Michael Young
Department of Anthropology,
Research School of Pacific Studies,
Australian National University
The following report was written in June 1990, immediately after the Task Force on Environmental Planning in Priority Forest Areas had made the visit to Woodlark Island which is described in Filer's first article in this volume. After completing the original draft, the author sent a copy to Fred Damon, the anthropologist mentioned in the text. In reply, Damon made a number of comments based on his own extensive observations of Muyuw (Woodlark) society. The most pertinent of these comments are included as additional footnotes to this final draft. The author wishes to thank Dr Damon for taking the time and trouble to make these corrections and amendments.
I must begin by making
the usual disclaimers and qualifications about the status of the information
presented in this report. In four days of fieldwork it is impossible
to cover the full range of relevant institutions of an unfamiliar
society and culture. Nor is it possible to check and verify the information
one does manage to collect. Accordingly, some of it may be inaccurate
or even erroneous. Intuition and subjective judgements as well as
professional experience play their part in assessing such information,
for one's opportunity to make direct observations are severely limited.
Perhaps more than other members of the Task Force, I was obliged
to rely almost entirely on conversations and interviews with a handful
of 'informants'. Not least, since this report had to be completed
within three days, I have not had the time I would have liked to digest
the material I collected, nor the opportunity to check and amplify
it by more detailed reference to the publications on Woodlark by other
anthropologists.
I relied most heavily on one of our two local interpreters, Willie
Roger of Guasopa (originally from central Woodlark), and it was sheer
good luck that he was present and available when the Task Force arrived
at Guasopa. The other interpreter, Bosko Lapis, is a maternal cousin
of Willie's (their mothers were sisters); he was raised by Willie's
father, so they are more like true brothers than cousins. They grew
up together in Kalamadau (though Bosko is a few years younger than
Willie), and both have married women from Guasopa where they now dwell.
Both men are highly articulate and speak excellent English - more
correctly, in fact, than many a local schoolteacher. Willie proved
to be an exceptionally competent interpreter at our public meetings
and his concentration never seemed to flag.1
An American anthropologist, Fred Damon of the University of Virginia,
lived on Woodlark Island between 1973-5 and for a few months in 1982.
He spoke the language fluently and is well remembered in Wabunun,
his major field base. Although generally familiar with his work,
I was not able to obtain and re-read all of his publications in the
time available to me. However, Damon has influenced some of the general
observations I make in the body of this report. Most of his articles
can be located in the Michael Somare Library at UPNG and his PhD thesis
can be consulted in the New Guinea Collection. The thesis takes a
theoretical Marxist perspective and focuses on garden production and
Kula exchange as they are underpinned by the system of kinship and
marriage. Like the thesis, Damon's academic articles are highly technical
for the most part, though they would repay careful study by Task Force
members who intend to return to the island. The bibliography includes
a list of his publications and one or two other items of potential
interest, including Hank Nelson's (1976) book which contains an instructive
chapter on the dismal history of gold mining in Woodlark.2
Woodlark Island
is 60 kilometres long from east to west, and about 30 kilometres wide
from north to south in the centre. The island was named after a ship
which passed by in the 1830s, and had the dubious distinction of hosting
(and largely ignoring) the first Christian missionaries in the region:
French (and later Italian) Marists who arrived in 1847 and abandoned
the island eight years later. The Wesleyan (Methodist) Mission arrived
in 1897 and was far more successful; today a majority of Woodlark
Islanders belong to the United Church.
The indigenous name for the island is Muyuw. There is broad linguistic
and cultural uniformity extending over the whole island and its outliers
(Egum, Nasikwab and Budibud) plus the Marshall Bennetts (Gawa, Kwaiawata
and Iwa). The language (Muyuw) is Austronesian and belongs to the
same family of languages ('Papuan Tip Cluster') spoken by a great
majority of people in Milne Bay Province. This maritime region of
500 islands, together with the southeastern tip of the mainland, is
known to anthropologists as the Massim: a distinctive culture area
defined by many common features.
Within the Woodlark Group there are local dialect differences and
trade specializations which give distinctive cultural identities to
particular communities or areas. For example, Gawa is renowned for
the manufacture of large sea-going canoes, Budibud for its coconuts,
pigs and sleeping mats, and eastern Woodlark for its excellence in
yam gardening. There used to be a major wood carving centre at Kweyakwoya
in the east but this has long since dispersed. Nowadays Wabunun appears
to be the dominant Kula community and it is renowned for the size
of its gardens. Minor cultural differences are recognised across
the island. For example, the yam planting and harvesting seasons
are staggered from east to west; yam garden layout in the east and
centre are oriented east-west ('to follow the sun') whereas in Madau
in the west (culturally closest to Gawa) the orientation of yam gardens
is north-south. Burial customs and mortuary feasts also vary somewhat
from east to west; all such differences are significant in the construction
of local community identity.
'The island may have lost up to two-thirds of its population between
1850 and 1920,' according to Damon. That is, from an estimated 2200
at first European contact it had dropped to between 700 and 900 by
about 1915. A fatal impact indeed, and the population has taken
a long time to recover. The most recent figures are those of the
1979 census, which lists 16 census units (named communities) for Woodlark
itself and its appendage Madau. The total resident population was
1343, and the number of absentees 60. An expected population increase
over the past decade should bring the 1990 total to about 1700. The
largest villages in 1979 - Kaulay (160), Moniveyova (140), and Wabunun
(154) - are still said to be the largest today. The colonial creations
of Guasopa and Kulumadau (described in the census book as 'large rural
non-villages') also have relatively large populations, 147 and 242
respectively, and both will be substantially larger in the 1990 census.
