3. Land, Activity Systems, and Decision-making Models
in Rotuma
Alan Howard
[Published in Ethnology 2:407-440, 1963]
The island of Rotuma is located at approximately 12° S.
lat. and 177° E. long., on the western fringe of Polynesia.
Politically, Rotuma has been governed as part of the Colony
of Fiji since its cession to Great Britain in 1881. [1] Although
its linguistic affiliations remain somewhat of an enigma
(Grace 1959; Capell 1962), the culture of the island reveals
a closer affinity with Samoa, Tonga, Futuna, and Uvea than
with Fiji or the Melanesian islands to the west. Descriptions
of selected aspects of Rotuman culture and social organization
have appeared in print (cf. Howard 1963a), but as yet no
comprehensive account exists. The ethnographic information
contained in this paper is presented in lieu of a more
thorough description which I hope eventually to produce.
The main purpose of the present article is not meant to
be ethnographic, however, but ethnological. Specifically,
it is my intention to use data from Rotuma as a basis for
discussing some of the theoretical and methodological issues
posed by societies emphasizing bilateral kinship organization.
In recent years bilateral, or cognatic, kinship organization
has become a focal point in the comparative study of social
structure. At stake are some basic issues, including the
whole conceptual apparatus of structural analysis, and
it seems likely that when these issues are resolved, structural
theory will have undergone some profound changes. The fundamental
issue is not in my opinion a conceptual one, e.g., descent vs.
filiation, or cognatic vs. bilateral vs.
nonunilinear, but rather concerns the nature of social
systems as such. In short, is it best (or simply necessary)
to regard social systems as "statistical" models as Leach
(1960) has at times suggested and Murdock (1949, 1960)
has continually maintained, or to consider them as "mechanical" models
as Goodenough (1961) and Sahlins (1963) have suggested? [2] The
issue goes deeper still; it implicates the problem of explanation
that lies at the core of the Homans and Schneider vs. Needham
debate. Indeed, there would be justification for regarding
it as the fundamental issue in social anthropology today.
Let us review the arguments advanced in support of either
side.
Murdock, in defending the statistical approach, asserts
that to regard structural rules as exerting pressures upon
individuals is to reify the concept of social structure,
and endorses a statement by Leach (1960:124) that "social
structures are sometimes best regarded as the statistical
outcome of multiple individual choices rather than a direct
reflection of jural rules." Murdock (1960: 9) supports
his position with the assertion that such an approach has "the
enormous advantage of making possible the utilization of
psychological principles and of scientific knowledge concerning
the dynamics of cultural change in the interpretation of
social systems."
One of the most explicit proponents of the opposite approach
has been Sahlins. In a review of Social Structure in
Southeast Asia, Sahlins accuses Murdock of looking
at social structure from "the inside out," and asserts
that the more fruitful approach would be to examine it
from "the outside in" (i.e., the relationship between units
in a political system). The emphasis would then be upon "ideology
and mechanism." From this point of view, according to Sahlins
(1963: 45), "political groupings of descent order seem
to form a continuum: dogma ranges between an extreme emphasis
upon patriliny to a mere emphasis upon common descent (nonunilinear)
groups."
It would seem, then, that we are forced to choose between
a view of society as a statistical model resulting from
a multitude of individual choices and encompassing the
totality of social behavior, and a mechanical model based
upon intergroup relations and including only ideal, or
alternatively, politically oriented, behavior. If this
were the case, it would constitute a most unfortunate situation,
since both positions have shortcomings. On the one hand,
mechanical models are superior to statistical models as
conceptual instruments for scientific analysis; on the
other hand, any model which dismisses a large portion of
social behavior as irrelevant leaves much to be desired.
Fortunately, however, these are not our only alternatives.
Goodenough (1961: 1343), in discussing Murdock's 1960 article,
makes a plea for an alternative approach:
It is high time...that we develop a typology
that is completely free of statistical and functional considerations,
using only structural or formal ones, based on the criteria
and principles by which people make membership decisions
(as distinct from the kinds of alignments which tend to
result from the making of these decisions under a particular
set of stable conditions).
Let us examine Goodenough's statement from the standpoint
of the requirements for constructing the kind of typology
he suggests. To begin with, of course, we would need a
series of ethnographic descriptions containing adequate
data. The question then becomes, what constitutes adequate
data? For an answer to this question we can turn to Goodenough's
other writings, beginning with his monograph on Truk. It
is here that we find his first published statement (Goodenough
1951: 10) describing the goal of ethnographic description
in terms of "trying to give the reader a basis for learning
to operate in terms of the culture described in somewhat
the same manner that a grammar would provide him with a
basis for learning to speak a language." Expanding upon
this theme in a later paper (Goodenough 1957), he suggests
that an ideal ethnographic description of cultural behavior
would constitute a formulation of what one would have to
know in order to act in a culturally appropriate manner
in given social circumstances.
The essence of this approach is that ethnographic description
should provide sufficient data to permit the construction
of decision-making models in which the culturally perceived
alternatives are designated, the principles (or factors)
which are determinate for choosing between alternatives
described, and the relationship between the factors specified
(as in factor analysis). In other words, a mechanical model
based upon individual choice and predictive of actual behavior
would ideally result.
It is worth noting that these premises underlie the newly
emergent field of cultural ecology (cf. Frake 1962: 54),
and are implicit in recent studies focused on the cognitive
principles underlying folk taxonomy (e.g., Frake 1961).
Social anthropologists have been slow to take the cue,
however, and it is one of the purposes of this paper to
present the results of an experiment with using this same
logic as a basis for analyzing a wider aspect of social
phenomena, in this case land tenure. But before presenting
the data it is necessary to consider some basic concepts.
SOCIAL STRUCTURE AND THE CONCEPT OF ACTIVITY SYSTEMS
It is not my intention to review here the various definitions
of social structure that appear in the literature. The
point I want to make at the outset is that any definition
that treats societies as though they were uni-structural
models conflicts with the premises we have put forth. The
objections to the single structure approach have been succinctly
stated by Nadel (1957:153):
...it seems impossible to speak of social structure
in the singular Analysis in terms of structure is incapable
of presenting whole societies; nor, which means the same,
can any society be raid to exhibit an embracing structure
as we understand the term. There are always cleavages,
dissociations, enclaves, so that any description. alleged
to present a single structure will in fact present only
a fragmentary or one-sided picture
The essence of what I am suggesting is this: If we accept
the ideal that ethnographic description should permit the
reader to act appropriately in the society being described,
the question "What are the principles of social structure?" is
inappropriate, for what we would have done is to postulate
an entity (social system) and then ask how it is built.
It would seem the more appropriate question should be, "What
are the principles that structure behavior under given
circumstances?" This is an entirely different question
and releases us from the enigma of reification. The fact
is that societies are not systems in the proper sense of
the term, if by "system" we imply a conceptual order in
which the specified units are in determinate relationship
with one another. For one thing, the units we are forced
to use when employing the uni-structural approach--e.g.,
positions, roles, groups, and institutions; or, alternatively,
social relations, norms, and institutions--are themselves
abstracted from average behavior (or expectations of behavior)
in a wide variety of situations. They are therefore unlikely
to be predictive for any single situation, and hence fall
short of the desired goal. In sum, the concept of society
as a single system is based on an analogy (Radcliffe-Brown
1952: 178187), and to base a science on an analogy hardly
seems satisfactory. Nor can we be satisfied with assuming
partial determination. As Nadel (1957:144) puts it:
...if we are concerned (as in fact we are) with
discovering the mutual determination of a plurality of
elements, as in a "system," we shall naturally assume,
to begin with, that such a determination exists, in which
case we must also assume the possibility of a complete
state of this kind, a state wholly determined by the interrelation
of all elements, and hence unchangeable while the elements
are what they are.
Instead of conceiving of a society as having a social
structure, I would suggest we conceive of social behavior
as being structured by participation in given activities
within which behavioral choices (decisions) are regular
and predictable. Our "systems" would then best be regarded
as activity systems, the relevant units being the
principles (or, methodologically, factors) that are predictive
of choice among behavioral alternatives.
How, then, shall we define the concept of social structure
or, as I would have it, the structure of an activity system?
First, it is evident that, if consistency is to be maintained,
one criterion that must be met is that any definition be
congruent with the notion of human behavior as decision-making.
Taking this into account, I would suggest that the structure
of an activity system be defined as a set of interrelated
principles by which the participants performing an activity
(or series of activities) determine who shall make decisions
(or be held responsible for them) on issues that implicate
all, or a part, of the group (two or more participants).
To develop comprehensive models of decision-making behavior
we need to go further. Namely, we must specify the principles
by which the persons selected by structural rules actually
make decisions. To the extent that these are cognitively
shared I would choose to call them cultural principles.
An example may help to clarify these points.
Consider the case of a man, his wife, and child engaged
in preparing a feast at Rotuma. Two orders of problem are
involved. The first is: Who shall decide what is to be
done? The principles used to resolve this problem are structural
principles. The second order of problem is: What shall
be done? For example, what food should be used and how
shall it be cooked? Who shall perform the various tasks,
and who should be served first? The principles used to
solve these problems are cultural principles.
To extend the example further, let us consider an actual
situation that recurs in Rotuma and examine it. Suppose
the child had just returned home from an extended holiday,
or had just received some form of public recognition (such
as first communion). These would be equivalent circumstances
as far as the preparation of the feast is concerned, since
in either case it would be regarded as an expression of
parental (or familial) recognition of the youngster. If
we were to ask a great many Rotumans, "Who should make
decisions?" and "What procedures should be followed?" under
such conditions, a high degree of consensus would no doubt
emerge, from which we could derive an "ideal" or "jural" decision-making
model such as the following:
Two structural principles apply: a husband is
entitled to make decisions in this activity system when
a problem involves himself and his wife, and parents are
entitled to make decisions in preference to children. In
other word., the man is entitled to make decisions affecting
all three of them, or himself and either of them. The woman
is obliged to accept her husband's decisions, but in matters
affecting only herself and her child she is entitled to
make the decisions.
According to custom (i.e. recognized cultural principles),
a pig should be killed and cooked in an earthen oven
or koua, which is prepared
by the man. The woman should cook all the other foodstuffs
which are not to be baked in the oven, while the child
is freed from performing any tasks. When the food has
been cooked, the child is supposed to be served first
and given the head of the pig, which in Rotuma is the
prestigeful part of the animal.
