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Smithsonian Institution

SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY • NUMBER 33

The Canela (Eastern Timbira), I

AN ETHNOGRAPHIC INTRODUCTION

William H. Crocker

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION PRESS

Washington, D.C.

1990

ABSTRACT

Crocker, William H. The Canela (Eastern Timbira), I: An Ethnographic Introduction. Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology, number 33, 487 pages, 11 tables, 51 figures, 78 plates, 1990.—This monograph is about the Canela Indians of the município of Barra do Corda, in the state of Maranhão, Brazil, and also about the neighboring Apanyekra, who are culturally very similar and are used here for comparisons. The Canela are also known as the Ramkokamekra-Canela, or the Eastern Timbira. These names were given to them in the monograph, “The Eastern Timbira,” by Brazil’s great ethnologist, Curt Nimuendajú (1946). The present monograph, referred to herein as the “Canela Introduction,” is a product of 64 months of fieldwork over a period of 22 years. It is the first volume of several in a potential series.

The Canela live in the ecologically intermediate cerrado area between tropical forest Amazonia and the dry Brazilian Northeast. First contacted over two centuries ago and pacified in 1814, they were largely hunters and gatherers, depending little on crops. Now, however, they support themselves principally by swidden agriculture, producing mostly bitter manioc and dry rice. Having passed through an acculturative nadir in the 1960s, they became adjusted to the backland Brazilians who were increasingly surrounding them in the 1970s. Their lands were legally demarcated between 1971 and 1978 by the Brazilian government’s National Foundation of the Indian (FUNAI, the “Indian service”) giving them security. Their population numbers increased from about 400 in 1968 to about 600 in 1978. Their sense of awareness as a people in the wider Brazilian setting began to develop in the late 1970s.

Part I of this monograph describes the field situation and the methods used. Part II provides ethnographic background materials ranging from ecology and acculturation, through the various annual cycles, to material and recreative culture. Part III presents socialization, psychological orientations, and the social, political, and terminological (kinship) systems. Part IV is devoted to religion taken in its broadest sense and includes the festival system, individual rites of passage, mythical history and cosmology, and shamanism, ethnobiology, pollution, medicine. Part V is a presentation and analysis of the Canela’s special kind of dualism. The epilogue brings the reader up to 1989 in certain topics, and the appendices provide information on the Canela research collections (material artifacts, photographs, films, magnetic tapes, manuscripts) at the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.

OFFICIAL PUBLICATION DATE is handstamped in a limited number of initial copies and is recorded in the Institution’s annual report, Smithsonian Year. COVER DESIGN: Initiates’ plaza group genipap body painting designs of Pepyê festival, 1975 (see Plates 26, 27).

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Crocker, William H. (William Henry)

The Canela (Eastern Timbira), I: an ethnographic introduction / William H. Crocker.

p. cm.—(Smithsonian contributions to anthropology; no. 33)

Includes bibliographic references.

1. Canela Indians. I. Title. II. Series.

GN1.S54 no. 33 [F3722.1.C23] 305.8’983-dc20 89-600303 CIP

Contents

FOREWORD, by Charles Wagley

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

The Canela

The Apanyekra

Objectives and Structure of This Volume

Definitions and Editorial Decisions

Linguistic Key

Chronology of the Canela

PART I: The Field Situation

A. General Characteristics

B. Early Acceptance Experiences

C. Problem-solving in the Field

D. Field Equipment

E. Learning the Canela Language

F. Diaries and Tapes

G. Special Research Assistants

H. Special Friends in the State of Maranhão

PART II: Ethnographic Background

A. Gê Language Family, Its Populations, and Ecology

B. Diachronic Context

C. Annual Cycles

D. Life Cycles

E. Daily Cycle

F. “Recreation”

G. Artifacts

PART III: Social Organization

A. Socialization and Related Adult Activities

B. Psychological “Polarities,” Values, and Behavioral Orientations

C. Socioceremonial Units

D. Political System

E. Terminological Relationship Systems

F. Marriage

PART IV: Ceremonial and Belief Systems

A. Festival System

B. Individual Rites

C. Oral History and Cosmology

D. Shamanism, Pollution, and Medicine

PART V: Canela Structural Patterns

A. Structures in Some Sociocultural Sectors

B. Key Expressions in Other Contexts

EPILOGUE: The Canela in the 1980s

APPENDICES

1. Ten Field Trips to the Canela over 22 Years

2. Canela and Apanyekra Collections at the Smithsonian Institution

3. Primary Materials for Future Studies

4. Linguistic Notes

5. Concept of “Today”

6. Sources of Data

NOTES

GLOSSARY

LITERATURE CITED

REFERENCE OUTLINE

PLATES

Requirements for Smithsonian Series Publication

Tables

1. Meteorological averages of data from principal meteorological and climatological station of Barra do Corda, Maranhão, Brazil, 1971

2. Canela sayings and common expressions referring to the annual environmental cycle

3. Annual cycle of economic activities

4. Annual festival cycle

5. Life cycles of women and men

6. Canela expressions for times of day

7. Daily cycle of events of Canela

8. Canela artifacts and field numbers of donations to museums from 1960 onward

9. Social developmental stages of the individual as described in currently used Canela expressions

10. Some kintypes of the consanguineal and affinal kinship categories

11. Canela kinship terms

Maps

1. Gê-speaking Indians and their neighbors

2. 1985 road map of Northeast Brazil to the Araguáia River showing the Canela and Apanyekra villages

3. Canela and Apanyekra reservations and surrounding backlands, 1986–1987

4. Eastern Timbira and their neighbors, past and present

5. Escalvado village and Indian service post buildings, 1975

6. Porquinhos village and Indian service post buildings, 1975

7. Canela area and agricultural lands, 1969

8. Apanyekra area and agricultural lands, 1974

FIGURES

Frontispiece

1. Escalvado (a Canela village), 1975

2. Porquinhos (an Apanyekra village), 1975

3. Cerrado countryside (“closed savannas”), 1969

4. Racing-log preparation in the “gallery forest” undergrowth, Escalvado, 1969

5. Dry forest near Sardinha

6. Deciduous dry forest in October, 1971

7. Indian service agent Olímpio Martins Cruz

8. Bridge built at Ourives in 1969 to protect the Canela after their return to their cerrado homeland

9. Indian service agent Sebastião Ferreira

10. Sr. Sebastião’s wife, Dona Fátima, with her children

11. Jack Popjes of the SIL with Canela and backlander

12. Canela concepts of “this day”

13. Timbira sport of relay racing, carrying logs

14. Uncle disciplining nephew before female dance line

15. Uncle disciplining nephew before female dance line

16. Growth stages

17. Plaza moiety group locations during Pepyê and Fish festivals

18. Chief Kaarà?khre lecturing in morning plaza council meeting

19. Pró-khãmmã eating hààkwèl meat pies in their southwest corner of the plaza

20. Model of one-link/further-links away from ego kin

21. Model of the two most important consanguineal successions

22. Division of a Canela hearth group

23. Classificatory one-link away kin

24. Canela longhouses and age-set positions around plaza

25. Apanyekra longhouses and Regeneration moiety positions around plaza ….

26. Ideal Canela consanguineal terminology, female ego

27. Ideal Canela consanguineal terminology, male ego

28. Affinal models of “in”-house (born in family) versus “out”-of-house (married into family) terminological distinctions

29. Model of classificatory spouses between two marriage-connected houses, female ego, with alternatives

30. Model of classificatory spouses between two marriage-connected houses, male ego, with alternatives

31. Ideal affinal terminology of a woman’s affines in husband’s natal longhouse, with alternatives

32. Ideal affinal terminology of a man’s affines in wife’s longhouse, with alternatives

33. Terms of address in women’s ideal affinal terminology for husbands’ kin in their matrilateral and across-the-plaza longhouses, with alternatives (two female egos)

34. Terms of address in men’s ideal affinal terminology for wive’s kin in their matrilateral and across-the-plaza longhouses, with alternatives (two male egos)

35. Canela and Apanyekra model of female name-set transmission

36. Canela and Apanyekra model of male name-set transmission

37. Canela and Apanyekra model of exchanged name-set transmission for parallel-and cross-cousins

38. Canela and Apanyekra equate “blood” of uterine siblings

39. Canela and Apanyekra matriline “blood” attenuation through marriage

40. The flow of kin through time

41. Canela matriline “blood” attenuation and the sweet potato vine concept of descent

42. Model of genealogical “distance” between parallel cousins

43. Canela cross-cousin, across-the-plaza, linked longhouses

44. Marital bridge of equivalent “blood” pairs connects houses across the plaza

45. Wè?tè girl stands before Kô?khre log with a burned-out trough

46. Cloth-and-feathered decorated Little Falcon swings on vine from mast, “flying” (pushing off) from his cage

47. Red and Black Regeneration season moiety membership sitting locations during the Ayrēn ceremony

48. Bride’s female in-laws painting her belt with red urucu

49. Bride’s female in-laws wrapping the belt of long cord around her hips

50. The older Kaapêltùk listening at a meeting in the plaza

51. The younger Kaapêltùk writing in his diary

Plates

1. Views of São Luis from the top of Hotel Central in 1964

2. Barra do Corda in the late 1950s

3. Barra do Corda Centro

4. Modes of transportation

5. Escalvado from the air

6. Views of the new Escalvado village, 1969

7. House types of the Canela and Apanyekra

8. Special features of houses

9. Interiors of houses

10. Features of house construction

11. Indian service post buildings

12. Cultivation patterns

13. Views of Canela landscapes

14. Agricultural and trapping artifacts

15. Hunting and food distribution

16. Food preparation

17. Household tasks

18. Cord-making and weaving techniques

19. Children’s activities

20. Steps in preparing manioc

21. Steps in preparing manioc

22. Steps in making a meat pie

23. Steps in making a meat pie

24. Ear-piercing rite

25. Ear-piercing rite

26. Genipap body painting designs of the plaza groups at Escalvado, 1975

27. Body decorations

28. Games and ceremonies

29. Curing techniques

30. Mourning and burial preparation

31. Burial procedures

32. Daily and ceremonial singing

33. Late afternoon sing-dance

34. Making a racing log

35. Log racing with Pàlrà logs

36. Pepyê festival

37. Pepyê festival and fierce warrior act

38. Sardinha, 1963

39. Formal and Informal Friendships

40. Terminal phase of the Pepyê festival

41. Khêêtúwayê festival

42. Pepyê festival

43. Pepyê festival’s terminal phase

44. Pepkahàk festival

45. Pepkahàk all-night singing and wasp killing during festival

46. Clowns

47. Fish and Sweet Potato festivities

48. Scenes of Masks’ activities

49. Masks’ activities

50. Pàlrà ritual

51. Pàlrà ritual

52. Wè?tè festival scenes

53. Corn ceremonies

54. Festival of Oranges

55. Urban and backlander influences

56. Artifacts in use

57. Artifacts in use

58. Artifacts

59. Artifacts

60. Artifacts

61. Artifacts

62. Pierced-ear decorations and tools

63. Ceremonial weapons

64. Ceremonial staffs

65. Artifacts

66. Artifacts

67. Artifacts

68. Portraits of Canela assistants

69. Portraits of Canela assistants

70. Portraits of Canela assistants

71. Portraits of Canela assistants

72. Representative portraits of backlanders

73. Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra

74. Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra

75. Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra

76. Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra

77. Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra

78. Views of Barra do Corda in the 1980s

Dedication

This first book, The Canela (Eastern Timbira), I: An Ethnographic Introduction, is dedicated to the younger Kaapêltùk because of his devotion, endurance, and capability as an excellent research assistant. I will never forget his great friendship and confidences. Without his very considerable assistance, the quality of information would have been considerably less.

Epigraph

The younger Kaapêltùk chided his helpers in 1958 in this manner:

Nēē Pèp mã tswa?nã nō pal prãm naare, kwèlyapê ka ha katùt khãm mē kumãm mē pankêtyê kaakaa-tsà pit yaarē.

[negative-emphasis Crocker in-himself (lies, made-up-stories) any to-hear wants not, therefore you will narrowly-correctly in-that-way plural-you to-him plural forefather’s (breathing-thing, lifestyle, customs) only tell]

Pèp doesn’t want to listen to lies; therefore, you must tell him only correctly about our forefathers’ life style.

[Mr. Jack Popjes (SIL) provided the version of the sentence in Canela (checked by Yaako) and its free translation.]

FRONTISPIECE.—The younger Kaapêltùk.

Foreword

This is a book about a remarkable people. It is a detailed study of the Canela Indians, also known as the Ramkokamekra (Ramcocamecra), in central Maranhão state in northeastern Brazil. It also contains comparative data on the Apanyekra, a closely related tribe living nearby having a very similar language and known as one of the Canela tribes. Both the Canela proper and the Apanyekra, as well as the nearby Krahó, speak languages of the Eastern Timbira branch of the Gê family. The Canela are related linguistically and culturally to more distant Gê-speaking peoples, such as the Sherente, Shavante, Apinayé, and Kayapó, who live south and west in central Brazil, as well as to the Kaingang and Shokleng of southern Brazil. These Gê tribes traditionally live on the bush country of the Brazilian plateau beyond the tropical forest. When I first began to study South American ethnology in the mid-1930s, these tribes were often called Tapuya (the name for “enemy” among the coastal Tupinambá) and were depicted as simple nomadic hunters distinct from the Carib, Arawak, and Tupi tribes of the Amazonian forest.

In the late 1930s and early 1940s, our picture of these Gê tribes changed radically with the publication of the studies by the German-Brazilian Curt Nimuendajú. From his studies of the Apinayé (1939), Sherente (1942), and Eastern Timbira (Canela) (1946), the Gê lacked pottery, hammocks, tobacco, alcohol, canoes, and wore no clothing; their domestic dwellings were simple compared to tropical forest peoples. They depended marginally on horticulture in the narrow strips of forest along the rivers and streams but mainly on hunting and gathering in the bush country (the cerrado). However, Nimuendajú’s studies showed them to be societies with exceedingly complex social systems and a very elaborate ceremonial life. In aboriginal times, their villages were surprisingly large when compared to those of the tropical forest peoples. They were an anomaly in lowland South American ethnography. They were similar in many ways to the marginal cultures of the southern pampas and Tierra del Fuego, but they were more complex in social structure and ceremonial life than the people of the Amazonian tropical forest. This apparent contradiction was hardly resolved by the “Handbook of South American Indians” (Steward, 1946), which assigned them to Volume One along with the Marginal Tribes of the extreme southern part of the hemisphere. Others attempted to explain their technological simplicity and their ideological and sociological complexity as “degenerate remnants” of highland South American civilizations. At least one leading anthropologist spoke of a “play impulse” in human culture as the basis for their complex social institutions.

Curt Nimuendajú was not an academically trained anthropologist. He was born in Germany in 1883 as Curt Unkel. Little is known about his formal education or how he was attracted to the study of South American Indians. In 1903, at 20 years of age, he came to Brazil, and by 1905 he was living among the Guaraní Indians of southern Brazil. His first two publications on the Guaraní in 1914 and 1915 were signed Curt Nimuendajú Unkel but afterwards he dropped his German surname and adopted his Guaraní name Nimuendajú, legally and in all his subsequent publications. In 1910, he became an employee of the newly created Indian service, the SPI or Indian Protection Service, which made use of his thorough knowledge of the Indians of southern Brazil. In 1913 he moved his headquarters to Belém, where he was rather informally connected with the Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi. For many years, he supported himself by occasional missions for the Brazilian Indian services and by making ethnographic collections for European museums. In the early 1930s, he entered into correspondence with Professor Robert E. Lowie of the University of California at Berkeley. Lowie became his scientific advisor, his translator from German into English, and his editor. Lowie seems to have found some limited financial support for Nimuendajú and his work from the Carnegie Institution of Washington and from the University of California. It was this relationship with Lowie that explains the appearance of Nimuendajú’s studies of the Gê tribes in English rather than German or Portuguese.

Nimuendajú was an indefatigable field worker in sociocultural anthropology. According to Herbert Baldus there was not a year between 1905 and 1942 that he did not undertake fieldwork of some kind with Brazilian Indians (American Anthropologist, 1946(48):238–243). In fact, he seems to have been more at home among tribal peoples man in Brazilian society. By 1930–1940 his work was focused on the Gê-speaking peoples, particularly the Ramkokamekra or Canela. His reports were detailed and generally sound ethnographic reporting. Yet his studies left many questions in the minds of anthropologists.

In the mid-1950s, two young anthropologists, David Maybury-Lewis and William Crocker, took up Nimuendajú’s work among the Gê tribes. Maybury-Lewis, now Professor of Anthropology at Harvard University, did research among the Sherente in 1955–1956 and then among the closely related Shavante in 1958 (cf. Maybury-Lewis, 1965 and 1967). Later, the Harvard Central-Brazil Project was organized under his leadership. In the 1960s his students (and Brazilian colleagues) carried out field research among the Kayapó (Joan Bamberger and Terence Turner), Apinayé (Roberto Da Matta), Krahó (Júlio Cezar Melatti), Krĩkatí (Jean Carter Lave and Dolores Newton), Bororo (Christopher Crocker), and Nambikuara (Cecil Cook). This research has resulted in many articles and monographs as well as one comparative volume “Dialectical Societies” (Maybury-Lewis, 1979). From this research by the group of the Harvard Central-Brazil Project, we have learned much about the Gê-speaking tribes, particularly about their intricate social structure.

The other anthropologist who took up Curt Nimuendajú’s study of the Gê, William Crocker, now on the staff of the Smithsonian Institution, began his research in 1957. His approach differed fundamentally from the Harvard group. Crocker’s research focused upon a Gê tribe, namely the Canela of the Eastern Timbira branch. The Canela had been the subject of Nimuendajú’s most detailed and lengthy monograph and the group to which Nimuendajú had devoted the most time in field research. Although William Crocker has met with the Harvard group and has followed their work closely, his research has been an individual undertaking.

Between 1957 and 1979, Crocker visited the Canela 10 times and logged 64 months of field research. In fact, William Crocker has devoted practically his whole professional life, in addition to his curatorial duties, to the study of the Canela (and marginally to the related Apanyekra). In addition, he has maintained almost daily contact with the Canela from a distance. In 1964, three Canela men who knew Portuguese wrote daily diaries and in 1970, two of them dictated daily activities and news of the Canela onto cassette tapes. In 1978, a woman was added to the group of correspondents. By 1979, twelve Canela were corresponding with Crocker in the Gê language and in Portuguese. A total of 78,400 pages of manuscript has been collected by William Crocker from his correspondence with Canela individuals. This continuous monitoring of Canela society, added to his long term field research in residence, must be among the most intensive long term projects undertaken by any contemporary social anthropologist.

William Crocker’s time in the field exceeds that of any of the cases included in “Long-Term Field Research in Social Anthropology” (Foster et al., 1979:12). Here, only Alfonso Villa Rojas reports more (100 months) among various Maya villages in Yucatan and Chiapas; but Villa Rojas divided his 45 years between Chan Kom and Quintana Roo in Yucatan and many other years in Chiapas. Only George Foster reports more years (31+ years) for one person devoted to one village (Tzintzuntzan).

In addition to his many months of resident research and his continuous correspondence directly with Canela informants, Crocker made use of a field technique of considerable originality. First, he refuses to use the traditional term “informants” for the natives who instructed and taught the field worker. Throughout this book he uses the term “research assistants.” He does so out of respect for them and to avoid the negative implications of that term in the English context. Furthermore, he turned his Canela assistants into a panel, which often met face to face when he was in residence in the Canela village. During such meetings Crocker posed questions around problems regarding Canela social structure, ceremonialism, and ideology. His panel of assistants did not always agree and there was lively discussion, which he recorded on tape. Such discussions helped the field anthropologist to delve deeply into the past of the Canela culture and society; they also made clear that different individuals viewed their culture in different ways. Seldom have I read a book about a nonliterate people that spelled out in such detail how such a study was done. Taken as a study in field method alone William Crocker’s book is an important contribution to social anthropology.

Of course, the importance of this book is the substance. Crocker selected the Canela for study because Curt Nimuendajú had written his most detailed and comprehensive monograph about them. Nimuendajú’s monograph, based on research in the 1930s, provided him a baseline for a study in acculturation after 20 years. Thus, Crocker’s original motivation for studying the Canela was to calculate culture change. The present study does more than present two cross-sections in time of a society: between 1929–1936 (Nimuendajú) and 1957–1979 (Crocker). Crocker has, with the help of Nimuendajú’s data, written a diachronic history of the Canela from circa 1930 to 1979. Specific changes and directions of change in Canela society and culture are constantly described and discussed in this monograph. For no other lowland group do we have such detailed data on culture change over a half century as we have from the observations of these two highly perceptive ethnographers.

On reading William Crocker’s manuscript, however, I was constantly impressed with the strength of Canela society to maintain its distinctive, indigenous way of life in the face of what seem to be overwhelming odds. Since their first contacts with western man in the 18th and early 19th century, the Canela have experienced epidemics of imported disease, participated in local wars, suffered from attacks of local ranchers, and survived the disruption of their rather sensitive ecological adjustment. The encroachment of cattle ranchers with their herds into the cerrado country reduced the available game on which the Canela depended. Cattle invaded their small gardens situated in the narrow strips of forest along the banks of streams. After an attack by backland ranchers the Canela were transferred out of their beloved bush country to the dry forest of the Guajajara-Tenetehara Indian reservation. They did not adjust “ecologically or psychologically,’’ and after three years they were allowed to return to the cerrado country where they still live. Despite these events (and many others over two centuries) the Canela have maintained their social institutions, most of their ceremonial life, and above all a strong sense of tribal identity.

This is particularly striking to me, for in 1941–1942 I did research among the neighboring Tupi-speaking Guajajara Tenetehara (Wagley and Galvão, 1949). The Guajajara-Tenetehara, although clearly Indians speaking their native tongue and maintaining many indigenous customs and a few festivals, were in many ways almost indistinguishable from the local backwoods men. They wore western clothes, made large swidden gardens cut out of the forests, lived in individual family dwellings, and collected copaiba oil and babaçu palm nuts for sale. In contrast the Canela men in their village were nude and women wore only wrap-around skirts; Canela men wore their hair long in their characteristic style and most had large ear-plugs; the Canela village was laid out in its great circle around a plaza; and the Canela seemed constantly to be either celebrating a ceremonial in the village plaza and/or participating in their “national sport,” relay foot-racing, carrying enormous logs.

This monograph answers for me the query as to why the Canela have been so resistant to fundamental change in contrast to the Guajajara-Tenetehara. The social structure of the Guajajara-Tenetehara is relatively unstructured and malleable. There are no institutions that cut across or extend beyond each village—that is, no age-sets, ceremonial associations, nor lines of political authority. Among the Guajajara-Tenetehara the basic social and political institution is the extended family or at best a matrilineal kindred. Although villages often have a chieftain, he is either appointed by the Indian service or recognized as such by outsiders. Real authority lies with the leaders of the various extended families or kindreds. Thus, as villages grow and nearby forest becomes scarce for gardens, Guajajara-Tenetehara villages divide like amoeba. Such amorphous social systems are conducive to factionalism, competition, and lack of cooperation.

In contrast, Canela society is characterized by a plethora of cross-cutting associations and formal relationships that assure maintenance of a village as a unit. In addition to kinship units that live on different sides of the circular village and govern marriage, the Canela are divided into a series of moieties and ceremonial associations. There are the Upper and Lower plaza group moieties, which are further divided into three plaza groups to which men become members by inherited personal names; and the Red and Black Regeneration moieties, which function during the rainy season. Then, there are the age-set moieties of all males divided into classes with membership spanning 10 years. In addition, there are numerous social groups charged with specific festivals. Each group has a varied cast. The complexity of these numerous and interlocking groups and the special relationships of Formal Friends are discussed most adequately by William Crocker. But the reader comes away with the conclusion that to provide sufficient membership for all of these associations to function a village needs to be relatively large (e.g., 500), that is, large for any lowland South American group. History indicates that Canela villages were around 1000 or more in precontact times but they were reduced for a time to 300 or 400 people. Furthermore, despite all of the built-in forces in their social system that should guarantee tribal unity, Crocker reports the recent break up of the large village into smaller farm settlements, though the existence of the large village continues for festivals and tribal meetings. One can only account for the remarkable continuity of Canela culture and the strength of tribal ideology by the complex structure of their social system.

In the present monograph, Crocker presents a picture of the functional importance of the various institutions to promote internal harmony. It would seem almost impossible for factions to grow in Canela society. An individual is a member of any one of a dozen kinship units that occupy houses around the village plaza. At marriage a man moves to the dwelling of the wife but he retains important relationships in his natal kin group (e.g., sisters and sisters’ sons). His loyalty is already divided between his natal household and the household of his spouse. But then he belongs to a Red or Black moiety, an age-set moiety, a plaza moiety and one or more ceremonial associations. In each of these groups his associates may be entirely different people. Furthermore, he is tied strongly to specific individuals, such as Formal Friends and those who provided him with his set of names. Thus group loyalties are diffuse and none of these groups provide the basis for factions to take form.

It is not surprising that Crocker describes the Canela as nonaggressive, noncompetitive, and anxious to avoid internal conflict. Even the log races between the various associations seem to be basically noncompetitive. Sexual jealously of spouses is frowned upon and numerous institutionalized occasions for extramarital sex are provided by me society. An expectant mother names publicly the “co-fathers” of her child, that is, the men who have contributed semen to her pregnancy. Yet divorce is made difficult by interfamilial payments and is rare while children are being raised. Then it must come before the judgment of the chief and the council of elders. Still Crocker hypothesizes that in precontact times, the Canela were a very war-like people. Thus, their internal cohesion can be translated into external aggression. In fact, they participated in the regional Balaiada battles of the Cabanagem rebellion, after me Independence of Brazil (1839–1840), in the fight against the Gamella Indians in 1850, and in the suppressing (with the Brazilians) of the uprising of the Tenetehara-Guajajara in 1901. Crocker sees the Canela in precontact times as almost as war-like as the Kayapó and Shavante were.

This monograph is not only a study of institutions and ceremonies. It is above all a chronicle of a people and their reaction to the institutions of their society. William Crocker is a most sensitive and sympathetic field researcher and a keen observer. Throughout his present book he cites individual cases he has known during two generations. He provides us with rather detailed biographies of his principal Canela assistants. When I read Curt Nimuendajù’s rather formal monograph on the Canela, I kept wondering how an individual would react to the multiple groups and obligations of Canela society. Crocker provides the answer by citing the cases of individuals. In his wealth of information, Crocker has put human flesh and muscle on the bones of Canela social structure.

With the publication of this monograph, the Canela become one of the best known aboriginal societies of lowland South America. If Crocker does provide us with the additional monographs in his planned series, the Canela will become one of the best known cultures of the so-called primitive world. If Curt Nimuendajù were alive, I am sure that he would join me in congratulating both the Canela Indians and William Crocker on the publication of this monograph.

Charles Wagley
Graduate Research Professor
Emeritus of Anthropology
University of Florida
Gainesville, Florida, 1987

Preface

[Pr.1] Research

Some ethnologists carry out their fieldwork in a number of different tribes. Others spend a lifetime in one tribe or a set of villages. I am devoting my professional life to studying only two closely related tribes: the Canela and the Apanyekra. Goals of my early field research (1957–1960) were to study acculturation, change and conservatism through time, and the processes of innovation. The major orientation toward long term research became evident only in 1964. This diachronic orientation was appropriate because my position at the Smithsonian Institution emphasized field research and facilitated such a long term point of view. It was also appropriate because of my early training in acculturation studies and my education in holistic sociology, psychology, and cultural systems. Consequently, my particular interests evolved into a focus on how one sociocultural system operates in relation to a larger one—synchronically and diachronically—rather than on kinship, South American national or tribal studies, or the cross-cultural comparison of the origins of various cultural traits. (For perspectives on long term studies, see Foster et al., 1979.)

My fieldwork in Brazil started in 1956 when Professor David A. Baerreis at me Department of Anthropology of the University of Wisconsin, Madison, sent me as a doctoral candidate to Charles Wagley for introductions to Brazil. After meeting with Professor Wagley in New York City on several occasions, he gave me two letters, in early 1957, to friends in Brazil. One was to his junior colleague, the late Dr. Eduardo Galvão, and the other was to his co-godparent, the late Dona Heloisa Alberto Torres. All the necessary official permissions were obtained in this way through these two individuals. (See Appendix 1 for details about the 10 field trips from 1957 through 1979.)

The field research among the Canela began in August 1957. By August 1960, after 24 months with the two tribes, four months back in Wisconsin, and additional months in Brazilian towns and cities, the predoctoral period of field research was completed. The postdoctoral fieldwork continued through the 1960s and 1970s and ended in October 1979. The total time spent with the two tribes was 64 months over a span of 22 years.

Work on related articles (Crocker, 1982, 1983, 1984a, 1984b) continued through 1983. In April and May of 1984, I carried out a detailed, written study for the development and eventual publication of most of me materials collected in the field. It became evident, then, that there were sufficient materials with relatively isolable subjects to justify their inclusion in at least eight and possibly more than 17 separate book-length publications.

The following are the topics planned for the entire series, beginning with the eight monographs. While there might be significant variations from this plan, monographs will consider (1) the broad ethnographic coverage of the sociocultural systems (this monograph) for the general ethnologist, stressing social organization and furnishing most of the background materials for subsequent books in the series; (2) the relationship systems (kinship and others) in full detail and analysis, including Northern Gê comparisons [III.E] (see p. 6 for explanation of cross-reference notation); (3) the patterns of dualism [V.A] and other cognitive orientations [V.B]; (4) the messianic movement of 1963 and world comparisons [II.B.2.f]; (5) the festival system described and analyzed in detail, including Northern Gê comparisons [II.C.4], [IV.A]; (6) the religious system (shamanism, pollutions, medicine) [IV.D] and individual life cycle rites [IV.B]; (7) the restudy of “The Eastern Timbira” (Nimuendajú, 1946), including previously unpresented general ethnographic materials; and (8) the analysis of the acculturation, conservatism, and long term trends over 100 years, as well as other still unpresented ethnographic data [II.B].

Three books oriented to the general public are also planned: (9) a general college reader, which could be translated into Portuguese; (10) an annotated photographic album [I.D.1.c], [I.D.2.c], [Ap.2.b], [Ap.3.f]; and (11) an ecologically oriented college reader contrasting the Canela and Apanyekra tribes [II.A.3.d], their 19th century and present adaptations, and the closed savanna (cerrado) versus the dry forest adaptations of the Canela during the 1960s [II.B.2.g].

Finally, six types of primary data could constitute the basis for each of six more publications. The first (item 12) is a collection of 78,420 pages (written) and 708 hours (taped) of native diaries from which biographical, acculturative, and psychological accounts could be developed [I.F], [Ap.2.e], [Ap.3.a]. The second accumulation of primary data (item 13) is 120 myths and war stories (taped and translated into backland Portuguese) from which pan-Gê comparisons could be made [Ap.2.d.(2), Ap.3.b]. Then there are (item 14) 88 hours of taped political sessions (plaza meetings [II.E.8]) and judicial hearings (interfamily trials [III.D.3.a, b]) from which value-laden and decision-making materials could be abstracted and interpreted [Ap.2.d.(3)], [Ap.3.c]. There are also (item 15) 72 taped hours, made from 16 mm film sound tracks, from which children’s verbal materials could be analyzed and interpreted for a better understanding of the socialization process [Ap.2.d.(5)], [Ap.3.d]. Additionally, there are (item 16) 140 hours of taped musical recordings from which analyses of singing could be structured and compared cross-culturally [II.F.1], [Ap.2.d.(1)], [Ap.3.e]. Finally, there are (item 17) the 120,000 feet of 16 mm film from which the socialization process could be analyzed and clarified [Ap.3.h].

Besides the materials already mentioned, there are also extensive collections of photographic field data: still records (prints, Polaroids, and slides) [I.D.1.c,2.c], [Ap.2.b], [Ap.3.f]; films (16mm and Super-8) [I.D.1.c,2.c], [Ap.2.c], [Ap.3.f]; and material artifacts [II.G], [Ap.2.a], [Ap.3.g]. Almost all the primary materials collected in the field are available to qualified colleagues for research. These are listed in Appendix 2 on a quantitative basis and in Appendix 3 on a descriptive basis. However, the listing of the planned monographs is included here more to emphasize that this monograph is an introduction, not a complete treatment of the subject at hand.

[Pr.2] Fieldwork

A frequent question asked me is “How did you happen to choose the Canela as a people to study?” Obviously, many factors led to this choice. The first factor was that Latin American culture came to have a special place in my feelings. This occurred first just after World War II in the Philippines, where as a soldier I experienced the Hispanic tradition and liked it, and again in Mexico, directly after returning from the war in 1946. While studying Spanish, I lived in a Mexican family me members of which did not speak English. There was something about the personal warmth and freedom to express oneself in emotional ways that was appealing. Later in college, I took courses in Spanish grammar and literature, and from these studies, my feelings and interests developed, leading me to greater interest in the Hispanic world.

Thus, as a graduate student in anthropology in the early 1950s, I never had any doubt about what part of the world would be my area of specialty. The theoretical focus came later. The research possibilities inherent in the restudies by Robert Redfield (1941), Robert Redfield and Alfonso Villa Rojas (1934), and Oscar Lewis (1951) were optimal. Through the introductions of Alfonso Villa Rojas, I actually visited in the summer of 1951 for several weeks the communities of Dzitas and Chan Kom, studied by Redfield and Villa Rojas.

Although I had initially been preparing myself for work in applied anthropology and urban settings, I decided in 1956 that tribal life would be best for my particular set of abilities and interests. I wanted a tribe, moreover, that was little influenced by Christianity in order to experience a quite different set of values. South America was better for fieldwork than Mexico or Central America because North American influence there was less. Thinking along these lines, I studied the references in the“Handbook of South American Indians” (Steward, 1946–1959), and found that “The Eastern Timbira” (Nimuendajú, 1946) seemed to be the best monograph on which to carry out my ideas for a restudy. Learning Portuguese in order to do the research was an added attraction. I like languages, and any Latin Americanist should know Portuguese as well as Spanish. Even after these preparations, I was fortunate that it was possible to carry out the research of my first choice: a restudy of “The Eastern Timbira,” and the Canela.

Some field researchers write very little about how they carried out their ethnological fieldwork. Colleagues today, however, want to know about field experiences in order to facilitate their assessment of a publication. In tribal ethnology, because communication is almost always uncertain, we often do not use random sampling, questionnaires, and other sociological and statistical techniques. Length of time in the field, close familiarity with the ecological setting, close rapport with the people (especially with certain key informants), and a consistent focus on improving communication are the ethnologist’s techniques for enhancing relative objectivity, reliability, and the validity of field data.

A principal source of information after the first 18 months, besides extensive census-time questioning, was working with the “research assistant council” of Canela informants, which I established. While visual observations and the results of limited questioning were continually recorded (written or taped) as daily notes, the principal daily work consisted of meeting with the research council group for about seven hours (8:00 AM to 12:00 and 2:00 to 5:00 PM). This group consisted of an interpreter/translator (the younger Kaapêltùk [Frontispiece]) and two to six relatively old and trained research assistants. Although I could usually follow their debates in Canela, the presence of the younger Kaapêltùk ensured reliable and precise communication in Portuguese and Canela [I.E.2]. The ages, number, and sex of these research assistants brought a variety of responses from which to cull cultural patterns and their variations. Council membership [I.G.2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14] varied with the year and the topic under consideration and was composed of women and men chosen for their verbal ability (in Canela) and their special knowledge. They had also been selected for their age, because a major objective of the study was to reconstruct earlier beliefs and behavior patterns of their ancestors. (For more detail on the research assistant council, see [I.E]; on the research assistants themselves, see [I.G]; on the field equipment used, see [I.D].)

Acknowledgments

Giving credit where credit is due is always difficult because often there are so many people involved that an author does not know where to start. Since these acknowledgments pertain not only to this introductory monograph but cover a number of volumes—really my life’s work—it seems best and most appropriate to start at the beginning of my anthropological training.

George and Louise Spindler of Stanford University originally inspired me when I first entered the discipline. The psychological orientation found behind Spin’s lectures was a contribution to my formative training at me master’s level that stands far larger than any other person’s input. On the doctoral level, at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, Milton Barnett continued the psychological orientation. These men account for the psychological focus of my earlier fieldwork and its principal study of socialization, and also for the similar focus of my later fieldwork in its special semantic study of key words and concepts.

Nobody at the University of Wisconsin in 1956 could orient me for fieldwork in Brazil, so David Baerreis, an archeologist, sent me to Charles Wagley who was at Columbia University at that time. Since then Chuck Wagley has been my chief mentor to the present day, with only the late Clifford Evans and Betty Meggers of the Smithsonian Institution assuming roles that could begin to compare with Chuck’s.

In Brazil, Eduardo and Clara Galvão helped me immensely, both personally and professionally. My work was carried out under Eduardo Galvão’s auspices at the Museu Goeldi in Belém (and the University of Brasília in 1964) until his death in 1976. I reported to him before and after each trip and remember his commendations and criticisms with great appreciation. On me first trip in 1957, Galvão gave me a letter to Professor Darcy Ribeiro in Rio de Janeiro. He and Heloisa Alberto Torres obtained me very necessary permissions from the Brazilian Indian Protection Service (Serviço de Proteção aos Índios).

While waiting for my permissions to be processed in Rio de Janeiro, I spent many long hours and days in the Conselho Nacional de Proteção aos Índios office of Dona Heloisa studying Nimuendajú’s manuscript of “The Eastern Timbira” in Portuguese. Learning to know her better is one of my most treasured Brazilian experiences. Courses given by Darcy Ribeiro and Roberto Cardoso de Oliveira at the Centro de Pesquisas Educacionais at the foot of the Rua das Voluntárias da Pátria in Bota Fogo were an inspiration. There, it was a great pleasure to meet and know a number of me Brazilian students in anthropology and sociology.

In São Paulo, Professor Egon Schaden encouraged me, and Harald Schultz oriented me to the Canela. While staying with him and his wife, Vilma Chiara, for two days, we went on buying trips for the Canela in the local stores.

During the 1960s, Dona Heloisa continued her role of obtaining difficult Indian Protection Service permissions, especially in 1963 during the Canela messianic movement. Schaden also continued to provide his theoretical inspiration along with his warm friendship. Professor David Maybury-Lewis invited me to the series of pan-Gê seminars held at Harvard University in the winter and spring of 1966 where new informative contacts were made with his students, especially Christopher Crocker, Roberto Da Matta, Júlio Cesar Melatti, and Dolores Newton. Through these visits, a very significant shift toward kinship and other relationship systems was brought to my field studies. I am deeply grateful to the Harvard-Brazil group for their training and stimulation. The division of my fieldwork orientation into the earlier (pre-1967) and the later (post-1968) phases is due to our contact and exchanges in 1966.

In 1971, Egon Schaden honored me with an invition to the Primeiro Encontro de Estudos Brasileiros in São Paulo to give a principal paper, but for the rest of the decade there was only limited contact with Brazilian colleagues. The critical backing and encouragement, in contrast, came from archeologists Clifford Evans and Betty Meggers at the Smithsonian. In fact, the 1979 fieldwork, during which the most important and satisfying research was carried out, could not have been undertaken, and especially not completed, without their crucial support.

Thus, in summary, the most profound thanks and acknowledgments must go to George D. Spindler, Eduardo Galvão, Heloisa Alberto Torres, and Clifford Evans and Betty Meggers; but the deepest professional and personal gratitude goes to Charles Wagley who made the fieldwork possible in the first place, and whose strong support, close friendship, and sound advice continue to this day. (other acknowledgments are in Appendix 1.)

A very special kind of recognition goes to a number of individuals in the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL: Wycliffe Bible Translators) in Rio de Janeiro, Brasília, and Belém, as well as in the Canela village of Escalvado from 1969 through 1975. They helped me linguistically (Sarah Gudshinsky, 1960 and 1966), let me talk short wave with my wife in Washington, D.C. (Robert Wright, 1975), gave me a series of cortisone injections (Dr. Carl Harrison), and typed a 40-page report for me (Mary Jean Hostetler). They were great morale raisers (the whole Belém base, October 1979). In 1969, 1970 (Paul Marsteller), 1971, and 1975, SIL pilots ferried my wife and me, and twice her children, between Belém and the Canela village of Escalvado. Moreover, they provided innumerable services and kindnesses: especially two retreats on the Belém base, while working on a research paper (January, 1975) and while writing a CNPq (Conselho Nacional de Pesquisas) report (October, 1979).

Jack Popjes (Figure 11) and his wife Josephine (both SIL) arranged for making and sending all the Canela informant materials, which constitute the very considerable body of data on the Canela during the 1980s. This information is on paper, tape cassette, and video cartridge. Jack and Jo added their observations and opinions by letter, tape cassette, and telephone (from Brazil and Canada). Thus, the epilogue, and any post-1979 information in this monograph, represents collaborative SIL-SI research between 1984 and mid-1989, which they have graceously allowed me to present here as well as a quotation from their newsletter, The Canela (Popjes and Popjes, 1986:2).

Moreover, Jack and Jo have been great friends, whether attempting to cure a Canela together, debating issues while driving between Brazilian cities, or spending the evening in their Belém-base home, and I sincerely hope this relationship does continue.

Acknowledgments to individuals in the field situation (more specifically in the state of Maranhão and the Município of Barra do Corda) are extensive, and my appreciation is deep and my memories warm. Since I was there for long periods of time over 22 years, I formed numerous friendships, not all of which can be mentioned, but the foremost ones are described at the end of Part I [I.H].

Financial acknowledgments go principally to the Smithsonian Institution for the various years of field and office support, but in 1964 full support for fieldwork was received from the National Science Foundation and the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. These two foundations made possible the study of me 1963 Canela messianic movement as well as the analysis of the forced relocation of the Canela from a closed savanna (cerrado) to a dry forest environment. Support in the late 1950s came from the University of Wisconsin and from the Smith, Kline and French Pharmaceutical Company.

The field research was carried out under the auspices of the University of Wisconsin (1957–1960) and the Smithsonian Institution (1963–1979). This field research (1957–1979) was also carried out under the control of the Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi (Belém) for Brazil (O Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi, 1986). Dr. Eduardo Galvão of the Goeldi advised me, except for during 1978–1979 when Sr. Expedito Arnaud was responsible. I am most grateful for Expedito’s loyal support in October 1979.

For the ten field trips, permissions were received from some part of either the Serviço de Proteção aos Índios or, after 1968, the Fundação Nacional do Índio. For most of the trips, permissions were also obtained from the earlier Conselho Nacional de Pesquisas or the later Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico. I have been deeply grateful to the government of Brazil for these authorizations and have immensely enjoyed and greatly benefited from the privilege of working in Brazil—by feeling, my second country.

In Washington, D.C., I want to thank the late Constance Walker Monroe and Virginia Waller for personal editorial assistance. Linda Maradol entered thousands of corrections onto the diskettes. Gail Solomon, research assistant, carried out countless hours of help on many aspects of the book—responsibly, tirelessly, imaginatively, and devotedly. She worked out the details of the bibliography and almost alone chose the photographs. Later she helped to mount the photographs for the press with the very skilled illustrator G. Robert Lewis, who is retired from the National Museum of Natural History. She also coordinated the preparation of the photographs with the help of the NMNH’s talented photographic specialist, Victor Krantz. Marcia Bakry, a Department of Anthropology illustrator, did the painstaking drawing of Figures and Maps. I am deeply appreciative for all this professional, but often personalized, assistance in developing the monograph into its final state.

To Jean Thomas, the monograph’s final personal editor and at the time my fiancée, I owe the great debt of having made the book more readable. During the summer and fall of 1987, she untangled my convoluted writing style, making it more understandable. We got married, nevertheless, in December. Joan Horn of the Smithsonian Institution Press carried out a careful and thoughtful study of the manuscript, as its editor. Her thousands of recommendations have sharpened the style and the thinking significantly. Upon Joan’s retirement, Barbara Spann and Don Fisher, both of SIP, completed me editing and typesetting necessary to produce galleys and page proof. I am grateful for their contribution, particularly Barbara’s understanding and numerous constuctive decisions.

Ray Roberts-Brown took the photographs on Plates 3b, 5a, and 10d while in the field with me in June 1970.

Drs. Anthony Seeger (then of Indiana University, now of Smithsonian Institution), Kenneth Kensinger (Bennington College), and Robert M. Laughlin (Smithsonian Institution) were the official readers, and many thanks go to them for the perspectives they brought to the manuscript in May 1987, which resulted in several major organizational changes. Their critiques were more than just helpful; they were essential. In the final stages, Betty Meggers, the unofficial reader, provided critical professional advice about what to include and how to present certain issues for which I am deeply grateful. Contacts at the Lowland South American Indian Conferences of 1987 and 1988 at Bennington, Vermont, organized by Kenneth Kensinger, were especially helpful in enabling me to arrive at theoretical orientations, and Ken himself is one of the individuals to whom I am most grateful in this respect. Priscilla Rachun Linn, associated with several Smithsonian exhibits in Washington, is the other individual. She and Ken worked over every section of Part V with me.

The Brazilian anthropologist Carlos Alberto Ricardo, General Coordinator of Povos Indígenas no Brasil of the Centro Ecumênico de Documentação e Informação (CEDI) of Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo, provided the data necessary to draw the Canela and Apanyekra reservations on Map 3. Delvair and Júlio Melatti also provided important information.

Special recognition must go to Nimuendajú for one precise point. All of the botanical and zoological identifications in Latin in this monograph come from his monograph, “The Eastern Timbira” (1946), and especially me republication of its second chapter (Nimuendajú, 1974). I carried out no such identifications, so all credits of this sort must go to him.

Appreciation goes to the Banco do Nordeste do Brasil, Fortaleza, Ceará, and its branch bank in Barra do Corda, for permission to republish four photographs of the beautification of Barra do Corda from its booklet Barra do Corda (Banco do Nordeste do Brasil SA, 1985).

To Curt Nimuendajú—the great Brazilian generalist in anthropology of the first half of the 20th century—go my ultimate thanks for help received in the late 1950s. Without his extensive, published materials to learn from (1913, 1937, 1938, 1946), my accumulation of data in the early period of field research would have been far more difficult and would have proceeded much more slowly. Moreover, one of my principal objectives could not have been realized: a restudy of “The Eastern Timbira” and a basis from which to study change and continuity.

Washington, D.C.
October 1989

Introduction

This monograph, which will be referred to as “Canela Introduction” for brevity, constitutes an overview of my ethnological field research among the Canela carried out between 1957 and 1979. As such, it is meant to serve as an ethnographic handbook for general ethnologists throughout the world wherever Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology is sent and exchanged. One purpose of this work is to reconstruct and relate what has happened to the Canela since the time of Curt Nimuendajú, who studied them between 1929 and 1936, and wrote his masterpiece, “The Eastern Timbira” (1946), on this tribe. Another purpose is to serve as an introduction for a series of volumes [Pr.1] to be written during the next two decades or more. As an ethnographic handbook, this monograph is primarily descriptive and is focused in places on the presentation of data-rich field materials. (For the explanation of the bracketed codes and for their interpretation and use, see [In.4.a].)

[In.1]

The Canela

The Canela (more correctly, the Ramkokamekra-Canela) of the state of Maranhão, Brazil, live just east of the watershed of the Amazon basin and just west of the drought-ridden Northeast. They are a tribe of South American, Northern Gê-speaking Indians, like two better known tribes, the Kayapó, who occupy areas to the west of the Araguáia River, and the Apinayé, who live near it (Map 1). The Canela probably experienced their first indirect European influences in the early part of the 18th century, or earlier [II.A.3.a.(1)]. They survived, however, to make peace with local pioneer authorities in 1814 [II.B.1.a]. They surely numbered between 1000 and 2000, aboriginally, but were about 300 in the 1930s, 400 in the 1960s, and 600 by 1979 [II.A.2]. The Canela combined hunting and gathering in “closed” savanna lands (cerrado) [II.A.3.b.(2)] with some horticulture, but in the 20th century they have had to rely on slash-and-burn techniques for cultivating bitter manioc and dry rice, currently their principal crops [II.C.3].

The Canela were a comparatively inward-looking society aboriginally, being largely endogamous and relatively self-sufficient economically [IV.C.1.f.(1)]. They relied little on trade with other tribes. By the 1970s they were dependent on the federal National Indian Foundation (Fundação Nacional do Índio, FUNAI) (Glossary) for protection and medicine, and on local interior farmers (“backlanders”) for economic support through sharecropping and through rendering simple services for food [II.C.3.g]. By the mid-1970s, their economic viability and group morale had improved considerably in contrast to what they were in the late 1950s and 1960s [II.B.2.i]. The population expansion of one-third between 1969 and 1979 was due largely to their more confident outlook and to better medicine [II.B.3.i]. Both of these improvements were due to the greater care and concern of the National Indian Foundation [II.B.2.i.(2)].

The Canela have survived as an independent tribe speaking its own language because their ancestral lands have had few economic assets for Brazilian nationals to exploit and because no thoroughfares, either rivers or roads, pass through their immediate area [II.A.3.c] (W. Crocker, 1964b). (For traffic routes around the Canela area, see Map 2 [II.A.3.a.(2)], and for continuing overview material on the Canela, see “Outstanding Ethnology” [I.A.1]. Nimuendajú’s (1946) work on the Canela is entered in the Human Relations Area Files (New Haven) and noted as “Ramcocamekra” by Murdock (1967) in his Ethnographic Atlas. The Canela in Price (1989) are listed under the entries “Ramko-Kamekra,” and “Canela.”)

[In.2]

The Apanyekra

The Apanyekra-Canela tribe, which will be referred to simply as the Apanyekra, is culturally so similar to the Canela that it is difficult for outsiders to find significant differences between them. The Apanyekra numbered about 175 in the late 1950s and increased to around 250 by the mid-1970s. They live between 45 and 55 kilometers to the west of the Canela (Map 3), depending on the varying locations of the two tribal villages within their own lands. These two Canela tribes speak the same language of the Gê family as the Krahó, who live some 300 kilometers to the southwest (Map 1).

About 15 percent of my field research time was spent with the Apanyekra, which data are used for comparative purposes with the Canela. (For Ramkokamekra-Apanyekra ecological contrasts, see [II.A.3.d].)

[In.3]

Objectives and Structure of This Volume

The objective of this introductory volume is to give the reader an overview of the Canela world and its operation. Several topics ([II.B] [III.B.2.f] [III.E] [IV.A, B, D] [V.A]) already noted in the Preface [Pr.1] are intended for more comprehensive treatment in future monographs. This monograph includes as full treatment as the data so far collected allows on the following subjects: social groups [III.C], chieftainship [III.D.1], council of elders [III.D.2], judicial system [III.D.3], and marriage [III.F]. There is a third category of topics on which relatively little material was collected in the field: linguistics [Ap.4], geography, specific environmental studies [Pr.1], [II.A.3.d], [II.B.2.g], general ecology [II.A.3], and material culture [II.G]. Other topics that could be significantly expanded are: three of the annual cycles (climatic, environmental, and economic) [II.C.1, 2, 3], three aspects of recreation (sports, games, and body painting) [II.F.1, 2, 5], the daily cycle [II.E], socialization [III.A], and psychological aspects [III.B].

MAP 1.—Gê-speaking Indians of Central Brazil (roman capital letters) and their neighbors (in italics), and Timbira tribes of the 1970s (underscored) (rivers in smaller type)

[In.3.a] PART I: THE FIELD SITUATION

This monograph consists of five parts, an epilogue, and six appendices (see “Reference Strategy” [In.4.a]). Part I: “The Field Situation” provides a view of the fieldwork practices and exposures.

The first chapter [I.A], “General Characteristics” starts with a description of the tribe to provide a background for understanding my experiences while living among the Canela. This is followed by a report on my daily activities, as a structure for presenting some typical field involvements and experiences.

“Early Acceptance Experiences” [I.B] focuses on the more obvious and most difficult field adaptation problems, and as such should especially interest students.

“Problem-solving in the Field” [I.C] presents the relative advantages and disadvantages of the fieldwork conditions, which were more pleasant than with most tribes. However, the relatively large populations of the Canela and Apanyekra, their deficit economies with their moderate endemic hunger, and their contact of over 100 years with coastal cities and their resulting awareness of city prices made fieldwork more difficult than with many other Brazilian tribes. Moreover, their tradition for “begging,” their aggressive attitude against property retention, and their great expectations of the ethnologist because of Nimuendajú’s past largess created further difficulties.

“Field Equipment” [I.D] provides information of obvious utility to other fieldworkers. This chapter furnishes a history of what was technologically available to ethnologists over a period of more than two decades.

“Learning the Canela Language” [I.E] is a personal narrative, because learning the language was my special pleasure and pastime and of great advantage in establishing rapport and communication with the Canela. In contrast, it had not been undertaken seriously by other Timbira ethnologists. Moreover, I had the collaboration of a SIL missionary-linguist in the 1970s. The more technical linguistic information is in Appendix 4.

“Diaries and Tapes” [I.F] represents an enormous investment of my personal time and energy but supplies a wealth of material for future analysis [Ap.3.a].

“Special Research Assistants” [I.G] is the most complete account of my fieldwork techniques, and should be of interest to scholars and students.

“Special Friends in the State of Maranhão” [I.H] addresses the difficulty of thanking so many field colleagues with whom I collaborated over a period of 22 years. In this chapter I am acknowledging their help, as well as describing the field situation. Of course, many individuals to whom I am indebted have had to be left out of even this expansion of the acknowledgment section, but my principal benefactors in Maranhão are included here, and I hope they feel my deep gratitude both for their help and for their friendship.

[In.3.b] PART II: ETHNOGRAPHIC BACKGROUND

This part presents ethnographic data that are intrinsically important, but which are not the principal focus of this monograph. Thus, these materials are presented here in what is primarily a descriptive manner to provide background information.

These background materials are arranged in three phases: (1) ecological context-oriented: the linguistic, demographic, geographic, historical, and acculturative contexts; (2) natural and cultural cycle-organized: the climatic, environmental, economic, ceremonial, life, and daily cycles, and (3) expressive and material culture-focused: recreational, musical, athletic, body decorative, and material culture.

The first portion of the first chapter [II.A], deals with general ecology, and the position of the Canela among their related language families—the Eastern Timbira, Timbira, and Northern, Central, and Southern Gê (Maps 1 and 4). After a small section on demography (Gê population numbers), the rest of the chapter deals with the environmental and social contexts of the tribe.

The second chapter, “Diachronic Context,” [II.B] is crucial for understanding the Canela’s present condition, as seen by examining its past. The first section, “Indigenous Accounts,” starts with accounts of the earliest tribal contacts. It is followed by pacification in 1814 and ends with the time of Nimuendajú in 1929. These events continue the sequence of mythological stages recorded in part of “Oral History and Cosmology” [IV.C.1.b].

The second section, “Acculturation,” continues the narrative from 1929 through 1979 with historical facts and data collected in the field. (The Epilogue continues certain threads of the narrative through 1989.) While relatively long, this chapter is still only a summary account of the available materials and constitutes overview coverage for the planned monograph on changes and conservatism [Pr.1][II.B].

The final section is a limited history of the município (city and county: township) of Barra do Corda in which both tribes live. It is included here to explain a principal part of the external sociocultural context of the Canela.

The third chapter [II.C] is on the four annual cycles—climatic, environmental, economic, and ceremonial. It furnishes several of the critical contexts for understanding the timing of events, and their maintenance of the Canela sociocultural system. For the climatic cycle (Table 1), the data are limited. The environmental cycle (Table 2) is similarly limited. Additional and more developed and extensive material can be found in “The Eastern Timbira” (Nimuendajú, 1946:1–2, 37–76). The economic cycle is presented in a more complete manner (Table 3) and is closely related to certain important acculturation problems. The ceremonial cycle constitutes an overview of the chapter on festivals [IV.A] and is presented at this early stage to provide an appreciation of the great scope and nature of the festival system.

The fourth chapter [II.D] focuses on female and male life cycles, a further narrowing of the scope of the background materials being presented: (1) from the general to the particular, (2) from what is external to the tribe to what is internal, and (3) from the impersonal forces of ecology and history to a closer study of the female and male individuals through depicting their cultural cycles. This chapter also includes a description of the rites of passage (Table 5). Thus “Life Cycles” serves as a preparation for understanding and appreciating subsequent discussions regarding socialization, social and ceremonial units, marriage, tribal festivals, and individual rites.

“Daily Cycle,” the fifth chapter [II.E], presents the on-going events (daily activities (Table 7) and expressive culture) of the Canela way of life. This chapter includes the various divisions of the day (Table 6) and how the Canela refer to past and future days (Figure 12). It also provides information on the three daily social dancing sessions, on the work period, and on the afternoon log races and track events, as well as on the two daily council meetings. The relative importance given to work, pleasure, and social relationships becomes evident through this material. It is here that the Canela may come alive for the reader.

The sixth chapter, “Recreation” [II.F], furnishes more material on daily activities and additional material on expressive culture. It includes music, sports, games, and body painting. Choral singing (their primary musical form) plays a large role as a daily recreational event. Singing is done in the context of a festival only about one tenth of the time, and even then it is usually more secular than sacred. Extensive choral and individual singing are recorded on tape [Ap.2.d.(1)] and would be useful to ethnomusicologists [Ap.3.e]. The section, “Sports,” includes log racing, certain track events, and archery. Children’s games, as a category outside of sports, are quite limited. Body painting occurs as a daily practice far more often than as a ceremonial one.

The last chapter [II.G], is concerned with the material artifact collection (Table 8), which is quite extensive [Ap.2.a] [Ap.3.g]. Although many individual artifacts are both ceremonial and used on a daily basis, it is convenient to deal with them in one chapter.

[In.3.c] PART III: SOCIAL ORGANIZATION

The first chapter [III.A], a study on socialization, was carried out in the late 1950s (including 1960). A contrasting view of socialization in the 1970s is provided, as well as significant changes affecting socialization that took place much earlier in the 20th century as a result of culture contact. At the end of the chapter, the focus is on ethno-ideology and the growth stages through which (Table 9) the individual passes. No monograph on socialization is planned in the 8-volume series, although a study and analysis of the 120,000 feet of 16 mm film [Ap.3.h][1] would be useful in a study of this subject.

The second chapter [III.B], on psychological aspects and behavioral orientations, follows the chapter on socialization. Adult behavioral matters are partly a result of specific kinds of socialization, though the relationship constitutes a two-way process. These Canela value-laden orientations and behaviors are presented as polarities, such as individuality within solidarity, the “little good” with the “little evil,” generosity versus stinginess, and the inner against the outer or “we” against “they.” The abundant data from the manuscript and tape diaries [Ap.3.a], and the 16 mm film sound-track translations of conversations on socialization [Ap.3.d], constitute significant additional materials not elaborated in this monograph.

The third chapter [III.C] delineates, differentiates, and defines almost all the various social and ceremonial groups (e.g., moieties, age-sets, men’s societies, rituals owned by families) that comprise the Canela sociocultural system and make social and ceremonial life so complex. Again, no attempt has been made to separate what is social from what is ceremonial. The various socioceremonial units presented here are also discussed in subsequent chapters.

Once the various socioceremonial units are identified and defined, the next step is to discuss how they operate. The fourth chapter [III.D] describes the Canela political system, including the chieftainship, the council of elders, and the judicial system. The operation of these socioceremonial groups demonstrates social organization at the macro level. Politics is the most difficult subject for any researcher to probe without a fluent knowledge of the language, including the ability to collect information through simply overhearing native discussions and debates [III.D.1.g.(1).(c)]. Since personal aggression and the assumption of positions of superiority are considered evil by the Canela, political activities are carried out in a very subdued way. No one must let it appear that he is running for office or behaving in a political manner, that is, he must avoid the appearance of directing and maneuvering other individuals into positions that may or may not be advantageous for them. Consequently, relatively little material was collected on the chieftainship. Most of the data on the council of elders (taped meetings) and the judicial system (taped hearings) are on tape in the Canela language, still untranslated [Ap.3.c]. Therefore, their exposition will have to wait until a great deal of time has been spent on translating the tapes [Pr.1] [Ap.2.d.(2)] [Ap.3.b]). Because none of the planned monographs will be on the political system, as much material as possible is included here.

Following the macro elements of social organization come the micro ones: kinship (Table 10) and other relationship systems [III.E], and marriage [III.F], the more informal and personal social structures. Extensive data have been collected, both qualitative and quantitative, for the kinship and other relationship systems. Some of these data have already been published (W. Crocker, 1977, 1979). This chapter includes the following sections on terminological relationship systems: consanguineal (Table 11), affinal (Figure 28), name-set transmission, Formal Friendship, Informal Friendship, mortuary, teknonymy, co-father, and ceremonial.

Data on marriage were previously published (W. Crocker, 1984a:63–98). The same and additional data are supplied here so that the materials in this chapter are nearly exhaustive, but also include a number of illustrations on “blood” ethno-ideology (Figures 38–44).

[In.3.d] PART IV: CEREMONIAL AND BELIEF SYSTEMS

In the broadest sense, all the material here is related in some way to religion. Ceremonialism (tribal festivals and individual rites) constitutes the dramatic and behavioral side. In contrast, belief systems comprise religion’s more ideational side: other-time-projected myths (oral history), other-place-projected myths (cosmology), and directly practiced concepts (shamanism, pollutions, shamanic practices).

The “Festival System” [IV.A] is the macro element in the sector of ceremonialism, and “Individual Rites” [IV.B] is the complementary micro element. Festivals (Table 4) are held for the entire society, while individual rites are staged for just one person and are put on by her or his kindred. There are two kinds of festivals: the annual cycle festivals and the great dry season Wé?té festivals, one of which is put on every year.

There are two foci in “Individual Rites”; one is on the rites themselves, rather than on the roles individuals play in them, which is stressed in the chapter “Life Cycles” [II.D]. Thus, while “Life Cycles” gives a quick portrayal of materials to provide orientation and comprehension for following chapters, “Individual Rites” furnishes the descriptive detail needed for comparative studies. The second focus is on the contribution these rites make to reinforcing the sociocultural context. These individual rites follow each other sequentially from birth through death. They do not, however, constitute all the “rites of passage,” taken in the traditional sense, encountered by the individual as she or he grows old. Some of the tribal festivals, such as the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê, must be considered traditional rites of passage, though they are put on by the tribe rather than by the individual’s kindred. Some individual rites are related to marriage and so are better described as part of a sequence in “Marriage.”

There are two chapters on the ideational aspects of religion. Other-dimension-projected beliefs, “Oral History and Cosmology,” [IV.C] comes first, as it is large in scale; while the chapter on directly practiced beliefs, “Shamanism, Pollution, Medicine, Affirmations, Transformations” [IV.D], follows, as it is smaller in scale. The oral history (other-time-projected) and cosmology (other-place-projected) chapter is also divided into these two parts. Rather than being based on the entire collection of myths and war stories, it is a native ethnohistory reconstructed by Canela research assistants themselves. The sequence starts at the Canela beginning with the stories of Sun and Moon, passes through the cosmology and festival “gathering” period of tribal travels, and ends with the pacification of the Canela. The continuation of this “history” of the Canela is found in the section on indigenous accounts [II.B.1].