Guasopa has gained a health centre since the last census, while Kulumadau
will register the presence of a medium-sized timber company (MBL)
and a mining exploration camp (BHP).
The main centres of population are along the coast in the extreme
southeast centred on Guasopa, and in the extreme west (Madau). The
population of central Woodlark is rather more dispersed. In terms
of the traditional divisions of Muyuw, the eastern segment (Muyuw)
accounts for about 600 (44%), central Muyuw (Wamwan) for 400 (30%),
and Madau (Neyam) for 350 (26%). These figures exclude the 'station'
communities of Guasopa and Kulumadau, though a few villagers do live
in them.
Like all Massim islanders, Woodlark people depend on subsistence gardening
for their livelihood. The land is said to be fertile and there is
a remarkably short fallow period of five to eight years.3
Yam growing is the most prestigeous gardening activity and people
claim their kuv yams (D.alata) grow as large as those in the Trobriands.
Taro, bananas, sweet potato, cassava (tapioca) and many other introduced
crops are also grown. Sago is important for many villagers to tide
them over the period from about October to March. Coconuts, breadfruit
and many other tree fruits are also eaten. Fish is supposedly plentiful,
and some coastal villages are said to have large nylon fishing nets,
but in four days the only fresh fish I saw were the three tuna caught
by some members of our team. Other sources of protein are crabs and
shellfish, cuscus and a few other small animals and birds. Although
there are said to be many wild pigs in the forest I did not get the
impression that Muyuw men are such keen hunters as are to be found
on other large islands of the Province.
Pork is a rare delicacy, for as elsewhere in Melanesia it is feast
food and not everyday fare. The village of Guasopa was preparing
to host a large mortuary feast (sagal) in July at which upwards of
twenty pigs will be killed and distributed. This particular feast
was described as a soibutu, which is the largest of the sagal series,
and which 'finishes' the deaths of several people in a collective
celebration: there is dancing to drums and women trim their heavy
mourning skirts. Such pig feasts, with their complex networks of
debts and credits, are important for maintaining the total fabric
of Woodlark society; in this case an island-wide network of kin and
affines (relatives-by-marriage) is involved.
I shall say little specific about Muyuw kinship and marriage; interested
readers can consult Damon's articles. Muyuw society is nominally
'matrilineal', that is, descent and succession are reckoned through
the female line such that a man ideally inherits property (including
land rights) from his mother's brother. But the principle appears
to be far less rigid than the uncompromising matriliny found, for
example, in Dobu, Duau (Normanby Island) and Tubetube. It seems to
be even more flexible than the matriliny of the Trobriands and Misima.
Adoption appears to be quite common, and there are several interesting
forms.
Villages are nucleated on the Trobriand pattern rather than dispersed
like those of the Dobu or Suau areas. In two of the villages I visited
(Kaulay and Wabunun) the houses were symmetrically laid out in double
rows running roughly east-west which faced one another across a broad
'street' or plaza. The other two villages I inspected (Kauway and
Guasopa) were not so planned, and houses seemed to be placed randomly
with different orientations to one another. I was told, and I was
willing to believe, that the latter is the traditional arrangement
(or non-arrangement), and that the neat double rows were a 'new' way
copied from 'New Guinea'. It is probably true that Wabunun was rebuilt
this way during the fifties, and it is certainly true that the present
village of Kaulay dates only from 1986, after MBL bulldozers cleared
a flat area at the villagers' request. Their earlier site was a few
hundred metres distant. But there can be little doubt that the east-west
orientation of a double row of houses is the traditional Muyuw plan,
for in 1891-2 the Administrator Sir William MacGregor noted that the
houses in the villages he saw (one as large as 'fourscore') were 'arranged
in a double row'.4
I had no time to take house censuses or to make statistical estimates
of residence patterns. Nuclear families (a married couple and their
children, natural or adopted) are said to be the usual household group.
I failed to find any firm rule of residence (nor does Damon mention
one), and there appears to be some choice as to where a married couple
finally decide to settle and raise their children. Most appear to
live with the husband's father (the patrivirilocal option). I was
relieved to discover later that Damon had observed in his thesis that
the histories of three large communities (Guasopa, Kaulay and Madau)
'show that people live in the same place for very different and contingent
reasons'.5
This is not to deny any patterning of residence. Obviously, one lives
with close kin (or in-laws) in a place where one has rights of land
use, whether derived through one's mother or one's father. In the
early stages of a marriage (when the union is said to be most fragile)
each partner must work for his or her in-laws; so a husband might
live for a time in his wife's place. Then the young man's father
leads the couple back to his own village, and the husband gives a
shell valuable to his in-laws as if to compensate them for their sister's/daughter's
physical removal.6
There seems to be no brideprice as such, just the exchange, more or
less balanced, of labour and foodstuffs, pigs and shells - exchanges
which continue throughout the marriage until the death of both partners.
Children 'finish' their parents' marriage with the final mortuary
payments called lo'un. The balanced exchange of goods and services
between parties to a marriage does not mean that the relationship
between them is symmetrical, however, and a man is forever obliged
to respect and 'work for' his wife's father(s) and mother's brother(s).
