The Metamorphoses of Kinship. Maurice Godelier
the Sun’s wife (in the exoteric, popular version) or his younger brother (in the esoteric version of the shamans) who one day opened the path in the girl’s body that enables the menstrual blood to flow. At the heart of these myths and practices lies the men’s fear of women, a sort of constantly denied envy of women’s life-giving power, and the desire, too, to appropriate a share of this power for themselves.
For a Baruya woman has the right to kill her newborn child – at least during the time she is isolated in the birthing hut she has built. This hut stands downhill from the village in a space strictly off-limits to men. When a man sees his wife coming home without a baby in her arms, he immediately accuses her of having killed their child and suspects that it surely must have been a boy, a son his wife deprived him of. To be sure, a certain number of children die at birth. But it also happens that a woman gets rid of the child, either because she already has too many or because of births too close together; she thinks she will not be able to feed this child and raise it. But some women also told me they had killed their baby because they did not want to give any more children to a loathsome husband who beat them, or to a man who wanted to take a second wife. By killing their child, the women offer men one more proof that, if they can give life, they can also take it back. And it was precisely this power that the first men had been trying to appropriate when they stole the women’s flutes (whose secret name designates both the foetus and the new initiate).
This explains why the sacred objects (kwaimatnie) come in pairs and why the more powerful, or ‘hotter’, of the two is a ‘female object’, which the masters of the initiations grasp and use to strike the chest of the initiates after having held the object up to the Sun. The word kwaimatnie is a compound of kwala (‘man’) and nyimatnie (‘to cause to grow’). It is with the women’s power to give life that the men are confronted even as they claim to have appropriated it for themselves in the imaginary workings of the myths they mime in the symbol-laden enactment of the secret male initiation rites, in the course of which they cause the boys to be reborn independently of a woman’s womb. To engender themselves – such seems to be the men’s secret desire, present at the heart of these myths and rites. But could such a wish come true other than in the imaginary? – and by means of purely symbolic practices.30
In conclusion, I would like to stress that it is not enough to show that the sphere of kinship, in Baruya society, is a domain of social practice that enacts the domination of one gender over the other, of men over women. The entire social division of labour illustrates this reality. It is equally important to show that, above and beyond women’s individual and collective subordination to men, there is the impersonal, structural subordination of a whole set of social relations – kinship relations – to the reproduction of the political-ritual relations that enable the Baruya tribe to exist as a whole, as a local society with sovereignty over its territory and governed by the men, who have taken upon themselves the right to represent this whole, of which they are only a part.
THE PRE-EMINENCE OF POLITICAL-RELIGIOUS RELATIONS
I will recall here a few facts that I have already stated, to which I will add others that also testify to the subordination of kinship relations to the political-ritual relations that enable the Baruya society to exist as such.
First is the fact that the Sun is supposed to complete the foetus in the woman’s womb. But it is the men who monopolize access to the Sun, since they are the ones who possess that which the Sun gave their ancestors in the Dreamtime, namely: the sacred objects and the formulae that allow them to grow boys into men, into warriors capable of confronting their enemies and husbands capable of dealing with their wives.
Second is the fact that, when the tsimia is constructed, each post stands for a new initiate and is prepared and brought to the site by a boy’s father. The fathers of the initiates then form a circle that marks the periphery of the future ceremonial house. They stand side by side, arranged not by lineage but by village, and all together, at a signal from the masters of the initiations, sink the poles – the new generation of initiates – into the ground. Politics is thus more important than kinship. At the same time, metaphorically speaking, kinship symbolizes politics, for the Baruya say that the tsimia is the image of the tribe’s ‘body’, and the posts are its ‘bones’, planted in the ground by the men, and the thatch the ‘skin’, brought by the women.
A third fact points in the same direction. As soon as he is initiated, a young boy immediately becomes the elder of all his sisters, including his older sisters, who will from then on address him as ‘elder brother’ (gwagwe) destined to replace their father. This mental transformation performed on genealogical ties by virtue of the men’s political-ritual promotion clearly shows the subordination of kinship relations to the relations that organize power within the society.
This evokes a fourth fact, which this time revises linguistic usages. In the Baruya language, once a game animal is dead it becomes feminine.
Fifth, in the course of the first-stage initiation ceremony, a long, wide plank is brought and laid across the threshold of the men’s house, where the new initiates have just been secluded. Later they will learn that this board is the image of all the married women, a symbol the married men step on when they enter the house to join their sons. Nor must we forget that kwaimatnie come in pairs, and that the hotter one, the more powerful and dangerous of the two, is always the ‘female’ one.
And finally, when I first arrived among the Baruya, in 1967, the mountainsides were covered with paired paths, one a few metres above the other: the higher one was for men, the lower one for women, girls and children.
MODERN TIMES
As the Baruya enter the twenty-first century, their gender relations have changed profoundly. There is no longer any sign of the paired, gendered paths. These disappeared quite suddenly, in the 1970s, in other words twenty years after the first contacts with Europeans, ten years after the first patrol post and the first Lutheran mission. Another thing that was quick to disappear was the habit of women and girls stopping when a group of men approached and turning their backs while hiding their faces behind a flap of their bark capes. Next the men began to shorten the duration of the taboo on eating in front of their mother before they had fathered at least two children and had gone through a ceremony to lift this prohibition. This taboo was doubled by a ban on addressing their mother or speaking to someone in her presence. By 1980 the men had decided they could lift this ban and once again eat in their mother’s presence and speak to her a few months after the birth of their first child. Men who, before the Europeans arrived, had never touched a baby, regarding it as a dirty being that soiled the netbag in which the mother carried it everywhere she went – slung on her back or across her chest – would one by one begin to hold their small children in their arms, first the boys and a year or two later, the girls as well. Meanwhile most of the women had stopped going bare-breasted and now covered their chest and shoulders with cheap cotton blouses bought at the Lutheran mission – which were soon reduced to tatters by sweat, rain and the heavy loads they carried on their back.31
A few girls were sent to primary school, where they excelled, but their parents were unwilling to let them go away to high school, as the boys did. Nevertheless they had learned to speak Pidgin and read the Bible. The custom of newly wed girls practising fellatio to ‘swell their breasts’ with their husband’s sperm also disappeared fairly soon, and the old women still blame this disappearance for the diseases that sometimes carry off young women for no apparent reason.
In 1981 the girls of Wiaveu, the village where the Baruya had allowed me to live in 1967, would play basketball on a court made in the centre of the village by the non-initiated boys who attended school and with the help of other boys of their age who had been initiated and lived in the men’s house. Everyone attended the games between the girls’ teams and did not hesitate to comment on the size of their breasts, their skill or their clumsiness, a scene reminiscent of village life in Europe and far removed from the sexual segregation I had found in 1967.
Today more and more young Baruya men who have left for two or three years to work on the plantations come home with a foreign wife, taken from a group living on the coast or in one of the high interior valleys in the vicinity of the towns of Goroka or Hagen. They have sometimes had to give several thousand kina (a