The directly practiced beliefs found in the fourth chapter are related to shamanism, witchcraft, ghosts, pollutions, food and sex restrictions, medicines, ethnobiology, psychic abilities, self-transformations, breathing strength into substances or people, and gaining strength through singing “strong” [IV.D] words. Materials collected on these topics are extensive and are closely related to individual rites. The eventual plan is to publish these two kinds of materials in one monograph [Pr.1] [IV.B, D].

[In.3.e] PART V: CANELA STRUCTURAL PATTERNS

This part starts with the “native’s view” approach, a kind of “edinoscientific structuralism,” which is pervasive throughout most of the various Canela sociocultural sectors. The various kinds of dualities and triads identified are categorized on the basis of Canela expressions that may be related to their thought patterns.

The two chapters of Part V come partly from a previously published article (W. Crocker, 1983). The plan is to present this material [V.B] in greater depth later [Pr.1].

This structuralism is ethnoscientific, having evolved through extensive work with research assistants in the field and representing what they see. Inarticulatable traditional patterns were made articulate and then were applied to, or found in, many sociocultural sectors. The resulting Canela “dualism” (Glossary) is both complementary and oppositional. Culturally paired items are seen to be in either a faciliting or in an oppositional relationship with each other. Combinations of these paired items constitute triads, some of which are fixed, while others are modifying, and still others are generating. It is through the amelioration of the stresses in transformational triads that the Canela see some cultural problems as being mediated or resolved.

This structuring, or pairing, is supported by specific Canela expressions: aypēn katê, two items related as a pair, in either a complementary or an oppositional manner; i-piprol, two paired items related in complementarity (in parallel); aypeēn kunãã mã, two paired items related in opposition, or, in this case, standing opposite and facing each other. This approach may constitute a step toward a different kind of structuralism.

[In.3.f] EPILOGUE: THE CANELA IN THE 1980s

The missionary-linguist Jack Popjes (Figure 11) and his wife Jo (Summer Institute of Linguistics) arranged for collecting and sending a considerable body of data on the Canela during the 1980s [Pr.3]. The Epilogue consists of information mostly from their materials. Selecting what is reliable and significant is a problem, so I have chosen to stress political and demographic changes.

[In.3.g] APPENDICES

The first appendix, “Ten Field Trips to the Canela Over 22 Years,” describes the many trips to Brazil, the conditions under which they were made, and the general study topics undertaken on each trip.

Appendix 2, “Canela and Apanyekra Collections at the Smithsonian Institution,” is a quantitative list of material artifacts, products of photography, tapes made in the field, and the various kinds of data written on paper.

Appendix 3, “Primary Materials for Future Studies,” is a descriptive report on the Canela primary data collections, such as the material artifacts, the diaries and tapes, and the various photographic and tape collections.

Appendix 4, “Linguistic Notes,” has linguistic materials that were too complicated to include in the Linguistic Key or “Learning the Canela Language” [I.E].

Appendix 5, “Concept of ‘Today,’” describes the complicated Canela concept of their 36-hour day.

Appendix 6, “Sources of Data,” describes the derivation of data from such sources as daily notes and observations, research assistant council meetings, backland community visits, Indian service agents, library sources, researcher’s memory.

[In.4]

Definitions and Editorial Decisions

[ln.4.a] REFERENCE STRATEGY

Rather than constructing the traditional index of names and subjects, and to avoid the technological publishing difficulties of supplying a myriad of page references within the text, a reference system has been devised to help the reader locate desired material within this monograph: the Reference Outline, which reflects all levels of headings by alphanumeric designations. The scope of the Glossary has also been enlarged from a list of definitions to an additional reference system by supplying the appropriate reference codes.

Context references in the Glossary and cross-references in the text are accomplished by providing, in brackets, the alphanumeric designation of the heading for the pertinent material. The alphanumeric designations precede the headings within the text and also in the hierarchical listing of the headings in the Reference Outline. The order of elements in the code employed in these designations is as follows: A citation of a heading within one of the five main parts of the book begins with a capital Roman numeral (I–V), which identifies the part. Next, the relevant chapter is identified by a capital Roman letter, and a major section of the chapter by an Arabic numeral. Successive subdivisions involve lower case Roman letters, Arabic numerals in parentheses, and lower case Roman letters in parentheses. If the citation is to a heading within one of the supporting sections of the book (Foreword, Preface, Introduction, Epilogue, or Appendices), it begins with a two letter abbreviation: Fo, Pr, In, Ep, or Ap. The largest division of one of these sections is marked with an Arabic numeral. Successively smaller subdivisions are indicated in the same manner as those in chapters in the main part of the text: lower case Roman letters, Arabic numerals in parentheses, and lower case Roman letters in parentheses.

For instance, if I want to refer in a certain place in the text to the discussion of how the Canela were chosen as my tribe for field research, I insert the code [Pr.2]. A reference to how a mother chooses co-fathers for her fetus is made by inserting [II.D.2.h.(1).(a)] in the text. If I want to refer the reader to the discussions on the male roles of both hunting and farming, which have the same code except for the final numerical designation [II.D.3.i.(6), (7)] a comma is used to designate the final, dissimilar parts of otherwise identical designations. Two less similar codes, representing female and male loss of virginity, for instance, are also separated by a comma if placed in the same brackets for comparison: [II.D.2.a,3.c]. If I want to refer specifically to material in one of the higher headings and not to the material in its subheadings, which may be a whole section of a chapter, I put the last number or letter of the code in italics. For instance, a discussion of Canela activities that provide opportunities for emotional outlets to relieve frustrations is designated by a chapter heading [II.F], and the most complete information on wet- and dry-headedness is under a section heading [III.C.7].

Because headings provide the key to the internal reference system, they must adequately, but briefly, represent the material they cover. Thus, the headings in the Reference Outline are expanded (after the colon) to indicate the extent of the ideas covered.

Recognizing that frequent insertion of reference codes in the text may interrupt the reading process, I have depended heavily on the utility of the Glossary to reduce the instance of such codes. Any term or concept included in the Glossary is cross-referenced in the text at its first mention or when it is crucial to understanding the discussion at hand. References to material external to me monograph are made in the traditional way: author, year, and page number are placed in the text in parentheses (Da Matta, 1982:64) and the full bibliographic information appears in the Literature Cited.

[In.4.b]           DEFINING THE CANELA, RAMKOKAMEKRA, AND APANYEKRA

The term “Canela” has been used in the literature for three closely related tribes (Map 4). Moving from west to east, there were the Kenkateye, me Apanyekra, and the Ramkokamekra. In 1913 the Kenkateye were dispersed by an attack from local ranchers, who killed most of the adult males [II.B.1.d.(2)]. Consequently, only the Apanyekra and Ramkokamekra still exist of the original three Canela tribes.

In Barra do Corda, as well as among certain Brazilian ethnologists who have contact with these tribes, the practice of calling the Ramkokamekra-Canela the “Canela” and me Apanyekra-Canela the “Apanyekra” is followed. If an outsider asks a Ramkokamekra what nation she or he belongs to, the answer will be sou Canela (I am a Canela), and if a person asks the same question of an Apanyekra Indian, the answer will be sou Apanyekra (I am an Apanyekra).

The Indian service usually spells the term “Canela” or “Kanela.” Nimuendajú used a double “1” (i.e., Canella), which was the earlier official spelling in Portuguese. I use the modern Brazilian spelling, “Canela.” “Ramcocamecra” is used in Murdock’s (1967) Ethnographic Atlas, and “Capiekran” is used by Ribeiro (1815, 1819a, b) for the Ramkokamekra of the early 19th century. Nimuendajú (1946) used stress marks, reverse cedillas, macrons, and other diacritics in the orthography m of these three tribes, but these marks have been dropped in the general usage of these words and in this book. This also was done because stress in Canela is governed at a higher level than the single word.

[In.4.c] DEFINING THE NON-INDIAN POPULATIONS

A distinction must be made between the folk population who live around the Canela Indians in the interior and the townspeople of Barra do Corda [I1.d]. Another distinction must be made for highly educated people living in big cities of Brazil (or educated urban foreigners), who happen to visit Barra do Corda or stay with the Canela Indians for some time. The Canela make these three distinctions [III.D.1.c.(3).(a)], and two of them are also made by the Krahó Indians according to J. Melatti (1967:143).

Near where the Canela live, two Portuguese expressions are used by the interior people to contrast themselves with the Indians: cristão (Christian) and civilizado (civilized person). The people of the interior refer to the Canela and Apanyekra as índios (Indians) or cabôcos[2] (i.e., people of lesser status). These terms were socially self-elevating for the interior folk and depreciative and condescending for the Indians, though they were accepted by the Canela and the Apanyekra [II.B.3.e]. The terms civilizado and índio are used here primarily in the context of the Awkhêê acculturation myth, where their negative connotations are pertinent [II.B.2.f.(1)] [IV.C.1.b.(6)]. “Indian” is merely a statement of cultural fact (i.e., a major cultural difference) of living in a tribal state. The Canela accept this term.

Similarly, the term “Brazilian” is used as a cultural term. While there are significant regional cultural diversities throughout Brazil and among social classes, these diversities are minor when contrasted with the great cultural differences between Brazilians and tribal Indians. Nimuendajú (1946) used “Neo-Brazilian” to designate the interior populations of Old World origin that replaced the legitimate (legítimo, as the Canela say) Brazilian, i.e., the Indian. “Neo-Brazilian” is not employed in this book because it is not used by Brazilian ethnologists today, and because it has negative connotations.

The term I prefer for the interior, rural, non-urbanized Brazilian folk of the município of Barra do Corda is “backlander” [II.A.4.d.(1)]. This is the term used in the translation of the Brazilian classic, Os Sertões, by Euclides da Cunha (1973). Thus, “backland” or “backlanders” designates the farming or cattle-ranching folk of the interior who live around the Canela and the Apanyekra villages (Map 3) [II.B.4]. The residents of Barra do Corda are referred to as “residents,” or as “small-city people” or “townspeople” [II.B]. Individuals who live in the large cities of Brazil (including the state capitals, Brasília, and other large urban centers) and educated foreigners are referred to as large-city people. The term “urban” is used for either small or large-city dwellers.

The term “backlander” is particularly appropriate because the rural culture that was typical of the states of Northeastern Brazil, and particularly Ceará, extended into the Barra do Corda area. Culturally, the folk region around Barra do Corda in the late 1950s was more Northeastern than Amazonian. By the late 1970s, such cultural differences were harder to distinguish.

[In.4.d] DEFINING THE RESEARCH ASSISTANT

The term “informant” carries a pejorative connotation. Consequently, it is preferable and certainly more respectful to use the expression “research assistant.” In any case, when certain individuals work for an ethnologist for a period of two years or more, they are not just informants; they have become research assistants. Rather than discriminate between individuals who answered only an occasional few questions and those who spent hundreds of hours over a number of years facilitating the collection of field data, the expression “research assistant” is used here for every Canela and Apanyekra individual who gave any significant help to this research effort.

[In.4.e] USE OF CANELA NAMES TO PROTECT PRIVACY

The Canela are known to each other by both their Portuguese and Canela names. The Canela and Apanyekra are known to backlanders, Barra do Corda residents, and local Indian service agents almost entirely through their Portuguese names, which often include surnames as well as Christian ones. Thus, using the individual’s Canela name, instead of her or his Portuguese name, constitutes considerable protection of privacy. When I have to make negative comments about individuals to illustrate a point of discussion, they are anonymous. However, Canela and Apanyekra customarily refer to their chiefs of the last century and the first part of the 20th century by their Portuguese names rather man by their Canela ones: Major Delfino instead of Kô?kaypo. This practice is sometimes followed here when these individuals and their immediate descendants are deceased.

There is another aspect of concealment when using Canela names. Sometimes individuals change their public name from one of their name-set names to another. Moreover, there are circumstances under which an individual can assume the possession of a partially or entirely different name-set and use one of the names in the new name-set [III.E.4.f] [IVA.3.e.(3)]. Thus, just because a certain individual is identified by a particular name in this volume does not guarantee that she or he will be known by the same name 20 years from now. However, their Portuguese names do not change during their lifetimes.

[In.4.f] REFERENCES TO FIELD STUDIES

References made to particular “studies” that took place at specific periods between 1957 and 1979 are referred to as studies in “the late 1950s” (which includes 1960 for practical purposes, unless otherwise stated), and “the 1970s” (which includes 1969). For instance, references are made to the socialization study of the late 1950s, the marriage study of 1970, and to the key words and concepts study of 1979. My fieldwork visits are grouped in these ways. It should be noted that these studies do not directly correlate with the inclusive dates of any one of my 10 field trips.

[In.4.g] ITALICIZATIONAND CAPITALIZATION OF TERMS

Zoological and botanical names in Portuguese that have no translations in English are not italicized. If the initial letter of a Canela term, such as Tàmhàk, is capitalized, the word is not put in italics. Descriptive terms, such as “me commandant” of the troop of novices, are not capitalized. When, however, such terms as “Upper” and “Lower” age-set moieties are referred to by the capitalized terms “Upper” and “Lower,” it is understood that these words form part of their proper names [III.C 3].

[In.4.h] TRANSLATION OF CANELA TERMS

The Canela orthography used here [In.5] [Ap.4.c] is entirely phonemic, except where intended not to be. Careful translations of certain Canela words and expressions into English are very important for comprehending and appreciating the text. Thus, the Canela phrase is followed by the roughly equivalent words in the same order in English, so that each element of the phrase being translated can be easily identified. When the literal translation is unclear, a second freer translation follows (e.g., Wa ite mãã kuran: I past-tense-indicator emu kill: I killed a South American ostrich [a rhea or ema]).

The use of spaces and hyphens between the same Canela terms varies to express different purposes. Terms may be separated for translation but combined without spaces or hyphens in the text. Terms in Table 8 often vary in this way from those in the text to preserve the form of the earlier presentations of lists of artifacts to various institutions.

A text with many terms in the native language hinders comprehension. Consequently, English equivalents are used wherever possible, including translations. This cannot be done for vernacular botanical or zoological terms that do not have English equivalences such as “buriti” and “paca” (a small rodent), so these terms and their descriptions are presented in roman type. Canela words for which no English or Portuguese translations exist and to which reference must be frequently made are retained here in Canela, such as the Wé?té girl (a role of ceremonial high honor) and the Pró-khãmmã (the festival-governing age-set in the council of elders).

[In.4.i] UNCLES” INSTEAD OF “MOTHERS BROTHERS”

The frequent use of the terms “fathers’ sisters” and “mothers’ brothers” is clumsy. “Aunts” and “uncles” are used here instead, without quotation marks; but it must be understood that mothers’ sisters and fathers’ brothers are not being included in these terms. These latter categories are “mothers” and “fathers” as understood in the Crow or Canela terminological systems.

Moreover, the terms aunt and uncle (Glossary) are used here in a more general sense to include any of the kintypes in the kin categories of tùy and kêt, such as grandparents, great aunts and uncles, and certain cousins. The reciprocals, niece and nephew, are used in the same way. When a precise kintype (Glossary) (Scheffler and Lounsbury, 1971:2) is meant, it is used, such as father’s sister or mother’s brother. When such a term is used in quotation marks its classificatory sense is meant. A mother’s “brother” means any of ego’s mother’s relatives that she calls “brother” but not her uterine brother. (For a discussion of kinship, see [III.E.2, 3].)

It is important to note that because persons other than those in the kin category (Glossary) of “uncle” often carry out an uncle’s social or ceremonial role for ego, especially when this individual’s kin category uncles are far away or nonexistent, this term often includes persons not in this kin category at all, such as fathers or “out”-brothers-in-law [III.E.3.a.(2)]. Thus, “uncle” refers to a traditional role.

[In.4.j] USE OF GENDER PRONOUNS

Most tribes are matrilocal/uxorilocal (Canela and the Gê) or patrilocal/virilocal (most of the northwestern Amazon), though there are other arrangements. It seems appropriate, therefore, that pronoun references to tribes that are distinctly matrilocal/ uxorilocal have feminine pronouns placed first and masculine ones afterward (she/he) and tribes that are patrilocal/virilocal have the masculine gender positioned first (he/she).

[In.4.k] DEFINING THE “INDIAN SERVICE’

Anthropologists have maintained close relationships with the Brazilian personnel of the National Foundation of the Indian (FUNAI: Fundação Nacional do Índio) since 1968, and with the Indian Protection Service (SPI: Serviço de Proteção aos Índios) personnel before then. For simplicity, neither of these services is mentioned by name or by acronym except when an unusually positive contribution deserves recognition. The expression “Indian service” is what North Americans easily understand. In order to make me reference more generic, the word “service” is used here with its initial “s” not capitalized.

[In.5]

Linguistic Key

VOWELS

These phonemes sound approximately the same as in Portuguese. The phonemes u, ô, and o, and their nasalizations, are rounded, but the other phonemes are not.

These phonemes are back and unrounded. They have no Portuguese, Spanish, English, or French equivalents. For “high,” “closed,” “mid,” “open,” see Pike, 1947:5.

SEMIVOWELS

When following a vowel, the semivowels (phonemes as glides) serve to complete syllable length.

The y ranges from the y in “yes” (most frequent), through the “n” in “new” (Yõ?hê: male name), to the unvoiced “s” in “sky” (-khyê: sibling), and is always palatalized.

CONSONANTS

Unlike in English, the phonemes /p/, /t/, and /k/ are unaspirated, while /kh/ is aspirated.

VOWEL LENGTH

There are no diphthongs in Canela, but vowel length is phonemic: single vowel length (katswa: night) is approximately doubled by the same following vowel (kaatswa: salt). The glides (w and y) complete syllable length, standing in the place of the second vowel (Kawkhre: male name; -mpey-ti: beautiful/good-very). Consonants also complete this same syllable length (Pa?pαcm: God; Kaapê/tùk: male name; /hapak/ [happak]: ear), which is roughly equal to double vowel length.

WORD STRESS

Stress almost always falls on the last syllable of isolated words but is not phonemic. Stress is altered and determined at the phrase level rather than at the word level. The acute accent (') over a vowel will only be used to indicate stress, whenever necessary, or both the superlative and stress.

NONPHONEMIC ORTHOGRAPHY

All words are written phonemically except when they are intentionally written nonphonemically in order to indicate their most frequent pronounciation. In these cases, me acute accent is added to indicate stress. For instance, the word “buriti” (a palm), /krow/, is usually written krówa because this is the way it sounds, though the terminal “a” is not phonemic and is often not expressed in sentence sequences.

See Appendix 4 for a more complete description of several of the linguistic aspects outlined above.

[In.6]

Chronology of the Canela

Sources for this chronology are Hemming (1987), Nimuendajú (1946), F. Ribeiro (1815, 1819a, 1819b), several Indian service agents (especially Olímpio Cruz) and Olímpio Fialho, historian at Barra do Corda, the missionary-linguists Jack and Josephine Popjes, and, most signficantly, the Canela and Apanyekra research assistants (especially the older Mĩĩkhrô).

Event

Date

First contacts with Brazilian military detachments

ca. 1710

Bypassed by pioneer fronts moving south of homelands across Maranhão from me Parnaíba to the Tocantins

1810

Defeated in battle by the Cakamekra

1814

Pacification; accepted protection of Brazilian garrison at Pastos Bons

1814

Fled protection at Caxias because of smallpox and returned to homelands

ca. 1816

Hid by a spring in an Alpercatas range valley (Vão da Serra), and were peacefully brought out of hiding by the military

ca. 1818

Settled at the Porcos stream entrance to me Corda River and experienced miscegenation

ca. 1820–1835

Chief Luis Domingo Kawkhre assumed leadership, the first chief to be appointed by backland political authorities

ca. 1835–1845

Summoned by the local Brazilian authorities to fight in the Balaiada wars against the Brazilian Cabanagem Rebellion-related uprising in the backlands

1839–1840

Summoned by the local Brazilian authorities to fight against the Gamella Indians

ca. 1850

Zé Cadete Palkhre became chief

ca. 1870

Experienced relative affluence under Chiefs Coronel Tomasinho and Major Delfino Kô?kaypo in the Escalvado villages

ca. 1894–1903

Boys sent to study in the convent in Barra do Corda

ca. 1898–1901

Allowed the Cakamekra to join their tribe

1900

Summoned by Barra do Corda authorities to fight against the Guajajara uprising at Alto Alegre

1901

Graduated the age-set of Khà?po in an Escalvado village

ca. 1903

Tried and executed Francelino Kaawùy for a witchcraft murder

1903

Split their tribe after the execution and relocated the two parts away from the Santo Estévão stream

1903

Experienced times of economic insufficiency while away from the Santo Estévão stream and its better gallery forests

ca. 1903–1922

Graduated the age-set of the older Mĩĩkhrô

ca. 1913

Intimidated by the ranchers’ massacre of the Kenkateye-Canela

1913

Joined the two parts of the tribe, ending the schism

1913

Suffered the great drought and consequent hunger

1915

Returned to the Santo Estévão stream and relative economic self-sufficiency

ca. 1922

Graduated the age-set of the younger Ropkhà and ended the practice of age-set ceremonial marriage

ca. 1923

Received the six visits of Curt Nimuendajú

1929–1936

Graduated the age-set of the older Kaapêltùk and moved from Ponto to Baixão Prêto

1933

Suffered smallpox, the death of the older Ropkhà (Faustino), the new schism in the tribe, and the move away from the Santo Estévão stream and from relative economic self-reliance

1935

Mended their tribal schism by allowing Nimuendajú to rejoin the two parts of the tribe at the Raposa stream

1936

Accepted the arrival of the first Indian service agent (Castello Branco) with his family to live next to the Canela village

1938

Ceased to practice the uncle-nephew plaza hazing ceremony and the custom of childless women sleeping in the plaza with men

1938

Moved back to Ponto and the Santo Estévão stream and returned to relative economic self-sufficiency

1939

Benefited from the protection of the great Indian service agent Olímpio Martins Cruz; last period of economic self sufficiency

1940–1947

Graduated the age-set of Chief Kaará?khre

1941

Learned from the Indian service school teacher Dona Nazaré, who taught six youths to write

1944–1948

Sent the younger Kaapêltùk and Hakhá, as students, to live with the Indian service in São Luis

1949–1950

Graduated the age-set of the younger Kaapêltùk

1951

Lost the last strong chief, Doroteo _ Háktookot, and began the era of Chief Kaará?khre

1951

Divided the tribe into the villages of old Ponto and Rodeador

ca. 1952–195

Divided the tribe into the villages of Baixão Prêto and the new Ponto

1955

Were dismayed by the termination of the Indian service’s policy of providing extensive goods and thereby recognized the end of their mythical acculturation contract set up by the culture hero Awkhêê

1955

Received the first visit of ethnologist William Crocker

1957

Graduated the age-set of Kôham

1961

Transferred the power of the Prókhãmmã to the age-set of the older Kaapêltùk

1961

Suffered from the messianic movement of Khêê-khwèy, the massive attack of backland ranchers, and the forced relocation to the dry forests of Sardinha where they did not adjust ecologically or psychologically

1963

Men shamed by Guajajara women into wearing clothing all the time, and both sexes learned to make traditional artifacts for external sale

1963–1966

Experienced the anti-alcoholic “conversion” of Chief Kaará?khre

1964

Received training; three students of Dona Nazaré began writing diary manuscripts

1964

Formed temporarily four competing cerrado villages in the Campestre, Escalvado, Ponto, and Baixão Prêto areas

1966–1968

Received the SIL missionary-linguist Jack Popjes, with his long-range community development program

1968

Returned officially to their cerrado homelands

1968

Rejoined the five tribal segments in the Sardinha, Campestre, Ponto, Baixão Prêto, and Escalvado areas in the present large Escalvado village

1968

Construction of a road bridge at Ourives (halfway point) to enable army vehicles to move directly into the Canela region to protect the Canela position after their return to their homelands

1969

Received the Indian service agent Sebastião Ferreira

1970

Construction of three “permanent” large Indian service buildings in Escalvado: post, school house, and infirmary

ca. 1970–1974

Began high population growth after near elimination of endemic infant and childhood dysentery

1970–1974

Rejoiced in the apparent demarcation of their lands (legal in 1978)

1971

Completion of the direct road from Barra do Corda to their Escalvado village

1971

Graduated the age-set of Kôyapàà

1972

Installation of a gasoline generator for electricity at the post buildings, which supplied light and two-way radio transmission to summon aid

ca. 1973

Converted by Indian service agent to a belief in pharmacy medicine to cure and nearly eradicate tuberculosis

ca. 1974

Experienced first divorce in which children were involved that was granted by the service and the tribal council

1975

Completion of a truck road from Escalvado to the village of Porquinhos of the Apanyekra

Served by an effective Indian service team: the agent Sebastião Ferreira, the teacher Risalva Freire de Sá, and the nurse Luzanira Gieira de Araojo

1978

Influenced by an Indian-self-consciousness and human-rights-oriented Indian service official in Barra do Corda

1978

Final departure of ethnologist William Crocker and the termination of the diary manuscript and tape program

1979

Transmitted the power of the Prókhãmmã to the age-set of the younger Kaapêltùk

ca. 1981

Installation of an Indian service store for buying material artifacts for resale in outlets throughout Brazd, facilitated self-sufficiency

ca. 1981

Deposition of Chief Kaará?khre by the new Pró-khãmmã age-set of the younger Kaapêltùk and his replacement by six new chiefs in succession due to political instability

ca. 1981–1987

Benefited by an extensive farm project in the Pak-re area, under the leadership of me younger Kaapêltùk and financed by Rio Doce project funds

1986

Split into five communities (total population about 800) with Escalvado having no leader and being almost abandoned, Pak-re having the largest number (~250) under the younger Kaapêltùk, Dois Riachos having an appreciable number under the deposed Chief Kaará?khre, Campestre having few in number under the current chief, the youngest Mĩĩkhrô, and Os Bois having few in number under a former chief, Krôôpey

1986

Benefited by the stability of having the same dedicated Indian service personnel at Escalvado since 1978, who provided truck roads averaging 15 km to reach 13 outlying farm communities (Map 3), enabling continuity of post services: leadership, protection, medicine, and schooling

1987

Stabilized politically by the appointment to the chieftainship of the younger Kaapêltùk, who continues to hold this position in mid-1989

1987–1989

Population reached 903 (1 March 1989) according to official census and list of names made out and sent by Sebastião Ferreira through Jack Popjes

Part I: The Field Situation

The field situation encompasses the state of Maranhão, not just the Canela villages. There were always Canela in Barra do Corda (Plates 2, 3), and news of anything I did in São Luis (Plate 1) was likely to spread to Barra do Corda, especially in the 1950s and 1960s when the Canela traveled more freely. Thus I was never “off duty” until I reached Belém, Rio, or Brasília.

The usual process of getting into the field among the Canela or Apanyekra began with obtaining permissions from the Indian service and from what constituted the Brazilian National Research Council (CNPq), which had different names in different decades. (First of all, it was necessary to have a Brazilian ethnological sponsor [Eduardo Galvão] and his institution [Museu Paranese Emílio Goeldi]). The Indian service permission was obtained only twice while I was still in the United States (1971 and 1974). It was necessary on all early trips to wait in Rio de Janeiro and on later trips in Brasília until the general in charge of the Indian service and its granting committee granted permission to work among the Indians. These waiting periods could be quite pleasant when spent visiting colleagues and friends; however, waiting could be exasperating (besides being expensive), especially when I knew I would miss a festival, as occurred in 1970.

After obtaining the permissions, the next step was to return to my sponsoring organization in Belém (the Museu Goeldi), and talk over the research situation with Eduardo Galvão and others. These contacts were as much social as professional.

The following step varied according to the state of transportation existing at that time for traveling to the Indian villages. In the 1950s and 1960s, I flew commercially to São Luis, the capital of Maranhão state to catch the bi-weekly commercial flight by DC-3 or DC-4 into Barra do Corda. In the earlier years, São Luis was the shopping city for presents and equipment. (In 1957, my equipment went by boat to Barra do Corda [Plate 4b]). All paper, rubber bands, staplers, paper clips, etc., were bought in Brazil, as were the presents for the tribal chiefs and my Canela and Apanyekra families. Little by little the shopping possibilities in Barra do Corda grew as truck routes to the town opened (Maps 2,3).

In 1969 and the mid-1970s, the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) in Belém was able to provide direct flights to Escalvado (Plate 6a) and Porquinhos through their superbly run system. Thus, the shopping city for paper, beads, etc., became Belém. As we flew over each jungle river in Pará and Maranhão (Map 2), the aviator radioed to his wife at the Belém base to tell her our position. If we had gone down, they would have known more or less where we were, not that they could have helped us much. Paul Marsteller, one of the SIL aviators, used to say that he could put down his light, broad-winged craft (Heliocourier) safely in the jungle canopy but that then the problems would just have begun. How would we get down to the jungle floor and how would we survive once there? In 1971, I reached the Apanyekra Porquinhos landing strip from Washington, D.C., in 26 hours, with stops of about 3 hours each in Belém and Barra do Corda, a trip which must constitute some sort of record for American anthropologists traveling to Brazilian Indian villages.

In 1978 and 1979, when commercial flights into Barra do Corda were sporadic, the SIL flights were banned by the government and their personnel prohibited from entering tribal territories. The regular commercial flights between São Luis and Barra do Corda had also stopped, having given way to more economical travel by bus (Plate 4a), which was available to far more people. This meant, however, that all equipment (e.g., tape recorders, cameras, tapes) left in the Goeldi Museum from trip to trip or brought from the United States for a year’s stay in the field, as well as the usual supplies and presents from me coastal city, had to be fitted into the hot, dusty small bus compartments. These were open to the outside, located below the seats, and baggage was frequently retrieved for passengers entering and leaving at every stop along the way. The amount of space needed for such an expedition could not be given to one passenger.

The trip lasted from 6 in the evening to 3 or 4 in the morning (Map 2), instead of the hour and 20 minutes by air from São Luis or the 3½ hours by air from Belém. For the first time since 1957, there was no flight into Barra do Corda to accommodate supplies. The alternative means of transportation were renting a small private plane (smooth and swift, and easy on equipment) from Belém in 1978 or a small open truck (jostling and slow, and hard on equipment) from São Luis in 1979.

Once in Barra do Corda (Plates 2, 3) transportation improved considerably over the years. Almost all equipment except the technical instruments and beads could be bought there inexpensively by the mid-1970s, and the road to Escalvado village became easily passable to jeeps and small trucks by 1971. Thus the grueling horse and mule trains of the late 1950s (although not needed for the trips to Sardinha in the mid-1960s and avoided by the use of SIL ferrying flights between the town and the villages in 1969 and 1970) were no longer required in the mid-1970s.

Transportation and logistics improved dramatically in the field situation from 1957 through 1979, but it is a question whether this was also the case with personal communication. The temptation was to move fast and save professional time which had become more precious. In the late 1950s, I spent about a month in Rio de Janeiro, about a week each in Belém and São Luis, and about 10 days in Barra do Corda when entering the field and about half that time in each city when leaving. Finding these personal contacts necessary as well as enjoyable for the successful continuity of the research, I continued carrying out this slow and gratifying procedure of checking in and checking out of the field situation on each visit. Thus, I made many friends in Belém, São Luis, and especially Barra do Corda. Brazil had become my second country. Life became more rushed in the 1970s, however, so personal contacts became more specialized and limited, especially to Sr. Jaldo Pereira Santos and his family in Barra do Corda.

MAP 2.—The 1985 road map of Northeast Brazil to the Araguáia River showing the Canela and Apanyekra villages (in italics and located with crosses), and the principal highways from Bahia, Pemambuco and Ceará to Goiás, Pará, and Amazônia. (Note that these highways bypass the Canela and Apanyekra areas in Maranhão.)

[I.A] General Characteristics

Friends assume that when I was with the Canela those 64 months, I was “up the Amazon.” Contrary to popular images of Brazilian tribes, the Canela live in the center of Maranhão state, about 60 kilometers to the south of Barra do Corda (Map 3). They are 650 kilometers southeast of Belém (Map 2), a city at the mouth of the Amazon River, and out of the Amazon watershed entirely, enjoying grass-covered savanna countryside (Plates 12, 13) rather than dense tropical forests. The climate is moderate, being about 300 meters above sea level and relatively dry.

It is largely assumed that most Brazilian tribes “have just come out of the jungles.” The Canela, however, being so far east, surrendered to a Brazilian military outpost (Pastos Bons, Map 4) in 1814 [II.B.1.a], when their region was being settled by pioneers pushing west from the Brazilian Northeast [II.A.3.(a).(1)]. “Backland” (Glossary) Brazilian cattle ranchers and farmers, however, have surrounded them for over 100 years. They still exist in a tribal state (speaking their own language and managing their internal affairs), because of the relative inaccessibility of their area and undesirability of their lands [II.A.3.c]. Starting in 1971 a small part of their ancestral lands, maybe 5 percent (Nimuendajú, 1946:64), was legally demarcated into a reservation [II.B.2.k.(1)], with an area of 125, 212 hectares (CEDI, 1986:235) (Map 3).

During the 18th century, the Canela (Ramkokamekra) ranged freely over a large area between their present lands and the Itapicuru River to the south (Map 4), limited principally by hostile tribes in all directions except to the north where the forest ecology made the terrain undesirable. This large expanse of land consisted of “closed savannas” (cerrado, see Glossary), dry woods, and gallery forests (watercourse-edge jungles) (Figures 3–6). They relied largely on hunting, gathering, and fishing, and only to a small extent (~25%) on slash-and-burn horticulture. Clearing was done with stone axes and fire, and gardens included (Table 3) white corn, sweet potatoes, yams, peanuts, squash, mildly bitter manioc, and cotton. They had to cut a new farm plot out of the wet, stream-edged undergrowth every year because the infertile soils could support only one crop. (The closed savannas support no crops.) These days, with the loss of most of their lands, more than 75 percent of their produce and livelihood is derived from slash-and-burn horticulture [II.C.3.]. Moreover, they have almost forgotten gathering since it is what “wild” Indians did, they say. Instead the Canela have adopted the foods of the backlanders (including rice, yellow corn, and beans), because these foods are more prestigious. Seed for aboriginal white corn, peanuts, and cotton were lost in the 1960s while the Canela were in the dry forests of Sardinha.

In earlier times, the Canela had to move their villages every 5 to 10 years to be close to their farms and to relatively unhunted and ungathered areas. Like other related tribes (the Northern Gê in this case), their villages were, and still are, circular, with all houses facing a central, round plaza, with radial pathways connecting each house to the plaza. Social dancing, ceremonies, and council meetings, as well as great festivals, take place in the plaza. The remains of many of these wagon wheel-shaped villages (Figures 1, 2) still exist in the Canela closed savannas, but studying them is difficult, because these Indians made neither pottery nor projectile points.

The Canela and related tribes are known collectively as the Timbira (Map 4) and speak a language of the Gê family [II.A.1, 2], which is also used in various parts of central (south of the Amazon River) and southern Brazil (Map 1).

[I.A.I] Outstanding Ethnology

The Timbira tribes are especially known for their sport of log racing [II.F.2.a] (Plate 51). In the important races, two teams (Figure 13) of men each carry a heavy (about 100 kilos) log over a 3 to 10 kilometer course. When exhausted, the individual runner passes the log from his shoulder to the shoulder of the man directly behind.

The Timbira are also known, like the Australian aborigines, for their complex social and ceremonial organization, including several sets of moieties, which is not usually found in tribes between the food collecting and producing levels.

Timbira choral singing is also outstanding in the frequency with which they practice it, the complexity of its harmonic lines, and the development of most individual voices [II.F.1.c].

The Canela, in particular, are unusual for their strong social cohesion. Very few individuals leave the tribe permanently to live either in other tribes or among backland or urban Brazilians. They love their way of life, which is changing only very slowly [III.D.3.f]. Small groups have gone on trek to the great coastal cities (instead of to hunt and gather locally) almost every year since some time in the last century. Thus they know about the outside world, but their traditions continue to prevail [II.A.3.a.(3)]. Holding tribal council meetings twice a day resolves most problems that could upset the cohesion of the tribe [II.E.8]. They dance three times a day when assembled in the village (Plates 32,33), which is most of the time, keeping the morale of the young people high [II.F.1.b(2).(a)].

The Canela kinship pattern is like Crow-type-III (Glossary) of Lounsbury (1964) [III.E.2.a], and is closely related to the wagon wheel plan of the village [III.E.2.e] (Escalvado, 1970, ~300 meters in diameter to rear of houses). The tribe being matrilocal/uxorilocal (or sororilocal for women), women related to each other through all female links live in matrilaterally arranged segments or “longhouses” (Glossary) around the circular edge of the village. Sisters generally live in the same house, parallel-first cousins (Crow “sisters”) generally in adjoining ones, and parallel-second cousins generally in the next houses, etc. In one case, fifth cousins (still Crow “sisters”) are recognized and maintained at the extreme ends of one longhouse, or kinship arc of the village circle, over a dozen houses long (Figures 24, 25) [III.E.2.e.(2)]. Since men marry into other longhouses than the ones of birth, different longhouses relate to each other according to a cross-cousin pattern, which is from a certain point of view patrilateral [III.E.2.e.(3)]. Thus, village (and therefore tribal) cohesion is maintained through kinship both matrilaterally around the village circle of houses (Figure 42) and “patrilaterally” across the village plaza between different longhouses (Figure 43) [III.F.12]. They forget kin ties not expressed in this village pattern—especially the ones passing mostly through male linkages—after two to three generations.

Most of an individual’s life cycle rites are maintained patrilaterally (in the above sense) as well as matrilaterally, though the Canela rely predominately on their matrilateral kin [IV.B]. Matrilineality exists in only a few families in a festival context [III.C.8]. There are no clans or marriage alliances [III.F.1]. Individuals marry whom they believe to be nonrelatives or distant relatives in almost full tribal endogamy, and longhouse exogamy is only rarely violated. The sororate is encouraged to keep a man with his children while the levirate does not occur. An uxorilocal extended family house, the basic economic sharing unit (Figure 22) [III.E.2.e.(1)], seldom accepts more than one husband for its women (sisters, “sisters,” and their mothers) from me same across-me-plaza extended family house. Thus, the brothers-in-law, who work together in their wives’ set of fields under the direction of their father-in-law or fathers-in-law, are seldom kin. Thus, they can bring little collective influence to bear against the members of their affinal house, which is governed by its male kin, who live in their wives’ houses on other sides of the plaza.

The tribe is run by a chief (Figure 18), who is limited by a council of elders (Glossary) made up of the men in their 50s and 60s and, during certain periods, their 40s and 70s [III.D.2]. The chief manages all external relations (with backlanders (Plate 72), the Indian service, and visitors, whether from other tribes or from cities), and is the final voice in the well-developed judicial system [III.D.3]. Unresolved cases (mostly marital) in formal hearings between extended families come before him for unquestioned resolution. The central group (Pró-khãmmã, Glossary, Figure 19) of the council of elders governs the festivals and most other ceremonies that are based on the plaza rather than on the house of a particular extended family. Certain plaza-based rituals are the property of particular extended families, however. When such a family line(often matrilineal) ceases or fails to carry out its duties for the good of the whole tribe, the central group of the council of elders transfers the right to hold the ritual to another extended family.

The Brazilian Indian service maintained a representative in Barra do Corda as early as the 1920s, but placed a service family to live beside a Canela village only in 1938 [II.B.2.b]. From then, Canela acculturation accelerated, but this change of pace occurred only after 100 years of relative stability and gradual adjustment to the demands and requirements of backlanders and Barra do Corda residents. Although “pacified” in 1814, tales of research assistants indicate that the Canela were destablized and migratory due to contact conditions until about 1835 [II.B.1.b], when they were led by their first leader of the modern type, Chief Kawkhre Luis Domingo [In.6]. Such leaders were politically skilled Canela individuals who were designated and recognized as chief by the local backlanders or Barra do Corda political authorities, and later by the Indian service.

By 1960, the Canela saw themselves as being on the lowest rung of the social and political ladders of the Brazilian world. Their chief obeyed the resident Indian service agent (Figure 9), who obeyed the Barra do Corda agent (Figure 7), whose line of authority proceeded up through the Maranhão state service official, through the president of the Indian service in Rio de Janeiro (or later Brasília), to the President of Brazil. The Canela saw the order as being martial, which implied due obedience. As a result of their perceived low status, Indian service agents, backlanders, Barra do Corda residents, and some large-city people simply walked into Canela houses (Plates 6–8) uninvited. They would dominate the conversation and treat Canela house owners as lesser beings (bichos do mato: beasts of-the forest). The outsiders assumed vast superiority over the Canela, who accepted their subservient position unquestioningly. In 1975, an enlightened Indian service representative from Brasília addressed the Canela in their circular plaza, referring to them as gente (people). A perceptive young Canela asked if Indians were really, indeed, gente? Was not the representative mistaken? The man from Brasília, Dr. Ney Land, then calmly presented the Canela with a new concept: that all human beings, including Indians, are people.

Such talk could not have existed in this part of Brazil before the 1970s. Intellectuals could have expressed such ideas to each other in earlier times but not publicly, and certainly not to Indians, who were neither civilizados (civilized people) nor cristãos (Christians). The Canela position in the old Maranhão backlands of Brazil, and their perceived position in relation to the national society, can be understood only in this context. Indian tribes further west who were being drawn into Indian service “posts of attraction” during the 1960s and 1970s might not have had to contend with such entrenched negative attitudes.

MAP 3.—Canela and Apanyekra reservations and surrounding backlands, 1986–1987, showing the Canela’s village of Escalvado (1) and its 13 farm communities (2–14) in numbered circles. (Stars in circles = formerly inhabited Canela and Apanyekra villages; circle = Apanyekra village of Porquinhos; dots = backland communities; shaded areas = Canela, Apanyekra, and Guajajara Indian reservations; short dashes = jeep roads; solid lines = substantial dirt roads; heavier solid lines = larger roads; italic words = rivers and streams. The only asphalted highway is BR-226 between Barra do Corda and Grajau, which appears in upper left corner.)

MAP 4.—Eastern Timbira and their neighbors, past and present. (Large shadowed tribal names without dates indicate areas foraged by the tribe in prepacification times. Dates placed under shadowed tribal names indicate the approximate years of occupation. Tribal names underlined by dashes indicate tribes that became extinct in post-pacification times. Triangles indicate the locations of villages of present tribes. Orthography of tribes, cities, and rivers reflect that of the earlier 1930s and of Nimuendajú’s (1946) Map 1 upon which this map is based.)

[I.A.2] My Adoption by Canela Families

On my second evening with the Canela in their village of Ponto (August 1957), Chief Kaarà?khre (Figure 18) presented the older Krôôtô to me, who said his wife wanted me as a brother, and that I was to live in their house. I obviously had to say yes or no to this invitation, and since I was standing directly before the council of elders, who were intently watching and listening, I felt great pressure to say “yes” to please everyone. By training my first thought was not to align myself with any faction before I knew the politics of the tribe, but there seemed to be no choice in this case. Thus I said “yes” and was led to my “sister” Te?hôk’s house, where she and her husband Krôôtô gave me a corner in the sand for my equipment and clothing. Although Map 5 portrays the village of Escalvado and its Indian service post in 1975, the village of Ponto in 1957 was similar, although Ponto was half the size of Escalvado and had no air strip, and had fewer post buildings and facilities.

Te-?hôk (leg-painted) and her daughters felt some responsibility for keeping me amused, so these nieces joked with me continually, as nieces can do with their uncles. In turn, I provided entertainment through Western games, pictures in books, and singing. The ice-breaker, causing them all to laugh hilariously, was for me to miss my hammock when sitting down, deliberately falling on the ground. My “nieces” loved this.

Within a week matters became more normal, and because the Canela had received Nimuendajú as an ethnologist for 14 months from 1929 to 1936, I was not such a novelty. After several weeks I moved to the smaller Canela village, Baixão Prêto, only 6 kilometers north of Ponto (Map 3). There I acquired a second family where the principal person was my “brother,” Hàwmrõ, with his wife, Mĩĩ-khwèy (alligator woman) being my “wife,” and his daughters my “daughters.” (According to Canela extended kinship reckoning these families were only distantly related.) Thus, I experienced in my daily life the two most frequent kinds of kin relationships. Among the Apanyekra, where I was adopted into a family in 1958, my prime house relative was a sister, Pootsen.(See Map 6 for a plan of the Apanyekra village of Porquinhos.) Later, when my wife Roma came to the Canela, I experienced affinal relationships first hand while living in the house of her adoptive family.

My two Canela families, my Apanyekra family, and my Western wife’s Canela family all provided rooms within the space of their own houses. The walls of these rooms were reinforced to protect possessions. In later years, these rooms were larger to accommodate the greater amount of my possessions. I left such matters to my families. In the 1970s, however, I added rooms onto my Western wife’s Canela family’s house for us.

[I.A.3] My Typical Day

While the pattern of my research day and activities changed between 1957 and 1979, the following is a representative example of a usual day within my various house environments during my 10 stays.

The day often began at about 2:30 AM when some youth came to the door of the house to call out the names of my nieces (or daughters, depending on the home), who were supposed to go out to the plaza to sing [II.E.4.a.(1)]. Usually the girls went out, but sometimes a parent made comments about why a daughter could not emerge. (“Te?kurà ?tàm” I heard often, meaning Te?kurà, my niece, is menstruating.) Then, the troop of adolescents moved on to the next house on the village circle, singing, their volume alone being enough to wake anyone in me vicinity. Sometimes I went out at this time to the plaza to dance or socialize, but in later years I seldom did, except to record the morning sing-dance on tape. My rapport had been built, so it was more important to sleep so I could work efficiently with my council of research assistants during the day. The adolescents could nap many times during the day; my schedule allowed only one brief nap. So I stuffed my wax ear plugs further in and tried to sleep some more. In my brother’s house one year, however, my daughter Hômyĩ-khwèy’s month-old baby resided only 1½ meters away through a palm-thatch partition in the arms of its mother, so the ear plugs offered little protection when it cried. Then, I exchanged the ear plugs for earphones and studied Canela sentences on tape.

Studying vocabulary [I.E.2] in this manner was usually my first activity of the day, starting at 5:30. In later years, the tapes were stories or autobiographical accounts [I.F] I had to keep up with to be sure the narrators were giving me needed information. By 5:30 the women of the house were thoroughly active and might involve me in something if I appeared to be awake, so I lay quietly in my hammock, listening to tapes, pretending to be asleep.

An alternative at 5:30 was to go bathing, which was forced on me by one uncle or another in the late 1950s. Chief Kaarà?khre (actually an Informal Friend) also used to summon me, saying I would live longer if I bathed early in the cold air, but nobody bothered me this way in the 1970s. I was older.

Another alternative for about 6:00 was to go out to the tribal council meeting. I could understand most of the debating in the 1960s and 1970s. Most often, however, I stayed in my room (a well-made rectangular partition to protect my possessions) until about 7:00, studying tapes or papers in preparation for the day’s work. Then, my sister (Te?hôk) or my brother Hãwmrõ’s wife, Mĩĩ-khwèy would call me for breakfast. In my brother’s house, we ate together on mats on the earth floor of the main room. We ate with fingers and gourd bowls in 1958, but in my sister’s house they were too prestige-conscious to allow me to eat on the floor, so they provided a table, a spoon, and plates.

MAP 5.—Escalvado village and Indian service post buildings, 1975. Pepkahàk hut location and related paths are included as of 1970. The open lands are cerrado.

In the late 1950s and 1960s, between 7:00 and 8:00 AM and often later, long lines including backlanders (Plate 72) formed to receive medicine from me. I will never forget that first injection with no orange to practice on. The first thrust stayed in, but with the second thrust, the needle bounced out. I eventually learned.

FIGURE 1.—Escalvado (a Canela village), 1975, from the air looking north, including Indian service area in foreground with its old farm immediately below, its post building in center, and its school building on far right.

After my first few weeks, Chief Kaarà-?khre (cerrado-deer its-hollow) summoned me to cure a woman with a fever. I diagnosed her illness as pneumonia and did have Terramycin with me, a specific medicine for pneumonia. Her father, however, did not like the yellow capsules and vetoed the treatment. Kaarà?khre stood by me, persuading her father, so I was caught between the chief’s desires and a father’s blame. What if she died? I visited her every six hours for four days, not leaving until I had seen that she had taken the pill each time, and she lived. Later, I learned her father was the most negative kay (curer, or evil spell thrower in this case) in the tribe, a point which was reported by Nimuendajú (1946:238).

Sick call helped build my rapport with the tribe. In the late 1950s, any educated city person in the backlands was expected to know pharmacology and apply it, and the drug packaging had very extensive and complete instructions. My premedical training and the medical tomes I had brought into the field for this purpose facilitated matters considerably. When I could not really help them, I often gave café-aspirina rather than nothing at all. The U.S. Consular Agency in São Luis gave me medicines in great quantities to distribute.

One day in the late 1950s, three migratory backland lepers, who had been searching for a cure for a long time in many different places, Walked into the open part of my sister’s house. I received them courteously, of course, but was inwardly dismayed, never having met lepers and remembering descriptions of them in passages in the Bible. They were only slightly disfigured, however, and just asked for medicines. I searched the tome for leprosy. Fortunately, it was described as being minimally contagious, so I relaxed and gave the usual café-aspirina, recommending that they walk to the dispensary of an Italian monk, a surgeon, in Grajau, about 120 kilometers to the west through the backlands. By the 1970s relief came in the form of better-trained Indian service personnel [II.B.2.i.(4).(a)] and the linguistic missionary [II.B.3.(a)], who knew far more medicine than I, so fortunately most of this practice went elsewhere.

MAP 6.—Porquinhos village and Indian service post buildings, 1975. The open lands are cerrado.

FIGURE 2.—Porquinhos (an Apanyekra village), 1975, from the air looking southeast, with Indian service buildings on right (agent’s dwelling nearest, post building in center, and school farthest) and airstrip beyond.

This kind of free giving and service (only backlanders brought goods in exchange) helped me considerably with the Canela, who feel shame deeply when they think they are being used, and I was using them by just being present in the tribe. They feared I was getting something free, so that anything I could give them—medicine and attention in this case—made them feel less exploited. Although the tribal council had decreed that I could take any pictures because of my general contributions to festivals, some individuals, nevertheless, wanted payments on the spot when I took pictures of them; for example, in the 1970s, a women, sitting in front of a house on the village circle next to the path to the principal bathing place in Escalvado village, demanded a payment for herself and her children. I reminded her of the pills I had given her children some weeks earlier, and she gave up her demand.

Another way I helped my adoptive families in the 1960s and through 1976 was to buy some of the game and fruit brought to the house by other Canela between 7:00 and 8:00 in the morning. These selective purchases let me and my families eat better and gave me a chance to treat the sellers in a personal way, speaking to them and doing something for them. I was not just living there on their lands without providing something, individually, and only individual treatment would satisfy them. Te?hôk and Mĩĩ-khwèy helped me enormously in these transactions, selecting what was good and needed in the households. They were kind and gracious to the people we could not help, often giving them something small to go away with [III.D.3.e.(3)]. Feeling and caring for the less fortunate are prime Canela values [III.B.1.b.(2)].

In the late 1950s, Canela individuals often came with a “gift,” saying they expected nothing in return, but they did. This activity constituted forced “gift” exchanging at a level I could not control: if I refused, something I had and they wanted, they saw me as being “stingy” [III.B.1.a]. To refuse their requests honestly, I lived without goods and money, trusting my families would feed me. They were, however, a needy people, caught in a deficit economy [II.C.3.g] and therefore in moderate endemic hunger. Moreover, this kind of begging, even from nonrelatives, was an accepted custom [IV.A.3.c.(5).(c)].

By 8:00 AM my research assistant council, numbering three to six depending on the topic, assembled in my room in Te?hôk’s or Mĩĩkhwèy’s house (1960s and 1970s). At these early meetings, I asked for personal experiences or dreams to relax them, and as our working relationship matured we worked on the topic of the period, such as checking my basic ethnological study of the late 1950s (in 1964), kinship and ecology (in 1969), kinship and marriage (in 1970), matrilineality in rituals (in 1975), folk Catholicism (in 1976), festivals and ethnobiological concepts (in 1978), and key words and phrases (including dualism, in 1979) [In.4.f]. By 10:00 AM one of the women of the house would call to say coffee and crackers were ready, and we would take a break for about 20 minutes.

At noon the group dispersed to their houses for lunch and rest. At this time, I received visitors, such as a backland merchant. He might have been waiting more than an hour, because my family members prohibited interruptions of the council meetings. Thus, the merchant would impatiently summon me to see his goods, either close by, or in another Canela house where he was staying, or more correctly, in the house assigned to him near the post (Map 5, F), which was me only legal place for him to trade his products. Usually I declined to buy, but sometimes dominant family members demonstrated their needs. Te?hôk and Hàwmrõ were so modest that I almost had to force needed items on them, whereas Te?hôk’s husband, the older Krôôtô (Plate 77d), and the Apanyekra in general were very aggressive in their demands (Maybury-Lewis, 1965:172). For some people, I was obviously there to be exploited, so I had to resist their demands, see through their pretended needs, and walk a narrow line between refusing and pleasing.

In 1957 and 1958 I spent time with my families on their farms and worked with them there to some extent. I even went hunting several times. The Canela did not expect such participation, however, because Nimuendajú had not often done it. Thus I did not have to work as an economic provider to gain their confidence, which is often the case in other field research situations (Seeger, 1981). They did want me, however, to participate in their festivals as Nimuendajú had done. Thus I had to work my way slowly out of such time consuming performances because I could study these pageants better as an observer than a participant [I.B.1].

In the late 1950s, I spent much of the noon period running errands for myself. Money could not be given to anybody to do or buy something for me or the tribe. Money too easily became cachaça (alcohol), so the Indian service forbade me to give money to all but a few alcohol-resistant individuals. Moreover, money was begged off of most men by their classificatory wives, or by individuals truly in need. A messenger with my money—anybody’s money—was a target. Messengers felt compelled to be generous with what they were carrying so as not to be accused of being hõõtsè (stingy)—the greatest evil [III.B.1.a.(3)]. Thus I had to go and do my errands myself, which was usually exhausting but did expose me to many people and to what was going on. Such visits to the post or to individuals in other houses—or in Barra do Corda to the meat market at 4:00 AM—took an incredible amount of time and energy. In the 1950s and 1960s I spent a great deal of time on sick calls, on arranging activities, and on buying goods and foods.

By the 1970s, however, several Canela understood Western values enough to run errands involving money (even to Barra do Corda) and to spend and account for the funds correctly upon their return. Thus, I had more time for my research and did not get so tired, but I was less in contact with many individuals in the tribe, with backlanders, and with people in Barra do Corda.

When I could break away from errands, my sister or brother’s wife gave me lunch, which was the same as breakfast or dinner: manioc flour with beans and grass tea, rice with chicken bits and oranges, or meat pie (manioc and pork) with bananas and brown sugar (rapadura) tea. Then a siesta followed as well as preparation for the afternoon with the research assistant council. In the 1970s, tape cassettes of daily notes and meetings of the research assistant council had to be copied for separate mailing to the United States. Xeroxed materials of earlier festival field notes had to be examined for me to follow up on, and research assistants’ manuscripts [I.F] had to be reviewed to pose valid questions to the writers, keeping them motivated and within the scope of the program.

By 2:00 PM I called out from my door across the village plaza in my best voice—a squeak they teased me about—to summon my helpers for the afternoon session, which usually ended at 5:00 but often went on until 6:00 PM near the end of each stay. The following period of the day was the most relaxed and varied. Its first activity was to take my soap box and towel to go bathing, sometimes alone but often with certain Canela friends. In the late 1950s, soap was often lacking, so I went at noon as well, using fine sand to rub the grit off the ankles. One time when I went down to the stream at dusk against the advice of Te?hôk, who feared a ghost would hurt me, she sent my small nephew, Ku?tàà-tèy, to watch out for me. While in the cool chest-deep water of the Santo Estévão with the boy squatting on the log thrown across the stream just below, I froze with fear from his shout, “palpup-re he” (a-certain-venomous-snake there), but nothing happened. He said it passed just by me, and I never knew whether he was joking or serious.

During the late 1950s, when the likelihood of being allowed to stay was tenuous, I frequently went down to the Ponto post to eat with the Indian service personnel, trying to maintain rapport with them. Seated next to the Indian service agent with male backland travelers around the table and all women in the kitchen, I ate and talked with the men until about 8:00 PM, learning much about the backland communities and way of life. These contacts resulted in several invitations to the fiestas of communities such as Bacabal, Jenipapo do Resplandes, Ribeirão, and Curicaca (Map 3), where I learned to dance in the backland shuffling manner and worried Canela companions by drinking cachaça. They thought a jealous young drunk civilizado would knife me away from my dancing partner and were ready to come to my rescue.

In the early evening, I often went to the plaza to watch the dancing (sometimes dancing myself, in the late 1950s) and then attended the meeting of the council of elders to practice my progress in understanding the language. At this time of day, the air and sands held a pleasant warmth. The rose sunsets, distant blue hills, twisted savanna trees, light dry breezes, along with the singing by the houses and the debating of the elders, made this an interval of great charm.

Sometimes there were purchases to face or avoid when returning to my home in the evening around 7:00 and (later in the 1970s) workers to pay. After dinner with my sister’s or brother’s family another work period followed, which was more varied than the three previous ones. I seldom attended the evening sing-dance.

Sometimes, in pressing periods near the end of a visit, the research assistant council reconvened to help me, but more often special assistants came to carry out specific jobs. In the late 1950s, the Canela would not help me at all during the evenings unless I sat with them in the plaza or in their houses. In those days, I spent most of the evenings socializing with my families, obtaining information in the plaza, or working on my field notes written in speed writing. In the 1970s, however, with most notes being recorded on tape cassettes and copied to other cassettes, I was free to work with assistants during some of the evenings. In 1978 I read much of the evening to plan further research. In 1979, I recorded myths in my room and music where it was being performed. I also recorded singing in my room by special arrangement. Some evenings had to be spent preparing for the council meeting of the next day, copying cassettes, and playing back the taped recordings of their performances to groups of Canela listeners who requested to hear them. They simply had to hear my festival and daily sing-dance recordings, or I would have taken something from them without paying for it.

By 10:00 PM most people were asleep but some were still dancing. This was when I treated the members of my family house, two or three times a year, to their “gifts” for housing and feeding me. They were ashamed to be seen gaining goods from me. Those who knew would spread rumors or come begging, so we did it quietly in the dark. The women liked ceramic beads and high quality cloth, which they used for trading or for adorning their young female kin when the latter were acting in festival roles of high honor [II.D.2.e.(1)]. My presents (or payments) of this sort saved them trips to Barra do Corda (for good cloth) and even to coastal cities (for quality ceramic beads), which they felt compelled to make to carry out certain festival situations with sufficient pride and honor.

When my brother Hàwmrõ, a great hunter, killed a deer, he usually brought it into our house very quietly in the middle of the night and butchered it immediately, sending for certain kin to come and receive their share. He distributed as much as possible as quickly as he could, according to his long-term debt patterns and his desires. Then there would be less for non-kin and perpetual beggars to beg from him the next day, when the news of his kill had spread around the village [III.B.1.a.(2)]. In 1957, they woke me to partake in such feasts, but after our rapport was established, they soon learned that I valued my sleep too much to lose it over venison, which they could save for me to eat the next day.

The last part of the day was routine. After dusting fleas off my ankles and calves, I launched myself up into a hammock strung high next to the thatch wall. There, a kerosene lamp, with a mirror behind it to concentrate and focus the light, stood on a specially-made shelf. Then I read myself to sleep in 30 to 45 minutes. Brazilian novels were my favorites—Érico Veríssimo and early Jorge Amado. The Canela sleep on platforms about 50 to 80 centimeters high (Plate 8a) with their feet exposed to a fire. Because sleeping was always a problem for me, I chose to go the easy way of a sleeping bag in a hammock. Moreover, general maintenance was easier with everything suspended well above the ground.

Sometimes, sleep was facilitated by half-a-dozen young Canela of both sexes walking slowly around the boulevard, softly singing sustained harmony in a minor key [II.E.3.c] [II.F.1.b.(2).(b)].

[I.B] Early Acceptance Experiences

[I.B.1] From Tribal Member to Ethnologist

When I arrived among the Canela in August 1957, the prestige and good names of Curt Nimuendajú and Olímpio Martins Cruz reinforced my acceptance by the tribe. The Canela wanted me to be Nimuendajú’s “nephew” because then I would, from the point of view of kinship, be in his place (hatsà iyahêl tsà khãm: his-place my-filled place in). I did not want to deceive them, however, and thought that assuming my great predecessor’s roles might lead to expectations I could not carry out. Thus I assured them that I was not Nimuendajú’s nephew but an American ethnologist who had come to learn about them as Nimuendajú had done. Accordingly, Te?hôk’s family adopted me on my second evening in the tribe. (This family was not related in any way to Nimuendajú’s adopted kin.) On about the fourth evening, they presented me with an unmarried woman without children to keep me company. This kind offer had to be declined. I told them that the Indian service would put me in jail if I accepted the woman, and I had a sentence on paper expressing this concern. The sentence had been prepared in Canela on the recommendation of Sr. Olímpio.

To be taken into the tribe, it was helful for me to participate in the initiation festival. The Pró-khãmmã were very quick to “catch” and put me into the Pepyê festival as a novice [IV.A.3.c.(2)], just as they had done to Nimuendajú. This initial “imprisonment”(na prisão: in prison) (Plate 42e) was quite realistic, but they did not make me stay in confinement like the other novices. They merely expected me to march and be with the Pepyê initiates when this suited my learning about the festival. They let me return to my quarters and equipment in my adopted family’s house whenever necessary.

In 1957 and 1958, I almost always marched and acted with the Pepyê and Pepkahàk festival [IV.A.3.c.(3)] troops (Plate 44c) when any of their performances were taking place, but returned to my Canela sister’s house, or in Baixão Prêto to my brother’s and mother’s house, during periods of inactivity.

In 1959, my role as an ethnographer as well as being a member of the tribe was established. When the Pró-khãmmã were planning the Khêêtúwayê festival and deciding who should carry out the various roles, they asked if I would like to be a Khêêtúwayê novice [IV.A.3.c.(1)]. Because I hesitated, the older Kaapêltùk (Figure 50) answered for me, saying that his Informal Friend [III.E.6] (myself) did not want to be in the festival at all because he really just wanted to take pictures. One of my greatest early fieldwork problems of participating in and observing ceremonies at the same time was thereby solved. From then on I was not assigned any festival roles, although my families still gave me roles in life cycle rites. This recognition of my status as an ethnologist made it possible to record the festivals far more intensively. The older Kaapêltùk, a principal helper of Nimuendajú’s, understood that role.