These are his sinvalam, and reciprocally, a woman must respect and
'work for' her husband's father(s) and mother's brother(s), who are
her sinvalam. These obligations to affinal relatives appear to override
most others.
As in so many cultures of the region,
in taking upon himself the responsibilty for a mortuary feast an heir
publicly demonstrates his succession to the deceased's social position.
By this mean he inherits not only the dead man's estate but also
his pork debts, which the mortuary feasts should attempt to repay.
If he cannot repay them, he is liable to forfeit a parcel of land
to creditors. Damon writes of the 'shuffling' of land between subclans
that occurs (or used to occur) after certain deaths. This kind of
land transfer is not alienation, for the land can be reclaimed in
the future after appropriate payments have been made. But it doubtless
explains why Muyuw is a patchwork of holdings, such that small parcels
of land 'belonging' to one clan or subclan are found within a general
area claimed by another sub-clan or clan.7
Questioning people about this manner of land transfer, I was told
that nowadays land is no longer given or forfeited at sagal mortuary
events ('If anyone tried to pay back with land now his dal would puripuri
him').8 I neglected
to ask, however, if cash from logging royalties could be used to redeem
land previously given in the repayment of pig debts.
Damon is worth quoting at some length on this score:
About 1980 the relationship between pig debts and credits and subclan
land was altered. A logging company [MBL] arrived on the island and
in order to disambiguate claims to large stretches of the island for
distributing logging royalties, most land was removed from this system.
With government assistance subclans laid claims to large portions
of the land based on subclan origin myths. Boundaries were cut to
distinguish one group's land from another's. This is a major 'event'
in Muyuw history. Since their origin myths indicate that they were
from elsewhere in Milne Bay Province, in one moment many people were
disenfranchised from the island's new wealth, another step towards
making land a commodity was taken, the notion of subclan became substantialized,
and the complex relationship between people and things...was significantly
changed. (Damon 1989:91)
This passage deserves some comment for I suspect that Damon is overstating
his case. Although I collected only one subclan origin myth and do
not know what places Damon is referring to by 'elsewhere in MBP',9
I was not aware that anyone had been in any sense 'disenfranchized'
by registering their land claims with the government. It is reasonable
to suppose that any such people would have raised the issue during
the meetings held by the Task Force, when other complaints against
the logging concessions were being freely aired. What several people
did complain about was the uncertain status of their ownership, not
vis-a-vis other Woodlark Islanders, but vis-a-vis the national government.
Yet Damon does not mention the legal fact that large portions of
the island are technically owned by the state - an historical response
of colonial government to drastic population decline.10
Insofar as local people are aware of this fact they are uneasy about
the government's intentions, and several wondered whether they might
be forced by the government to surrender their lands entirely if they
were declared conservation areas.
This has little bearing on Damon's point, however. It might be the
case that the system of royalty distribution (see Section 5 below)
put into place in recent years (later than any information available
to Damon) has satisfied any 'disenfranchized' landowners created earlier.
This would help explain the curiously even-handed and widespread
royalty distributions we were informed about. For the rest of Damon's
statement I can only agree that the flexible notion of subclan (dal)
might have become more dangerously definitive and rigid, and that
a significant step towards the understanding of land as a saleable
commodity was taken by the very act of boundary definition and registration.
Damon's reference to subclans as land
owning groups requires us to take a step back and consider clanship.
First let me make it clear that Muyuw clanship has as much to do
with defining social identity and maintaining social reproduction
as it does with land tenure. Clanship is intimately connected with
the exchange of women in marriage, which in turn regulates the exchange
of vegetable foods, pigs and shell valuables, and thus ultimately
energizes the local pursuit of Kula. The indigenous model of clanship
and marriage regulation is apparently based on the fourfold spatial
structure of a yam garden, with its cardinal points (E-W and N-S).
There are eight clans, however, not simply four - a discrepancy,
according to Damon, which Muyuw people find rather embarrassing.
Clanship, in short, is a far from simple matter and my inquiries merely
scratched the surface. For a comprehensive account the reader must
refer to Damon's 1983 article.
There are eight named, dispersed, matrilineal clans in Woodlark, four
or five of which are also represented in the outer islands, the Marshall
Bennetts and the Trobriands. They are called kum (a cognate of Trobriands
kumila), and each is distinguished by a principal bird emblem or totem
(man) and a variable number of other creatures. As elsewhere in the
Massim, people are obliged to offer hospitality to visiting clansmen
from other places. From this point of view, a clan provides a social
security network for its members beyond their home villages and even
overseas. I list the Muyuw clans here according to decreasing order
of size of membership (as I was informed by Willie and Minister Waniyai,
though I am uncertain whether 'size' is also congruent with size of
land areas owned by them). The spelling of clan names I use here
follows Damon's convention:
Kwasis (or Nukwasis); man = Crow.
Kunutan; man = Black Imperial Pigeon.
Kubay (or Nikubai); man = Sea Eagle.
Sinawiy (or Sinawe); man = White Cockatoo.
Leydog (or Laidoga); man = Red Parrot.
Malas (or Malasi); man = Torres Strait Pigeon.
Dawet; man = Frigate Bird.
Kumuluw; man = Flying Fox.
I now present such details as I have on the distribution of clans
in Woodlark.11 Villages
are listed on the left and their component clans on the right.