This model is "ideal" in the sense that virtually all
Rotumans would agree that it is how things should be done.
It is "jural" in the sense that unless something interferes,
thus requiring other ideal principles to be taken into
account, such behavior is invariably met with approval.
But how predictive is this model for the way in which
such a feast would actually be carried out in Rotuma? Is
it a satisfactory "grammar" in Goodenough's sense? Rather
than answering these questions, I shall only make the methodological
point that, in order to construct a predictive model, an
investigator would have to observe a number of feasts held
under these circumstances and from his observations would
have to derive empirically the principles of action that
best fit (i.e., are retrospectively predictive of) the
way things are actually done.
There is one important point that should be made clear
since it is at variance with the generally accepted point
of view. Whereas most anthropologists have dealt with such
aspects of the socio- cultural order as rules of succession
and residence as structural principles, within the present
frame of reference they are classified rather as cultural
principles. Only when priority of decision-making is involved
are we dealing with structural principles as I have defined
them. In other words, the problem of determining who shall
choose a successor to chieftainship is resolved by employing
structural principles, but the problem of selecting the
grounds on which he shall be chosen involves the use of
cultural principles. Likewise, within the present context,
kinship principles may be either structural or cultural.
They are structural when used to determine decision-making
priority; they are cultural when used as a means of recruiting
assistance. While this specialized usage is somewhat unorthodox,
it is necessary if logical consistency is to be maintained.
I now propose to describe certain features of Rotuman
social organization that have a bearing on some of the
issues under discussion. After presenting the historical
background, I intend to describe the "ideal," or "jural," model
which Rotumans portray as pertaining to land tenure, and
then shall consider actual behavior patterns when questions
involving land arise. The latter will be formulated as
decision-making models, i.e., guides to behavior that appear,
on the basis of my ethnographic data, to be predictive
under defined circumstances. I have chosen to focus upon
land tenure for two reasons. In the first place, the transmission
of property rights is a crucial aspect of the descent group
controversy; and, second, it is an example of an area that
has usually been treated as part of a total social system
but which, in my opinion, is better regarded as a related
set of activity systems, each with a distinct decision-making
model.
It should be stressed that the formulation of decision-making
models does not, by itself, constitute an adequate substitute
for complete ethnographic description. To be adequate as
an ethnographic account data relating to attitudes and
values affecting land, the use to which it is put and its
significance in the lives of the Rotumans would have to
be presented. More important still, a statistical record
of the incidence of each kind of issue and the decisions
actually made would need to be included. Such material
has been omitted for the sake of brevity and because I
have not yet completed a statistical analysis of the relevant
data. I hope to include these in a future publication.
The information analyzed to date, however, supports the
conclusions that are drawn regarding Rotuman practices.
HISTORICAL BACKGROUND
The best early account of land tenure in Rotuma is that
by Gardiner (1898). Even at the time of Gardiner's visit
land tenure had already changed to a considerable degree
and was in a state of transition, but he was able to obtain
sufficient information to make a fairly comprehensive reconstruction
of the former model. His account is consistent with all
other available data and therefore appears to be reliable.
According to Gardiner, the aboriginal landholding unit
was the ho'aga, which was
a kinship community under the direction of a titled chief,
the fa esho'aga.
The chief acted as steward (pure)
of the land, and it was his duty to divide it among the
component households of the ho'aga for
planting purposes. He also settled disputes if any arose
within the ho'aga. Although
these units were organized into districts (seven at the
time of Cession) under the political leadership of a paramount
chief (gagaj es itu), the
latter had no claim in the land, although in some cases
he was given first fruits and was called upon to settle
disputes between ho'aga. Indications
are that ho'aga were exogamous
and that the residence pattern was bilocal, depending upon
such factors as available land, relative status, and the
nature of the marital arrangement (elopement, arranged
marriages, etc.). Succession to the chiefly title took
place within the male line, although it is not clear whether
primogeniture or senior status was the dominant principle.
As a result of acculturation with Europeans, which became
increasingly intense during the nineteenth century, land
tenure in Rotuma was considerably altered. The cumulative
effect of three factors in particular--a decline in population,
the development of a commercial economy, and the establishment
of missions--led to the breakdown of the ho'aga as
a kinship unit and the individuation of land holdings.
As adjacent ho'aga amalgamated
in order to maintain adequate manpower in the face of depopulation,
the kinship unity of the group was lost, and ho'aga evolved
into political units composed of a number of localized
(usually adjacent) households. At the same time, the growth
of the copra trade gave men a more permanent interest in
the land than previously, and with the encouragement of
the missionaries and traders a concept of individual ownership
(i.e., the right to allocate and dispose of land) was fostered.
In time the right of the fa esho'aga to
distribute the land gave way to the rights of the user,
and ho'aga land was divided
into individual holdings with each household head assuming
the rights of a pure over
the land he worked. This undoubtedly did not take place
as a consciously executed plan, but rather as a gradual
process involving a growth of vested interests in specific
blocks of land and a loss of authority on the part of the fa
es ho'aga resulting from the intrusion of non-kinsmen
into the group. The process of fragmentation which took
place was furthered by frequent sales of land by the Rotumans
among themselves for money, pigs, and various other items.
The establishment of the Colonial Administration following
Cession also had a great impact on matters pertaining to
land. Of greatest importance was the establishment of the
administrative structure itself, which provided for the
systematic handling of transactions and disputes. Within
this structure the District Officer (previously the Resident
Commissioner) is the supreme decision-maker and interpreter
of custom. The Government further complicated the situation
by introducing a land tax, the payment of which has come
to be regarded as a means of legitimizing claims.
During the first two decades following Cession the Resident
Commissioners followed a policy of resolving stewardship
disputes by dividing the land among the disputants. This
policy was pursued until early in the twentieth century
and perpetuated the process of land fragmentation that
had begun long before Cession. As the point of diminishing
returns was reached, and land division was no longer feasible,
a declaration of joint rights was favored in cases in which
clear decisions could be made for neither plaintiff nor
defendant. With the virtual elimination of land division,
in conjunction with an expanding population, communal interest
in land was increasingly perpetuated.
The handling of many land matters, however, has remained
unaffected by these changes. It is only when disputes arise,
transactions between nonrelatives take place, or taxes
are not paid that the Administration gets involved, and
for every land matter settled by the Administration many
others are settled by the parties concerned among themselves.
In 1960, when field work was being carried out, Rotuma
was a prosperous society. Its population had increased
from a low of slightly more than 2,000 in 1915 to approximately
5,000 in 1960. The island itself, which is quite small
(approximately 17 square miles), supports about 3,000 of
these; the majority of the remainder now live in urban
centers in Fiji (cf. Howard 1961). Although those who remain
on the island are almost completely reliant upon the copra
trade for money, their standard of living is high in comparison
with most people in the non-Western world, and the land,
which is incredibly fertile, is the source of their wealth.
THE IDEAL MODEL OF KINSHIP AND LAND TENURE IN CONTEMPORARY
ROTUMAN SOCIETY
The basis of Rotuman kinship can be designated by the
word kainaga, which in its
broadest sense means "kind, sort, variety, species, class" (Churchward
1940: 235), in other words, belonging to the same category.
It can be used to describe people of the same nationality,
or in a more limited sense to designate persons "of the
same blood," i.e., consanguinity. Since kinship is traced
bilaterally in Rotuma, a person's kainaga,
in this latter sense, constitutes a personal kindred, a
grouping which becomes functionally operative during life-crisis
ceremonies and when an individual becomes critically ill.
The term kainaga may also
be used in a still more restricted sense, indicating common
descent from an ancestor who has resided at, and held rights
in, a given house site or fuag ri. [3] Each
person is considered to have rights in the fuag
ri of his eight great-grandparents. [4] Every
site is named, and a person usually describes his affiliation
by such a statement as "I am a member of the Halafa kainaga." Associated
with each fuag ri are sections
of bush land, presumably those over which the ancestor
held rights, and to claim membership in a given kainaga is
to claim rights in these lands. The person who lives on
the fuag ri, and controls
the land, is the pure. He
(or she) is obligated to grant usufruct privileges to any
member of the kainaga. If
a pure is unreasonable or
overly stingy, the kainaga have
a right to hold a meeting and depose him in favor of another
person. If he dies or otherwise leaves the ancestral fuag
ri, the kainaga should
hold a meeting to select a new man. At a kainaga meeting
social relations are structured according to the principles
of kinship, i.e., senior males are required to be least
restrained in expressing their opinions, while the expectancy
that others will acquiesce to their decisions increases
to the degree that they owe them respect. The prescription
for selecting a new pure is
that the senior male of the kainaga should
be chosen, seniority being based upon age in one's own
generation and one's father's seniority in the parental
generation. Theoretically, then, succession goes from elder
brother to younger brother, to eldest son of elder brother,
to younger son of elder brother, to elder son of younger
brother, to younger son of younger brother. A woman may
become pure only if there
are no eligible males, and her eldest son is expected to
succeed her provided she has no brothers with sons.
Some fuag ri carry with them
chiefly titles, to which the men who become pure have
claim. When titled they are known as as
togi (successor to the name) and are entitled to
the privileges, and burdened by the responsibilities, that
go with the particular name. [5] The
assumption of a title is not automatic, however, but requires
a ceremony (hül 'umefe)
in which the symbol of chiefly status, a short-legged eating
table ('umefe), is turned
upright, after which kava is
partaken, the candidate anointed with oil, and a feast
eaten.
That a person's eight kainaga correspond,
in the formal model, with his kindred can be illustrated
by reference to life-crisis ceremonies. When such a ceremony
is about to take place, the eight fuag
ri are supposed to be gathering points of Ego's
relatives, each individual going to the one he has in common
with Ego. If anyone has more than one kainaga in
common he may choose among them at his discretion. The pure of
each kainaga is in charge
of the group that congregates at his fuag
ri, and he decides what shall be done. He may call
a meeting sometime before the ceremony is to take place,
and allocate tasks. On the day of the ceremony each person
brings his contribution of mats, food, kava, etc., to the
appropriate fuag ri, where
these goods are amassed. When all arrangements have been
completed, the kainaga departs
as a unit, under the leadership of the pure,
to the fuag ri at which the
ceremony is to take place. [6] Here
they are ceremonially received and make their presentations.