The older Kaapêltùk had been helpful in this way on two previous occasions. By October of 1957, he was the new chief of Baixão Prêto village in the place of Ikhè. For my first observation of a festival, the Festival of Oranges, I had with me in the plaza only a pad and pencil with which to take notes. That was all I could manage at one time during that early period. Much to my surprise, the older Kaapêltùk came up and scolded me mildly—as was his chiefly way—for not having my camera. (In graduate school we had heard that Indians did not like their pictures taken and that they would charge for any photographs snapped; this was not the case among the Canela, at least for Nimuendajú, myself, and Indian service personnel.) Thus, I ran back to my room in my brother’s house, left the pad and pencil, returned to the plaza with a loaded camera, and started taking pictures. It was necessary to live up to the older Kaapêltùk’s view of what an ethnologist should be doing during a festival, and at this early time in my fieldwork it was certainly more important to please the chief of the village than to satisfy myself.

A year later, when the older Kaapêltùk’s mother-in-law died, I attended her funeral proceedings without pad and pencil and also without a camera. My particular American sensitivities made me behave in a very respectful manner at a funeral. During the middle of the rite, however, the understanding older Kaapêltùk came over and asked why notes were not being taken and pictures snapped. Stunned, I went to my brother’s house and came back with this equipment.

Years later, in 1970 when my favorite niece Te?kurà died of tuberculosis in my Canela sister’s house, I played the unabashed role of the ethnologist and took some of the most comprehensive pictures I have ever photographed of any rite, including views above and close to the cadaver, while my female kin were wailing. I recorded the rite as the family expected me to, as an ethnologist fulfilling his role.

[I.B.2] Two Most Guarded Types of Behavior

It was relatively easy to begin fieldwork among the Canela with the tradition of Nimuendajú and the prestige of Sr. Olímpio behind me. The transferred love for these two men won me a place in the tribe but not in their full confidence—at least, not on two sensitive issues. Thus, in spite of my easy entry, there were still no really “trained” research assistants. Later such assistants facilitated fieldwork and enabled it to proceed ten times faster and with far greater certainty than it did during the first 15 months.

[I.B.2.a] EXTRAMARITAL RELATIONS SYSTEM

One principal Canela point of secrecy was about their extramarital sexual relations and about the extensiveness and frequency of this behavior network [IV.A.3.f]. They assumed that I, like other outsiders, did not want to hear—for fear of embarrassment—about their extramarital practices. My early refusal of a woman must have contributed to such an assumption. They knew outsiders had cast shame upon the Canela for their traditional extramarital practices, and even Nimuendajú had been unaccepting. Thus, they were not going to embarrass me or themselves through such disclosures. Still, their reticence had to be overcome. After my return to the tribe in 1958, I made a particularly direct attempt to let them realize that I would not think badly of them because of their extramarital sexual practices.

One technique I used was to display a medical dictionary which had a chart of the various parts of the body. I pretended to be learning their words for the different locations of the body and quite openly included a number of questions about the sexual areas. Women and men came in groups to see the printed photographs and diagrams, so there were a number of occasions on which to display openness and approval. Soon research assistants became willing to talk about extramarital affairs and as a result a great deal of new material emerged that was not in Nimuendajú’s published accounts (W. Crocker, 1964, 1974a).

Later, when my research assistant council sessions were established we discussed these practices fully, and they became quite open about sexual matters. In 1975, the marital life history study (first carried out in 1970) was largely redone; it was strikingly clear that they could talk about each other’s, and any other person’s, sex life in a mixed-sex group of some 20 individuals without any hesitations and concerns, as long as the information being given was about the past. Nevertheless, in 1979, when talking about sexual details with several research assistants, I was surprised to note that they were quite embarrassed. This was an acculturation phenomenon. By 1979, it seemed that some of the more acculturated Canela were having difficulties with such subject matter, even though these were some of the same individuals who had talked about sexual matters quite comfortably less than a decade earlier.

[I.B.2.b] OFFICIAL STEALING OF BACKLANDER CATTLE

Another test of acceptance had to do with the stealing of cattle. The Canela of Ponto used to take about half a dozen head of backlander Cattle a year (Nimuendajú, 1946:160). Sr. Olímpio had told me about this upon my arrival, and there was no reason to think the situation was different several years later. By my twelfth month with the Canela it was clear that youths who were not under the control of the council of elders every now and then rustled a cow from some backland rancher, but this did not happen very often.

One day in 1958, when I was about to start lunch, my sister gave me a dish of beef and certain staples. This was a surprise, so I commented to her that no head of cattle had been killed recently. She smiled and said it was all right to eat the meat anyway. It seemed best, nevertheless, to make a game out of the new situation, so I stationed one of my nephews by the door on the Indian service post side of the house, telling him to warn me if one of the post agents was about to appear. I even gave the obviously stolen cattle meat a special name, caminhão kahàk-re (truck facsimile-small: a large and dear creature), which amused them.

It happened on the following day, when more caminhão kahàk-re was presented, that the stationed nephew did come running into the house, saying that the post teacher was about to arrive. Quickly, I rushed the plate of beef into my room, hid the meat under some cloth, and returned with the plate still full of other food. The teacher did not discover what had happened, and when he left, amusement was expressed by everybody.

I was now on their side, eating stolen cattle meat with them and feeling just as afraid of being discovered as they were. They no longer hid the fact from me in their tribal council meetings that it was both the council of elders and the first chief of the tribe who were authorizing certain youths to go out and steal cattle from certain backland ranchers.

It was from that point on that the Canela accepted me in an almost total manner. There were no more issues they felt they had to hide from me.

[I.C] Problem-solving in the Field

I have often thought of the Canela in terms of their relative advantages and disadvantages as a tribe for ethnological research. Fieldwork among the Canela and Apanyekra was necessarily quite different than among recently pacified tribes further west.

One advantage of studying the Canela was they were ideal for long term field research. From a search of the “Handbook of South American Indians” bibliography (Steward, 1946–1959) in 1956, I found the Nimuendajú volume. Already published and available, “The Eastern Timbira” presented a great deal of information about the Canela 20 years earlier. Studying this volume made it clear that there was the possibility of following family lines, and there by finding the same individuals or their children still living in me village. This ability to trace the past into the present was very important for diachronic research. In addition, they are not a migratory hunting and gathering people and, therefore, the Canela have remained in the same general area. Individuals did not move from village to village (such as is done by the Barama River Caribs of British Guiana (Gillen, 1936), so that family lines among the Canela would not be difficult to trace. Moreover, they were not war-like or hostile to outsiders, having been “pacified” about a century and a half earlier. Therefore communication between them and me was not impeded by their fears of outsiders.

Another advantage is the environmental conditions. The Canela live in relatively dry cerrado instead of humid, dense tropical forests. There is almost no winged pest life. Cool and abundant water, which originates in springs only a dozen kilometers away, is available for swimming and also for drinking without purifying. The maximum range of temperature is between 12 and 37 degrees Celsius. No rain occurs for three months (June through August), and little rain for six months of the year (June through November). There are occasional but substantial downpours from mid-December to mid-April. During the whole course of the year, there are only 900 to 1500 millimeters of precipitation. The relative humidity drops to 50 or 40 percent each day at about 3 PM in June and July, and goes below 60 percent for many days at 3 PM in May and from August through November, letting most clothing and equipment dry out [II.C.1]. Breeze-swept but well-closed palm thatch houses with pounded clay floors simplify life. Serious diseases, such as schistosomiasis, chagas, and malaria, are absent. There are many enjoyable backland and tribal foods available, such as rice, oranges, chicken, eggs, beef, partridge. For aerobic exercise, one can walk and jog on cerrado trails. In fact, it should be possible for me to return in my 70s or 80s without having to be too concerned about problems related to old age, especially now that there are roads leading into the villages and highways in the region. My wife and her children were able to come and have a good time in the swimming holes cut out of the gallery forests surrounding the streams.

After my first entry in 1957, I brought in no food for myself, but I did have to bring in preserved foods and powdered beverages for my wife and her children. The local foods were easy to obtain because merchants came by selling pigs, chickens, oranges, brown sugar blocks, sacks of rice and manioc flour. Moreover, the Canela hunted all sorts of wild game. Nothing could be better than roasted partridge, or venison and emu (ema: South American ostrich) meat slowly smoked over very low coals.

As far as diseases were concerned, malaria (in the late 1950s) occurred only in places in the dry forests well away from Barra do Corda and not in the cerrado near the Canela. (I caught it while visiting the Guajajara at the São Pedro Indian service post; Map 3.) Schistosomiasis and chagas did not exist in that part of Brazil. House rats and fleas came into the region only in 1974.

A final advantage was that the Canela are a generous, kind people who care about the welfare of others living among them, unlike certain other tribes in the literature (Biocca, 1969). They are humorous and fun-loving. Best of all, they do not hold grudges, relatively speaking, like the Guajajara living nearby in the dry forests; and they do not have taboos that make it difficult to talk about people’s names, their ancestors, or really any topic at all; and they are used to people from other cultures so that they are aware and tolerant of cultural differences, which they allow outsiders to maintain.

A major difficulty for work among the Canela is the number of people involved. A tribe of 50 or 100 individuals is often the case in the Amazon Basin. In the late 1950s, however, the Canela were in two villages, Ponto (population ~265) and Baixão Prêto (~145), and the Apanyekra were in one village, Aguas Claras (~175). These numbers complicated the learning of faces and raised the question of what was a representative sample. As soon as I learned the names and activities of the significant people in one place, I had to move to another village. Therefore, when I returned to the first village, much memorized information had been forgotten or confused. Activities followed in one village could not usually be followed at a distance from another one, because reporting and verbal communication—before the development of the fine communication abilities of the younger Kaapêltùk [I.G.4]—were so unreliable and erroneous that the threads of continuity were largely lost.

A bigger disadvantage by far was the Canela attitude (in the late 1950s) about “begging” (Glossary) and their belief that they had an absolute right to be given what they were asking for. They did not suffer any negative emotional effects from their insistent, forthright, incredibly aggressive begging [III.B.1.f.(4)]. The persistence and aggressiveness of this activity tended to subside during my period of 22 years with the Canela, but it was only necessary to go to the Apanyekra for a short visit in the mid-1970s to become thoroughly reminded of this difficult behavior. What made it more difficult was that they had such a deficit economy between me months of September and December [II.C.3.g] that many of them did suffer from moderate hunger. When they came begging, it was usually because they were very hungry, especially during their years at Sardinha in the dry forests [II.B.2.g]. Hunger was endemic and beyond the aid of an individual outsider. It was not just food, however, that they wanted; anything a backlander would buy they begged for and ran the 10 to 20 kilometers to a backland community to sell, probably the same day.

This generous tradition was reinforced by Nimuendajú, who had sharpened this sense of having the right to demand foods and goods from an ethnologist. He had bought cattle and food for their festivals (Olímpio Cruz, personal communication) in the days when such items were not expensive. There was also me paternalistic tradition of the great Rondon’s Indian Protection Service, when the Canela were given ample free goods. These were terminated only one or two years before my arrival [II.B.2.d]. Large quantities of food, salt, cloth, and farming equipment (such as machetes, axes, and hoes) were freely given. The Canela expected that my generosity should be taking the place of this support from the Indian service. These factors made the demands of the Canela and the Apanyekra difficult to satisfy financially.

Their clever ways of obligating me to buy things for them were best met by living almost all the time with no money at hand, trusting that they would feed me, which my families always did in the late 1950s. If I had available money, I would be seen as being hõõtsè (stingy: evil) if I did not use it immediately for their or my own benefit. Having money and not spending it on the conspicuous needs of relatives was the strongest accusation the Canela had against certain backlanders: “He would let his grandmother the rather than spend a cruzeiro on her for medicine” [III.B.1.a.(1)]. My solution was to live on the small amount of credit backlanders extended to me. This was hampering, but it was possible this way to buy the necessary foods to assist sufficiently in my Canela families’ support.

When I first arrived in Belm in 1957, Galvão warned me about Canela financial demands, saying they were the tribe that traveled and begged the most in large Brazilian cities [II.A.3.a.(3)] and were, consequently, aware of the prices some large-city people paid for their artifacts and would expect the same of me. At first, it was a constant battle between holding the line and pleasing them.

Pia and David Maybury-Lewis (1965:172) experienced almost identical problems among the Shavante and Sherente: “They [Shavante] asked for presents because it was their right, and if they did not get them they glowered or stalked off in a huff.” In this context, Maybury-Lewis refers to the Shavante, who still maintain their pride, as “highwaymen,” while the Sherente were “beggars.” Similarly, the Apanyekra were still highwaymen in the 1970s, while most Canela had become too ashamed to beg and a few begged pathetically.

Another difficulty was managing the medical situation. Both Indians and backlanders expected to be able to get some medicines from me in the late 1950s (as almost the only knowledgeable person in the region, they thought). Some supplies were bought to satisfy their expectations, and this was also a good way to build rapport. The disadvantage was that until the Indian service post personnel’s medical stock and treatment capabilities surpassed mine, as they certainly did in the 1970s, I spent considerable time each morning making sick calls. From the point of view of research gained, this accomplished almost nothing.

Probably the greatest disadvantage of all in my fieldwork situation was the proximity and nature of the Indian service personnel in the late 1950s. Colleagues told me just to go to the Canela for a short visit without permission (since such licenses took so long to obtain), and the Indian service would never know the difference; but with the service personnel stationed and living just alongside the one Apanyekra and two Canela villages and also stationed and watching from the município level in Barra do Corda, an outsider could do nothing without their help and without their knowledge of his presence. Permissions from the federal level of the service were necessary for any nonbacklander to spend more man a day at any one of the Canela villages. (If one “friend” employed in the service had made an exception for me, others would have reported on him at higher levels.)

Moreover, since the Canela did not generally like and trust most of the Indian service personnel sent to them in the late 1950s, it would have been better if I had not had to deal directly with service individuals all the time. It became quickly evident, however, that it would be the Indian service personnel who would throw me out, if anyone did, rather than the Canela. Thus, I obviously had to continuously cultivate rapport with the service personnel by spending much time with them, especially in the late 1950s, before the general attitude of the personnel dramatically changed during the 1970s [II.B.2.i.(2), (4)] [II.B.3.e].

My constant contact and fraternizing with service personnel in the late 1950s did not help to build trust with the Canela until they were sure I was really “on their side” and would not tell the Indian service about their secrets, especially their stolen cattle [I.B.2.b]. However, even though I visited the service personnel and discussed matters with them almost every day in Ponto, and even though I fraternized with them to the extent of frequent meals at the post and going to backland festas (weekend parties) with them, the Canela eventually came to trust me.

Trading for artifacts of Canela material culture was an important component of the fieldwork, but again, difficulties did arise. First, both the Canela and Apanyekra felt strongly that each individual was entitled to receive something in exchange for my presence among them and for the research information I was receiving. Since I was clearly “gaining something off their backs” (ganhando nas costas deles), they wanted a “return” (hapan tsà ?nã). Otherwise, they would feel as if they were being taken “bare.” Moreover, if I were not paying for my presence, I would be taking her or him in a “light” manner.

As with “begging,” this expectation of a substantial “return” from me was justified through the “acculturation contract” set up by their culture hero Awkhêê between the Indian and the civilizado [II.B.2.f] [IV.C.1.b.(6)]. In 1975 for example, they actually discontinued festival activities so that the guests of the missionary-linguist, Jack Popjes, could not see the festival in progress and the log racing. The missionaries had not brought in sufficient foods and iron implements to make it dignified for the Canela to continue with the festival in their presence. They were not going to give the outsiders something without gaining enough in return. Something similar happened to me in October 1957 which convinced me that if I wanted to see festivals, I would have to be more “generous.” The older Pù?tô’s words against me to this effect in the plaza concerned me. He was the great sing-dance and festival leader of the council of elders, and he had been significant as a gourd rattle leader even in the time of Nimuendajú (1946:199). Since by my third month I knew I did very much want to study festivals, I sent for more money. The alternative was not filming them, taking any pictures, or watching them extensively—a watershed difference in level of expenses.

In November of 1974, as I was returning to the Canela after having been away for three years, a television team of O Globo, the great newspaper complex of Rio de Janeiro, was negotiating to film the Canela. They asked me in Barra do Corda what the Canela would want in compensation, and when I said at least a head of cattle (for five hundred people) and certain food staples in addition, they said this was out of the question.

This strong need of the Canela to exact high payments from the visitor, or the anthropologist, was a major difficulty in collecting material artifacts. Thus, in the late 1950s I established a reciprocal arrangement for acquiring them. Each person was given something of acceptable value to them in exchange for an artifact of acceptable value to me. Food from the farms and wild game from the cerrado and gallery forests were not accepted as approriate to this “barter” system.

To institutionalize this system over several visits, I designated a certain day for trading. This was usually a Sunday and occurred not more than one time a stay unless the field trip was over a year in length, as happened in 1959–1960, 1969–1970, and 1978–1979. In the 1960s and 1970s these trading days were connected with census taking. By the 1960s I could keep goods stored in my room for trading without having to redistribute them almost immediately—or be called “stingy.” Thus, I finally gained sufficient control to carry out tribal scale trading.

In the 1960s and 1970s, the day of trading was announced at least a month ahead, a day not long after the completion of a census. For census taking, all members of a family were required to be present in their house, for which a certain morning or afternoon was designated. About three houses were processed each day, two in the morning and one in the afternoon, and each house was taken in sequence around the village circle. Thus, census taking, which included me collecting of a large amount of quantitative data, took about a month or six weeks to complete, and often the period was lengthened by intervening events, such as festivals.

They quite rightfully expected some sort of payment for almost all members of a family to be present on these census days and give their time for as long as a third or half a day. They missed a significant amount of work or play by being at the census; and certain Canela, usually adolescent men up to 20, simply would not appear unless they were satisfactorily compensated. My trade-off with everyone was that if they were present for my questioning and for the picture taking, I would trade with them on the designated trading day. (There were between 400 and 600 Canela in the 1970s.) In this way, a very high percentage of people in the village was actually present in their houses during the few hours when needed. It is noteworthy that if their chief or the Indian service agent had given them a direct order to be present, they would not have obeyed in sufficient numbers, though there was considerably more compliance in such matters in the late 1970s.

During these census visits to each house, either an early or a late morning appointment or an afternoon one was specified so that no one had to wait a whole day. The census visits involved much more than just counting heads. Kinship and demographic questions were asked of most adolescent and adult persons. Their festival society memberships, hàmren (Glossary) and shamanic statuses, Formal and Informal Friendships, and their early festival honor and political positions were sought. I also asked what and how much they had planted in their farms and recorded on tape what they had planted around their village houses. (While the kinship and society membership data were reliable, their farm agricultural data were weak and are reliable only in a very general way.) I recorded the size, shape, and construction materials of their houses by speaking approximate measurements and descriptions onto tape, and I listed all the equipment seen in a house on tape, as well as much of what they had in their baskets and suitcases.

The final act of the census taking was always to take two pictures of the whole family—all the house residents—in front of their house. One person, in the front row of the group, was given a meter-long staff to hold vertically, which served as a relative measure of individual heights without the necessity of measuring each person. Each family received one Polaroid print and the other print was kept for the record. (On my return visits, each family received a larger copy of my print as well as copies of any other pictures taken.)

On the subsequently designated trading day, the larger items were evenly distributed throughout the village, e.g., one axe and two machetes for each large house, depending on its size and the number of such items in stock. Moreover, a standard price, with variations, was developed for pots, machetes, pieces of cloth—every category of item they were to receive—so that fairness, which was very important to them, would be recognized. Standard prices were also developed for all their categories of material artifacts with variations for quality.

Sometimes, during an evening council meeting and well ahead of time, I requested that special items I needed to complete my inventory be made by certain individuals, but most of the selecting of items to be made was left to them. However, their items presented for “sale” on the trading day were not always very well made. If they were too poorly fabricated, the individual had to come back with better-made artifacts on the same or another designated day in order to receive the house-assigned goods.

Through this fieldwork device, I gained (1) the presence of a group of people in their family home for extensive questioning together, (2) a procedure for giving everybody some appropriate item—candy to axe heads—to pay for my presence, and (3) a set of artifacts for the museums. They also gained little items of satisfaction on the census day and implements of significant utility on the trading day, all conducted in a spirit of fairness and good rapport. This reciprocal system was soon accepted and worked well to everyone’s advantage.

Traditional material artifacts of great artistic and sentimental value, as well as of ceremonial honor (Table 8, items 1–8), were bought separately on any day during an announced “open season” for an amount of money that showed respect for the item, which sometimes was 20 to 30 years old. I also recorded the history of any apparently significant material artifact. In 1979, Wakhõõ brought to me a krat-re (Table 8, item 6), an item of honor that she had been awarded in 1958 during a ceremony that I had attended. Thus, the workmanship was fine and its age and provenience was known.

[I.D] Field Equipment

[I.D.1] First Five Field Trips, 1957–1966

The 10 field research trips from the United States to the Canela can be divided into the five earlier ones (1957–1958, 1959–1960, 1963, 1964, and 1966) and the five later ones (1969–1970, 1971, 1974–1975, 1976, and 1978–1979). This division is based on the topics studied and on the field equipment used. By 1969, tape recording had largely supplanted written field notes, and 35 mm color photography with new cameras and lenses was supplanting my 54 mm black and white photography. By 1974, Super-8 filming had replaced the much earlier work with a 16 mm camera. Such changes are not research advances in every case, nor do they necessarily represent technological progress. For instance, it would have been better for the eventual record to have continued with 54 mm black and white photography and 16 mm filming, because of greater film size, but the new techniques provided greater flexibility and increased volume. Moreover, there were very significant subject matter changes between 1966 and 1969. In the later period more emphasis was placed on kinship and quantitative approaches, on particular emic and linguistic orientations, and on cognitive and semantic analysis of key words. Festival description was pursued extensively during both periods, but new techniques were employed in the 1970s.

[I.D.1.a] NOTE-TAKING

Before going to Brazil in 1957, I took a course in speedwriting and then further adapted this recording technique to my needs while with the Canela. Almost everywhere I went while in the field from 1957 through 1966, I carried a small metal clipboard, which was about 8 centimeters wide by 20 centimeters long. Pads of paper that had been cut in Brazil to fit the size of the clipboard were attached. Specially cut pieces of carbon paper were slipped between the pages to create two copies of all field notes. Such notes were always taken in pencil because ink might run if exposed to water. My brother in Baixão Prêto wove a large purse-like mõko for me to carry the small clipboard and other elements of my field equipment everywhere I went.

Back in the United States for the winter of 1958–1959, I typed the entire collection of field notes onto 13 by 24 centimeter slips of paper, and cross-referenced them by subject matter by means of additional carbon copies—usually seven. Much material was added to the notes from memory but placed in brackets on the slips of paper.

In 1963, my first wife Mary Jean and I made a two-week visit to the Canela in the dry forest on the Guajajara reservation at the Sardinha post (Map 3). The small clipboard and a 35 mm camera were the only instruments taken on the trip.

In February 1964, we arrived in Sardinha with new equipment that kept up with the technology of the times. Though I still used the same clipboard for certain purposes, such as linguistics, we now had two Gray stenographic recording machines, which engraved the voice onto blue plastic discs. Daily notes and observations were recorded in this manner, though I spent much time keeping these machines functioning during the humid months of February through April, and then again in the windy and dusty dry months of June and July. I carried one engraving machine around on a shoulder strap almost all the time while in the field. The disc engraved on the first machine was copied onto a second disc by the second machine at some later time to make a back-up copy. When recording notes in my field office, I used two microphones in order to make two copies at the same time.

Back at the Smithsonian all of these field notes, as well as the notes of the late 1950s and 1960, were typed by a stenographer onto 13 by 24 centimeter McBee Keysort cards. The 120 bordering holes were cut out for subject matter, roughly following the Human Relations Area Files’ category numbers as codes, which, however, were substantially reworked for easier retrieval. A great deal more could be recorded by using dictation and much time was saved by having someone else do the typing. Having such help, however, meant no additional information from my memory could be added to the field notes away from the field after 1960.

In the summer of 1966, I returned to Sardinha with a Norelco 11-centimeter (4-inch) reel tape recorder. Certain kinds of notes, however, were still recorded in speedwriting on the clipboard pads and carbons. The transition to modern tape recording was still not complete.

[I.D.1.b] TAPE RECORDING

In the late 1950s and 1960, a spring-wound second-hand Nagra tape recorder with a limited set of 13-centimeter (5-inch) reels of tape was part of the field equipment. This fine recording instrument was used only to tape music—the festival songs and choral chanting of the 1957 Pepyê, the 1958 Pepkahàk, the 1959 Khêêtúwayê, and the 1960 Fish festivals, and the morning and evening casual sing-dancing. This high quality recorder was never taken to the Apanyekra villages, because such visits were limited in duration and number during that period. Thus, it was pointless to risk the possible damage of muleback transporation.

In 1957 a small tape recorder that ran on a battery pack was part of my equipment. The use of this recorder was limited by the unreliable supply of the large, unconventional batteries it required, but some old myths and vocabulary words were collected on it nevertheless.

[I.D.1.c] PHOTOGRAPHY

My photographic equipment during the early period (1957–1966) included a 35 mm Leica, as well as a 54 mm film size Rollieflex. Thus there are a limited number of photographs in color and in black-and-white in both sizes.

In 1963, I took two rolls of 35 mm film of the Canela two days after their forced removal to Sardinha from their native cerrado lands. Only slide copies remain in the national collections, because the originals were sent to the head of the Indian service to fulfill a promise I made to him in the field.

The same photographic equipment was still used in 1964, but I began to take more 35 mm photographs (all color) than 54 mm ones (all black-and-white, this time). My lack of practice with filming equipment before going to the field in 1957 is evident in the early films. There are short, poor quality films of the Pepyê festival in 1957, the Pepkahàk festival in 1958, and the Kêêtúwayê festival in 1959 taken with a second-hand 16 mm Bell and Howell.

In 1964, considerably more use was made of the 16 mm movie camera than in the late 1950s. In 1966, traveling light, I used only the 35 mm camera and relied more on 35 mm colored slides.

[I.D.1.d] RORSCHACH TESTS

In the late 1950s, I used my Rorschach training and wrote the protocols as projected by a dozen Canela who sat with me for this purpose for an hour to two at a time. The work was disappointing. In my opinion these protocols were almost useless because of our inability to transmit details of description and shades of meaning into each other’s languages. Consequently, the administering of these tests was not continued in the 1960s and 1970s.

Some other psychological perception tests were also administered in the late 1950s. They were given to me by a psychologist for experimentation in the tribe, and were oriented to test for various aspects of subject-perceived closure and nonclosure. The results were not reliable due to unsatisfactory communication.

[I.D.2] Last Five Field Trips, 1969 and the 1970s

State-of-the-art technology plays a significant role in fieldwork methods, especially in long term ethnology. In the 1980s—well after my last entry to the field in 1978—it has become possible for ethnologists to take small video cameras and portable personal computers with them as annotation equipment. Sometime in the future, presumably, we will take portable machines to the field that will transform speech to typed notes and enter them into personal computers at our field study locations or even send the information out by radio.

[I.D.2.a] NOTE-TAKING

In 1969, a 4-speed Uher tape recorder was part of the equipment. Field notes were taken on a 13 centimeter open reel at the slowest speed, linguistic phenomena were recorded at an intermediate one, and chanting was taped at a higher speed. This proved to be a clumsy procedure, which resulted either in sections at different speeds being recorded on the same reel or in the need to change reels frequently. For writing, large Brazilian folded pages (25.1 cm folded by 31 cm) with a carbon between the folds replaced the clipboard. These pages were placed on a smooth wide board as a writing surface, supported on a table made of tied sapling poles. This became the local state-of-the-art fieldwork desk, which was first used by the linguistic missionary. “Space” pens took the place of pencils. These ordinary looking pens, which had been developed for the NASA space program, used ink that would not become blurred in water, could write through a small amount of natural skin oil and perspiration on the paper, and could even function upside down (while I worked in a hammock) because the flow of ink was forced up against gravity by air pressurized cartridges.

In 1970, advances in technology had made it possible to change from open tape reels to the kind of cassettes and conventional battery-run small recording machines still in general use today (though still smaller “micro-”equipment exists). Cassettes could be changed quickly and easily with a major shift in topic or activity—such as from singing to note taking.

For my last three field trips I relied fully on the use of high quality, 120-minute tape cassettes, two copies of which were made at the same time. If only one copy was made, another one was dubbed later so that there were always two separate copies. These separate sets of cassettes were sent back to the Smithsonian on different shipments, and during a long field stay, the products of the earlier months were sent ahead separately.

There was a “daily record” series of cassettes used for moment-to-moment observations and thoughts, and a “research assistant council” series, which shifted month-to-month with the topics under study by my council, such as festivals, kinship, Nimuendajú restudied, and key words and concepts. At my research assistant council meetings, I followed digressions in our discussions by shifting cassettes rapidly to pre-sort the subject matter into major categories. The long-term research assistants were not disturbed by such activities. This proved to be a useful procedure because it was easy to slip the daily record cassette into the machine for miscellaneous information, replacing the principal cassette for the main topic of the day, or one of the other three or four side-topic cassettes.

The final annotation development during the 1978–1979 trip was to take notes in modified speedwriting on the large folded pages, with carbons in between the folds, at the research assistant council meetings. Not too long after, I put these notes onto tape with elaborations, while the notes were red penciled for additional questioning at the next appropriate research assistant council meeting. This procedure became necessary because the meetings were producing so much significant and difficult material. It was necessary to think carefully about these data between meetings. During the study on key words and concepts, it proved best to work only in the mornings with research assistants and to spend the afternoons considering and taping the morning’s work and preparing for the next day. During that period I spent evenings on recording, translating, and studying myths and on the song conservation program.

[I.D.2.b] STUDY OF COLORS

In 1971, I took Munsell color chips to both the Apanyekra and the Canela. These rectangular slips of paper represent dozens of color gradations throughout the visible color spectrum. Although the sample of individuals tested was probably not sufficient for a quantitative study, I nevertheless collected a considerable amount of material on how both tribes make their color distinctions and intermediary judgments. These data are in my office at the National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

[I.D.2.c] PHOTOGRAPHY AND FILMING

By 1970, only 35 mm cameras (Nikon and Nikhormat) with several lenses and color film were being used, except during the census when I used black-and-white Polaroid film to photograph family groups before each house.

A new kind of equipment entered my fieldwork array in 1974–1975. A Super-8 soundless camera was used principally to film festival activities, life cycle rites, and log racing or track events. I considered this footage “field notes,” and never intended editing the films. The village houses and the post buildings were also filmed in this manner during every return visit during the 1970s, and still photographs of all houses were taken in every village. (The photographic record of village houses and their activities began in 1964.)

With a Super-8 camera, my procedures for “covering” a festival were most fully developed. First, I studied and memorized what was going to take place. I did this by rereading Nimuendajú (1946), by reviewing my notes of previous performances of the same festival, and by asking my research assistant council to reconstruct the coming day’s festival activity. Then, while the festival was in progress, I spoke quietly into the tape recorder, giving a description of what was taking place. I also filmed some of the action and took 35 mm photographs of certain occurrences. During important singing, it was occasionally necessary to return to the carefully positioned recorder to make certain the music was being recorded at the right level. Later, during the middle of the day, if no festival act was in progress, I invited the principal actors to my research assistant council meeting and asked them to tell me their thoughts about what had been going on and why they were doing certain things one way or another. Of course, the objective was to determine as nearly as possible what they had been doing, because neither my eyes, nor the Super-8 filming, nor the 35 mm camera photographs could cover all of the details and purposes of the activities. (During 1978–1979, a Super-8 sound camera was used, a Chinon 506 SM XL/Direct Sound.)

In future fieldwork a portable sound video camera would be helpful, but such equipment was not readily available in 1978. The video tape could be played back to the principal actors and me research assistant council for their assistance in answering any significant questions.

[I.D.2.d]

RECORDING CHORAL CHANTING AND INDIVIDUAL SINGING

The techniques and equipment used to record chanting and individual singing were the same during the 1978–1979 trip, except that the silent Super-8 movie camera was exchanged for one that recorded sound so that some of the films on festivals are accompanied by singing. The National Human Studies Film Center of the Smithsonian lent me a superior Nagra tape recorder (Figure 19, left rear; Plate 69f). With that instrument I spent a considerable amount of time recording on-going festivals and sets of songs performed in the evenings specifically for my recording.

I spent many evenings recording the singing of individuals—both festival chants and individual songs people sing during work. It seemed easier to extract the words later from recordings of one person singing rather than when a group was chanting. This record of individual singing was called the “song saving series.” The purpose was to record a large number of songs for later Canela use and retention. A junior sing-dance leader, the younger Tep-hot (Plate 70g), volunteered to help this song conservation program. He used one of my cassette recorders to tape his own singing and that of certain senior sing-dance masters. He did this to save the songs from both sources for posterity, and so that he could learn and remember the songs himself.

Some day these recordings and most of the Super-8 film footage (which will have to be put on video tape) may go back to the Canela. These materials may help them conserve their festivals and life cycle rites.

[I.D.2.e] CLOTHING

My complete fieldwork attire consisted of tennis shoes, swimming shorts, and a men’s shoulder-strap carrying bag (mõko) shaped like a modern Western woman’s purse. Outside of the village, however, a cloth or straw hat was advisable for protection from the sun. In the 1970s I could wear Japanese-style open sandals made in Brazil of some very durable plastic material instead of tennis shoes, because with the arrival of outhouses, Westerners did not need protection against scratches, punctures, and infections inflicted by the scrub country bushes outside the village. Nylon swimming shorts (boxer style) were preferable because they could be washed while bathing so much more easily than most other materials. I did not wear a shirt except while walking between villages, or when going out to the farms, and then only as protection from the sun. In the late 1970s, when some of the diary writers wore short sleeve shirts—a self-selected mark of their self-imposed rank—I still went around the village without a shirt like most of the Canela, except for occasions that called for a more formal outfit, such as visiting the Indian service post.

[I.E] Learning the Canela Language

In 1957, there were no sources from which to learn the Canela language before arriving in the tribe. Nimuendajú (1946:33) lists seven published vocabularies but only four of these were somewhat helpful: Nimuendajú, 1913 (55 words); Snethlage, 1924:187 (399 words); Abreu, 1931:201 (200 words), and Pompeu Sobrinho, 1930:17 (798 words). The orthography, the phonetic spelling, and the meaning attributed to words in these vocabularies are very confusing, except for Nimuendajú’s. His samples, however, are too few to be of much assistance. Olive Shell (1952) reconstructed a posthumous grammar left by Buell Quain, but it contains a considerable number of unresolved fieldwork alternatives, which make it difficult to study. In addition, the level of its presentation is elementary.

When I arrived in Barra do Corda, the former Canela Indian service agent, Olímpio Cruz (Figure 7), gave me his notes on Canela words and phrases, which were quite extensive (~500). However, the orthography and phonetic spelling were often misleading (Cruz, 1972). Only Nimuendajú had a good enough ear and training to transform a significant part of his phonetic materials into phonemic representations.

Thus, it was necessary to learn the language directly from the Canela, though they could neither analyze nor explain it. Becoming conversant in the language, however, was not absolutely necessary for carrying out reasonably good fieldwork, since many men spoke Portuguese at least to some extent (cf. Melatti, 1967:10). None of the more modern Timbira ethnologists (e.g., Arnaud, Chiara, Da Cunha, Da Matta, Lave, Melatti, Newton, Schultz), except for Nimuendajú and Quain, have attempted seriously to learn the languages of their tribes. I came to enjoy studying the Canela language during periods of relaxation. When trying to take a siesta in my hammock, I studied Canela words in the context of phrases. Learning the language gave me much satisfaction.

Another reason I felt compelled to learn Canela was that the likelihood of misunderstanding a research assistant speaking in Portuguese was very high—in fact, certain to occur—to an extent not realized at first. Efficient and reliable communication that did not require cross-examination and double-checking was assured only when the younger Kaapêltùk (Figure 51) became a well-trained translator-interpreter.

[I.E.1] Phonemic Contrasts

I first discovered a phoneme not identified by Nimuendajú when I was staying in Barra do Corda in 1957 before going to the tribal village of Ponto for the first time. While working with the first chief, Kaarà?khre (Figure 18), who had come to meet me, it became obvious that the words kô (water) and khô (digging stick) were in contrast. While an aspirated palatal/velar stop does not exist in German or Portuguese, it does occur in English, so it is easy for a speaker of English, knowing Portuguese, to hear this distinction.

A significant breakthrough came in 1960 while visiting Rio de Janeiro. The rhythm and phonemic writing of certain words were elusive, so I explained the circumstances to the veteran SIL specialist Sarah C. Gudschinsky. She suggested the investigation of a potential phonemic relationship between long vowels and short consonants or between short vowels and long consonants. Subsequently, I found that long vowels were in phonemic contrast with short ones.

It is important to mention this phenomenon of phonemic contrast in vowel length because it has not appeared in the writings of any Timbira ethnological specialist. Jack Popjes of the SIL, who arrived among the Canela in 1968, confirms the existence of this phonemic contrast and uses it in his publications (Popjes, 1974). Many Canela words cannot be heard, written, or pronounced accurately without the use of this contrast between single and double vowel length.

[I.E.2] Time Spent on Language

While learning the Canela language was not necessary for good field research in the late 1950s, I nevertheless made efforts to learn Canela better and practiced it as a pastime during my various stays. I could not put a priority on learning the language because of the urgency of developing the ethnological materials. In the late 1950s, my sense of urgency was exacerbated by political uncertainties [I.C]. Nevertheless, I worked at building up lists of sentences with one unknown expression or construction in each and then memorizing them. This work was the main focus of my field studies during the fall of 1959 and in the winter of 1960. I spent a long period on the morphology—maybe two months—in the summer of 1964. During the fall of 1969 I practiced grammatical forms (frames) using learning tapes, and during the summer of 1970 this technique was continued with examples supplied by Jack Popjes.

By this time, studying the manuscript translations [I.F.1] of the younger Kaapêltùk gave me greater fluency in reading and therefore in speaking and understanding. Diary tapes (cassettes) made regularly by Kaapêl and Kaprêêprêk (Plate 69a) relating the news of the tribe after 1970, when I received them in Washington, D.C., further helped my proficiency.

The 1974–1975 trip was to have been my last field stay, so little work was done on the language during that period. It was not until the winter and summer months of 1979, therefore, when certain fieldwork “requirements” had been completed, that a priority could be given once more to linguistics. At that time I was focusing on cognitive studies which supplemented the current work on dualism. It had become obvious that the semantic fields of many words did not have the same referents as in English or Portuguese, but rather had areas of overlap and areas of noncorrespondence. After studying a considerable number of such words with the younger Kaapêltùk, it became clear that certain misunderstandings and faulty translations were regularly taking place. Hearing the Canela usage of Portuguese for many years furnished clues to the semantic areas of noncorrespondence between presumed equivalent Canela and local Portuguese terms. Furthermore, my learning Canela provided the opportunity to develop a research assistant as sensitive and trained in translation as the younger Kaapêltùk, an unestimable aid to my understanding the Canela, as well as their language.

An example of these noncorresponding terms is the use of the Portuguese word culpa (blame, fault). When the Indian service agent said that he had put the blame on Kupaa (Kupaa tem culpa), the Canela thought that Kupaa, specifically, was excluded from being blamed by the agent—the opposite of the agent’s intent. The expression ku ?te ?pro is believed by the Canela to mean ele tem culpa (he is to blame). But it actually means in Canela, “he is covered up.” In this case, it is understood that Kupaa is not to blame, implying that someone else is guilty; he is “covered up” (shielded, protected) by the agent’s words, whether or not he is believed by any party to have actually committed the specified fault.

My words and concepts study became a source of greater satisfaction than any other materials collected during my 64 months in the field. This study, and the related analysis of dualism, seemed to be the final and principal research product of learning some of the language—I will never say “having learned the language.”

[I.F] Diaries and Tapes

During a period of 16 years (1964–1979), some 78,400 pages of manuscripts were written by Canela research assistants [Ap.2.e] [Ap.3.a]. Over a span of ten years (1970–1979) two Canela “spoke” their diaries onto 120-minute tape cassettes, which amounted to one to two cassettes a month. The manuscript activity began in 1960 when I suggested to several research assistants that they write some daily diaries. I did not expect them to continue after my departure in September 1960. However, Hàwpùù, about age 32 in 1960 (Plate 70f) [I.G.6], was writing an account of his life and the tribal occurrences in 1963, during the Canela messianic movement. His manuscripts were burned as a result of the July 10 attack on the Aldeia Velha village, during which three Canela were killed. These writings would have been invaluable as records of the movement. This loss was a factor in my motivating Hàwpùù and others to write manuscripts on a regular basis.

In 1964 when I returned to live with the Canela for five months, Hàwpùù and two others, the younger Pù?tô (Plate 68a) [I.G.5] and the younger Kaapêltùk (Plate 69c) [I.G.4], began writing manuscripts for me according to a precise plan. They wrote three pages a day in Portuguese. The younger Kaapêl, however, wrote two pages in Canela and then translated them into Portuguese on the following day.

[I.F.1] First Three Writers

Hàwpùù, the younger Pù?tô, and the younger Kaapêltùk had been taught to write in Portuguese between 1944 and 1948, at the Ponto village Indian service school by their teacher, Dona Nazaré. They did not write very well in 1964, but daily practice soon made them accomplished and fast writers. This was never really the case for Pù?tô, however, who to the last days of the project in 1979, wrote so conscientiously and with such concern about the beauty of his handwriting and thoughts that he could never become more efficient. He was a natural poet.

The diarists were free to choose their own subjects. The diary writing was an informal projective test; it was most important not to tell the writers what to do other than to give them the required number of pages to fill with their personal thoughts and major tribal events. These were the two subjects of concern to me and therefore the only points of instruction to them.

Because all three had worked as research assistants in 1959 and 1960, they knew what interested me. Thus, they were somewhat directed by the nature of our earlier contacts. After 1960, when my research interests required older persons with memories of the first and second decades of the 20th century, Hàwpùù and Pù?tô no longer worked for me as research assistants. They were too young to know the materials I was seeking. The younger Kaapêl, the youngest of the three, became more of an interpreter for older Canela than a research assistant.

While I was there from 1958 through 1960, Kaapêl worked for me daily as an interpreter, teacher, and research assistant. Hàwpùù and Pù?tô worked with me considerably less, and only intensely in the winter of 1959–1960 as research assistants. Pù?tô, however, was an “uncle” so we had a personal relationship. Whether working with me or not, he often used to accompany me down to the stream to swim and bathe at the end of the day, where we discussed all sorts of matters as uncle to nephew. In 1969 when my second wife Roma visited the tribe and was adopted by the family of me first chief’s wife’s mother, Hàwpùù became my in-brother-in-law (being the chief’s wife’s brother) and I was consequently his out-brother-in-law [III.E.3.a.(1)]. Thus, the relationship with all three of them became close.

Special work was necessary to improve Kaapêl’s writing abilities, because he had no conception about writing phonemically in his own language. By the 1960s, I was writing Canela almost phonemically in a script provided by Kenneth L. Pike (1947). Kaapêl, about 28 in 1960, learned this system with some difficulty because it was hard for him initially to conceive that letters are arbitrary symbols expressing a range of sounds. When he internalized this idea, he became an excellent and very precise phonemic writer and was able on several occasions to quickly use new sets of symbols to agree with the changes in the orthography of the SIL linguist in 1968, 1971, and 1974 [II.B.2.b.(3)].

Kaapêl was very concerned about making mistakes. What would his people say later when Pèp’s (Crocker’s) book appeared if his teacher taught him erroneously? So he was very careful. At first he tried to translate Canela words into Portuguese quite literally, word for word, using the same word order and sometimes even translating individual syllables. Little by little he learned to translate whole phrases and sentences freely into what he considered to be good Portuguese (i.e., good Maranhão backland Brazilian). He did not achieve this writing skill until the early 1970s. Later, he became very capable at working with aural material that required the translation of a general idea, paragraph by paragraph, such as translating myths and war stories. For this process, he would listen to one tape in Canela and translate it onto another in Portuguese [Ap.3.b]. In 1975 through 1979, this more general verbal approach was necessary in order to cover a great deal of mythical material in a limited amount of time.

Kaapêl’s written translations of the late 1960s almost always made sense, but his word order was close to the Canela sequence so that he provided an excellent Rosetta Stone for individuals learning Canela. A dedicated linguist could learn a great deal by studying Kaapêl’s manuscripts written over many years.

[I.F.2] The Manuscript-writing Program

The three writers, the younger Kaapêltùk, the younger Pù?tô, and Hàwpùù, were paid for their work, and consequently, the activity of writing, which was already held in great respect among the Canela, became even more prestigious [II.B.3.b]. The writers wrote persistently, with an almost unbroken record of production from 1964 through October 1979—a remarkable achievement. While the pay was never enough to relieve the writers from having to put in annual farm plots to support their families, it did enable them to buy certain items from backlanders or Barra do Corda residents and to employ other Canela to occasionally do simple services for them. It was clear that the wives liked this extra money. The motivating factors for the program were regular extra money, personal interest in the activity, and a desire to do this job for me. I obviously had to receive, comment on, and be appreciative of their products, which required great conscientiousness and patience on their part.

In addition, the personalities of Hàwpùù and Pù?tô were ideal for this sort of work. Hàwpùù was a natural ethnologist, interested in almost everything that was going on, in the reasons why people were doing one thing or another, and why certain events were occurring. In the 1970s, I added a third instruction and suggested that the writers insert an ampoo nã? (what in: why?) as often as possible into their manuscripts. Hàwpùù was the most consistent of the five writing in the 1970s, and later of the 12 writing in 1978–1979, in putting this request into practice.

Pù?tô, about 36 in 1960, had similar personal characteristics and inclinations, but differed from Hàwpùù in his focus. Pù?tô was less concerned about observations of other people and why things occurred and more interested in reporting his own feelings about events. He did this in a dramatic and even magnificent way. I will never forget the experience of sitting in my Smithsonian office one evening and reading about how my Canela uncle, Pù?tô, was out hunting one day when he saw a game animal slip out of sight into a deep hole in a stream. He wrote how he dove after it only to find himself becoming tangled in the cods of a large sucuruju (anaconda: a large water-living constrictor). The snake bit Pù?tô’s right wrist so that he had to reach for his machete on his belt at his left side with his left hand to pull it out of its sheath, an awkward feat at best. But he succeeded in cutting the snake’s head, which was clinging to his right wrist, using his machete in his left hand (he is right handed). The serpent let go of his hand and also relaxed its coils around Pù?tô’s legs. He then described the blood in the water and how he went home to take care of his wound.

In contrast, Kaapêl, though he was loyal to the work in the 1960s, became impatient with it in me mid- to late 1970s. It was no longer a challenge. As a translator and cassette recorder, he received more pay than the rest, but sometimes he did his work too rapidly, and therefore without depth. As the leader of the younger Lower moiety age-set, however, he knew more about what was going on in the tribe than any of the other writers and included such information in his writings; therefore, his accounts (and translations) of tribal activities were by far the most complete and reliable. He liked to narrate his semipolitical antagonisms against other Canela individuals onto tape so that recording often must have been quite therapeutic.

An additional motivation for Kaapêl was certainly the position of leadership that managing my manuscript system gave him. During one period of several years he collected the manuscripts and cassettes from the other writers and recorders and distributed the pay. My relationship with Kaapêl was surely the closest. We had a number of personal talks, and there was a lot of joking between us—sometimes about his love life.

[l.F.2.a] ADDITIONAL WRITERS OF THE 1970S

In 1970, two new writers were included in the manuscript-writing program, Kaprêêprêk and the younger Tep-hot, ages 22 and 31, respectively. Kaprêêprêk (Plate 69a) had not been taught by Dona Nazaré in the mid-1940s. He was one of the sons of chief Kaarà?khre—a middle son. Later, in about 1981, he became the chief of the tribe in place of his father but was soon deposed [Ep.2]. Kaprêêprêk had had special training [II.B.3.d] while he was growing up, having spent two years studying in a Catholic convent in Barra do Corda and some other years living in a similar convent in Montes Altos, about 220 kilometers to the west and close to the Gê-speaking Krĩkatí Indians (Maps 1, 2). Later, Kaprêêprêk spent a year with the Brazilian Army in São Luis, the state capitol. Given all this training as a young man, by 1979 Kaprêêprêk spoke the best Portuguese of any person in the tribe, except for those several young Canela males who left to live permanently in large cities during the Canela hardships in the dry forests at the Sardinha post [II.B.2.g.(9)]. While the younger Kaapêl could communicate superbly, his Portuguese usually was ungrammatical; his tenses, persons and word orders were often wrong. Kaprêêprêk not only spoke correctly, but also had an extensive command of urban Portuguese, as well as the backland variety.

The second newcomer to the writing team, the younger Tep-hot (Plate 70g) [I.G.1] had been taught to write by Dona Nazaré. He was also a uterine brother to my adopted sister, Te?hô [I.A.2], and therefore a brother to me. He was one of the sing-dance leaders of the younger generation and, therefore, quite prestigious in his own right [II.D.3.i.(4)] [II.F.1.a].

It was for Kaapêl and Kaprêêprêk in 1970 that the diary tape technique was introduced. As well as manuscript writing, they began to make diary tape cassette recordings. Each of them was given a tape recorder to use and an appropriate number of cassettes. At first, four hours of recording (that is, two 120-minute cassettes) were required each month. Their assignment on tape was the same as on paper, namely, to speak about their personal lives and about the activities of the tribe, giving reasons wherever possible. Both had worked with me so they knew my vocabulary in Canela and tried to adapt their usage to mine—a practice I had not asked them to adopt. I did, however, ask them to speak slowly, and we did practice this together several times. The results were that I can understand a high percentage (~90%) of what they are saying on the tapes.

In 1970, pursuant to my request, the amount that all these writers were writing was reduced so that if they wrote in just one language, they were writing only every other day. Kaapêl, still the only translator, wrote two pages one day in Canela and two translated pages in Portuguese the next day. Kaprêêprêk and Tep-hot wrote three pages every other day in Portuguese.

In 1975, two more writers were added to the program, Yaako (Plate 71d) and Krôôpey (Plates 69b, 10g), ages 21 and 37, respectively. At this same time, Hàwpùù and Tep-hot were assigned to writing in Canela and translating, as Kaapêl had been doing. The two new authors wrote only in Portuguese, like Kaprêêprêk. Yôk (age 28; Plate 70d) and Hõõkô (age 21; Plate 71b) joined the program in 1976, the former writing just in Portuguese and the latter just in Canela. Pù?tô and Yaako [Ep.5.d] began writing in Canela and translating, and Krôôpey [Ep.2] began writing just in Canela.

In 1978 and 1979 three more writers entered the program—Kôyapàà, age 20 (Plate 70a), son of the younger Kaapêltùk, Yiirot, age 17 (Plate 69d), and the younger Krôôtô, age 43 (Plate 70g). Yiirot was a young married woman, who had been taught recently in the post school by Risalva. (Yiirot carried on an extramarital romance by letter with another manuscript writer, and these romantic contributions have been archived.)

Thus, in 1979, when 12 writers had joined the program, 5 were translating, 4 were writing just in Canela (including Kôyapàà and Yiirot) and 3 were writing just in Portuguese (including Krôôtô).

[I.F.2.b] POLICIES AND PAYMENT PRINCIPLES

The writers were paid according to certain defined principles mutually agreed upon. The base pay was calculated to be double what a regional backlander would pay another backlander to work as unskilled labor on his farm, but the time employed was set at two hours a day for the writer (more than needed) instead of the usual eight spent by the hired hand. Translators received twice the base rate because of their greater skill, as did tape-speakers due to their greater responsibility. The organizer of the writers group received an additional sum because of his responsibility and additional time spent on the job. In 1978–1979, we held writers’ meetings to review these principles that had been instituted in 1970. At the first of these meetings, Kaprêêprêk was elected to be the group organizer, replacing the younger Kaapêltùk who had had this role from the beginning. Some of the money was used by writers to hire others to do work that the individual writer would have done if he had not been writing. In this way the money was more widely distributed.

[I.F.3] 1979 and the Future

These manuscripts may some day become biographies or autobiographies, or parts of them may be published as accounts of what it is like to live in such a tribe. In any case, they are important records on acculturation and personal psychology. At a meeting on salvage anthropology at the Smithsonian in 1966, Professor Claude Lévi-Strauss said that extensive personal accounts written by natives of various parts of the world would be of considerable value some day in more effectively reconstructing the cultural fabric of the writer’s society. His statement was a significant factor in motivating me to continue and expand this program of manuscript writing. (For a study on Interpreting Life Histories, see Watson and Watson-Franke, 1985.)

[I.G] Special Research Assistants

If any section of this book arouses treasured memories, it is this one, because of the fascinating and rewarding relationships with long-term research assistants. This section describes their relationships with me as research assistants and them as individuals representative of their tribe.

Ages of individuals are accurate to the nearest three years above the age of 60, to the nearest two years above the age of 30, and to the nearest year and a half below 30 as of 1970. Estimates were developed while talking censuses during three or four different years. Determining ages was accomplished largely by correlating births, or periods such as childhood or adolescence, with dates of earlier village occupations and known events such as the massacre of me Kenkateye (1913), the great drought (1915), the first arrival (1929) and last visit (1936) of the ethnologist Curt Nimuendajú, the deaths of chiefs, and the presence of a series of Indian agents.

[I.G.1] The Younger Tep-hot

My first special research assistant was the younger Tep-hot (Plate 70g), a brother in the family into which I was adopted two days after arriving in the larger Canela village of Ponto (population 265). He was about 18 in 1957 and a member of the younger Kaapêltùk’s Lower moiety age-set, which graduated in 1951 [III.C.3.a]. Tep-hot was also a kô-?tum-re (water-old-dim.: a disciplining “corporal”) for the Pepyê novices (an Upper moiety age-set) of that year. Since he could write to some extent, my “sister” (also his sister) Te?hôk called upon him to keep me company and teach me things in the first few days after my arrival. I remember writing down word lists with him and checking some of the published vocabularies, photo copies of which I had brought with me. He was especially clean-cut in appearance, and later, when his hair was cut short, he could have passed for an American college fraternity stereotype, if he had been wearing the right clothing.

I remember Tep-hot as being very spontaneous. When I tried to write down a phrase of what he was saying, he could not slow his speech, so it was necessary to let him repeat the sentence rapidly many times while I took down a little of the sentence each time [II.B.3.b.(1)].

Tep-hot had been one of the six students who learned to read and write to some extent from the Indian service school teacher, Nazaré, in the mid-1940s [II.B.2.b.(2)]. As such, he was somewhat sought after by other Canela to write notes to backlanders to obtain goods or services. He became a maraca sing-dance leader [II.F.1.a] and belt-rattle handler (Plate 53a), and later the honorary sing-dancing chief of the current novices [II.D.3.i.(2).(b)], the Upper moiety age-set of Kôham, which graduated in 1962.

In 1959, outside the village of Baixão Prêto, I was summoned in the middle of the afternoon to come with my antivenin kit to give Tep-hot injections. He had been bitten in the right hand by a rattlesnake. Most of the Canela in the immediate area (Pombo stream farms; Maps 3, 7) had assembled—several dozen—to see what was going to happen. One or two individuals a year were usually bitten by poisonous snakes, and they sometimes died or were maimed.

Khrúwa-tsù (arrow honor-belt), the snake shaman (Plate 25l, m, the ear piercer), who was in his mid-60s, was there before me, treating Tep-hot. Khrúwatsù and I were on good terms, and thus he welcomed me, so I just sat there, watching. After finishing his curing procedures, he stood up and walked over to a small tree and put something into a cleft in the bark. I later retrieved the object, which was merely a small piece of folded paper—my note paper.

It was then my turn to be the curer, and by this time I had boiled my equipment and was ready to inject the serum. A tourniquet had been placed above the wound earlier. I made the injection into his upper right arm and stayed to watch the symptoms, should it be necessary to give additional injections, which were not necessary as the victim recovered. Tep-hot was always a good friend as well as a brother.

Although Tep-hot was my first research assistant in the village, he was never a regular one. His comings and goings were too uncertain and he was not as clear and knowledgeable in his explanations as most of the other research assistants. In 1970, however, I did accept him as a daily manuscript writer [I.F.2.a], and so had much contact with him during the 1970s.

A special memory of Tep-hot is the image of him sitting on the edge of the plaza writing his manuscripts in full view of everybody else. Kaapêl did this sometimes as well, but none of the other writers chose to write so consistently in such conspicuous places. I used to wonder why Tep-hot needed to proclaim his status and abilities so obviously because everybody knew which people were writing for me.

During the winter of 1979, he initiated an interesting process. He asked me to lend him a tape recorder so that he could approach the older sing-dance leaders. He wanted them to sing for him in the evenings so that he could record and then learn their songs. In this way he could increase the number of songs he could sing for the tribe to sing-dance to during the coming years. I lent him a recorder with the proviso that he let me make copies of his tapes [Ap.3.e.(2)]. In fact, I left a tape recorder with him with extra cassettes at the time of my last departure. I hope Tep-hot did a good job.

An outstanding item in the 1984 communication from the tribe was that it was Tep-hot who denounced Chief Kaarà?khre in 1981 or 1982 and thereby forced him to resign as chief [Ep.2]. By this time the Lower moiety age-set of the younger Kaapêltùk had taken over the role of the Pró-khãmmã [III.D.2.b.(1)], replacing the age-set of the older Kaapêltúk. Thus, Tep-hot’s role as a member of the opposition moiety was quite appropriate, since Chief Kaarà?khre was the head of the Upper age-set moiety.

In 1987 he became the chief of the tribe for a few months, but lost his position while away in Belém to the younger Kaapêltùk [Ep.3.b]. Except for the younger Kaapêltùk, Tep-hot was the best counter in the tribe, whether counting the number of people due to receive portions of meat, how many individuals were away from the plaza life working in their farms, or how many blocks of brown sugar each recipient was to receive. In the 1970s he demonstrated this ability to count the recipients of retirement benefits in the plaza before the elders, so I suspected that he was already running to become the chief some day.

[I.G.2] The Older Kaapêltùk

In the summer of 1957, not long after my arrival in the village of Baixão Prêto, the older Kaapêl-tùk (bacaba-black: a fruit), who was about 47 at that time (Plate 70b, Figure 50), became the next research assistant. He was the deputy commandant (Glossary) of the Lower moiety age-set that graduated in 1933 and the head of the whole of this moiety for Baixão Prêto.

He had been the keeper of Nimuendajú’s (Kô-?kaypo: water-across) horses and, therefore, was confident of his ability to relate to ethnologists. He was also the outstanding commandant (mē-?kaapõn-katê) of the novice age-set of 1933 that Nimuendajú depicts so vividly in his description of the Pepyê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:182) of that year. Moreover, his Portuguese was quite good (among the top half dozen), and he could explain things clearly.

In those early days I gathered much information from the older Kaapêltùk about what roles my predecessor had played in tribal life. This information helped me find my own proper role among the Canela. It was unfortunate that Kaapêltùk could not spend more time helping me, but he was employed by the Indian service and had to work around the post and its farm during the daytime.

Kaapêltùk insisted I have lunch with his family instead of my own, and, since he was the very imposing chief of Baixão Prêto, there was no resisting him. It was good for me to have this daily access to another family and especially to Kaapêltùk himself, even though their food was unhealthy. Almost everything that could be fried was fried in babaçu nut oil—one of the few flavors that I found undesirable, even sickening. Whereas my two principal families in Ponto and Baixão Prêto were clean in their handling of food and what there were of dishes and spoons, the older Kaapêltùk’s wife’s (Irom-krêê’s: forest-three) household was not. (In 1976–1977 this was Madeleine Ritter’s (1980) family.)

One noontime period while resting in a hammock after lunch in Kaapêltùk’s house, I overheard a classic situation. The Canela were hungry for meat: mê hatêê (they meat-[specifically]-hungry), the special term for such hunger. A-?prol (generalizer in-parallel), Kaapêltùk’s son-in-law, had bought a calf. He bought it with his salary from the Indian service. I heard the older Kuwrè (slippery), A?prol’s wife, begging him to kill the animal so that everyone could eat, but he would not give in. She then went to her mother’s father, Yõ?hê, and complained bitterly against her husband. The old man called A?prol hõõtsè (stingy, evil) several times. This condemnation was too much for the young out-son-in-law [III.E.3.a.(1)] of the house to resist. The calf was killed that afternoon. This hunger made it difficult for the Canela to raise cattle.

Members of this family are mentioned many times by Nimuendajú (1946:118, 124, 127, 132, 148, 236, 239). Iromkrêê was the ubiquitous Khen-taapi’s (hill to-climb) sister, Kaapêltùk her out-brother-in-law, and Yõ?hê was her father.

Chief Kaapêltùk enjoyed playing a role for me similar to that which he had carried out for Nimuendajú. In the 1950s he used to come for me in Barra do Corda with horses and mules to take me and my equipment back to his village of Baixão Prêto some 57 kilometers to the south (by map measurement: Map 3). There were usually about a dozen self-chosen Canela who would accompany such a trip to gain something, if only food.

On 21 May 1959, when we stopped at noon on the second day of the trip in the cerrado not far from a family settlement, we heard chickens cackling and pigs squealing excitedly. To my amazement, the group knew just what was happening and raced, not to the settlement’s houses but down along the stream’s jungle-shrubbery edge, to intercept the anaconda carrying away a pig to the relative safety of the stream’s waters. I followed to find that the snake had reached the stream and was submerged with its prey. Seeing it below the surface in the water, the Canela waited for it to emerge to breathe, at which time one person shot it in the head with a shotgun. The anaconda (Plate 15a) was killed instantly. When its coils loosened in death, its dead prey was released and washed downstream. The snake’s coils did not relax completely but remained caught in the underwater branches. With considerable effort we were able to haul the 4-meter constrictor out of the water, centimeter by centimeter, all pulling on it one behind the other. The progress was slow, but the catch was a great coup for hungry Indians. They butchered it there in the grass, carrying home only the intact tail and the meat for lengthy boiling. It was tough and tasted like lobster.

After the killing of such a snake, the killer sings a special song during most of me night, with the anaconda’s tail hung behind him from a staff held level across one shoulder, to impart the anaconda’s strength to the villagers. He trots and walks across the village plaza again and again at varying angles (kàà-kookhyê: plaza-splitting) each time, going down and back different radial pathways [II.F.1.c.(4)].

I had little contact with the older Kaapêltùk during the 1960s. When the tribe was forced from the cerrado onto the dry forest reservation of the Guajajara (Tenetehara) Indians in 1963, he took a much smaller group of his followers and moved away from the tribe, living in the village of Sardinha (sardine). He founded the settlement at Baixão dos Peixes (land-basin of-the fishes) about 11 kilometers to the south (Map 3) continuing the tribal schism between Ponto and his Baixão Prêto. Our contact with each other resumed more intensely than before during my 1978–1979 stay, after he had retired from his long-held full-salaried job (about 40 years) with the Indian service. He was the first Canela employee of the Indian service.

