Introduction
The subject of this chapter is kinship authority, that is, the authority that people exercise by invoking relatedness. More precisely, it is about the ideological obligations and expectations associated with notions of relatedness as sources of authority in Bentian social life, and about how authority deriving from these sources affects people’s perceptions, dispositions, and actions. Kinship is a force of fundamental social significance among the Bentian. However, what I subsume under the heading “kinship”
includes a rather broad range of phenomena. It encompasses, besides cognatic relations, also affinal ones as well as relations based on residential proximity. To give a working definition of the concept as it is used in this chapter, “kinship” encompasses all those relations for which Bentians apply kinship terminology. Thus, it is not only the authority of kin over kin, in a strict sense, which I will consider, but also, the authority that cognatically and affinally unrelated villagers command over each other by virtue of recognizing relatedness on the basis of proximate residence or friendship. In fact, what I label “kinship authority” could perhaps be described as “local interpersonal authority.”
Rather than use this somewhat awkward term, however, I will talk about “kinship authority.” Extending the semantic field of the term “kinship” in this way is motivated by Bentian notions of relatedness: kinship provides the basic idiom in which local social relations are conceived, and unrelated individuals are often referred to by kinship terms or as kaben, “relatives,” and interacted with according to the same principles. Through this semantic extension I attempt to establish a closer fit between the concept and local conceptions of relatedness, and to avoid an approach proceeding from an analytical a priori understanding of what kinship is. In opting for such an usage of the term I am influenced, in particular, by Janet Carsten (1995a, 1997) and Robert McKinley (1983, 2001) but also, in some respects, by David Schneider (1984). Like Schneider I reject the sharp distinction between “biological kinship,” on the one hand, and “social kinship,” on the other, that he argues has conventionally been made in anthropology (1984:189).
However, unlike Schneider, and like Carsten and McKinley, I do not, in Carsten’s (1997:290) words, “reject the validity of kinship as a cross-cultural category,” nor use of the term “kinship” for such notions of relatedness which transcend the realm of kinship when narrowly defined. Like them I find it appropriate, and consider it fruitful from a comparative point of view, to use the term kinship to refer to the “the relatedness that people act and feel” whether or not it is as centrally based on notions of procreation as
it is in Western societies (Carsten 1997:290), in so far as it is, predominantly or partly, couched in a genealogical idiom.
What I call “kinship authority” is also essentially local authority in some further respects. It consists of such authority as is basically a function of local social organization, that is, which arises from the ways in which local social relations and interaction are organized. Moreover, it pertains predominantly to relations within and between particular families, housegroups and communities, that is, to local relations, and it is predominantly local in derivation (i.e. it does not to a significant degree reflect influence from ideologies or models of social organization originating outside the local society). In these respects it contrasts with what I call “political authority,” which derives to a significant extent from relations with agencies outside the local society (i.e. from relations with coastal peoples and past and present governments), as well as with what I call “religious authority” — at least if what is understood by “the local society” here is the presently living human one — which is derived from relations with so-called supernatural agencies.
A story recounting the stay of a young man in the village where I did most of my fieldwork will provide the principal case material as well as something of a general context for my discussion of kinship authority in this chapter. Rather than attempt to establish a systematic and comprehensive presentation of this subject, I have chosen to introduce it gradually as aspects of it become invoked by this piece of empirical material.
A central theme in the story, and an important element in Bentian social life more generally, is the tension between people's aspirations for individual autonomy and their interpersonal or collective attachments. This tension is largely the result of contrary attempts by Bentians at exerting authority, on the one hand, and evading it, on the other.
Its existence points to some seemingly paradoxical features of Bentian social life which, despite their apparent incongruence, are characteristic of it. These features include the facts that boundaries between Bentian social groups and categories usually are permeable, and the groups and categories themselves seldom are mutually exclusive or residentially concentrated, while at the same time — despite these indications of individual autonomy and organizational fluidity — an ethos of moral community unity pervades attitudes toward social relations, and even temporary congregations often exhibit corporate qualities. Thus, even though individuals and households could be said to possess a rather high degree of (structural) autonomy in Bentian society, people are nevertheless quite strongly connected in practice, and frequently also constrained by their collective attachments, especially by the intricate webs of their extensive kin relations. How can we make sense of this? How can such simultaneous expressions of autonomy and interdependence be explained? Or to phrase the question in a more well-known (and perhaps somewhat outdated) form: how can we account for social order or social cohesion in such a “loosely structured social system” (Embree 1950)? This question
Patrilines, assumably uncommon in typically bilateral Borneo, are also reported for the Lun68 Dayeh (Crain 1978:130-31) and the Selako (Schneider 1978:67). Among the Bentian, some women (i.e.
