CHAPTER VI

LAUNCHING OF A CANOE AND CEREMONIAL VISITING--TRIBAL ECONOMICS IN THE TROBRIANDS

I

The canoe, painted and decorated, stands now ready to be launched, a source of pride to the owners and to the makers, and an object of admiration to the other beholders. A new sailing craft is not only another utility created; it is more: it is a new entity sprung into being, something with which the future destinies of the sailors will be bound up, and on which they will depend. There can be no doubt that this sentiment is also felt by the natives and expressed in their customs and behaviour. The canoe receives a personal name, it becomes an object of intense interest to the whole district. Its qualities, points of beauty, and of probable perfection or faultiness are canvassed round the fires at night. The owner and his kinsmen and fellow villagers will speak of it with the usual boasting and exaggerations, and the others will all be very keen to see it, and to watch its performances. Thus the institution of ceremonial launching is not a mere formality prescribed by custom; it corresponds to the psychological needs of the community, it rouses a great interest, and is very well attended even when the canoe belongs to a small community. When a big chief's canoe is launched, whether that of Kasana'i or Omarakana, Olivilevi or Sinaketa, up to a thousand natives will assemble on the beach.

This festive and public display of a finished canoe, with its full paint and ornament, is not only in harmony with the natives' sentiments towards a new sailing craft; it also agrees with the way they treat in general the results of their economic activities. Whether in gardening or in fishing, in the building of houses or in industrial achievements, there is a tendency to display the products, to arrange them, and even adorn at least certain classes of them, so as to produce a big, æsthetic effect. In fishing, there are only traces of this tendency, but in gardening, it assumes very great proportions, and the handling, arranging and display of garden produce is one of the most characteristic features of their tribal life, and it takes up much time and work. [52]

Soon after the painting and adorning of the canoe, a date is fixed for the ceremonial launching and trial run, the tasasoria festivities, as they are called. Word is passed to the chiefs and headmen of the neighbouring villages. Those of them who own canoes and who belong to the same Kula community have always to come with their canoes and take part in a sort of regatta held on the occasion. As the new canoe is always constructed in connection with a Kula expedition, and as the other canoes of the same Kula community have to be either done up or replaced, it is the rule that on the tasasoria day a whole fleet of brand new or renovated canoes assemble on the beach, all resplendent in fresh colours and decoration of cowrie shells and bleached pandanus streamers.

The launching itself is inaugurated with a rite of the mwasila (Kula magic), called Kaytalula wadola waga ("staining red of the mouth of the canoe"). After the natives have taken off the plaited coco-nut leaves with which the canoe is protected against the sun, the toliwaga chants a spell over some red ochre, and stains both bow and stern of the canoe. A special cowrie shell, attached to the prow-board (tabuyo) is stained at each end. After that the canoe is launched, the villagers pushing it into the water over pieces of wood transversely placed which act as slips (see Plate XXX). This is done amidst shouts and ululations, such as are made on all occasions when some piece of work has to be done in a festive and ceremonial manner, when, for instance, the harvest is brought in and given ceremonially by a man to his brother-in-law, or when a gift of yams or taro is laid down before a fisherman's house by an inland gardener, or the return gift of fish is made.

Thus the canoe is finally launched after the long series of mingled work and ceremony, technical effort and magical rite.

After the launching is done, there takes place a feast, or, more correctly, a distribution of food (sagali) under observation of all sorts of formalities and ritual. Such a distribution is always made when the toliwaga has not built the canoe himself, and when he therefore has to repay the cutter of the canoe and his helpers. It also takes place whenever the canoe of a big chief is launched, in order to celebrate the occasion, to show off his wealth and generosity, and to give food to the many people who have been summoned to assist in the construction.

After the sagali (ceremonial distribution of food) is over, as a rule, in the afternoon, the new canoe is rigged, the mast is put up, the sail attached, and this and all the other boats make a trial run. It is not a competitive race in the strict sense of the word. The chief's canoe, which indeed would as a rule be best and fastest, in any case always wins the race. If it did not sail fastest, the others would probably keep back. The trial run is rather a display of the new canoe, side by side with the others.

In order to give one concrete illustration of the ceremonial connected with canoe building and launching, it may be well to relate an actual event. I shall therefore describe the tasasoria, seen on the beach of Kaulukuba, in February, 1916, when the new canoe of Kasana'i was launched. Eight canoes took part in the trial run, that is, all the canoes of Kiriwina, which forms what I have called the "Kula community," the social group who make their Kula expeditions in a body, and who have the same limits within which they carry on their exchange of valuables.

The great event which was the cause of the building and renovating of the canoes, was a Kula expedition planned by To'ulawa and his Kula community. They were to go to the East, to Kitava, to Iwa or Gawa, perhaps even to Muruwa (Woodlark Island), though with this island the natives do not carry on the Kula directly. As is usual in such cases, months before the approximate date of sailing, plans and forecasts were made, stories of previous voyages were recounted, old men dwelt on their own reminiscences and reported what they had been told by their elders of the days when iron was unknown and everyone had to sail to the East in order to get the green stone quarried in Suloga on Woodlark Island. And so, as it always happens when future events are talked over round village fires, imagination outran all bounds of probability; and the hopes and anticipations grew bigger and bigger. In the end, everyone really believed his party would go at least to the Easternmost Marshall Bennetts (Gawa), whereas, as events turned out, they did not sail beyond Kitava.

For this occasion a new canoe had to be constructed in Kasana'i, and this was done by Ibena himself, the chief of that village, a man of rank equal to the highest chief (his kinsman, in fact) but of smaller power. Ibena is a skilled builder as well as a fair carver, and there is no class of magic in which he does not profess to be versed. The canoe was built, under his guidance; he carved the boards himself, he also performed the magic, and he was, of course, the toliwaga.

In Omarakana, the canoe had to be slightly altered in construction; it had to be re-lashed and re-painted. To do this To'uluwa, the chief, had summoned a master builder and carver from the island of Kitava, the same one who a couple of years before, had built this canoe. Also a new sail had to be made for the Omarakana boat, as the old one was too small. The ceremony of tasasoria (launching and regatta) ought by rights to have been held on the beach of Kasana'i, but as its sister village, Omarakana, is so much more important, it took place on Kaulukuba, the sea-shore of the latter.