The older Kaapêltùk did not work well in groups. He was too used to being an unchallenged leader, as the commandant of his age-set, the opposing Baixão Prêto chief of the 13-year tribal schism, and the nominal leader (mē-?kaapõn-katê: their-sweep-master) of the Pró-khãmmã in the Escalvado village. In fact, I wondered if he would work at all with his named-nephew, the younger Kaapêltùk, my exceptional translator-interpreter. Fortunately he did, much to the credit of the younger Kaapêltùk, who treated him with unusual respect and consideration, catering to his substantial ego. These two research assistants formed the basis for my Saturday research assistant council meetings, which often included Tel-khwèy (jussara-woman: a palm tree) (Plate 73a), one of the informal leaders of the women. Under this arrangement, we met in me mornings and afternoons on most of the Saturdays during the course of a whole year and became very good friends.

The older Kaapêltùk was very precise and rather inflexible once he had taken a stand on an issue. Thus, it became quite a challenge for me to somehow prevent him from taking hard positions. Much of the work we did required careful consideration and reconstruction of the past on his part, so his first thoughts were not necessarily very accurate.

The role he liked most was checking the research assistant council work of the previous five-day week, which we did the first thing in the morning. Anything even slightly doubtful I brought to the attention of the older Kaapêltùk and Tel-khwèy for comparison, letting him think he was resolving the matter. My reconstruction of the Regeneration season moiety activities comes mostly from the older Kaapêltùk. He also remembered, better than any others, the rite that the slayer of an enemy alien goes through upon his return to the tribe.

This fine natural leader’s greatest contribution to my research, however, took place in the summer of 1979. As a result of pressure from the Indian service in Barra do Corda, the younger Kaapêltùk had said he would not work for me any more. This was at a time when only he could handle the materials I was studying, the cognitive data of the words and concepts study. His resignation would have been a great loss. However, at the urging of the Pró-khãmã in a formal evening session which the older Kaapêltùk led, the younger Kaapêltùk continued to work for me for the rest of my stay.

[I.G.3] The Older Mĩĩkhrõ

My next research assistant might have been the most important one of all, if I had been more aware of what was going on in his life. I have referred to him, the older Mĩĩkhrõ, as the old Ramkokamekra-Canela “library.” If anyone was my “grandfather” in the early days of my fieldwork. it was the older Mĩĩkhrõ. He was my naming-uncle’s naming-uncle. He was about 77 in 1957 and had been the age-set file leader (Glossary) (mamkhyê-?ti: in-the-lead-[ahead] pull aug.) of the Lower moiety age-set which graduated in about 1913 (Nimuendajú, 1946:91).

When I first arrived at Ponto in 1957, I was told to go and learn things with old Mĩĩkhrõ; but he lived in Baixão Prêto, a second and smaller Canela village about 6 kilometers to the north. I waited until I could stay for a long visit during the fall. Then I spent many hours with this kindly old man who, with the exception of the younger Kaapêltùk, spoke the best Portuguese in the tribe.

Mĩĩkhrõ was probably the first Canela to really appreciate what I intended to do as an ethnologist, and he was very encouraging. He saw, unlike the older Kaapêltùk, that I was going to “dig” more deeply into Canela life than had Nimuendajú, so he wanted me to come around to his house for instruction at any time and was not really concerned about being paid, which amazed me. He simply felt the responsibility to pass on the knowledge of his Canela heritage and ancient materials to a serious student of his culture. I never encountered these characteristics again in either Canela tribe—the sense of responsibility and the lack of concern about pay. These personality traits may have been vestiges of earlier times.

Mĩĩkhrõ was insistent that I tape his traditional stories, especially those about Awkhêê, Brazil’s Emperor Dom Pedro II (1831 to 1889). In those days small tape recorders were not very advanced. I had only an elementary cartridge tape recorder that ran on scarce and unconventional batteries [I.D.1.b]. Mĩĩkhrõ insisted on recording in Canela, saying that I would understand it eventually. Doubtfully, I complied and now have 10 small reels of very precious materials, which I do now mostly understand. Unfortunately, he died before much could be learned from him, but I treasure his memory. Only rarely is a research assistant so kind and so supportive almost immediately to a novice ethnologist.

I went to him frequently for special pieces of information, particularly confirmations. He seldom served as a principal research assistant, because I was expecting to take advantage of his great knowledge after I had learned enough general ethnography. In the meantime, I was working with younger, less knowledgeable research assistants. In the early spring of 1960, he actually asked several times to work regularly with me as others were doing, but this plan, unfortunately, kept being put off. When his wife died, only then did I turn to working every day all day with him to enlarge my understanding of Canela general ethnography. But it was too late. He was too devastated by the loss of his wife, and within six weeks he too was gone. (Both had tuberculosis.)

One special experience I shared with old Mĩĩkhrõ, on 3 September 1959, was a slow walk of 6 kilometers between the villages of Baixão Prêto and Ponto (Maps 3,7). The objective was to pass by whatever old village sites there were in that area, and to talk about life as it existed in those days while looking at specific house locations. I thought this would improve his memory, and it certainly did. We stopped at six old village sites (Krõõ-re-?khre (boar-dim.-hollow/house); Khwèk-hù-re-?te; A?khrã-?khà-?tèy (it’s-masses surface hard [two of this name]: Escalvado); Kupaakhíya (edible-vine’s oven); and Pyê-ntsõmti (earth-granular-aug.: greatly sandy). He identified almost every house spot in succession in one of the villages, telling me who lived there and what they used to do. He was particularly able in telling me about the two Escalvado villages that had been occupied in the 1890s and up until about 1903. It was during this period I believe the Canela had an interesting cultural climax [II.B.1.c]. The older Mĩĩkhrõ was between the ages of about 10 to 24 during that era, the best period for clear memory for most Canela according to my observations. The remains of both of these villages have been defaced and dispersed by the two modern villages in the Escalvado area, but it was still possible to see, measure, and take notes on the remains of the second old village site in 1969, as well as on that walk with Mĩĩkhrõ in 1959.

On another occasion (16 May 1960), Mĩĩkhrõ took me on a walk to Chicken House hill (Hõ-tsα?tsα-?khre: feather-chicken-house) to obtain azimuths with my compass on various other old village sites throughout the region, and of course, we talked about village activities in each of those areas. Mĩĩkhrõ is the source for most of the early tribal history recorded in this book [II.B.1].

[I.G.4] The Younger Kaapêltùk

During my four to five months with the Canela in 1957 I did not have any “empregados” (employees); as they say; that is, any research assistants with whom I met on a regular basis. My first research assistant of this kind was the younger Kaapêltùk [= Kaapêl] (Frontispiece, Figure 51, Plate 69c, f), who had been away—out in the world (no mundo)—during my stay in 1957 [II.D.3.i.(1)]. In 1958, this younger Kaapêltùk came to me a number of times, asking to become my empregado, but I could not see just how I could use him on a regular basis. He was about 28 in 1958 and was the commandant of the entire Lower age-set moiety in Ponto. He had been the deputy commandant (Glossary) of the Lower moiety age-set that graduated in 1951.

There were six regular Canela Indian service employees[3] who received salaries at the level paid in Barra do Corda, which was very high for the backlands. “Kaapêl” (nickname of the younger Kaapêltùk) felt that he should be one of these employees because of his ability to use Portuguese with backlanders and urban Brazilians and because of his responsibility as the leader of the Lower age-set moiety in the village of Ponto. Kaapêl had had some sort of employment, which had been cut off by the the Indian service agent, because of his inconsistency in appearing for work at the post. This happened during the time of Kaapêls last Pepyê internment, when he was me full commandant of the novices. He was trying to reinstate himself in the eyes of the Canela through obtaining employment from me. He also needed funds because his position of leadership required that he be generous with his followers and provide them with lunches when they carried out group work under his direction.

I did employ him (but at a considerably lower rate than the Indian service paid [I.F.2.b]) to spend the mornings helping the Indian service teacher instruct the young students at the post and to help me in the afternoons. This worked out well for some time, and the Indian service teacher, Doca (Raimundo Ferreira Sobrinho) was pleased. Eventually Kaapêl helped me all day except for two hours for lunch, study, and resting. This employment continued to the end of my 10 field stays. Beyond 1959, Kaapêl was employed as a research assistant for linguistics and as a translator-interpreter when I was interviewing other much older research assistants.

Kaapêl is an unusual person, besides being the key to my long-term research, so it is important that his complete history be presented. He was born about 1930 and is a direct descendant of one of the two great chiefs, Major Delfino Kõ?kaypo (Nimuendajú’s namesake), of the cultural climax period around the turn of the century. I became aware very early in my relationship with him that he was aware and proud of his chiefly descent. As a boy he was made a Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe (Glossary) (one of two) for a Pepkahàk act, the Apikrawkraw-re, which automatically made him the highest hàmren (Glossary) in the tribe [III.C.7] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]. This honor, including its responsibilities, continued when he became the father of the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe. His son, Kõ-yapàà (water-bridge), followed him according to the ceremony’s traditional patriline succession. These honors required that he not be stingy. For instance, in business, which involved managing a store, he had to be generous with credit and not press for payments due him.

As a ceremonial leader, he had to back away from the issue if individuals refused to cooperate. This role suited the younger Kaapêltùk, rather than taking a strong stand as a political chief would be likely to do. His life patterns were considerably modified by his role of honor, the obligations of which he took very seriously.

When I arrived, Kaapêl was the best speaker and writer of Portuguese in the tribe. One of his children had just been named Kupē-?khĩn (civilizado-likes: he likes backlanders). Kaapêltùk was a principal spokesman in favor of things Brazilian [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)] as was his naming-uncle, the older Kaapêltùk, to a lesser extent.

Kaapêl had attended the classes of the Indian service’s school teacher, Dona Nazaré, at the post in the mid-1940s [II.B.2.b.(2)]. He received his start in reading and writing and his general knowledge about Brazil from her. Kaapêl, nevertheless, spoke Portuguese following the Gê manner of thinking, not having learned it as a child. But he had learned to use gender, number, and certain tenses in the Portuguese manner—sometimes—which most Canela could not do at all. Outsiders have to guess at the sex and number of persons a Canela like Kaapêl was referring to in Portuguese, since in Canela, nouns, pronouns, adjectives, and verbs do not have forms that reflect gender or number. These are expressed through the addition of separate indicators.

In 1949, at the age of 19, Kaapêl was sent with one other student, Hakhà (age 20) to live in São Luis, the state capital with the Indian service personnel [II.B.2.b.(3)]. He went to school in the big city and worked on a farm, where he first learned about fertilization and irrigation, which were not used in the interior. Kaapêl loved the experience and claims he would have stayed there much longer, but after a year and a half, Hakhà had to go home; so they both were sent back to the Canela lands.

This experience encouraged Kaapêl to travel to large coastal cities [II.A.3.a.(3)] [II.D.3.i.(1)]. On one of these trips, however, he was in the back of a truck that turned over and was almost killed. He believes his life was saved by the powers of the santo (a picture of a saint on a card) that he had with him in his pocket at the time [II.B.1.c.(3)]. This experience may have been one of the contributing factors in his becoming a sort of folk Catholic priest to the Canela in the 1970s [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)].

In the mid-1950s, in what was probably one of the last arranged marriages among the Canela [III.F.4.c], Kaapêl married Atsuu-khwèy (age 24), who was a member of the largest longhouse (Figure 24) [III.E.2.e.(2)]. They have a number of children and grandchildren. Following the tribal custom, however, Kaapêl is known as a great lover because of his extensive and numerous affairs, a reputation of which he is proud.

In working with me, Kaapêl has been outstanding in his endurance, conscientiousness, loyalty, and reliability, as well as in his intelligence and his great sensitivity to shades of meaning when clarifying words, concepts, and points of view. He did not have these abilities at the beginning of his work for me. I remember well how he used to want to tell me things, going on for hours on his own experiences or on topics that were of little interest to me. He also jumped from one topic to another when I wanted him to expand or deepen his information on the topic of my choice. He got tired and bored easily and wanted to leave for long breaks. It was almost impossible to lose him, however, and little by little I managed to train him into an excellent research assistant, able to respond to the particular needs of the study in progress.

The realization that he should tell the truth for his own good came about in this manner. When I was checking Nimuendajú’s (1946) monograph, “The Eastern Timbira” and found that some items were inconsistent with what Kaapêl knew, he assumed that Nimuendajú’s helpers had “lied” to the author. This was a point I had worked hard to establish—that they must not lie—because it is a Canela custom to tell outsiders lies. This way of giving information (“lying”) was more fun for them; and outsiders, they thought, could not really understand Canela matters anyway. Kaapêl did not want to be in this shameful position himself later on when someone else came to the Canela with my book. Thus, he decided that he had to tell me the whole truth and began to insist that other Canela research assistants do the same. One of my great delights was when I heard him telling other research assistants in the group in Canela not to lie but to tell me the whole truth [III.B.1.b.(3)]. (This is obviously the origin of the epigraph of this monograph.) As my principal helper, he would receive the blame eventually, even if they did not, because everyone would know who had taught me. In fact, jealous individuals already were accusing him of lying to me.

Thus, after the initial period when I used to let Kaapêl and others talk about almost anything they wanted to tell me, I slowly developed a procedure so that we could study specific topics. Then, Kaapêl became very effective in bringing research assistants who had digressed back to the main point. I asked the questions in Portuguese, and he repeated them in Canela. Then, I listened to them debating the question in Canela, and finally Kaapêl told me their conclusions in Portuguese. In this way, the reliability of communication was considerably enhanced [Pr.2].

In 1958, the Canela made me a sort of ceremonial chief, the category of which has never been clear. In this capacity, they wanted me to intervene in Kaapêl’s marital life to convince his wife to let him return even though he had been paying a great deal of attention, even publicly, to a very young unmarried virgin. After one attempt at this kind of diplomacy, which failed, it seemed best not to “intervene” again even if I were asked to do so. It was better to observe, and thereby learn, than to participate and thereby introduce my initiatives into the Canela cultural equation.

Working as my master research assistant/manager was not the only way in which Kaapêl helped me. When we were in Barra do Corda, he ran errands and facilitated my relations with the group of Canela who inevitably came to town to obligate food and goods from me during the earlier stays, arrivals, and departures. The Canela had little control over their possessions in those days or, more correctly, over their desire to be generous [II.B.4]. Their fear of being considered stingy was too strong to resist the firmly expressed demands of others. Therefore, I always had to do the buying myself, which meant getting up at dawn to buy fresh meat before it all had been sold.

By 1960, however, Kaapêl became strong enough, or convinced enough about the Brazilian ways of doing things, so that he could resist the “begging” of his friends and relatives [III.B.1.a.(3)]. Subsequently, I could send him with a long shopping list of items and the money necessary to purchase them. After such a foray into the market place, he used to return to me very proudly with all the purchases for his people, with the list of the items added up by the vendor, and with the exact change. Carrying out such a task with precision—to the centavo—became a new experience for the Canela which a few others emulated (Kaprêêprêk [II.B.3.d]), but Kaapêl received the prestige that goes with a first performance.

During part of October 1960, I lived in Barra do Corda in a small rented house where all my purchased artifacts of the past years were stored. Kaapêl and Atsuu-khwèy (his wife) came to stay with me during this period to work on the artifacts—repainting certain ones with urucu and mending others—before they were shipped to Rio de Janeiro, Belém, and the United States. In the Canela kinship system, Atsuu and I were not related, though I was a distant relative to Kaapêl. Thus, Atsuu was permitted to call me by my name, Pèp, and joke with me as a classificatory husband. This joking relationship continued all during that stay, as it did with other unrelated women trying to copy her joking style. Consequently, these last days among the Canela as a doctoral candidate were when most of my data on sex-joking were recorded [III.E.3.a.(6).(c)].

During the year before the messianic movement of 1963, Kaapêl had led a number of Canela families in planting large farms in the Aldeia Velha (village old) region. For a while he had become a kind of chief, almost supplanting the leading political chief, Kaarà?khre. During this time the Canela enjoyed an economic surplus, which they had not experienced since about 1947 [II.B.2.b.(1)], and it was Kaapêl’s strong leadership that made this return to temporary self-sufficiency possible. However, when the prophetess, Khêê-khwèy, achieved her ascendancy, commanding everybody to dance in order to bring about the millennium she had predicted, all the political chiefs gave way to her authority. Later, she ordered men to search for and kill backland ranchers’ cattle to keep the dancing cult going. When her principal prediction proved to be erroneous, Kaapêl came to her rescue and helped her reformulate her messianic prediction [II.B.2.f.(2)]. Thus, the movement received new strength and enough support to carry it over two more months. Kaapêl had again assumed a position of ascendancy.

When 40 to 50 of their cattle had been slaughtered, the ranchers attacked the Canela to stop the attrition of their livelihood. By July 10, their intentions were clear and the younger Kaapêltùk had posted sentries far out from their principal village of that period (Aldeia Velha) (Map 3,7). He obtained a supply of arrows from the ravines of the low chain of mesas about 9 kilometers to the south. Thus, when the main force of about 200 ranchers and paid gunmen attacked, the Canela were well prepared.

Once they saw the approaching enemy, Kaapêl ordered the women and children to move rapidly along a narrow passage over a stream and through a dense thicket, which led them into a forest (Map 7), while five Canela, including Kaapêl, held off the attackers at the mouth of the passage (passagem). Thus, it was the younger Kaapêltùk who masterminded and led this very successful defense of his people [Ep.4.b.(2).(c)] and who thereby incurred the unmitigated wrath of the ranchers and the suspicion of Barra do Corda residents and Indian service personnel.

When I arrived a few days later to find the Canela already relocated by the Indian service on the Guajajara Indian reservation at the Sardinha post (Map 3), everybody I had spoken to in Barra do Corda was verbally hostile to Kaapêl. They were unaware of Khêê-khwèy’s role in the messianic movement as the prophetess, except for Olímpio Cruz who was in charge of the Indian service in São Luis at this time. This old friend of the Canela had heard about Khêê-khwèy through his dependable Canela contacts and had warned me about her role in the matter when I was passing through São Luis.

After a two-week stay with the Canela, I was able to convince the Indian service personnel in Barra do Corda that a messianic movement had indeed occurred. I also emphasized that Khêê-khwèy rather than Kaapêl was the charismatic leader of the movement and therefore the more responsible of the two individuals for the situation. My arguments eventually exonerated Kaapêl in the eyes of the Indian service personnel, and they invited Khêê-khwèy to spend a long period in Barra do Corda at their expense to keep her from predicting new millennia.

The principal anger of the ranchers, however, still fell on Kaapêl, and I believed that his life would be in danger if he were to move around in the backland ranching communities or even the farming ones, as had been his practice. Certain Barra do Corda residents had believed that the Canela, in their defense, had wounded one backlander with an arrow so that he eventually died. They also believed that the backlanders were holding Kaapêl responsible for this death. To alleviate this situation for Kaapêl, I wrote letters to the leading ranchers in Jenipapo and Leandro (Map 3), both of whom I knew personally from my 1960 studies of their communities, to try to explain the nature of a messianic movement and that it was now discredited. That it was Khêê-khwèy rather than Kaapêl who had been the principal instigator and leader was, however, the main point of my communications—attempts to make Kaapêl’s life a little safer.

During my long stay in 1964, I also warned Kaapêl not to visit the rancher communities and even the local backland farming communities near Sardinha like Oriente (Map 3). He was not in danger in the town of Barra do Corda. Because Kaapêl was a close friend and key research assistant, I knowingly stepped out of the role of a pure field researcher and into the guise of a concerned person and applied anthropologist to help assure his safety.

In 1970, two years after the Canela had returned to their cerrado homelands, I was traveling back from the Apanyekra and stayed with Kaapêl at the Sítio dos Arrudas (Map 3), the most prestigious and feared ranching community in the region to the west of the Canela village of Escalvado. Kaapêl still felt very uncomfortable there and stayed close to me. This was not very different, however, from 1960 before the attack on the Canela, when I had traveled to the Sítio to carry out my mapping of the region and to continue a socioeconomic census study of backland communities. On that trip Kaapêl and another Canela were most fearful of the Arrudas; they had never been there and they constantly talked about their anxiety during the trip. Although the Canela lived almost continually in backland communities in simple family groupings during their lean economic months (September through December), they seldom if ever bothered the feared [II.B.1.d.(2)] Sítio dos Arrudas people.

While Kaapêl, like the older Kaapêltùk, managed some trips for me, most of my traveling with horses and mules in the backlands during the mid-1960s and the 1970s was managed by Yõõ-khên (garden-food a-little-bad) (Plate 73b), the vaqueiro (cowboy) for the Indian service post, and others. By the mid-1960s Kaapêl, consequently, distanced himself from me except when he was carrying out his principal job as translator-interpreter. For instance, it was difficult to get him to help me on the spot during festivals and council meetings, even though he was the best at these roles. As soon as a new activity was made available to him to perform during festivals, however, such as independently tape recording an activity (Plate 69f), he was the first to want to do it. I think he did not want to be seen as my “shadow.” He was definitely his own man. Thus, his contact with me became limited to his roles of translator-interpreter of my research assistant council, writer of manuscripts, and speaker of diary tapes. The role he liked the best and carried out superbly, however, was the first of the three. In this role he often managed individuals who were members of the Pró-khãmmã, 20 years his senior.

By the mid-1970s, it was very clear that Kaapêl had developed a deep faith in folk Catholicism (Glossary), a faith that had been growing through the years. It first manifested itself in his treasuring of his Santos in 1958, certain cards with colored pictures of the saints or of the Virgin Mary. By 1975, he, in the guise of an incipient priest, was holding what might actually be called a religious service for his people on Good Friday evening until midnight. I was not aware of his doing this in Sardinha or in Escalvado at an earlier date, though he must have started in Escalvado some time in the early 1970s. I had not been among the Canela for a Good Friday since 1964, and furthermore Kaapêl was not open about his participation in this event [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)].

In 1975 on Good Friday night, he opened the front part of his house for the Canela to come into as if it were a chapel. They could kneel there while he was singing over and over Ave Maria Chéa de Graça, and other chants of the Catholic Church. He was officiating as a priest before an altar—not trying to say or celebrate the mass, but acting out the role of a priest in many other respects. This commenced at about 8:00 PM and continued until midnight, while the Pepkahàk songs were being sung in the plaza, presenting a strange mixture of the new and the old. According to the folk Catholicism tradition of the backlanders, the Canela believe that Christ is dying on the cross at this time and that their performance at this service and their prayers are needed to save Him from His death. By midnight this danger has passed and the Canela rejoice in the plaza by firing off many shotguns.

The intensity of the evening is brought back to me when I remember my brother Hàwmrõ’s (hearth) wife, Mĩĩ-khwèy (alligator-woman), almost dragging me to Kaapêl’s service. I would have gone later anyway after completing some work, but she wanted to be sure I attended the service for the safety of my soul. She showed such signs of distress at my resistance that I realized I had to go then.

While Kaapêl would work on Sundays in the 1960s if I considered this necessary—such as when I was about to depart—he would not even consider working for me on Sundays in the 1970s. He believed that working on such a day (Sunday: amkro-?khên: day a-little-bad) was wrong in that it was against God’s commandments. Moreover, God was not always watching out for his people on Sundays so that the Devil just might catch a person and harm him, and Kaapêl was not going to be that person. It was touching that he cared for me enough so that he tried to influence me not to work even by myself on Sundays. As a result I tried to limit my work on such days to reading, and I attempted to convince him that reading was not work and could be a pleasure.

During both my 1974–1975 and 1978–1979 stays, I occasionally collected dreams from my research assistant council members. This was often done as a diversion when they seemed to be bored with the material we were covering. Kaapêl related a dream in 1979 in which my house in Barra do Corda was being washed away by a rising flood, but the Indian service house, which stood on higher ground, was not being reached by the high waters. (I had had a small house in Barra do Corda in 1959–1960, and in the winter of 1960 the Corda River had flooded into the town to some extent, not affecting my house, however.) In any case, Kaapêl interpreted his dream to mean that my influence in the tribe and over him was being washed away while that of the Indian service was remaining firm.

They all knew I was leaving for the final time before the end of the year (though I would return for a visit 10 years later). Kaapêl, however, may have felt my imminent departure more keenly than others because of his long, close association and employment with me. Although his writing of manuscripts and speaking onto tapes was supposed to continue in my absence, he knew he would miss the greater income and prestige that was based on my intermittent presence. He hoped that the Indian service would finally give him employment and a far larger salary, so that the Indian service agent would become his patrão in my place. This would be a more permanent and continuous supporting relationship, and in fact this is what happened during the year following my departure. (For Kaapêl’s experiences in 1987, see [Ep.4.b.(1),7].)

[I.G.5] The Younger Pù?tô

The next regular research assistant, employed in early April of 1960, was the younger Pù-?tô (urucu-sticky), who was about 34 years old in 1958 (Plate 68a). He is a member of the Upper age-set moiety and Chief Kaarà?khre’s age-set. (The older Pù?tô, in contrast to this younger one, is noted many times by Nimuendajú (1946:199) as a sing-dance leader [“precentor”], and he continued to be one of the best (Plate 41c, foreground) until his death at about 80 in 1972. He was also my narrator of myths in 1970 and 1971.)

The younger Pù?tô was my special kêt-ti, a self-appointed advising uncle, not a name-transmission one [In.4.i], related to me through my Baixão Prêto mother, Kroy-tsen (quandu likes-to-eat: a cerrado animal). He took his role very seriously in the late 1950s and used to wade down with me to the bathing place most afternoons after work to chat about things. I enjoyed his company immensely.

Often when I was just returning to the tribe after having been away for some time, he was the one who would act out the hààprãl (war leader) role for me, as I was first presenting myself to the Pró-khãmmã (Glossary) in the late afternoon. He would precede me as we walked up a radial pathway to the plaza, shouting and stamping his feet in the warrior fashion (Plate 37d). Then when a Pró-khãmmã came to receive me, Pù?tô stepped aside and let the Pró-khammã take my present, usually a machete. I then proceeded into the plaza to be received warmly by the Pró-khãmmã and the council of elders, shaking hands. Then they asked me to speak to the entire council of elders about what I had been doing while away from the tribe. Questions invariably followed until they were satisfied.

On Easter morning of 1964, my wife Mary Jean and I did not have any thing very special to eat. It would have been like any other day except that kêt-ti Pù?tô passed by with a jacu (Penelope sp.) in each hand that he had just killed. These were the best eating birds in the dry forest area. He left one with us and did not ask me to buy it. That made our day. The Canela with their strong sense of needing to receive a payment for everything, rarely gave anything freely. When they did give things de graça (for free), they would invariably come around the next day expecting a “gift.” This amounted to forcing an exchange, which to please them had to be in their favor. Of course, as an ethnologist, I almost always had to try to please them. But kêt-ti Pù?tô did not come around for any “return” the next day or any later day, and that in itself was a rare pleasure for me.

The younger Pù?tô’s role as a regular research assistant was not continued beyond the spring of 1960 because it became clear that in spite of his honesty, he was too “imaginative.” Some of my most vivid materials come from him. He did, however, become one of my first three diary writers in 1964 [I.F.1] and continued faithfully in this role for 15 years. It seemed best to spread the advantages of working with me to as many individuals as possible, so my manuscript writers were not employed as regular research assistants.

Writing down his thoughts was an activity that Pù?tô very obviously enjoyed, probably more than any of the other writers. He spent a great deal more time on his manuscripts with his beautiful handwriting. I well remember seeing him in 1979 sitting on a racing log outside the post where he had been employed all day, writing as the sun set. He was intensely absorbed in what he was doing, carefully forming each letter. My second wife Roma often said that he had the nature of a poet, and I think she was right. His eventual autobiography, or biography, may one day be the most interesting of all.

This poet also has a great memory for stories, which he loves to tell his children, and for the old formal language of the plaza.

Apparently, some generations ago the language spoken in the plaza during a formal council meeting was distinct from what was used in daily life. Pù?tô still remembers a few of these expressions. He can be requested to chant them while singing around the boulevard when he is in a certain mood.

Pù?tô is married to a woman who is half Caucasian. We all knew her father, the late Sinduco Maciel of Bacabal, a small backland ranch community about 20 kilometers to the west (Map 3). Sinduco, and especially his brother Alderico, were the leaders of Bacabal (but were under the authority of the Arruda family) and entertained me at their festas several times before the attack in 1963. Such fraternization, however, could occur only very casually in the 1970s after the attack. For example, when I happened to be passing through Bacabal on the way to visiting the Apanyekra further to the west, the Canela were afraid I would be poisoned (there was a history of this), and thus, did not want me to eat, drink, or sleep in Bacabal. Memories of the attack were still too vivid. Pù?tô, nevertheless, took his family there periodically, and Sinduco continued to treat him, his own daughter (Pù?tô’s wife), and his grandchildren very well. The connection was never denied. The grandchildren were distinctly lighter in complexion and more Caucasian in appearance (Plate 76d) than other Canela.

The Maciels said they had migrated from the state of Ceará several generations earlier, so it was possible they were related to the Maciel family portrayed in the great Brazilian classic, Os Sertões (the backhands), by Euclides da Cunha (1973).

In 1970 when it became time to choose a family for my new wife Roma, and her three preadolescent children, I finally decided on the family of old Ropkhà (Plate 17b) and his wife. It is not the custom in such matters to ask the old Ropkhà directly, so I requested kêt-ti Pù?tô to do this for me. He came back several days later with a positive response. Pù?tô was good at such intermediary missions. Nobody could doubt his good will.

When I needed someone on short notice to run to Barra do Corda alone in the night to deliver an important message or to obtain something essential, me choice went first to Pù?tô, not because he was my kêt-ti but because he was not afraid of jogging alone through the dark and because he was reliable. Many Canela were afraid of running in the dark low forests alone on the way to Barra do Corda at night. Ghosts (karõ) might get them, they thought. But Pù?tô was strong-minded and courageous. He simply did not care about danger and was not afraid of anything. It might be said that he was slightly “mad.” In any case, he was a most admirable and lovable person. I could not ask him to carry money, however, because it might be exchanged for cachaça, and then the mission would be lost.

[I.G.6] Hàwpùù

Hàwpùù became a research assistant at the same time as Pù?tô, in April 1960. He was also a member of the Upper age-set moiety and in Chief Kaarà?khre’s age-set. Hàwpùù, age 32 in 1960 (Plates 41d, 70f), was outstanding because he was the most involved manuscript writer after Pù?tô. He was a careful observer and ethnographer, the one who could be trusted to remember to write down information on certain events in my absence. Even though his vision was growing dim, and I had to bring him new magnification glasses every now and then, he still wrote on and on with great concern and reliability. His wife, Wakhèè (age 24 in 1960), used to pressure him into continuing because she liked the small amount of extra money they gained through this work. But in my daily research assistant council meetings, he was too young to remember the old times and did not express himself as well as many others. He was employed only as a diary writer, which after 1970 consisted of writing only three pages every other day.

With the old Ropkhà adopting my wife as a daughter, Hàwpùù became an in-brother-in-law [III.E.3.a.(1)] to me and a full brother to my wife. As such, he was a frequent intermediary between myself and other members of her family. He was also often a member of the group that did sporadic jobs for me such as reconstructing my wife’s house before her arrival. Later in the 1970s, however, other individuals such as Yõõkhên (the post’s vaqueiro) and Kôham [I.G.15], rather man my manuscript writers were called in to form these work groups in order to spread the benefits.

[I.G.7] Khà?po

Khà-?po (body-wide), about 82 years old in 1960 (Plate 70e), was slightly older than the older Mĩĩkhrô, but not nearly as well-informed. After Mĩĩkhrô died, it was necessary to ask his assistance to complete my work. Khà?po was a younger member of an Upper moiety age-set while the older Mĩĩkhrô was an older member of the following Lower moiety age-set. Khà?po could not speak Portuguese as well as most of the other research assistants, so it was at this time, during June, July, and August of 1960, that it became necessary to use the younger Kaapêltùk as a translator-interpreter in a principal way. Kaapêl was not old enough to cover the materials from a traditional point of view, but he was by far the best in explaining in Portuguese and Canela exactly what the answer was with all of its hair-splitting ramifications.

With Khà?po, my research council members and I went over Murdock et al. (1961) Outline of Cultural Materials again and proceeded to check Nimuendajú’s (1946) volume. Besides Khà?po, several other research assistants were involved for the first time, such as the younger Mĩĩkhrô. Thus, with this project, several research assistants began working as sources, with the younger Kaapêltùk serving as a translator-interpreter.

Khà?po, himself, was gray-haired, very stooped, and walked with a staff all the time. He spoke in a frail, high pitched voice with very kindly tones. I well remember that he walked the entire 80 kilometers (as the road winds) to Barra do Corda in 1960 to see me off at the airport—a remarkable undertaking for someone his age. Khà?po died before I returned to the Canela in 1963.

[I.G.8] Pyê?khàl

The most remarkable and memorable person of my 1964 research assistant council was an old woman named Pyê?khàl, who had an excellent memory of earlier times. It was she who took the place of the older Mĩĩkhrô and Khà?po. One of the intriguing events of the very early part of these meetings was that the younger Kaapêltùk persisted in addressing her as a potential sexual partner—using her name, instead of referring to her as a mother-in-law. She was indeed his wife’s mother’s mother. This was the first clue to one of the affinal relationship system’s most crucial points: traditionally, only one woman in a matriline is an “avoidance woman” (i.e., hàtswèyyê) to her daughter’s husband so that this avoidance woman’s mother can be free even to have sexual relations with her granddaughter’s husband [III.E.3.a.(5)].

Unfortunately, Pyê?khàl died before my return in 1966, so my access to her memory was limited.

[I.G.9] Ropkhà

With the death of the older people, Ropkhà (jaguar-or-dog its-skin), about age 63 in 1964 (Plates 17b, 71e), became a valuable research assistant, even though he was a generation behind the older Mĩĩkhrô and Khà?po. The question of what really happened during the age-set group marriage ceremony referred to by Nimuendajú (1946:122) had to be resolved. Ropkhà was just the one to do it because he actually was the leader of the Upper moiety age-set mentioned in “The Eastern Timbira.” He was also the one who was already married so that the age-set marriage ceremony could not be performed in 1923 (W. Crocker, 1984a:69). His information, added to the reports of Pyê?khàl, made it possible to reconstruct the lost age-set marriage ceremony [III.F.10]. While not as insightful as the older Mĩĩkhrô and Pyê?khàl, he was very helpful in 1964 and 1966. By the 1970s, his memory was beginning to fade so that he could no longer participate in my research assistant councils. Since so many of the older members of these groups had died not long after their work with me, the possibility that some Canela shaman (kay) might think I was killing them had to be considered. It was therefore important for me to stop working with at least one of the old people who had been in my council a number of years before his death.

Ropkhà had first been a member of the preceding Lower moiety age-set, the older Mĩĩkhrô’s age-set, which graduated in about 1913 (Nimuendajú, 1946:91). Ropkhà was re-initiated as a novice in the following Upper moiety age-set to be their age-set leader (mamkhyê-?ti). Thus, he must have been one of the oldest in his age-set. According to my October 1984 report he was still alive at about 85, but by 1987 he was dead.

Ropkhà was the old man that kêt-ti Pù?tô approached on my behalf in May 1970 to take my wife Roma as his “daughter.” As it turned out, he became devoted to us. For her arrival, he prepared a path from the back of his house’s area through the closed savanna (cerrado) to the new swimming hole. The new bathing spot had been part of the second old Escalvado village site, occupied by the Canela in the 1890s and past the turn of the century [II.B.1.c]. As in the Pepkahàk ceremony [IV.A.3.c.(3)] and in true Canela fashion [III.B.1.f.(1)], he cut it absolutely straight through the cerrado trees and bushes, except for one major turn. This took great effort and precision. The trail, if it were to be straight between the two desired points, had to pass through the old Escalvado village site itself, with its much taller and thicker trees. This would have been a difficult job to carry out, especially for a man of his age, so he gave the pathway one curved turn, skirting the heavy timber and staying in the far lighter cerrado growth.

Not only did he cut us a pathway (freely done), eliminating the grass as well as the small trees and shrubbery, he made this small road two persons wide so that my wife and I could wade side-by-side as we went to our new bathing hole, which was not the Canela custom for spouses. A wife walked behind her husband. However, the Canela respected intercultural differences far more than did the backlanders and even most urban Brazilians.

In the kinship work in the 1970s, Ropkhà became a key research assistant with respect to one special point, even though he did not meet with the research assistant council regularly. He was able to talk about what he called his father’s father’s sister’s descendants living across the plaza. They all were his “grandparents” (mē-nkêtyê) in every generation, but nevertheless, he was an advisor to the younger ones even though they called him “nephew” or “grandson” [III.E.2.e.(3)]. We confirmed this kinship pattern by tests several times, months apart and years later.

[I.G.10] The Younger Mĩĩkhrô

Another research assistant who came into the group in 1964 was my naming-uncle, the younger Mĩĩkhrô (Plate 70c), who was about age 47 at that time and a member of the older Kaapêltùk’s Lower moiety age-set. I was a member of the name-set [III.E.4] of the older Mĩĩkhrô, as well as of the younger Mĩĩkhrô, which may have accounted to some extent for the older uncle’s supportiveness.

The younger Mĩĩkhrô was a parallel cousin (“brother”) of my “sister” Te?hôk rather than her uncle, but she had no “uncle” at the time of my arrival in 1957, so the younger Mĩĩkhrô was asked to fill the very necessary role of naming-uncle.

He performed it in a truly devoted manner, usually calling me when festival duties had to be carried out. He served in my research assistant councils through 1976 and died of an infected eye before my return in 1978. As a research assistant in the 1970s, he was willing to discuss shamanism most openly and had the most knowledge of the traditional ways of the shaman. This was crucial because most other research assistant council members had been exposed to the Catholicism of the backlands and the cities, which gave them a more fearful attitude toward the supernatural. Talking alone with me, Mĩĩkhrô taped a number of hours of conversation about shamanism (Glossary) in Canela.

The younger Mĩĩkhrô also knew more about names and name-set transmission than anyone else. Each research assistant had her or his strong points, though all knew about every other subject to a considerable extent as well. Mĩĩkhrô had ten names in his name-set, including his Mĩĩkhrô and my Pèp (electric eel, the name of a mythical warrior), and he remembered almost all the ramifications of the Canela corporate name-set transmission system [III.E.4.c].

There was something sad about Mĩĩkhrô because he had been born into what had been the chiefly line [III.D.1.h] before the assumption of leadership by Chief Kaarà?khre in 1952. He was somewhat noble in his behavior, being hàmren as well as being chiefly, but cachaça (alcohol) had undermined his character in his younger years and even in the late 1950s. His older brother was ineligible to be chief because he was a transvestite [III.A.2.j.(5).(a)]. Therefore, the younger Mĩĩkhrô most probably would have succeeded Chief Hàk-too-kot (falcon-chick-green) (Nimuendajú, 1946:161) if alcohol had not weakened him. Moreover, his shamanism would have helped him as a chief [III.D.1.d].

Upon my return in 1978, I was sorry to hear about the details of my naming-uncle’s death through what the Canela believed was witchcraft retaliation. It was generally believed that he had become a somewhat antisocial shaman [IV.D.1.d.(2)].

[I.G.11] Rõõ-re-?hô

The last new research assistant in 1964 was the son of the older Mĩĩkhrô, Rõõ-re-?hô (tucum-little-leaves: a palm tree). He was about 52 years old in 1964 and a member of the older Kaapêltùk’s Lower moiety age-set. Rõõ-re-?hô (Plate 68d) was keenly aware that he was the son of an important Canela and seemed to be trying to live up to his father’s position, but his lack of assurance did not permit it. In Baixão Prêto in 1960 he became an assistant chief to the older Kaapêltùk, and in the mid-1970s he held the same position for Chief Kaarà?khre in Escalvado, but his performance in these roles left something to be desired. He lacked the understanding and forcefulness to make people cooperative when necessary, so he was not taken seriously. His wife’s longhouse consisted of only one house (Figure 24, house OO), so she had no female kin to rally their husbands to his support.

He was much better at being the town crier (mē-hààpôlkatê: them urge-on master) [II.D.3.i.(4)] than assuming positions of political authority. This role required a big ego, a good voice, and a certain conscientiousness. Most Canela males simply cannot make the personal sacrifices necessary to carry out the job, which requires the news of the tribal council meetings to be sung out so that all the village can hear about the decision directly after the meetings have ended, morning and evening. There are also rare times during the day when the chief, or somebody else, needs to have something crucial announced. Several men (e.g., Hôy, Plate 77c, h, and the younger Krôôtô, Plate 68e) have been painted red and feathered, and honored in the plaza, to place them in this position. Ad except Rõõ-re-?hô have failed to continue with the role after several months. The only two Canela who have been able to maintain the role over a long period of time have been Kawkhre through 1964 and Rõõ-re-?hô since then.

Rõõ-re-?hô had an excellent mind for telling long and complicated stories and myths, which he recorded on my tape recorder during many of the evenings of 1975 and 1979 [Ap.3.b]. His mind was definitely single-tracked. In recalling the past, he could follow the life of one person, but if he had to relate this life account to other lives or events that were concurrent he had great trouble making the cross-connections. Other research assistants, and especially Kaapêl, were much better at such cognitive tasks.

Because of the particular kinship ramifications between us, Rõõ-re-?hô called me “father” though he was much older. The role of being my son seemed to suit him because he liked to address me in a very dependent way. He was indispensable during my last trip because by that time few others had his background in traditional matters. Rõõ-re-?hô continued to be one of my steady research assistant council helpers in 1978–1979 and is still alive today.

[I.G.12] Kôykhray

During the days when I was puzzling out the more extensive ramifications of the affinal relationship patterns in 1966 and 1970 (the less extensive patterns had been resolved in the late 1950s), Kôykhray, age 56 in 1970 (Plate 71f), was the first (other than Kaapêl) to learn to write a simple form of kinship notation on the sandy hard ground during research assistant council meetings. I was amazed and delighted when she quickly picked up what I was doing and started to draw notations like mine on the ground for all of us to see. Through her, I quickly learned most of what I know about the ideal patterns. Kaapêl did not know the ancient patterns. I empirically checked and quantified the variations in the early and mid-1970s and ascertained the reasons for most of me unusual and exceptional variations.

It is not surprising that it was an older woman who was most capable in visualizing such patterns. Among the Canela, it is definitely the women who are interested in maintaining kinship practices. (Among the Suyá it is the men; Seeger, 1981:127.) It is the women who teach their children what to call their farther-away kin and affines, thus perpetuating the system. Kôykhray was not as helpful as others except in kinship, so she was a regular member of the research assistant council only when we studied kinship, which happened often in 1974–1975 and rarely in 1978–1979.

With Kôykhray there was an added aspect of amusement and delight. She was, by chance, my particular across-the-plaza aunt or grandmother [III.E.2.e.(3)], my Canela father’s sister’s daughter (my “sister,” Te?hôk’s, that is). I had been calling her tùy-ti for years, not really remembering why, but when she said I must cad her sons (Palkhre and Mããyààpil) and her daughter’s son (Kaaràmpey) “father,” it revealed the existence of an extended kinship I had not been aware of up to that moment. I knew to call her brother “father” but the younger male kin of her family had not been calling me “son,” although they commenced to do so from that time on [III.E.2.a].

As my important patrilateral relative, she liked to invite me out to her farm for the day. There she and her daughters fed me very well, with the daughters (all tùy-re) joking all the time. Reciprocation was expected for such hospitality and beads were most highly prized. It was only the members of the families with which I actually lived who did not expect relatively immediate returns (hapan-tsà), but criticism and rumors (tswa-?nã) of others limited their requests for excessive reciprocation.

[I.G.13] Mulwa

Some of my finest memories are of Mulwa, age 53 in 1970 (Plate 71a), a daughter of the old Pyê?khàl. As old Pyê?khàl had been a valuable resource of information to me during the 1960s, Mulwa was during the 1970s. Mulwa was Kaapêl’s immediate mother-in-law, the mother of Atsuu-khwèy, his wife. With total avoidance between son-in-law and mother-in-law being the rule [III.E.3.a.(4)], I had wondered if having her in the research assistant council could work. She was also my mother-in-law, in the sense that she was my wife Roma’s Canela mother’s sister. Thus, I too had to obey only slightly less stringent avoidance practices. We both avoided looking at her and speaking directly to her. Questions could be asked to people in general, and she would answer them. She could never stay alone in the room with us, but there was always one more and sometimes as many as four more individuals in the research assistant council, depending on what we were doing and on who could come to join us on any particular day. There is no doubt that having her as a research assistant did work, and she raised the tone of the group with her dignity, seriousness, and conscientiousness. Her presence also forced Kaapêl to perform better.

The Canela had told me in the late 1950s that only a man became a shaman (kay); however, it seems a woman can be a shaman too, providing she maintains the same high level of restrictions [IV.D.1.e.3]. In fact, there are at least two female shamans in Canela mythology (W. Crocker, 1984b:354–356). The men had always said women did not have the willpower to maintain the restrictions. By the 1970s, however, Mulwa had become a shaman and could cure people.

Although a shaman, Mulwa was also more thoroughly Catholicized than any of my other research assistants, except Kaapêl. Her father had been one of the five Canela youths interned for study in the convent at Barra do Corda at the time of the Guajajara uprising in Alto Alegre (Map 4) in 1901 [II.B.1.e.(3)]. Thus she had heard and learned much about Christianity from him. It was especially interesting that in 1975 and 1976 when we were studying the backlands folk-Catholicized version of creation and the various steps leading to current times, Mulwa always took the most folk-Catholic point of view even though she was a Canela kay. The only other kay in our research assistant group, the younger Mĩĩkhrô, invariably took the most traditional Canela approach. The other research assistants fell some place in between the two shamans. Thus, two points of view were usually expressed, but they thought there should be only one correct traditional answer.

Mĩĩkhrô insisted that a real kay carries out curing or witchcraft under his own authority and by his own power, and that it has always been this way [IV.D.1.a]. Ghosts were always available to consult, but gave powers only when a kay was learning his craft. After the shaman had acquired his abilities, he carried out his practice completely on his own (amyià-?khôt: self-following). Mulwa, in contrast, insisted that nothing could be done without God’s will (Pa?pαm-khôt: God-following). Ambiguity made them uncomfortable, but we had an interesting time during these debates.

I had no contact with Mulwa outside of the research assistant council meetings, because she was an “avoidance woman” to me. My final memory of her, however, is a vivid one. There she was—radiant and pleasing—as I was leaving by jeep. Her face said: “you have done well.” This mother-in-law actually broke into streams of tears (not wailing) and said good-bye to me in a few really spoken words, even though I was one of her sons-in law and a full avoidance man.

[I.G.14] The Older Tsùùkhè

I will not comment on several occasional research assistant council members, such as the older Pààtsêt (Plate 69e) and the older Rãrãk (Plate 71c), because I did not know them well enough. There was, however, one very special person who attended our meetings only in 1979 and only when the subjects of shamanism (Glossary) and hàmren (ceremonial high honor) [III.C.7] were being discussed: the older Tsùùkhè (Plate 68c). He was a fine living example of both a hàmren and a shaman. Moreover, he was the traditional ear piercer (Plate 25a). He was about 58 years old in 1979 and a member of Chief Kaarà?khre’s Upper moiety age-set.

Tsùùkhè’s appearance was unusual. He was gentle, soft-spoken, dignified, quiet, and fully aware of what was going on. He appeared to have great presence of mind at all times. There were never any negative witchcraft comments about him as there had been about my kêt-ti Mĩĩkhrô. When he talked, we listened intently. He commanded automatic respect. Tsùùkhè was tall, long faced, beautifully proportioned, and athletic looking. His fingers were long, delicate and relaxed. His face was deeply pock-marked and usually sad. When he smiled, although always with restraint, inner satisfaction shone through—some would say “love.”

Besides being kay, Tsùùkhè was the head Tàm-hàk (raw-falcon), that is, the lead man of the King Vulture (urubu reis: Gypagus papa) society (Nimuendajú, 1946:98–99) [III.C.7.a]. Next to Kaapêl’s son’s role of Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe, Tsùùkhè, as chief of the Tàmhàk society, was the second ranking member of the tribe in ceremonial honor. Some individuals said he was the first. His appearance and comportment served to remind me, convincingly, that ceremonial positions do affect daily behavior.

It was a great pleasure to have Tsùùkhè working with us during the several weeks that he did, and I am looking forward very much to studying his materials in depth when the time comes to write a monograph on Canela shamanism, magic, restrictions, and other aspects of religion.

[I.G.15] Kôham

Kôham (water it-stands), age about 36 in 1979 (Plate 68f), was the age-set file leader, or guide (mamkhyê-?ti), and therefore a low hàmren, of his own Upper moiety age-set which was graduated in 1961. My association with Kôham spans my whole period of 22 years among the Canela.

When I arrived in 1957, a Pepyê festival was in full progress [IV.A.3.c.(2)]. I was ceremonially “caught” and interned as a Pepyê novice [I.B.1] and, during the closing phase, Kôham, then a boy of 14, and I bathed together one morning in order to make Informal and Formal Friendships (Plate 39). We agreed to become Formal Friends and thus emerged from the water side by side and not looking at each other; a ritual symbolizing respect. In a similar way, a younger Tsùùkhè (not the one discussed above) became one of my Informal Friends [III.E.6] when we intentionally emerged facing each other. Being respectful of everything or anybody was an integral part of Kôham’s nature, and this may be why he had chosen to be my Formal Friend (Glossary) rather than another Informal one. Most of the boys preferred to make Informal Friendships.

During those early days of some culture shock on my part, Kôham was very considerate. He was the youth who marched at the head of our Pepyê file wherever we went, and sat with the girl associates and the deputy commandant to eat and rest apart from the rest of the group—a ceremonial elite set. When I obviously needed help, he came over and quietly gave it without my asking for it, unlike the deputy commandant and the commandant who were more severe and aloof. It was easy to ask my hààpin (i.e., Formal Friend) questions about what was going on, and in this sense he was my principal research assistant while the 1957 Pepyê festival was in progress. As the age-set file leader (not its commandant), he really knew the procedures better than many of the others and was patient in answering my questions. Most of the other Pepyê (novices) were still boys and oriented to amusing them selves, but Kôham was somewhat older than the average and had to act more mature because of his role. This relationship of mutual respect, trust, and aid continued throughout my period of 22 years with the Canela. It used to surprise me that he took the role so seriously.

But Kôham was no ordinary Canela. His father, Rõ?kahàk, was Ponto’s greatest hunter in the late 1950s. His mother was Hôrarak, a handsome daughter of the late Chief Hàktookot, so he was a member of the former chiefly family which had led the tribe both before and after the visit of Nimuendajú. He was too young in 1952 to be considered as a candidate for succeeding his grandfather, although Chief Kaarà?khre, who did succeed him, came from an entirely different family line and longhouse [III.D.1.g.(1)].

Being a reliable hunter and, therefore, a good supplier of meat makes a man very respected among men and opens access to most women. I was told that many pregnant mothers wanted some of Rõ?kahàk’s semen to ensure that their fetuses, if they were male, would grow up to be a great hunter too [IV.B.2.a]. He could not refuse; to do so might have caused a miscarriage and would not have been generous or manly. Thus, Kôham’s choice by the Pró-khãmmã as an age-set file leader and, therefore, a hàmren-to-be—they could have chosen any boy of the right age—may have reflected his family background and/or his already respectful and responsible nature.

In 1978, Kôham was the commandant (mē-?kaapõn-katê) of the novices in the Khêêtúwayê festival of that year. After the performance each morning, we invited him to our research assistant council meetings to discuss the details of what had taken place. He was so good at reporting—so calm, expressive, and accurate—that I was surprised and kept asking myself why I had not asked him earlier to be a regular research assistant. In 1979, Kôham was the file leader (mamkhyê-?ti) of the Pepkahàk (Plate 44c).

In 1979, when I was having some problems with certain helpers, Kôham simply appeared one day and offered to help me “cover” the termination of the Pepkahàk festival of that year. He was available to move some of my equipment from event to event and to answer immediate questions about what was taking place, and thus came into my employment. He was the one who helped me put the papers in order that others had been writing and compiling, and pack my many books and other kinds of equipment upon forced and sudden departure. He was around my office most of the time and well into the nights of the last two days of my final stay.

Because a friend in Brasília had recently warned me by letter to guard my research materials against confiscation, particularly while traveling on deserted backland roads (i.e., on the way from Escalvado to Barra do Corda), I put copies of my most important materials (e.g., tape cassettes, carbons of notes) in a small suitcase and asked Kôham to take it off the reservation to Bacabal 20 kilometers to me west (Map 3), where there was a friend. Kôham left with my suitcase on this secret mission at midnight without hesitation. He was protecting his Formal Friend—my work in this case—in a time of danger, and that is the epitome of the Formal Friendship role [III.E.5].

I left for Barra do Corda by jeep the next day. Soon after my arrival there, my Barra do Corda friend sent a jeep to Bacabal to retrieve the suitcase, which arrived the following day. That night at eleven, sooner than could be expected, I left in a truck for Belém, with all my equipment and research materials, and arrived there safely the following evening.

The memory of Kôham’s friendship will remain with me for me rest of my life, especially his final act as a Formal Friend.

[I.H] Special Friends in the State of Maranhão

Once permissions were obtained in Rio de Janeiro on my first trip to Brazil in 1957, I flew to the coastal city of São Luis, the capital of the State of Maranhão. In 1957, the Indian service official in São Luis, Moacyr Xerex, received me very well and was helpful in a number of discussions. He was one of the few Indian service personnel with whom it was possible to talk anthropology. Dr. Xerex had known Nimuendajú and told a number of stories about this accomplished anthropologist.

Dr. Xerex sent me on to Barra do Corda with an introduction to Sr. Olímpio Martins Cruz (Figure 7) [II.B.2.b.(1)], who was in charge of me Indian service there. Sr. Olímpio had also known Nimuendajú and helped more than almost anyone else by orienting me directly to the Canela with whom he had served for seven to eight years as their village Indian agent at an earlier time (1940–1947). His long service to the Canela was obviously the intellectual and emotional high time of his life. The only possible higher points have been his poetry and publications on the Indians of Barra do Corda (1978, 1982), the Canela and Guajajara.

Even though Sr. Olímpio did not remain the head of the Indian service in Barra do Corda for long after my arrival (about two months), he continued to live in a house diagonally opposite the Indian service agency building. (In Plate 2b, the building on the immediate left is Sr. Olímpio’s, and the building across the street on the right, up four levels of steps, is the agency of the Indian service.) The Canela often approached him for advice, encouragement, and, of course, a small gift.

I first went into the Canela village of Ponto with the support and backing of Sr. Olímpio, thereby starting my fieldwork career under his kindly auspices. Every time I left or came back to Barra do Corda (though sometimes our meeting was in São Luis or Brasília), I renewed my relationship with Sr. Olímpio and his family. He had great intellectual and moral strength, as well as personal depth and understanding, so these visits were immensely helpful. Not only was he an expert on life in the interior, but he was a published poet (Banco do Nordeste do Brasil, 1985:50). Sr. Olímpio was solely responsible for obtaining more than once my crucial Indian service permissions to work among the Canela in 1978 and 1979. I am most grateful for this help, and wish to stress this acknowledgment, because these were the most productive and satisfying research years of my career. He has become a close friend with whom I still correspond.

Sr. Antônio Cordeiro, a friend of Sr. Olímpio, helped immensely with the history of Barra do Corda [II.B.4], with the Canela orthography for local Brazilians, and with meteorological data. My many thanks go to him for the data of Table 1 and for his friendship.

First Canela chief, Kaarà?khre, age 36 in 1957 (Figure 18), declared us to be Informal Friends almost immediately upon my arrival and spent two weeks with me in the town of Barra do Corda while final preparations were being made to go into the tribe with him. He always acted as a friend and supporter in his village (Ponto). He was easy-going and helpful. (For more on Chief Kaarà?khre, see [II.B.2.i.(5)] [III.D.1.i.(2)] [Ep.3.a].)

The next acknowledgment, and most certainly the greatest of all, must go to the younger Kaapêltùk (Frontispiece, Figure 51), age 27 in 1957 [I.G.4] [Ep.4.b]. He had spent considerable time out of the tribe learning the ways of the city dwellers and he saw himself as me principal protagonist in the tribe for urban Brazilian ways. His Portuguese was much better than the Portuguese of any other Canela at that time, and he understood the thinking of the urban Brazilian better. This book is dedicated to him as a true friend and as the key individual in my field research.

I employed Kaapêl part time in 1958 and full time in 1959. By the 1970s, I found that no really reliable work could be done without him—my guarantor of accurate communication—and in 1979, sometimes, I even sent my research assistant council away for the day if Kaapêl could not be with us, because our work without him would not be sufficiently reliable.

During the 1960s and 1970s Kaapêl kept improving in his abilities as a trained research assistant, translator, and interpreter [I.G.4]. He was able to stay on the subject I wanted to investigate and kept the other research assistants on it. We often digressed out of interest, for amusement, or so as not to miss important related items. Kaapêl’s endurance was incredible. He could work well during long hours, and far into the night, as he often did for Jack Popjes (Figure 11) when Jack was about to leave and when certain linguistic problems had to be solved. In kinship studies, Kaapêl occasionally used to run from where our research assistant group was sitting to some other house to find out what a certain person called some other person when such an ego-alter example was a critical point of the meeting. Then he would run back, very pleased with his findings and their contribution to our research. I never asked him to run on these occasions, but he invariably did.

Among the Apanyekra, Kaapêl worked for me on special research assignments rather than as interpreter-manager as he had done among the Canela. On one of these missions, he collected extensive kinship materials by questioning people himself. These protocols were among my most prized and proud products of the field. Unfortunately, no field copies were made of this special research, and his originals disappeared with the one and only suitcase that was ever lost in transit. Almost all other materials in that lost suitcase were saved because their copies had been placed in another suitcase that was sent and delivered later.

My deepest gratitude must go to Olímpio Martins Cruz, the younger Kaapêltùk, and Jaldo Pereira Santos of Barra do Corda. Sr. Jaldo was a fine gentleman and Barra do Corda resident, who lived on the central square of the town (Plate 3b). He first became involved in my field activities in 1964 when I had to take my ailing wife, Mary Jean, out of the field. We were catching the pinga pinga (dropping in at every stop) airplane (a DC-4) for Brasília the next day, so Sr. Jaldo and his wife, Dona Antônia, most graciously lent us their bedroom for the night so that Mary Jean could be more comfortable. He became my financial representative in the town after Sr. Olímpio had moved to São Luis to take charge of the Indian service office there, so I stayed with Sr. Jaldo and his family whenever in town. Thus, they had my “expeditions” marching through their house, and my equipment and supplies used to pile high in the guest room. On two unannounced arrivals by bus at four in the morning in 1979, I preferred to stay in a pensão rather than to disturb them at that hour, but they scolded me for not knocking on their locked door.

This very gracious hospitality was also extended to my second wife Roma in the 1970s. We came to know Sr. Jaldo’s children as well, scattered as they were with their spouses in Brasília, Recife, and Fortaleza. We visited them once each, when we passed through these cities.

Sr. Jaldo saw me as the visiting scientist whom he was helping because of his great sense of civic service. He managed my finances between 1964 and 1979 with skill and great imagination. Even when the situation became more complicated during my 1978–1979 trip, he managed to find individuals who would repair my ten tape-recorders, used for my various programs. When I was with the Canela, I communicated with him through letters carried by foot messengers. He also had his assistant pay the various Canela individuals and families I sent into town to receive compensation in cash or goods. Think of the relief from care that comes to a researcher in the backlands when he knows his financial base in town is safe. It was only because of Sr. Jaldo’s authority in the town and concern for my project that the manuscript and tape program functioned so well over a period of almost 16 years, whether I was in Brazil or the United States.

The friendship and assistance of Sr. Jaldo can never be repaid because it was so vast, generous, and open. His family’s warm hospitality, his competence in handling my finances, and his clearing the way for a safe passage through the politics of the town, were so helpful over such a long period of time that his assistance must be among the most helpful advantages any ethnologist has received in the field.

Sr. Jaldo could easily have become the mayor of Barra do Corda, but he neither needed nor wanted to become a politician. He was the power behind several mayors in succession. And during one long period when there was no official judge in the town, he volunteered to take the role unofficially, and in this capacity he met over a dozen ordinary people’s cases each day in his house and resolved them in common sense ways with his profound wisdom, judgment, and immanent good will; and through their trust in him and their knowledge of his good name.

Other members of the Indian service to whom I am deeply indebted are Srs. Júlio Tavares, Virgílio Galvão, and Sebastião Ferreira. I remember Júlio best for his companionship and intellectual orientation during my 1978–1979 field trip. He owned several jeeps and a truck and was usually the person to drive me, my equipment, and my supplies between the town of Barra do Corda and the Canela village of Escalvado. During the 2½ to 3 hour trip, we used to talk without stopping—world affairs, politics, economics. He was a natural intellectual.

In 1969, Júlio flew into the tribal area from Barra do Corda with the emergency plane summoned by Sr. Sidney Milhomem (the local Varig airline agent) from São Luis in order to rescue my step-daughter Tara. She had developed an internal infection that was not responding at all to my medicine, and Indian service personnel were not yet present in the still new village of Escalvado. The single-propeller plane needed a person on board who could guide it for 25 minutes to the village of Escalvado because there was no road to follow. However, the village did have a small air strip due to the presence of the linguistic-missionary, Jack Popjes, and his SIL team. Júlio came in from Barra do Corda with the plane but had to walk back half the distance (35 trail kilometers to Ourives, Map 3) because there was room for the plane to take only the 11-year-old Tara, her two younger brothers, and her mother. I will be forever grateful to Júlio, for without his help the urban pilot of the small plane could not have located the village.

Sr. Virgílio I well remember for his war mm and friendship at the Guajajara post of Sardinha (Map 3), where the Canela spent five years in exile after having been removed from their cerrado home in 1963. The Canela called him Poo-vey-re (cerrado-deer old dim.), a term of great affection. He had walked with them in July 1963 during their dangerous march out of the cerrado [II.B.2.f.(5)]. He demonstrated his care for the Canela in his treatment of the Indians through his use of medicine and kind words. I used to enjoy visiting him and his family at the post very much.

Sebastião Ferreira (Figure 9) is Sr. Virgílio’s son-in-law and is married to the little girl (Figure 10) I had seen growing up by the Sardinha post. While I did know “Bastião” (his Canela nickname) as a dedicated male nurse of the Indian service in Escalvado during 1970 and 1971, I knew him much better as the post agent during my 1974–1975 visit and then again in 1978–1979. Like Sr. Olímpio, Bastião really knew the Canela and understood a great deal of their language, though he did not attempt to speak it. He and his wife often invited me for meals at his post house (Map 5, E) and showered their hospitality and friendship upon me.

When I hear criticism of the Brazilian Indian service, which is often the case in Brazil and the United States, I think first of Sr. Sebastião Ferreira and his wife Dona Fàtima and their great service in the cause of helping the Canela Indians. Then I think of Sebastião’s father-in-law who risked his life to save many Canela lives in 1963. They are rare idealists but also hard realists and politicians.