shamans) also occasionally trace matrilines. Generally, there seems to be a vague sense in which unilineal connections are conceived of as more direct and powerful than bilineal ones, possibly as a result of sultanate influence. The importance of these unilineal connections, however, seems to be mainly restricted to spiritual powers. Unilineal connections are allegedly not superior to bilineal connections with respect to inheritance or any legal matters, even though they may be invoked in such contexts. Jerome Rousseau (personal communication, 2004) suggests that these genealogies may in fact be bilateral same-sex pedigrees, but it appears to me, from the limited information that I have on such genealogies, that this is not the case among the Bentian.
represents a secondary line of inquiry which I hope to address through my analysis of Bentian authority.
In addition to the tension arising from Bentian efforts at exerting and evading authority, there is also another type of tension forming a central element in the story to be presented. This is the tension arising from the continually ongoing negotiation of social boundaries and otherness, which is present even within small communities formally regarded as all kin. Even though Bentian kinship can be held to be basically inclusive, and co-villagers frequently voice the idea that they are “one family” (erai aben), processes of differentiation and exclusion also operate in Bentian society. An illustration is the fact that notions about sorcery (egau) and poisoning (believed to be effected by spiritually potent oils, ompan) often critically influence people's attitudes toward each other. An alleged instance of sorcery which forms a significant ingredient in the story serves to demonstrate this fact, and enables us to examine some of the ways in which the negotiation of social boundaries are conducted within what in discourse is usually emphatically portrayed as seamless wholes. In addition, this illustration of “the reverse side” of Bentian notions of relatedness has the advantage of indicating the limits of kinship authority, at the same time as it is precisely such assaults on the social fabric which are particularly instrumental in activating claims of kinship in efforts to integrate people.
A Few Notes on Bentian Kinship
Before I proceed to the story, I shall give a brief account of some basic features of Bentian kinship (Appendix 1 gives a list of kinship terms). The Bentian have bilateral inheritance and generally reckon kinship bilaterally, although some men keep patrilineal genealogies, tracing them to powerful ancestors. Marriage is mainly monogamous, but68 polygamy, both polygyny and polyandry, also occurs (as polyandry is not permitted by Indonesian law, however, all polyandrous unions are unofficial and more or less secret
Although polyandry is generally regarded as rare outside the Himalayan region, polyandrous69 unions are reported from several societies in Borneo (Lumholtz 1920:440; Rousseau 1990:227; Sellato 1994:156; Tsing 1993:130) as well as from peninsular M alaysia (Howell 1989:28). Interestingly, these references are all either to hunters and gatherers or highly dispersed swidden cultivators, suggesting that the institution, and polygamy in general in these societies, may reflect concerns with optimizing the reproductive potential of the groups in question (Sellato 1994:156; Knapen 2001:126) and enabling local endogamy. In addition, my own data suggest that ideological concerns with maintaining previously established relations and having no one stay alone also motivate the institution.
The duration of the periods of uxori- and virilocal residence is largely the result of negotiation70 and practical considerations, although some ideal and standard lengths, varying between villages, were also given (e.g. four years of uxorilocality followed by two years of virilocality). Virilocal residence is not fully as often realized in practice as uxorilocal residence and has to be enacted through an official visit by the man’s family. Both types of residence may be avoided through compensation. Immediately after the wedding ceremony, before actual uxorilocal residence is established, the couple also stays first some eight days with the bride’s parents, then some four days with the man’s parents (here again the exact length of the different stays may vary in different areas and the order is sometimes reversed).