EASTERN WOODLARK (MUYUW), listed from east to west:
Kavatan: Malas, Leydog, Kubay
Ungonum: Leydog
Kelau: Leydog, Sinawiy
Guasopa: Malas, Kumuluw, Sinawiy,
Leydog, Kubay
Wayavat: Kubay
Wabunun: Kwasis, Kunutan, Kubay,
Leydog, Sinawiy, Malas, Dawet
Unamatan: Dawet, Sinawiy, Kubay
CENTRAL WOODLARK (WAMWAN), listed from east to west:
Kaulay (Kaurai on map): Malas, Kubay, Sinawiy, Kunutan
Dikwayas (Dakoias on map): Kwasis, Kubay, Kunutan
Lidaw (north coast): Kunutan
Kowuway (Kauwai on map): Malas, Kumuluw
Mapas Island: Malas
Norak (West Suloga) Malas
WESTERN WOODLARK (MADAU ISLAND), listed from north to south:
Kuduweda: Kwasis
Moniveyova: Kwasis, Kubay, Kunutan
Kawakau: Kwasis, Kunutan
Boagis: Kwasis, Kubay, Malas
Without population figures for the individual clans it is impossible
to assess their relative strength in different villages or regions.
However, it can be inferred from the above listings that Kubay, Leydog,
Malas and Sinawiy predominate in the east, Malas and Kunutan in the
central villages, and Kwasis, Kubay and Kunutan on Madau. All eight
clans are represented in the east, six in the centre, and only four
in the west. Leydog and Dawet are found only in the east.
This distribution does not correspond to the 'ideological' scheme
according to which the four cardinal points are represented by Dawet
(N), Kwasis (S), Malas (E) and Kubay (W). These four clans are the
'original' ones; the other four are presumably more recent creations
which do not fit the ideal model. Damon says that Muyuw belief is
that a Creator called Geliw created the clans; it was only the subclans
that came out of swamps or holes in the ground. Damon further states
that although all dal claim some such origin myth few people actually
know them. Those Damon was able to record featured a brother-sister
pair who emerged carrying some unusual foodstuff; they then separated
in order to marry, but later came together again. Damon observes
that this constitutes a fair summary of what the system of kinship
and marriage is all about: brothers and sisters separating then reuniting.
Concerning subclans (dal, cf. Trobriands dala) which are also dispersed,
Bosko told me that there are between two and ten in each clan. I
could not confirm this and the impression I got from others was that
there are far fewer. At any rate, judging by the number of clan or
subclan leaders appointed as 'agents' for the distribution of timber
royalties, there are two clans containing three dal, three clans containing
two dal, and three without any subdivision at all:12
CLAN/SUB-CLAN AGENT
Malas/Tabukui (or Tabal) Wasana
Malas/Lawani Lesilosi Gubegube
Malas/Kuwai Aiyuwas
Sinawiy/Letau-Sinanaw Tolobok Keremas
Sinawiy/Dikwoyas Takaipwal
Sinawiy/Sinamata Sinavoli
Kubay/Udani (or Okidos) Ledemu
Kubay/Kusboag Oken
Kumutan/Sinkaiyaw Loyasi Sena
Kumutan/Kabiokona Donald Posum
Kwasis/Ukwaden Kapowata Subedi
Kwasis/Ulugulugu Ulikoman Tamawada
Dawet Terence Pada
Kumulu Joe Bolmawag
Leydog Tavagil Manamowa
Regarding the location of particular clan lands, I learned only that
the areas owned by Malas are Kavatan in the east, Suloga in the south,
Busai in the central bush east of Kulumadau, a strip of land near
Lidau on the north coast, and a large area at Lawanai which includes
the coconut plantation of that name east of Kowuway (Kauwai on the
map).
Concerning the relationship of clans to subclans and of both to land,
the discussion must remain inconclusive. A rapid perusal of Damon's
thesis yielded nothing on land tenure. The handful of men I questioned
on the matter could not satisfactorily explain the difference between
dal land ownership and kum land ownership. During discussion the
two concepts often become confused, as if in certain contexts the
hierarchical relation between them was irrelevant. Reefs were said
to be owned by clans, betel and coconut plantations by subclans.
I suspect similar general principles apply here as occur elsewhere
in the Province. For example, it is probably the case that clan (kum)
lands are inclusive general areas which comprise the uncut forest,
whereas dal lands are those which have previously been cleared and
thereby domesticated and claimed. In other words, dal ownership is
probably established by the input of human labour into undifferentiated
kum land. Cleared land (and secondary bush) remains under the control
of the dal, though the wider clan retains nominal ownership in the
event that the controlling dal dies out. But this does not explain
why some clans are receiving timber royalties as groups, while in
other cases it is the subclans which receive them. Clearly, more
information is needed before these anomalies can be explained.13
One factor which should be borne in mind is that clans and subclans
traditionally were more concerned with the regulation of marriage
(and hence with social reproduction in time) than they were with determining
rights to land use. A plenitude of land is easily taken for granted.
It is most unlikely that Woodlark was ever heavily populated, and
there has doubtless always been an abundance of land for subsistence
needs. Until the forest was turned into a commodity with the arrival
of the logging company there was probably very little conflict over
land. The current equivocation over clan and subclan landownership
might then reflect an uncertainty in Muyuw men's minds and not merely
the visiting anthropologist's ignorance of the facts!