As the date approached, the whole district was alive with preparations, since the coastal villages had to put their canoes in order, while in the inland communities, new festive dresses and food had to be made ready. The food was not to be eaten, but to be offered to the chief for his sagali (ceremonial distribution). Only in Omarakana, the women had to cook for a big festive repast to be eaten on return from the tasasoria. In the Trobriands it is always a sign that a festive event is pending when all the women go in the evening to the bush to collect plenty of firewood. Next morning, this will be used for the kumkumuli, the baking of food in the ground, which is one of the forms of cooking used on festive occasions. On the evening of the tasasoria ceremony, people in Omarakana and Kasana'i were also busy with the numerous other preparations, running to the shore and back, filling baskets with yams for the sagali, getting ready their festive dress and decorations for the morrow. Festive dress means, for a woman, a new grass skirt, resplendent in fresh red, white and purple, and for the man a newly bleached, snow-white pubic leaf, made of the stalk of areca palm leaf.

Early in the morning of the appointed day, the food was packed into baskets of plaited leaf, the personal apparel on top of it, all covered as usual with folded mats and conveyed to the beach. The women carried on their heads the large baskets, shaped like big inverted bells, the men shouldered a stick with two bag-shaped baskets at each end. Other men had to carry the oars, paddles, rigging and sail, as these paraphernalia are always kept in the village. From one of the villages, one of the large, prismatic receptacles for food made of sticks was carried by several men right over the raybwag (coral ridge) to be offered to the chief of Omarakana as a share in the sagali. The whole village was astir, and on its outskirts, through the surrounding groves, parties from inland could be seen making their way rapidly to the shore. I left the village with a party of notables at about eight o'clock in the morning. After leaving the grove of fruit and palm trees which grows especially densely around the village of Omarakana, we entered between the two walls of green, the usual monotonous Trobriand road, which passes through the low scrub. Soon, emerging on a garden space, we could see, beyond a gentle declivity, the rising slope of the raybwag, a mixture of rank vegetation with monumental boulders of grey coral standing out here and there. Through this, the path led on, following in an intricate course between small precipices and towering outcrops, passing huge, ancient ficus trees, spreading around them their many trunks and aerial roots. At the top of the ridge, all of a sudden the blue sea shone through the foliage, and the roar of waves breaking on the reef struck our ears. Soon we found ourselves among the crowd assembled on the beach, near to the big boat-shed of Omarakana.

By about nine o'clock, everybody was ready on the beach. It was fully exposed to the Eastern sun, but this was not yet sufficiently high to drop its light right from above, and thus to produce that deadly effect of tropical mid-day, where the shadows instead of modelling out the details, blur every vertical surface and make everything dull and formless. The beach appeared bright and gaudy, and the lively brown bodies looked well against the background of green foliage and white sand. The natives were anointed with coco-nut oil, and decorated with flowers and facial paint. Large red hibiscus blossoms were stuck into their hair, and wreaths of the white, wonderfully scented butia flowers crowned the dense black mops. There was a good display of ebony carvings, sticks and lime spoons. There were decorated lime pots, and such objects of personal adornment as belts of red shell discs or of small cowrie shells, nose sticks (very rarely used nowadays), and other articles so well known to everybody from ethnological collections in museums, and usually called "ceremonial," though, as said above (Chapter III, Div. III) the description "objects of parade" would be much more in agreement with the correct meaning of the words.

Such popular festivities as the one just being described are the occasions on which these objects of parade, some of which astonish us by their artistic perfection, appear in native life. Before I had opportunities to see savage art in actual display, in its proper, "living" setting, there seemed to me always to exist some incongruity between the artistic finish of such objects and the general crudity of savage life, a crudity marked precisely on the æsthetic side. One imagines greasy, dirty, naked bodies, moppy hair full of vermin, and other realistic features which make up one's idea of the "savage," and in some respects reality bears out imagination. As a matter of fact though, the incongruity does not exist when once one has seen native art actually displayed in its own setting. A festive mob of natives, with the wonderful golden-brown colour of their skins brought out by washing and anointing and set off by the gaudy white, red and black of facial paint, feathers and ornaments, with their exquisitely carved and polished ebony objects, with their finely worked lime pots, has a distinct elegance of its own, without striking one as grotesque or incongruous in any æsthetic detail. There is an evident harmony between their festive mood, the display of colours and forms, and the manner in which they put on and bear their ornaments.

Those who have come from a distance, and who would spoil their decorations by the long march, wash with water and anoint themselves with coco-nut grease immediately before arriving at the scene of festivities. As a rule the best paint is put on later on, when the climax of the proceedings approaches. On this occasion, after the preliminaries (distribution of food, arrival of other canoes) were over, and when the races were just going to be started, the aristocracy of Omarakana--the wives and children of To'uluwa, his relatives and himself--withdrew behind the shelters, near the boat shed, and proceeded to put on the red, white and black of full facial paint. They crushed young betel-nut, mixed it with lime, and put it on with the pestles of betel mortars; then some of the aromatic black resin (sayaku) and white lime were applied. As the habit of mirrors is not quite well established yet in the Trobriands, the painting was done by one person on the face of another, and great care and patience were displayed on both sides.

The numerous crowd spent the day without taking much refreshment--a feature strongly differentiating Kiriwinian festivities from our ideal of an entertainment or picnic. No cooking was done, and only a few bananas were eaten here and there, and green coco-nuts were drunk and eaten. But even these refreshments were consumed with great frugality.

As always on such occasions, the people collected together in sets, the visitors from each village forming a group apart. The local natives kept to their own boat houses, those of Omarakana and Kurokaiwa having their natural centres on the beach of Kaulukuba. The other visitors similarly kept together in their position on the beach, according to their local distribution; thus, men from the Northern villages would keep to the Northern section of the beach, those from the South would stick to that point of the compass, so that villages which were neighbours in reality would also be side by side on the shore. There was no mingling in the crowd, and individuals would not walk about from one group to another. The aristocrats, out of personal dignity, humble folk because of a modesty imposed by custom, would keep in their places. To'uluwa sat practically still during the whole performance, on the platform erected for this purpose, except when he went over to his boat, to trim it for the race.