Any person who attends the affair, if he is not a member
of any of Ego's kainaga, should
go as the guest of one of them. Each group therefore regularly
contains not only consanguineal relatives but affines and
unrelated persons as well. These latter, it must be stressed,
go as guests rather than as members of the kainaga.
Associated with each fuag ri are
also ancestral ghosts, or atua,
who at once protect the living members of the kainaga from
outside harm and act as instruments of justice when internal
squabbles occur. Thus an individual engaged in an illicit
love affair may feel relatively safe from discovery if
he takes his lover to an ancestral burial ground somewhere
in the bush, or he may, if he feels he has been unjustly
denied rights in kainaga land,
implore the atua to see that
justice is done. In some cases, special personal powers
possessed by an ancestor are considered to be transmitted
to his descendants by virtue of the power of his atua.
These may include healing powers, the ability to catch
turtles (a prestige food), or special prowess as a fisherman.
It is generally held that the more recipients of such power
the more diluted it becomes, and an alternative is for
power to be personally transmitted from live individual
to live individual through a special ritual. When this
is done the donor loses the power and the recipient gains
it in an undiluted form.
With regard to land tenure, the concept of kainaga rights
has been complicated by the advent of individual ownership
following European contact. This has resulted in a range
of concepts to describe rights in land, consisting of the
following seven concepts:
l. Hanua ne togi,
which refers to land acquired by an individual through
purchase. Rights thus obtained are undivided and the purchaser
is undisputed pure.
2. Hanua ne na, which refers
to land acquired by an individual through gift. The only
distinction from hanua ne togi lies
in the method of acquisition; rights are undivided and
the recipient is undisputed pure.
3. Hanua ne haisasigi,
which refers to land in which a sibling group and/or
their known descendants own rights. Thus land which is
individually owned by Ego becomes hanua
ne haisasigi to his offspring (provided there
are more than one) [7] and
remains so in descending generations as long as genealogical
connections to these siblings remain clear. When genealogical
connections are obscured, the land becomes known as hanua
ne kainaga.
4. Hanua ne kainaga, which
refers to land over which all the descendants of ancestors
who previously held rights own rights. Relationship may
be traced back to any ancestor who held such rights,
not necessarily to a specific person (such as a founding
ancestor) or sibling group. Hanua
ne kainaga is usually distinguished from hanua
ne haisasigi in that the latter is generally reserved
for cases in which genealogical connections are known,
whereas the former is used where they are obscured. [8]
5. As ne hanua, which refers
to land that "belongs" to a chiefly title. Since all
members of the kainaga to
which the title is relevant share rights in the land,
functionally (within the formal model) as
ne hanua is identical to either hanua
ne kainaga or hanua ne haisasigi,
as the case may be. The only distinction is the conception
that the title holder is automatic pure.
6. Hanua ne 'on tore, which
refers to land in which the collective descendants of
a pure who had owned undivided
rights own rights. The concept is more specific than hanua
ne kainaga in that the latter does not include
reference to an original ancestor who had enjoyed undivided
rights; on the other hand it is less specific than hanua
ne haisasigi in that it does not require knowledge
of genealogical connections to the original ancestor.
7. Hanua pau which in its
broadest sense includes any individually held land. In
a more specific sense hanua pau refers
to land in which the sole survivor of a kainaga owns
rights. By implication, hanua pau (in
its more restricted sense) was once hanua
ne haisasigi, hanua ne kainaga,
or hanua ne 'on tore. [9]
An interesting feature of this conceptual system is a
built-in cyclical aspect. Individually held land (hanua
ne togi, hanua ne na,
or hanua pau) becomes hanua
ne haisasigi in the second generation, providing
the original pure has multiple
offspring. The land remains hanua
ne haisasigi until genealogical connections are
obscured (probably in the fourth or fifth generation),
when it becomes known as hanua ne
kainaga or hanua ne 'on tore.
This in turn may become hanua pau should
all but one of the kainaga die
out.
As a general rule, persons who are related are expected
to be generous with one another. Thus if a person requires
land for subsistence purposes, he needs only to ask the pure of
one of his kainaga for the
privilege, and the latter is obliged to grant permission
if land is available. The fact that the land is to be used
for subsistence purposes is sufficient justification. Once
permission is granted, it is required by custom that the pure be
given first fruits. If the recipient plants any permanent
crops, e.g., breadfruit or coconut trees, he may expect
use of these throughout his lifetime provided he does not
otherwise violate the pure's
hospitality, but upon his death the trees become part of
the land. A request to cut copra requires specific justification,
however, since it is tantamount to a request for money.
The pure is expected to grant
such a request to a member of his kainaga (i.e.,
the one over which he is pure)
provided the suppliant's need is "legitimate" and provided
his own needs, or prior commitments, are not interfered
with.
Personal property may also be acquired from relatives,
but here the emphasis is upon reciprocity. Reciprocal borrowing
is an institutionalized pattern in Rotuma (between nonkin
as well as between kinsmen) and is signified by the word fara.
The request should be made humbly, in pleading fashion.
Need is implied in such requests, and if the person being
asked is approached in an appropriate manner he should
not refuse unless he has a good reason. By its very character, fara applies
only to useful goods rather than luxuries, and the nature
of the commodity determines whether it is to be returned
or not. Durable goods, such as tools, are expected to be
returned when they have fulfilled their utility. Perishable
goods, such as food or copra, cannot be returned, but in
either case the obligation to reciprocate is implied in
the borrowing. One of the most frequent uses of fara is
to obtain ceremonial exchange goods, particularly mats
and pigs, for presentation at life-crisis ceremonies.
In addition to this institutionalized pattern of borrowing,
a person may request assistance (faksoro) [10] from
kinsmen and/or nonkin. A person may faksoro labor
to build a house, cut large quantities of copra, or prepare
a feast. The person who asks for labor creates an obligation
to reciprocate when others come faksoro to
him, and he is required to feed the laborers during the
time they are working for him.
ACTIVITIES INVOLVING LAND
Having described the ideal model, let us now go on to
consider four types of activity associated with land. These
are usufruct, succession, transactions, and disputes.
Usufruct
When land is unlimited and person A makes use of a given
plot, this need not concern person B (provided no other
special significance has been attached to the land) since
he can readily find land for his own purposes without undue
hardship. Where land is limited, however, if A uses a piece
of land, this restricts the land available to B. On this
basis we can postulate that conflicts of interest, and
hence the frequency of decision-making circumstances, are
likely to be greater where the ratio of population to usable
land is such that each person cannot obtain all of the
land he can use. Under such circumstances, a set of rules,
consisting of both structural and cultural principles designed
to regulate usufruct is necessary if conflicts are to be
avoided. As a derivative postulate, it is to be expected
that the rules governing usufruct of scarce commodities,
or products of limitless value, will be more exacting than
those involving plentiful commodities of limited value.
To state this another way, we would expect a person with
decision-making rights over a piece of land to be willing
to grant usufruct license [11] over
land in inverse proportion to the value of the anticipated
yield. When the commodities involved are of limited value,
the person desiring to use them may need little or no justification
for making his request, but when the commodities involved
are valuable, justification on the basis of ideal cultural
principles is likely to be required.
In order to understand the significance of the above postulation
for Rotuma, a distinction must be made between coconut
trees as property and plantation land. The Rotumans, unlike
some other Pacific Islanders, do not distinguish rights
over trees from rights over land, in that the pure of
the land is automatically pure over
the trees on the land; but at the same time there is a
considerable difference in the willingness of individuals
to grant license over the two. Many men, for example, are pure over
lands with far more planting space than they personally
need or can possibly use. Men with such extensive holdings
freely grant usufruct privileges to friends and neighbors,
as well as to relatives--often for no better reason than
that the land is conveniently located [12] or
for the pleasure of working near comrades. Granting usufruct
privileges under these circumstances is an inexpensive
way of raising prestige and bolstering status through a
display of generosity, which is a primary Rotuman virtue.
This same pattern of generosity and permissiveness extends
to any tree fruits not specifically planted, such as oranges,
mangos, fava (Pometia pinnata)
and vi (Spondias dulcis).
These may be taken in moderation by anyone passing through
the bush without asking the permission of the owner. It
is also regarded as permissible for an individual, in want
of a drink, to climb a tree to get a few young coconuts
for this purpose. The only exception to this free use of
tree products for subsistence reasons occurs when a tree
has been made taboo (fapui),
usually by binding a coconut leaf or a coconut to the trunk
of the tree. When a tree is so marked it is a warning to
others not to take fruit from it, the implication being
that the pure himself needs
the fruit for a special purpose.
Granting license over coconuts for copra is an entirely
different matter. Since copra brings money, and money is
a means to wealth, a person could not possibly take another's
copra without a conflict of interests. Wealth, unlike subsistence
crops, is cumulative, and each person can use all the copra
he has. A pure may therefore
be expected to grant usufruct privileges over coconut trees
only with good reason. Thus, whereas the use of land for
subsistence purposes is usually freely granted and no explanation
is demanded, requests for copra must be justified on the
basis of cultural principles. Several considerations enter
into a request for copra, including relationship, need,
previous obligations, and relative wealth.
Relationship may be used to justify requests for copra
cutting rights in two ways. In the first case, a person
may make his request on the basis of his belonging to the kainaga with
which the land is associated. The logical basis for such
a request may be stated in this way:
Formerly a lineal ascendant of mine was pure over
this land. Since parents are expected freely to grant license
over property to children, and to their children's children,
and to their children's children's children, etc., the
original pure would freely
have granted usufruct rights to me. So here I am.
A request based upon this principle involves a direct
relationship to the land and only an indirect relationship
to the pure of the land. The
evidence, however, leads me to believe that requests are
rarely made on this basis.
In the second instance, a person may make this request
on the basis of his relationship to the pure himself.
When this is the case, the important variable is social
distance, which for the most part appears to be a function
of genealogical and residential distance. Thus, while relations
between first cousins are likely to be intimate regardless
of residential distance, social relations between relatives
further removed are apt to remain active only when they
live in the same community, i.e., are in frequent face-to-face
interaction. With near relatives it does not matter much
whether the land involved is hanua
ne kainaga or individually
held, since license is based on their relationship to one
another rather than an abstract conception of rights to
the land. It is significant that under such circumstances
gifts of money are often given as a substitute for copra
rights--a further indication that it is the social distance
between individuals that is of paramount importance, rather
than the relationship of persons to the land.