Perhaps partly because
I failed to gather sufficient information on clan land ownership,
I failed also to comprehend the system of distributing royalties.
I excuse myself by saying that I was unable to find anyone who claimed
to understand it fully. Nor was there anyone who knew how much money
the island had received from this source. Some believed payments
were made annually, others said they were more frequent. Ismael Labatino,
the forestry officer at Alotau, told me he thought Woodlark had not
received any royalties for a couple of years, though one payment for
K62,000 was now in hand - the largest payment yet to be made.
The most difficult thing to understand, however, was the basis of
royalty allocation between the clans and/or subclans. On this point
I received contradictory statements. One man said the division of
royalties between groups was done according to a percentage calculated
by the provincial government, such that some groups got more than
others, and 'took turns' to be paid in full. Another man said the
distributions were at the discretion of the clan/subclan 'agents'.
Yet another thought the majority of logging royalities were paid
to the state because it was 'crown land', and only 25% came back to
the landowners. This amount was then equally divided and given to
the eight clans. Another view was that a percentage was calculated
for each clan according to the size of its land in the TRP, and the
manager of MBL, Rolly Christensen, was supposed to have the figures
in his computer (I unfortunately neglected to ask him about this).
Although boundaries have apparently been drawn and mapped several
other people denied that royalties were paid on the basis of clan
lands actually logged in a given period. One informant explained
that they 'tried' that system, but it led to too many disputes (especially
since Rolly's men did not mark the logs according to their source).
So representatives of all the clans held a meeting at which it was
decided to share the royalties equally, without favour to those groups
who were currently having their areas of forest logged. This compromise
was specifically designed to prevent further disputes, the principle
being that every clan would receive something and all would get the
same in the long run. However, some are said to be indignant that
the numerically smaller clans get as much money as the larger ones,
or that those with smaller land areas get as much as those with larger
land areas. Even the chairman of WIDCO admitted he was puzzled by
this arrangement.
Other points seem clear enough. Clans and/or subclans elected 'agents'
(usually but not necessarily leaders) who were made responsible for
the distribution of royalty payments within their groups, presumably
down to household head level. Some of these 'agents' delegated to
younger, more educated men the task of 'signing' for the royalty cheques
and operating the passbooks. Each group appears to hold a passbook
in its name for banking at Alotau where the forestry officer issues
the cheques. The trust placed in these young men has sometimes been
betrayed, and several of them were said to have misappropriated their
group's funds. Quarrels have also arisen within various dal concerning
the use to which funds should be put. Some groups want to use their
money to buy PMV trucks or dinghies or to open canteens (at least
one man in Kulumadau runs a PMV purchased with royalty proceeds),
but other members of the group may have other priorities.
Whatever the detailed mechanism of the distribution system, it was
welcome news that royalties have been distributed fairly evenly throughout
the island and not simply in the western and central areas where logging
has taken place. This at least allows people in the east to oppose
logging in the proposed TRP without feeling they have foregone financial
benefits enjoyed by their clansmen to the west.
At present there are few other sources of cash income (though more
than in many other islands). The low price of copra discourages production.
There are said to be six gold sluices on the island worked by villagers
in their clan-owned creeks. Rolly said (optimistically, I thought)
that they might find as much as 2 ounces a week. Some individuals
fish for trochus and beche-de-mer and sell them to Masurina in Alotau.
In the TRP area ebony was being sold to MBL who cut it on the landowners'
behalf.14 Another
small source of income for some landowners is the Prospecting Authority
held by BHP around Kulumadau. I did not investigate this, nor ask
about land fees and compensation rates.15
Everywhere the team went we asked to see local ebony carvings. Many
were promised, but very few actually appeared (those that did appear
- repeatedly - were carved by Trobriand 'passengers' in Kulumadau).
There is an outlet for Woodlark artifacts though the agency of Semani
Tomowau, a Gawa man living on Madau, who sends them to Alotau and
Port Moresby Handicrafts. But the process is a slow one and carvers
complain that they may not be paid for their work for many months
or even years. Semani himself is a well-travelled young man who achieved
instant fame recently by drifting to the Solomon Islands aboard the
stricken Buma II. He is all in favour of a tourist resort being
established on uninhabited Nusam Island at the southernmost tip of
Madau.
I cannot hope to say much about Kula here
for it is a highly complex institution that has intrigued anthropologists
for 80 years. Volumes have been written about it from the perspective
of one island or another, for everywhere Kula is slightly different.
The common theme, however, is the delayed exchange of shell valuables
between partners (muli) of different communities. The exchanges are
highly competitive in the sense that one competes with other members
of one's own community or district for the temporary possession of
certain valuables before relinquishing them to other partners. The
valuables themselves (of which there are many thousands in circulation)
slowly work their way around a 'ring', passing from the hand of one
partner to another around the island circuit formed by the Woodlarks,
the Marshall Bennetts, the Trobriands, the eastern D'Entrecasteaux,
the Engineers, and back to the Woodlarks. There is no particular
starting point or centre, though some Kula-making communities do acquire
more renown and thereby more historical importance than others.
The basic rule of Kula is that armshells (mwali) travel in an anti-clockwise
direction around the ring, while necklaces (bagi, or veigun in Muyuw)
move clockwise. But the 'paths' (ked) along which the shells travel
are multiple and rarely parallel: a diagram of their movement in space
would resemble a plateful of spaghetti arranged into a rough circle.