The boat shed of Omarakana, round which the chief, his family and the other villagers were grouped, was the centre of all the proceedings. Under one of the palms, a fairly high platform was put up to accommodate To'uluwa. In a row in front of the sheds and shelters, there stood the prismatic food receptacles (pwata'i). They had been erected by the inhabitants of Omarakana and Kasana'i, on the previous day, and partially filled with yams. The rest had to be supplied by people from the other villages, on the day of the boat races. As the natives came to the beach on that day, village after village, they brought their contribution, and before settling down on their particular spot on the shore, they paid a visit to the chief and offered him their tributes. These would be put into one of the pwata'i. All the villages did not contribute their share, but the majority did, though some of them brought only a few baskets. One of the villages brought one complete pwata'i, filled with yams, and offered the whole to the chief.

In the meantime, the eight canoes arrived, including that of Kasana'i, which had been ceremonially launched that morning with the accompanying magical rite, on its own beach about half a mile away. The canoe of Omarakana had also been launched on this morning (Plate XXX), and the same rite performed over it. It ought to have been done by To'uluwa, the chief. As he, however, is quite incapable of remembering magical spells--in fact, he never does any of the magic which his rank and office impose on him--the rite was performed on this occasion by one of his kinsmen. This is a typical case of a rule very stringently formulated by all informants when you ask about it, yet in reality often observed with laxity. If you inquire directly, everyone will tell you that this rite, as all others of the mwasila (Kula magic) has to be done by the toliwaga. But every time when he ought to perform it, To'uluwa will find some excuse, and delegate it to another.

When all the canoes were present, as well as all the important villages, at about eleven o'clock a.m., there took place the sagali (ceremonial distribution). The food was given to people from various villages, especially such as took part in the races, or had assisted in the building of the new canoe. So we see that food contributed by all the villages before the sagali was simply redistributed among them, a considerable quantity having been added first by the chief; and this indeed is the usual procedure at a sagali. In this case, of course, the lion's share was taken by the Kitavans who helped at the building.

After the sagali was over, the canoes were all brought up to one spot, and the natives began to prepare them for the race. The masts were stepped, the fastenings trimmed, the sails made ready (see Plate XXXI). After that the canoes all put off and gathered about half a mile off the shore, beyond the fringing reef; and at a sign given by some one on one of them, they all started. As said before, such a run is not a race properly speaking, in which the canoes would start scrupulously at the same minute, have the same distance to cover, and which would clearly show which is the fastest. In this case, it was merely, as always, a review of the boats sailing along as well as they were able, a review in which they all began to move, more or less at the same time, went in the same direction, and covered practically the same distance.

As to the time table of the events, the sagali was over before mid-day. There was a pause; and then, at about one p.m., the natives began rigging the canoes. Then all hands had a spell, and not before three p.m. were the races started. The whole affair was over by about four o'clock, and half an hour later, the boats from the other villages started to sail home, the people on the shore dispersed, so that by sunset, that is, about six o'clock, the beach was almost deserted.

Such was the tasasoria ceremony which I saw in February, 1916. It was a fine sight from the spectacular point of view. A superficial onlooker could have hardly perceived any sign of white man's influence or interference. I was the only white man present, and besides myself only some two or three native missionary teachers were dressed in white cotton. Amongst the rest of us there could be seen sparsely a coloured rag, tied round as a neckerchief or head-dress. But otherwise there was only a swarm of naked brown bodies, shining with coco-nut oil, adorned in new festive dress, with here and there the three-coloured grass skirt of a woman (see Plates XXX and XXXI).

But alas, for one who could look below the surface and read the various symptoms of decay, deep changes would be discernible from what must have been the original conditions of such a native gathering. In fact, some three generations ago, even its appearances would have been different. The natives then would have been armed with shields and spears; some would have borne decorative weapons, such as the big sword-clubs of hard wood, or massive ebony cudgels, or small throwing-sticks. A closer inspection would have shown many more decorations and ornaments, such as nose-sticks, finely carved lime spatulæ, gourds with burnt-in designs, some of which are now out of use, or those used of inferior workmanship or without decoration.

But other and much deeper changes have taken place in the social conditions. Three generations ago both the canoes in the water and the people on the shore would have been more numerous. As mentioned above, in the olden days there would have been some twenty canoes in Kiriwina, as against eight at the present time. Again, the far stronger influence of the chief, and the much greater relative importance of the event would have attracted a larger proportion out of the then more numerous population. Nowadays, other interests, such as diving for pearls, working on white man's plantations, divert the native attention, while many events connected with Missions, Government and trading, eclipse the importance of old customs.

Again, the people on the shore would have had to adhere in olden days even more closely to the local distribution, men of the same village community keeping together still more strictly, and looking with mistrust and perhaps even hostility, at other groups, especially those with whom they had hereditary feuds. The general tension would often be broken by squabbles or even miniature fights, especially at the moment of dispersing, and on the way home.

One of the important features of the performance, and the one of which the natives think perhaps most--the display of food--would also have been quite different. The chief whom I saw sitting on a platform surrounded by a few wives only, and with small attendance would, under the old conditions, have been the owner of thrice as many wives and consequently relatives-in-law, and as it is these from whom he derives most of his income, he would have provided a much bigger sagali than he is able to do nowadays.

Three generations ago the whole event would have been much more solemn and dramatic to the natives. The very distance to the neighbouring island of Kitava is nowadays dwarfed. In the past, it would not, as now, be quickly obliterated by a white man's steam-launch. Then, the canoes on the beach were the only means of arriving there, and their value in the eyes of the natives must have, therefore, been even higher, although they think so much of them now. The outlines of the distant island and the small fleet of canoes on the beach formed for the natives the first act of a big over seas expedition, an event of far deeper significance to them then than now. A rich haul of arm-shells, the arrival of many much-coveted utilities, the bringing back of news from the far-off land, all this meant much more in older days than it can mean at present. War, dancing, and the Kula supplied tribal life with its romantic and heroic elements. Nowadays, with war prohibited by the Government, with dancing discredited by missionary influence, the Kula alone remains, and even that is stripped of some of its glamour.

