she makes. Although a devout Christian, she, like other modern Torajan artisans, works to an aesthetic governed by customary belief and a strong sense of local attachment, grounded in the belief system of Aluk To Dolo (the way of the ancestors). Within this system, material culture represented the complex interconnection of ancestors, kinship, and other social units. This connection remains, and enduring family ties to artifacts often command greater respect than an appreciation of their aesthetic aspects. Banners hanging at funerals may be faded and torn, yet are honored as heirloom items, and their aged condition is testimony that they have been used in rituals for many ancestors. Family heirlooms may be simple, such as unadorned white textiles with no apparent economic worth, and value inheres in their long association with the family. 1

For some of the earliest and most comprehensive studies of the influence of tourism, see Toby

A. Volkman, ''Tana Toraja: A Decade of Tourism," Cultural Survival Quarterly 6,3 (1982): 3031; Toby A. Volkman, "Visions and Revisions: Toraja Culture and the Tourist Gaze,"

American Ethnologist 17,1 (1990): 91-110; Kathleen M. Adams, "Carving a New Identity:

Ethnic and Artistic Change in Tana Toraja, Indonesia" (PhD dissertation, University of Washington, 1988); Kathleen M. Adams, "Ethnic Tourism and the Renegotiation of Tradition in Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia)," Ethnology 36,4 (1997): 309-20; S. Yamashita, "Manipulating Ethnic Tradition: The Funeral Ceremony, Tourism, and Television among the Toraja of Sulawesi," Indonesia 58 (October 1994): 69-82.

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"We Have No New Art ... "

111

This criterion applies also to objects without ceremonial applications. N e' Avip showed me the tools used in her craft, some of which had belonged to her family for several generations. These rudimentary handmade wooden tools had ro intrinsic economic value, yet she explained that she rarely showed them to people, as they may be damaged or stolen and they must be saved for her children. As a non-noble, one who therefore owns no ceremonial heirlooms, Ne' Avip valued the tools as an important link with past and future generations. Cross-generational linkages and other interacting social domains also inform modem commercial production. In this chapter, I explore some of those connections and their relationship to the distinctive Torajan imagery. ANCESTRAL CONNECTIONS

Material objects were the principal nexus between many complementary oppositions in Toraja, mediating between Upper- and Underworlds, humans and gods, east and west, north and south, male and female. Requirements for homage and propitiation stimulated elaborate symbolic codes, which were expressed through a lengthy cycle of rituals and a wide variety of iconographic media. 2 Not all objects negotiated with ancestors through ritual. Some also functioned independently, although they did occasionally figure as central ritual participants. Objects having the highest iconographic significance include elaborately carved ancestral houses (tongkonan) and their associated rice barns, wooden ancestral figures (tau-tau), carved coffins (erong), small doors to rock and cliff-face tombs, printed textiles, and intricately beaded hanging objects known as kandaure. All of these are still in widespread ceremonial use, and all are replicated in some form for external and tourist consumption. Following the advent of Christianity and the consequent enforced discontinuation of propitiation and appeasement rituals, funerals remain the principal link to a family's ancestors. 3 They are also the principal source of income 2 Oppositions were not applied simplistically. Hetty Nooy-Palm stresses the overall dominance of opposites, although she also indicates the importance of context to their understanding. See Hetty Nooy-Palm, The Sa'dan Toraja: A Study of their Social Life and Religion, vol. 1 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1979), pp. 109-118. The fluidity of oppositions and the role of the rice barn in their mediation is discussed by Nigel Barley and Stanislaus Sandarupa, The Torajan Ricebarn, Occasional Paper 72, Department of Ethnography (London: British Museum, 1991), pp. 6-7. The ritual cycles of life and death have been extensively researched, and important analyses of ritual procedures and purposes are found in Eric Crystal, ''Toradja Town" (PhD dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1971); Eric Crystal, "Cooking Pot Politics: A Toraja Village Study," Indonesia 18 (October 1974): 119-51; J. Koubi, Rambu Solo' (La fumee descend) (Paris: CNRS, 1982); Toby A. Volkman, Feasts of Honor (Chicago: University of lllinois Press, 1985); Hetty Nooy-Palm, The Sa'dan Toraja: A Study of their Social Life and Religion, vol. 2 (Dordrecht: Foris Publications, 1986); Dimitri Tsintjilonis, "Death and the Sacrifice of Signs: 'Measuring' the Dead in Tana Toraja," Oceania 71,1 (2000): 1-17. 3 Christianity was introduced to the Toraja after the Dutch established colonial control of the region in 1905-6. Terance W. Bigalke's extensive study of the entry of Christianity has demonstrated that conversion was seen by the Dutch as crucial to counteracting the potential threat from Islam. T. W. Bigalke, "A Social History of 'Tana Toraja' 1870-1965" (PhD dissertation, University of Wisconsin, 1981), p. 138. Initial Torajan resistance to the introduced religion was significant and included the murder of a missionary leader in 1917. Early conversions were slow-by 1924, only five hundred Torajans had been baptized, although by 1937 the number had reached 8,200, estimated at 5.5 percent of the population (p. 227). Large-scale conversions did not occur until the early 1960s, when the region was