A second principle generally required to justify a request
for copra is need. The purpose for which the person requesting
rights wants money is taken into account by the pure,
and if he does not regard the reason as legitimate he may
feel justified in refusing. A person requesting rights
would also be expected to have exploited all of the more
readily accessible resources, including his own lands and
those of relatives closer to him. Not only the absolute
need of the person making the request is taken into account,
but also the relative needs of the two parties involved.
If the pure has a legitimate
need for money himself, or if he has a previous commitment
to a closer relative, he can be expected to refuse.
Previous obligations are also taken into account in determining
the legitimacy of a person's request for copra. On innumerable
occasions relatives exchange gifts, give aid, and do favors
for one another. A careful, though informal, account is
kept by most persons of favors owed, and there is little
reluctance to make requests for property rights on the
basis of obligations so incurred. A request for a cutting
of copra that is backed up by a reminder of a previous
gift or favor carries much more weight than one made without
such backing.
Relative wealth is a fourth factor. One of the prominent
Rotuman values is that the rich give to the poor. Underlying
this value, of course, is an awareness that a wealthy man
is more likely to have a surplus which he can invest in
establishing a reputation as a "good man." A pure with
especially large land holdings is therefore more likely
to be asked for copra-cutting privileges than one with
meager holdings, and the refusal of a reasonable request
by a wealthy man is much less easy to defend than a refusal
by one with lesser resources.
Still another consideration may enter into the picture--the
question of etiquette. The attitude displayed by the applicant
is of primary concern in such matters. Rotuman custom requires
a person making a request to do so humbly. Even though
the pure may be indebted to
the applicant, etiquette requires the latter to disguise
what may, in fact, be a demand as a humble plea. This can
be understood from the standpoint of social economics as
a bartering of one's personal dignity (and hence status)
in exchange for consideration of the request. It is very
awkward for a Rotuman to refuse a man who comes fara in
the customary manner, and to do so requires great delicacy.
On the other hand, if a man were to make his request in
the form of a demand, or without a show of humility, he
would almost certainly be refused, for by implication this
would be a challenge to the pure's
decision-making rights.
With regard to usufruct, then, the ideal model is of little
consequence for actual behavior. When land is wanted for
subsistence purposes it is freely lent, and kinship makes
almost no difference whatsoever. Nor are other cultural
principles likely to be brought into play to justify a
request. When copra-cutting rights are at stake, however,
a situation requiring strategy is operative. Thus, although
a pure may at times wish to
give money or copra to close relatives, it is apparent
that pure are not motivated
to give away copra to more distant kinsmen if they can
help it, and an applicant must bolster his request by bringing
into play the cultural principles we have discussed. He
may prepare for his approach by attempting to reduce social
distance or by establishing obligations, but to the extent
that he ignores the relevant cultural principles he facilitates
the ease with which the pure can
refuse his request. The pure,
on his part, can attempt to increase social distance and
avoid obligations with a person he suspects wants a cutting
of copra, or he can keep his resources tied up so that
there will be no surplus available. The situation can thus
best be understood as a kind of game in which the principles
of strategy involve social distance, need, balance of obligations,
relative wealth, and etiquette. It should be added, however,
that even if a pure "loses," he
still gains prestige for his generosity.
Succession
For the purpose of considering succession it is convenient
to divide Rotuman conceptions of land tenure into two broad
categories. The first includes those types of tenure in
which rights are shared by members of only one household
and consists of hanua ne togi, hanua
ne na, and hanua pau.
We shall simply call these individually held lands. The
second includes those types of tenure in which rights are
shared by members of more than one household, and consists
of hanua ne haisasigi, as
ne hanua, hanua nekainaga,
and hanua ne 'on tore. We
shall call these communally held lands.
The problem of determining who shall succeed to stewardship
over a land holding arises on two occasions. One is when
the acting pure dies; the
other is when an acting pure defects,
either by moving to another locality or by leaving the
island. The circumstances under which succession takes
place may differ markedly depending on whether a pure has
died or defected, and they require separate consideration.
We can therefore consider succession from the standpoint
of four categorically distinct circumstances. These are:
- (1) cases in which land is individually held and the pure dies;
- (2) cases in which the land is individually held and
the pure defects;
- (3) cases in which the land is communally held and
the pure dies;
- (4) cases in which the land is communally held and
the pure defects.
Under any of these circumstances it is necessary for a
new pure (or an acting pure)
to be chosen, and therefore a decision-making situation
arises. It must be determined who possesses the right to
choose the successor (on the basis of structural principles)
and what criteria should be employed (cultural principles).
When the pure of individually
held land dies, provided he has not made his wishes known
to the contrary, the right to decide who shall become pure belongs
to the deceased's ascendant, sibling, or descendant of
senior standing, i.e., to, as it might be termed, the senior
member of the deceased's nuclear kindred. Seniority is
determined by the structural principles of kinship previously
described. The operative cultural principles are those
described for the ideal model; priority begins with the
eldest male child of the deceased and passes successively
to the youngest male child, the eldest female offspring,
the youngest female offspring, and, in the subsequent generation,
to the eldest male child of the eldest male child, and
so on. The relevant principles can, if need be, be extended
indefinitely to establish priority. It is important to
note that only lineal descendants of the deceased pure can
legitimately claim rights in the land. Collateral relatives,
including the pure's own siblings,
are technically ineligible.
In actual fact, however, the transference of stewardship
rights is usually automatic and does not require a meeting
or a formal decision-making procedure. Provided the household
does not dissolve following the pure's
death, the senior member (who is eligible by the rules
of succession described above) of the household automatically
assumes pure's rights unless
he is challenged. In most cases, if the pure had
been elderly, he had already turned over active stewardship
to a suitable person in his household, usually his eldest
resident son. The son thus may already have taken over
responsibilities such as paying taxes and keeping the land
clean, so that succession upon death merely adds de jure
status to a de facto situation. A common technique for
assuring that succession will go to a specific person,
e.g., an adopted child, is for the pure to
register the land at the Government station in this person's
name rather than his own upon purchase or reception of
gift. He remains acting pure as
long as he so desires but has given a legal buttress to
his desires as to who shall succeed him.
If the household dissolves on the pure's
death and he has made no definite provision for a successor,
as may happen when no obvious successor is available, then
someone must decide who shall take control of the land.
Even under these circumstances, however, a formal meeting
is not likely to take place. Usually a close relative (in
the social sense), even though he may not be formally eligible,
simply takes over unless challenged. If he is challenged,
a formal meeting of concerned persons may be held, but
such an event when individually held land is at stake is
extremely rare. In other cases the land is allowed to fall
into disuse while nominal stewardship is assumed by an
absent relative.
In cases in which the land is individually held and the pure defects,
there is likely to be little room for argument. The pure simply
requests someone of his own choosing to take care of the
land while he is gone, usually turning over both pure's
rights and responsibilities. The only complications that
might arise occur when the acting pure either
defects or dies. If he defects, and can contact the original pure,
he is obliged to do so and to allow him to name a successor.
If this is not convenient he can turn over pure's
rights to any close relative of the original pure.
If the acting pure dies, the
original pure may request
someone else to take over the land, or he may simply allow
it to fallow in anticipation of eventually returning to
use it himself. In most cases the persons involved are
very close relatives, usually part of the pure's
nuclear kindred, and the possibility of conflict is minimized.
In cases in which the land is communally held and the pure dies,
all persons with a stake in the land should ideally hold
a meeting at which a successor is chosen. The person in
charge of the meeting should be the senior member of the kainaga,
based on the principles of seniority previously outlined.
The same person is also formally entitled to assume stewardship
if he so desires. But these ideal circumstances are rare.
In most cases the majority of related persons are already
established on their own lands in their own villages and
are not likely to want to make a change. Particularly if
the land is of low yield, they may be rather indifferent
to the whole business. A meeting of the kainaga may
not even take place, therefore, unless someone specifically
raises an issue. The more usual circumstance is for the
senior member of the existing household to assume pure's
rights over the land, provided he is a member of the kainaga.
If this person is a married woman and her husband is living
with her, he acts as pure,
while she remains pure de
jure.
If the household disintegrates after the death of the pure,
or if someone claims priority over the persons left in
the household, a meeting of the kainaga is
ordinarily arranged. Actually, this rarely involves all
persons with potentially valid claims; only those who have
an active interest in the land are likely to attend. Provided
that the senior member of the kainaga can
be determined, he is responsible for making the decision,
and if there are disagreements, he arbitrates. But in cases
where the relevant group is large or diverse--in Rotuman
terms, if the kainaga has
many sides--there may be no easy way to determine who is
the senior member. Matters then depend upon the respective
claims of various persons. If one person claims seniority
and is unopposed, he automatically assumes the position
of decision-maker. If more than one claim is made, the
rivals present their cases before the kainaga,
and if the overwhelming majority support one party's claim
the opposing parties are likely to yield.
Often, however, factionalism develops, generally along
sociometric lines, focused around two or more strong claimants.
From this point on, the situation becomes one demanding
strategy on the part of the interested parties. Each group
puts forth its arguments--at a formal meeting if one is
held and/or informally whenever an opportunity presents
itself. The purpose is dual: to gain the support of those kainaga members
who may still be unaligned, and to elicit popular support
from the community. Support from men of chiefly rank is
particularly solicited, and the unequivocal backing of
the paramount chief from the district in which the disputed
land lies is generally decisive during this stage of the
game. Support from men reputed to be learned in genealogical
matters is also valuable, since formally the matter is
one of genealogical priority. Without the aid of written
records, however, genealogical connections, as well as
events pertaining to ancestral transactions involving the
land in question, are matters of opinion and are rarely
capable of substantiation. The crucial problem is actually
one of gaining public support, and a plausible genealogical
claim is only an initial qualification for entering the
arena. There are two important aspects of strategy of great
consequence for swaying public opinion. The first involves
attempting to convince concerned persons of one's greater
relative need for the land in question; the second involves
portrayal of oneself as a better man in the Rotuman sense
(i.e., more humble, kind, generous, etc.). The claimants
thus must "walk a tightrope," inasmuch as they must make
forceful claims while at the same time attempting to portray
a humble, generous personality. To be successful at this
game one must know, of course, his own relative strengths
and weaknesses as compared with those of his opponents,
and act accordingly.