II

Before we proceed to the next stage, we must pause in following the events of a Kula expedition, and consider one or two points of more general importance. I have touched in the narrative, but not dwelt upon, certain problems of the sociology of work. At the outset of the preceding chapter it was mentioned that canoe-building requires a definite organisation of work, and in fact we saw that in the course of construction, various kinds of labour were employed, and more especially towards the end, much use was made of communal labour. Again, we saw that during the launching ceremony payment was given by the owner to the expert and his helpers. These two points therefore, the organisation of labour and communal labour in particular, and the system of payment for experts' work must be here developed.

Organisation of Labour.--First of all, it is important to realise that a Kiriwinian is capable of working well, efficiently and in a continuous manner. But he must work under an effective incentive: he must be prompted by some duty imposed by tribal standards, or he must be lured by ambitions and values also dictated by custom and tradition. Gain, such as is often the stimulus for work in more civilised communities, never acts as an impulse to work under the original native conditions. It succeeds very badly, therefore, when a white man tries to use this incentive to make a native work.

This is the reason why the traditional view of the lazy and indolent native is not only a constant refrain of the average white settler, but finds its way into good books of travel, and even serious ethnographic records. With us, labour is, or was till fairly recently, a commodity sold as any other, in the open market. A man accustomed to think in terms of current economic theory will naturally apply the conceptions of supply and demand to labour, and he applies them therefore to native labour. The untrained person does the same, though in less sophisticated terms, and as they see that the native will not work well for the white man, even if tempted by considerable payment and treated fairly well, they conclude that his capacity for labour is very small. This error is due to the same cause which lies at the bottom of all our misconceptions about people of different cultures. If you remove a man from his social milieu, you eo ipso deprive him of almost all his stimuli to moral steadfastness and economic efficiency and even of interest in life. If then you measure him by moral, legal or economic standards, also essentially foreign to him, you cannot but obtain a caricature in your estimate.

But the natives are not only capable of energetic, continuous and skilful work; their social conditions also make it possible for them to employ organised labour. At the beginning of Chapter IV, the sociology of canoe-building was given in outline, and now, after the details of its successive stages have been filled in, it is possible to confirm what has been said there, and draw some conclusions as to this organisation of labour. And first, as we are using this expression so often, I must insist again on the fact that the natives are capable of it, and that this contention is not a truism, as the following considerations should show. The just mentioned view of the lazy, individualistic and selfish savage, who lives on the bounties of nature as they fall ripe and ready for him, implicitly precludes the possibility of his doing effective work, integrated into an organised effort by social forces. Again, the view, almost universally accepted by specialists, is that the lowest savages are in the pre-economic stage of individualistic search for food, whereas the more developed ones, such as the Trobrianders, for instance, live at the stage of isolated household economy. This view also ignores, when it does not deny explicitly, the possibility of socially organised labour.

The view generally held is that, in native communities each individual works for himself, or members of a household work so as to provide each family with the necessities of life. Of course, a canoe, even a masawa, could obviously be made by the members of a household, though with less efficiency and in a longer time. So that there is a priori nothing to foretell whether organised labour, or the unaided efforts of an individual or a small group of people should be used in the work. As a matter of fact, we have seen in canoe-building a number of men engaged in performing each a definite and difficult task, though united to one purpose. The tasks were differentiated in their sociological setting; some of the workers were actually to own the canoe; others belonged to a different community, and did it only as an act of service to the chief. Some worked in order to derive direct benefit from the use of the canoe, others were to be paid. We saw also that the work of felling, of scooping, of decorating, would in some cases be performed by various men, or it might be performed by one only. Certainly the minute tasks of lashing, caulking and painting, as well as sail-making, were done by communal labour as opposed to individual. And all these different tasks were directed towards one aim: the providing the chief or headman with the title of ownership of a canoe, and his whole community with its use.

It is clear that this differentiation of tasks, co-ordinated to a general purpose, requires a well developed social apparatus to back it up, and that on the other hand, this social mechanism must be associated and permeated with economic elements. There must be a chief, regarded as representative of a group; he must have certain formal rights and privileges, and a certain amount of authority, and also he must dispose of part of the wealth of the community. There must also be a man or men with knowledge sufficient to direct and co-ordinate the technical operations. All this is obvious. But it must be clearly set forth that the real force which binds all the people and ties them down in their tasks is obedience to custom, to tradition.

Every man knows what is expected from him, in virtue of his position, and he does it, whether it means the obtaining of a privilege, the performance of a task, or the acquiescence in a status quo. He knows that it always has been thus, and thus it is all around him, and thus it always must remain. The chief's authority, his privileges, the customary give and take which exist between him and the community, all that is merely, so to speak, the mechanism through which the force of tradition acts. For there is no organised physical means by which those in authority could enforce their will in a case like this. Order is kept by direct force of everybody's adhesion to custom, rules and laws, by the same psychological influences which in our society prevent a man of the world doing something which is not "the right thing." The expression "might is right" would certainly not apply to Trobriand society. "Tradition is right, and what is right has might"--this rather is the rule governing the social forces in Boyowa, and I dare say in almost all native communities at this stage of culture.

All the details of custom, all the magical formulæ, the whole fringe of ceremonial and rite which accompany canoe-building, all these things add weight to the social scheme of duties. The importance of magical ideas and rites as integrating forces has been indicated at the outset of this description. It is easy to see how all the appurtenances of ceremony, that is, magic, decoration, and public attendance welded together into one whole with labour, serve to put order and organisation into it.

Another point must be enlarged upon somewhat more. I have spoken of organised labour, and of communal labour. These two conceptions are not synonymous, and it is well to keep them apart. As already defined, organised labour implies the co-operation of several socially and economically different elements. It is quite another thing, however, when a number of people are engaged side by side, performing the same work, without any technical division of labour, or social differentiation of function. Thus, the whole enterprise of canoe-building is, in Kiriwina, the result of organised labour. But the work of some twenty to thirty men, who side by side do the lashing or caulking of the canoe, is communal labour. This latter form of work has a great psychological advantage. It is much more stimulating and more interesting, and it allows of emulation, and therefore of a better quality of work. For one or two men, it would require about a month to do the work which twenty to thirty men can do in a day. In certain cases, as in the pulling of the heavy log from the jungle to the village, the joining of forces is almost indispensable. True, the canoe could be scooped out in the raybwag, and then a few men might be able to pull it along, applying some skill. But it would entail great hardships. Thus, in some cases, communal labour is of extreme importance, and in all casesit furthers the course of work considerably. Sociologically, it is important, because it implies mutual help, exchange of services, and solidarity in work within a wide range.