Jack and Josephine Popjes of the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) were great company in the field. I immensely enjoyed going over to their Escalvado house across the plaza to spend an evening conversing in English on our favorite topic, the Canela. Their opinions were a useful check on mine. Moreover, we have carried out research for each other when one of us could not be in the tribe. In 1979, I spent two weeks with the younger Kaapêltùk working on linguistic problems for Jack, and between 1984 and 1989 Jack has provided an extensive amount of ethnographic and historical information for me (most of the Epilogue). Sometimes we worked on medical cases together, as when Tel-khwèy (Plate 68b) had convulsions in 1970. More than any other aspect, however, I remember their good company and genuine friendship. When I hear general criticism of the Wycliffe Bible Translators (SIL), I think of the excellence of Jack and Jo.

In Barra do Corda, other missionaries ran the Maranata School [II.B.4.h] just out of town, known as the Sítio dos Ingleses. It was especially helpful to spend evenings there in my early research years of me late 1950s (sometimes playing Monopoly). I particularly remember the kindnesses of Orville Yontz in the late 1950s and of Jim Vance and his family in the 1960s and 1970s. In 1964, they heard over the public radio information service from São Luis (no telegraph service yet) that back in Milwaukee my wife had cancer (a false report) and that I was called home by the Smithsonian to attend her, so they drove their truck out to Sardinha, gave me one hour to pack, and put me on the bi-weekly plane to São Luis on which they had reserved the last space for me.

As for my Canela families, I am grateful to them and admire them in many ways. My “sister” Te?hôk was an ideal Canela sister, always living up to her supportive role. She never let me go without adequate meals in the late 1950s, though I relied entirely on her ability to buy, trade, borrow, or beg food for me. And she did, unknown to me at the time, beg around the village for meat for me occasionally. She was calm, serious, thoughtful, loyal, and quiet, and always looked out for her children and the household. She was a very responsible person. On certain rare occasions, she could become somewhat angry but still remain completely controlled. I found it especially admirable that more than once there were marital adjustment hearings [III.D.3.c.(1)] at which she aired her resentments against her husband in a responsible and yet compassionate way. At these well-attended, interfamily official assemblies, she was clearly articulate and spoke in a well-modulated calm voice.

Life in her house was particularly amusing because of her daughters, my nieces. The joking relationship between uncle (mother’s brother category) and niece was the warm side of my lonely research months in the late 1950s. I will never forget the day, however, that I threw a peeled orange back at one of these nieces and hit my sister instead. Having internalized Canela roles and feelings myself by that time, I was mortified at having hit my sister. Opposite-sex siblings must maintain a serious attitude toward each other; this is one of the most important roles in the tribe. After this accident, there was total silence and shame, but everybody knew it had not been done on purpose.

My other Canela adopted family, which I had to have because there were two villages when I arrived among the Canela in 1957 due to the schism, was structured differently, so that my relationships with both my adopted brother Hàwmrõ and his mother Kroytsen—my “mother”—had to be serious. I will never forget my mother’s concern when I was eating fish. She would sit by me on an adjacent mat, afraid that I might choke on a bone, as I almost did in her presence in 1958. She would then be the first to slap me on the back and get water or bread. In the house of my brother and his mother I enjoyed the joking role with my brother’s wife, my “wife.” Though a Canela does not joke with the woman who is the mother of his children, he always jokes with his “other wives” (mē ?prõ ?nõ: pi. his-wife other: his classificatory wives) [III.E.3.a.(6)].

The relationship with my brother’s children, my “children,” was necessarily serious, and I will never forget the care with which my oldest daughter, Hômyĩ-khwèy (Figure 22), used to heat my silica gel canisters in a cast iron pot to drive the water out of the salts and thereby turn their color from pink back to blue. For all their care and concern, I thank them.

My wife Roma’s adopted family was related to the wife of the first chief, Kaarà?khre. They thus took themselves very seriously as role models. There were no joking relationships among them for me, because I was an out-of-house affine. The only joking relationship I could enjoy was with the chiefs wife, my wife’s sister, thereby my “wife” (because her husband was my Informal Friend [III.E.6]); but they lived in another house and so were not immediately available. My strongest memories of Roma’s adopted family were how well they helped us in cooking. It was easily the best place to eat in the whole village. Also, my wife’s mother used to have to tell Roma certain things but could not do this well enough in Portuguese, so she used to speak Canela to my wife, her “daughter,” in words that were meant for me to overhear. She could not address me because I was her son-in-law—a full avoidance relationship. Then I used to speak her message to my wife in English so that she could comply with her mother’s wishes.

My Apanyekra family was structured in the same way as my first Canela family since the principal person in it was my adopted sister, Pootsen. Here again I had a wonderful set of nieces with whom to joke. One had a pet emu (a South American ostrich) and another (an unusually beautiful woman) had a Krahó husband. My sister was clearly the strongest female personality in the tribe, and I was impressed with what she said she called her kin, as she worked with me around the village circle list of names. What she called them was more in line with how she felt about the particular individual than consistent with consanguinal principles of proximity or distance: kinship behavior (i.e., fictitious). This kinship phenomenon could not be found to a significant extent among the Canela.

Part II: Ethnographic Background

Among existing lowland South American indigenous groups (Map 1) that have been studied, the Canela are unusual in having retained their tribal cohesion in spite of contact and pacification for more man a century and a half [II.B.1.a]. Also unlike most tribes situated as far east as the Canela, they have remained intact while others have either not survived or been detribalized or even urbanized. Although pacified in 1814, the Canela were not settled and stabilized in their present location until about 1830 or 1835. Then they experienced about 100 years of regularized but limited contact with backlanders and Barra do Corda town dwellers. In reconstructing their aboriginal culture it is necessary to factor in what might have been innovated by them or accepted from backlanders during the past century. The effects of the cessation of tribal warfare on the sociocultural system have to be viewed in this context, as well as the shift from their principal reliance on food collecting to food producing. My long-term fieldwork makes it easier for these extrasocietal factors to be analyzed to a fuller extent than usual.

Besides reporting on extracultural sectors, I describe here what I have called “expressive culture”—life cycle and daily cycle activities, recreation, and material culture—to make the Canela come alive for the reader. In addition, since a principal orientation of this monograph is descriptive ethnography, it is appropriate to include material on how the Canela enjoy themselves and on how they view and value their world.

[II.a] DATA SOURCES

Sources of fieldwork practices, information [Pr.2], and data collection are provided in Appendix 6.

[II.b] CATEGORIZING CULTURE AREAS

A number of scholars, including Kroeber (1948) and Murdock (1951), have attempted to categorize South American and Brazilian Indians in terms of culture areas. However, Steward, Gaivão, and Ribeiro are the principal designators pertinent to the Canela. For Steward (1946–1959), the Canela and all Gê-speaking tribes are Marginal in his famous ecological four-way categorization of all South American tribes which is better evolved in Steward and Faron (1959:12). Galvão (1960, 1967) offers another system for Brazilian tribes in which he places the Canela in his Culture Area VI(A), “Tocantins-Xingú,” with most other Timbira, while the Central Gê are VI(B) and the Kayapó, Gavião, Ozoneí, Tapirapé, Karajà and others are VI(C). Kietzman (1967) develops Gaivão’s approach, especially for the Summer Institute of Linguistics personnel. Earlier, Darcy Ribeiro (1957, 1967) designated Brazilian tribes as being in “isolation,” “intermittent contact,” “permanent contact” (Canela), or “integration.’’ Currently, Ribeiro is evolving another system for Brazilian Indians covering all of these peoples in a near exhaustive manner to replace Steward’s Handbook of South American Indians for Brazil.

[II. c] ECOLOGICAL CONTEXT DURING 200 YEARS OF CONTACT

Like other lowland South American tribes, the Canela are assumed to have been in a changing environment (a two-way relationship) with the floral, faunal, and climatic systems around them in earlier times. By the mid-1950s, culture contact and resulting acculturation had disrupted this two-way relationship. Thus, precise ecological studies along these dimensions revealing aboriginal conditions were impossible, so I did not carry out the protein, soil depletion, and carrying capacity analyses of some colleagues. Instead, I researched the current ecological differences between the Canela and the Apanyekra, and the differences between the cerrado and dry forest environments for the Canela (W. Crocker, 1972).

[II.d] SOCIOECONOMY

Concerning the external socioeconomic context, warfare and trade relations with other tribes have been disrupted for about two centuries and have been largely cut off for over a century and a half. Thus, Canela and Apanyekra tribal experiences contrast sharply with ethnological studies of the Kayapó (Lukesch, 1976; Posey, 1982, 1983b; T. Turner, 1966; Verswijver, 1978; Vidal, 1977a) and other tribes to the west, groups of which came out of isolation since the 1930s (Agostinho, 1974; Arnaud, 1964, 1975; Basso, 1973; Chagnon, 1968; Gregor, 1977; Laràia and Da Matta, 1967; and Taylor, 1977). Francisco Ribeiro (1815 [1870], 1819a [1841], 1819b [1874]) provides little on external socioeconomic context for the Canela just after their pacification. In contrast, Murphy (1960) furnishes an acculturation study of several comparative stages for the Mundurucú, and Cardoso (1976) provides some insight into me process of assimilation at still later stages of acculturation for the Terena and Tukuna.

To gain some perspective on Canela acculturation, I began a survey of the socioeconomic scene in neighboring backland communities in 1960. My plan for more extensive studies of this sort was interrupted by the ranchers’ 1963 attack on the Canela messianic movement [II.B.2.f]. Thus, bad feelings against the Canela in the backlands made it politically impossible for me to continue such studies until the late 1970s, by which time my priorities had changed, so such data was not collected. I did, however, make one visit to Jenipapo do Resplandes in 1979 (Map 3) to record conspicuous changes since the late 1950s.

Data provided in works on other backland communities in eastern Maranhāo, Piaui, and Ceará” (Chandler, 1972) would help determine what is aboriginally Canela and what is the result of culture contact. Folkloric studies of the Northeast (Campos, 1959) might also be helpful. See Forman (1975: 203–225) for folk Catholic and psychological attitudes of dependence similar to those of the backlander of the Canela-Apanyekra region; Hall (1978:15–54) for characteristics of the drought of the Northeast and its socioeconomic problems, including backland ranching and sharecropping; Tipos e Aspectos do Brasil for socioeconomic descriptions and actual drawings representative of the Canela-Apanyekra backland area (IBGE, 1956:64–66, 75–80, 91–97, 103–105, 124–127, 141–144, 164–166, 399–402, 406–425); and Johnson (1971) for general material on sharecroppers (all on a larger scale) and photographs characteristic of the Canela-Apanyekra backlands, except for the vegetation and irrigation. To the lesser extent that Amazonian traits were influencing customs of the area, Wagley’s Amazon Town (1953) provides background material.

[II.e] HISTORICAL CONTEXT

Turning to the external historical context of the Canela, it would be desirable to have more data on the município of Barra do Corda and adjacent municípios. The archives of cities and communities in Maranhão may contain both general materials on this part of the state and specific materials related to contacts with the Canela. (See the ethnohistorical publications in the bibliography on the Guajajara by Mércio Gomes, 1977.) My data, however, were principally obtained by talking with research assistants and knowledgeable Brazilians.

[II.A] Gê Language Family, Its Populations, and Ecology

Gê (Glossary) is the language of both the Canela and the Apanyekra. The two dialects are very similar and have been converging since about 1950 because of lessening hostilities and increasing frequency of contacts between the two tribes. The Gê language is more widely spread (Map 1) than the region covered by the three geographic biomes converging near me Canela area. Estimated population numbers for all Gê-speaking peoples [II.A.2] stress the scope of this linguistic context. The geography of the intermediate zone where the Canela live lies between the tropical forests of Amazonia (hiléia), the drought-stricken lands of the Northeast (caatinga), and the closed savannas (cerrado) of the central highlands to the southwest (informally, (chapada). Geographic and cultural contrasts throughout the Canela backland region and the município of Barra do Corda are also presented.

[II.A.1] Gê Language Family

The Krahó, who live in five or six villages about 330 kilometers to the southwest of the Canela and Apanyekra (Map 1), speak a dialect of Gê, which Jack Popjes, the SIL linguist, considers technically the same language. The Krĩkatí and Pukobyé, who live about 160 kilometers to the west in Montes Altos and Amarante (Map 2), respectively, speak a distinct but related language, as do the Gaviāo northeast of Marabà, about 400 kilometers to the northwest of the Canela. Collectively, the above-mentioned tribes are called the Eastern Timbira (Map 4). Somewhat west of the Krĩkatí (about 90 kilometers) near the confluence of the Tocantins and Araguáia rivers live the Apinayé, who were sufficiently different from the Eastern Timbira for Nimuendajú (1946:6) to classify them as the “Western Timbira.”

The experts and their general and principal publications on the Timbira are Arnaud (1964, 1984) for the Gavião, Da Matta (1976, 1982) for the Apinayé, Lave (1971, 1979) for the Krĩkatí, Carneiro da Cunha (1978, 1986) and J. Melatti (1967, 1970, 1978) for the Krahó, Newton (1974, 1981) for the Pukobyé, and Nimuendajú (1937, 1938, 1946) and W. Crocker (1974a, 1974b, 1984a) for the Canela. There are no separate, modern publications on the Apanyekra.

At least a dozen groups of Kayapó Indians live much further to the west (550 to 1100 kilometers) in the state of Pará between the Araguáia and Xingú rivers and beyond, formerly to the Tapajós. Kayapó is sufficiently different that most Canela have considerable difficulty understanding it; but some claim to comprehend enough Kayapó to get along well. In the late 1970s, when asked which Indians could be included in their category, mē-hīī (the-ones with-characteristic-aspects: Indians like themselves), they allowed the Kayapó this degree of familiarity. Taking a more traditional stand than the present Canela linguistic one, however, I equate mēhĩĩ with “Eastern Timbira,” as the Canela probably did in earlier times (Nimuendajú, 1946:12)[IV.C.1.f]. (For general publications on the Kayapó, see Bamberger, 1971; Diniz, 1962; Dreyfus, 1963; Hamú, 1987 (bibliography); Lukesch, 1976; Moreira Neto, 1959; T. Turner, 1966, 1979; Posey, 1983b; Vidal, 1977a; Verswijver, 1978, and Werner, 1984a.)

Further to the south (775 kilometers) in the Xingú Indigenous Park (Map 1) are the Suyá (Seeger, 1981, 1987), and somewhat to their north are the Kreen-akore (Panará). These tribes are classified as linguistically separate from both the Kayapó and each other, but taken all together, and including the Eastern and Western Timbira, these groups comprise the Northern Gê speakers. It is not known whether the Canela understand Suyá and Kreen-akore, but from comparing published words and sentences in Suyá (Seeger, 1981) with Canela ones (Rumsey, 1971), I believe that communication would be more difficult than with the Kayapó.

There are only two Central Gê tribes, the Sherente and Shavante (Maybury-Lewis, 1965, 1967, 1971). The former live along the eastern banks of the Tocantins River just south of the Krahó, and the latter live further south on the Araguáia and one of its tributaries, the Rio das Mortes (Map 1). These languages are obviously too different from Canela for intercommunication, but Canela and Shavante contain a number of similar words, such as inkre (egg), tep (fish), hĩĩ (meat), nàà (mother), and ta (rain).

The Southern Gê tribes in southern Brazil are known as the Kaingang (Santos, 1970) and the Xokleng (D. Melatti, 1976; Santos, 1970, 1973). These tribes (Map 1) are linguistically quite distant from the Northern Gê, though the words in the above paragraph are also cognates, and in addition, so is pĩ (“tree”).

[II.A.2] Population of Gê-speaking Indians

The Canela population was about 300 in 1936 (Nimuendajú, 1946:33) and increased slowly to 412 (±3) by July 1960. The number diminished to 394 (±2) by mid-1964 as a consequence of five deaths from attack, 17 departures from the tribe and additional deaths in the dry forest, some due to different ecological conditions. Additional departures and returns (13 and 2), and deaths and births, reduced the population to 382 (±2) by mid-1966. With the return to the cerrado in 1968, the population total rose to 397 (±1) by 1 September 1969, to 416 by the same date in 1970, and to 436 by the same date in 1971 (W. Crocker, 1972, table 2). The Canela population reached 514 (±1) on 1 September 1975, 616 (±3) by the same date in 1979, and 903 by Indian service count on 1 March 1989. In 1919, Nimuendajú estimated 118 Apanyekra (J. Melatti, 1985:4), and in 1929 he counted 130 (Nimuendajú, 1946:31). By 1970, they had increased to 205 (±3), by 1971 to 213 (±2), and by 1975 to 225 (±1).[4]

By 1986 there were 791 Canela and 294 Apanyekra (CEDI, 1986). All the following tribal population numbers in this section come from this publication and are credited there to the FUNAI unless stated otherwise here; census takers and years cited below in brackets in this section can be found in the above cited Povos Indígenas no Brasil (CEDI, 1986). Thus, combined with 912 Krahó Indians [in the year 1984], there were approximately 2000 speakers of Canela-Krahó. The Krĩkatí of Montes Altos numbered 360 [J.L. Santos, in 1986], the Gaviāo-Parkatejé near Marabá were 176 [Ferraz, in 1985], and the Gavião-Pukobyé of Amarante were reported at about 300 in 1986. Living with the Guajajara on the Pindaré were 20 Krējê [in 1986] and 9 Kokuiregatejê [in 1986]. Thus, there were about 2500 Eastern Timbira Indians. (I prefer round numbers since these censuses are not precise.) Adding the Western Timbira, the Apinayé [565 in 1986], to these numbers, there were 3000 to 3100 Timbira Indians in the mid-1980s.

For the many Kayapó groups, the Gorotire/Kikretum/ Kubenkranken/Aúkre/Kokraimoro count comes to 1598, the Kararao to 36, the Mekragnoti to 526, and the Xikrin of the Bacaja River to 186, all in 1986. Other Kayapó groups are listed without population numbers. Vidal counted 304 Xikrin on the Catete River in 1985. In the Xingú Indigenous Park, three Metuktire groups number 374 [Turner, in 1986]. Thus, the Kayapó count is 3024. Considering the listed though not counted groups, the total Kayapó population figure may be about 3500 or higher. The Suyá are listed as being 114 [in 1984] and the Kreen-akore (Panará) as 84 [Biral, 1985]. Thus the Northern Gê total about 6800 Indians in the mid-1980s.

For the Central Gê, the Sherente number 850 in two groups as reported by Silva e Pena [in 1984]. The Shavante in six groups total 4834 [in 1984], but the count in a seventh group was not reported. Thus, the Central Gê sum is 5684 or at least 5700 Indians. For the Southern Gê, the Kaingang in 24 groups, some of them urban, total 11,042, and the Xokleng 634. Thus, there are about 24,000 Gê language family Indians in Brazil. No Gê-speaking Indians exist outside Brazil, but tribes grouped in the greater category of Macro-Gê (Steward and Faron, 1959:22) are widespread, such as Caribbean and Arawakan speakers in the Antilles and northern South America.

The summarizing tabulation on the following page lists the above figures as stated, not the approximations. The years are mixed but are from the mid-1980s.

NORTHERN GÊ

6649

Timbira

3427

Eastern Timbira

2862

Canela-Krahó

1997

Canela

791

Apanyekra

294

Krahó

912

Krĩkatí (Montes Altos)

360

Gavião-Parkateje (Marabá)

176

Gavião-Pukobyé’ (Amarante)

300

krējê

20

Kokuiregatejê

9

Apinayé

565

Kayapó

3024

Gorotire/Kikretum/Kubenkranken/

1598

Aúkre/Kokraimoro

Kararao

36

Mekragnoti

526

Xikrin (Bacaja)

186

Xikrin (Catete)

304

Metuktire

374

Suyá

114

Kreen-akore (Panará)

84

CENTRAL GÊ

5684

Sherente

850

Shavante (six groups)

4834

SOUTHERN GÊ

11,676

Kaingang (24 groups)[*]

11,042

Xokleng

634

Approximate total of Gê-speaking Indians

24,000

[*]A few small Southern Gê groups exist besides the Kaingang and Xokleng, so, including the uncounted Kayapó, a reasonable total for Gê-speakers is at least 26,000.

[II.A.3] Effects of Ecology on Survival, Demography, Acculturation, Geography

Ecological effects on a tribe’s history, survival, location, demography, and degree of acculturation or deculturation are often not taken into account in monographic studies. Some factors of this sort are discussed here such as (1) aboriginal tribal location near pioneer front movements in relation to river basins and mountain ranges; (2) later tribal location in relation to rivers, waterfalls, necessary settlement dispersal, and road construction, and (3) the two tribal locations in relation to their current contrasting environments. To facilitate comprehension of the above mentioned factors affecting Apanyekra and Canela culture, I describe the geography of the Barra do Corda region and certain problems cerrado cover presents for human beings specifically and generally.

[II.A.3.a] HISTORICAL ISOLATION

Earlier and later movements bypassed the Canela region. Pastos Bons, 150 kilometers to the southeast of the modern Canela region, was an outpost of settler activity since the middle of the 18th century (Map 4). Earlier still (1694), Francisco Garcia de Avila led “a great expedition of 1350 men to the region of the Itapicuru headwaters” (Nimuendajú, 1946:3) (Map 4) on the edge of the territory held by Canela ancestors, the Capiekran (Nimuendajú, 1946:32). Consequently, dangers to the Canela from early settlers came initially from the southeast rather than from the north, from São Luis, by way of the Mearim and Corda rivers (Nimuendajú, 1946:2).

[II.A.3.a.(1)]

The Krahó occupied the area west of Pastos Bons and São Raimundo da Mangabeira (Map 4), and so, were in the direct line of march of pioneer cattle ranchers, as they first moved west between 1810 and 1820 into the watershed of the Tocantins River, along the relatively flat and fertile basins of the Itapicuru and Parnaíba rivers (Hemming, 1987:190; J. Melatti, 1967:20). Thus, the pioneer front drove the Krahó out of their aboriginal habitat to the Tocantins, causing them numerous defeats, disorganization, and deculturation. The Capiekran, in contrast, living entirely north of the Itapicuru River, merely retreated further into their traditional lands north of the Alpercatas River, escaping the main thrust of the pioneer front. The hilly, still largely unsettled region between the Alpercatas and Itapicuru, now set aside as the Parque Nacional do Mirador (Map 2), protected the Canela to a considerable extent in the 1810s and 1820s, as did the Serra Das Alpercatas immediately to their south (Map 3).

[II.A.3.a.(2)]

Over a century and a quarter later, the first tire track truck road reached the city of Barra do Corda (Map 2), coming in from the southeast. It bypassed the Canela area (Map 3), still protected by the Serra das Alpercatas. This road came from Floriano, Mirador, and Conceição. Such access into Barra do Corda was possible only after a bridge was built in 1956 across the Alpercatas River at Campo Largo, 24 kilometers east of Jenipapo do Resplandes.

By 1960, a central (an unpaved highway elevated above the terrain) passed 100 kilometers south of the Canela lands. It came from the Brazilian Northeast by way of Floriano and Picos through Pastos Bons to reach São Raimundo da Mangabeira, and from there continued to Carolina and on the Tocantins River. This was also the principal route of pioneer movements during the early part of the 18th century, as mentioned above. Thus, it is apparent that the advantages of the Canela geographical location in relation to river valleys and mountain ranges spared them considerable cultural disruption and even physical relocation.

The highway now running north of the Canela area and through Barra do Corda did not exist in 1956, river and air transportation being the principal modes of access. The section of the road passing through Presidente Dutra to Imperatriz was completed only in the early 1970s. (See earth moving construction on the left in Plate 3a.) This road and the one 150 kilometers to the south passing through São Raimundo da Mangabeira are built on firmer and flatter ground than is found in the hilly and sandy cerrado region of the Canela. Thus, physical geography again played an important protective role in the Canela and Apanyekra survival into modern times. The Krahó have survived as well but are considerably more deculturated.

[II.A.3.a.(3)]

Continuing their aboriginal habit of going on trek [II.D.3.i] even as late as the late 1950s, the Canela did not travel due south to São Raimundo da Mangabeira located on the new central. Instead, they went the roundabout, more populated way of Leandro, Campo Largo (Map 3), Conceição, Mirador, Pastos Bons, Floriano, Picos to eventually reach Juazeiro (Map 2), from where they caught trains to São Paulo in the south or went by highway to Recife and Salvador in the Northeast. In Juazeiro, even in the last century, they were in a well populated and developed region, the valley of the São Francisco River.

In the late 1950s, the Canela and Apanyekra told elaborate and extensive stories about the social “disasters” (due to misunderstandings) that occurred on such trips. Such “trekking” was a major part of their existence during the 1890s and up until the 1970s. When they arrived in a town, they looked for the mayor and asked him for food and lodging. Usually they were asked to sing and dance, and did so, and were housed in the jail for the night. Often they sold artifacts at prices that were far higher than in the Barra do Corda area. The next day they asked the mayor for transportation to the next town, which was often given, probably to get them out of town and trouble.

Sometime before May in 1958, a group of about nine Canela males went to Rio de Janeiro: Ropkhà, 57 years old; Waakhay, 22; the younger Krôôtô, 23; Hàwpùù, 30; Khrùt, 23; Khrèt, 22; the younger Kaapêltùk, 23; Yõõkhên, 21; and Hikhuu, early 20s. Hàwpùù and Waakay are sons of Ropkhà; Khrùt, Khrèt, and Kaapêltùk are classificatory sons-in-law of Ropkhà; and Krôôtô, Yõõkhên, and Hikhuu are not related to Ropkhà. The young men, except for Waakay and Hàwpùù, are not closely related. They all belong to the Lower age-set of Kaapêltùk except for Hàwpùù who belongs to the adjacent older Upper age-set, while Ropkhà belongs to the Upper age-set 20 years older than Hàwpùù’s. They took to the Indian service in Rio de Janeiro two sets of bows and arrows, five clubs (khô-po) [II.G.3.d.(1)], and the ceremonial belt with pendant tapir hoof tips (tsù.) [II.G.3.a.(3)] of the sing-dance master Rãrãk, age 46, according to the service agent Raimundo Ferreira Sobrinho. They were given in return 466 meters of cloth (at least 156 wrap-around skirts), 3 shot guns, and about 20 machetes. The bows, possibly ceremonial, could have been made of what was known locally as “purplewood” (pau roxo) and the clubs of “brazilwood” (pau brasil), both nonexistent in the area by the late 1970s because of their value. The belt might have had 18 to 24 tapir hoof tips. Thus, by the exchange standards of the backlands and Barra do Corda in the late 1950s, the payment was very high, but by the international standards of the late 1970s, the payment was extremely low.

Today, the Canela travel far less (being more controlled by the Indian service), but follow modern bus routes which take them to Belém and Brasília, not to the Northeast. They still, nevertheless, want to come back from large cities with travel trophies like in aboriginal times [IV.C.1.c.(5)], which now take the form of hunting and farming equipment and even trucks and cattle. New chiefs demonstrate their leadership ability to their people by going to cities and coming back with whatever goods they can. In the 1980s, Kaarà?khre came back with a truck, though an ex-chief, while the younger Kaapêltùk returned with 30 head of cattle.

[II.A.3.b] PHYSICAL ENVIRONMENT

As Nimuendajú (1946:37) has mentioned, the Canela and other Timbira tribes were especially adapted to their closed savanna (cerrado; Glossary) and stream-side gallery forest (Glossary) environments. Whereas the Eastern and Western Timbira live in the closed savannas (except for the Gavião; Nimuendajú, 1946:19), the other Northern Gê-speaking tribes inhabit mostly forests. The Kayapó occupy both environments (J. Turner, 1967) and go on trek in closed savannas as well as through certain tropical forest locations in order to gather particular kinds of produce from each environment (Vidal, 1977a).

The Canela and Apanyekra live almost entirely in the cerrado, close to six degrees south of the equator and 45 degrees west longitude. Because the “elevation” (Nimuendajù, 1946:2) is between 200 to 300 meters above sea level (with the highest immediate mesas and ridges being around 400 meters), and because they are about 650 kilometers southeast of the mouth of the Amazon River (i.e., Belém), the climate of the region is quite moderate.

[II.A.3.b.(1)]

Both the Canela and the Apanyekra are located in the municίpio of Barra do Corda, which is slightly south of the center point of Maranhão state. This location places them in the general region of the intersection of three biomes. From the northwest and Amazonia, tropical forests (hiléia) reach to within 250 kilometers of the Barra do Corda area. Dry forests (mata seca, avarandado, Figure 5)—extensions of these hiléia rain forests—almost reach Barra do Corda, and do reach the Apanyekra (Map 8) and the Indian service post of Sardinha (Map 3), 15 kilometers from Barra do Corda. The undergrowth in these dry forests, though not wet, is too dense to walk through; one must clear the way with a machete. Some of these forests are deciduous (Figure 6), losing most of their leaves in September and October.

FIGURE 3.—Cerrado countryside (“closed savannas”), 1969, with birthing mats left in tree fork to decay.

Dry forests are the characteristic vegetation around the village of Sardinha (Plates 32, 33), where the Canela lived from 1963 through 1968. There the trees range from 15 to 30 meters tall, but further north and west they are higher. The Apanyekra were living in the cerrado when occupying their Rancharia village during the mid- to late-1960s, but nevertheless were on the edge of these dry forests, which run roughly along the left bank of the Corda River (Map 8). Their principal village of Porquinhos is also in the cerrado and not far from these dry forests, which lie about 10 kilometers west of the village. Much of the soil in the dry forests is good for growing crops in the traditional manner. The soil of the cerrado requires expensive additives and machinery to accomplish the same production levels (Abelson and Rowe, 1987).

From the east and southeast of Barra do Corda, the caatinga biome of the Brazilian Northeast (IBGE, 1956:88–90) reaches close to the Canela area (50 to 100 kilometers). These semi-arid lands, almost deserts, spread over most parts of the states of Bahia, Pernambuco, Rio Grande do Norte, Sergipe, Alagoas, Ceará, and Piaui, except in the mountains and on the coast.

True caatinga countryside occurs in many places east of the capital of the state of Piaui, Terezina, and can be found in patches here and there almost into Barra do Corda. The vegetation around and just, to the east of Barra do Corda, however, is scrub: small bushes and low trees with tangled underbrush. This variety of caatinga develops where rainfall is slightly higher than elsewhere in the Northeast.

The Brazilian Northeast is historically famous for droughts, which occur approximately every seven years. During such times, it scarcely rains for about 18 months, and water is obtained from open wells that are dug 5 to 10 meters into the ground. During these droughts, large populations have died or migrated out of the area, either to the south or to the west, and cattle herds have been considerably reduced in size. According to Canela research assistants, such a drought has reached as far west as the Canela area only once (about 1915).

FIGURE 4.—Racing-log preparation in the “gallery forest” undergrowth, which is impassable without cutting it with a machete. (Escalvado 1969)

From the states of Mato Grosso, Pará, and Goiás to the southwest of Barra do Corda, the cerrado biome reaches the Canela and Apanyekra areas, but not the area around the city of Barra do Corda, ending just short of Ourives (Map 3), 25 kilometers from Barra. The cerrado flora mixes with the extensions of the tropical forest flora (i.e., the dry deciduous forest) and with the caatinga ground cover, prevailing over both these biomes. The Canela and Apanyekra live in these finger-like extensions of cerrado lands (IBGE, 1956:64–66, agreste; Ferri, 1969:19), reaching into their area from the southwest. Unlike the Apanyekra who live adjacent to the dry forests, the Canela have to go either to the Apanyekra (Map 8) or to Sardinha (Map 3) to retrieve products from the dry forests, such as macaw tail feathers, resin used to glue falcon down on bodies, or genipap, a blue-black ceremonial body paint.

FIGURE 5.—Dry forest near Sardinha.

[II.A.3.b.(2)]

Cerrado (Nimuendajú, 1946:1: steppes; Eiten, 1971:159–168) is a general term (known as chapada or campestre locally) that describes a continuum of changing vegetation, ranging from semi-open grassy terrain to almost closed woodlands. (The traveler sees cerrado countryside—quite similar to the Canela principal vegetation—around Brasília.) Campos, at the other extreme, are fields of open grass largely free of shrubbery, but such vegetation is rare in the Canela region, found only near the sources of streams. Several transitional formations exist distinguished by different densities and heights of trees. The term “cerrado” (meaning “closed”) applies to all of these formations but especially to woodlands (Plate 13c, d); that is, where trees grow closer together, many of them touching (Ferri, 1971, 1974). These cerrado trees often take strange shapes: gnarled, twisted, and turned. (For a list of cerrado trees, see Nimuendajú, 1946:1.) A person on a horse or in a jeep can move freely almost anywhere between the trees even in the more wooded cerrado (Figure 3), except where crossing a stream bordered by a gallery forest (Glossary) (Figure 4). This person’s vision, however, is totally blocked by trees 10 to 50 meters away, depending on their varying density. Mesas, or extended ridges, are sometimes seen in the distance, helping the orientation of the person within the cerrado environment.

In 1970, I was returning from the Apanyekra to the new village of Escalvado with a group of Canela. To save time after passing Papagáio, we followed a course with no trail or markings from Por Enquanto (Map 3) directly east to Escalvado instead of taking the much longer, permanent trail to the south. The terrain in this area generally slopes to the north. It also slopes to the east or west at streams, but rarely to the south, which is upstream, as the land rises toward the Serra das Alpercatas (Map 3), a west-to-east mesa-like ridge forming much of the southern boundary of the Canela reservation. The sun was not visible in the overcast sky and the cerrado trees were high enough so we could not see the Alpercatas ridge, which should have been some 10 kilometers to the south. The younger Kaapêltùk [I.G.4] was sure our course was correct, so we continued. Becoming increasingly concerned however, I asked Kaapêl to have a boy climb a tree to see how we were moving in relation to the Alpercatas ridge. He refused at first, being sure of his leadership, but finally ordered a youth up a tree to appease me. The young man came down looking embarrassed and reported that the Alpercatas ridge was to the north, exactly opposite from the expected direction. We had been traveling west, back to Por Enquanto, without knowing it.

FIGURE 6.—Deciduous dry forest in October, 1971, north of the Apanyekra reservation along the Enjeitado stream.

This kind of mistake is easy to make where no trail exists and when the sun does not penetrate the clouds most of the day. One cannot see very far in the cerrado anyway, and in these conditions, one must depend on the general slope of the land, or a mesa, to keep on course. In May, 1960, while map making in me cerrado with the younger Kaapêl, I used a compass course taken from the top of a small mesa to pass straight through an hour of unbroken cerrado instead of following a curved trail along a stream. We arrived in camp one half hour early, which surprised and pleased him.

The only time one cannot walk or run freely almost anywhere between the trees in the cerrado is when trying to cross most gallery forest streams. Here the underbrush can be so dense (Figure 4) that it must be hacked away by machete. Backlanders call established trails across and through the well-watered jungle terrain on both sides of the streams “passageways” (passagens). These crucial lines of communication sometimes resemble tunnels through green hills of massed vegetation. Swampy areas often line the edges of the Santo Estévão stream, and to a lesser extent the other streams of the Canela region. Thus, while some stream crossings might be free and clear (Plate 13e), others might be 100 meters long. Besides providing access to a fordable part of the stream, these passageways sometimes have long sections of built-up footbridges (mē-hapàà: for-Eastern-Timbira a-bridge). Often a long grass called tiririca grows between the dense gallery forest and the cerrado. If a person pulls or rubs against this plant the wrong way, its sharp edges rip open the skin. Consequently, nobody without heavy clothing, which the Canela usually do not possess, is going to dash through a gallery forest except along the prepared passageway.

[II.A.3.C] SOCIOECONOMIC FACTORS INHIBITING BRAZILIAN ENCROACHMENT

Settlements in the cerrado are located near streams because of the need for water. Soil of the Canela cerrado is unusually sandy and dry. Only in gallery forests (Plate 12d) are soils sufficiently damp and rich in proper nutrients to support crops grown in the traditional manner. Thus, the Canela farm plots, as well as the backlander’s fields, are always placed in gallery forests or their broad extensions. Recent studies suggest that the cerrado is usable for agriculture if the farmer supplies appropriate additives (e.g., limestone, phosphorous) each year. Such fertilizers have to be specific for each location (Abelson and Rowe, 1987).

[II.A.3.c.(1)]

Encroachment on Canela lands was difficult for Brazilian pioneers because natural barriers restricted settlement to gallery forests and their cerrado edges. When moving toward Canela lands, migrants had to move their houses and farms in observable steps, advancing from stream to stream. Because streams were 6 to 10 kilometers apart, any movement in the direction of a Canela village was pronounced and easily recognizable, so complaints could be unequivocable. (See the distances between the stream-edge gallery forests in Maps 3 and 7.)

Access was also impeded by the absence of navigable riverine routes—the highways of earlier times. The Corda River is not navigable much above Barra do Corda, and its headwaters are only about 50 kilometers southwest of the Apanyekra village of Porquinhos. (See the southwest corner of Map 3). The Alpercatas River flows from west to east about 20 kilometers south of the village of Escalvado but is not navigable this far up.

[II.A.3.c.(2)]

The cerrado grasses of the states of Mato Grosso, southern Pará, and Goiás are famous for supporting cattle, but the grass in the Canela region will not support large herds. Most ranchers maintained herds of no more than 500 cattle during the late 1960s. Thus, the Canela cerrado region is marginal for raising cattle as well as for cultivating crops on a large scale. In addition, the fact that no natural products of great economic value exist in the Canela cerrados or gallery forests—such as rubber trees, gold, or brazil nuts—partially explains why the Canela have not been more disturbed by the progress of the various Brazilian pioneer fronts and still live in their own lands in their tribal state.

[II.A.3.c.(3)]

The high degree of sandiness of the cerrado where the Canela live partly explains why, even into the mid-1980s (Map 2), no highways had been built through the area. The feeder roads running from me Brazilian Northeast to the Belém-Brasília highway in the west pass through more preferable, less sandy areas, where the ground is harder and therefore more suitable for jeeps and trucks. I have been in several vehicles stuck in the unusually sandy Canela-type cerrado, before the reinforced road was put in in 1971, but 4-wheel-drive is still necessary in many places.

[II.A.3.d] APANYEKRA VERSUS CANELA ACCULTURATION FACTORS

While both tribes live in cerrado lands, distinct differences exist between the Canela and the Apanyekra areas. The Apanyekra live at the edge of the dry forests, whereas the Canela live some 20 kilometers away from them, where dry forest occurs only as small islands in the cerrado vegetation. The Apanyekra village of Porquinhos is close to the rapidly flowing Corda River, 5–8 meters from bank to bank. The Canela live near meandering streams, 2–4 meters across. These differences mean that the Apanyekra have far better hunting and fishing possibilities. They can hunt in both cerrado and dry forest environments, whereas the Canela only have access to cerrado and islands of dry forest poor in game. Fish is an almost daily element in the Apanyekra diet but rarely found in Canela homes.

These conditions suggest that the Apanyekra may be better fed. The Apanyekra, on the average, are taller than the Canela, which could be the result of better nutrition. The greater height of the Apanyekra, however, may be due to other reasons. The Canela display more of the classical Mongoloid features of traditional physical anthropology, while the Apanyekra have less evidence of Mongoloid folds above the eyes as well as other associated characteristics.

[II.A.3.d.(1)]

The best lands for extensive farming and cattle ranching in the Canela-Apanyekra region are near the headwaters of the Corda River. The area just to the south of the Apanyekra lands along the relatively fertile foothills of the Serra das Alpercatas is occupied by the Ferreira ranching family, and the high area to the southeast of Porquinhos is occupied by the Arruda family of ranchers (see “Sítio dos Arrudas,” Map 3). The Arrudas report that the Ferreiras arrived in the 1830s and that their own ancestors arrived 10 to 15 years later.

MAP 7.—Canela area and agricultural lands, 1969. The open lands are cerrado. (Based on sketch by Virgílio Gaivão.)

In contrast, the early settlements near the Canela were mainly small farms. The communities of Leandro and Jenipapo do Resplandes lie on flat lands and along lines of communication with the Northeast, and so were less isolated (see road to Mirador in the lower right corner of Map 3). They were settled by farmers who became less wealthy and less arrogant than the ranchers in the hills to the west (around the Apanyekra). These communities had numerous cowboys who were really gunmen maintaining law and order in the backlands for their rancher bosses. Consequently, it was easier for the Canela to establish relatively good relations with their neighbors than for the Apanyekra.

MAP 8.—Apanyekra area and agricultural lands, 1974. The open lands are cerrado. The tribe migrated between Rancharia and Porquinhos during 1971–1972. (Based on sketch by Virgílio Gaivão.)

Stories the Apanyekra told in the late 1950s suggest extensive acculturative contacts with the Ferreira family during the last century. The Apanyekra have experienced far greater difficulties in retaining their lands. These two points may be related. In the late 1950s, backland farming families associated with the Ferreiras maintained farms only 2 kilometers away from the Apanyekra village on the Aguas Claras stream (Map 8). Because of the immediacy of such contacts over a long period, Apanyekra men were more likely than Canela men to wear cloth all the time in the late 1950s. Moreover, the Apanyekra knew how to dance in the embraced backland (Western) manner well before my arrival, while the Canela did not practice such paired dancing until 1959.

In contrast to the Apanyekra, Canela men often went naked in the late 1950s (Plate 40d). A great Canela grievance in those days was that men had to grab leaves to cover themselves as they passed the post building (Plate 11a) with its civilizada women, even when racing through its ford with heavy logs, or the insulted women would complain bitterly and the agent had to use strong words at meetings in the plaza.

[II.A.3.d.(2)]

The frequency and extent of the two tribes’ contact with outsiders was reversed by the middle of the 20th century. The Canela had been relatively more isolated from their neighbors (small farmers) than the Apanyekra, because of their numbers and greater land controlling and holding abilities. In 1938 however, the Indian service sent a family to live beside the Canela village. They did not send a family to the Apanyekra area because it was too far and too difficult to maintain contact between such a family and Barra do Corda. Delfino Sousa, however, an unmarried developmentally handicapped backlander, was paid a small amount to live next to the Apanyekra villages as the Indian service representative there, from the 1950s until his death sometime before 1966. Sr. Delfino made several trips to Barra do Corda a year, but his representation of the Indian service and his influence on the Apanyekra were minimal compared to the overpowering effects on the Canela by the series of city-born (Barra do Corda) Indian service agents, teachers, artisans, and their wives and children during the 1940s and 1950s.

[II.A.3.d.(3)]

By Nimuendajú’s time and after, acculturation proceeded more rapidly among the Canela than among the Apanyekra due to easier access from Barra do Corda and the consequent presence of Indian service personnel living among the Canela. The terrain was easier to pass through to reach the Canela villages, and the distance from Barra do Corda was significantly less.

The distance between Barra do Corda and the Canela villages is between 60 and 70 kilometers as the crow flies, whereas it is between 100 and 120 kilometers for the Apanyekra villages (Map 3). The trail between Barra do Corda and the Canela villages of Baixão Prêto, Escalvado, and Ponto passes through easily manageable low forest (bush) half the way, requiring only one stream crossing at Ourives. The trail is between 80 and 90 kilometers long, depending on the village.

In sharp contrast, the trail to the Apanyekra villages runs through denser and higher forests along the Corda River most of the way, requiring several stream and river crossings. On the ground the distance varies between 130 and 150 kilometers, for the Porquinhos and Rancharia villages respectively.

[II.A.3.d.(4)]

During the late 1950s, roads passable to jeeps and small trucks went through woods about one quarter of the way to each tribe, beyond which points (Mucunã and Baixão dos Peixes: Map 3) all travel had to be on horse, mule, or foot. Nevertheless, motor vehicles were rarely used except in emergencies, being too expensive. For transporting considerable equipment or in emergencies, such as for my first entry and last exit in the late 1950s and for service personnel during the messianic movement [II.B.2.f], Canela villages were reached by truck through Leandro (120 km). Apanyekra villages were unreachable in any way by vehicle.

Using pack animals carrying supplies all the way took two to three layover nights to reach the Canela, whereas it took three to four night stops to reach the Apanyekra. A man traveling by horse at a fast walk (non-emergency) could reach the Canela in a day-and-a-half to two days (stopping one night). I once made an emergency trip by horse from Ponto to Barra do Corda in 18 hours, stopping only for 2 hours. It took, however, two to three full days (stopping two nights) to reach the Apanyekra traveling in non-emergency situations but without the delays required by a mule train.

These transportation differences, though not apparently great, made it significantly more difficult for the Indian service to maintain a family among the Apanyekra, until the 1970s, when the road from Escalvado past the Sítio dos Arrudas to Porquinhos was completed (Map 3).

[II.A.3.d.(5)]

The Apanyekra have one principal watercourse, the Corda River, with its ample gallery forests. Only one of the 12 Apanyekra abandoned village settlements I visited and measured was located on the banks of the Corda River (Ludgero), and some of them were occupied during the last century. All other sites were on small streams. The Apanyekra live on the smaller streams because they believe the Corda River’s currents are too dangerous for babies and small children.

The streams by the Porquinhos and Rancharia villages were quite small. In the first (Map 6), the bathing pool reached to slightly above the knees at the deepest point, but the water was barely flowing. The Rancharia village was adjacent to a tepid lake unsuitable for drinking, and the headwaters of the stream where women went to get water commenced 200 meters below the village site (Map 8).

In contrast, the Canela rarely have had water problems while living on the Santo Estévão. This rapidly flowing stream is 2 to 4 meters across, and is usually ½ to 1½ meters in depth. Its waters are cool, fresh, and satisfactory for drinking. They originate from springs no more than 10 kilometers above Escalvado.

A number of streams run through the Canela lands to eventually meet the Ourives stream, a tributary of the Corda River. From west to east, they are the Galheirinho, Pau Grosso, Dois Riachos, Santo Estévão, Pombo, Raposa, Dos Bois, and Curicaca (Map 7). The Galheirinho, Pau Grosso, Dois Riachos, and Curicaca streams and gallery forests were not used by the Canela until well after their lands were demarcated, starting in 1971, because they were either inhabited or neutralized politically by the presence of nearby rancher-influenced families in Bacabal and Leandro. (For comparing stream spacing and forest growth between the two tribal areas, see Maps 7 and 8.)

[II.B] Diachronic Context

The historical materials presented within this chapter provide a context within which current changes in Canela society have occurred and may be understood. Externally, the Canela have been in close contact with the people of Barra do Corda for many decades, an urban Brazilian society of well-developed sophistication. The Canela visit Barra do Corda constantly. On any particular day 6 to 60 may be found pursuing activities within the city, which has been part of their world since about 1900 [II.B.1.c.(3)].

[II.B.1]     Indigenous Accounts of Canela History from Contact to 1929

Today the Canela view their mythology with considerable doubt. As recently as 1957, however, when I first arrived among them, the Canela retained much faith in their mythology. These beliefs included a large body of oral tradition, which certain elders enjoyed narrating to young people in the plaza during the late afternoon. These tales ranged from clearly mythological ones (Sun and Moon and Star-Woman), to war stories (Pèp and Wayatom), through post-pacification accounts (Tempê and Vão da Serra), and finally to narratives (Major Delfino Kô?kaypo and Nimuendajú [Kô?kaypo]) of events that took place in known village sites. Post-pacification accounts and village narratives, are included here as “indigenous accounts” along with the few published historical facts available up to the time of Nimuendajú.

The main source for reconstructing Canela ethnohistory is from the efforts of the research assistants, especially the older Mĩĩkhrô. We worked out the sequence of episodes together. Other Canela who are generations younger or who have not gone through the same long process of reflection probably would not put the events together in the same sequence in just one or several sittings. Other sources are Hemming (1987) and the first chapter of Nimuendajú (1946), as well as personal communication with residents of Barra do Corda, such as Olímpio Cruz, Olímpio Fialho, and Raimundo Miranda. This ethnohistorical reconstruction is only a summary account.

[II.B.1.a]  FROM CONTACT TO PACIFICATION, LATE 1600s TO 1814

The Canela, or Capiekran, [5] as they were called in me 18th and 19th century chronicles (Nimuendajú, 1946:29) before their pacification (Glossary), may have been contacted first by Brazilian soldiers near the end of the 17th century, when Francisco Garcia de Avila made an expedition into the area (Nimuendajú, 1946:3). There is also some evidence that the Canela, though not the Apanyekra, may have come from a region further east (W. Crocker, 1979:242), where they might have had contact with other Brazilian forces. (There were Timbira as far east as Oeiras in Piaui; Map 4.) Nimuendajú (1946:32) points out that the Capiekran were so badly defeated by the Cakamekra in 1814 that they surrendered to the Brazilian garrison in Pastos Bons that year for protection from other Gê tribes. In 1815, they were temporarily lured to Caxias by Brazilian leaders to fight the Cakamekra, where they were exposed to smallpox. (For the geographical positions of most Timbira tribes in earlier times, see Map 4, and for a publication on Brazilian militarily supported pioneer movements in general, see Morse, 1965.)

By 1817, the smallpox epidemic had killed thousands of Timbira as far west as the Apinayé beyond the Tocantins. Those who survived returned (according to their tradition) to their old tribal area near the headwaters of the Santo Estévão stream and then moved on to the junction of the Porcos stream with the Corda River (Map 3), where they stayed for some years. (For a general account in English of the pioneer front contacts with most of the Timbira tribes between 1790 and 1850, see Hemming, 1987:181–199.)

[II.B.1.b.] EARLY POST-PACIFICATION PERIOD, 1815–1840

There is little mention of the Canela until several decades later (1835), but several tribal stories supply some information. The first story that coincides with written history is the tale of Chief Tempê (Nimuendajú, 1946:32–33). He was the chief of the Canela just after their surrender to Brazilian militia (bandeiras) during their stay in Caxias and while they lived on the Porcos stream. During the late 1810s or early 1820s, the Canela lived in hiding near a spring in a valley (Vão da Serra) in the Serra das Alpercatas near the Sítio dos Arrudas, an area that was to become central to the territories of the three Canela tribes: the Apanyekra, Kenkateye, and Ramkokamekra [In.4.b]. During this period they were well aware of the devastation Brazilians could bring them. The tale goes that settlers found the spring and saw Indians coming to drink there. They sent for soldiers to attack the presumed dangerous warriors. Consequently, a military commandant came with troops and required the Canela to descend peacefully from the hills.

According to other Canela stories, the 1820s were years of considerable disorganization and miscegenation. In the tale of Barnabé, a Canela woman learned Portuguese as the mistress of a rancher and served as interpreter and go-between, facilitating good relations. Later, word came from the Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro II (Awkhêê), that the backlanders should allow all Indian peoples working for them to return to their tribes. A similar order forbade miscegenation.

By the mid-1830s, a chief was appointed in the new pa?hi style [III.D.1.b] (Glossary), that is, chosen by a backland authority and accepted by the Canela. They called him Kawkhre and the backlanders called him Luis Domingo. On one of our walking trips to old village sites, the older Mĩĩkhrô, identified the remains of a Canela village founded by Kawkhre. It lay about half way between Escalvado and the Serra das Alpercatas to the south and just to the east of the headwaters of the Santo Estévão stream (Map 3).

In about 1838, a local Brazilian authority called Diogo summoned Chief Kawkhre to bring his men to help put down an uprising in the interior. Thus, according to the older Mĩĩkhrô, Kawkhre led his warriors into the Balaiada war (which was probably related to the Cabanagem rebellion of the same period based in Belém) (Hemming, 1987:227–237). The older Mĩĩkhrô also talked about when the Canela fought with backlanders against forest Gamella Indians (Map 4), and about a later Canela chief, Cadete Palkhre, who sang while in prison in Barra do Corda. The older Mĩĩkhrô also showed me Chief Cadete’s village sites.

[II.B.1.c] TURN-OF-CENTURY CULTURAL CLIMAX

On another occasion in 1959, the older Mĩĩkhrô walked with me from Baixêo Prêto to Ponto. We visited about six former village sites (khrĩ-?wrèm: tapera) just east of the Santo Estévão stream. Some were occupied before he was born, around 1878, and some much later. He remembered best the two sites in the Escalvado area because he grew up there. The locations of most houses were still identifiable, and seeing them revived his memory about the experiences of individuals who lived in them.

In the days of the two old Escalvado villages, about 1894 to 1903, the Canela experienced a cultural climax largely in economic terms. The two important chiefs were Coronel Tomasinho and Major Delfino (Kô?kaypo). Quite clearly, economic surpluses existed in those days, as reported by research assistants. Kô?kaypo cultivated large fields of rice, which he took in a boat from Barra do Corda to São Luis for sale. (For a mid-20th century boat, see Plate 4b.) With his extra funds, he eventually bought and maintained about a dozen cattle. The Canela did not have to kill and eat them because they had enough food during that period. Unfortunately, while Kô?kaypo was away from the tribe traveling, he left his herd with a backland rancher in Leandro who let the cattle “disappear” completely.

Coronel Tomasinho was known for making smoking pipes of clay and for mending shotguns. Backlanders (Glossary) came from considerable distances for his mending services. We found the remains of Coronel Tomasinho’s house (and a small piece of a clay pipe). The house had been built with reinforced mud-clay walls in the backland manner, a construction very unusual among the cerrado-oriented Canela who preferred palm thatch.

[II B.1.1.(1)]

In 1900, the Čàkamekra (Tsoo-khãm-mē-?khra: fox in they Indian-person: the fox’s place Indian dwellers) came from the Rio das Flores, Mucura (Map 4), to the northeast and joined the Canela in their Escalvado village. Both tribes carried out the Hà?kawrè ceremony, in which potential warriors and antagonists were symbolically and maybe actually reduced to passivity. In this ceremony men entered the camping area of the other tribe where renowned female sing-dancers—owners of the singing sash (Plate 58e, f) band of honor—satisfied them sexually. Other ceremonial acts also exist in which the potentiality of hostile activities is nullified by a female sexual presence.

[II.B.1.c.(2)]

In 1901, the Guajajara Indians of Alto Alegre (just west of Barra do Corda, Map 4) killed a number of monks and nuns and staged a strong military uprising against the backlanders. The authorities of Barra do Corda summoned the Canela to help defeat the Indians. Apparently the forest-dwelling Guajajara were more afraid of the cerrado-loving Canela than they were of the citizens of Barra do Corda. According to the poet and Indian service agent Olímpio Cruz (Figure 7), the Guajajara capitulated after the first rush of “wild” Canela, who shouted and blasted their horns as they arrived (Cruz, 1982). The older Mĩĩkhrô and the older Kaapêltùk told long and detailed stories about the Canela attack, led by Major Delfino Kô?kaypo. Nimuendajú states that 40 Canela warriors were involved (Nimuendajú, 1946:33).

[II.B.1.c.(3)]

Because of unsettled conditions in Barra do Corda after the uprising, the Canela withdrew several youths who were interned in the convent. Along with learning to read and write, they were taught Catholicism. A significant proportion of the folk Catholicism in the tribe today has its roots in the beliefs spread by these returning students, one of whom was me father of my research assistant Mulwa (Plate 71a).

[II.B.1.c.(4)]

In 1903, a very important event occurred: the execution of a sorcerer (kay). Francelino Kaawùy was accused of killing by witchcraft a woman who would not give herself to him sexually (Nimuendajú, 1946:240). He belonged to the extended family of Chief Kô?kaypo. While Kô?kaypo was away with most of his family, Chief Coronel Tomasinho held a hearing during which Kaawùy was condemned to death. The three men who volunteered to be the executioners caught Kaawùy by surprise by a clump of trees on the right margin of the Santo Estévão, about half a kilometer below the old Ponto village site. They beat him to death by hitting him on the head with heavy wooden clubs. (See Schultz, 1976b, for a similar execution in 1959 among the Krahó.) When officials in Barra do Corda heard about this matter, they came and took the three executioners (murderers to the officials) back to the city, where the executioners spent several months in jail.

In the meantime, Chief Kô?kaypo, who did not agree with the results of the hearing on witchcraft, withdrew from the tribe in protest with his followers. He established a new village, first in the Khen-te-kô-?katswèl (hill did water pierce) area and later in the Poo-tùk (cerrado-deer-female dead) region known as Os Bois (the cattle) (Map 3). Coronel Tomasinho also left the Escalvado area with the remaining two-thirds of the tribe and started a new village in the Pombo stream (Map 3).

[II.B.1.d] YEARS OF ECONOMIC DEFICIENCY, 1903–1922

In the Canela cerrado, traditional crops can be cultivated only in sods next to the streams and in the adjacent area of the removed gallery forest (Glossary) trees and shrubbery. Of the four streams that are central to the Canela lands (Santo Estévão, Pombo, Raposa, Os Bois), only the Santo Estévão is large enough to provide water for extensive cultivation. Outlying areas included in the reservation today, such as Pau Grosso, Dois Riachos, Galherinho, Campestre, Lagoa do André, Aldeia Velha, and Pak-re do have sufficient gallery forests and soils. These lands, however, were not available to the Canela until after the demarcation of their lands in the mid-1970s, because backland community politics rendered them unsafe.

According to the research assistants, a schism and moving away from the Santo Estévão stream marked the beginning of a period of economic deficiencies that ended only with the tribe’s return to the Santo Estévão at Ponto around 1922. Apparently, when the tribe lived on some other stream, economic deficiencies were usual. This was also the case in 1935 when they moved away from the Santo Estévão stream (i.e., from Baixão Prêto) just after the smallpox epidemic, and then returned to it in 1939 at Ponto under the orders of Castello Branco, their first village Indian agent [II.B.2.b]. I question the validity of such research assistant declarations, but history supports their belief.

[II.B.1.d.(1)]

Following the tribal schism in 1903, Coronel Tomasinho made several attempts to bring Major Delfino Kô?kaypo and his people back to the major segment of the tribe. None were successful. Around 1907, Delfino and his people instituted a peace-maintaining ceremony in which a youth from each of the two villages of the tribe was made a Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe (Khrĩ-?kuni-á-mē-hõõpa?hi: tribe its-whole superlative plural their-chief) (Glossary).

These two ceremonial positions have descended from father to son ever since. The ceremony itself has become enshrined in the Pepkahàk festival and is enacted in the Apikrawkraw-re performance. The two Ceremonial-chiefs-of-the-whole-tribe walk back and forth between two symbolically warring factions (the Pepkahàk and the Falcons), keeping them apart. In the late 1950s, the younger Kaapêltùk and Khrùt held these positions, which are the highest of any hàmren (Glossary) status posts in the tribe. In the 1970s, the younger Kaapêltùk’s son, Koyapàà (Plate 70a), and Khrùt’s son, were installed. (Thus, at least one currently maintained festival act was created as recently as the early 20th century, and it is noteworthy that this act’s two performers’ hàmren ceremonial status is the highest in the tribe today.)

[II.B.1.d.(2)]

In 1913 a disaster befell the Kenkateye (Khen-katêyê: mountain people) living in the village of Chinello (Map 4). The Kenkateye were one of the three “Canela” tribes [In.4.b] as identified by backlanders. Nimuendajú’s report of the Kenkateye massacre is full and complete (Nimuendajú, 1946:30), though stories I have collected from both the Apanyekra- and Ramkokamekra-Canela add some additional details.

Essentially, a backland cattle-ranching family and some 50 henchmen walked into the Kenkateye village and provided approximately 150 Kenkateye with a barrel of cachaça (cane liquor) and accordion music. After getting them thoroughly drunk, the backlanders tied most of the men together so they could not run away. Then they shot about 50 of them. The women and children, and a few adult males escaped to the Apanyekra and Krahó tribes, but they did not go to the Ramkokamekra-Canela (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:30), as both the Apanyekra and Canela say today.

[II.B.1.d.(3)]

The Ramkokamekra-Canela, terrified by news of the massacre, expected their turn would come next. Thus, they scattered into the gallery forests of all adjacent streams, hiding there dispersed, as they would do again in 1963 following the attack on their messianic movement. By this time Major Delfino had died, making reunion easier, so they came together forming a new village on the Raposa stream (Maps 3, 7).

[II.B.1.d.(4)]

A great drought in the Brazilian Northeast in about 1915 spread as far west as the Canela location. It is the only drought they remember and talk about, any others being insufficiently severe. They call it the “great hunger” (prãm-ti). During its period, they subsisted largely on a root (mrĩ-?ti: Caladium sp.) that grows in stream banks and supplies water as well as food (Nimuendajú, 1946:73).

[II.B.1.d.(5)]

In about 1922, the Canela returned to the Santo Estévão stream, settling in the Ponto (Mak-pàl: mango-tree) area, which they had not inhabited since the 1880s. They claim they managed to cultivate sufficient crops to have yearly surpluses once again, eliminating the need to visit the houses of backlanders to make up the difference during the lean months of September through December [II.C.3.g], but surely a few families did go to the backlanders. They say that sharecropping on the farms of backlanders started with the tribal schism of 1903, but this practice probably originated earlier. In any case, they claim to have had surpluses in the Escalvado (1900) and Ponto villages until 1947 because they were on the Santo Estévão. Such surpluses are partly confirmed by Nimuendajú (1946:61) for his period (1929–1936).

[II.B.1.e]        INTERGENERATIONAL CONTROL AND THE AGE-SET MARRIAGE CEREMONY

Failure to hold the age-set marriage ceremony, in which marriages were witnessed by everyone in the tribe and thereby reinforced [III.F.10], was one of the most important factors in the breakdown of the authoritative relationship between the generations during the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s [III.A.5.d].

In about 1923, the Canela failed to put on the age-set marriage ceremony, because the wife of Ropkhà, the age-set leader, was in an advanced stage of pregnancy. Thus Ropkhà (Plate 71e) and his wife Yõtsen could not participate in the ceremony. To do so would have been considered visually ugly and improper. The age-set leader is a role model for other members of his age-set and their wives. Because their hàmren leader-guide of their marching file, Ropkhà, could not lead them in the ceremony (testing the propitiousness of the event) they believed it would be unwise to hold the ceremony at all. (See W. Crocker, 1984a:70, for a another account of this ceremony, and Maybury-Lewis, 1965:226–227, for a description of a similar age-set marriage ceremony among the Shavante.)

The ancient practice requiring postpubertal girls and youths to have sexual relations almost only with older women and men for several years, formerly enforced by their uncles, was also breaking down. The age-set of the older Kaapêltùk, which graduated in 1933 (puberty for most of them having been in the 1920s), maintained these traditional postpubertal restrictions against sex with young girls; the age-set of Chief Kaarà?khre, which graduated in 1941, only sometimes had sex with older women; and the age-set of the younger Kaapêltùk, which graduated in 1951, almost never had sex with women of older generations (W. Crocker, 1984a:75).

[II.B.1.f] 1929 FORWARD

In 1929, Curt Nimuendajú arrived among the Canela. Thus, the continuation of their history is derived mainly from his writings or from historical events recalled casually by research assistants and Indian agents rather than from the organized study of myths, folk tales, and other oral styles. Soon after Nimuendajú’s final departure in 1936, Indian service personnel began living beside the Canela village (Castello Branco in 1938 and Olímpio Cruz in 1940) so that I was able to learn more about internal Canela events from city-oriented Brazilians, especially from Olímpio Cruz (Figure 7).

[II.B.2] Acculturation Influences, 1930–1970

Data starting with the times of Nimuendajú are more reliable and ample. They come from “The Eastern Timbira,” my field notes, accounts of research assistants, and statements of Indian service agents.