Another basic rule is that one cannot keep a valuable indefinitely
nor withdraw it from circulation unless one owns it personally (as
a kitoum, unencumbered by debt). The shells are ranked and named
(children too are named after them in some areas), and the higher
the rank the greater the competition to acquire them. Once you have
obtained a famous high-ranking shell your own name becomes known around
the ring, on islands and in villages where you have never set foot,
and other high-ranking shells will begin to come your way. As your
own fame increases, so does the value of the shells you hold, for
their unique histories of temporary ownership is remembered. In Kula,
as in business, nothing succeeds like success. To be big in Kula
is to be big in most other things. The fame of individual Kula traders
enhances the name of their village; such a community then attracts
settlers and visitors (Kula traders or otherwise), and as it becomes
wealthier it grows in size and political influence.
During the early decades of the century Dikoyas in north central Woodlark
was the dominant Kula community and the largest village on the island.
Owing to drought and the deaths of its leaders it declined in importance
and has never recovered. According to Damon, during the fifties the
elders of Wabunun made a deliberate decision to work hard to make
their village succeed in Kula. The results are still evident today.
Wabunun is the second largest and probably the most prosperous village
on Woodlark. It is renowned for its huge gardens (they are claimed
to be twice the size of any other communities'), its Kula traffic
and its canoe-building industry.
As much as anything else nowadays, Kula continues to bind and enliven
the communities of Muyuw. It still flourishes, and I was told that
500 armshells were displayed on the beach at Guasopa in the month
before our visit - the most the village had ever seen. As one of
the main shunting stations, links in the chain or nodes in the network
(choose your metaphor), Muyuw is obliged to keep the Kula roads open
from east to west. During our visit there were five large canoes
from Gawa on the beach at Boiboi, incongruously flanked by cut logs
of ebony and the gigantic machinery of MBL. The Gawa and Kwaiawata
visitors had come for armshells and during the week or so that they
were to remain they intended to fan out across the island to visit
their Kula partners and solicit the best armshells from them. Their
carved and decorated canoes were eloquent visual testimony to the
strength of Kula on Muyuw.
It must be understood that Kula exchange is a powerful motivation
for many men of Woodlark. Given the choice they would probably prefer
to be successful in Kula than in 'business'. Certain personal qualities
are essential for both: forethought and persistence, an entrepreneurial
intelligence, an ability to charm and persuade by force of personality,
and not least, an ability to lie convincingly and risk the possible
consequences of death by sorcery. In short, Kula is a deadly serious
'game' which evokes the deepest passions, involves all of one's skills
and many of one's material resources. The name of the game is local
fame, and it can be said with confidence that any development project
which is perceived as a threat to Kula will be sabotaged or neglected,
no matter how appealing its financial benefits might seem.
In short, for many, perhaps most, Muyuw men the pursuit of Kula valuables
is a far more important activity than the pursuit of money. It would
be instructive to learn how much of the timber royalties already paid
to Muyuw men have been channelled into Kula activities, for although
one cannot purchase the shell valuables themselves, one can 'grease'
one's partners with cash inducements. Money talks as loudly on Woodlark
as anywhere else, and at the interpersonal level Kula is above all
a matter of persuading partners from other communities to relinquish
a desired armshell or necklace, against the competiting solicitations
of other members of one's own community. Much is also spent on hosting
Kula visitors (e.g. buying store goods to feast them). But it must
not be assumed that money invested in Kula is wasted, for in providing
a major incentive for increased subsistence production Kula generates
its own spin-off social and economic benefits.
John Kasaipwalova once called Kula - without exaggeration - a native
development corporation. If a development corporation is defined
as an organization that raises the general standard of living, both
culturally and economically, then Kula manages to do precisely that.
The fact that it has survived, against the odds, almost a century
of colonial interference suggests that it will also outlive WIDCO
and any other modern regional development corporation.
Suloga peninsula
was identified as a likely conservation area before the Task Force's
visit. Although we did not manage to see the bay itself and only
two members of the Task Force made a brief visit to the western shore
of the peninsular, we could view it from the hill at Kulumadau. Its
rugged and heavily forested sugarloaf mountains (the highest on what
is otherwise a rather flat island) gave it an alluring aspect.
Besides being an isolated and virtually unpopulated wilderness it
is an area of considerable archaeological interest and historical
value. Until the introduction of steel tools towards the end of the
nineteenth century, the peoples of the Massim relied entirely on polished
stone axe blades for clearing gardens, working canoes and other wooden
artifacts. These axe blades (called bek) were quarried, chipped and
perhaps also polished at Suloga by members of the Malas subclan which
provided the craftsmen. The axe blades were then traded throughout
the area, as far as Milne Bay, the D'Entrecasteaux Islands and Trobriands
Group to the west and Rossel Island and Misima to the south. There
was no other known source of greenstone in the islands, hence Suloga
supplied the entire Massim area with this essential commodity.
In addition to the everyday axe blades, the craftsmen of Suloga manufactured
large, thin 'ceremonial' blades which were traded around the Kula
ring in the same direction as the armshells. These large blades were
made of the best banded greenstone and were highly polished. Commensurate
with the labour expended on them, they were greatly valued and were
given names. Some of them achieved a fame equivalent to the highest
ranking shell necklaces (bagi), and Seligman (1910:531) cited one
particular axe blade being exchanged in about 1900 for five pigs,
a small canoe and a pair of the best armshells: not less than K1000
in today's money. By the turn of the century these valuable blades
no longer circulated in the Kula, though they continued to be used
to purchase canoes in some areas, and in a few places (notably the
Trobriand Islands) they are still used in marriage payments and land
transactions. They are no longer used in this manner in Woodlark,
and there are probably few to be found in people's houses nowadays.