Communal labour is an important factor in the tribal economy of the Trobriand natives. They resort to it in the building of living-huts and storehouses, in certain forms of industrial work, and in the transport of things, especially at harvest time, when great quantities of produce have to be shifted from one village to another, often over a great distance. In fishing, when several canoes go out together and fish each for itself, then we cannot speak of communal labour. When on the other hand, they fish in one band, each canoe having an appointed task, as is sometimes done, then we have to do with organised labour. Communal labour is also based upon the duties of urigubu, or relatives-in-law. That is, a man's relatives-in-law have to assist him, whenever he needs their co-operation. In the case of a chief, there is an assistance on a grand scale, and whole villages will turn out. In the case of a commoner, only a few people will help. There is always a distribution of food after the work has been done, but this can hardly be considered as payment, for is is not proportional to the work each individual does.

By far the most important part communal labour has to play, is in gardening. There are as many as five different forms of communal labour in the gardens, each called by a different name, and each distinct in its sociological nature. When a chief or headman summons the members of a village community, and they agree to do their gardens communally, it is called tamgogula. When this is decided upon, and the time grows near for cutting the scrub for new gardens, a festive eating is held on the central place, and there all men go, and takayva (cut down) the scrub on the chief's plot. After that, they cut in turn the garden plots of everyone, all men working on the one plot during a day, and getting on that day food from the owner. This procedure is reproduced at each successive stage of gardening; at the fencing, planting of yams, bringing in supports, and finally, at the weeding, which is done by women. At certain stages, the gardening is often done by each one working for himself, namely at the clearing of the gardens after they are burnt, at the cleaning of the roots of yams when they begin to produce tubers, and at harvesting.

There are, as a rule, several communal feasts during the progress, and one at the end of a tamgogula period. Gardens are generally worked in this fashion, in years when big ceremonial dancing or some other tribal festivity is held. This usually makes the work very late, and it has then to be done quickly and energetically, and communal labour has evidently been found suitable for this purpose.

When several villages agree to work their gardens by communal labour, this is called lubalabisa. The two forms do not differ very much except by name, and also by the fact that, in the latter form, more than one chief or headman has to direct the process. The lubalabisa would only be held when there are several small villages, clustered together, as is the case in the village compounds of Sinaketa, Kavataria, Kabwaku or Yalaka.

When a chief or headman, or man of wealth and influence summons his dependents or his relatives-in-law to work for him, the name kabutu is given to the proceedings. The owner has to give food to all those co-operating. A kabutu may be instituted for one bit of gardening, for example, a headman may invite his villagers to do his cutting for him, or his planting or his fencing. It is clear that whenever communal labour is required by one man in the construction of his house or yam store, the labour is of the kabutu type, and it is thus called by the natives.

The fourth form of communal labour is called ta'ula, and takes place whenever a number of villagers agree to do one stage of gardening in common, on the basis of reciprocity. No great or special payments take place. The same sort of communal labour extending over all stages of gardening, is called kari'ula, and it may be counted as the fifth form of communal labour in the gardens. Finally, a special word, tavile'i, is used when they wish to say that the gardens are done by individual labour, and that everyone works on his own plot. It is a rule, however, that the chief's plots, especially those of an influential chief of high rank, are always gardened by communal labour, and this latter is also used with regard to certain privileged plots, on which, in a given year, the garden magic is performed first, and with the greatest display.

Thus there is a number of distinct forms of communal labour, and they show many more interesting features which cannot be mentioned in this short outline. The communal labour used in canoe-building is obviously of the kabutu type. In having a canoe made, the chief is able to summon big numbers of the inhabitants of a whole district, the headman of an important village receives the assistance of his whole community, whereas a man of small importance, such as one of the smaller headmen of Sinaketa or Vakuta, would have to rely on his fellow villagers and relations-in-law. In all these cases, it would be the call of duty, laid down by custom, which would make them work. The payment would be of secondary importance, though in certain circumstances, it would be a considerable one. The distribution of food during launching forms such a payment, as we have seen in Division I of this chapter. In olden days, a meal of Pigs, an abundance of betel-nut and coco-nut and sugar cane would have made a veritable feast for the natives.

Another point of importance from the economic aspect is the payment given by the chief to the builder of the canoe. The canoe of Omarakana was made, as we saw, for To'uluwa by a specialist from Kitava, who was well paid with a quantity of food, pigs and vaygua (native valuables). Nowadays, when the power of the chiefs is broken, when they have much less wealth than formerly to back up their position, and cannot use even the little force they ever did and when the general breaking up of custom has undermined the traditional deference and loyalty of their subjects, the production of canoes and other forms of wealth by the specialist for the chief is only a vestige of what it once was. In olden days it was, economically, one of the most important features of the Trobriand tribal life. In the construction of the canoe, Which a chief in olden days would never build himself, we meet with an example of this.

Here it will be enough to say that whenever a canoe is built for a chief or headman by a builder, this has to be paid for by an initial gift of food. Then, as long as the man is at work, provisional gifts of food are given him. If he lives away from home, like the Kitavan builder on the beach of Omarakana, he is fed by the toliwaga and supplied with dainties such as coco-nut, betel-nut, pigs' flesh, fish and fruits. When he works in his own home, the toliwaga will bring him choice food at frequent intervals, inspecting, as he does so, the progress of the work. This feeding of the worker or bringing him extra choice food is called vakapula. After the canoe is finished, a substantial gift is given to the master-builder during the ceremonial distribution of food. The proper amount would be a few hundred basketfuls of yams, a pig or two, bunches of betel-nut, and a great number of coco-nuts; also, a large stone blade or a pig, or a belt of red shell discs, and some smaller vaygua of the non-Kula type.