[II.B.2.a] NIMUENDAJÚ’S ERA

The Ajudância of the Indian Protection Service (SPI) in Barra do Corda was founded in 1920. The first agent, Marcelino Cézar de Miranda, was a man of sophistication and considerably facilitated Nimuendajú’s research. He accepted that Nimuendajú would almost “go native” and would speak to the Canela to support their anti-backland attitudes. Soon after his arrival among the Canela, Nimuendajú was adopted into a family. One of his working principles, according to the older Kaapêltùk, was to observe and participate extensively but to ask few questions of the Canela.

Elderly Canela research assistants reported that he was most interested in festivals, individual rites, and photography. They said he hardly ever spoke in Canela and then poorly. The Canela loved his sense of fun and drama and said he was hà?kayren (generous: gave them many things)—a good man.

Nimuendajú (1946:33) usually came during the summer dry season (June-August) for one to three months, in 1929, 1930, 1931, 1933, 1935, and 1936, totaling almost 14 months. It is hard to assess his impact on them, but from what I have heard he gave them great confidence in their way of life and supported their hostility to backlanders, as well as their expectations of receiving large amounts of goods from big-city dwellers.

In 1935, smallpox broke out in a new village in the Baixão Prêto area on the Santo Estévão. This dreaded disease killed most of the older people, including the strong chief, the older Ropkhà (Fostino). My research assistants insist that their periods of significant change come just after the death of great leaders, so 1935 must be considered an important acculturative turning point.

Nimuendajú returned for the last time in 1936 to find the tribe split between villages on the Pombo and Os Bois streams (Map 3). He persuaded the two factions to come together on the Raposa stream, preventing a damaging tribal schism that might have lasted for years.

[II.B.2.b] INDIAN SERVICE’S INFLUENCES

Two years after Nimuendajú’s final departure in 1936, the Indian service (Glossary) sent a very active and expert Indian agent, Castello Branco to the village on the Raposa stream. His job was to try to reverse the encroachments the backland ranchers had made since around 1830. He warned the ranchers that if their cattle strayed onto Indian lands, they would be shot and eaten just as if they were the wild game they were replacing. He did in fact shoot one or two head of backlander cattle, much to the Canela’s delight. He also forced one family that had established a farm within the Indian lands near the sources of the Santo Estévão stream to leave. He was so fierce and hostile in his personal nature and so able and willing to demonstrate the use of his weapons that the backlanders complied swiftly.

After a year, Castello Branco persuaded the Canela to move their village on the Raposa stream back to the Ponto area on the Santo Estévão, because the soils there were so much better. He built a backland house for himself and his family in both villages. For the first time, the Canela had a Brazilian family living with them all the time just outside their village. This alien presence changed some of their customs [III.A.5.d].

[II.B.2.b.(1)] Olímpio Cruz

In 1940, Olímpio Martins Cruz (Figure 7) arrived with his family. Through his good rapport and his strength of character and leadership, Sr. Olímpio helped the Canela to work hard enough on their farms so that they once again were self-sufficient. After his departure in 1947, however, these farm surpluses disappeared. Consequently, they begged or worked as sharecroppers during the lean months of September through December, when the produce of their own farms had been exhausted.

FIGURE 7.—Indian service agent Olímpio Martins Cruz.

[II.B.2.b.(2)] Changing Perceptions of Outsiders

In 1944, a young Indian service school teacher, referred to simply as Nazaré by the Canela, a sister of António Ferreira do Nascimento, arrived among them. She taught a number of young boys to read and write well enough so that they could send written messages throughout the regional interior. Six of these youths could still write in 1957 when I arrived: the younger Kaapêltùk, the younger Pù?tô, Hàwpùù, the younger Tep-hot, Hakhà, and Yàmtê. In 1964, I asked the first three to write daily diaries, and later requested the younger Tep-hot to do the same. No teachers since Dona Nazaré (there have been about 6) have had significant success in teaching young Canela to write, except for Dona Risalva in 1979. Research assistants said Nazaré succeeded because she had learned to teach in Canela.

In 1948, Sr. Antônio arrived as the Indian service agent in their Ponto village. The Canela said that he and Dona Nazaré were the two outsiders who had learned best to speak Canela, rather than Nimuendajú or Sr. Olímpio. (There were about two dozen Indian service employees who lived among the Canela during the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s who might have learned to speak Canela.) The effects of Castello Branco, Olímpio Cruz, and Dona Nazaré on the Canela must not be underestimated. Along with Nimuendajú, these people were “good” outsiders from the Canela point of view, a realization which broke down the strong, protective stereotype of all non-Indians as “bad.”

[II.B.2.b.(3)] Youths Study in Capital

In 1949, two of the students taught by Dona Nazaré were sent to São Luis, the state capital, to live with Indian service personnel. The younger Kaapêltùk and Hakhà (its lip/edge) spent almost a year and a half learning the ways of city dwellers, going to school, and working on farms that used irrigation and fertilizers. This enabled Kaapêl (the younger of the two) to become the most knowledgeable about the outside world and to become the best Portuguese speaker during the 1950s and 1960s. His achievement was surpassed in the 1970s by others who were younger. His abilities also made Kaapêl (Figure 51) the best research assistant both for me and for the Summer Institute of Linguistics missionary, Jack Popjes (Figure 11), during the 1960s and 1970s.

[II.B.2.c] DECULTURATIVE FACTORS

With the death of Hàk-too-kot (falcon-chick-green), known as Doroteu, in 1952, the Canela lost their last strong traditional chief. Thus they moved into a new era in which the chieftainship lacked significant power: the people did what they wanted, the economy was deficient, and the generation gap increased significantly. The Indian service agents and teachers were weak and of little help. The use of alcohol became rampant. The new chief was among the worst offenders until his dramatic conversion from alcohol [II.B.2.i.(5)] claiming that what was done under the influence of alcohol was the fault of the alcohol.

Potential chiefs who were relatively strong leaders tried to split the tribe, taking their relatives and followers to farm areas (new potential village sites), hoping to form a community of their own. The older Krôôtô took his group to the Rodeador area (Map 3) in 1953, and Ikhè and then the older Kaapêltùk led a village in the Baixão Prêto region (Map 3) starting in 1955. By that time the Rodeador settlement had failed due to a high incidence of deaths attributed to its semi-forested environment.

[II.B.2.d] ACCULTURATIVE CONTRACT BROKEN

For some time, the Indian service had provided materials and food to many tribes, including the Canela. Around 1955, a new policy was established by which the Indian was supposed to work as much as possible for what he received. In 1957, the Canela asserted that the Indian service was neglecting its responsibilities. Since Awkhêê, the Canela culture hero, had given the shotgun to the civilizado (Glossary) and the bow and arrow to the índio, they said, it was up to the civilizado to support the índio in any needed way [IV.C.1.b.(6)]. The Indian service had given this support, I was told, until a few years before the death of Rondon (1958), the Canela’s great savior in the Indian service and its founder (1910) and head. Now the service, however, was giving them very little; it had relinquished its responsibilities. This was their rationalization for much that followed during the next few years.

[II.B.2.e] TURNING POINT

In 1958, a number of recently graduated teachers came from São Luis to spend a week with the Canela. One of the teachers asked Tel-khwèy (jussara woman) if she would let her son of about 12 years of age reside with the teacher in São Luis while she brought him up and sent him to school to educate him. (This practice followed Brazilian tradition, which included the Indian child or adolescent working for her or his host family.) Tel-khwèy (Plate 68b) told me about this offer with great disapproval, saying that the Canela were not like the Guajajara (Tupi-speakers) who, having only weak feelings, could give away their children to the city dweller to raise and educate in the cities. She said that the Guajajara have no feelings and do not care much for their children.

In 1964, in striking contrast, the same Tel-khwèy asked me to arrange for the adoption of one of her sons by a São Luis lady who was visiting the tribe. She had forgotten her negative declarations in 1958 about “giving” children to city dwellers. What had happened since 1958 to change her attitude so completely is a very important question. The tribal stereotype of outsiders being necessarily “bad” had lost its strength, letting the inverse stereotype become a possibility: that the outsider’s ways were “good” and that their own ways were insufficient.

[II.B.2.f] MESSIANIC MOVEMENT OF 1963

A messianic movement of dramatic proportions occurred among the Canela in 1963. In January, Khêê-khwèy, age 40, a tall handsome woman, was working in the fields. The fetus in her womb kept telling her to go home to prepare the fire and boil water for her husband, who would be returning from the hunt with an armadillo and a agouti for cooking. At first Khêê-khwèy did not pay attention to her fetus, but later, since the sun was hot and she was tired, she did go home and prepared the boiling water. Shortly thereafter, her husband returned with a dead anteater and an agouti. Other signs occurred and soon Khêê-khwèy came to believe in the predictions of her fetus, as did many other Canela including leaders of the council of elders.

(For a summary article of this movement, see W. Crocker’s report (1967) and its translation into Portuguese (1974b). Also see Carneiro da Cunha (1973, 1986) for interesting structural analyses of this same movement. René Ribeiro (1982:224–225, 234) places this movement in the general context of messianic movements in Brazil, Melatti (1972) provides a similar movement for the neighboring Krahó, and Wright and Hill (1985) furnish a recent analysis of an earlier movement in the northwestern Amazon.

[II.B.2.f.(1)]

The principal prediction was that on the 15th of May her child would be born, a girl whose name would be Kràà-khwèy (dry-woman). She would be the sister of the great acculturation hero, Awkhêê (Glossary), who on that day would come to change the world to the advantage of the índio. Since the civilizado (backlander or city dweller) was not living up to the social contract Awkhêê had given him at the time of his winning the shotgun, he would have to give the shotgun to the índio. The índio would then live in the cities, drive the trucks, and fly the planes, while the civilizado would hunt in the forests with the bow and arrow. (For a structural analysis of the Awkhêê myth, see Da Matta’s (1970) complex study.)

[II.B.2.f.(2)]

To realize these predictions, the Canela would have to dance a great deal of the time and give Khêê-khwèy most of their possessions. (They danced in the traditional style on week days and in the “embraced” (abraçado) manner of the backlanders on the weekends.) Her helpers could sell the people’s possessions to buy meat to feast on while they were dancing. Following her instructions, the Canela soon exhausted their resources with which to buy food. They began to steal cattle from the regional ranchers. The fetus indicated that this was all right because soon the índio would own the cattle of the civilizado anyway.

On May the 13th, Khêê-khwèy gave birth to a stillborn boy, and almost died when she could not deliver the afterbirth. She was saved by an able mid-wife (Tel-khwèy). The younger Kaapêltùk then helped her reformulate her predictions so that the cult movement and the dancing could continue. There were, however, some significant defections, such as the withdrawal of the older Kaapêltùk, the Baixão Prêto village chief.

[II.B.2.f.(3)]

It was not long before the ranchers (fazendeiros) became aware that something unusual was happening in the tribe and that about forty head of cattle had disappeared in four months. This loss could not be tolerated and it provided a good excuse to take over the Canela lands, which they had coveted for years. They hired mercenaries (bandoleiros) from a nearby municipality (Tuntum) and prepared to eliminate the Canela, those “bichos do mato” (beasts of-the forest).

On the 7th of July the first attack was made by the mercenaries to test the reactions of the Canela. A village in the Campestre region was completely burned. The inhabitants ran away, but one was killed. Consequently, a swift runner, the younger Tààmi (Plate 56d), was sent to Barra do Corda to inform the Indian service personnel.

[II.B.2.f.(4)]

On the 10th, some 200 ranchers and dependent farmers attacked the largest village, which at that time was in the Aldeia Velha area. But the Canela had been forewarned by the first attack and had posted scouts. When the attacking force was reported, the leading men, mostly under the direction of the younger Kaapêltùk, directed the women to cross the adjacent stream by running through the passageway formed by its gallery forest (Glossary) thickets (Figure 4). The men who still possessed the few unsold arms waited to defend this “bridge” after the women had passed along it into the woods beyond. In this way, five or six Canela, led by the younger Kaapêltùk, hidden in the brush along the ford, with their shotguns, were able to hold off 200 backlanders for the two hours needed for the women and children to move out of the area to the west.

In these two skirmishes and a third in the Ponto area, five Canela were killed and six wounded, while the ranchers may have lost one man, who died much later from an infected wound. On the 11th of July, the mayor of Barra do Corda, the head of the Indian service in Barra do Corda, two Service agents, and Tààmi, the Canela runner who had summoned them, arrived at the Aldeia Velha area from the east in a jeep, by a roundabout route through Leandro (Map 3). Because of the presence of the mayor, the backland ranchers respectfully allowed the jeep to pass through their lines, from which they were already preparing for another extermination attack. For the next attempt, the ranchers’ intentions had been to start from Ourives (Map 3), halfway between Ponto village and Barra do Corda, and to sweep south along all the Canela-inhabited streams to prevent them from escaping to the north toward Barra do Corda and the safety and sympathy found there.

[II.B.2.f.(5)]

The Indian service (Glossary) jeep easily rolled 35 kilometers west that same day through the cerrado grass lands and across three streams into the Ponto area. The Canela had fled and were hiding in the stream shrubbery by their farms. Tààmi, on instructions from the Indian service personnel, ran singing from farm hut to farm hut, advising and convincing the Canela to assemble. The plan was to leave their homelands, at least temporarily, passing north through the Ourives area (the most direct way) to Barra do Corda with the two Indian service agents, Virgílio Galvão Sobrinho and Bento Vieira, who had just arrived in the jeep to save them.

On the night of the 14th, the Canela marched some 35 kilometers through the ranchers’ lines in the Ourives area, and another 15 kilometers toward Barra do Corda. They were accompanied by Sr. Virgílio and Sr. Bento, who were risking their lives in the line of duty. At the settlement of Matinho, the southern end of the principal dirt road into this backland region, a number of trucks were supplied by the Indian service for transportation into Barra do Corda. Swift movements and courage of certain Canela individuals and three Indian service personnel saved the lives of an entire Timbira tribe.

[II.B.2.g] “EXILE” AT SARDINHA, 1963–1968

The Guajajara Indians have had several large, legally demarcated reservations (Map 3) west of Barra do Corda and northeast of Grajau for a number of decades. They are best known by anthropologists through the book on the Tenetehara (a Guajajara group) by Wagley and Galvão (1949). The reservation lies entirely within the dry forests and is relatively close to the Apanyekra lands. Their Rancharia village (occupied in the late 1960s and early 1970s) is on the edge of the dry forests (Map 8) and only about 10 kilometers from the nearest Guajajara settlement on the extensive Guajajara reservation on the left bank of the Engeitado stream (Map 3). Sardinha, closer to Barra do Corda, is another Guajajara settlement where there is an Indian service post with minimal personnel.

[II.B.2.g.(1)]

The day after the Canela escaped from the ranchers at Ourives, they were taken by truck to Barra do Corda. From there, they walked 30 kilometers to the Sardinha Indian service post, which is about 50 kilometers to the northwest of their old Ponto area. The Canela, who had always lived in the cerrado, were expected to live, temporarily at least, in these dry forests.

[II.B.2.g.(2)]

Two days later, on the 18th of July, I arrived at the Sardinha post to find that the Canela had already cut down trees to form the circle that would be the plaza for their new village. It was located adjacent to the post and the road to Barra do Corda, presumably to enhance their psychological security. (The village houses nearest the post buildings had no back yards because they were so close.)

No huts or houses had been erected yet, so they were living in the shade of trees and mats (Plate 38). This was not a hardship during July when it never rains, though the nights are the coldest of the entire year. The families had placed themselves in their traditional positions and order [III.E.2.e], around the potential village circle, in relation to the sun.

[II.B.2.g.(3)]

The Indian service personnel had told me about the stolen cattle and the ranchers’ attack, but no one knew about the messianic movement that had caused the thefts. Thus it was a great surprise to me when my old Canela friends and research assistants told me about the dancing and the predictions of Khêê-khwèy. Little by little it became obvious that the Canela had had a full scale and very dramatic messianic movement. Khêê-khwèy was by now thoroughly discredited because of the deaths. She had predicted that if the ranchers attacked to avenge the appropriation of their cattle, Awkhêê would divert the bullets so that none of his people would be wounded or killed.

[II.B.2.g.(4)]

The dry forests (mata seca or avarandados; IBGE, 1957:405) were familiar to the Canela. They had been accustomed to traveling throughout the whole Barra do Corda municipality, and even to the great coastal cities (and recently Brasília) for at least a century. Still, they disliked the “tall” trees (Figure 5) and particularly the “closed in” shrubbery. There are no open spaces and no views (W. Crocker, 1972:255.) A person could not just walk through those woods as one could in the cerrado (Glossary); one had to stay on trails or cut one’s way, at least to some extent, with a machete. Another negative aspect was their memory that deaths had been much more frequent in the village of Rodeador (occupied 1952–1954), which was on a projection of cerrado into dry forest (Map 3).

What was more important to the Canela, however, was the fact that they had been brought up in the cerrado and were used to it aesthetically. The cerrado gave them pleasure. It gratified their senses and made them feel at home. Because of the rolling hills and mesas (as found on a larger scale in the southwestern United States), a person could see great distances, and this furnished a special satisfaction. Moreover, most of their herbal medicines did not exist in the dry forests. The style of hunting they had practiced in the cerrado, tracking and running, could not be carried out. They easily lost their way because there were no hills from which to take their bearings. The trees were more difficult to fell, being bigger and closer together, and the soil was harder to penetrate, making the planting of crops far more work.

On the other hand, the Canela have no religious attachments to certain mountains, rocks, streams, springs, or lakes, as do so many other tribes. They need the cerrado as a biome for practical and aesthetic reasons and the streams, hills, and views individuals grew up with for emotional reasons.

[II.B.2.g.(5)]

Psychological reasons were the most important factors preventing the Canela’s adaptation to the dry forest around Sardinha. Certain men in the younger Kaapêltùk’s age-set did successfully adopt the new hunting and farming techniques. For hunting, it was more a question of knowing how to position oneself and waiting until game came along instead of tracking it down; and for farming, doing much heavier work taking far more time. However, in this new environment, game was more abundant and soils were far richer, so harvests could be considerably greater for the size of the area cleared and even for the amount of labor expended. Thus, what initially seemed an unwanted amount of work turned out to be well worth it in produce.

The younger Kaapêl, his group of followers, and most of his age-set preferred the forests where they had successfully established farms. There they could be more independent, and rely less on free goods from the Indian service and on sharecropping with the backlanders during the lean months. By far the larger portion of the Canela people, however, and especially the kin of Chief Kaarà?khre, his wife, and their political followers, wanted to go back to the cerrado. There were many more deaths in the forest, the work was harder there, and they simply wanted to be in their own lands. In addition, they were not welcomed in the reservation by the Guajajara Indians. The younger Kaapêl’s group was the last portion of the Canela to move back to the cerrado, late in 1968.

There were also the psychological factors of not wanting to be where they had been forced to go and of knowing that they could go back. If the Canela had been transported 1000 kilometers away and had been relocated in the same type of dry forests, they would have adapted to them; but their own lands were only a tempting 65 kilometers away. When small groups occasionally went back to get cerrado herbal medicines, the contrast reminded them of their plight. One potential leader, Ikhè, with a small contingent of about two dozen Canela, returned to the Campestre (Map 3) area in 1965.

[II.B.2.g.(6)]

The Canela adopted many of the habits regarding dress of the Guajajara while in Sardinha. In their own lands, the Canela men had been used to going about naked, except when backland or urban women were present. On me Guajajara reservation, however, this custom was unacceptable. Guajajara women found nakedness in men intolerable. Furthermore the personal habits of the Guajajara (both women and men) with respect to elimination and exposure of the body were more conservative.

An improved dirt road connected Sardinha with Barra do Corda, resulting in far more intercourse with outsiders. Besides visits by Barra do Corda residents, Brazilian tourists and big game hunters drove through the region or detoured from Barra do Corda to see the Indians. As a consequence, the Canela males had to become used to wearing clothing all the time, and to be more circumspect in their personal hygiene. Canela women continued to go bare-breasted because in the eyes of Brazilians, this was appropriate for tribal Indians.

[II.B.2.g.(7)]

The Canela awareness of the different values of both small-and large-city dwellers was sharpened while at Sardinha. They discovered that large-city people viewed them with esteem, respect, and sometimes concern, and would therefore pay large sums for their artifacts, even if sloppily made. Consequently, a new way of making money was developed, as well as a new sense of self-worth, which was to make a difference to them in the late 1970s. If large-city dwellers admired them and their culture, they must have something of value.

They also learned to use different materials for building houses, such as mud and wattle for walls and raised clay for floors; their traditional material of palm thatch was difficult to find and further away. In addition, utensils and tools of the city were easier to obtain.

[II.B.2.g.(8)]

The Canela reached a nadir in morale while in Sardinha. Many were essentially on strike—not preparing fields—to convince the Indian service of the need to return them to their homelands. They appeared to be “dying off,” as service personnel said, but when numbers were counted, their low population was due more to youths traveling in the world than to deaths. However, some older people died before their time due to poor nutrition and higher disease rates. Some Canela spoke to outsiders about their plight. I contrasted these appearances with my impressions of old Ponto: the dignity of older individuals and the conviction that their ways were best.

[II.B.2.g.(8).(a)]

When I first arrived in the old Canela village of Ponto in 1957, my impressions were of individuals who showed great self-respect and pride, and believed in their traditions. I was impressed by the dignity and proud bearing of older people. They carried great personal presence into their activities.

In the late afternoons I saw old men in their 60s or 70s walking down the radial pathway from their houses to the plaza, with maybe just a sqùare of cloth hanging in front from their leather belts and a delicately carved baton of some hard wood in their right hands. At the edge of the plaza, they almost always took the cloth off to enter their sacred place of conciliation naked, which showed more respect.

When visiting the Apanyekra a year later, I noticed one old woman with the same great dignity. I asked about the lady and was told she had been born and raised among the Canela of Ponto and had come to live in their village of Porquinhos only upon marriage to an Apanyekra. This did not surprise me because the Apanyekra did not present this sense of self-worth to the same degree as old Canela. These contrasting attitudes were reflected in their houses. Some Apanyekra merely put up a lean-to whereas almost all Canela houses (Plate 7) were better made and larger than Apanyekra ones.

[II.B.2.g.(8).(b)]

Since my arrival in 1957, most of these magnificent Canela old-timers had passed away. Some died in Sardinha of disease and malnutrition. An era had ended, and the age of the last strong chief, Hàktookot, had been superseded. In 1961, the leading age-set membership in the council of elders was passed down to an age-set 20 years younger [III.D.2.b.(4)]. Thus, the council of elders’ leadership was passed from the age-set of the older Mĩĩkhrô to the age-set of the older Kaapêltùk. Individual members of this younger ruling age-set had vastly more experience in dealing with outsiders. Consequently, it is to be expected that the atmosphere in Sardinha was different both because of this major change in leadership and because of the recent disaster of the messianic movement, together with the deculturating tribal displacement into the dry forest. It is noteworthy that the direction of the cult movement in 1963 was future-oriented rather than past-oriented. This was an attempt to bring about something new, rather than to restore old traditions and practices. The Canela had become disenchanted with the traditions of their ancestors and wanted, at some psychological level, to rise up and take the cultural place of the civilizado. However, with their disappointment in the movement and with their personal frustrations due to their relocation, demoralization on a near-tribal scale in Sardinha was understandable.

[II.B.2.g.(9)]

According to the records of the Indian service published in the Enciclopédia dos Municípios (IBGE, 1959:75–78), there were 585 Canela Indians in both tribes (Canela and Apanyekra): 185 men, 185 women, and 215 children. There were 229 Ramkokamekra-Canela Indians. In 1960 I counted 412 Ramkokamekra-Canela, 265 in Ponto and 147 (±2) in Baixão Prêto.

The Ramkokamekra-Canela population had been a little less than 300 in 1936 (a year after the smallpox epidemic), the time of me last visit of Nimuendajú (1946:33). Thus, they were growing in numbers slowly but steadily (300 to 412 in 24 years). During their stay in the dry forests of the Guajajara Indian reservation, they were reduced to about 397 (W. Crocker, 1972:239, table 2), but the Indian service personnel thought their numbers were lower and that they were “dying off.” The Canela themselves kept saying they were dying because of the living conditions in the forest, although a careful census showed that some 40 youths were away in the cities and about half that number had secretly returned to the cerrado. Their morale was very low, and many preferred to starve rather than work. Many of the youths appeared listless, unable to perform most activities or to solve problems.

[II.B.2.h] RETURN TO CERRADO HOME

During the Canela stay in the forest, the ranchers made threats and occupied parts of the Canela homelands. The national military revolution of 1964, however, strengthened the federal Indian service and put fear into the ranchers. Although some cut new farms out of the nearest Canela gallery forests in June of 1964 (the season for opening new lands), by June of 1966 they stopped taking over additional Canela lands for farming for fear of what the military might do. The federal government had stationed a battalion of engineers in Barra do Corda to build a bridge across the Mearim River and to improve the roads of the area. If the ranchers moved further into the Canela lands, the Indian service could call on these local troops to force the ranchers back.

[II.B.2.h.(1)]

By August 1966, official word came from the Indian service in Brasília that small groups of Canela were allowed to go back inconspicuously to their lands. This was militarily feasible, because during early 1966 the engineering garrison in Barra do Corda had built a bridge (Figure 8) in Ourives and opened the road a few kilometers further to the edge of the cerrado. From there, specially equipped army trucks could drive due south without a road, just going between the cerrado trees in the direction of the old Canela settlements, or they could fan out in the direction of any one of the Canela farming areas. Without the bridge in Ourives, vehicles would have had to go far to the east (Map 3) through the ranchers’ region of Escondido and Leandro in order to get to the Canela lands (about 110 kilometers).

During 1967 more Canela families moved back. By November of 1968, all had returned to their homelands, including the younger Kaapêltùk and his farm-oriented group, who arrived last.

[II.B.2.h.(2)]

Returning to the cerrado offered the Canela a future with hope, but a problem in leadership still existed. The tribe was split into four new villages in the cerrado under aspiring leaders: Chief Kaarà?khre (Figure 18) in the Escalvado area, the older Kaapêltùk (Figure 50) in Baixão Prêto again, the younger Mĩĩkhrô (Plate 70c) in the Campestre (I?khè had died), and the older Krôôtô (Plate 77d) just north of the old Ponto area.

FIGURE 8.—Bridge built at Ourives in 1969 to protect the Canela after their return to their cerrado homeland.

Chief Kaarà?khre, who controlled the largest number of people, resolved the problem by putting on a Khêêtuwayê boys’ initiation festival [IV.A.3.c.(1)] in his new Escalvado village. Everybody had to attend for the benefit of their children, so the tribe assembled in one place for the duration of the 4-month festival. Finally, they all agreed to stay in the Escalvado village permanently. This meant that in 1968 the entire tribe was together for the first time since about one year after the death of Chief Hàktookot in 1951, except for short periods of time in 1954, 1955, and during part of the messianic movement in 1963.

The reintegration greatly contributed to the rise in general morale as evidenced in part by the succeeding rise in population from about 400 to 600 in the following decade of 1969 to 1979.

[II.B.2.i] REASONS FOR NEW HIGH MORALE

Once the Canela were back in their beloved cerrado lands, the rise in their morale was obvious. I had observed this change in 1966 while traveling with a small group from Sardinha to the Apanyekra village of Porquinhos. As we came out of the forest, at a place called Boca do Mato (mouth of-the forest) (Map 3), one of my companions joyfully said i kaykuk-re (I light very: I feel very light). This was the subjective reaction to the considerably lower relative humidity in the cerrado during the summer months [II.C.1.b]. A male companion was so full of delight that he grabbed a young female and dragged her off into the bushes, much to her pleasure.

[II.B.2.i.(1)]

The first and most obvious reason for new high morale was that the Canela were back in their beloved homeland where they had been raised. Second, hunting and fishing were much better because game and fish had become plentiful during their 5-year absence. (For a study of the zoological species of the Canela region, see Vanzolini, 1956–1958.) Third, their traditional enemies, the ranchers, had been denied access to the Canela lands. They were in political disrepute in the município of Barra do Corda for what they had done to the Canela. Thus, for the first time since 1957, the Canela were free of fear of the backlanders. (In 1960, when I had been preparing to leave, the Canela had repeatedly asked me to stay. They said they were afraid of an attack from the ranchers, which could not occur if I were present, because the ranchers would not want to risk killing me as well.)

[II.B.2.i.(2)]

The fourth factor contributing to higher Canela morale is me greater presence of the Indian service. In 1970 and 1971, the new Indian service, renamed the Foundation for the Indian (FUNAI), built in Escalvado a sizable post building (Plate 11c), with eight rooms of bricks and mortar, a roof of red tiles, and a plaster and whitewashed exterior. They also erected a substantial school (Plate 11e) of the same construction, and several auxiliary houses of dried clay walls, whitewashed and reinforced with tied wooden poles and a roof covered with palm straw. There were also the post agent’s house (Plate 11e, center), the well and pump hut, and a house where backlanders could hang their hammocks and leave their things while visiting the Canela or traveling through the area.

The commitment represented by these constructions, and the three to five additional personnel, made it evident to the Canela that the Indian service intended to be present to help them in the future. This factor contributed very significantly to raising their morale. (See Map 5 for the arrangement of these buildings in relation to the village of Escalvado.)

[II.B.2.i.(3)]

The completion of the road from Ourives to Escalvado in 1971 was the fifth factor in raising Canela morale. No part of the road from Barra do Corda was graded or graveled, so ordinary cars could not use it; but jeeps, trucks, and other vehicles with high suspension could make the trip in two to three hours, depending on the nature of the vehicle and the particular road conditions. The roundabout trip through Leandro and points further east had required at least nine hours.

[II.B.2.i.(4)]

The sixth factor contributing to Canela high morale was the presence of Sebastião Ferreira, the Indian service agent, who is rendering outstanding service to the Canela (Figures 9, 10).

Indian service agents and other personnel come and go, usually staying one or two years, or less, in one position. The maximum allowed is 5 years in one tribe, according to Indian service policy. However, the Indian service made an exception for Sr. Sebastião, extending his stay indefinitely, because of his especial helpfulness to the Canela. The post agent’s position is secure and the level of pay is far above what can usually be earned in the region [I.F.2.b]. Goods on credit can be obtained anywhere when a merchant knows the buyer is an employee of the federal Indian service.

Living conditions in the cerrado are difficult at best. Families either have to live at a post many kilometers from the city of Barra do Corda and its relatively good schooling, or the wife and children have to live separately from the agent, who has to spend many of his days at the official post by an Indian village. In spite of these conditions, the Indian service has had several outstanding agents, among them Olímpio Cruz, Virgílio Gaivão, Sebastião Ferreira, and others, such as Nazaré, António Ferreira do Nascimento, and Júlio Tavares. My admiration and respect go out to them.

FIGURE 9.—Indian service agent Sebastião Ferreira (foreground) sitting between houses on village circle. (Escalvado 1971)

[II.B.2.i.(4).(a)]

Sebastião Ferreira’s record, at least through 1979, is a magnificent example of duty, ability, and effective action. He is a trained enfermeiro (male nurse). In 1970 and 1971, he walked from house to house with his medicines, sometimes making these rounds several times a day, instead of requiring the Canela to come to his infirmary. The very old people had almost all died in Sardinha, so there were few to treat, but Sebastião saved most of the babies and children up to the critical age of nine, which previously had been the demographic segment of greatest loss. Needless to say, the parents were delighted and Bastião, as they called him, became the Canela hero. “Bastião really cares (mēku-mã hapê: them-for he-cares: Ele tern pena), they said to me, and that was what mattered.

FIGURE 10.—Sr. Sebastião’s wife, Dona Fatimá, with her children.

[II.B.2.i.(4).(b)]

During my period with the Canela, only their earlier love for Olímpio Martins Cruz (Figure 7) can be compared to their devotion for Sebastião Ferreira. Sr. Olímpio had been an Indian service agent (encarregado) in the old Canela village of Ponto between 1940 and 1947. Because his family house (Plate 2a, left) was just across from the Indian service agency in Barra do Corda, the Canela came to him for all sorts of help and advice, even when he was no longer the Indian service official in charge for Barra do Corda. The depth of the relationship between Sr. Olímpio and most Canela was very impressive.

[II.B.2.i.(4).(c)]

Sr. Sebastião helped in eliminating alcohol from the tribe by forming a special group of Canela youths to go after individual drinkers when they were getting rough with others, a strategy that Chief Kaarà?khre could not have carried out. He also led groups of Canela farm workers into the post farm and obtained their cooperation in extensive work which Kaarà?khre and other post agents had usually failed to do. (This kind of leadership had been the great strength of Olímpio Cruz.) A soccer team (Plate 28b, d) trained by Sebastião was undefeated throughout the interior region of the municipality of Barra do Corda in 1979 [II.F.2.d].

The most striking aspect of Sebastião’s acceptance among the Canela that I observed during my 1974–1975 and 1978–1979 stays was his constantly being summoned by Chief Kaarà?khre and the council of elders to sit with them in the center of the plaza and to give advice when any significant matters to do with the backlanders of the region came up before the council. He was even called in on some marriage family council meetings. He understood the language but probably not as well as Dona Nazaré or Sr. Antônio Ferreira. He knew Canela law and custom very well and was more respectful of Canela practices than earlier agents could have been because of changed attitudes in Brazilian national life by the 1970s. Sebastião and his family were the first Indian service people to be decorated in the plaza in the Canela manner and to be adopted by Canela families.

[II.B.2.i.(4).(d)]

In 1979, Sebastião’s principal aim was to leave the Canela only after he had trained some of them to take over his position and the other positions of the post personnel. It seemed possible that he might accomplish this. In 1979, he had already trained a young Canela enfermeiro (Krokro) to assume many responsibilities of caring for the sick, although there was a full-time Indian service enfermeira (female nurse), Luzanira Gieira de Araojo. There were also two Canela men of intermediate age but with little training who could teach in the school in Portuguese (Kaprêêprêk and the younger Kaapêltùk) although there was also a full-time, professionally trained Indian service professora (female teacher), Risalva Freire de Sá. Risalva was fully Indian (Tuchá) genetically, but was brought up in the city of Rodelas in the Northeast (Bahia) in an acculturated tribe that had lost its indigenous language. Thus, she had a great deal of sympathy and concern for the Canela students. I had never seen so many enthusiastic young people doing homework at night as during the winter and spring of 1979 when she was first in charge. (In 1987, Lusanira and Risalva are still in these same positions.)

[II.B.2.i.(5)]

The seventh factor contributing to high morale was Chief Kaarà?khre’s conversion from alcohol, which actually happened in the mid-1960s. The effects of this personal transformation was felt within the tribe in the 1970s when Sebastião reinforced Kaarà?khre’s example by praising him to others, spreading the fact of his conversion to other Canela.

In the late 1950s and 1960s, Chief Kaarà?khre (Plate 75c) had not been a strong chief politically but was a good and very kind person. For this reason, he easily won the competition for leadership with the older Kaapêltùk. The people liked Kaarà?khre (Plate 77g), but he had not set a good example. He drank excessively and spent much of his Indian service pay in Barra do Corda [II.B.3.(1)]. Consequently, his family sometimes did not receive any benefit from his salary.

In 1964 in Sardinha, however, Kaarà?khre converted to sobriety. One day, like several others before him, he became totally lost when hunting in the dry forests. There were no recognizable landmarks and he did not have a sufficient sense of direction to find his way back to the village before nightfall, especially since it was raining heavily. Because of his fear of jaguars, he climbed a tree to spend a safe night. (Another Canela, in the same plight, dug a hole deep enough to stand and maneuver in, and covered it over with branches heavy enough to support a jaguar. He stood in the hole all night ready to impale me beast on the point of his machete. Guajajara Indians said these Canela fears of jaguars were imagined.)

Kaarà?khre caught a cold during the night as he sat in the tree. His fever mounted, and he had a powerful dream. In it he found himself caught between God and the Devil. The Devil was about to lead him away to hell, but Kaarà?khre begged God to save him, promising to give up alcohol. Kaarà?khre escaped the Devil and alcohol, and I gave him Terramycin for what I thought was his pneumonia.

No one believed it would be possible for Kaarà?khre to abstain, but he did. Sr. Sebastião facilitated his effort to also help others by providing a room at the post for temporary incarceration of other Canela with drinking problems. After the return to the cerrado, other Canela who drank followed Kaarà?khre’s example, such as the younger Kaapêltùk. Thus, by the 1970s Kaarà?khre was gaining considerable stature and had contributed significantly to raising the morale of the tribe. It was not enough, however, to handle many problems of the tribe.

[II.B.3] Significant Events of the 1970s

It is hard to choose which events of the 1970s should be presented as the most significant with respect to change because there occurred so many important ones. Moreover, the assessment of some is necessarily more subjective than others. Some of the events presented here require a passage of time before their impact upon the Canela can be properly appraised.

[II.B.3.a] MISSIONARY FAMILY CONTRIBUTIONS

Jack Popjes (Figure 11), a missionary with the Summer Institute of Linguistics (Glossary) arrived in 1968 in the village of Sardinha. From there he moved with the younger Kaapêltùk’s group to the cerrado in the Escalvado area. He built a large house of pole-reinforced clay with a palm thatch roof on the new village circle (Map 5, Figure 24), the second Escalvado village of the late 1960s. At first, he devoted most of his time to learning the language. He also participated in some of the Canela festivals, rites, and traditional activities like log racing, and both he and his wife were adopted by different Canela consanguineal families.

[II.B.3.a.(1)]

Jack’s early effect on the Canela was primarily economic. At low but fair fixed prices, he bought Canela artifacts for sale in Belém. He sometimes furnished canned foods, kitchen utensils, and farming tools in trade for artifacts so that the Canela would become more used to the equipment of cities. Very little was simply given, as often had been the practice of the Indian service, certain Indian service individuals, and myself, in compliance with strong Canela demands that were in keeping with Awkhêê’s acculturation contract. Thus, the attitude of “if you have earned it, you get it” and “if you have not, you receive nothing” was firmly established by him especially for the younger generations. This new attitude oriented young Canela toward understanding the practices of backland and urban economies.

With the help of John Hostetler, an SIL community development expert, Jack installed wells at several places in the village and at the post. Jack also helped extensively in medical ways, having had considerable training. Among his many films, he showed animated portrayals of germ theory which many Canela came to understand, with the result that some began to wear sandals when in the village.

[II.B.3.a.(2)]

Following SIL policy Jack talked very little about the Christian God and never held formal services. Nevertheless, the comportment of Jack and his wife demonstrated Christian virtues, which had a significant effect on the younger Canela. The ultimate purpose of his work was that in time the word of God would come to the Canela through the translated Scriptures of the New Testament, even if it took 15 to 20 years. It was clear that he could wait. (He is spending his 21st year there now, in 1989.) His policy was not to move against traditions he felt to be unchristian (e.g., extensive and traditional extramarital sexual relations), but rather to let the word of God, as felt through the translated Scriptures, take the place of these customs. He talked about new activities—such as specialized arts and crafts, commerce, and sports, and for some, even the new world of reading—that would some day take the place of extramarital relations. Jack told me that if they lost their ancient practices too soon, with nothing to replace them, their lives would indeed become very empty and dull, leading some into alcohol and other problems.

FIGURE 11.—Jack Popjes of the SIL, with Canela (left) and backlander (right), standing in Popjes’ clay and thatch house on the north side of the village circle.

Jack’s strongest spiritual influence was on the lives of individuals who worked for him extensively, helping him learn the language and later make the translations. Some 16 to 20 young men and women learned to read and write in their own language by the late 1970s. Two or three used a typewriter very well and transcribed translations. Finally in the 1980s, years after Jack arrived, he was preaching in the plaza and has made some conversions. (For more information, see [Ep.5.d].)

[II.B.3.b] MANUSCRIPT WRITING

For an ethnologist to attempt to fairly and fully assess her or his own effects on the tribe being studied is not realistic. Such assessments are necessarily very subjective; but in a limited manner, she or he can hypothesize about some effects of certain studies. I will do this for the diary manuscript and tape program.

Three Canela men started writing daily journals for me in 1964, and in 1970, this number became five, with two of them also recording their daily activities on cassette tapes. By 1975 the number increased to seven, and by 1979 twelve were writing manuscripts. I believe that this program gave writing and reading a certain amount of prestige, which facilitated Jack Popjes’ Gê literacy program and enhanced the popularity of the school teacher’s courses, though in Portuguese, in 1979.

The new and young Pró-khãmma, coming into power in the early 1980s, was led by the younger Kaapêltùk (Frontispiece), who had been the outstanding diary writer, translator, and cassette recorder. Kaapêl’s very extensive work with both Jack and me trained him to understand and value the outside world and to analyze, categorize, and therefore assess ideas and concepts both there and in his own world. I can best illustrate the big step in learning to analyze concepts and activities consciously, instead of just unconsciously in traditional and limited ways, by comparing an experience I had in 1957 with Tep-hot, another assistant, to a very similar one with the same person in 1979.

[II.B.3.b.(1)]

Several months after my arrival in 1957, the Canela terminated the Pepyê initiation festival. I tried to write down the words of a number of songs and remember well that neither Tep-hot (Plate 70g right), age 18, nor any other singer could interrupt their singing and then resume it to help my efforts. Whenever I stopped Tep-hot to catch certain words, he had to start over from the beginning. In 1979 Tep-hot could stop, start, repeat, and speak at any pace necessary for me to have time to evaluate the sounds, turn them into phonemes, and write them on paper. He had learned to write in Portuguese from Dona Nazaré in the 1940s, and he joined my diary group in 1970. He become a translator in 1975, writing his daily manuscripts first in Canela and then in Portuguese. His writing and especially his translating enabled him to analyze, discriminate, and categorize management concepts in a more numerical and verbal way than is done by preliterate Canela.

While Tep-hot did not participate as a daily research assistant in my work group sessions, the younger Kaapêltùk did and was my principal research assistant during my last nine stays with the Canela. Thus, even more than Tep-hot, he was better able to analyze, synthesize, and categorize concepts, ideas, and specific words in 1979 than before my arrival. This development for several research assistants constitutes, I believe, my most significant impact on the Canela. This was also, I hypothesize, my most significant effect on them from the point of view of their potential development and possibly their future morale. My program helped several leading Canela think in deliberate and conscious ways that were more Western in style, both about their own world and about the outer worlds of the backlander and the city dweller.

[II.B.3.b.(2)]

The Apanyekra, who were more acculturated than the Canela in 1958, were far behind them by 1979. Few Apanyekra were able to read and write even minimally. (For differences in acculturation, see [II.A.3.d].) While working among me Apanyekra in the 1970s, without Kaapêl or certain other Canela helpers, I realized how hard research was without their help, and how far I had come in developing good research assistants among the Canela over the course of 15 years. Because of the younger Kaapêltùk’s general development and our work on Canela phonemes and manuscript translations, Jack Popjes said in 1969 that I had saved him two years of research in linguistics.

[II.B.3.c] VISITS OF OTHER ANTHROPOLOGISTS

Gilberto Azanha and Maria Elisa Ladeira visited the Canela in the summer of 1974 and again in the late winter and spring of 1975, when he also visited the Apanyekra. Azanha was studying myths and their structure as a graduate student of Lux Vidal from me Departamento de Antropologia of the Universidade de São Paulo, São Paulo, and Ladeira was studying kinship and name-set transmission.

In 1976 and 1977, Madeline Ritter spent some 18 months among the Canela as a doctoral candidate from me City College of New York, a student of Daniel Gross of Hunter College. Among many other topics, she studied the relationship of the Canela to their environment (especially protein consumption) and has published on age-sets (Ritter, 1980).

No other anthropologists carried out potentially significant work among the Canela, at least through 1979 and most likely through 1989, except for Miguel Layrisse of Venezuela, cooperating with a lady medical doctor from Salvador, Bahia, in July 1963, and Jacob Mehringer, a physical anthropologist from Oldenberg University, West Germany, in the late 1980s. Layrisse took extensive blood samples in the village of Sardinha, but the data are unpublished. These contacts with foreign professionals made the Canela considerably more aware of the characteristics of large-city dwellers and constitute a significant part of their history.

[II.B.3.d] EDUCATION OF KAPRÊÊPRÊK

The education of Chief Kaarà?khre’s son, Kaprêêprêk (Plate 69a), in Catholic convents in Barra do Corda and Montes Altos (Map 2) during the late 1950s and early 1960s, as well as later for a year in the Brazilian army in São Luis during the mid-1960s, may well be very significant for the tribe.

Although Kaprêêprêk wrote daily manuscripts for me [I.F.2.a], he received more extensive linguistic training from Jack Popjes during the 1970s. His Portuguese was better than the younger Kaapêltùk’s, especially in grammar, but the latter could analyze materials more critically and indicate the shades of meaning of words and concepts far better. Kaprêêprêk wrote diaries and made tape cassettes for me from 1970 to the end of the program in 1979; but he did not translate or serve as a regular research assistant in my groups because of his youth.

Kaprêêprêk, with his superior education and knowledge of city life, is certain to have a significant influence on the future of the tribe, partly because he is the son of Chief Kaarà?khre and partly because of his own personality—understanding and honest. In 1979, he was one of the few Canela young men who could be trusted to carry a payroll from Barra do Corda to Escalvado. He inherited his father’s mantle as chief of the tribe in the early 1980s. Although he soon lost this position, possibly because he was slow to make decisions and not forceful enough, he will, nevertheless, influence his people more through his clear vision and his knowledge of city culture.

[II.B.3.e] OFFICIAL POLICY OF CONSCIENTIZAÇÃO

From 1978 into 1980, José Porfírio Carvalho, was the Indian service delegado (high level official) in Barra do Corda. He felt the Indians should become aware of their potential political power and should make great efforts to have matters as they wanted them.

Carvalho said that any Canela who found cattle of backland ranchers on his land could kill the animal and eat its meat without having to pay for it, and this did happen. He also greatly reinforced Kaarà?khre’s position as chief of the tribe, giving him instructive lectures in Barra do Corda and enabling him, with Sebastião’s cooperation, to lock up disorderly and disobedient Canela in the post building.

Carvalho also founded a small newspaper in Barra do Corda in which Indians could publish articles in their own languages (only Guajajara and Canela) to encourage the pan-Indian movement through greater intercommunication. His message was that conscientização, or self-awareness, was their right, and that they should exercise and carry out their rights to the fullest extent possible.

Conscientização, as a movement made considerable advances during the 1980s, with Indians of certain tribes gaining state and national fame, as in the case of Juruna of the Shavante. By 1984 an Indian was head of the cabinet of the president of the federal Indian service in Brasília, and, for the first time, an Indian was director of the Xingú National Park. Certain Kayapó contributed to the overthrow of a president of the Indian service and were instrumental in selecting the new one.

A great deal has changed nationally in how the Indian views himself. In fact, even in the late 1970s, it was clear that the Canela were better off than many backlanders, as several backlanders pointed out. One asked me: “Would a truck come and take my son to São Luis if he needed an operation?” [II.B.3.g] It is too early to assess the effects of Carvalho on the Canela. However, he has succeeded in making them live by far stricter rules, such as restricting travel without permission and reporting to the chief upon their return. Another is that he introduced conscientização to the Canela, and this concept should have vast ramifications for them in the future.

[II.B.3.f] DEMARCATION OF LANDS

During my 1969 stay with the Canela, a young French-Italian anthropologist arrived, named Valerie. She had been sent ahead by the Indian service in São Luis to prepare the way for a group of recently graduated law students to live in the village of Escalvado for a week as part of the Operação Timbira plan sponsored by the state of Maranhão, a sort of internal Peace Corps. Under this program, a new law was to be implemented, which would give the Indians title to lands they had once lived on if they could show official engineers old village sites on such lands. She explained that four recently graduated law students were coming with the Operação Timbira group, and that if she returned to São Luis and reached them in time, they could draw up legal papers for demarcating the Canela lands.

Later, the recently graduated lawyers arrived with the Operação Timbira group, with land demarcation papers drawn up. Each day they went out with Chief Kaarà?khre and other Canela to survey the proposed boundaries.

[II.B.3.f.(1)]

The ranchers took the situation to the state capital and created an impasse. The students spread the news of the resistance of the ranchers to the press and to the federal Indian service, and the Indian service acted. By 1971 the lands were being demarcated to be held by the Indian service for the Canela Indians. By 1983 the legal process was completed for 125, 212 hectares (CEDI, 1985–1986:235), about 35 by 45 kilometers. The ranchers lost the legal struggle partly because of their earlier attack on the Canela in 1963. The Canela, through this demarcation, came to possess more land than they had in 1963, especially in the direction of Leandro from where the principal attack had come. Besides the proof of strong support by the Indian service, the Canela gained new and significant forested lands for agriculture. The relative affluence of the mid-1980s is based on effective use of these forests, which are near Pak-re (Map 3).

[II.B.3.f.(2)]

Various attempts were made to demarcate the Apanyekra lands; but as of 1979, none were successful. By 1986, the legal demarcation was completed for 79, 520 hectares (CEDI, 1985–1986:235). Access was a particular problem for any engineer attempting to demarcate the Apanyekra lands. Army trucks from Barra do Corda could easily reach the Canela once the bridge (Figure 8) was built at Ourives, but they could not to reach the Apanyekra. A very roundabout road was finally completed to the Apanyekra village of Porquinhos in the mid-1970s. The route passed south from Barra do Corda to Escalvado and then went due west across the headwaters of several streams to finally reach the Apanyekra area. Thus, substantial bridges did not have to be built.

To defend and preserve the Apanyekra lands in the critical 1960s, the Indian service had the Apanyekra cut an air field out of their cerrado in 1966, about a half kilometer from their Porquinhos village site. (See Figure 2 and Map 6 for the relationship of the airstrip to the village.) The air strip was 600 meters long, 20 meters wide, and built on hard, smooth ground. Small military planes could have landed there to defend the lands against the ranchers. This airfield was rarely used although it was far longer, broader, and flatter than the SIL air strip built in Escalvado in 1969.

[II.B.3.g] RADIO TRANSMITTER AT VILLAGE POST

The significance of the two-way radio transmitter, which was installed in Escalvado in the late 1970s, was not evident at first, but it definitely changed the expectations of the Canela. It enabled Sebastião to receive and send messages between his Escalvado post and Indian service personnel in Barra do Corda and São Luis. Once he sent for an Indian service vehicle to come and take out a younger son of Chief Kaarà?khre, who had an acute attack of appendicitis. After being seen by a doctor in Barra do Corda, the young man was taken to São Luis in the Indian service ambulance, was operated on successfully in a hospital there, and was returned to Escalvado in the same vehicle, all within ten days. The existence of the radio transmitting station may have been crucial, but so was the rough road to Barra do Corda, the doctor in Barra do Corda, the highway to São Luis, and the medical facilities in São Luis. Only the latter existed in the 1960s.

[II.B.3.h] CHANGES IN TRANSPORTATION ROUTES

In contrast to the living conditions and reasonable expectations of the Canela in the late 1950s, 20 years later their outlook on life has considerably changed. In 1956, the first ungraded, one-way, two-wheel track road for jeeps and trucks was pushed through to Barra do Corda from Mirador and the Brazilian Northeast (Map 3). When the tire-made tracks sank too deeply, the trucks would simply bypass these ruts, carving new tire tracks out of the landscape. The impassable forests precluded transportation directly from coastal São Luis. Travelers came up river to Barra do Corda in small boats (Plate 4b) or flew from São Luis in a commercial DC-3 or DC-4. Then came the three-day horse or mule ride south 75 to 80 kilometers (by ground measurement) to the Canela villages of Baixão Prêto and Ponto. The SIL put in the first airstrip in 1969. No permanent resident doctor resided in Barra do Corda, but hospitals with surgeons did exist in São Luis. In any case, the Canela could only expect to the from such ailments as acute appendicitis in the late 1950s and even in the 1960s and mid-1970s. By the late 1970s, conditions had changed considerably enough, especially in transportation, that their expectations could change in a very significant way.

[II.B.3.i] PUBLIC HEALTH AND POPULATION GROWTH

Before the time of Sebastião Ferreira (1970s) at least half the Canela population died before the age of 9, usually from some form of dysentery and the resulting dehydration. By the mid-1960s, a half-dozen adults were dying each year of tuberculosis. It was a relatively simple matter for Sebastião to save almost all the children from dying of dysentery. What they needed was his presence, his persistence, and the medicines. But tuberculosis was another matter. As far back as the 1950s medicine was available in sufficient quantities to cure tuberculosis among the Canela, but in the 1950s and 1960s no Indian service agent had the knowledge to follow through with each case in order to bring about the cure.

After two months of taking medicines and injections, the tuberculosis patient felt better and resumed various activities, even log racing and heavy work in the fields. With the resulting relapse, however, the medicines were no longer effective. The Canela did not heed the warnings of nurses and agents in the 1950s and 1960s that tuberculosis patients must continue taking the medicines and following the ordered physical restrictions for nine months.

Sebastião’s victory over tuberculosis came when he managed to convince the younger Tààmi (Plate 56d) that his sick daughter had to receive injections every day for nine months—not just two or three months—no matter how well she felt. Tààmi then convinced the rest of the tribe. It took a person of Sebastião’s character and stature with the Canela to achieve this feat of communication. By 1979, tuberculosis was all but eradicated.

The near elimination of childhood dysentery and even tuberculosis contributed greatly to the increase in Canela population between 1969 and 1979 from around 400 to about 600.

[II.B.3.j] AGRICULTURAL PROBLEMS

With the significant increase in population likely to continue into the 1980s, the question of whether the land would support the people was becoming very important. In 1979, an Indian service agronomist lived at the Escalvado post for several weeks to study the question. “Quick rice” (arroz ligeiro) was provided, which was supposed to enable the Canela to plant two crops a year instead of one. There was much talk about cutting down and fencing in a large area of land in which most of the Canela could plant their crops. Unfortunately, backlander cattle invariably broke down the fences of the gardens and destroyed large portions of the crops before they could be stopped. (Plate 12a shows a backlander’s fence. Canela ones were less substantial.) In 1979, the Indian service delegado in Barra do Corda allowed the Canela to shoot such cattle. Consequently, the backlanders had to watch their cattle more carefully in order to prevent them from invading the Canela lands. This helped the situation considerably, but it was not a final solution.

[II.B.3.j.(1)]

When asked why they had to frequent backland houses from September through December to sharecrop in order to have enough to eat, the Canela invariably said this was necessary because backland cattle kept destroying their crops. While partly true, evidence showed, and Indian service personnel concurred, that in spite of recent improvements, a considerable number of Canela were demoralized, listless, and lacking in hope and favorable expectations. Consequently, they did not work hard enough or long enough to make their farm plots grow sufficient crops to support their families until the next harvest. Moreover, extensive agriculture was not a traditional practice. Thus, not just cattle invasions but also demoralization accounted for insufficient harvests since 1947 (when Olímpio Cruz left).

Another factor that weakened Canela resolve to put in sufficiently large farm plots was their ancient custom of begging [II.C.3.g] [IV.A.3.c.(5).(c)]. Individuals in need simply went around the village asking for food from relatives and nonrelatives alike. Thus, if a person’s crops had been destroyed by backland cattle, or if he simply did not put in a large enough farm plot, she or he just went begging to make up the difference. Women and men who had planted large farms, and thereby had sufficient family foods for the year, were required by custom to supply those in need with an ample supply of foods. Thus, even hard workers had to resort to sharecropping on backland farms to make up for the food they had furnished others.

By the late 1970s, however, fewer individuals were going to backlander farms, and the idea of working on such farms had become shameful. The alternative of making and selling artifacts had developed and provided the Canela a new way of obtaining food during the lean months of the year.

[II.B.3.j.(2)]

In 1979, the Canela had a tractor, which was run primarily by Kaprêêprêk (Plate 69a). He could be trusted with money, so the Indian service gave him funds to fuel and maintain the vehicle for hauling materials and transporting people. One common use was the transportation of palm straw thatch from the location of its cutting to the village. Some of the younger, more educated Canela were beginning to find walking, especially to Barra do Corda, an indignity, and so were relying on the tractor for many of their transportation needs.

[II.B.3.k] CATTLE RAISING

The Canela were unsuccessful in raising cattle because of their practice of killing and eating the calves. For instance, a daughter might cry because she is hungry for meat, so her father, feeling sorry for her, kills the calf to fulfill his daughter’s desires. By the mid-1970s, however, some Canela began to keep a few head of cattle mixed in with the Indian service herd, which was kept browsing outside the village in the cerrado. The Indian service employed one Canela, Yõõkhên (Plate 73b) to watch over the small herd. He was one of the most honorable and trusted individuals in the tribe. Nevertheless, not more than half a dozen Canela put savings into cattle. Horses were a more secure financial investment because eating them was not a custom. About a dozen Canela had horses in the mid-1970s, which they used for traveling (both for riding and as beasts of burden) and to make large judicial payments for their entire extended kin when necessary [III.D.3.a, e.(5).(b)].

[II.B.3.l] WESTERN ABRAÇADO DANCING

Dancing abraçado, in the manner of backlanders, started among the Canela in 1959 and was a central focus of the messianic movement of 1963 [II.B.2.f.(2)]. However, the Indian service forbade abraçado dancing in 1964 because it was associated with the movement. By the mid-1970s, however, it was flourishing again as a form of recreation. The Canela danced with appropriate backland clothing as a part of the necessary cultural complex, but without cachaça (cane liquor). The popularity of this dancing did not diminish their interest and love for traditional dancing. Some Canela’s battery-run record player and records were borrowed for the evening, and the dances took place inside a house that had pounded mud-clay floors and sufficient space—usually Chief Kaarà?khre’s house (Figure 24 house LL). Abraçado, dancing represents a very considerable acceptance of backland culture.

[II.B.4] Barra do Corda Influence on the Canela, 1950s-1970s

Unlike many tribes contacted by settlers and attracted from the forests by the Indian service in the middle of the 20th century, the Canela have lived within 50 to 70 kilometers of a small Brazilian city—Barra do Corda—during the entire century. While some Canela have also sporadically visited many great coastal cities—Belém, São Luis, Recife, Salvador, Rio de Janeiro—since some time in the last century [II.A.3.a.(3)], continuing their aboriginal practice of going on trek, they have had Barra do Corda close at hand as a constant influence in their acculturation.

The older Kaapêltùk (Figure 50) was the first Canela to work for the Indian service (1938); and since that time until 1978 has traveled to Barra do Corda almost monthly to receive his pay. By the 1950s, six Canela were on the Indian service payroll and generally made the same trips. Because their salaries were set at the same level of compensation as those for Barra do Corda service employees until 1978, they had far more funds than were needed to support a family in the backlands, especially by Canela standards. The Canela valued generosity far more highly than keeping what was earned (seen as being stingy and evil), so “begging” (Glossary) Canela often stripped the six Canela employees of their entire salaries before they had even left Barra do Corda to return home.

Canela individuals who were not earning sufficient support in the villages, as well as creditors from the Barra do Corda stores, pressured Canela employees on pay days, exacting their due and often considerably more because the Canela could not keep proper accounts on paper. Moreover, Indians who were conveniently present in Barra do Corda on pay day expected food and goods just because they were hungry or needed a certain item in a store. Strong desire on the part of any individual was sufficient justification for demanding and receiving significant food and goods from another Canela who did have money. In addition, when men were alone, they were often enticed by promises of free alcohol into the red light street, where the combination of alcohol and women left them with high debts. Sometimes their families back in the village received nothing at all for months in a row.

This loss of salaries in Barra do Corda was at its worst in the mid-1960s when the Canela lived next to the Guajajara Indian service post of Sardinha (Map 3), only about 25 kilometers from Barra do Corda by road. By the 1970s, however, back in their homelands, a number of leading Canela began to resist alcohol [II.B.2.i.(5)] so that the situation improved considerably.

Backlanders living in the region around the Canela had a greater influence on them before the time of Nimuendajú (1929–1936). Backlander influence is still felt, because many Canela families work for them during the economically lean part of the year (September through December). Barra do Corda life, however, has had a greater influence on the Canela since the beginning of the receipt of salaries (1938). The Apanyekra, in contrast, are far more isolated (being further away) from Barra do Corda influence and receive no service salaries. Therefore the influence of backland culture is still greater on them than is that of Barra do Corda.

Considering the great extent of Canela contacts with Barra do Corda since 1940, it is surprising the Canela are not more acculturated than they are. The Canela have highly valued their own way of life, however, so that they change very slowly. Nevertheless, it is important to describe the Barra do Corda world, and how, though a small interior city, it is very much part of the national Brazilian culture, which has been of great influence on Canela history—past, present, and future.

[II.B.4.a] GEOGRAPHY AND DEMOGRAPHY OF BARRA DO CORDA

Barra do Corda (Plates 2, 3) is a small city that lies about 50 kilometers north of the Indian village of Escalvado at 45°6’W, 5°30’S. This municipality (município) would be roughly comparable in political structure to a county in the United States, and all the Canela and Apanyekra lands lie within it (Map 3).

The center of the city is about 81 meters above sea level, and heights above the city near the airport are about 150 meters. The central part of the city lies in a basin about 70 meters deep, formed by the junction of the Corda and Mearim rivers (Plate 3a).

The population of the município of Barra do Corda was 18,140 in 1955, while 5725 lived in the city itself. It was the sixth largest município in the state of Maranhão, covering 14, 294 square kilometers. In 1950, backland settlements near the Canela Indians had the following populations: Leandro 365, Resplandes (Jenipapo) 766, and Papagáio 22. (See the Enciclopédia dos Municípios do Brasil, 1959:70–71 for Maranhão and Piaui.)

According to the 1970 census of Brazil, the city of Barra do Corda had about 8570 inhabitants, and the entire município about 56,000. Thus, most of the population of the município is rural.

[II.B.4.b] SETTLEMENT

Most of the data for the following report that are not personal observations come from the mayor of Barra do Corda, Lourival Pacheco, who granted me an extensive interview in December 1970. The administrative secretary of the município, Sr. Antônio Gomes Cordeiro, assisted him. According to this source, Manoel Rodrigues de Mello Uchoa, a Brazilian merchant-explorer, founded Barra do Corda in 1835 as a trading post at the junction of the Mearim and Corda rivers. This is the highest point to which small water craft can navigate up the Mearim River. Merchandise came to Barra do Corda from the Atlantic Ocean this way, as well as from the state capital, São Luis, at the river’s mouth. São Luis is about 350 kilometers away to the northeast as the crow flies but considerably further by the river’s slow, winding course into the backlands.

Barra do Corda was the last outpost traders reached by water as they moved south and west into this part of Brazil. From here, some took their goods by horse and mule across the travessia (a long, dry crossing), the principal watershed just southwest of the Apanyekra lands. The Kenkateye-Canela village, Chinello, was at the beginning of “the crossing.” Once past this village travelers moved on to Riachão and into the Amazon basin, first to streams and then to rivers flowing into the Tocantins River. (See the trail going off the bottom of Map 3 near its southwestern corner, as one of the ancient routes leading to Riachão (see also Maps 2, 4).)