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for many artisans. Customary funeral activity continues to be the "essence of Toraja culture," so closely associated with the society that it characterizes ethnicity.4 On almost any day of the year, it is possible to encounter groups of people dressed in black, often carrying gifts of food or drink if they are on their way to a funeral, or the reciprocal gift of meat from sacrificial animals if they are returning home. It is not unusual to hear brief chords of the badong funerary chant sung by men as they work, as one would sing or whistle segments of any other tune. 5 Even young children are familiar with the details surrounding death and can relate how the body is wrapped, the nature of rituals held in the immediate post-death period, the number of animals sacrificed at any particular point of a ceremony, and other relevant features. Funerals are elaborate and expensive and follow hierarchically prescribed procedures. They have become vehicles for status enhancement, as wealth accumulated by non-nobles provides entry into the domain of rituals formerly denied them by the ranking system. The ceremonies are communal activities, demanding reciprocal involvement, and Erik Crystal's statement that "active participation in death festivals is the sine qua non of social responsibility in local society" remains apposite. 6 Usually even the smallest funerals will be conducted over two days, and the largest may continue for a month. Throughout the funeral, and following interment in family tombs, deceased family members of the highest ranking nobility are represented by sculpted wooden effigies known as tau-tau (literally "a model of the person") (Figure 14). Even for Christians, the tau-tau, dressed in clothing of the deceased, accompanies the body through the many stages of the death ritual. Following the ceremony, the figure either stands adjacent to the tomb or in a specially constructed balcony high in the spectacular Torajan cliffs. Tau-tau are rarely isolated and are instead placed in groups which unite kin members in death as they were linked in life. The physical form, and the conceptual interpretation, of tau-tau have undergone significant change since the introduction of Christianity, as they have threatened by the Darul Islam guerrilla army of Kahar Muzakkar, who sought the formation of an Islamic state. Conversions were also encouraged by the opportunities for education in Christian schools, and the employment facilitated by that education. Modern Torajans follow Protestantism (69 percent), Catholicism (16 percent), Aluk To Dolo (8 percent), and Islam (7 percent). See Bureau of Statistics, Kabupaten Tana Toraja dalam angka 2001 (Tana Toraja: Bureau of Statistics, 2002). To overcome the initial resistance, mission policy advisers in the Netherlands called for cultural understanding, and integration of customary practices into Christian services where possible. Although offerings to spirits and ritualized animal sacrifice were not permitted, funerals could continue in their traditional forms, with modifications. Rituals of life which focused on propitiation and appeasement of ancestral beings either declined or became thanksgiving ceremonies; religious wedding ceremonies were introduced; and animal sacrifice became a means of feeding guests. For further discussion of the conversion process, see Bigalke, "A Social History," pp. 138-258. 4 Yamashita, "Manipulating Ethnic Tradition," p. 81. 5 Toby Volkman has pointed out that this seemingly casual use of the funerary chant would have been unusual during the period of her fieldwork prior to the mid-1980s, when it would have violated the separation of things associated with life from those associated with death. It may therefore indicate an increasing sense of the pre-Christian religion as heritage rather than belief, especially in the Sa' dan River valley, where most of my fieldwork was undertaken and where Western influences are stronger. 6 Crystal, "Cooking Pot Politics," p. 126.

"We Have No New Art ... "

113

become memorial figures rather than symbols of deification. Most modem figures are highly detailed sculptures providing a realistic, almost photographic, likeness of the deceased.

Figure 14. Tau-tau fi~res that conform to Aluk To Dolo custom stand in then Sa'dan Toraja cliff-face balcony.

The use of tau-tau may have been temporarily discontinued by the newly converted in some centers, for Raymond Kennedy noted in 1949 that they were not used by Christians, even though elaborate funerals were still conducted.7 Nevertheless, the practice has been maintained, with adaptation to Christian Raymond Kennedy, Field Notes on Indonesia: South Celebes, 1949-50 (New Haven, Cf: Human Relations Area Files, 1953), p. 169. As tau-tau are allowable only for the higher nobility, they are not used at all funerals. However, Kennedy's knowledge of the region was extensive, hence it seems likely that he would have been aware of the cultural requirements governing their usage.