In Vakuta, where chieftainship is not very distinct, and the difference in wealth less great, a toliwaga also has to feed the workers during the time of hollowing out, preparing, and building a canoe. Then, after the caulking, some fifty basketfuls are given to the builder. After the launching and trial run, this builder gives a rope, symbol of the canoe, to his wife, who, blowing the conch shell, presents the rope to the toliwaga. He, on the spot, gives her a bunch of betel or bananas. Next day, a considerable present of food, known as yomelu, is given by the chief, and then at the next harvest, another fifty or sixty basketfuls of yams as karibudaboda or closing up gift.

I have chosen the data from two concrete cases, one noted in Kiriwina, the other in Vakuta--that is, in the district where the chief's power is greatest, and in that where there never has been more than a rudimentary distance in rank and wealth between chief and commoner. In both cases there is a payment, but in Kiriwina the payment is greater. In Vakuta, it is obviously rather an exchange of services, whereas in Kiriwina the chief maintains, as well as rewards his builder. In both cases we have the exchange of skilled services against maintenance by supply of food.

III

We shall pass now to the next ceremonial and customary performance in the succession of Kula events, to the display of a new canoe to the friends and relatives of the toliwaga. This custom is called kabigidoya. The tasasoria (launching and trial run) is obviously at the same time the last act of ship-building, and by its associated magical rite, by the foretaste of sailing, it is also one of the beginning stages of the Kula. The kabigidoya being a presentation of the new canoe, belongs to the series of building ceremonials; but in so far as it is a provisioning trip, it belongs to the Kula.

The canoe is manned with the usual crew, it is rigged and fitted out with all its paraphernalia, such as paddles, baler, and conch shell, and it sets out on a short trip to the beaches of the neighbouring villages. When the canoe belongs to a compound settlement like Sinaketa, then it will stop at every beach of the sister villages. The conch shell is blown, and people in the village will know "The kabigidoya men have arrived." The crew remains in the canoe, the toliwaga goes ashore, taking one paddle with him. He goes to the house of his fellow-headman, and thrusts the paddle into the frame of the house, with the words: "I offer thee thy bisila (pandanus streamer); take a vaygua (valuable), catch a pig and break the head of my new canoe." To which the local headman will answer--giving a present: "This is the katuvisala dabala (the breaking of the head) of thy new canoe!" This is an example of the quaint, customary wording used in the exchange of gifts, and in other ceremonial transactions. The bisila (pandanus streamer) is often used as a symbol for the canoe, in magical spells, in customary expressions, and in idiomatic terms of speech. Bleached pandanus streamers are tied to the mast, rigging and sail; a specially medicated strip is often attached to the prow of the canoe to give it speed, and there is also other bisila magic to make a district partner inclined for Kula.

The gifts given are not always up to the standard of those mentioned in the above customary phrase. The kabigidoya, especially from the neighbouring villages, often brings only a few mats, a few dozen coco-nuts, some betel-nut, a couple of paddles, and such articles of minor value. And even in these trifles there is not much gain from the short kabigidoya. For as we know, at the beginning of the Kula all the canoes of, say, Sinaketa or Kiriwina are either rebuilt or renewed. What therefore one canoe receives on its kabigidoya round, from all the others, will have to be more or less returned to them, when they in their turn kabigidoya one after the other. Soon afterwards, however, on an appointed day, all the canoes sail together on a visit to the other districts, and on this kabigidoya, they receive as a rule much more substantial presents, and these they will only have to return much later, after a year or two, when the visited district will come back to them on their own kabigidoya. Thus, when the canoes of Kirwina are built and renovated for a big Kula expedition, they will sail South along the coast, and stop first in Olivilevi, receiving presents from the chief there, and walking on a round of the inland villages of Luba. Then they will proceed to the next sea village, that of Wawela, leaving their canoes there, and going from there across to Sinaketa. Thence they proceed still further South, to Vakuta. The villages on the Lagoon, such as Sinaketa and Vakuta, will return these visits, sailing North along the Western shore on the Lagoon side. Then they stop at Tukwaukwa or Kavataria, and from there walk inland to Kiriwina, where they receive presents (see Map IV, p. 50).

The kabigidoya trips of the Vakutans and Sinaketans are more important than those of the Northern or Eastern districts, because they are combined with a preliminary trade, in which the visitors replenish their stock of goods, which they will need presently on their trip South to Dobu. The reader will remember that Kuboma is the industrial district of the Trobriands, where are manufactured most of the useful articles, for which these islands are renowned in the whole of Eastern New Guinea. It lies in the Northern half of the island, and from Kiriwina it is only a few miles walk, but to reach it from Sinaketa or Vakuta it is necessary to sail North. The Southern villages therefore go to Kavataria, and from there walk inland to Bwoytalu, Luya, Yalaka and Kadukwaykela, where they make their purchases. The inhabitants of these villages also when they hear that the Sinaketans are anchored in Kavataria, bring their wares to the canoes.

A brisk trade is carried on during the day or two that the Sinaketans remain in Kavataria. The natives of Kuboma are always eager to buy yams, as they live in an unfertile district, and devote themselves more to industrial productions than to gardening. And they are still more eager to acquire coco-nuts and betel-nut, of which they have a great scarcity. They desire besides to receive in exchange for their produce the red shell discs manufactured in Sinaketa and Vakuta, and the turtle-shell rings. For objects of great value, the Sinaketans would give the big clay pots which they receive directly from the Amphletts. For that they obtain different articles according to the villages with which they are exchanging. From Bwoytalu, they get the wonderfully fashioned and decorated wooden dishes of various sizes, depths and finish, made out of either hard or soft wood; from Bwaytelu, Wabutuma and Buduwaylaka, armlets of plaited fern fibre, and wooden combs; from Buduwaylaka, Yalaka, and Kadukwaykela, lime pots of different qualities and sizes. From the villages of Tilataula, the district North-east of Kuboma, the polished axe blades used to be acquired in olden days.

I shall not enter into the technicalities of this exchange, nor shall I give here the approximate list of prices which obtain. We shall have to follow the traded goods further on to Dobu, and there we shall see how they change hands again, and under what conditions. This will allow us to compare the prices and thus to gauge the nature of the transaction as a whole. It will be better therefore to defer all details till then.