If none of the factions is able to gain a clear-cut victory
in the arena of public opinion, the case may be brought
to the District Officer's Court for resolution, but in
most instances popular support for one faction crystallizes
sufficiently so that other claimant groups withdraw their
efforts. If the losing factions remain convinced that their
claim is indeed superior, they may take comfort in the
knowledge that justice is immanent from supernatural sources
(God and/or the ancestral ghosts), and they may announce
as much to their successful opponents. At this stage, two
alternative avenues of action are open to the unsuccessful
claimants. They may strive to insure that their claims
are recognized by the victor as legitimate, though inferior;
or they may initiate a civil suit in the District Officer's
Court. The former stratagem is the safer play and, if successful,
at least opens the door to future manipulation. The method
is to admit the victor's priority, accompanied by a humble
apology for having raised opposition and an excuse such
as genealogical ignorance for having done so. A plea is
then made that the victor recognize the rights of all concerned
and that, as pure, he be generous
to all members of the kainaga.
Unless the victor has been seriously antagonized during
the course of the negotiations, or unless he genuinely
regards his opponents' claims as false, he is likely to
comply, at least verbally, with such a request. The alternative
avenue, initiating a court case, is a more desperate measure
and if unsuccessful is likely seriously to hamper the faction's
chances in future claims. These events may or may not take
place within the context of a formal meeting of the kainaga or
of a series of such meetings. They are just as likely to
occur during a sequence of informal communications over
a period of time.
Leaving aside the matter of disputes for the time being,
once the senior member of the kainaga has
been determined, he is supposed, if the rules of selection
are carried through to their logical conclusion, to select
as pure the person with the
most senior status who is willing and able to assume the
responsibility, provided he does not accept it himself.
More often than not, however, his choice is determined
by social distance to himself, often under the guise that
this is a substitute for his assuming the position.
Essentially the same procedures are involved when a chiefly
title is at stake, except that in some cases the conflict
of interests is enhanced, particularly if the associated
land is of high yield. Also, since a title usually involves
some leadership responsibilities, every effort is made
to find an eligible male to fill the role. There are, in
fact, no titled women in Rotuma today, although it is not
regarded as beyond the realm of possibility. The decision-making
model for selecting a chief may also be complicated by
outside influences. In many instances a district chief
(gagaj es itu) has exerted
pressures to get a sub-chief (fa
es ho'aga) of his own choosing selected, and in
the selection of a district chief customary principles
may be overridden by the District Officer (cf. Howard 1963b).
Holding a title which includes as
ne hanua opens the door for manipulation, since
stewardship of the land is inherent in the title. Thus
the titleholder can go to live on a fuag
ri other than the one pertinent to the title and
thereby gain control of two sets of kainaga land.
Were untitled persons to evacuate the kainagafuag
ri, a relative could cause embarrassment by asking
to assume pure's rights.
These circumstances derive from the fact that living
on a kainaga fuag ri lends
legitimacy to a pure's position,
even though failure to live on the land does not necessarily
require a person to relinquish his stewardship.
In cases in which the land is communally held, the pure runs
the risk of losing his stewardship whenever he leaves the
premises. Theoretically, the kainaga should
meet for the purpose of selecting a new pure,
and if the land has simply been vacated this is likely
to happen. One way for the pure to
prevent this is to delegate authority to someone of junior
status to himself, e.g., a younger brother or sister. In
this way he can be assured of regaining control of the
land if and when he so desires. The person to whom control
has been relegated becomes acting pure and
exercises de facto decision-making rights. The original pure may
or may not continue to pay taxes on the land. Many choose
to do so, even though they may be away from the island,
as a means of reinforcing the legitimacy of their right
to assume pure's rights should
they return. Since the Rotumans are a peripatetic people,
and have a high rate of mobility not only between districts
in Rotuma but between Rotuma and Fiji as well (Howard 1961),
the de facto stewardship of particular land holdings may
be transferred several times in such an informal fashion.
In actuality, since many persons are pure over
both communally and individually held lands, more than
one problem may be involved when a stewardship is vacated.
In most cases, if the pure defects,
he chooses a successor as acting pure who
takes over control of all the lands, regardless of the
type of tenure. If a pure with
multiple holdings dies, and no one takes over unopposed,
the individually held lands and those communally held are
treated separately, each according to the models already
described.
There is one other instance in which pure's
rights are transferred. It sometimes happens that a man
with a large holding will grant rights over a section of
the land that is under his control, usually to one of his
near relatives. When this occurs, the grant of license
is actually a permit for extended usufruct, often including
the right to build a home on the land. At most, the grantee
has privileges comparable to those of an acting pure;
at least, he is a subordinate with usufruct rights.
Transactions Involving Land
Theoretically, any piece of land can be sold or given
as a gift so long as persons with rights in the land agree
to its disposal. From the time of Cession the Colonial
Administration has taken a vital interest in land traffic
on Rotuma and has passed regulations to control it (Howard
1962: 118-163). The administrative procedure that was evolved
to handle land exchanges was described by Resident Commissioner
Macdonald in a meeting of the Rotuma Council of Chiefs
during September, 1907 (Minutes of the Rotuma Council of
Chiefs, September 5, 1907):
If any Rotuma Native wishes to sell, make a gift
of, or exchange land with any other Rotuma Native, the
Rule is for the former to intimate the sale etc. to the
Chief of his district, who will inform me before all the
Chiefs to make the matter of the sale etc. public, in the
District Meetings on the following day, and to request
anyone who considers that he has a claim in the ground
and who has not been consulted regarding the sale or given
his approval to it, to lodge his objection with me within
the space of one month after the date of the district meeting.
If no objection is lodged within that time, the sale, gift
or exchange can then take place, and in the absence of
fraud or mistake holds good according to law. The sale
must take place before the Commr.
Where land transactions are concerned, "actively asserted
rights" in land are of special significance. When individually
held land is put on the market there is little chance for
problems to arise, but when communally held land is offered,
the pure must be careful to
take into consideration any person who might lodge a complaint.
In a great many cases, however, only a small proportion
of the persons who could legitimately claim rights actually
do so. For lands of moderate or low desirability, the group
of actively interested persons tends to be limited to near
relatives of the pure. Distant
relatives generally place their stakes in more desirable
lands and those under the control of pure who
are closer to themselves. In order to put up a piece of
land for sale, then, even a pure of kainaga land
often needs to get permission from only a small group of
near relatives. If he is the senior of this group he holds
decision-making rights over them in any event and is thus
not likely to face any formidable opposition. The same
holds true when a pure wishes
to make a gift of some land or to exchange it for another
piece. Gifts may be given for a variety of reasons--as
a means of passing land to a favored relative, as an act
of generosity when a kinsman is in need, or as an act of
gratitude for assistance "beyond the call of duty" by a
friend or distant relative. Exchanges are generally a matter
of expediency. They are usually based upon convenience
of location, each pure trading
a piece farther away from his home (or main bush lands)
for a piece which is nearer. Regardless of the nature of
the transaction, however, a pure must
be quite sure of his position relative to other possible
claimants if he is to avoid a legal dispute.
A tabulation of land transactions recorded at the Government
station since Cession is presented in Table 1.
|
|
TABLE 1
|
|
|
|
Land Transactions by Decade, 1881-1960
|
|
|
Decade
|
Sales
|
Gifts
|
Exchanges
|
Total
|
|
1881-1890
|
0
|
0
|
0
|
0
|
|
1891-1900
|
3
|
0
|
1
|
4
|
|
1901-1910
|
53
|
7
|
15
|
75
|
|
1911-1920
|
59
|
15
|
9
|
83
|
|
1921-1930
|
71
|
21
|
6
|
98
|
|
1931-1940
|
72
|
14
|
4
|
90
|
|
1941-1950
|
86
|
7
|
8
|
101
|
|
1951-1960
|
19
|
1
|
1
|
21
|
The statistics in Table 1 are of some interest. The virtual
nonexistence of land transactions during the first two
decades following Cession reflects the strong resistance
of the first Resident Commissioners to any such dealings
(cf. Howard 1962:134-143). During the period from 1900
to 1950 Government officers were more permissive, and the
number of transactions recorded probably accounts for a
high proportion of the dealings that actually took place.
In addition to legal transactions, however, there can be
little doubt that informal dealings have continually taken
place, and the sharp decline in legal transactions between
1951 and 1960 probably reflects a reluctance by Administrators
to handle them, rather than an actual decrease.
Disputes Involving Land
Disputes involving land can be divided into three categories:
demands for usufruct, contested stewardship, and boundary
disputes. Table 2 reveals the number of each kind of dispute
per decade heard by the Land Court.
|
|
TABLE 2
|
|
|
|
Land Disputes by Decade, 1881-1960
|
|
|
Decade
|
Usufruct Demands
|
Stewardship Disputes
|
Boundary Disputes
|
Total
|
|
1881-1890
|
0
|
100
|
1
|
101
|
|
1891-1900
|
0
|
38
|
3
|
41
|
|
1901-1910
|
1
|
75
|
24
|
100
|
|
1911-1920
|
98
|
48
|
21
|
167
|
|
1921-1930
|
5
|
44
|
39
|
88
|
|
1931-1940
|
3
|
63
|
64
|
130
|
|
1941-1950
|
2
|
53
|
54
|
109
|
|
1951-1960
|
0
|
4
|
5
|
9
|
Let us take each type of dispute separately. If a pure refuses
usufruct privileges to an individual who claims membership
in the kainaga in question,
and the latter regards the refusal as unjust, he can initiate
a court case. The District Officer, if he decides for the
claimant, can force the pure to
yield. As can be seen from Table 2, however, except for one
dramatic outbreak of cases, Rotumans have been reluctant
to bring such cases to court. The reasons for the rash of
cases during the 1911-1920 period are not clear (actually
all the cases occurred between 1918 and 1920), but indications
are that it was initiated by an interpretation of the law
that encouraged demands for copra-cutting rights on the basis
of membership in a kainaga.
Previously--and subsequently--only claims in which land was
wanted for subsistence purposes were given consideration.