[II.B.4.c] AGRICULTURE OF BARRA DO CORDA

As of 1970, the município of Barra do Corda was still mostly agricultural, though it had some cattle ranchers. Most of the small ranchers maintained between 20 and 50 head of cattle. Only about 12 ranchers had as many as 1000 cattle. Most of the communities were linked by unimproved, small dirt trails good only for horses and donkeys. The principal product of the município was rice: dry rather than paddy cultivation. Barra do Corda was the second largest producer of rice in the state of Maranhão. However, tobacco, sugar cane, corn, bitter and sweet manioc, cotton, beans, lima beans, and a number of other products grew in quantity.

The farmers of the backlands ate principally rice, beans, and farinha (bitter manioc flour). They raised chickens, pigs, and sometimes had two or three head of cattle, and maybe some goats. Sugar mills produced blocks of brown sugar (rapadura) and cane liquor (cachaça). Generally speaking, it was prestigious to raise cattle, but in the forests they cultivated food products. Data from me Enciclopédia dos Municípios (IBGE, 1959) indicate the município of Barra do Corda was the greatest producer of tomatoes in 1955: 57,000 kilograms, and about 22,000 head of cattle were grazing there in 1956.

[II.B.4.d] INSTITUTIONS OF THE CITY

The city is divided into three parts, the Centro, Trisedela, and Altamira. In 1970, it had about 2350 houses. About 200 shopkeepers (comerciantes) had businesses in town with about 400 maintaining theirs throughout the município. Approximately 220 industrial plants existed in the município, most of which processed and sold wood or rice. The city had one bank, the Casa de Crédito do Estado do Maranhão, which was founded in 1968, but by 1979 several banks had been established.

A large Catholic church (Plate 3b) faces the central plaza, which has been managed for years by priests who come from Italy for this purpose. A large convent stands two blocks away (Plate 3b). A chapel, referred to as the Calvário, exists in the Altamira part of the city. The Calvário overlooks me Centro, which lies most dramatically in the basin formed by the two rivers (Plate 3a). At their juncture, a long sand bar, the barra, gives the city its name. Another Catholic church is located in the Trisedela sector. At least two Protestant churches exist in the city, a large one in the Centro and a smaller one outside.

[II.B.4.e] COMMUNICATIONS WITH URBAN BRAZIL

The first transportation into the area was by boat (Plate 4b), followed by the airplane. The first air field was constructed in the Altamira section in 1941, just on the edge of the bluffs overlooking the city. It was merely a wide dirt road with grass on either side, where trees had been cleared. The present, far larger airport with a hard surface was built in 1962 about 5 kilometers from the center of Barra in the Altamira region well beyond the first landing strip. It was equipped with lights in 1969, so airplanes could land at night.

The first commercial airline flew into Barra in 1941. Varig Airlines put in a route between Goiânia, in the central plateau near Brasília, and São Luis in 1959. Round trip flights took place only twice a week, at first using DC-3’s and then later DC-4’s. In September 1969, me first turbo-prop was introduced—a Japanese-made Avro.

The Brazilian Air Force (FAB) routed flights through Barra do Corda twice a month, connecting this city with Rio de Janeiro and Brasília. Poor citizens of the region traveled free with their goods and sent parcels airmail. The federal government sent supplies to the city via this service.

Ground transportation in the traditional pau de arara (wooden-rod of macaw-parrot), a colorfully painted truck with benches and high sides to keep people in, became available in 1956, after the bridge in Campo Largo (Map 3) over the Alpercatas River was finished. This road came from the Brazilian Northeast by way of Floriano and Mirador (Map 2). Thus, Barra do Corda was linked commercially with the Northeast long before it became connected by ground transportation with its own state capital. This backland road to Mirador and Pastos Bons (Maps 2 and 3), over which I traveled in June 1960, was carved out almost entirely by tires of trucks and jeeps. When the two tire tracks became too deep through use, or an area too muddy, vehicles merely drove around the difficult spot and formed a new tire-track route. The road was elevated to some extent after reaching Mirador and definitely after Pastos Bons, where it was called a central. The central was wide enough for two-way traffic without vehicles going partly off the road to edge around each other.

In 1957, people in Barra do Corda showed me gas-run refrigerators and other heavy equipment that had arrived by truck just since the completion of the Campo Largo bridge. Truck conveyance was a great improvement over river transportation. Propeller-driven boats took four days from São Luis to Pedreiras (Map 2), but the rest of the voyage took 30 days, poling against the current. Even in 1956, however, trucks needed eight days to bring merchandise from São Luis to Barra do Corda using the Mirador route.

The city’s two older bridges (Plate 3b), one across the Corda River and the other across the Mearim, were built in 1945 just above where the Corda flows into the Mearim. In 1970, another was constructed just below the city, permitting road BR-226, an access route to the Trans-Amazon highway, to bypass Barra do Corda (Map 2). (See construction work on this highway in Plate 3a.) The route was paved from São Luis up to Presidente Dutra, but from there to the west, through Barra do Corda, it was a 2-way, elevated dirt road, full of potholes in the late 1970s. (Information received in 1987 indicates this road is being paved.)

Another access road to the Trans-Amazon passes south of the Canela area through Floriano and Pastos Bons to Carolina and the Belém-Brasília highway. Thus, the boundaries of the Canela reservation lie about 40 kilometers south of this northern access road to the Amazon and about 85 kilometers north of the southern one (Map 2).

In 1968–1969, installation of Barra do Corda’s telephone system began, and the mayor’s office put in a short-wave communications system TELAMATELNA (Telecomunições de Malayon). By 1978, a television broadcasting station and tower were erected in the Altamira section, and it began broadcasting taped programs sent from São Luis. Soap operas (novelas) from the national system were put on the air locally two or three days late. By 1984, I received news that Barra do Corda had been linked into the regular inter-urban telephone system.

The meteorological station in the Altamira area is part of the Northeast network. It was run according to a contract with the Brazilian Ministry of Agriculture and the United States AID program.

[II.B.4.f] REGIONAL AGRICULTURAL DEVELOPMENT

In 1943, the federal government built a base just across the river from the Centro of Barra do Corda. Called the “Colonia” (Colônia Agrícola do Maranhão; Plate 3b), its purpose was to train backland farmers to work the soil intensively. Model farms demonstrated irrigation and intensive agriculture. The methods taught, however, were not adopted partly because the farmers derived satisfactions from their traditional slash-and-burn practices and way of life and partly because they did not have the necessary capital.

After the Colônia was renamed the “Núcleo Colonial,” migrant families came to it from states of the Northeast. These immigrants were prepared through technical training to use the soil intensively and were expected to travel and settle themselves westward along the Trans-Amazon highway to put their training into practice. By 1970, 100 families had arrived. The Núcleo Colonial was prepared to receive at least 1000 more in training agrovilas a few kilometers to the west. Each of these communities was large enough to support one family for many years, without having to cut down more forests in a new area every one to three years. (For an assessment of this government program, see Moran’s study, 1983.)

[II.B.4.g] INDUSTRIAL ZONE

In 1978, an area planned for an industrial zone was marked out in the Altamira area. Eight hundred lots of 20 by 40 meters each were marked, and the Banco Nacional do Habitação helped people with development loans. A saw mill was erected and schools were built for the expanding population. The Canela pass by this planned industrial park area every time they arrive from or leave for their village, because it is on the road to their homelands.

[II.4.h] EDUCATION

In 1970, about 3000 young people were studying in three educational centers. The state of Maranhão ran two of the schools, and private funds (mostly Protestant missionary) supported the third, the Maranata. The Catholic church built a teachers’ training high school in the Centro next to the church. The município ran two other groups of schools in the city, one in the Altamira and the other in the Trisedela section. There were 83 rural schools in the backlands.

[II.B.4.i] MEDICINE AND SANITATION

In 1970, the city had two health units, one run by the Centro de Serviço Especial de Saúde Pública and the other by the Legião Brasileira de Assistência. Each had one doctor and several nurses with everything needed to provide good medical services. A private clinic was about to be built. (At the time of my arrival in 1957, the city only occasionally had a doctor in residence, with the nearest permanent one being in Grajau, and therefore available only by horse or mule over dirt trails and simple roads.) Also in 1970, plans were being made for distributing piped drinking water in all parts of the city. Piped water was being used by most of the households I visited in 1975 and 1979.

[II.B.4.j] CONSTRUCTION

Construction in the city suggests the pace of modernization in Barra do Corda. In 1945, houses for the federal employees of the Núcleo Colonial were erected along with the offices of CSESP (malarial control)—the first substantial buildings beside the Catholic church’s. In 1952, the post office building was constructed, and between 1958 and 1960 the high school of the Catholic church was built. In 1968, the high school of the Centro was constructed.

In 1970, a diesel generator was installed to furnish electricity for certain parts of the city until a connection was made in 1971 with a regional dam located at Boa Esperança (Map 2) in the city of Guadelupe on the Parnaíba River.

A military engineering battalion arrived in Barra do Corda in 1969. It built the bridge that let highway BR-226 bypass Barra do Corda.

[II.B.4.k] MODERNIZATION AND ATTITUDINAL CHANGES

When I first arrived in Barra do Corda in July 1957, it was a sleepy town. Stores closed at noon and few reopened before 2:30 or 3:00 PM. Cattle wandered throughout the muddy central plaza where the Catholic church stands. Vaqueiros (cowboys) drove herds of cattle through the Centro’s dirt streets to the plaza, or to where they were butchered near the convent. The vaqueiros wore the typical leather hats, jackets, and breeches of the Northeast. Street vendors set up stores with inexpensive merchandise in the plaza. By 1970, this central plaza had been completely renovated (Plate 78). Trees, grass, benches, and a children’s playground took the place of bare, uneven ground. By 1970, and even more so by 1979, stores did not close during the day. With few exceptions, the siestas of former years had disappeared.

In 1957 when it rained extensively, streets filled with water and mud, which washed into the central plaza creating ponds pedestrians had to circumnavigate. In another plaza by the convent, herds of cattle were often standing in such pools waiting for sale or slaughter. By 1970 this area had become a mall with many stores and markets, including a tiled butchery—the place to go for fresh meat at 4 AM.

In 1957, I was invited to the house of a school teacher who was one of the more intellectual citizens of Barra do Corda. Some American missionaries were hauling wood into the courtyard next to his house, and he commented that educated people did not carry lumber. By the 1970s, the sons of these same intellectuals were working hard with their hands, and the old gentlemanly attitude about educated people not doing physical work had disappeared, like the siesta. In 1979, the most intellectual member of the Indian service was working on his back under his jeep one day, a job somebody else would have done for him two decades earlier.

[II.B.4.k.(1)]

The feeling of Brazil’s being on the move was strong in the late 1950s. Young truck drivers came into Barra do Corda from me Northeast, expecting excellent earnings. One driver rarely saw his wife and family but just transported goods in his truck between Recife and Barra do Corda to pay off the truck’s debt. The opportunity to move up in the world and make money were clear possibilities for many people.

In 1957, most of the goods and merchandise in Barra do Corda stores, and in São Luis, were made in the USA. The machetes, for instance, were made in the Collins factory in New England, just as during the time of Nimuendajú. By 1964, almost everything was made in Brazil, even though the brand name probably was the same.

The construction of Brasília and the roads radiating from it brought the sleeping Brazilian giant dramatically to his feet. In 1960, I knew youths who left the backlands of Barra do Corda to go south to Brasília. We even sang a popular song about answering the call of Juselino (their President: Juselino Kubescheck) to come to the southern part of Goiás state to build the new capital.

Modernization and change were also evident in the demise of old traditions. In Barra do Corda of 1957, I remember a number of intellectuals who, if given the complementary suggestion, would recite poetry even on the sidewalk. In my boarding house, the owner’s young son had a birthday party at which everybody stood up and recited poetry they created spontaneously—the old skill of declamação. I also found this same custom at the beach and at a state Historical and Geographical Society meeting in São Luis. In 1970, educated people were no longer engaged in this highly skilled verbal activity. Barra do Corda, as an integral part of “Brazil on the move,” changed especially rapidly between 1957 and 1960, and more regularly during the 1960s and 1970s. (For a history and description of Barra do Corda, see Banco do Nordeste do Brasil S.A., 1985.)

[II.B.4.k.(2)]

While hot and muggy because of being in a basin, Barra do Corda nevertheless had some truly delightful characteristics (Plate 78). Church bells rang on the hour on Sundays, and on certain hours of weekdays schoolgirls Paraded in uniforms on sidewalks. Green plazas decorated the city here and there. Swimming in the Corda River during the 1960s was refreshing and clean, especially in contrast to the Mearim, which carried mud and was warmer. A recreational club stood where the rivers came together just before the sandbar, and other clubs served different socioeconomic classes.

In 1970, tourists came to Barra from other states to hunt jaguar, deer, wild boar, armadillo, partridge, and even tapir. By 1978, however, hunting game was illegal, except for Indians on their lands. People placed a recreational emphasis on the Corda on which varied boating activities for individuals of all backgrounds and ages were possible.

[II.B.4.k.(3)]

The influence of greater Brazil on Barra do Corda was manifested in styles of clothing, level of awareness, items sold in stores, aspects of schools and churches, contents of books and magazines, programs on radio and later television, and in many other ways. Popular songs of the United States frequently came over the public address system of the central plaza, either translated or without words, along with Brazilian carnival music and bossa novas. Aspirations of young Barra do Corda citizens reached out to the greater world of Brazil. Sons and daughters of the Indian service agent Olímpio Cruz, for instance, all graduated from local high schools and went on to universities in the coastal cities or Brasília. They are now married and living in the larger cities of Brazil, as are many other natives of Barra do Corda.

Culturally speaking, the significant break in the continuum between urban life (North American or Brazilian) and the backlands around the Canela and Apanyekra lies between Barra de Corda and the backlands. Barra do Corda culture is far closer to sophisticated urban Brazil and to the United States than it is to culture of the backlanders, which in the United states might be compared to the culture of mountain folk in Appalachia before World War II. When I first arrived among the Canela in 1957, traveling minstrels stayed at the service post and sang songs about the court life of royalty in earlier times in Portugal and Brazil. Musicians played the fife and fiddle for people to dance at festas in backland communities (e.g., Bacabal; Map 3). By 1960, however, the accordion had come to most backland communities and was the only prestigious form of social music.

Considering the acculturative influences on the Canela, these Indians can choose between the backland practices and the urban ones, which are significantly different. While the Canela are largely adopting the ways of the backlander, their leaders in the 1980s are sufficiently sophisticated to appreciate and enculturate the urban values to some extent. Conflicts between these two Brazilian ways of life may partly explain the current political confusion among the Canela [Ep.3.b].

[II.C] Annual Cycles

The Canela have four annual cycles that mark their passage through time [V.B.1]. The first, the climatic cycle with its alternation between wet and dry seasons, is an important factor upon which the other three cycles are based. The second, the environmental cycle, shapes Canela culture with its contribution of cerrado fruits, animal births, and farm harvests as time markers. The third, the economic cycle, is formed by the timing of the first two cycles and by the society’s traditions, which satisfy the people’s needs for food, social activities, and psychological orientation. The fourth cycle, the ceremonial one, is largely determined by the first three, though unique traditional factors and particular culture contacts of the last 250 years surely contribute to its formation as well. This annual ceremonial cycle is fully elaborated in the sections on festivals [IV.A.3, 4, 5], with only a brief description provided here in order to examine its relationships to the other three cycles. The Canela see these “annual cycles” (my concept) as being repetitive annual occurrences passing through time in a linear manner [V.B.1.b].

[II.C.1] Climatic Cycle

Because the Canela region constitutes an intermediate zone between the rain forests of Amazonia to the west, the cerrado (Plates 12, 13) of the central plateau to the southwest, and the dry caatinga of the Northeast, it experiences a combination of the climates of these three ecological biomes [II.A.3.b.(1)].

[II.C.1.a] REGION OF CLIMATIC SHIFT

The annual rainfall is about 900 to 1500 millimeters, but it was drier during the late 1950s (Barra do Corda, 1957: 949.8 mm [I.B.1.E., 1957:71]) than during the 1970s (Table 1). My estimation for the Canela area is that 70 percent of the rain falls in the months of January, February, and March, but there are great occasional heavy rains in late December and the first half of April. Another 20 percent falls in early December and late April, while me final 10 percent falls during May, September, October and November. I have never known rain to fall in June, July or August among the Canela, but this has happened in Barra do Corda (Table 1).

The meteorologist at Barra do Corda, Sr. Antônio Gomes Cordeiro [Ap.6], argued that the differences between the climates of Escalvado and Barra do Corda could not be significant because the distance between the two locations was only 60 kilometers and the difference in elevation only about 100 meters. I was not there during the summer months of 1971, having arrived among the Apanyekra only by September, but I was in the backland Canela or Apanyekra areas during the summers of 1957, 1958, 1959, 1960, 1970, 1975, 1978, and 1979. It did not rain during the months of June, July, and August of those years. Moreover, it did not rain in the Canela or Apanyekra backlands during the months of July 1966 and August 1969. Cordeiro, however, records small amounts of rain for the months of June, July, and August 1971 (Table 1) for Barra do Corda. (Except for rainfall, differences between the humid basin of the Centro and the wind swept flats of the meteorological post—2 kilometers away and 100 meters higher—may be significant.)

It would appear, however, that there is indeed a significant difference in the climates between the Canela backlands and Barra do Corda, so the data in Table 1 should be understood with this claim taken into consideration. Moreover, my reporting includes the conditions of the late 1950s, which were drier. These differences can exist between the two places because the Canela are in a region of sharp climatic change between the biomes of Amazonia and the Northeast. On geographical and meteorological maps, in almost all cases, the isobars representing rainfall, temperature, relative humidity, evaporation, and isolation are relatively close together (ECEPLAN, 1969). When there is a great drought in the Northeast, it can be expected that the climate of the Canela region will be pushed somewhat west [II.B.1.d.(4)]. When the meteorological conditions in the tropical forests to the west take precedence, however, the Canela climate moves east and becomes wetter. (The old Barra do Corda resident, Olímpio Cruz, used to take vacations with his family in the summer months in the 1950s, spending them at the old Ponto Indian service post because the climate was so much “better” there [cooler by night and less muggy by day] than in Barra do Corda.)

[II.C.1.b] CANELA ANNUAL CLIMATIC CYCLE

Besides the heavy rains appearing at a later time of the year (December) and the lower annual precipitation in Barra do Corda, the low relative humidity during the months of June, July, and August is another variable that distinguishes the climate of central Maranhão from conditions further west in the Amazon basin.

After no rain at all for the three summer months of June, July, and August in the Canela area, several heavy dews or mild drizzles early in the morning are likely to occur during the first part of September. No further precipitation occurs until mid- or late October, when there may be several rainstorms. This pattern continues until mid- to late December, when the rainy season ready begins. By mid-April the heavy rains are over, but occasional storms or mild precipitation may occur in April or May.

TABLE 1.—Meteorological averages of data from the principal meteorological and climatological station of Barra do Corda, Maranhão, Brazil, 1971 (insolation = hours per month of sunshine; nebulosity = 8 categories of cloudiness per month from most cloudy (8) to clear (0); bracketed numbers supplied by author).

The relative humidity is high every night during most of the year, but during the summer months it may drop to 45 or 35 percent by 3 PM in the early July winds. During August, the humidity slowly rises in the mid-afternoon to 50 and even 70 percent, and remains in that range or somewhat higher throughout the rest of the year. By late May, the relative humidity during mid-afternoon begins to descend from the 70s through the 60s and occasionally even into the 50s.

The high and low daily temperatures become most extreme in July. The highest ranges are between 33 to 37 degrees Celsius at 2 to 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and the lowest Celsius at 2 to 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and the lowest between 12 and 15 degrees at 4 or 5 o’clock in the morning. By mid- to late August these extremes are reduced to below 32 and above 15. As the humidity rises in October and November, and the heavy rainy season begins in late December, the daily highs and lows range between 21 and 29 degrees Celsius, the daily variation being mostly due to clouds and precipitation.

Around the Canela region, the prevailing winds come from the east, or east by southeast, during most of the year. Their variation is more in their intensity. They shift somewhat from the east to the east by northeast during the summer months of June, July and August. In May or sometimes during the last weeks of April, they become drier and stronger. This may happen once a week in mid-May, and more frequently around the first of June, until winds are consistent every day. During June there are few clouds, but toward the end of July and certainly in August the wind begins to abate and high banks of cumulus clouds begin to race across the skies from east to west. Occasionally, during these dry months, small tornadoes (up to 3 and even 6 meters high) absorb and carry off much sand when they touch the ground. (For meteorological data of the city of Barra do Corda supplied by the meteorologist Antônio Gomes Cordeiro, see Table 1.)

Although climatic changes are less discernible than in temperate North America, there are two distinct seasons. Backlanders call the months of June, July and August, verão (summer) and the rainy months of December, January, February and March inverno (winter). They do not, however, use the expressions “spring” and “autumn” for the transitional periods. The Canela use these Portuguese terms for summer and winter quite freely and accurately. Their own terms are kakhuu (summer) or ta (winter), but kakhuu can also mean “year.” In still another context, kakhuu means “season,” which can be either dry or wet. Another expression for counting years is pul, the word also used for farms. The wet part of the year in Canela thinking runs from September through May, though there is little rain until mid-December, while the dry part is restricted to June, July, and August. (See [V.B.1.b] for the linear passage through time of paired seasons, summer and winter.)

[II.C.2] Environmental Cycle

For the backland Brazilians of the Canela region, the calendar year starts with the first of January. The Canela, however, do not have a precise beginning or ending of their year. Research assistants point to the first heavy dew or drizzling precipitation (Table 2) of the early mornings in the first part of September as being the variable beginning of their year. This is the time when the first green shoots appear on the trees and wild flowers bloom on the sands of the cerrado. Even an outsider cannot miss the change in color of the landscape from yellow-brown to green. In the dry forests to the northwest, by contrast, leaves on deciduous trees begin to fall (Figure 6).

TABLE 2.—Canela sayings and common expressions referring to the annual environmental cycle.

During the late 1950s, very few Canela could employ the Portuguese-Brazilian names for the months of the year with accuracy. By the late 1970s, many could identify the parts of their yearly cycle using Portuguese names for the months, but they felt it was more accurate to use their traditional markers. For the months from September through January, they used the terms for the times when wild fruits ripen. By late September the fruits of the buriti palm tree (krówa) become ripe and continue throughout October. Buritirana appears during October, piqui (prĩn) in November, and bacaba (kaapêl) in December. The final wild food of the year, bacuri (kūmtsêê), ripens in January. From January through May, the terminology refers to the times when crops are ready for harvesting. Watermelon appears in January, while squash and pumpkins are ready in February. March is the month for corn, and rice becomes ready in April or May. May is also the time when locust (sucupira: ku?tàà) trees blossom with their vivid blue flowers. June is marked by the coming of winds; July by the daily extremes in temperature and humidity; August by the return of clouds (cumulus) and me end of August by the availability of honey (pen) and the wild cashew fruit. The time when babies of various animal species are born also serves as a time marker. (See Table 2 for additional information on identifying the time of the year.)

[II.C.3] Economic Cycle

In earlier times, the Canela supported themselves more by hunting and gathering and even fishing than by agriculture (Nimuendajú, 1946:57). Thus the degree to which they have taken on backland-oriented agriculture is a mark of long-term acculturation and change over the last 150 years. Many of their current techniques have been learned from the backlander. The Apanyekra have retained far more of their aboriginal horticultural practices than the Canela, who lost their seeds for aboriginal corn, cotton, and probably peanuts when they were suddenly relocated from the cerrado to the dry forests in 1963 [II.B.2.g.(1)] (Table 3).

[II.C.3.a] CLEARING FIELDS

During June and July, groups of men clear the underbrush (Figure 4) on each other’s farm plots with machetes. Usually, between 6 and 12 young men (relatives, affines, and friends) work actively for several days before the job on one farm can be completed. During July or even August, farm owner groups, composed of related women’s husbands with their sons-in-law, fell trees with axes. Very large trees are left standing, since it is scarcely worth the time and energy to remove them. There is no attempt to chop up large branches and roll logs out of the center of the cleared area. They and the stumps remain even after burning and become part of the planted field.

[II.C.3.b] BURNING AND FENCING

Although the most logical time for burning is late August, before the drizzles of early September, Canela farm plots are not usually burned until September or even late October, due to the low priority placed on farming. After the brush has been cleared and trees felled, a month is needed for drying so that the fire will be sufficiently intense to consume the leaves and small trees. If the slash is not completely burned, the crop will suffer.

If a farm was cleared in June, it could dry during July and most of August, and then be set on fire in late August or September. When I traveled between Belém and Brasília in October of 1974, however, I could see the fires raging. The skies were laden with smoke, and the haze was so thick that the sun appeared to be dark red. This does not happen in the Canela zone because the farms in gallery forests are separated by stretches of cerrado, so they are further apart. By October or November, the Canela farm plots are burned and new sprouts are growing in them (Plate 12d). Men are erecting fences (khwèk) around them to keep foraging backland cattle from eating the new growth. The fences are made by creating forks using several branches and laying trunks or saplings between them (Plate 12c shows a similar, but better made, backlander fence).

[II.C.3.C] PLANTING AND WEEDING

Planting can start not long after the fields have been burned. Cuttings or seeds are placed between the tree stumps, trunks, and branches that have not been consumed by the fire. They do not plant anything in a straight line; most crops are mixed so that an individual plant of one kind is planted next to any other one. However, there are differences in what is planted near the stream, on the higher land, and near the fenced edges.

Weeding is done in December, January, or even February, depending upon when the various crops were planted and their progress. (For a brief but concise discussion of tropical soil clearing and slash-and-burn agriculture, see Meggers, 1971: 18–21.)

[II.C.3.d] DIVISION OF LABOR

Both women and men weed and plant crops, while clearing brush, felling trees, burning fields, and putting up fences are men’s work. Once the men have performed these tasks, and some weeding, crops become the responsibility of the women, although the men will help if further assistance is needed. For this reason, the men help harvest much of the rice for which many individuals are needed, because rice must be gathered quickly after it is ready and before the Parakeets and other birds consume it (Nimuendajú, 1946:60–61), or before a rainstorm flattens it. The women let the tubers remain in the ground until they are needed. Corn, which used to be a principal crop, is less trouble in these respects than rice, because corn ripens over a longer period. Thus, corn is harvested by women as it is needed.

I find the “strict division of labor” between the sexes described by Melatti (1979a:48) for the Krahó, less strict for the Canela [II.D.2.i.(1)]. Men fill in, doing “womens’ work,” wherever needed: carrying water, tending babies, transporting manioc roots, and cooking for themselves when traveling in the absence of women.

TABLE 3.—Annual cycle of economic activities.

[II.C.3.e] CROPS, FRUITS, DOMESTICATED ANIMALS, HUNTING, AND FISHING

Crops planted cyclically are as follows: corn, rice, sweet manioc, bitter manioc, beans, lima beans, sweet potatoes, yams, sesame, squash, pumpkin, watermelons, and melons. In earlier times, the Canela planted peanuts (kahù) and cotton, and various other crops (Nimuendajú, 1946:58). A few gourds and calabashes are planted, but most large gourds are bought from backland Brazilians. Only a few Canela attempt to plant and harvest tobacco and sugar cane. Most tobacco is bought from backlanders, as are brown sugar blocks (rapadura) and raw cane alcohol (cachaça).

Fruit trees are grown, both in farm plots and around houses in the village (Plate 14a, c, d), a practice learned from backlanders. The following trees are typically cultivated: banana, mango, orange, papaya, and lima (which is not a lime or lemon, but a citrus fruit larger than an orange and sweeter than a grapefruit). Cashew trees, coconut palms, lemon trees, and papayas are less common. Rarely, pineapples are raised for sale.

The Canela depend very little on domesticated animals for meat. A few families have chickens and pigs, and occasionally a few ducks and goats. Some own horses and mules if they travel much in the backland area. Maybe half a dozen Canela had cattle during the 1970s, which they kept with the Indian service herd.

Most families have dogs, which are used to track and kill wounded game. Dogs are abused and kept hungry in order to make them courageous enough to kill. These dogs know not to come up to an individual to be petted, for such attention might attract a beating or at least a stone.

Fishing is only a small factor contributing to the Canela economy, because their streams and therefore the fish are small and few. The Apanyekra, however, have the Corda River flowing through their reservation, and, therefore, frequently and substantially include fish in their diet [II.A.3.d]. (For more information on the economic cycle, see Table 3.)

[II.C.3.f] TRADITIONAL ARTIFACTS FOR SALE

While at Sardinha on the Guajajara reservation from 1963 through most of 1968, the Canela learned a new way of partly supporting themselves; they began making artifacts (Plates 17b, 18) for sale in great numbers. This occurred because the village of Sardinha was close enough to Barra do Corda to be visited by local citizens and even tourists from other states, who paid high prices. In earlier years, when Canela groups visited cities on the coast and later Brasília [II.A.3.a.(3)] they made and took artifacts to sell. It was not until the exile period in Sardinha [II.B.2.g.(7)], however, that they began making them in large quantities. By 1978 and 1979, production was so voluminous that they had even exhausted some of the raw materials of the region, such as Brazil wood (pau brasil: p kaprêk) and purple wood (pau roxo). During this period, they took large quantities of baskets, bows and arrows, head pieces, switch brooms, and many other traditional artifacts to Barra do Corda, and Indian service trucks arrived in Escalvado and left loaded with such objects to be sold in coastal cities at service stores, often at airports.

Thus, a minor supplementary economic activity that started in the last century became accelerated in Sardinha because of new dire need and new market accessibility. The great acceleration of the late 1970s, though in times of less dire need, was largely due to artificial, extensively increased accessibility provided by the Indian service. (For an analysis of the connection between the difficulty in making a living from local resources and the degree of market participation, see Gross et al., 1979, 1980.) However, with the greater agricultural self-reliance of the mid-1980s [Ep.5], it will be interesting to see if this marketing of material artifacts continues at the same high level.

[H.C.3.g] SUMMARY

During the 1940s and 1950s, the Canela received occasional but extensive handouts from the Indian service. Such help was considered against service policy [II.B.2.] during the 1960s and 1970s, except when an important administrator visited a village.

When I arrived, the Canela were used to occasionally receiving machetes, axes, hoes, shotguns, lead shot, powder, salt, cloth, pots, pans, and transportation home from coastal cities from the Indian service. The service personnel of recent times, however, provide few items of this sort but make great expenditures in the form of personnel, buildings, schooling, medicine, and medical care. Thus, the current economy of the Canela is based mainly on produce from their fields as well as on game, domesticated animals, small handouts from the Indian service, and trading or selling traditional artifacts in exchange for various kinds of goods.

A considerable support factor not mentioned yet is sharecropping with backland families from September through December [II.B.3.j.(1)]. A Canela family lives near a Brazilian family house in a backland community, and pulls out and grates manioc roots for the backlanders, keeping half. The backlander may also supply hunting equipment for a Canela, who then shares his catch with the backland family. The Canela may receive manioc roots for helping to build fences around a backland farm. The extensiveness of Canela economic support through this kind of sharecropping should not be underestimated. Some Canela and Apanyekra families spend much of the usual lean months of the year living near and working for Brazilian families in backland communities. They may spend most of the year during very difficult times working for several backland families, but usually they go to the same family with whom they may have a compadre relationship. While in mourning [IV.B.3.d.(2)] or during a long illness, a Canela family may lose its crops through inattention and, therefore, have to spend most of the following year supporting themselves by working in backland communities.

Except for root crops stored and available in the fields and a certain amount of rice stored for later consumption, the Canela lead a hand-to-mouth existence, especially between the months of September to January [II.B.1.d.(5)]. Hunting (Plate 15c) is still a possibility, though the amount of game available is quite small. Very little thought is now being given to the conservation of game animals, which are being killed off too rapidly [IV.D.2].

Under the leadership of the younger Kaapêltùk, a growing interest in communal agriculture exists in which many men work to clear large gallery forest areas and then take part of the clearing as their families’ plot [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)]. (For an extensive description and analysis of the process of clearing fields and cultivating manioc among the Kuikuru which Parallels Canela activities, see Carneiro’s (1983) and also Johnson’s (1983) careful presentations. For an analysis of the Canela crops and game obtained, and the nutrients consumed, see Flowers et al. (1982).

Traditionally, the Canela went on trek for parts of the period while the planted crops were growing (November through January), or during parts of the summer after their festival season was ended (June through August). Reasons for going out into the world or to the houses of backlanders for work are different now than the reasons for aboriginal trekking were. Current Kayapó reasons for trekking (Werner, 1984b) might be similar to Canela traditional ones.

[II.C.4] Ceremonial Cycle

The ceremonial cycle—the festival annual cycle—is more extensive and complex among the Canela than among most Amazonian tribes [IV.A.1] (Table 4). Whether its activities are sacred or secular is hard to determine and not important, but whether certain activities are within the festival system or outside of it and therefore just daily activities, is clear. Most Canela can distinguish immediately and tell the outsider. These festivals are important to the Canela and occupy much of their time.

These festivals are pageants, which consist of many separate consecutive acts, involving few or many people, carried out according to precise traditions year after year. Some festivals take an evening and others take a number of months for completion. Each act constitutes a dramatization of certain traditional principles or of the model behavior between certain categories of individuals, such as between sisters and brothers [IV.A.2]. Festivals are put on by the tribe and involve most tribal members in contrast to life-cycle rites, which are put on by an individual’s kindred [IV.B].

Unlike the environmental and economic cycles, which necessarily start in September and June respectively, research assistants point to no particular time when the annual festival cycle is believed to begin. Thus, this discussion of festivals begins arbitrarily with the Regeneration moiety season which coincides with the arrival of relative wetness and new growth—sprouts, grass, flowers—in September, though the actual activities of the season these days may be delayed until October. The Canela name for the Regeneration season, Mē-ipimràk (they change-and-change: regenerate), epitomizes the nature of this season.

[II.C.4.a] REGENERATION SEASON (MĒ-IPIMRÀK)

During the Regeneration season (Glossary), the tribe is divided into the competing Red and Black Regeneration moieties according to traditional name-set transmission distinctions [IV.A.4]. The season fundamentally starts with the Ayrēn ceremony. For this ceremony, Red women choose Black men to hunt for them and Black women choose Red men. The successful hunter presents his game to the woman who chose him (Figure 47) in return for extramarital sexual relations, an act symbolizing fertility and regeneration [IV.A.3.f.(2)].

In earlier times the Red and Black moieties competed in several dozen log races during the season. Initially, the logs were so small they could be held in one hand. Each day they raced with slightly larger logs, representing growth, culminating in great logs that took four men to lift onto a runner’s shoulders. This process of growth is repeated four times, twice with the logs cut in the Black style (long and thin) and twice in the Red style (Glossary) (short and wide), until the season ends in January with one final race with large logs in the Red style [IV.A.4.b]. The regeneration in the climatic, environmental, and economic cycles has been completed through the activities in the festival cycle.

Long before the traditional end of the Regeneration season in January, the Corn Planting ceremony takes place [IV.A.5.a] in the month of November. During this ceremony a sing-dance leader sings and provides rhythm for me singers by dropping an akàà belt [II.G.3.a.(3)] and its deer hoof tips onto a that (Plate 53a). Before him is a gourd bowl about one-fifth of a meter in diameter filled with kernels of corn that will be planted the next day. (Using a tsù belt is traditional.)

TABLE 4.—Annual festival cycle.

[II.C.1.b] UNNAMED CEREMONIAL SEASON

With the end of the Regeneration season sometime in January, the Canela enter the second but unnamed part of their festival year during which they race according to age-set moiety membership and styles [III.C.3] instead of Regeneration season ones. During one 10-year period the Upper age-set moiety trains and graduates an age-set of young men coming of age, and during the next 10 years the Lower age-set moiety does the same, and so on [III.D.2.b.(1)]. These age-set moieties often constituted the work forces that cut family farms out of the stream-side gallery forests in June or July.

The unnamed ceremonial season [IV.A.5] starts in January with an initial race between the Upper and Lower age-set moieties with a pair of logs cut in the Corn ritual style to enhance the corn harvest. The Sweet Potato ritual (Glossary) (Hô-tswa: leaf-pointed: the pointed leaf of the sweet potato) (Nimuendajú, 1946:63–64) follows in February (Plate 47a, c), and the Corn Harvest ritual (Plate 53) follows in late February or early March. Both rituals enhance the growth of these crops. The members of the Corn family (membership through matrilineality [III.C.8]) make shuttlecocks of corn husk. One objective of the ritual (Glossary) is to see how many times a shuttlecock can be batted up into the air without falling on the ground. Some relationship is believed to exist between the number of times—occasionally 40 to 50—and the increase in the corn harvest.

The last ritual in the unnamed ceremonial season is the Pàlrà log race (Plates 50, 51), and its surrounding activities [IV.A.5.e]. This log race, which is run by the Upper and Lower age-set moieties, is said to be a forerunner of, or to bring on, the Wè?tè festival season of the summer. Thus, the race occurs in March, April, or early May. Representatives of the two high-ceremony Wè?tè girls [IV.A.3.e.(1)] give the starting signals of the log race. The logs themselves, the Pàlrà, are symbolically related to similarly cut ceremonial logs used in the three internment festivals held in the Wè?tè season [IV.A.7.c].

[II.C.4.c] WÈ?TÈ SEASON

One or two weeks after the termination of the Pàlrà ceremony, the Opening Wè?tè (Glossary) festival begins. Racing by age-set teams continues until the beginning of the Regeneration season in October, except for occasional racing in the men’s society membership of the particular great Wè?tè season festival chosen for the summer [IV.A.3.C]. With the regeneration of the Canela world completed by the Regeneration moieties, and the harvesting of the various crops carried out by the age-set moieties, the Canela are ready for the fun and freedom of the dry summer months.

In the opening ceremony of the Opening Wè?tè festival [IV.A.3.a], the women march out of one of the two Wè?tè houses, and the men march out of the other one. The groups of women and men circle around each other in the plaza, singing songs with explicit sexual references—songs of antagonism between women and men in general. Later, after a lecture by the chief of the tribe, admonishing spouses against expressing sexual jealousy toward rivals during the Wè?tè season, the men walk to their age-set’s Wè?tè house, and the women go to the Wè?tè house opposite from their husbands’ membership. Spouses are symbolically segregated in this way, and some spouses may see little of each other for the duration of the summer’s festival.

Extramarital relations and fun away from the family setting are two of the diverting purposes of the summer Wè?tè season. This summer festival season begins in April or May with the abating of heavy rains and harvesting and ends in August to October after a period of almost no rain. The dry summer season is associated symbolically with male dominance, hilarity, burning the cerrado grasses, sportive activities, extramarital relations, and formerly with warfare [IV.A.3].

The modern economic cycle, however, begins in June or July, with its extensive and lengthy preparation of fields. These exhaustive labors occur at exactly the same time as the principal recreative activities of the festival cycle. In earlier times field preparation was lighter and therefore began later—in September or October, after the termination of the summer’s great festival season, trekking, and warfare. Thus, the peak demands of the newer economic and older ceremonial cycles are now in conflict with the necessary development of agriculture.

The five great summer festivals [IV.A.3.C] are the Khêêtúwayê (Glossary) (Plate 41), Pepyê (Plates 42, 43), Pepkahàk (Plates 44, 45), Fish (Plate 46), and Masks’ (Plates 48, 49) festivals. One of them is put on each year between the Opening and the Closing Wè?tè (Plate 52) festivals. They each last from two to four months and have a similar structure [IV.A.3.b]: (1) an opening part of two to three days with acts stressing the principal theme; (2) a middle part of one to three months with several interspersed ceremonial great days, and (3) a terminal part of three to seven days of great drama followed by comical acts. Traditional principles and processes of enculturation (aspects of religion and societal maintenance) are portrayed and carried out in the many sequential acts of these festivals.

The two initiation festivals, the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê, enculturate boys and youths into adult groups: age-sets. The Pepkahàk, an internment festival (Glossary) like the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê, reinforces in adults certain maturing practices experienced and learned in the two initiation festivals [IV.A.3.c.(3).(f)]. The Pepkahàk festival serves also as an arena for manifesting and sanctioning honored (hàmren) ceremonial roles and values in contrast to the comical (non-hàmren) ceremonial roles and values of the Fish festival [IV.A.3.c.(4)]. This latter festival also portrays the independence of the individual from authoritative controls. The Masks’ festival [IV.A.3.c.(5)] is not indigenous, having been adopted from the formerly neighboring Krahó tribe. In its Canela form it sanctions “begging” and generosity, values which make it possible for scarce food to be circulated relatively evenly throughout the tribe.

The Masks’ festival (Glossary) continues directly without stopping into the Closing Wè?tè festival. The other great summer festivals, however, do not continue directly into the Closing Wè?tè festival, so a gap of considerable time [IV.A.3.c.(5)] exists between them and the Closing Wè?tè festival which is put on to terminate the Wè?tè season. During this nonceremonial period, the log-racing is still carried out in the age-set moiety fashion.

The Closing Wè?tè festival lasts only two days but takes place during extensive activity on the farms, especially when Canela families are late in burning, planting, and fencing them, as is often the case. Consequently, there were years when the Closing Wè?tè festival was not put on at all because of the urgency for working in the fields before the rains came. This is the only festival, however, for which inconsistency in performance actually occurs. The Apanyekra are far more inconsistent in putting on any of their festivals.

The hostile competition between women and men found in the Opening Wè?tè festival is less apparent in the Closing Wè?tè festival, though the women playfully steal meat pies from the ovens of one of the men’s societies. The erection of the Kô?khre log in the boulevard in front of one of the houses of the two Wè?tè girls marks the end of the Wè?tè summer season of hilarity and licensed extramarital relations [IV.A.3.e.(3)]. The almost 2-meter high Kô?khre log, with its carved out recess the size of a girl of 6 to 8 years old, symbolizes the Wè?tè girls’ absence from the boulevard and thereby the end of extramarital license and the return to serious family living: to work the family farms with the coming of the rains and the need to regenerate the Canela world.

A few minutes after the erection of the Kô?khre log, the men divide according to the Red and Black moieties of the Regeneration season for a foot race. The Regeneration season moieties thereby supersede the Wè?tè season age-set moieties as the ceremonials in operation.

[II.D] Life Cycles

The data in this chapter constitute a brief summary of the more universal events within the life cycles of the individual in Canela society, e.g. birth, growth, maturity, and aging (Table 5). Thus, the nature of the material concerns the roles individuals play in Canela life and the behaviors associated with these roles. (For more comprehensive data concerning various aspects of the life cycles, see [III.A] [III.F] [IV.B].)

[II.D.1] Birth and Childhood

The life cycle experiences for both sexes are similar up to the age of six or seven. Babies are born into the world surrounded by women, for no men are allowed in the mother’s house while the birth is taking place. The father’s female kin may all be present. The father’s mother, his wife’s mother-in-law, “catches” the baby, which is said to “fall” from the mother at the time of its birth [IV.B.1.a.].

[II.D.1.a] PARENTAL ROLES

Parents are very supportive of their children and inclined to be permissive in their prepubertal training in such activities as feeding, weaning, toilet training [III.A.2.a, b, f, h, i]. They must be serious with their children (little joking) and always partisan, because they are only one genealogical link away [III.E.2.b]. Whereas parents are responsible for all the day-to-day activities of the child, they turn to certain ones of their children’s aunts and uncles for severe discipline, ceremony, and legal matters [III.A.2.p]. These kin (Glossary) are two or more genealogical links away from their children [III.E.2.b], and therefore, it is believed, can be less partisan, more detached, and more objective in their relationships and decisions. However, the ultimate responsibility for raising the children is the parents’ [III.A.3.a.(2).(i)] with most childrearing taking place in the household group in which the children’s mother’s mother and the mother’s sisters are likely participants [III.E.2.e.(1)] [III.F.7].

[II.D.1.b] ROLES OF AUNTS AND UNCLES

Aunts and uncles (Glossary) are defined as kin generally in ascending generations who are “further-linked” (Glossary) (more than one genealogical link away) from ego, although there are a few aunts and uncles in the same and in descending generations from ego (according to Crow skewing) [III.E.2.a, b]. (Classificatory one-link kin, though actually further-link kin also, are not aunts and uncles (Figure 23).) Aunts and uncles carry out more significant roles than they do in American life. Certain kin related in such a manner, especially opposite-sex ones, maintain a joking relationship with each other. Exceptions exist for the aunts and uncles who carry out naming relationships [III.E.4] or advising roles [III.A.3.b.(1).(a), (b), (c)] with their nieces and nephews.

[II.D.1.b.(1)]

If the baby is a girl, she is usually named by a person of the paternal aunt category (tùy), usually a father’s sister or the latter’s first or second cousin by all female linkages. The father’s father’s sister is also an appropriate person to name her great niece. If the baby is a boy, a person of the maternal uncle category (kêt), a mother’s brother or the latter person’s first or second cousin by all female links, gives the name. Similarly, a mother’s mother’s brother may name his great-nephew. In the cases of both the girl and boy, exceptions can be found, usually because no suitable person in the above-mentioned categories can be located just after the time of the childbirth. (For detailed information on the name-set transmission and the naming rite, see [III.E.4] and [IV.B.1.c].)

TABLE 5.—Life cycles of women and men.

The naming-“aunt” takes her named-“niece” bathing when she is little and gives her a back-pendant head-basket (khay-re) when she is 6 to 9 years old [III.A.3.a.(1).(b)]. This aunt has a very special relationship with her named-niece, advising her on any ceremonial matters. In contrast, another woman of a girl’s father’s sister category may carry out the advising rather than the ceremonial roles, or if none are available, the name-giving aunt can also do this. Otherwise a woman from another kin category [In.4.i] can carry out the advising behaviors necessary to raise a child.

The naming-“uncle” visits his named-“nephew” every now and then, and gives him a miniature bow-and-arrow set, when he is about 7 or 8 years old, but he does not take him bathing as does the aunt for a girl. The uncle also instructs his nephew in his ceremonial roles. The naming-uncle takes his named-nephew along with him during name-related ceremonies in which they perform side by side (Plate 52a). In many ceremonies (hatsà yahêl tsà: his-place filling-in instrument: he fills in his place), the nephew takes the place [III.E.2.d] of his naming-uncle.

[II.D. 1.b.(2)]

The naming-uncle may also assume the roles of the disciplining or advising-uncle (i?-tàmtswè to hapak-khre: his-nephew to he-advises: he gives advice to his nephew), but it is more likely that the mother’s brother, or at least some other uncle (Glossary) in the youth’s kêt kin category—or even some person not in the youth’s kit kin category [In.4.i]—will carry out the discipline that maintains the youth’s appropriate postpubertal food and sex restrictions (Glossary) [IV.D.3.a]. This applies to a girl as well, but to a lesser extent. In either case, the advising-uncle carries out the strong disciplining and punishing roles (Figures 14, 15) for his sister’s children of either sex [III.A.3.a.(2).(i)], especially in the audiências (the legal hearings) whether pertaining to marriage, theft, or any other problem [III.D.3.b].

A girl usually has an advising-aunt, one who assumes a special responsibility especially just after puberty. Her role is less important than the advising-uncle’s, except for examining the genitals of her niece to establish her virginity. This practice, however, was abandoned before the 1950s.

[II.D.1.b.(3)]

When not carrying out naming or advising roles, aunts and uncles provide their nieces and nephews with much of the amusement and humor in life that is so characteristically Canela [III.B.1.c.(1)]. This lighter side of life of aunts and uncles contrasts with the more serious and responsible parental side, as well as with the ceremonial and advising side of avuncular roles, in a way that is characteristic of the Canela (J. Melatti, 1979a:49–50). If one role is serious, its “adjacent” one must not be. For instance, seriousness with a Formal Friend [III.E.5] is set in contrast by joking with her or his spouse and children.

[II.D.1.c] CHILDREN’S ACTIVITIES

As children, the girls and boys are allowed to play with each other until they are about 6 or 7 years old. Then they begin to play with members of their own sex (Plate 19a). Little girls imitate many of the adult female roles in their games, like playing house with dolls (Plate 19d, e) [III.A.2.m]. By the time they are 6 to 10, they begin to follow the activities of their mothers closely, assisting in the daily chores of house cleaning, food preparation, cooking, fetching firewood (Plate 17d) and water, and the care of younger children and babies (Plate 19b).

Boys of this age have a much freer life since they can go off in groups to roam the cerrado and streams. Once they have been caught in a Khêêtúwaye (Glossary) initiation performance [IV.A.3.c.(1).(a)], their age-set commandant from an older age-set may summon them for age-set activities in the cerrado, even when an initiation festival is not in session that year. Boys are brought into adult activities far less than girls; they do not work in farm plots or go hunting until they are considerably older.

[II.D.2] Life Cycle of Women

From the time of puberty, females and males have increasingly different roles and responsibilities. Symbolically, the woman’s principal place is in the house while the man’s is in the plaza [V.A.5.c.(2)]. Women never hunt; men do. Work on the farms is shared [II.C.3.d]. However, men work in preparing the fields (cutting out shrubbery, felling trees, and building fences), though single women sometimes do this too.

[II.D.2.a] LOSS OF VIRGINITY

In earlier times, girls were engaged to be married when they were 4 or 5 to young men 12 to 15 years older; but the engagement affected their lives very little [III.F.1.a] [IV.B.1.d]. However, by the time the girls are 11 or 12 and their breasts begin to form, they become of interest to older boys or young men. If at this time a girl loses her virginity (kol-mã kuuni naare: still whole not), the Canela consider her married [III.F.4.b] to the youth who took it, although the marriage may not last very long. The average age of first pregnancy in 1970 was about 15¾ years (W. Crocker, 1984a:91).

For either sex, what amounts to social puberty is the individual’s first experience with full sexual intercourse. Girls almost always have intercourse before they menstruate, so their experience reinforces the Canela theory that sexual intercourse is the cause of menstruation. Ideally a girl has first intercourse with a young man in his late teens or 20s who has no children of his own [III.F.4.b.(1)]. One of the girl’s aunts, the advising one, comes to talk to her seriously about the change in her status, and her uncle insists that she undergo certain food and sex restrictions in seclusion in a special room made for her in her mother’s house.

[II.D.2.b] MENSTRUATION

In earlier times, the menstruating girl was secluded in a corner of her mother’s house [IV.B.1.f]. She observed total restrictions against sex and against all “bad” foods [IV.D.3.a] for a number of days, restrictions very similar to those of a postpartum mother. She was allowed to eat only the blandest foods, such as traditional white corn.

This first menstrual experience set the model for later ones. When older, she was secluded only while actually menstruating, but for the first experience the time of seclusion was considerably longer.

In earlier times, a girl used to wear a red band around her waist during her menstrual period so that everybody would know of her condition (Nimuendajú, 1946:121). All people would then avoid her, and men would know not to attempt advances when she left her place of seclusion within her mother’s house and went about certain necessary activities, such as going down to the stream for bathing or fetching water. Now, with wrap-around cloths, the red band is not worn [IV.B.1.f].

[II.D.2.C] POSTPUBERTAL RESTRICTIONS

First menstruation was followed by a period of postpubertal partial restrictions against sexual relations and certain rich foods [IV.D.3.a], both of which were supposed to be avoided during the immediate postpubertal months and sometimes for as long as a year. The duration of restrictions depended on the degree of respect for tradition. The purpose of such restrictions against pollutions was to help her gain the strength of a mature woman. These restrictions were not as severe for the girl as they were for the boy, who sometimes maintained them for up to three years.

During this period, a girl was supposed to have sexual relations mostly with older men [II.B.1.e] [III.A.2.s.(1)]. From men in their 30s through 50s, she would gain strength; from men in their teens and 20s, she would gain any weaknesses they had [IV.D.3.d.(4)]. Of course, a postpubertal girl might be married, in the sense that she had had her first intercourse with a man who had not paid to leave her [III.D.3.c.(1)]. This husband visited her only very occasionally at night because both were supposed to be observing adolescent restrictions. If he were older, he still was not supposed to visit her often because she was young and weak and because he should be having sexual relations mostly with older women to gain strength from them. Moreover, she, too, was supposed to be observing postpubertal restrictions.

[II.D.2.d] PRIVACY FOR ADOLESCENT GIRLS

An adolescent girl has her platform bed raised high under the rafters of the house, perhaps 2 to 3 meters off the ground, so that when young men, or her husband if she is married, crawl up the notched tree trunk ladder to her, nobody can see what they are doing (Plate 9b). What is heard is largely ignored. The Canela are not embarrassed by the sounds of sex, even when heard by a mother and father below. In any case, for a married girl, only her husband is supposed to climb up to spend the night with her. With an unmarried girl (whose husband had paid to leave her [III.D.3.c.(1)]), any of her lovers may spend the night in the loft bed. Traditionally, whether husband or lover, the youth was supposed to leave before the time of the early morning dance, and certainly before daylight. The husband was not to be seen around the house until the woman had given birth to a child [III.F.4.i].

These days, however, there are very few women without husbands [III.F.4.b.(2)], and young women no longer have sexual relations with older men [III.A.2.s.(1)]. Thus, it is usually only the husband who climbs up into her raised platform bed. It has become the practice in the 1970s for the young husband to join his wife’s family and live with them immediately upon marriage. Therefore, instead of leaving at dawn, he is still there in the morning when the sun rises and the family awakes.

[II.D.2.e] BEING A GIRL ASSOCIATE

Being a girl associate (Glossary) is the epitome of a girl’s teenage life [IV.B.1.h], with only childbirth impacting more on her life course. Between the ages of 6 and 14, girls become “girl associates” (mē kuytswè) to a men’s society (Nimuendajú, 1946:95–97) in a festival to win their i?pre (maturity belt) [II.G.3.c.(1)]. The older associates learn about multiple extramarital sex [III.A.2.j.(6).(a)]. The nature of the men’s society [III.C.3.f] largely determines the age of a pair of girl associates (Nimuendajú, 1946:95) who act as “wives” to the male group. In contrast, a Wè?tè girl (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:92–93) behaves as a sister [III.E.10] and her parents behave as parents to the age-set moiety opposite the location of her family house (cf. Lave, 1977:312).

[II.D.2.e.(1)]

The ceremonial prestige of a girl associate is ranked according to the men’s group she has joined. If the position is assigned by the governing age-set, the Pró-khãmmã [III.C.3.b], and held for a longer time than most others, the girl attains a high rank. If she is chosen by the membership of a men’s group [III.C.5.c, 6.b], her status is lower. These positions are ranked in terms of the life-long prestige that they carry. For example, although Kàànõ (age 33 in 1975) was childless, unmarried, and without many close relatives, as well as being hired as a servant in a relatively well-to-do Canela household (a rare situation), everyone still remembered and honored her for her role as the elder Pepkahàk girl associate in 1958. (For a general discussion on the varied statuses of girl associates, see [III.C.9].)

[II.D.2.e.(2)]

All girls want to win their ceremonial belts (i?-pre: her-bond: her harness), a symbol of relative female maturity [IV.B.1.h]. (See also [II.G.3.c.(1)]; Table 8, item 19; and Plate 59d) The usual way is through serving as a girl associate to a men’s society. Those girls, however, who have never been chosen as an associate and are already becoming too old or are visibly pregnant earn their belts by climbing onto the cage of the Little Falcon (Hàk-re) (Figure 46) and then running with him in the boulevard during a Closing Wè?tè festival [IV.A.3.e.(2)] [IV.B.1.h.(2)].

A girl who realizes she is pregnant will always take the route of the Little Falcon’s cage if she has not yet won her belt as a girl associate. Of course, a 1–3 month period in early pregnancy exists when she might not know to take this advantage. Usually there are two or three girls gaining their belts this way each year.

Canela women feel that it is proper to win their belts before becoming married, but this ideal is rarely attained these days. It is difficult to see how this could have been accomplished unless they had experienced their first sex at an older age (not claimed by the Canela and unlikely) or married later (claimed). A woman cannot win her belt at all, however, if she has already given birth to a child, or is in an advanced stage of pregnancy. (A pregnant woman performing in a ceremonial role is not a pleasing sight for a Canela to see.)

[II.D.2.e.(3)]

One purpose of being a girl associate is for a girl to learn to like group sex—to enjoy sexually receiving certain individuals (maybe 12) of a large male group in sequence [II.E.5.f]. Consanguineals and yê-addressed individuals of the group are excepted [III.E.3.c]. Such experiences are a large part of what earning a ceremonial belt and becoming an adult woman means. She grows accustomed to liking to please many men, to create group joy with her body [III.B.1.a.(4)].

Female research assistants have assured me that they do like the group sex relationships inherent in the festivals. If women accept such relationships in semipublic settings, it is only a simple step further to accepting almost any nonrelated men for private amorous trysts [III.F.8.a]. Women take the initiative and choose men for these quick sex encounters at least as often as men choose women [III.F.8.b]. Extramarital sexual relations are sanctioned by their performance in a number of festival occasions as part of the scheduled proceedings, though not seen publicly (W. Crocker, 1974a: 188). During the 1970s these sanctioned extramarital activities were involving fewer individuals. It may be difficult to imagine the extent to which Canela women enjoyed such frequent and obligatory extramarital activities. They grew up with expectations of pleasures of this sort, hearing stories about them constantly as little girls [III.A.2.j.(6)]. Near puberty, they are thoroughly familiar with and accustomed to such expectations as part of their future way of life. A Canela’s sexuality is considered among her or his most valuable asset in interpersonal relations. Thus no one should be stingy when somebody else wants or needs the pleasure their cooperation can give. The traditional orientation around personal generosity is applied to a person’s body [III.B.1.a.(4)] as well as to her or his possessions. (For information on how women are socialized into extramarital and multiple sex, see [III.A.2.j], and for a relatively complete description of the extramarital sex relationship system, see [II.A.3.f].)

[II.D.2.f] WINNING OBJECTS OF CEREMONIAL HONOR

Besides appointment to a role of honor as one of the special girl associates, young women can receive three different kinds of material artifacts as honor awards: a little gourd, a Little comb, and a cotton singing strap (Table 8, items 6, 7, 8) [II.G.3.a.(6), (7), (8)] [III.A.3.b.(3).(a)]. These artifacts of honor might be bestowed either before or after a girl has won her belt, but most certainly before she has her first baby. When old people talk about the festivals of previous years, they usually remember who were the little gourd and little comb winners of a particular festival in a certain village many years ago [I.C], just as they recall who were the great girl associates of the dry season festivals.

If a girl (aged 10 to 14) goes out to the plaza in the early morning and sings most of the time in the woman’s line (Plate 32a), then her naming-aunt, noticing this estimable behavior, may make her a hahĩ sash of woven cotton with tassels at either end (Plate 58e, f; [II.G.3.a.(8)]).

After being awarded the ceremonial singing sash by her naming-aunt, such a young girl or woman, until recently, was obliged to appear every morning and sing for several hours in the plaza during the early morning sing-dance [II.E.4.a]. It is believed that the owner of the singing sash had to make her appearance first of all, and by so doing she was the incentive for other girls and women to come out and join the woman’s sing-dance line [III.A.3.b.(3).(a)]. Not all girls are as eager to cooperate socially as the owner of the hahĩ, but family and especially their sex partners force most of the girls to go out of their houses and sing-dance in the early morning [III.A.3.c.(3).(j)].

[II.D.2.f.(1)]

When a girl has won her belt, she can be considered a young woman, though childbirth is the final step in achieving adult female status [IV.B.1.h]. She has learned to cope with the extramarital experiences expected of her, but now she must go through a period of seclusion for the “maturation” of her new belt. She undergoes food and sex restrictions for several days, while her uncles hunt deer in the cerrado or dry forests for her [IV.B.1.h.(3)] (Plate 15c).

During her 3–5 day seclusion, she is supposed to be very quiet and to eat only the blandest items so that her belt will “grow” and “mature.” Once again she learns, as during her menstrual seclusion, that restrictions against food and sex are the means by which a person gains individual strength in order to face most of life’s challenges [III.A.3.b.(1).(a)]. Uncles (or aunts) come and lecture on situations expected later in life, reinforcing their roles and their relationships with her. Moreover, without the deer her uncles kill, she knows her female in-laws will not paint her belt red, introducing her into the free stage (nkrekre-re) due women without children [III.F.4.e.(2)]. This fact reinforces the significance of her uncles’ roles to her life.

[II.D.2.f.(2)]

With the deer killed and brought home, the young woman goes to her mother-in-law’s house with her belt and gives her the deer [IV.B.1.h.(4)]. There the mother-in-law and sisters-in-law paint her body and her belt red with urucu (Figures 48, 49). With this belt painting ceremony over, the young woman is now thoroughly accepted and integrated into her sister-in-laws’ and mother-in-law’s longhouse [III.E.2.e.(2)] [III.F.4.e], where she is expected to come quite frequently and work with them.

After this rite the young woman is so completely accepted by her female in-laws that she is totally free [III.F.4.e.(1)], now for the first time, to enter fully into any of the extramarital activities whether they commence from a work group situation [II.E.5.f], a festival occasion [IV.A.3.f], or from her own or a lover’s initiative [III.F.8.a]. Before this time her mother- and sisters-in-law might have objected to her love trysts and to her appearing at public, though sanctioned, extramarital sex occasions.

[II.D.2.g] WOMEN’S “FREE” YEARS

Between the age of her belt painting and the arrival of her first child, a young woman experiences the “free” period in her life—the nkrekre-re stage [III.F.4.e.(2)]. If the first child dies, this free period continues until a woman is definitely encumbered by raising surviving children [IV.B.2.b]. During this period, she is usually married, is fully accepted by her female in-laws through their belt-painting rite, and is therefore free to do as she pleases with respect to extramarital relations. In earlier times she slept in the plaza on the opposite side from her husband [III.F.4.e.(2).(a)]. Today she still must help her mother, her mother’s sisters, and her sisters, however, in their economic activities and in the raising of their children [III.F.7]. Because she is an nkrekre-re, however, they cannot trust her with babies and small children because she is almost certainly “tainted” by remains of sexual fluids on her skin, under her fingernails, or in other places. These fluids would be “pollutants” to small children and certainly to babies if she touched them [IV.D.3.d.(4)]. Thus, she is freed from such duties.

The term mē nkrekre-re (Glossary) is interesting. (In this particular usage, mē indicates a category [plural] of people, but only Eastern Timbira people. When mē is not used, the term is singular.) The term means being slippery and loose. Women and men of this period [II.D.3.f] are unattached and free, and therefore hard to catch or slippery. Research assistants compared the nkrekre-re person to the greased pig in a backlander pig-catching game.

An nkrekre-re woman takes the initiative in love trysts [III.F.8.b], and has them as often as responsibilities in her household permit. The chief of the tribe frequently chooses her as a girl associate for work day or group hunting situations [II.E.6.a]. These women also are the ones who are most likely to join men in the bushes on the Wild Boar festival days [IV.A.3.f.(1).(b)].

In formal hearings about extramarital sex problems [III.D.3.c.(1)], I have often heard uncles lecturing nephews about letting their young nkrekre-re wives have their day, because unlike for young men, the opportunities for young women eventually become limited by children and heavy household duties.

[II.D.2.h] ATTAINING WOMANLY MATURITY

The principal watershed in a woman’s life, greater than earning her belt, is the period surrounding the birth of her first child [IV.B.2.b], especially if this child survives and another follows. A child or children tie her down to her mother’s and sisters’ house: to the many shared “hearth” household duties [III.E.2.e.(1)], including child care for others [III.F.7], food preparation, work in the fields, and transporting tubers from farms, firewood from me cerrado, and water from the streams with other women of her house and longhouse.