IV

Here, however, its seems necessary to make another digression from the straight narrative of the Kula, and give an outline of the various forms of trade and exchange as we find them in the Trobriands. Indeed, the main theme of this volume is the Kula, a form of exchange, and I would be untrue to my chief principle of method, were I to give the description of one form of exchange torn out of its most intimate context; that is, were I to give an account of the Kula without giving at least a general outline of the forms of Kiriwinian payments and gifts and barter.

In Chapter II, speaking of some features of Trobriand tribal life, I was led to criticise the current views of primitive economic man. They depict him as a being indolent, independent, happy-go-lucky, yet at the same time governed exclusively by strictly rational and utilitarian motives, and logical and consistent in his behaviour. In this chapter again, in Division II, I pointed out another fallacy implied in this conception, a fallacy which declares that a savage is capable only of very simple, unorganised and unsystematic forms of labour. Another error more or less explicitly expressed in all writings on primitive economics, is that the natives possess only rudimentary forms of trade and exchange; that these forms play no essential part in the tribal life, are carried on only spasmodically and at rare intervals, and as necessity dictates.

Whether we have to deal with the wide-spread fallacy of the primitive Golden Age, characterised mainly by the absence of any distinction between mine and thine; or whether we take the more sophisticated view, which postulates stages of individual search for food, and of isolated household catering; or if we consider for the moment the numerous theories which see nothing in primitive economics but simple pursuits for the maintenance of existence--in none of these can we find reflected even a hint of the real state of affairs as found in the Trobriands; namely, that the whole tribal life is permeated by a constant give and take; that every ceremony, every legal and customary act is done to the accompaniment of material gift and counter gift; that wealth, given and taken, is one of the main instruments of social organisation, of the power of the chief, of the bonds of kinship, and of relationship in law. [53]

These views on primitive trade, prevalent though erroneous, appear no doubt quite consistent, that is, if we grant certain premises. Now these premises seem plausible, and yet they are false, and it will be good to have a careful look at them so that we can discard them once and for all. They are based on some sort of reasoning, such as the following one: If, in tropical conditions, there is a plenty of all utilities, why trouble about exchanging them? Then, why attach any value to them? Is there any reason for striving after wealth, where everyone can have as much as he wants without much effort? Is there indeed any room for value, if this latter is the result of scarcity as well as utility, in a community, in which all the useful things are plentiful? On the other hand, in those savage communities where the necessities of life are scarce, there is obviously no possibility of accumulating them, and thus creating wealth.

Again, since, in savage communities, whether bountifully or badly provided for by nature, everyone has the same free access to all the necessities, is there any need to exchange them? Why give a basketful of fruit or vegetables, if everybody has practically the same quantity and the same means of procuring it? Why make a present of it, if it cannot be returned except in the same form? [54]

There are two main sources of error at the bottom of this faulty reasoning. The first is that the relation of the savage to material goods is a purely rational one, and that consequently, in his conditions, there is no room for wealth or value. The second erroneous assumption is that there can be no need for exchange if anyone and everyone can, by industry and skill, produce all that represents value through its quantity or its quality.

As regards the first proposition, it is not true either with regard to what may be called primary wealth, that is, food stuffs, nor with regard to articles of luxury, which are by no means absent in Trobriand society. First as to food-stuffs, they are not merely regarded by the natives as nourishment, not merely valued because of their utility. They accumulate them not so much because they know that yams can be stored and used for a future date, but also because they like to display their possessions in food. Their yam houses are built so that the quantity of the food can be gauged, and its quality ascertained through the wide interstices between the beams (see Plates XXXII and XXXIII). The yams are so arranged that the best specimens come to the outside and are well visible. Special varieties of yams, which grow up to two metres length, and weigh as much as several kilograms each, are framed in wood and decorated with paint, and hung on the outside of the yam houses. That the right to display food is highly valued can be seen from the fact that in villages where a chief of high rank resides, the commoners' storehouses have to be closed up with coco-nut leaves, so as not to compete with his.

All this shows that the accumulation of food is not only the result of economic foresight, but also prompted by the desire of display and enhancement of social prestige through possession of wealth.

When I speak about ideas underlying accumulation of food stuffs in the Trobriands, I refer to the present, actual psychology of the natives, and I must emphatically declare that I am not offering here any conjectures about the "origins" or about the "history" of the customs and their psychology, leaving this to theoretical and comparative research.

Another institution which illuminates the native ideas about food storage is the magic called vilamalya, performed over the crops after harvest, and at one or two other stages. This magic is intended to make the food last long. Before the store-house is filled with yams, the magician places a special kind of heavy stone on the floor, and recites a long magical spell. On the evening of the same day, after the food houses have been filled, he spits over them with medicated ginger root, and he also performs a rite over all the roads entering into the village, and over the central place. All this will make food plentiful in that village, and will make the supplies last long. But, and this is the important point for us, this magic is conceived to act, not on the food, but on the inhabitants of the village. It makes their appetites poor, it makes them, as the natives put it, inclined to eat wild fruit of the bush, the mango and bread fruit of the village grove, and refuse to eat yams, or at least be satisfied with very little. They will boast that when this magic is performed well, half of the yams will rot away in the storehouses, and be thrown on the wawa, the rubbish heap at the back of the houses, to make room for the new harvest. Here again we meet the typical idea that the main aim of accumulating food is to keep it exhibited in the yam houses till it rots, and then can be replaced by a new étalage.

The filling of the storehouses involves a double display of food, and a good deal of ceremonial handling. When the tubers are taken out of the ground they are first displayed in the gardens. A shed of poles is erected, and covered with taitu vine, which is thrown thickly over it. In such arbours, a circle is pegged out on the ground, and within this the taitu (the ordinary small yams of the Trobriands which form the staple harvest) are carefully piled up into a conical heap. A great deal of care is lavished on this task, the biggest are selected, scrupulously cleaned, and put on the outside of the heap. After a fortnight or more of keeping the yams in the garden, where they are much admired by visiting parties, the owner of the garden plot summons a party of friends or relatives-in-law, and these transport them into a village. As we know already, from Chapter II, such yams will be offered to the owner's sister's husband. It is to his village that they are brought, where again they are displayed in conical heaps, placed before his yam house. Only after they have thus remained for several days--sometimes up to a fortnight--are they put into the storehouse (see Plate XXXIII).