7

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Securing a Place

precepts. Because of the large-scale theft of customary tau-tau during the past two decades, and their consequent replacement with reproductions, few originals remain to provide detailed evidence of regional, technical, or stylistic evolution. However, from extant originals, early descriptions, photographs, and the reproduction figures, it is possible to identify basic characteristics. Until the emergence of modem tau-tau, no attempt was made to carve the figure to resemble the deceased. Customary physical forms are varied, possibly indicating regional differences, social rank, and changing technology. Although the figures all gaze at their descendants with wide-open eyes, some have carved top-knots on the head, and some display incised or bas-relief tattoos. Some can be dismantled at the neck, shoulders, elbows, and hip, to allow manipulation suggestive of human movement during the funeral ceremony and to facilitate the change of clothing. Local historians believe this modular sectioning began only in the twentieth century, with the availability of more sophisticated tools. Many tau-tau have arms extended at the elbow, some with hands facing each other, but the most characteristic gesture has one hand set in a vertical position, meant to offer protection and repel adversity, and the other set horizontally, as it is meant to seek blessings. Offerings are sometimes placed on the palm of that hand. Some figures have the right hand in the horizontal position, others reverse the order. Erik Crystal theorizes that the vertical hand represents respect and humility. The gesture may also imitate the "reverent movement" in the funeral ceremony described by Claire Holt, who noticed that the right arm and hand of a mourner who chanted the badong lament was typically positioned as if to "convey homage or ... invitation." These gestures are also evident in some ancestral figures carved on small doors that secure the cave tombs in the limestone cliff faces, as well as others cut into large granite boulders. The use of prescribed gestures was also of some significance elsewhere in the peninsula. Leonard Andaya describes a Bugis hand motion known as sompa-warani, used by Arung Palakka during the seventeenth century, signifying homage and bravery without suggesting either aggression or submission. In that gesture, "the left hand extended outwards offering peace, and the right hand [was] placed on the hilt of the kris signifying a willingness to war if necessary." 8 Few modem artisans articulate the precise purpose of features such as the position of the hands, although one sculptor, an enthusiastic gambler, laughingly explained to me that tau-tau hands were positioned so that one hand scooped in rezeki (income or good fortune), while the other open, extended palm prepared to grasp the rezeki. Elaborately carved wooden erong coffins, believed to have been discontinued from the seventeenth century, figure as notable objects of material culture (Figure 3, Chapter 1). Today, erong are clustered in groups of as many as 150 in various stages of disintegration, in caves and at the base of cliff faces in forest locations throughout the Sa'dan highlands. Often, stalactites hanging from overhead limestone formations drip constantly onto the erong below, ferns and creepers are entangled among the coffins, and skeletal remains are sometimes scattered in disarray. The largest erong were the collective receptacles for the remains of 8 Crystal, "Toradja Town," p. 192; Claire Holt, Dance Quest in Celebes (Paris: Les archives internationales de la danse, 1939), pp. 52-3; Leonard Andaya, The Heritage of Arung Palakka: A History of South Sulawesi (Celebes) in the Seventeenth Century (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1981), p. 56, note 7.

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family members. Many resemble the form of the tongkonan house, signifying the tomb as the place of rest for the kinship group. All erong are symmetrical in form and surface imagery, and are incised with motifs that also occur on houses and that reflect the social rank, wealth, bravery, and interconnection of the group. Other ancient coffins, less rommon than the elaborate house-shaped examples, are uncarved and haveanimal heads sculpted into each end. These are usually either pig or buffalo heads, and they signify social hierarchy with the buffalo accorded the highest ranking.

SOCIAL NETWORKS

Torajan imagery crowds intricate detail into segmented spaces on wooden surfaces, elaborate textiles, and tightly knotted beadwork.9 The crowded detail can be seen as an aesthetic response to the natural environment of forests, rice fields, and bamboo groves surrounding Torajan hamlets. Here physical space is crowded with a dense matrix of varied foliage, grasses, and tree bark, intensifi~d with the movement of light and shade. Yet the intricate compositions also celebrate the social environment of interconnection and communality, upon which happiness and prosperity were and are contingent. The many village groups scattered throughout the approximately three thousand square kilometers of the Sa' dan highlands were largely independent, with no overall governance. There was little formal unification, apart from one permanent alliance of three settlements, and a notable period during the seventeenth century when an alliance of village units repelled Bugis invasion. Land seizures, warfare, and headhunting were not unrommon until the Dutch gained control in the early years of the twentieth century. Variants of visual expressions, rituals, mythology, and social structures evolved in the separate units, although always closely conforming to the principal norms of Aluk. In the absence of an overarching and powerful political organization, kinship relations formed the most important bonds between people and places, maintained in networks of community and ritual life centered around the tongkonan houses. In each hamlet, an original tongkonan existed, recognized as that of the founding ancestor. Others were built as the group expanded, so that a number of tongkonan houses formed foci for the immediate and wider kinship groups. Because descent is traced bilaterally, with strong bonds to even distant kin, wide familial networks developed around ancestral houses, and people were (and are still) associated with a number of different tongkonan. 10 More than a hundred defined motifs are commonly used, many of which are classified by L. Pal