Disputes involving stewardship generally arise in one
of two ways: as the result of conflicting claims following
the death or abdication of the pure of kainaga land,
and as the result of an emergent conflict between relatives
sharing the same land. The dynamics of the former instance
have already been discussed. In the latter case the priority
of rights is usually quite clear, and in most instances
the subordinate party is likely to leave the holding, but
in some cases a petition may be entered for a division
of the land. In any case, court action is likely only when
lucrative holdings are at stake and only after nonlegal
alternatives have been exhausted by the disgruntled party.
The pre-court strategy in the latter case parallels that
of the former, depending upon manipulation of public opinion.
Boundary disputes differ socially from the previous categories
in that they generally take place between nonrelatives.
While the original boundaries between ho'aga were
clearly marked, in the process of fragmentation that took
place following European contact, new boundary markers
had to be established. Large trees, rocks, and other features
of the natural environment were used. Most of these boundaries
were never recorded in writing but simply represented agreements
reached between individuals at the time of division. This
left the door open for expedient persons to try their luck
at expanding their territories, and there can be little
doubt that many took advantage of the opportunity. Not
all boundary disputes, however, resulted from calculated
opportunism. Genuine misunderstandings arose as a consequence
of poorly defined markings and lack of knowledge. The marked
tendency toward increasing boundary disputes (until 1950),
when contrasted with the relative consistency in the frequency
of stewardship disputes, can probably be accounted for
by the fact that knowledge of boundaries has been handed
down by word of mouth and that with each new generation
the probability of misunderstanding and faulty knowledge
has increased.
The District Officer's Court constitutes a distinct activity
system. Within this system the District Officer, as Magistrate,
is the supreme decision-maker. He may or may not use advisers,
but the responsibility for arbitrating disputes is entirely
his. Rotuma's isolation from Fiji's main administrative
centers and the inadequacy of the ideal model for resolving
actual disputes have inevitably left Land Court decisions
up to the personal discretion of each District Officer,
and each official has evolved his own model for deciding
disputes, often combining Western and Rotuman cultural
principles.
Among the main principles used in resolving disputes are
the following: (1) the right of the pure to
allocate and dispose of land; (2) the rights of kainaga members
in kainaga land; (3) the rights
of an occupant; (4) persuasiveness of factual arguments
put forth by litigants; and (5) evaluation of the integrity
of litigants.
All five of these principles generally enter into the
resolution of stewardship disputes (plus any principles
from European culture the District Officer feels to be
applicable). They obviously do not permit impersonal decisions.
The first two principles, in fact, are in conflict with
one another. The Rotumans will argue their case on either
grounds, and each District Officer must decide which principle
to emphasize. There has been considerable alternation historically,
some officials weighting the rights of the pure quite
heavily relative to the rights of kainaga members
and others doing the reverse. Often this was conceived
in terms of individual versus communal ownership, and the
particular official gave precedence to the type he personally
favored. According to the Rotumans, the third principle
is irrelevant; if a person with priority enters a claim,
it makes no difference that the occupant has spent many
years cultivating, and perhaps has improved, the land.
The person with priority should be pure.
In settling actual disputes, however, there is little doubt
that European officials have given considerable weight
to occupancy, particularly when the value of the respective
claims was in doubt.
The fourth principle is more complicated than it might
seem on first consideration. Since most of the officials
responsible for arbitrating disputes have been learned
neither in Rotuman custom nor in the Rotuman language (appointments
have generally been for only a couple of years), they have
had to rely quite heavily on advisers. In most cases, of
course, the factual information was not subject to verification,
and the personal influence of the advisers was great. From
the standpoint of the litigants, then, strategy called
for influencing the advisers so that the supporting information
would be interpreted in a light favorable to themselves.
Kinship and personal obligations were frequently brought
into play, and thinly disguised attempts at bribery have
been common. There are several cases on record of advisers
being dismissed when District Officers have discovered
what had been going on, and some have preferred to make
their own way without any.
The fifth principle is, of course, a completely personal
one, but it is evident that it is sometimes the most important.
In such a confusing game of strategy and manipulation,
often the only clear impression the official gets is that
one of the litigants is a nice, friendly, unabusive person
(or so he appears), while his opponent seems aggressive
and abusive (or at least is simply less of a nice person).
I do not believe that officials consciously used this principle
in their arbitrations, but their summations make it clear
that in not a few cases this factor was decisive.
In usufruct and boundary disputes only the third, fourth,
and fifth principles are likely to be brought into play,
but otherwise the strategy is the same. As a result of
the indefiniteness of these principles there has been little
historical consistency in the official decision-making
model--a fact which helps to account for the substantial
number of reversed decisions that are found in the Land
Court records (cf. Howard 1962: 145-157).
It still remains to explain the marked decrease in land
disputes (and transactions) during the 19501960 period.
Interestingly enough, during this period the District Officer,
with the exception of some intermediary periods, has been
a Rotuman. In 1945 the first Rotuman was appointed, and
during his four years in office he heard some 27 disputes,
or an average of 6.75 cases per year. Between 1936 and
1944, under European District Officers, the average was
22.9 cases per year. In 1953 a second Rotuman took over
and during his first year heard three disputes. In 1954
he heard one more case, and has not convened the Land Court
since. Since 1954 some fifteen disputes (thirteen concerning
boundaries and two concerning stewardship) have arisen,
but none had been dealt with by 1960. The existence of
most of these disputes, in fact, was discovered during
an inquiry by a visiting Commissioner. The District Officer
professed knowledge of only five of them.
The reduction in land cases heard before these Rotuman
District Officers is probably dependent on several factors.
It might be of some significance, for example, that their
personal and intimate knowledge of Rotuman affairs inhibits
many persons who might otherwise be willing to try their
luck with spurious claims. Perhaps, too, they are less
prone than European officials to think of land tenure as
consisting of a set of abstract principles and are more
prudently aware of the arbitrariness with which decisions
must be made. Lacking the protection of impersonal law,
they are reluctant to hear cases. But the most significant
factor leading to an avoidance of land matters has undoubtedly
been the fact that these men themselves are involved in
a network of kinship relations and cannot dissociate themselves
from obligations with ease. They are therefore placed in
a situation of role conflict. If, in a dispute involving
one of their relatives with a nonrelative, the decision
were to be made in favor of the former, the people would
accuse him of favoring his own kinsmen. If, on the other
hand, the decision were to be made in favor of the nonrelative,
his kinsmen would regard this as a breach of kinship obligations.
A situation involving conflict between two relatives also
involves role conflict.
The dynamics of kinship maximizes the possibility that
these conflicts will occur. In Rotuma it is a maxim that
one who is wealthy or influential has many relatives, but
one who is poor and insignificant has few; and the bilateral
emphasis of filiation permits almost unlimited possibilities
for claiming relationship where it is expedient. It can
be expected, therefore, that when a Rotuman is appointed
District Officer, his "active" kainaga increases
many times over. The process of establishing active relationship,
called by the Rotumans re kainaga (lit.,
to make into a relative), simply involves the giving of
a gift or showing some special consideration which is nearly
impossible by custom to refuse without giving offense,
accompanied by a claim of kinship affiliation. Naturally
reception of such a gift entails corresponding obligations.
The official's situation is complicated still further
by the fact that most Rotumans consider decision-making
to be a personal business, rather than attributing the
process to the impersonal implementation of law. When a
European official made an adverse decision, a losing litigant
would ordinarily shrug his shoulders and attribute it to
the arbitrator's ignorance of Rotuman ways, but when a
Rotuman makes the decision it is tantamount to a proclamation
of personal animosity. There can be no doubt that the prestige
of a Rotuman District Officer is likely to decline in direct
proportion to the number of decisions he has to make under
such circumstances.
The first Rotuman to occupy the position was, to all appearances,
a conscientious man who, finding the role of arbitrator
insufferable, chose to relinquish his position in favor
of a lesser job in Fiji. The current District Officer has
evidently attempted to reduce conflict by avoiding cases
involving civil litigation between parties. The decrease
in the number of land transactions during the same period,
manifest in Table 1, can be interpreted as part of the
general reluctance of these men to handle land matters
of any kind.
In passing, it is worth noting that from the "holistic" point
of view administrators and administrative procedures create
a problem as to whether they should be included in or excluded
from the system. Within the present frame of reference
no such problem exists.
DISCUSSION
What can we say now about the Rotuman kainaga?
Is it a cognatic descent group or a corporate group in
any sense? If we were to use the ideal model as our guide,
it is clear that the concept of the kainaga as
a landholding unit fits the definition of a "sept" (i.e.,
the nonunilinear equivalent of a sib) by Davenport (1959:
562) or the more precise definition of a "sept" by Ember
(1962: 966) as "a dispersed descent group which has only
one clan segment" (i.e., land in only one locality). If
we were to adhere to this view, and consider Rotuman social
organization in terms of a single social system, it would
be possible to conceive of Rotuman society as composed
of a number of "septs" (i.e., kainaga).
But such a model would help us very little in understanding
or explaining Rotuman behavior. As far as reality is concerned,
it would appear to be little more than an elegant illusion.
If we confine ourselves to analyzing activity systems
and the composition of actual groups, however, the questions
become irrelevant. We can then take an operational point
of view and simply ask ourselves what are the principles
that determine group composition when given activities
are being carried out. Instead of beginning with a definition
and trying to fit indigenous (ideal) group concepts into
it, we can then proceed empirically and derive our analytical
concepts on the basis of the principles that determine
group membership, as Goodenough has suggested. After all,
groups do not exist per se. They come into existence during
the performance of activities and dissolve when the activities
are completed. They are far more fluid than our traditional
concepts seem to imply.
As a concept, the Rotuman term kainaga is
better understood as a cultural principle, used in variety
of situations by individuals as a means of legitimizing
their participation in certain activities, e.g., choosing
a pure, rather than as a group
of one kind or another. As should be clear from my discussion
of the data, other principles must be taken into account
to explain the composition of actual groups. When viewed
in this perspective there is no contradiction between the kainaga as
a landholding unit and the kainaga as
a kindred. One need not even regard them as homonyms. They
are simply two applications of the principles of filiation,
as manifested in the performance of different activities.
In each case the resultant composition of actual groups
is modified by the other principles brought into play within
the relevant activity system.