Indeed, it would be enough for anyone to see how the natives handle the yams, how they admire big tubers, how they pick out freaks and sports and exhibit them, to realise that there is a deep, socially standardised sentiment centring round this staple product of their gardens. In many phases of their ceremonial life, big displays of food form the central feature. Extensive mortuary distributions called sagali, are, in one of their aspects, enormous exhibitions of food, connected with their re-apportionment (see Plate XXXIV). At harvest of the early yams (kuvi) there is an offering of first fruits to the memory of the recently dead. At the later, main harvest of taitu (small yams), the first tubers are dug out ceremonially brought into the village and admired by the whole community. Food contests between two villages at harvest, in olden days often followed by actual fighting, are also one of the characteristic features which throw light on the natives' attitude towards edible wealth. In fact, one could almost speak of a "cult of food" among these natives, in so far as food is the central object of most of their public ceremonies.

In the preparation of food, it must be noted that many taboos are associated with cooking, and especially with the cooking pots. The wooden dishes on which the natives serve their food are called kaboma, which means "tabooed wood." The act of eating is as a rule strictly individual. People eat within their family circles, and even when there is public ceremonial cooking of the taro pudding (mona) in the big clay pots, especially tabooed for this purpose (see Plate XXXV), they do not eat in one body, but in small groups. A clay pot is carried into the different parts of the village, and men from that part squat round it and eat, followed afterwards by the women. Sometimes again the pudding is taken out, placed on wooden dishes, and eaten within the family.

I cannot enter here into the many details of what could be called the social psychology of eating, but it is important to note that the centre of gravity of the feast lies, not in the eating, but in the display and ceremonial preparation of the food (see Plate XXXV). When a pig is to be killed, which is a great culinary and festive event, it will be first carried about, and shown perhaps in one or two villages; then roasted alive, the whole village and neighbours enjoying the spectacle and the squeals of the animal. It is then ceremonially, and with a definite ritual, cut into pieces and distributed. But the eating of it is a casual affair; it will take place either within a hut, or else people will just cook a piece of flesh and eat it on the road, or walking about in the village. The relics of a feast such as pigs' jaws and fish tails, however, are often collected and displayed in houses or yam stores. [55]

The quantity of food eaten, whether in prospect or retrospect, is what matters most. "We shall eat, and eat till we vomit," is a stock phrase, often heard at feasts, intended to express enjoyment of the occasion, a close parallel to the pleasure felt at the idea of stores rotting away in the yam house. All this shows that the social act of eating and the associated conviviality are not present in the minds or customs of the Trobrianders, and what is socially enjoyed is the common admiration of fine and plentiful food, and the knowledge of its abundance. Naturally, like all animals, human or otherwise, civilised or savage, the Trobrianders enjoy their eating as one of the chief pleasures of life, but this remains an individual act, and neither its performance nor the sentiments attached to it have been socialised.

It is this indirect sentiment, rooted of course in reality in the pleasures of eating, which makes for the value of food in the eyes of the natives. This value again makes accumulated food a symbol, and a vehicle of power. Hence the need for storing and displaying it. Value is not the result of utility and rarity, intellectually compounded, but is the result of a sentiment grown round things, which, through satisfying human needs, are capable of evoking emotions.

The value of manufactured objects of use must also be explained through man's emotional nature, and not by reference to his logical construction of utilitarian views. Here, however, I think that the explanation must take into account, not so much the user of these objects, as the workman who produces them. These natives are industrious, and keen workers. They do not work under the spur of necessity, or to gain their living, but on the impulse of talent and fancy, with a high sense and enjoyment of their art, which they often conceive as the result of magical inspiration. This refers especially to those who produce objects of high value, and who are always good craftsmen and are fond of their workmanship. Now these native artists have a keen appreciation of good material, and of perfection in craft. When they find a specially good piece of material it lures them on to lavish on it an excess of labour, and to produce things too good to be used, but only so much the more desirable for possession.

The careful manner of working, the perfection of craftmanship, the discrimination in material, the inexhaustible patience in giving the final touches, have been often noted by those who have seen natives at work. These observations have also come under the notice of some theoretical economists, but it is necessary to see these facts in their bearing upon the theory of value. That is, namely, that this loving attitude towards material and work must produce a sentiment of attachment to rare materials and well-worked objects, and that this must result in their being valued. Value will be attached to rare forms of such materials as the craftsman generally uses: classes of shell which are scarce, lending themselves especially to fashioning and polishing; kinds of wood which are also rare, like ebony; and more particularly, special varieties of that stone out of which implements are made. [56]

We can now compare our results with the fallacious views on Primitive Economic Man, sketched out at the beginning of this Division. We see that value and wealth exist, in spite of abundance of things, that indeed this abundance is valued for its own sake. Great quantities are produced beyond any possible utility they could possess, out of mere love of accumulation for its own sake; food is allowed to rot, and though they have all they could desire in necessities, yet the natives want always more, to serve in its character of wealth. Again, in manufactured objects, and more especially in objects of the vaygu'a type (comp. Chapter III, Div. III), it is not rarity within utility which creates value, but a rarity sought out by human skill within the workable materials. In other words, not those things are valued, which being useful or even indispensable are hard to get, since all the necessities of life are within easy reach of the Trobriand Islander. But such an article is valued where the workman, having found specially fine or sportive material, has been induced to spend a disproportionate amount of labour on it. By doing so, he creates an object which is a kind of economic monstrosity, too good, too big, too frail, or too overcharged with ornament to be used, yet just because of that, highly valued.

V

Thus the first assumption is exploded, "that there is no room for wealth or value in native societies." What about the other assumption, namely, "That there is no need to exchange if anyone can by industry and skill, produce all that represents value through its quantity or its quality?" This assumption is confuted by realising a fundamental fact of native usage and psychology: the love of give and take for its own sake; the active enjoyment in possession of wealth, through handing it over.

In studying any sociological questions in the Trobriands, in describing the ceremonial side of tribal life, or religion and magic, we constantly meet with this give and take, with exchange of gifts and payments. I had occasion several times to mention this general feature, and in the short outline of the Trobriand sociology in