I was told that many axe blades were buried by their owners in the
very mountain from which they were quarried; old men would do this
as they reached the end of their gardening lives. It is for this
reason that the actual quarry site (and doubtless the surrounding
mountainside) is under taboo. Hunters wandering through this area
are warned that the axes will magically 'attack' and cut the feet
and legs of intruders. This must be borne in mind if Suloga becomes
accessible to eco-tourists. Moreover, as a registered archaeological
site of major significance, the axe quarry (together with the chipping
'workshop' near the shore) will have to be protected from fossickers
until proper excavations have been completed.16
Other areas which will need special protection are the cliffs containing
burial caves which are said to be along the shore between Suloga and
Wanay (or Wonai) Bay. The skull and limb bones of the deceased used
to be exhumed after primary burial and placed in these caves - sometimes
nestling in clay pots. This mode of burial appears to have ceased
about the turn of the century, but the burial caves are still thought
to be deserving of respect and even fear. Needless to say, they are
of unusual archaeological interest and must be protected for this
reason alone.
Although there were more people living in Suloga in the past it is
unlikely that there were ever more than a handful of settlements.
At present there is only one: a hamlet of four or five houses at
Norak on the southwest side of the peninsular about two kilometres
from Suloga Point. Most of the peninsular is owned by a single clan:
Malas. Two other clans have footholds on the western side: Sinawiy
and Kwasis, though the latter's area appears to comprise the mangrove
swamps of Wanay Bay. There is another taboo 'no-go' area in the region.
This is a coral-strewn portion of Wanay Bay which is said to be the
home of a giant octopus.
Two Malas men independently mentioned Suloga as an ideal conservation
area: Willie Roger, one of our interpreters, and Minister Waniyai
of Kulumadau, who is a director of WIDCO and founder of the new landowners'
association called Muyuw Towas. Willie became quite fired by the
idea and his ambitions ran far ahead of the Task Force's tempered
visions. By the time we left Guasopa he could see himself as manager
of a modest tourist 'lodge' at a place inside the bay called Uyawou,
shuttling visitors to and from Guasopa in a dinghy, conducting them
on bushwalks through the mountains, and showing them where to dive
for lobster. The less energetic ones could swim and sunbathe on the
creamy white sand of the beach. The greater part of Suloga peninsular
is owned by Willie's Tabal (or Tabulumi) dal of Malas clan.
There are other sites of archaeological interest, notably the ancient
megaliths and trenches described in Damon's 1979 paper. I do not
know how many of these prehistoric remains have been registered.
I was told that the solitary peak of Kabat near Kulumadau has a cave
in which were dumped the bodies of people killed during a period of
prolonged fighting in the nineteenth century. I was also told that
MBL bulldozers had inadvertently ruined the site.
Other members of the Task Force
will have reported their impressions of the meetings held in Guasopa
and Kulumadau. Here I simply make a few general observations and
recommendations for future Task Force visits.
Everyone agreed that the second, lengthy meeting at Guasopa was highly
successful in the sense of stimulating a lively interest which generated
many questions. This might have had something to do with good weather
and the relaxed ambience of a Sunday afternoon. But I think it helped
greatly to have forewarned people about what to expect. It might
serve the Task Force well in future if, where possible, preliminary
meetings were held with a select audience before calling a larger
general meeting. This would help obviate the daunting feeling that
one is starting from scratch in front of an amorphous and baffled
audience about whose social composition one knows nothing whatever.
Having observed the public's reactions to the information presented
to them by the team, I would recommend that Johnson Mantu be invited
to speak first on future occasions. This is no reflection on Michael
Patchett's qualities of leadership and public relations skills, but
merely a matter of tactics. Audiences identify more readily with
a fellow Melanesian, and it helps alleviate their latent suspicion
of European intentions. More importantly, Johnson has the rhetorical
gift (shared by Harry Sakulas) of appealing to the heart first. The
Europeans on our team tended to appeal to the intellect before the
feelings by starting from 'out there' and bringing it 'home to the
village' only after lengthy explanation. This can be somewhat counterproductive.
If the subject is technical and complex ('The Greenhouse Effect',
'TFAP', 'Conservation Areas', 'Sustainable Yield', etc.) the attention
of the audience is soon lost and not easily recaptured. In his command
of Melanesian idioms and Christian axioms, Johnson, I suspect, has
an intuitive understanding of what is going to engage this particular
audience on this particular occasion. 'Land is next to our hearts;
the forest is our lives.' He will know whether to commence with a
homily, a parable, or an empirical observation about local forests.