Usually, two weddings are also arranged, one by the groom’s family, one by the bride’s, and both families present “traditional valuables” (ceramic jars, gongs, and plates) to the other, the value of the groom’s family’s prestations normally being double to that of the bride’s (e.g. five dozen plates versus two and a half). The principal purpose of all of these arrangements seems to be to ensure connection and complementarity, especially a fair balance of expenses.
affairs). Divorce and remarriage, including sororate and levirate, is frequent, and people69 often remarry many times. Endogamy is preferred and it was more common in the past when marriage usually was restricted to within one's community. First cousin marriage is allowed and fairly common; second and third cousin marriage used to be the norm and is still largely so. Postmarital residence, in theory and in most actual cases, is initially uxorilocal and secondarily virilocal. Due to the dual settlement pattern of alternating70 swidden-village residence and recurrent visits between relatives, household size and composition vary and fluctuate considerably. In the villages, swidden households typically merge into larger ones sharing an “extended family house” (lou). Reflecting the vaguely defined character of Bentian kin entities, the Bentian term for a household or family unit, aben, is used for all varieties of residentially concentrated kin groups, and it may be extended to entire villages (or several adjacent ones) by villagers who want to emphasize their closeness or the fact that most of them are related (through cognatic, affinal, or adoptive links). Personal “kindreds,” including affines, and sometimes unrelated neighbors, are crucially important as action groups and cut through the boundaries of residentially concentrated kin and other groups. What emerges from a consideration of these patterns is a picture of a fluid and variably composite social system where residence and kinship combine to effect a highly flexible organization which would seem to allow much room for choice and strategical manoeuver in interpersonal alignments. However, kinship in this society represents a highly influential source of authority which can effectively be used to counteract attempts at far-reaching autonomy and bind dispersed community members together.
Temiang, and Bermaung and Datai Munte (see below) are not the real names of the villages in71 question but pseudonyms. Udin is also a pseudonym. However, most other names mentioned in the story or elsewhere in the thesis are not.
72 It can be mentioned here that Bermaung is not a Bentian village; most of its inhabitants belong to the weakly objectified upper Teweh subgroup of the Luangan and refer to themselves as Dusun-Tawoyan or just Luangan. They nevertheless point out that they and the Bentian are one and the same people, differentiated only by name. For them, as for most Luangans, ethnic differences on this level are insignificant or overridden by loyalties grounded in the sharing of a common language, a common religious tradition, and a basically similar way of life. For the purposes of this paper, I will therefore consider Udin a Bentian, and so was he, for most purposes, considered by the Bentians — as were other non-Bentian Luangans living in Bentian villages during my fieldstay. A prominent feature of life in the region is that people who move to other villages adjust to local customs and practices with what seems like remarkable ease. Rather than insist on difference and emphasize their pasts, people are usually strongly inclined to stress similarities. This is, of course, a common feature of many societies in
“plural” Southeast Asia, particularly in the so-called peripheries of the region (e.g. see Carsten 1997;
Gibson 1986; M . Rosaldo 1980). In such societies, suppression of differences in origin, often along with suppression of differences in status, work to create a sense of local unity and enable local cooperation.
73 W hat he had in mind was not wage labor but primarily an opportunity to help someone gather rattan or gaharu wood, and then in return get part of the money when it was sold.
The Story of Udin
Udin was a young man who married into Temiang, the small Bentian village in which71 I resided for most of my fieldwork. Udin, at the time that I knew him, was a person who may be described as cheerful, sociable and outgoing, all traits which were not always particularly manifest among Bentians that I knew. He could also be characterized as something of a dreamer with occasional ostentatious tendencies. He came to Temiang from Bermaung, a village located on the Teweh River some two to three days’ walk from Temiang, on the other side of the provincial border. Out of about 90 people living in72 Temiang or on swiddens within its territory in 1996, 10 were born in Bermaung.
Temiangers have been intermarrying with people from a particular hamlet of Bermaung for over a hundred years, although it is only more recently, especially during the past two decades, that intermarriage has become more frequent.
Udin first came to Temiang in 1990, looking for temporary work to earn some cash (elo usaha). He was then in his early twenties. He stayed in Temiang with Nen Bai, his73 mother's second cousin (who had married into the village a couple of years earlier), and her husband Ma Dengu, helping them to harvest rattan. During this stay he met a pretty girl (Rosa) with whom he did not, however, establish a relation at the time. He was then married to another girl in Bermaung, so he returned home after a few months, but got divorced shortly after. In 1993, three years later, Udin met Rosa again, this time when she came to Bermaung to visit relatives in the company of her mother's first cousin, Ma Bure, and his wife Nen Simur, Nen Bai's sister, who had married into Temiang “following”
Nen Bai (Rosa, whose own parents frequently stayed away from Temiang in her father's
74 Luangans, like other Dayaks, have both personal names, and teknonyms which they get when they have children or grandchildren, or when they reach the age when they normally would do so.