Let us consider further the relationship between the ideal
and actual (i.e., predictive) decision-making models. It
should be clear from the evidence cited that in Rotuma
the ideal model for land tenure has a differential predictive
value in different circumstances. Where usufruct is concerned
it is of almost no value, whereas in cases of succession
following the death of a pure of kainaga land
it is moderately predictive. What, then, is the significance
of the ideal model to the Rotumans? To answer this question
we must consider it from two points of view.
In the first place, the model does provide a general guide
to action, but with the implicit qualification of "all
other things being equal." This is true of any ideal model,
of course, but the degree to which a given model accounts
for potential influences can vary considerably. In some
societies the formal rules covering a given activity system
are comprehensive, and hence the models are highly predictive
of actual decisions. In other instances this is not the
case. Reasons for the discrepancies can be varied. In Rotuma,
for example, it appears that complications were introduced
by acculturation with European society and that this had
the effect of dramatically altering actual decision-making
procedures while only slightly affecting the ideal model.
Reasons may also be sought in social psychology. The Rotumans
give every indication of being made uncomfortable by tightly
prescribed rules in any behavioral area. They seem distinctly
to enjoy the measure of personal freedom for manipulation
which their social organization affords them, and they
have ardently resisted attempts by the Administration to
tighten the rules. Undoubtedly, other explanations could
be found for other cases.
Second, the ideal model provides a set of legitimizing
principles that people employ in defending their claims.
As such it is not a model for making decisions at all,
since it is called into play only after decisions have
been made. To be sure, other principles than those incorporated
in the ideal model are used to substantiate claims, particularly
in informal disputes, but a claim in accordance with the
ideal model carries greater weight, and in a court case
it is likely to be decisive, all other considerations being
equal.
What then can we say about jural rules in Rotuma? Are
they determinants of behavior or merely the outcome of
multiple individual choices as Murdock suggests? Upon careful
examination the question turns out to be a false one, for
there are clearly two separate issues involved. The first
concerns the principles actually employed in making decisions.
As we have seen, in Rotuma these principles may or may
not have jural implications, i.e., they may or may not
be contained in the ideal model. Second, there is the question
of sanctions. It seems to me that the only plausible test
to determine which principles are functionally jural is
to observe what happens when they are ignored or contradicted.
From this standpoint, the only aspect of "juralness" that
is significant is the expectation of socially induced punishment
or reward, should one or other mode of behavior be adopted.
So conceived, it is possible to consider the anticipation
of consequences as an additional cultural principle which
an actor takes into account when choosing between alternative
forms of behavior. When seen in this perspective it becomes
impossible to consider jural rules as only "causes" or
only "effects." They are determinants to the extent that
they are incorporated into actual decision-making models;
they are effects to the extent that individuals within
the society sanction them.
Methodologically, we must begin to analyze social behavior,
as Murdock suggests, with statistical analyses of individual
choices. But if we are to presume, as I think most social
anthropologists would, that social behavior is systematically
structured, we cannot be satisfied with a mere statistical
count. Rather the statistics are a means by which we can
test the validity of certain principles, but eventually
we must be able to derive mechanical models that approach
a predictive value of 100 per cent, in a way comparable
to the manner in which a competent structural analysis
of a language allows us to predict the forms utterances
may take. But for reasons already stated, we shall never
be able to approach this goal as long as we regard societies
as uni-structural models, i.e., as systems.
In this paper I have continually spoken of "choices" and "decisions" as
though they were synonymous with "behavior," a usage which
requires further explanation. As a beginning qualification,
it is obvious that social anthropologists must place some
limits on what they are attempting to predict, and comprehend,
lest they become involved in individual psychology or even
physiology. I think most social anthropologists would agree
that the "behavior" they are interested in is limited to
social behavior, i.e., behavior that has significance for
others. The question then becomes, how do we decide what
is significant for a given group? To answer this there
is simply no alternative to an intensive analysis of the
cognitive world of our subjects. We must learn how they
categorize behavior, how they distinguish types of behavior
from another. It may be that a whole range of behavioral
acts, which to the observer might appear quite distinct,
are to our subjects only insignificant variations within
a distinct category, as phonetic variations are to a phoneme.
In describing residence patterns, for example, we must
discover whether the choice of residence at marriage in
the groom's father's home is considered the same or different
from the choice of the groom's mother's home; or whether
building a house next door is considered the same as or
different from moving into the same house. It is methodologically
unwarranted to assume the validity of a distinction between
patri-virilocal and matri-virilocal residence, or to equate
moving into the same household with building next door.
If we want to predict residential choices, we must learn
what our subjects conceive the alternatives to be and then
attempt to derive the principles upon which they base their
choices.
It may turn out that kinship considerations are only partially
predictive, and that other principles are required to construct
a satisfactory decision-making model. But only if our models
accurately reflect the cognitive worlds of our subjects
can we hope to reach the ideal of ethnographic description
so elegantly put forth by Goodenough. For this reason I
regard semantic studies of kinship terminology and research
on folk taxonomy of major importance to social anthropologists.
In this soil genuinely systematic analysis is germinating.
From this discussion it should now be reasonably clear
what I mean by a "choice" or "decision." I am referring
to the selection (consciously or unconsciously) of a mode
of action which can be considered, on the basis of one's
evidence, as cognitively distinct from another mode of
action. This may involve distinguishing categories of persons
and/or types of behavior. In Rotuma, for example, I have
inferred that "near relatives" are distinguished from others,
and that this distinction is of value in predicting choices
when it comes to asking for copra-cutting rights. It was
also intimated that requests accompanied by humility were
distinguished from demands, and that this, too, had a predictive
value.
Lest the reader gain the wrong impression, let me make
it clear that I am not advocating a fragmental approach
to society, nor suggesting that an activity system can
be understood apart from other features in the society.
In practice it is always necessary to explore behavior
in many activity systems in order to understand any one
of them, as every field worker knows. I am only suggesting
that the degree of interrelationship is an empirical problem
that must be studied separately for each case. To assume
functional unity is philosophy, not science.
Let us turn now to the problem of explanation. The dilemma
here has been posed as one of socio-cultural explanation
versus psychological explanation. But this issue, too,
seems to dissolve once we abandon the notion of societies
as whole systems and turn instead to explaining social
behavior. As Lounsbury (1962: 1302-1310) has cogently pointed
out in his discussion of the cross-cousin controversy,
certain distinctions between types of cross-cousin marriage
have been ignored. Where cross-cousin marriage is used
as a mechanism for maintaining political association between
groups it may occur statistically infrequently, though
incorporated into the formal ideology. In other cases it
may constitute an ideal model for individuals in choosing
their mates. I would argue that here we have two different
kinds of activity system, one political and the other domestic,
each responding to different influences and each requiring
its own explanation.
To be credible, scientific explanation of recurrent events
must be testable, which is another way of saying that it
must apply to operationally definable phenomena. In our
science this limits us to explaining social behavior. But
before discussing the relative merits of sociocultural
and psychological explanation, it is necessary that we
define these terms as they apply within the current conceptual
framework. For our purposes, the most plausible distinction
that can be made between the concepts "socio-cultural" [13] and "psychological" is
to regard the former as pertaining to those decision-making
principles which are cognitively shared and overtly agreed
upon by the members of the group under observation, and
to regard the latter as pertaining to those decision-making
principles which are covert but statistically shared as
the result of comparable socialization experiences. Operationally,
of course, these definitions are matters of degree rather
than absolute. Given this distinction, socio-cultural explanation
would then lie in suggesting mechanisms that produce particular
socio-cultural principles; psychological explanation would
lie in suggesting mechanisms that produce particular psychological
principles. Both types of explanation would involve an
exploration of ecological or external (to the group; to
the individual) influences and an examination of the internal
relationship (set) of the principles with one another.
Thus an adequate explanation of behavior within an activity
system would include several facets, including an account
of the origins of the stimuli to the activity, an accounting
for the cognitive distinctions employed, and devices to
explain why certain decision-making principles are favored
over alternatives. Conceived in this way, the necessity
of choosing between socio-cultural and psychological explanation
is eliminated, for both of them, plus historical explanation,
would almost certainly be required in the majority of cases.
Leaving aside diachronic explanation, the degree to which
socio-cultural or psychological mechanisms can satisfactorily
explain a particular case would seem to be an empirical
rather than a theoretical issue. It boils down to what
one must know to predict behavior accurately. In forming
groups to perform particular activities, for instance,
it may be possible in some societies to predict with nearly
100 per cent accuracy who will be included on the basis
of kinship alone. In other societies there may be greater
room for individual choice, and psychological factors may
influence decisions. I am suggesting that socio-cultural
principles may be thought of as setting the limits of acceptability,
but that the degree of freedom permitted an individual
(i.e., the number of alternative choices possible within
those limits) differs from society to society, and from
activity system to activity system within each society. [14] To
the degree that choices are limited by socio-cultural principles
one would expect socio-cultural explanation to suffice;
conversely, to the degree that they permit choice, one
would expect psychological principles to be required in
addition.
Having said this, let us turn once more to the question
of typology. If my arguments are granted, it follows that
any attempt to construct a typology of complete societies,
or whole "social systems," is futile. For a typology to
be useful it must be based on a scheme of classification
that reflects determinate mechanisms. This requires units
that are genuine systems, which whole societies are not.
I would therefore suggest that we aim at a typology of
activity systems, in which the criterion of classification
would be based upon the structural and cultural principles
that are predictive of actual behavior.
CONCLUSIONS
In the introduction of this paper I made the assertion
that in their concern for "cognatic" kinship organization
social anthropologists are facing the basic issues of their
science. In concluding I shall attempt to evaluate the
significance of this concern in its historical perspective.
If one examines the history of science, it is not difficult
to discern a certain cyclical aspect to the relative emphasis
on abstract theory and data-gathering empiricism. Modern
social anthropology, for example, has its roots in the
crude data collection following the Age of Discovery, to
which little scientific theory was applied. Evolutionism
was social anthropology's first genuine theoretical framework,
and within its conceptual structure the data, or at least
a large portion thereof, were neatly ordered. The prominent
theorists of the period, e.g., Morgan and Tylor, spent
their greatest intellectual energies elaborating the conceptual
tools of evolutionary theory, but in so doing they became
further and further removed from the data they were dealing
with. Empiricism gave way to conceptual elaboration, and
incongruities were either ignored or explained away as "survivals."