He will begin by making the people feel that their village is at
the centre of both the problem and the solution, not somewhere remote
that need not concern them. He will make them feel that what they
do is important to the rest of the world, but he will do this not
by talking about the international community, but by talking about
their own villages and forests. When they have warmed to his subject
and grasped the essence of his message, Michael, David [Vosseler]
and others can address the more technical arguments. This way, I
suspect, public interest can be generated early and maintained throughout
the meeting. When attention begins to flag, call in Johnson or Harry
[Sakulas] again!17
It proved to be a diplomatic error to shower the crowd with gifts
of tobacco, for if even only one fervent Methodist objects (as happened
at Guasopa), a moral point is scored against the team and its goodwill
messages (as Harry graciously conceded). The pastor made a parable
of his objection: 'What right do you have to come here and give us
things we may not want and that may be bad for us? How do you know
what we need anyway?' Point taken. The lesson for the Task Force
in this is that nothing should be offered (walkabout-sawmills, cottage
carving industry, tourism or whatever) until there is some indication,
however vaguely expressed, of a wish for them. Then the speakers
can help articulate those wishes and give some substance to what hitherto
were misty dreams. (The European members of the team might be warned,
too, that the protection of black spotted possums does not necessarily
feature in those dreams. To the average villager possums are simply
meat, and people are genuinely puzzled by our concern for them.)
With hindsight it seems a pity we did not call meetings in Wabubun
and Kaulay, the two largest villages. The 'neutral' ground of Guasopa
station and Kulumadau, as colonial creations, had their advantages,
but I suspect the emotional tone of meetings held literally on peoples'
doorsteps would be far more intimate. Then the message is truly brought
'home' and cannot be left behind at the station for only 'government'
to worry about. An audience at home is also less liable to distraction
and will more easily concentrate on the speeches. I suggest that
in future any large, and presumably prestigous, villages in the target
area are made venues of such meetings. Then observe the heightened
level of interest and appreciation.
Wabunun appears to be an unusually dynamic and enterprising village.
I did not know this before I went there, though a more timely reading
of Damon's thesis would have alerted me. Wabunun's leaders had a
way of getting all the people to co-operate and work for the common
good: a rare thing in Massim villages. Although it was not necessarily
a tactical mistake to call the people of Wabunun to Guasopa for a
meeting (most of the men seem to have attended) the Task Force might
have made even more impact had we held one on their home ground.
Future visits of the Task Force should take Wabunun's dynamism into
account, for it is an uncommon trait in the region. There are social
and cultural reasons for this, and a brief anthropological aside might
be helpful.18
According to Damon, the Muyuw kinship system dictates that a man 'works
with' his brothers and other consanguineal relatives, but this has
to be balanced against the equally compelling need to 'work for' his
wife's group. Contradictions inevitably arise which do not allow
large production units to persist. They can always be formed or constituted
of course, but the push and pull of kinship and marriage obligations
tends always to fragment them. The basic economic and co-operative
unit is the household comprising a man, his wife and any unmarried
children or other dependents. Larger co-operative groups are inherently
unstable and will always tend to break up into their component household
units. We see evidence of this in the villages when we are told that
a pair of brothers have quarrelled, and now one of them has gone to
live in some other place. Talk of sorcery is often further evidence
of a failed co-operative venture between kinsmen.
Damon's considered judgement on Muyuw capacity for co-operation does
not bode well for the longterm success of business enterprise on Muyuw.
'Outside of very limited contexts, Muyuw continually evidence a profound
inability to gather into productive relationships,' he writes. I
must stress again, however, that there are sociological reasons for
this failure to co-operate. They lie in the economic push and pull
of the system of kinship and marriage and its conflicting values.
It is not a matter of innate temperament or some 'Muyuw disposition'
which makes men fractious, suspicious and wary of co-operating wholeheartedly
with one another.
It must be appreciated, too, that any productive enterprise of whatever
kind is always conducted under the threat of sorcery, bwagaw. The
fear of sorcery (and female witchcraft) in Massim societies should
never be underestimated. The more conspicuously successful an enterprise,
the more the shadow of sorcery will loom to dog its owners and influence
their behaviour. A faltering enterprise might then be read as a failure
of nerve, a strategic retreat to the safety of obscurity. Men will
understandably choose their lives over their businesses. So although
invisible, sorcery and witchcraft are powerful and highly persistent
cultural features of the entire Massim area. The moral, I suppose,
is that since these things are woven into the very fabric of Muyuw
society we cannot attempt to change them, even if we had the right.
We can only hope to work with them by taking them into account in
our planning, and leave the people themselves to choose where their
best self-interest lies.
It is for considerations such as these that I recommend that the Task
Force, on its return to Woodlark, help set up a completely new committee
through which to channel information and cope with the Task Force's
own local needs. At first I thought it might be possible to use an
existing administrative framework, such as the recently formed Muyuw
Towas Association, but a moment's reflection shows this is impracticable.
MTA embraces the outer islands in its membership, people who would
have little interest in conservation on the main island. MTA is for
land and 'women's business', and it should not become confused with
what is to be an entirely new initiative, however closely their aims
might overlap.19
(On a purely practical level, their premises and files must be kept
quite separate.) The new body (Muyuw Conservation Committee?) could
consist of the Assistant District Officer as chairman, with other
officers to include local individuals with relevant knowledge and
interests. Committee members would need to represent each of the
eight clans.
A final observation about our visit, one which has doubtless been
made by other members of the team. It was particularly unfortunate
that we were obliged to rely so heavily - for transport, fuel, and
even sustenance - on the very people whose activities we were trying
to curtail. Although the morale and enthusiasm of the team could
scarcely have been greater, the uneasy contradiction of our logistic
dependency on MBL and BHP should be avoided in future. The high moral
ground is ours, and we should not compromise it by biting the hands
that feed us!