Female teknonyms take the form of Nen X or Tak X (i.e. “mother of X,” or “grandmother of X”) while male teknonyms, according to the same logic, read as M a X or Kakah X. Not all apparent teknonyms are true teknonyms, however. Luangan practice is unusual in that most people get their “teknonyms” not from their children or grandchildren but, instead, from habits, attributes or particular events associated with the namebearer (thus, for example, M a Pija derived his “teknonym” from his penchant for dried fish, pija). Some “teknomymic” names are created from a wordplay, or prosodic likeness, connecting the teknonym to the personal name (thus M a Lombang derived his “teknonym” from his personal name,
village, had been adopted by, and living with, Ma Bure and Nen Simur since Udin's first stay in Temiang). During this visit, Udin and Rosa started to see each other until “the old folks” (dali tuha), that is, Rosa's attendants and Udin's mother (who is Nen Simur's second cousin), saw that the two “had to become married” — it was not like he actually had asked for her, Udin told me. At any rate, Udin could not have married Rosa while still in Temiang because of his first marriage, and also because Rosa was then too young to marry. A short time after the wedding, Udin and Rosa returned to Temiang with Ma Bure and Nen Simur. The next two years Udin worked on a shared swidden site with Ma Bure and Ma Bure's father Ma Lombang. During this period, Liman, Udin's and Rosa's first child, was born.
At this time, and up to 1996 when I stayed most of the year in Temiang, Udin and Rosa alternated residence between their farmhouse, where Rosa's grandmother Tak Rosa also stayed, and the “village longhouse” (lou solai) owned by Tak Rosa's brother Ma Bari, the (unofficial) village head. In 1995 Ma Bure and Nen Simur moved to a newly opened transmigration site (called tran by locals) located some ten kilometers from the village. Udin continued to work on the same swidden site, now in the company of his friend Mudai, a young Benuaq Dayak who also had married into the village and subsequently had become adopted by a villager (Ma Mar), whose swidden field was adjacent to Udin's and now being farmed by Mudai. Like Mudai, Udin spent much of his time hunting, and he seldom slept in the village, except during larger rituals. Since he was one of the most successful hunters in the village he regularly came by the longhouse with meat to give to its inhabitants and other of his relatives. Then he would usually sit down recounting hunting stories for Ma Bari or Ma Bari's middle-aged sons Ma Kelamo and Ma Isa. Occasionally, if he got large catches, he sold fish or deer to people at tran. He also at times brought rice and vegetables to the village. When, for instance, in February 1996 an eight day buntang ritual was held for Tak Lodot (Tak Rosa's and Ma Bari's sister, and Ma Lombang's second wife), Udin provided most of the rice consumed by guests and participants. He had clearly become important for several villagers who depended on him to a high degree for their subsistence or entertainment. Acknowledging his increasingly adult status, Kakah Ramat, Ma Lombang's sister's husband and the most highly respected
At this time, and up to 1996 when I stayed most of the year in Temiang, Udin and Rosa alternated residence between their farmhouse, where Rosa's grandmother Tak Rosa also stayed, and the “village longhouse” (lou solai) owned by Tak Rosa's brother Ma Bari, the (unofficial) village head. In 1995 Ma Bure and Nen Simur moved to a newly opened transmigration site (called tran by locals) located some ten kilometers from the village. Udin continued to work on the same swidden site, now in the company of his friend Mudai, a young Benuaq Dayak who also had married into the village and subsequently had become adopted by a villager (Ma Mar), whose swidden field was adjacent to Udin's and now being farmed by Mudai. Like Mudai, Udin spent much of his time hunting, and he seldom slept in the village, except during larger rituals. Since he was one of the most successful hunters in the village he regularly came by the longhouse with meat to give to its inhabitants and other of his relatives. Then he would usually sit down recounting hunting stories for Ma Bari or Ma Bari's middle-aged sons Ma Kelamo and Ma Isa. Occasionally, if he got large catches, he sold fish or deer to people at tran. He also at times brought rice and vegetables to the village. When, for instance, in February 1996 an eight day buntang ritual was held for Tak Lodot (Tak Rosa's and Ma Bari's sister, and Ma Lombang's second wife), Udin provided most of the rice consumed by guests and participants. He had clearly become important for several villagers who depended on him to a high degree for their subsistence or entertainment. Acknowledging his increasingly adult status, Kakah Ramat, Ma Lombang's sister's husband and the most highly respected