Then, toward the end of the nineteenth century, came Boas,
and a new period of empiricism was initiated. Boas pointed
out both logical flaws in the evolutionary argument and
the inconsistency of the data. By presenting cases which
did not fit the evolutionary scheme he demolished with
empirical evidence the theoretical foundations so elaborately
constructed by his predecessors. His insistence was that
we needed better data if we were to construct valid theories.
Although the historical school which Boas founded never
developed a systematic theory of culture, the emphasis
nevertheless shifted as time went on away from sheer empiricism
toward conceptual elaboration. Perhaps the climax was reached
in Kroeber's culture element list with its tremendously
detailed scheme of classification.
The focus shifted again in the 1920s, stimulated by Malinowski.
Although he did not base his call for empirical data on
an assault against historicism as Boas had done with evolutionism,
Malinowski (1922: xvixvii) nevertheless decried the lack
of concern that had been shown for "dying" cultures and
registered a plea that they be studied in their entirety
while there was still time. He personally engineered, as
a teacher, a wave of such studies, particularly in Africa.
At about the same time, of course, Radcliffe-Brown was
laying the theoretical foundations of functionalism by
applying Durkheimian logic to anthropological data. It
is significant that of the well-documented societies, which
were required for demonstrating the functional model, most
were in Africa where Malinowski's students had ventured,
and also, significantly, that almost all of these emphasized
unilinear kinship principles. The crux of my argument is
that this early preoccupation with unilinear descent has
tended to mask the difficulties inherent in the functional
model and that the recent concern for basic issues has
been stimulated by attempts to fit cognatic societies into
the functional framework. To do this some theorists have
attempted to elaborate the basic model conceptually, while
others would simply treat the exceptions as special cases.
It is symptomatic, perhaps, that the arguments contained
in the literature have begun to sound more and more like
theology, and less and less like science. What I am urging,
in effect, is that we formulate our problems so that they
can be resolved by empirical data, that we define our concepts
operationally, and that we spend our efforts in acquiring
the necessary information. It can do no good to wail over
defunct societies, documented by an earlier generation
of field workers with other aims, leaving us with a legacy
of information too incomplete for our own purposes. To
argue over what the facts really were seems futile indeed.
Every science loses a portion of its data irretrievably
through time, but there is no more reason for scientifically
oriented anthropologists to deplore "lost" societies than
for astronomers to deplore lost cosmic explosions. If the
principles that govern human behavior are, as most of us
presume, constant and immutable, we should be able to unravel
them as long as there are human actors behaving in diverse
circumstances. In any case, however, it would be far better
to base our judgments on a handful of adequately documented
societies than to play guessing games with five hundred.
In closing, I would like to offer this final qualification:
I do not regard the argument contained in this paper as
being new. Theoretically, I have merely tried to draw to
their conclusions logical premises already contained in
much of the work being done by contemporary ethnologists.
Neither do I consider the description of Rotuman land tenure
presented herewith as dramatically different from other
ethnographic accounts. Many ethnographies do, in fact,
offer descriptive accounts which permit one to construct
decision making models for at least some activities. I
am merely suggesting that we formulate our issues so that
they are resolvable, and produce more of them. Only then
will we be able to build our generalizations on a solid
foundation and perhaps stop spinning our wheels in the
sand.
NOTES
[1] Field work was carried
out among the Rotumans between October, 1959, and June,
1961, of which twelve months were spent on the island of
Rotuma and nine months among the Rotuman colonies in Fiji.
The field work was supported by the National Institute
of Mental Health. I would like to acknowledge the assistance
in the field of Irwin Howard, whose contributions toward
the collection and analysis of field data were considerable.
This paper was written and accepted for publication while
I was a temporary lecturer in social anthropology at the
University of Auckland. I have since accepted the position
of cultural anthropologist at the Bernice P. Bishop Museum
in Honolulu. [back to text]
[2] For a discussion of
statistical and mechanical models cf. Lévi-Strauss
1953: 528-531. [back to text]
[3] It is the custom for
sleeping houses to be built on raised platforms of stone
and earth. [back to text]
[4] I was never able to
get a clear statement as to which of one's great-grandparents,
eight fuag ri one should choose,
apparently because rights were never challenged on this
basis. When pressed, informants, generally agreed it would
be most appropriate to select the residential fuag
ri on which the great-grandparent was raised. [back
to text]
[5] For a discussion of
the leadership aspects of chieftainship see Howard 1963. [back
to text]
[6] Since the ceremony
takes place at one of Ego's eight ancestral fuag
ri, only seven groups must make the trip when ideal
conditions are met. The kainaga from
the fuag ri where the ceremony
is being held gathers beforehand and acts as the host group. [back
to text]
[7] In actual practice
land held in common by a sibling group is often referred
to as hanua ne togi or hanua
ne na, signifying the method of acquisition by the
parent and emphasizing the exclusiveness of rights in the
parental generation. Most informants agreed, however, that
such land is properly designated as hanua
ne haisasigi. [back to text]
[8] This generally occurs
in the fourth or fifth generations. [back
to text]
[9] In 1959 the Government
of Fiji drew up an ordinance to deal with Rotuman land
tenure. Since this was done after consultation with Rotumans
the definitions employed in the Bill are worth noting.
Actually the seven types of tenure I have described are
here reduced to three:
"hanua ne kainaga" means
land held by that family community of Rotumans known as
a kainaga, the members of each kainaga holding
the land in undivided ownership and the acknowledged head
of the family being the pure (or
overlord) of the land;
"hanua pau" means land
which is vested in a single individual Rotuman by sale
or gift with the intention of creating hanua
pau, or by an instrument deposited with the District
Officer...
"hanua ne 'on tore" means
land which is vested on intestacy in the first, second,
and third generations of descendants of a deceased owner
of hanua pau, as hanua
ne 'on tore, when there is no single individual
Rotuman in whom the land vests as hanua
pau, such descendants taking life interests in
undivided shares in such land, and the last survivor
of them taking the land as hanua
pau:
Provided that the limitation to three generations shall
not apply to hanua ne 'on tore in
existence at the commencement of this Ordinance... [back
to text]
[10] The word faksoro also
means to apologize, or to ask to be excused. Cf. Churchward
1940:195. [back to text]
[11] By "license" I mean
the exercise of personal will as opposed to restraint,
in this case concerning the disposition of property. Used
in this sense "license" may be distinguished from "rights" in
that it is meant to be purely descriptive of behavior,
without jural implications. [back to
text]
[12] Land holdings in
Rotuma tend to be dispersed and consist of irregularly
shaped blocks of land of varying sizes. Some pieces are
no larger than a hundred square feet or so, while others
may be several acres. In most cases a man works three or
four plots at a time, each of these in a separate location.
The more distant ones may require an hour's walk or more
through the bush, whereas the nearest may be only a few
yards from his dwelling. [back to text]
[13] To remain consistent,
the term "socio-cultural" should here be construed as including "structural" and "cultural" principles. [back
to text]
[14] For an excellent
illustration of how group composition can vary from activity
system to activity system within a single society see Groves
1963. [back to text]
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Capell, A. 1962. Oceanic Linguistics Today. Current
Anthropology 3: 371-428.
Churchward, C. M. 1940. Rotuman Grammar and Dictionary.
Sydney.
Davenport, W. C. 1959. Nonunilinear Descent and Descent
Groups. American Anthropologist 61: 557-572.
Ember, M. 1962. Political Authority and the Structure
of Kinship in Aboriginal Samoa. American Anthropologist 64:
964-971.
Frake, C. 1961. The Diagnosis of Disease Among the Subanun
of Mindinao. American Anthropologist 63:113-132.
----1962. Cultural Ecology and Ethnography. American
Anthropologist 64:53-59.
Gardiner, J.
S. 1898. Natives of Rotuma. Journal of the Royal Anthropological
Institute 27:396-435, 457-524.
Goodenough, W. H. 1951. Property, Kin, and Community on
Truk. Yale University Publications in Anthropology 46:1-192.
---- 1957. Cultural Anthropology and Linguistics. Report
of the Seventh Annual Round Table Meeting on Linguistics
and Language Study, ed. P. L. Garvin. Monograph Series
on Languages and Linguistics 9:167-173. Washington.
----1961. Review of Social Structure in Southeast Asia,
ed. G. P. Murdock. American Anthropologist 63:1341-1347.
Grace, G. 1959. The Position of the Polynesian Languages
Within the Austronesian (Malayo-Polynesian) Language Family. International
Journal of American Linguistics 25: iii, Supplement.
Groves, M. 1963. Western Motu Descent Groups. Ethnology 2:15-30.
Howard, A. 1961. Rotuma as
a Hinterland Community.Journal of the Polynesian
Society 70: 272-299.
---- 1962. Change and Stability in the Rotuman System
of Land Tenure. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. Stanford
University.
---- 1963a. An Annotated Bibliography of Rotuman Materials
(mimeographed).
---- 1963b. Conservatism
and Non-Traditional Leadership in Rotuma.Journal
of the Polynesian Society 72 (in press).
Leach, E. R. 1960. The Sinhalese of the Dry Zone of Northern
Ceylon. Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology 29:116-126.
Lévi-Strauss C. 1953. Social Structure. Anthropology
Today, ed. A. L. Kroeber pp. 524-553 Chicago.
Lounsbury F. 1962. Review of R. Needham, Structure and
Sentiment. American Anthropologist 64: 1302-1310.
Malinowski, B. 1922. Argonauts of the Western Pacific.
London.
Minutes the Rotuman Council of Chiefs. Retained in the
Central Archives of Fiji and the Western Pacific High Commission,
Suva.
Murdock, G. P. 1949. Social Structure. New York.
---- 1960. Cognatic Forms of Social Organization. Viking
Fund Publications in Anthropology 29: 114.
Nadel, S. F. 1957. The Theory of Social Structure.
Glencoe.
Ordinance No. 13 of 1959. An Ordinance to Provide for
a Land Commission in Rotuma, the Registration and Dealing
with and Transmission of Land and Matters Incidental Thereto.
Fiji.
Radcliffe-Brown, A. R. 1952. Structure and Function
in Primitive Society. London.
Sahlins, M. 1963. Review of Social Structure in Southeast
Asia, ed. G. P. Murdock. Journal of the Polynesian Society 72:39-50.
|