[II.D.2.h.(1)]

Evident pregnancy [IV.B.2.a] does not change the behavior of an nkrekre-re woman very much. She has secured the man she is living with, who cannot leave her because he is the principal father (the social father) to the unborn child [III.E.9].

No traditional restrictions exist on sexual relations during pregnancy, and sexual intercourse continues with any “biological” fathers until the seventh or eighth month, depending upon the nature of the pregnancy and the point at which intercourse becomes difficult.

[II.D.2.h.(1).(a)]

During her pregnancy, a woman begins to think about whom she wants as contributing-fathers (Glossary) (co-fathers [III.E.9]) for the “biological” formation of her fetus, and looks around for chances to have love trysts with such men. It is believed that personality traits [III.A.4.a] are inherited through a man’s semen, and that any semen contributed to her fetus while she is pregnant makes the contributor a biological father. Thus, she chooses her partners for their hunting and athletic abilities, although farming and the potential for general overall economic support count as well these days [II.D.3.i.(6), (7)]. She arranges to have sex privately with each of them in the usual manner. If any of them show resistance, which is unlikely, she can say she is pregnant. Then the reluctant man knows he cannot refuse because Canela say this might cause a miscarriage. In selecting him, she is also thinking about the support of her child because contributing-fathers are supposed to furnish some food to support their children.

[II.D.2.h.(1).(b)]

A pregnant woman is very careful to avoid certain actions that will affect the fetus’ survival. In addition to their own traditional Canela beliefs, some of these strictures may come from local backlanders. For instance, expectant mothers do not eat eggs with two yolks, rice that sticks to the cast iron pot through burning, or emu (ostrich) flesh. Twin yolks produce twins (Canela), stuck rice causes the baby to stick in the birth passage (backlander), and emus have long necks so the baby will have a difficult birth (Canela).

[II.D.2.h.(2)]

Childbirth [IV.B.2.b] is an abrupt transition to many young women in the mē nkrekre-re stage, because their freedom is limited by their baby’s birth. However, many baby sitters exist, such as a woman’s sisters and her first and second Parallel “longhouse” cousins (Figure 23) [III.E.2.e.(2)], and even her mother and her mother’s sisters. Nevertheless, the primary responsibility lies with her, so the style of her life changes sharply from nkrekre-re freedom to encumbered motherhood. Through childbirth women enter into the principal role of their lives. As new mothers, they are referred to as mē ?khra-?tàmtúwa (their child-raw-newly) (Table 9, stage 11).

[II.D.2.h.(3)]

Several terms of address accentuate the importance of the role of motherhood. Her brother now addresses her as his named-nephew’s mother, just as she calls her brother her named-niece’s father [III.E.8.a]. Her husband calls her their oldest child’s mother [III.E.8.b]. Even the women who do not stay married are proud, nevertheless, to be mothers although they may remain single persons for life [III.F.4.b.(2)].

Mothers discipline their children, but the principal role of discipline, other than for behaviors oriented to daily conformity and encouragement, is the responsibility of the children’s advising-uncle, usually one of the mother’s brothers [III.A.3.a.(2).(i)].

At formal marital hearings [III.D.3.b], the atmosphere is laden with motherly concerns. Canela mothers live for their children as much as for anything else, and are caring and loving.

[II.D.2.i] WOMEN’S ROLES

A Canela woman is ideally first a mother and then a wife. Secondarily, she is also a lover (Figure 29) [III.E.3.a.(6)]. Keeping a viable household, maintaining a healthy social environment for children [III.F.7], and providing food for family men are other very important roles [III.E.2.e.(1).(a)]. In addition, she is an agricultural worker, food gatherer, and sometimes the principal economic provider for her children [III.F.4.b.(2)]. However, being mother to her children, in my observation, is the principal role that a woman fulfills. Being a wife also means seeing to it that the house and its surrounding area are clean and that foods are well prepared. Of course, sexual relations with her husband occur, but sex among the Canela is so diversified through extramarital contacts [III.F.8] that sex with her husband is not one of her principal roles as a woman or wife. Both female and male research assistants saw women in general, which really means mothers in particular, as being the more stable of the two sexes. While married men travel, hunt, and enjoy a broader participation in social and political activities, women are fixed in their familial position, being supportive of men and children [II.D.1.c] [II.D.3.i.(1)] [II.E.4.a.(2)] [III.A.2.m].

[II.D.2.i.(1)]

In contrast to men, women do most of the work in the fields once they have been prepared [II.C.3.d] and bring most crops home to the village. A woman is totally responsible for preparing the food that is to be consumed by her children, husband, and other people who reside in the house where she is the principal woman. Whereas her husband helps her in all phases of her work in the fields, he does not assist in food preparation or house maintenance. Although able to cook, clean the house, carry water from the stream, and even take care of babies when necessary, he does not usually carry out such principally female roles.

[II.D.2.i.(2)]

Formerly, women were the principal food collectors in the cerrado and woods. These days, though such foods still exist, the Canela feel themselves to be largely above such a form of subsistence. However, women still collect certain favorite delicacies such as cashew, buriti, buritirana, bacaba, and bacuri fruits, when they are in season (August through January) (Table 2). Men collect honey in August.

[II.D.2.i.(3)]

As a mother with several children, a mature woman does not go to the plaza to sing in the dance line unless the occasion is very significant and the dance line very long. She has too many other things to do. By the time she is 30 years old, festival activities are watched with her children rather than participated in. She may, however, have a ceremonial role due to some form of inheritance [III.C.8.d]. In such a capacity she will carry out the role with the help of her sisters and male relatives. Moreover, she is the principal person involved in the preparation of the necessities for most of the life cycle rites of her children, and she helps female relatives with their children’s rites [IV.B].

[II.D.2.i.(4)]

For decisions about her children’s marriage problems and festival positions she participates in the family council, composed of her brothers and uncles (Figure 21). Her husband may sit some distance away listening or go to visit his female kin. She is the parent who has some say in ceremonial and judicial proceedings involving her children [III.D.3.C]. In both cases, the father may be consulted, but the mother is a principal decision maker. In these responsibilities the mother plays a dual role as parent and as counselor along with her brothers and mother’s brothers.

[II.D.2.i.(5)]

The principal woman of a household (probably 40 or 50 years old) is thus often an impressive individual. She is the primary person in charge of the household (the “hearth” (Glossary) unit [Figure 22] [III.E.2.e.(1)]), which includes raising her children and those of others [III.F.7], rationing and distributing food for all, keeping the men satisfied (not yet grown sons, brothers, her husband, her sisters’ husbands, and maybe her father), satisfying sisters and female relatives of her longhouse (Figure 24) [III.E.2.e.(2)], and especially the part of her longhouse that constitutes her hearth unit. Ideally, the Canela expect this principal person of the household should manipulate these relationships with great dignity and poise. Of course, not all older women have the personality and character to fulfill such a role with equal success, so most women are in subordinate positions, being younger sisters or less able older ones in their household. I have seen many women who, as heads of households, have behaved in a very responsible way, arranging conscientiously most aspects of living for the people staying under their roof. My Canela sister Te?hôk and my brother’s wife Mĩĩ-khwèy are excellent examples, and so is Pootsen, my Apanyekra sister. The household group, with its nearer “longhouse” (Glossary) members included, is the women’s solidarity unit, which can be contrasted with the age-set membership for men.

[II.D.2.i.(6)]

The role of me permanently unmarried woman, mpíyapit (Glossary) [III.F.4.b.(2)], with or without children, used to be a very special and respectable status in Canela life. A woman might simply prefer to live in this state because she was widowed and had not found a suitable new husband, or because her husband had paid to leave before she became pregnant and she had not found another husband. A woman of this state either maintained a household by herself or lived with her sisters or mother in a large house.

All adult women, whether single or married, are traditionally expected to have their own separate fields. These are usually adjacent to their mother’s and sisters’ fields, and their fathers and their sisters’ husbands often help prepare them.

The number of such confirmed single women is diminishing because of acculturation. Such a position is not esteemed by outside backlanders, or by Indian service personnel, whose influence is ever-present. Moreover, this kind of independence is not as prestigious within the tribe as it used to be, so that women are trying to remain married rather than attempting to support themselves. It has also become more difficult for such women to convince men to work for them.

[II.D.2.J] STATUS OF THE ELDERLY WOMAN

Any time I have been in Canela or Apanyekra villages, one or two old women, just under or over 80, were still alive, usually magnificent people with warm and generous feelings (Plate 18f).

When a woman’s children are all grown and have married or have left the household for adjacent dwellings, she is considered freed of most responsibilities. No longer encumbered by children produced through the marriage, men can leave their wives and seek younger women at this time, but they seldom do. Married couples usually stay together until death.

[II.D.2.j.(1)]

Because an older woman lives in the house of her daughters, she loses her position of authority (Figure 21) as her daughters gain in stature with the growth of their children. The grandmother helps in the household through taking care of the children, fetching large gourds of water, cooking meals, and cleaning the house. She also works in the fields with her daughters and maybe even her granddaughters. Such an older woman characteristically smokes a pipe and can be seen sitting comfortably on a racing log just outside her daughters’ house in the late afternoon, observing everything.

Murphy and Murphy (1974:105–106) describe a Mundurucú woman as being “retiring and demure, at least during her child-bearing years.” A postmenopausal Mundurucú woman, however, has greater freedom. She sits where she pleases, interrupts men in conversations when her views are pertinent, and gives her opinions freely on community matters. A Canela woman does not experience a similar postmenopausal change of status and is not necessarily retiring and demure before men when she is still bearing children. Her stature and verbal freedom among men in middle age depends on her personality and household position (a leader or follower), not on becoming postmenopausal.

[II.D.2.j.(2)]

Since sometime in the late 1970s, and certainly in 1978 and 1979, Canela women and men over the age of 65 have been receiving pensions as retired agricultural workers of national Brazil. Thus, almost all older women have become legally retired, and as such are an economic asset to their families. Since most of the older women know very Little about the use of money, their finances are manipulated by younger people, such as a son, a son-in-law, or a nephew or grandson. Usually, the small income the pension provides is used to pay family debts. Consequently, the older woman receives little direct benefit from it. This may seem sad or unjust, but at least she has something to offer her family in these times of less respect for older people, female or male. With the generation gap increasing among the Canela, an old person—even an old woman in this matri-/uxorilocal society—is less well-integrated into the whole sociocultural system than she used to be.

[II.D.3] Life Cycle of Men

[II.D.3.a] INDUCTION INTO AGE-SET

From the age of 6 or 7, young boys are segregated from girls. They go with other boys quite freely into the cerrado, swimming, hunting for small game, and carrying out activities of their age-sets [III.A.2.m].

Any time from the age of 1 to 10 years, a boy may be inducted into an age-set [III.C.3.a] through his first Khêêtúwayê festival performance (Plate 41) [IV.A.3.c.(1)]. Boys that are younger than 4 or 5 years old are not expected to attend and partake in the several daily performances in the plaza of the Khêêtúwayê troops [II.F.1.c.(1)]. Such very young boys remain at home with their families even if they have been inducted into the age-set at the beginning of the Khêêtúwayê festival. The boys who are older than 4 to 5 years of age live with their age-set group during the festival. They are housed in either one of the two rooms (Plate 41a) made ready for them, one on either side of the circular village, facing each other.

While interned in this manner, they hear many stories from their uncles, or members of the Pró-khãmmã, who instruct them in the ways of their ancestors. Then, several times a day, the boys from each of the two cells march out into the center of the plaza (Plate 41b) and sing several of the Khêêtúwayê songs (Plate 41c).

Age-set activities are maintained between festivals in nonceremonial periods, if the assigned commandant from a higher age-set remains active and interested in leading them. Thus, these boys learn to know each other well and become trained at a young age in the ways of age-set conformity and solidarity [III.A.2.n].

[II.D.3.b] EAR-PIERCING RITE

Research assistants say that in former times a boy’s ears were pierced by the time he was between the ages of 9 and 11, making it a prepubertal rite (Nimuendajú, 1946:49–51) (Plates 24, 25) [IV.B.1.e]. Since the rite’s seclusion and its food and sex restrictions are similar to those of the Pepyê festival’s internment [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] and the seclusion at the onset of puberty, the ear-piercing rite let the boy become used to internment and to gaining strength through maintaining restrictions [IV.D.3.c]. The focus of attention on the ears signified the importance of listening, understanding, and compliance [III.A.2.o] [III.B.1.k] [III.D.1.a.(1), (2)].

Unlike the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, however, the ear-piercing rite was totally focused on the individual. The boy was not a member of a group, although his ears may have been pierced at the same time as the ear-piercing of several other boys. The practice of ear-piercing and wearing ear-spools has fallen largely into disuse among the Canela (although not among the Apanyekra), because, due to acculturation, Canela men do not want to be identified as índios when they travel in the outer world.

[II.D.3.C] LOSS OF VIRGINITY

A boy’s virginity is taken by an older woman, who today is in her 20s or late teens but formerly was in her 40s or 50s [II.B.1.e]. An advising aunt collects his virginity payment from her [III.A.2 j.(2).(a)]. As soon as it is generally known that he has experienced his first sexual intercourse, one of his mother’s brothers, the one who has chosen the role of advising-uncle (or an advising-uncle surrogate [In.4.i]), comes to tell him that he must now undergo a long seclusion and then move from sleeping in his maternal home to sleeping and living in the plaza. From this time on, this uncle is more likely to discipline and tell him what to do [III.A.2.p] [III.A.3.b.(1).(c)] than are his parents, though of course, his parents never cease to give him advice on many matters.

It is particularly the aunts and uncles who can advise their nieces and nephews about sexual matters, marital relations, and food and sexual restrictions against pollutions [IV.D.3]. Parents are usually too embarrassed to talk about sexual matters with their children and are not severe enough to enforce the food and sexual restrictions properly, having too much feeling for their children [III.A.3.b.(1).(a)].

[II.D.3.c.(1)]

Immediately after his first sexual experience and before being sent to live in the plaza, the youth is interned to avoid contact with certain “pollutants” [IV.D.3.d]. Confined to a room made of mats in his maternal house, he is placed on a restricted diet to avoid eating certain polluted foods [IV.D.3.d.(1)]. After his first sexual intercourse, he is considered to be in a liminal situation, as if he were weak or almost sick. Thus, if he were to come into contact with pollutions, he could become ill and possibly even die.

In his enclosure of mats, the youth’s uncles, but particularly his advising-uncle, lecture him about the use of restrictions to avoid pollutions in order to become a strong, effective man, especially for hunting and running. They talk about admirable living men the youth knows, pointing out how these male models devoted several years to their postpubertal restrictions. The more severe and longer these restrictions are maintained, the more able a man becomes [IV.D.3.C]. Thus, the youth should continue practicing these restrictions long after leaving seclusion, warning others of his condition by appearing with charcoal smeared at random over his body for several months and, formerly, for several years [II.F.5.d].

[II.D.3.c.(2)]

When this private internment, lasting maybe a week, is over, he was ordered in earlier times by his advising-uncle to live in the plaza. There, the “unattached,” or childless, women [III.F.4.b.(2)] were free to have sex with the somewhat older men who were also living there away from their wives, for various reasons. Now, the youth could have sex with them too. Nevertheless, he was ordered by his uncle to avoid such young women and to have sex only with much older women in their 40s and 50s [III.F.4.e.(2).(a)], and then only rarely. Thus, his newly gained sexuality and freedom were quickly restricted.

[II.D.3.c.(3)]

Earlier than 1938, before the Indian service presence in the village [II.B.2.b], the advising-uncle of a youth, and other uncles to a lesser extent, would scold a nephew severely when they found him eating much food, especially if the food contained pieces of meat. Moreover, if the uncles heard the youth had had sexual relations with adolescent women, they were likely to summon him to appear before the late afternoon sing-dance line in the plaza and thoroughly harass him with words and painful punishments while he stood directly before the female line [II.E.7.b] [III.A.2.r.(1)] [III.A.3.b.(1).(c)].

[II.D.3.d] INTERNMENT IN THE PEPYÊ FESTIVAL

Whereas age-set life, both in and out of festival conditions, is one of immersion in the group’s continuous activity [III.B.1.c.(4)], the internment in the Pepyê festival (Glossary)—in stark contrast—is one of social isolation. This difference acts as a shock for the confined boys. During his 2 to 3 month internment, a youth is expected to think in solitude [III.B.1.c.(3)] about his future development and is told many traditional stories by his uncles. He cannot escape the older relatives and run out into the cerrado if they bore him. When he emerges from the internment with his age-set, he hears more stories about traditional behavior from the commandant of the age-set.

The Pepyê festival (Plates 42, 43) internment in a youth’s maternal house is either alone or with siblings, even when the sibling is one of the two age-set’s girl associates. This is the time when the youth formally learns and practices food and sex restrictions which are believed to be the main tools in life for developing his personal abilities [III.A.3.b.(2).(a)] [IV.D.3.c, f]. He may or may not have lost his virginity by the time of his first Pepyê internment, so he may or may not have already experienced his postpubertal seclusion.

Graduating through four or five initiation festivals over a 10-year period [IV.A.3.c.(1).(2)] enculturates a youth into membership in an age-set [III.C.3.a], which is the equivalent to the woman’s winning her belt; both are a mark of relative maturity [IV.B.1.h]. While neither the woman with her painted belt nor the graduated youth is recognized as a fully mature person (as would be a parent), nevertheless, by this stage the young woman or man has received most of the formal social processing that comes from agents outside her or his home.

The Pepyê novices are led and disciplined as a group by a commandant from an older age-set (and by their own leaders) during the Pepyê festival and between initiation festivals [IV.A.c.(1), (2), (3)], and in the Khêêtúwayê [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]. When moving as a troop, they are likened in Canela tradition to a pack of wild boar who run close together and respond fiercely when attacked by outsiders. The shout of the Pepyê troop as they jog across the plaza or around the boulevard is krôô, krôô, krôô, krôô …, the word for wild boar. Thus, the Pepyê festival furnishes experience in group behavior and obedience to the commandant, deputy commandant, and the representatives of the opposite age-set who are present with their long, thin wands to keep the novices alert.

[II.D.3.e] WINNING HONOR AWARDS FROM PRÓ-KHÃMMÃ

As in the case of young women, youths can also win honored awards in the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Pepkahàk festivals. These highly prized awards motivate the young men, as well as the young women, to perform well in the festivals and in life [III.A.3.b.(3).(b)].

The Pró-khãmmã (Glossary) award a ceremonial lance (Table 8, item 1; Plate 63c, d) [II.G.3.a.(2)] to the youth who, though not a principal actor in the festival, has sung the best during the festival period. Eight to ten of the macaw tail feathers that the novices have worn in specially made headdresses (Table 8, item 24; Plate 61a) [II.G.3.b.(1)] for the Khêêtúwayê festival are assigned to this winner’s naming-uncle for him to use in making the lance for his named-nephew.

To go with the ceremonial lance, the Pró-khãmmã award the right to own a war bonnet headdress (Table 8, item 2) [II.G.3.a.(1)] to the same youth and give the rest of the macaw tail feathers from the Khêêtúwayê novices’ headdresses to the naming-uncle of the same award winner so that he can use them (Plate 56e) in making this artifact for his named-nephew. The young man who has been awarded these items of honor is subsequently obliged to sing frequently before each house around the boulevard, entertaining the villagers with his fine voice (Plate 32d) [II.F.1.c.(5)].

Another award is a pair of cotton wristlets (Table 8, item 34; Plate 60f) [II.G.3.b.(7)] worn by each of the young male singers who sing in the Waytikpo act (Plates 43a, 44e) as apprentices of a great sing-dance master. The Waytikpo act is the culminating dramatic point [IV.A.3.c.(2).(c)] in each of the three internment festivals. The Pró-khãmmã take these wristlets from the young male singers and give them to the best young male performers of the entire Wè?tè festival season to reward them for their excellence in general singing and dancing.

[II.D.3.f] THE NKREKRE-RE PERIOD

Young men go through a period of being nkrekre-re, loose and free, until social fatherhood, as do the women until motherhood. Men graduate from their final (usually their second) Pepyê festival internment between me ages of 12 and 22. In former times the ages were more like 17 and 27 (cf. Nimuendajú, 1937). In any case, the nkrekre-re period of freedom can be longer for men.

Formerly, after graduation, men moved about in their age-set groups (Plate 40b), with their terminal Pepyê festival deputy commandant or their file leader as their leader [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]. They carried out many kinds of group activities, such as assisting the work on family farms. The graduated age-sets (especially the two youngest, the kàà pê tsuu-yê) would dance around the boulevard repeatedly in the late afternoon and early evening and sing while the council of elders was in session [II.F.1.b.(2).(d)]. They also had footraces [II.F.2.b], sometimes in the evening, but more often in the morning during the council meeting.

Formerly, young men slept all night in their wive’s houses only after childbirth [III.F.4.h] [IV.B.2.b]. More recently, however, young men have moved in to live with their wives’ families sooner—upon marriage—and so become obliged to work on the farms of their fathers-in-law at a younger age. Thus, the nkrekre-re period for men is more encumbered by work than it was. Relative freedom does, however, continue for men even though they become married and fathers. They are freer than mothers from raising children and household duties, and continue their age-set moiety activities to a lesser extent.

The change brought about by fatherhood at a younger age has dramatically reduced young men’s reliance on age-set activities, so it should not be surprising that the age-set as a separate social unit has fallen into almost complete disuse. Only the age-set moieties still carry out various social and tribal activities [III.C.3.c.(1)].

[II.D.3.g] COUVADE

When a baby arrives these days, maybe several years after marriage, the young husband is already well integrated into his wife’s family. In former times, however, the first night he spent in his wife’s house was during the couvade [III.F.A.i] [IV.B.2.C].

Because of the great freedom the young nkrekre-re man enjoyed with his age-set in earlier times, it was necessary for the postpartum couvade to be severe in order to separate him from his recent life and to bind him closely into the marriage. The postpartum couvade was and still is (though less so) difficult for a young man. He was older in those days, maybe in his late teens or twenties, so his greater experience in life might have made the ordeal easier to endure.

Under the direction of the mother-in-law, who cannot speak to her son-in-law because of total avoidance rules [III.E.3.a.(4)], instructions arrive through his wife for him to obey—all for the sake of the baby’s welfare. In the house of his in-laws, particularly during the period of the couvade, he is treated like a stranger. His wife and her female kin, and her male kin who happen to appear, arrange and manage everything. He has little or no say in matters.

During the period of the couvade, he scarcely converses with his wife except to understand and obey directions. Although they are in the same part of the house, a partition stands between them. He does not care for his child but merely lies on his platform bed or on mats on the floor. His food restrictions [IV.D.3.a] are more severe and narrow in scope than his wife’s. At the time the baby’s umbilicus falls off and the navel heals, he goes hunting for meat for his wife so that her milk will flow plentifully. On such expeditions he goes alone, talks to nobody, and behaves almost as if he were in mourning. He must especially avoid sexually active young women [IV.D.3.d.(4)] while hunting and in general.

[II.D.3.h] STATUS OF FATHERHOOD AND SONS-IN-LAW

The father is the principal household provider; his wife’s uncles and brothers are providing for their wives’ families elsewhere, as sons-in-law or fathers-in law. However, research assistants insist that in former times men furnished some meat and other foods for their sisters and their sisters’ children as well, but this is not done today. The young father and husband supplies only his wife’s family and is their principal source of economic support.

A husband helps his wife discipline the children in all the ordinary day-to-day situations. Although rarely done, only a mother or father slap or strike their children in ordinary situations, though rarely, because it is recognized that only parents have sufficient sympathy and feeling for their children to strike them fairly and beneficially. Uncles or aunts, the principal disciplinarians of children in larger problems, do not strike their nieces and nephews except in very extreme and unusual situations [III.A.2.j.(3), k.(2)] [III.A.3.a.(2).(i)].

[II.D.3.h.(1)]

Often when I was visiting a man in his house and something had to be arranged, he would send his son-in-law, rather than his unmarried son, to carry out the chore, such as taking a message to the post or summoning someone to talk to me. No compensation exists for such services; this epitomizes the son-in-law’s role.

The status of the son-in-law seems to have risen, however, since the time of Nimuendajú (1946:125), who reports that the various wives’ brothers visiting the household took considerable advantage of the wives’ husbands living there [III.E.3.a.(2)]. These days, however, the wives’ husbands (the brothers-in-law or sons-in-law (Figure 28)) hold the potential of complaint against their wives’ families for their wives’ marital “infidelities” [III.F.4.e.(2).(b)]. Formerly, such complaints were scarcely listened to, since a husband’s own uncles silenced him, telling him the old traditions allowed his wife considerable freedom. Another factor in the rise of the son-in-law’s status is the greater economic importance of agriculture among the Canela. The son-in-law’s principal activity as a young father is to work with the several other sons-in-law of the house—those having the same father-in-law—in the fields of their wives and their mother-in-law. Thus, the common work unit for clearing the farms is the father-in-law with his several sons-in-law [II.C.3.d]. Thus, the son-in-law who works well in the fields has assumed a position of greater importance and value to family members. They try harder to keep a good son-in-law satisfied these days. Nevertheless, even with his rise in status, the son-in-law still is not usually talkative and active in the house of his wife’s family.

[II.D.3.h.(2)]

As children grow older, their father assumes a more significant role in the house, until he eventually takes over its governing from his father-in-law [III.E.2.d]. It is usually the husband of the oldest daughter who does this, but leadership ability is also considered. If discontented, two or three of the sons-in-law are likely to move out with their wives and children to form another household alongside (or behind) the house of their mother-in-law and their wives’ sisters (Figure 22).

Kracke’s (1978:37–40) analysis of father-in-law authority in uxorilocal residence for the Kagwahiv resembles the Canela situation. The principal differences lie not in the psychologically similar triangular relationship between a man and his daughter and son-in-law, but between this triad and its sociopolitical matrix. First, the young Canela couple cannot leave after just five years of bride service, but must stay with her father until their children are largely grown. Secondly, significant political power lies in the hands of Canela tribal chiefs and in the council of elders, which are higher scale social institutions than the institution of the father-in-law. When, however, his family is away from the tribal village living in their small farm community, the father-in-law may dominate several sons-in-law and other temporary adherents. Tribal chiefs derive their power from their adolescent festival leadership positions, their proven ability in such roles, their later assignment to assist actual chiefs, and their assumed power in successful and unsuccessful schisms [III.D.1.j]—not from the institution of the father-in-law as among the Kagwahív. There the father-in-law successfully attracts and keeps sons-in-law and other adherents so that he becomes a headman through gathering a number of families who are willing to follow his leadership. The latter basis of power and course to individual leadership, however, seems characteristic of the deculturated Krĩkatí (Lave, 1979:39–43).

[II.D.3.i] ADULT MALE ACTIVITIES AND ROLES

Adult men, with their relative freedom from household duties, have a number of other roles besides age-set participation and being fathers, which occupy their time.

[II.D.3.i.(1)]

GOING ON TREK.—An activity that was practiced frequently during the last century and in precontact times was going on trek (khrĩ ?wên to mõ: village trek makes go: the tribe goes on trek). This expression denotes the tribe breaking into two or at the most three large groups for protection through size, research assistants said, unlike in post-pacification times. Groups of 6 to 12 young men with older leaders went to the great cities on the coast. These days, they go to Brasília and São Paulo as well. Women seldom accompanied the men on these trips.

When I first arrived among the Canela and Apanyekra, I made a study of such trips, asking each male about the cities he had visited. Surely some men exaggerated, but the list was impressive: almost every male above the age of 20 had traveled once to a coastal city, and others had gone to such places a number of times (Map 2) [II.A.3.a.(3)].

Indians in those days took trips around Brazil at no expense to themselves, since they were picked up frequently and allowed to travel free in trains, trucks, and horse-drawn vehicles, until the 1970s. When they reached large cities (capitães: capitals: state capitals), they sometimes received invitations to speak over the radio and sing publicly, as did the younger Tààmi in Salvador in 1960. Sometimes, the Brazilian Air Force (FAB) flew them back to Barra do Corda on scheduled flights.

[II.D.3.i.(2)]

CEREMONIAL ROLES.—Women are involved in ceremonial life to a very considerable extent, especially in individual rites [IV.B] (Glossary), but men carry out by far the larger portion of ceremonial roles at the tribal festival level [IV.A]. Festivals are held throughout the whole village, but primarily in the men’s area, the plaza. Individual rites are held around the family houses, part of the women’s domestic world, the circle of houses. Rituals (Glossary) [III.C.8] are held in both locations, though ultimately dominated by the Pró-khãmmã of the plaza but owned and put on by women or men of the houses. Nevertheless, a number of important festival roles for women exist [III.C.9]: male societies have two female associates each, except for the most prestigious Visiting Chiefs [III.C.7.a], who have none, and the most prestigeous of the plaza groups, the Otters, who have only one [III.C.5.c].

Some festival roles give men significant prestige, and the ceremonial respect they gain sometimes carries over into daily life [III.E.10]. In particular, this pertains to the role of the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe [II.B.1.d.(1)] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)], and also to the role of the chief of the Visiting Chiefs (Tàmhàk) [III.C.7.a] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)].

[II.D.3.i.(2).(a)]

Sing-dance leaders (mē nkrel-katê: pl. sing/dance-master) [II.F.1.a] like the older Krôôtô (Plate 77d) in Escalvado and the old Kupaakhà in Porquinhos were highly esteemed by their tribesmen because they could lead and direct the singing and dancing in most festivals with or without a gourd or belt rattle. They could either lead the singing themselves or teach an apprentice how to lead by their side for the duration of a particular festival.

Young sing-dance leaders may receive their training while holding a festival position [II.F.1.a.(1)], singing before the women’s dance line every morning or evening [II.E.4.a, 8], and leading certain sing-dancing formations.

The severe food and sex restrictions against pollutions [IV.D.3.a] during adolescence—so important for developing most adult roles—are not considered necessary for developing the abilities of a great sing-dancer. Nevertheless, these sing-dance leaders have remarkable stamina and memory [II.F.1.a.(2)].

[II.D.3.i.(2).(b)]

As young sing-dance leaders advance in age, one from each age-set is asked to be the master performer for an age-set of the opposite age-set moiety [III.C.3]. He is then made their mē-hõõ-pa?hi (pl. his chief: their [ceremonial] chief) in a ceremony. Standing in the center of the plaza on a mat, he receives small presents from each of his new sing-dance followers. This is the same ceremony in form as the ones in which Visiting Chiefs are installed (Plate 28e, f) [III.C.7.a] or visiting dignitaries are honored [IV.A.5.e.(3)]. In this way, the young honorary chief becomes the sing-dance master [II.F.1.a] for the age-set directly following his own age-set in graduation. Once the honorary chief of an age-set, he is more or less obligated to come out every time his age-set followers want him to lead them in singing and dancing. This is a great honor, but the role does not carry as much ceremonial prestige as being inherently hàmren in status [III.C.7].

[II.D.3.i.(3)]

POLITICAL ROLES.—Men learn political leadership in the initiation ceremonies of the two Nkrel-re (initiation) festivals (Glossary)—the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê [IV.A 3.c.(1), (2)]. Some novices are more able in leadership than others, so they are appointed the deputy commandant (mē-kapõn-katê kahàk-re) (Nimuendajú, 1946:182), or the file leader (mamkhyê-?ti) [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)] by the Pró-khãmmã. Between the four to five Nkrel-re festival internments, the deputy commandant may be changed each time. If a particular individual is outstanding, he is re-appointed to the post from festival year to festival year. The deputy commandant at the time of his age-set’s graduation is his age-set leader for life. He is also one of the more obvious candidates for the tribal chieftainship when an old chief dies. Thus, the festival system prepares young men for political leadership of the tribe [III.D.1.i.(1)].

[II.D.3.i.(4)]

TOWN CRIER.—After every tribal council meeting, and in a number of other situations, the town crier (Glossary) (mēhààpàl-katê: them urge-on master: the one who urges them on) [II.E.8] sings messages from the center of the plaza, which all Canela are expected to hear and obey. The position of the town crier (Plate 51d) was thought to be hàmren in status [II.C.7] by some Canela individuals, but information from my most well-informed research assistants indicated this was not the case. This role is onerous because the town crier must be in the plaza every day, carrying out necessary activities after all council meetings. The Pró-khãmmã chooses the individual for this position because he has physical stamina and a good voice. He is decorated in the center of the plaza in urucu and falcon down, after which the whole tribe lays presents at his feet, since he will be serving them all.

I have known a number of men assigned this position, such as the younger Krôôtô (Plate 70g) and Hoy (Plate 77h), but they invariably tire of the tedious repetition of the job and eventually fail to carry it out. Old Kawkhre (sitting, far side of circle, Plate 40d) filled this role well in Ponto, and Rôô-re-?hô (Plate 68d) was very consistent with it in Baixão Prêto and Escalvado for years. Only these two men consistently carried out the role during my period with the Canela. Usually, when the town crier is not available, the tribal chief, or anyone with a good voice, steps away from the council of elders [III.D.2] when their meeting ends and performs this role.

[II.D.3.i.(5)]

SHAMANS.—Ghosts may visit a very sick person, and through curing him, make him a curer (kay) [IV.D.1.e]. Also, a number of youths become shamans during their adolescence because they have visitations from ghosts during their formerly lengthy postpubertal restrictions period, or during their Pepyê festival internment [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)]. These youths are then given a chance to prove their ability to cure specific diseases during a presentation in the plaza before the whole tribe (Plate 29). If successful, these young men are then generally known to be able to cure certain sicknesses. They are called upon at any time to carry out cures. They are paid a certain amount for their effort only after a successful cure.

[II.D.3.i.(6)]

HUNTERS.—Recognition as an exceptional hunter (Plate 15c) is very prestigious for a Canela man [III.A.3.c.(1).(d)]. The political chief of the tribe is more prestigious, but for the average man, the role of being a good hunter is highly rewarded by the admiration of others in general. The Canela and Apanyekra have strong cravings for meat. A special expression even exists for hunger for meat as distinguished from hunger for any other food (i-yatê: I hungry-for-meat). Women select husbands, lovers, and contributing-fathers [III.E.9] [IV.B.2.a] partly for their ability to provide meat.

Successful hunters have the advantage over others in extramarital sexual relationships [III.A.3.c.(3).(j)]. Women like to receive a present from a man before beginning sex, even if they have taken the initiative [III.F.8.b]. Because of this tradition, a little meat as a present goes a long way toward enabling a man to have extensive extramarital adventures [IV.A.3.f].

While the Canela were in the village of Sardinha in the dry forests [II.B.2.g], little meat was available. But partly because it was almost necessary to give a woman some meat in order to gain her cooperation in sexual activities during those hungry times, the practice of extramarital sex diminished considerably, I am told.

[II.D.3.i.(7)]

FARMER AND HUNTER COMPARED.—Farming does not carry the same high prestige as hunting even though most food these days comes from farm plots maintained by family members [II.C.3.g]. The greater prestige of hunting suggests the earlier reliance on game. Although the Canela spend far more time on farming than hunting, I think they are closer to their hunting and gathering background psychologically than they are to their food producing one, even though they have relied principally on agriculture during the 20th century. Canela men love the excitement and skills of hunting and find the practices of farming dull and uninteresting (Plate 12c, d). Both require endurance, but the endurance of farming is hard labor with an axe or machete under the noonday sun, or weeding growing crops with the wife and older children. There is little glamour in such activities for the Canela male who wants movement [III.B.1.c.(4)].

The hunter, however, receives a great deal of enjoyment out of the skills of tracking, concealment, and the final dash before shooting. Then the wounded quarry may have to be chased for many kilometers. In any case, the physical activity and skills of hunting are more thrilling to the Canela. When somebody comes into the village with a deer across his shoulders (Plate 15c), the news passes quickly to everybody. It is not easy to shoot a deer and bring it back to the village without being seen, and everybody wants a portion for her- or himself. But when people return from their fields with roots, tubers, and grains, nobody notices them, because field products are relatively plentiful and lack prestige.

[II.D.3.j] MIDDLE AGE

When men are entering their 50s, some of them are thought to be mē ?khà-re (they skin/body-dim.: they a little bit tough) (Table 9, stage 13), and this might be termed “middle-aged.” By their late 50s and early 60s, they are mē ?khà (they skin/body), without the -re, indicating they are fully “tough.” Being mē’ ?khà implies that a person has become “tough”: he can endure almost anything [III.B.1.e.(3)]. The very fact that a person has lived to reach his 50s and 60s is proof he has overcome a number of diseases and has survived hard work for a long time (Figure 16). This hardiness is seen in the behavior of the person as well as in the state of his health.

Such mē ?khà individuals used to be highly respected just because they had survived and were conducting their life roles well. Today survival alone, however, does not inspire such respect. When people have advanced to their 70s and 80s, research assistants do not deny that they are mē ?khà, but the definition and full sense of the meaning may no longer be applicable.

The term ?khà can also be applied to women. Among the Apanyekra, the expression mē ?khà replaces the Canela term Pro-khãmmã for the council of elders.

[II.D.3.k] COUNCIL OF ELDERS

By the time a man is over 50, he is likely to be a member of the council of elders [III.D.2]. This membership adds dignity [III.B.1.f.(4)] to the life of older men. There can be no question that they have a purpose—serving the village through debating various points of significance—and they can return home to hold forth before the women, children, and younger men, about what was going on in the plaza. Such reporting enhances their prestige and gives them a special role in the household.

The councilors also enjoy much camaraderie both before and after the formal meetings in the plaza, particularly in the evening [II.E.7]. It is gratifying to these older men to have some place to go in the evenings where they can enjoy themselves and carry out an important role as well. Membership in me council includes the older age-sets of both age-set moieties and involves every older man whether hàmren or not [III.C.7], thus maintaining prestige for all older men.

[II.D.3.1] OLD AGE

Old men in their 70s and above—usually two or three are in their early 80s—are weaker and less firm in their speech and bearing. They often have staffs and lean on them while walking. They can still wear body paints, though they are more likely to use just solid black, if any at all. They usually smoke rolled cigarettes, rather than pipes, which are characteristic of old women, whether Indians or backlanders. Old men often sing alone in the early morning while their relatives are still sleeping. By this time they have lost any traces of their former fierceness and authority, if they had these characteristics, and are little restricted by what they call “shame” [III.A.3.c.3.(a)].

Old age does not require any sort of retirement from being a councilor in the late afternoon and morning meetings. Aged men are welcomed in the plaza during these meetings and often make significant verbal contributions. Their attendance, however, is likely to be less frequent.

These days, Canela over 65 years old receive pensions for having retired from the agricultural work force of the country. Consequently, they are economically significant in supporting their relatives. Older men appear to be happy, calm, and usually at peace with the world and their age.

[II.E] Daily Cycle

[II.E.1] Definitions of Individual Activities

In some societies, the daily round of activities is extremely irregular or diffuse. When the Canela are in residence in their village the daily cycle is quite regular but rather complex (Table 7). The Canela make a distinction between festival activities (amyi-?khin nã: self-esteem in: during a time of positive self-expression, joy, and euphoria) and all other activities that can occur simultaneously. In Canela dualism I found no term in opposition to amyi-?khin nã that covers all other activities. Daily cycle activities are subsumed in the category, “all other activities,” which also includes an individual’s life cycle rite activities and a person’s idiosyncratic activities. Except for the contrast between tribal festival activities [IV.A] and all other activities, these distinctions are imposed as an explanatory vehicle. Most life cycle rites are put on by the individual’s kindred, but some are staged in the setting of a festival and governed by the council of elders. Those that are put on by the individual’s kindred are called “individual rites” [IV.B] here.

[II.E.1.a] OCCURRENCE OF DAILY AND FESTIVAL ACTIVITIES

While festival activities are in progress, daily cycle, individual rites, and idiosyncratic activities may also take place. More characteristically, when festival activities stop in the plaza on any particular festival day, daily cycle activities take over. Individual rites are not usually carried out on busy festival days, but occasionally they are. There is, however, no necessary opposition or exclusion of one while the other is taking place. Obviously, idiosyncratic activities do take place during the occurrence of any of the other activity categories.

Before I was well aware of the characteristics of specific festivals, I used to ask if a certain activity I was watching was amyi-?khin nã, i.e., part of the festival. Clearly, the evening, morning, and afternoon sing-dances were not part of the festival, but some boulevard sing-dancing on a festival day was amyi-?khin nã, and some was not. During the Festival of Oranges [IV.A.3.f.(5)], for instance, the women’s group singing just outside the village in the evening is part of the festival, but the evening sing-dance taking place at the same time in the plaza is not. In addition, when the Pepyê novices [IV.A.3.c.(2).(c)] are going through the various stages of transformation from being seclusion-oriented to being open society-oriented, they join the morning sing-dancing for the first time. Here, joining the sing-dancing is a Pepyê festival activity, but the sing-dancing itself is a daily cycle activity for the tribe. They occur at the same time.

[II.E.1.b] NONDAILY CYCLE ACTIVITIES

In selecting the activities that are part of the daily cycle, I am excluding festival activities, individual rites, idiosyncratic behavior, and any other activities that cannot be seen as being part of the daily, repetitive routine that takes place while the Canela are assembled in their village. For instance, plaza curing ceremonies are in this smaller category of “other activities.”

For a greater part of the year the Canela are either residing in their farm huts or living next to the houses of regional backlanders [II.C.3.g], doing odd jobs in exchange for food. (About 75 percent of the total Canela population reside in the village residence less than half the year.) Obviously, they do have a daily routine while away from the village on their farms, but these farm practices are too different and diffuse, varying too much with the different needs of individual families, to be reconstructed as a farm life daily cycle. While the Canela are in their village, however, a daily pattern of activities exists. They feel no necessity, however, for performing every item on their traditional daily agenda every day, especially these days, due to the omnipresent effects of deculturation and acculturation. For instance, sometimes no sing-dance leaders are willing to perform for a daily sing-dance, so it does not occur. All sing masters may be sick, in mourning, visiting Barra do Corda, away on backland trading trips, or just unwilling to perform. Sometimes, when a council meeting follows an afternoon dance, youths may not feel like sing-dancing around the boulevard. They feel no compulsion to perform these potential daily activities just to complete me cycle’s agenda.

[II.E.2] Time Orientations

The Canela point to the area of the sky where the sun will be, or was, to indicate when an event will, or did, occur. In the late 1970s, however, many men did indicate the occurrence of events by the hour of the day. The Canela also give descriptive expressions, related to the position or characteristics of the sun or other elements, to indicate the time of day. These expressions are found in Table 6.

After carrying out considerable research on the characteristics of the Canela unit “today,” and after relating Canela terms and expressions with solar events, I was able to reconstruct precise periods of time, around the clock and for several days ahead and behind, which follow their view of past and future Canela “todays.”

The word for “today” is ita-khãm (this-in: this one [day] we are in) phonemically and itá-khãmmã phonetically [Ap.4.a.(6)]. It is, however, simply written as itakhãm.

If the speaker is talking during the daytime (i.e., between sunrise and sunset), the itakhãm she or he is referring to includes three periods: (1) the night before (sunset to sunrise), (2) the daytime she or he is in (sunrise to sunset), and (3) the next night (sunset to sunrise). Thus, itakhãm (today) for the Canela person speaking in the daytime (sunrise to sunset) refers to a period of 36 hours and its time markers are sunset (pùt tsàl: sun enters) and sunrise (pùt katol: sun comes-out) (Table 6).

If the speaker wants to talk about the adjacent nights, she or he says itakhãm katswa ri (today’s night there), letting the context indicate which one is meant (Figure 12). If she or he wants to specify which night is meant more precisely, itakhãm katswari amu tē (today’s night away moves: last night) indicates the past one, while itakhãm katswari aypên tē (today’s night this-way moves: tonight) indicates the approaching one. (Katswa and katswa ri have essentially the same meaning: night.)

The sequence of “todays” is seen as being linear, the past ones going away from the speaker, and the future ones coming toward her or him—to eventually pass by her or him and then go away in turn [V.A.6].

The term for tomorrow is ape’-?nã (daylight-on: tomorrow), which is the next day, from sunrise to sunset, when the speaker is talking in the daytime. “Tomorrow night” is apē?nã katswa ri (tomorrow’s night there), from sunset to sunrise. Apē?nã hakpμμ.-mã (tomorrow’s backed-onto: tomorrow’s beyond day: the day after tomorrow) means the day after tomorrow, and apē?nã hakpμμ-mã katswali (tomorrow’s backed-onto’s night: tomorrow’s beyond day’s beyond night: the night before the day after tomorrow) is the night just before the day after tomorrow. It is interesting that while the Canela unit of today that the speaker is in lasts 36 hours, the Canela tomorrow (one daytime and one nighttime) and the Canela day after tomorrow (one daytime and one nighttime) last only 24 hours each.

The Canela view of yesterday and the day before yesterday is similar to their view of tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. Complications are added, however, when the individual is speaking at night rather than during the day, and before midnight in contrast to after midnight. Because of the complexity of the references to time in terms of the speaker’s position in relation to the days to come and the days past, this topic is discussed more fully in Appendix 5. Figure 12 represents these concepts pictorially.

TABLE 6.—Canela expressions for time of day and their translations.

TABLE 7.—Daily cycle of events of Canela.

[II.E.3] Evening Activities

The Canela day begins at sunset. I first noticed this when people talked during the evening about “the morning dance today,” meaning the coming dawn one, which to me was going to take place tomorrow. Consequently, it seems appropriate to begin the discussion of the Canela daily cycle with occurrences just after sunset.

Sunset for the Canela is pùt tsàl (sun enters). Twilight is a?preprel and the early evening when the night is first completely dark, is katswa khat (night’s base). Unlike the daytime, which begins sharply with sunrise, the nighttime is pictured as having a “root” that precedes its base (khat), namely, twilight. Nine or ten o’clock can be rá-mã katswa ùù (already nighttime long).

[II.E.3.a] TWILIGHT

In the Canela world, this twilight period is most delightful, with picturesque skies, warmth emanating from the sand, and soft indirect light. It is a time for peace and relaxation.

[1]Nighttime’s today: ego talking before midnight.

[2]Daytime’s today: ego talking only during daytime.

[3]Nighttime’s today: ego talking after midnight.

FIGURE 12.—Canela concepts of “this day”: daytime’s “today” (itakhãm) and nighttime’s “today” (katswa itakhãm). The “today,” or the “this day,” in which the speaker is talking is 36 hours long. Related time markers (sunset, sunrise, and midnight) differ in time-distance away from the speaker depending on whether this person is speaking during the daytime, during the nighttime before midnight, or during the nighttime after midnight.

In earlier years, the council of elders adjourned their meeting in the center of the plaza just after sunset (6 to 6:30 PM) and returned to their homes for the evening meal. In the late 1950s, however, the chiefs’ employment in the Indian service [II.B.4] has delayed the start of the afternoon council until 6:30 to 7 PM, so it is really an evening meeting. Both earlier and today, the two most recently graduated age-sets and the novices [III.C.3.a] dance around the boulevard usually in single file, chanting a number of songs. These days, however, the younger men sing-dance around the boulevard considerably less often than formerly, frequently preferring to sit in their age-sets’ position at the edge of the plaza (Figure 24), or even sitting as individuals around the council of elders [III.D.2] in order to listen to the discussions. This period of the evening is a time of male sociability when women are preparing meals in houses or attending babies and children. Cooking fires appear inside or behind the houses, and for the Canela, the day is just beginning.

One electrifying event occurs at this time every 28 to 29 days. The youths shout and cheer at the first evidence of a new moon in the western sky, no matter how dim or slim. They watch for this occurrence as the sky grows darker (Nimuendajú, 1946:232). The cheering acknowledges the moon’s association with a woman’s approximately 28-day fertility cycle. The youths love women and sex, and finding the first sliver of the new moon is a challenge and fun.

[II.E.3.b] EVENING SING-DANCE

At the end of the council meeting most men return to their wives’ houses, but others visit the homes of female kin. Younger men may continue to sing in the boulevard for a while, or may disband and return to their homes. Then by about 7:30 PM, but always after the council meeting, the sing-dance leader (Nimuendajú, 1946:114–117) [II.F.1.a] appointed during the meeting by the councilors or by members of one of the age sets, begins to roll his rattle in the center of the plaza, waiting for the women’s sing-dance line to form. There are about 12 sing-dance leaders, beginners and masters, who could conduct the evening session.

The evening sing-dance starts at the center of the plaza with a few strong-voiced women and a hahĩ-owner forming the core of the singing. Later other girls and women join, extending the single sing-dance row to 20 or 30, all of whom face uphill toward the sing-dance leader (Plate 33), regardless of the cardinal directions. During festivals, this same “daily” sing-dance line may be extended to between 60 and 70 women. Those who have young daughters dancing sit behind and downhill from the line of women, where their babies and children play in the sand. Men may be conversing in their houses with their families, or having private trysts with lovers [III.F.8]. On festival occasions, they still may be singing with their age-set around the boulevard.

By about 9 or 10 PM, the evening dance is over, and women in and behind the dancing line drift slowly homeward. Sometimes younger women and teen-agers want additional fun, so they summon another sing-dance leader to lead them in a different set of songs that are more informal and come from another Eastern Timbira tribe. Youths join this phase of the sing-dancing, which may involve expanding and contracting circles, files coiling in and out, or any of many other formations. It is noteworthy that the Canela claim these various kinds of late evening sing-dances came from other tribes [II.F.1.b.(2).(a)] rather than from their ancestors.

[II.E.3.c] TROUBADOURS

If the weather is good, four to eight singers of both sexes may continue to sing without a maraca, while walking very slowly around the boulevard when most of the villagers are asleep or going to sleep. This serenading is rare these days and usually occurs during great festivals when no festival acts have taken place that evening. These troubadour-like serenaders [II.F.1.b.(2).(b)] sing sad but relaxing music in a minor key, in slowly resolved chords. This poignant serenading may continue past midnight.

At one or two in the morning other troubadours—and this occurs even more rarely—serenade the villagers, strolling in a small group around the boulevard in the same manner. At this time the singing appears to my ear to be in the major key common to the West. (This may not be precisely the case.) This is the only time the Canela or Apanyekra use a similar scale to the major Western one to my knowledge, and again the chords are long-held and slowly resolved. Research assistants say this serenading was done more frequently in the distant past.

[II.E.4] Midnight and Early Morning Activities

It is surprising to me how early the Canela get up in the morning whether to sing-dance, watch festivities, fabricate material artifacts, or make an early start on the trip to their farm or the house of a backland family. This early rising is less surprising, however, when one considers the beauty of the early morning with its soft tones and freshness. Moreover, the Canela find time to nap for moments at different times during the day so that getting a full night’s sleep is not important.

It is noteworthy that the Canela speak of midnight (katswa pikapõn: nighttime divided-in-half) with precision while noon (pùt pa-?khrã yimok jμ: sun our-head over sits: the sun is overhead), in contrast, is not referred to precisely. Midnight is a principal divider of the Canela night’s “today” [A.5.b], while noon divides nothing.

At awkatê-tsà ?wèl (dawn-period toward), no sign of dawn or light on the horizon exists, but the dawn sing-dance begins at this time: 2–3 AM. When some daylight is about to appear at 3:30–4 AM, they may say apē yà?têp (daylight near). When some definite coloring of the sky occurs, the expression koykhwa kaprêk khãm (sky red at) can be applied as a time indicator—about 4–4:30 AM. When daylight has definitely arrived, they say katswa ka?hul (night’s end), apē katol khãm (daylight arrived at), or apē yihôt (daylight’s point). There are many more expressions marking the times of the morning than for the evening. The early morning is the more valued part of the day, because the Canela enjoy its coolness and changing colors more than the darkness of the late evening.

[II.E.4.a] EARLY MORNING SING-DANCE

By two or three in the morning, the sing-dance leader, who was probably appointed by the council or one of the age-sets the afternoon before, emerges from his house and goes to the plaza where he begins to rotate his gourd-rattle for all in the village to hear. Summoned this way, energetic young women and older girls are expected to join him promptly. Still young owners of ceremonial honor sashes [II.G.3.a.(8)] should be the first women to appear and to form the dance line [II.D.2.f, III.A.3.b.(3).(a)]. Sometimes the best Canela singing occurs when only three or four of these vocal experts in their cotton sashes sing at the top of their voices. It is exciting to watch a singing duel—as it almost is—between a great sing-dance master with his gourd rattle and one or two hahĩ mē-ntsii with their cotton singing sashes (hahĩ). The women sing with high volume at the sing-dance leader who is singing powerfully and directly, facing them. They accentuate the several part harmony by bending their knees to the rhythm but keeping their torsos erect. When the sing-dance master pauses, for whatever reason, the cotton sash owners (Plate 32a) must carry on the singing unhesitatingly. They are also know as the mē hõ-?khre-pôy (pl. their throat comes-out-from: it comes out of their throats: singers).

When more women assemble in the sing-dance line, the vocal quality deteriorates, though the volume increases. During this type of singing, the Western listener hears some dissonance, because the Canela singing at this point becomes microtonal. Until I heard three or four experts sing this way alone, I wrongly assumed some of the singers in the large groups were off key.

[II.E.4.a.(1)]

Usually, after the first three or four more eager women have come to the plaza, the less involved ones may still be reluctant to appear. Consequently, a young male leader goes from door to door calling them out. He uses their names, his relationship terms for them, or the necessary circumlocutions for his avoidance women. He moves on to the next house only when older female relatives give “valid” reasons excusing girls. The leader is very persistent, insisting a girl should not be “stingy” [III.B.1.a]. After going once around the village boulevard, he leads his young group to the plaza where they join the sing-dance line.

[II.E.4.a.(2)]

By 3–3:30 AM, some boys and young men come to the plaza and either sit around watching or join the fun. They dance about individually in front of the dance line, skipping and hopping, and occasionally making whoops of delight and shouts of enthusiasm. Women are “bound” in a single line facing the sing-dance leader, while men move about individually in front of the female line and over most of the plaza, behind and on all sides of the sing-dance leader. Men, except for the sing-dance leader, do not sing (cf. Seeger, 1981:86) with the women during these “daily” social (i.e., not ceremonial) dances, though they do sing with them in most festival situations.

[II.E.4.a.(3)]

The early morning sing-dances start slowly, but by about 4:30 AM they move into fast time while the men shout and blow their horns (Plate 56a) [II.G.3.e.(1)], and play on small ocarina-like gourds [II.G.3.e.(4)], which have four tiny holes for fingers and one more to blow across. They use none of these instruments to produce melodies, nor do they tune them to a certain pitch; they just use them to increase the existing sounds and excitement [III.B.1.c.(4)].

Around five in the morning, the sing-dance leader begins to sing the terminal set of slower and more formal songs, making everyone more serious. The performance ends around 5:30 AM. By this time it is broad daylight, but the sun has not yet risen. The Canela always stop singing before the sun appears. They stop soon enough for young men and women to become calm before going down to any one of the swim-bathing holes in the nearby streams. On the way, young men blow cheerily on their gourd ocarinas and sometimes make loud cries in the style of several festival acts, such as the high and descending calls of the all night singing of the Pepyê festival, just before the novices go out to shoot field rats not long after sunrise [IV.A.3.c.(2)]. The pace has slowed from the dawn dancing period, but the euphoria lingers on.

The Apanyekra follow a similar early morning sequence of events, but I have never heard the two types of “troubadour” singing while among them.

[II.E.4.b] BATHING

Both the Canela and Apanyekra believe the young must bathe in the cold water of streams every morning to grow up strong and healthy. Therefore, the unmarried of both sexes, and the young marrieds up to 30 or 35 almost always go bathing at this time in the several bathing spots (Map 5). Women usually carry large gourds to procure water, or these days five liter cans or even ceramic pots. Their little children often accompany them, but older children may go with friends in groups.

In earlier times women and men bathed together nude. They still did this in the late 1950s, though the practice was diminishing. By the 1970s, women always wore wrap-around cloth skirts from the waist to the knees when out of water. They were already self-conscious about “being seen” by men. (Ka te hõõ-pun: you past-tense her-see: you saw her [genitals].) When covered by water, however, they did not mind the presence of men. Opposite-sex people of certain relationships, however, carefully avoided being in and near the bathing holes at the same time: uterine siblings, parents and their adolescent offspring, and high avoidance-related individuals (affinals and Formal Friends) [III.E.3.a.(4)]. If one member of such a pair was already in the water hole area, the arriving member waited up the trail, slightly out of sight of the bathing hole.

While some Canela now use soap these days, none used it for bathing in the late 1950s. At that time, they asked for soap primarily to scent their hair. Most people bathe twice a day (morning and noon), using a lot of hand friction and sand on their ankles and legs. In the morning, people can be seen by the water holes swiftly brushing their teeth with their fingers. Today, a few use tooth brushes in their houses.

[II.E.5] Morning Activities

While the morning is the principal time for work—the most serious and sober time of day—the Canela drift into it slowly. Thus, after the sun is up, they still race, sing, hold meetings, visit kin, and eat slowly before beginning any sort of economically supportive work.

When the sun makes its appearance, they say pùt khrã katol (sun’s head/ball comes-out), or more simply, pùt katol (sunrise). This is the beginning of the daytime; any time before sunrise is nighttime. Dawn (awkati-tsà ?wèl: light period toward) is part of the nighttime; the sun has not yet arrived. When the sun is fully up, from about 6:15–7:30 AM, the period is irààràn (no translation), and at about 8–10 AM, the expression used may be pùt yààpil khãm (sun climbed-up at).

[II.E.5.a] AGE-SET MEETINGS

When the Canela come back from bathing, women go home and men go to their age-set places (Nimuendajú, 1946:90) (Figure 24; Plate 40f) on the edge of the plaza, where they sit by fires and chat. Pró-khãmmã, and men of the age-sets (Glossary) who sit with the Pró-khãmmã, soon leave their age-set groups and go to the center of the plaza to begin the morning council meeting. Usually, they begin the council of elders (Glossary) when the chief arrives, and then the style of speaking becomes more formal (Figure 18). (While men do not work in groups organized by age-set anymore, they do hold meetings at the edge of the plaza organized by age-sets.)

[II.E.5.b] MORNING COUNCIL MEETING

Likely topics of the morning council meeting are the following: unresolved problems of the previous late afternoon meeting, activities of certain men’s groups, assignment of female associates to working groups, assignment of tribal messengers to go to backland communities to buy necessary goods, and other possibilities. They also decide which acts and steps will be performed in the festival that day and by whom. Subjects are related more to the activities of the coming day than to discussions of the evening before. (For more on council meetings, see [III.D.1.c.(1)] and [III.D.2.a, e].)

[II.E.5.C] TRACK EVENTS

Sometimes during the council meeting, younger men hold various sorts of competitions between the age-sets such as log-races, relay races with batons, and individual foot races several times around the boulevard [II.F.2.a.(3), b]. These races occur less frequently now than formerly, but even now council members occasionally stop talking to watch the outcome of a race.

[II.E.5.d] MEN VISIT FEMALE KIN

By 7:30 AM the council meeting is over, and the councilors and youths troop back to their houses for food and family matters. Men often visit the houses of mothers or sisters to discuss problems with their female kin [II.D.2.i.(4)], where they, as a mothers’ brother or a brother, hold ultimate authority [III.A.3.b.(1).(b)]. This is the time for short interfamilial hearings [III.D.3.b], almost always on marital problems.

[II.E.5.e] OFF TO WORK

Some women go off to the family farm (Map 7) as early as 5 or 6 o’clock; others leave by 8 or 9. Still other women stay in the village, tending children and preparing food or possibly making objects for their own use and, especially these days, for sale ([II.B.2.g.(7), II.C.3.g], and [Ep.6.a]). Both sexes may get ready for a serious interfamily judicial hearing (Glossary) [III.D.3.b, c], which may last all morning. Men may go to the farms with their wives at this time or remain home doing odd jobs or making artifacts. Sometimes, men go out with their age-set moieties to work on a task for the tribe, such as clearing or maintaining tribal boundaries: narrow vistas cut through the cerrado [III.D.1.c.(2)], or they might repair the road to Barra do Corda, hunt in a group, harvest rice, or help finish the work on another person’s farm.

[II.E.5.f] WOMEN FOR MALE WORK GROUPS

For many of these work groups, the chief used to select several girl associates (mē kuytswè) (Glossary) to go with each moiety for sexual purposes. These women usually did not have husbands (mē mpíyapit) (Glossary) [II.D.2.i.(6)] [III.F.4.b.(2)]. These days (1970s), it is hard to find women of any category to accompany the men, because a stigma is increasingly being attached to activities that run counter to the backlanders’ way of life [II.B.4], to the folk Catholicism the Canela are learning [E.4.b.(2).(e)], and to the spirit of SIL translations of the New Testament [Ep.5.d]. Traditionally, however, female associates mixed with the men during the morning work period, depending on what kind of activity the group was undertaking. On age-set moiety hunting days, the women with each moiety remained at a camp to wait for the men’s return. If the day’s task was working in fields or on territorial boundaries, the women mixed with the men while they worked, joking with them and generally adding amusement. If the men were working in fields of the Indian service, they hid the women nearby to avoid disapproval from service personnel.

[II.E.5.g] QUALITY OF WORK

The Canela work sporadically, but have time to find fun in almost everything they do [III.B.1.c]. Everything is done with great care. To most outsiders, they probably do not seem to be working very hard in their farms, and they lack persistence [II.D.3.i.(7)]. They seem to converse a great deal, rest much of the time, and indulge in childlike play. I have also observed this style of work occurring during the construction of village houses. Backlanders of the region said backland workers on their farms did twice the amount of work the Canela do in a day on a backlander farm. Their daily work period usually lasts only 4 to 5 hours.

Canela youths tend to work more consistently if they are carrying out an agricultural task in a group, and even more so if female associates are present. Under such conditions, those who are working hard anyway may exert themselves even more to impress the women [III.A.3.c.(3).(j)]. The point was made many times by research assistants that working alone in one’s own field is sad and quiet (a?karĩk-ti) [III.B.1.c.(3)] but that working together with others is full of gaiety and fun. The leader of the group occasionally urges them on through song and individual verbal encouragement.

[II.E.6] Mid-Day and Afternoon Activities

Serious work in the fields, or on projects in the village, stops shortly after noon. Then people undertake lighter matters as the heat of the day begins to tell. If the sun is not overcast, sands of the village boulevard become so hot that even toughened Canela soles can scarcely bear the heat. Individuals find shade, lie down to rest, catch naps, and chat (Table 6). The working part of the day is over (a notably short period) and men turn to more pleasing matters. Woman’s work in the houses, however, is never over, but they too manage to catch naps.

When away from the village and living in huts by their farm plots, men work in the afternoons alone in the fields or with their wives, or with their father- and brothers-in-law and their wives, depending on the time of the year and the needs of the fields [II.C.3]. When the base of operations is in the village, the daily village schedule is considerably different, because afternoon log races, sing-dances, and council meetings do not occur.

[II.E.6.a] SIESTA

On an age-set moiety work day, the Canela labor from about 9 AM to noon or 1 PM, and then rest until 3 or 4:30 o’clock when they race home with logs. During the rest period they doze or sleep, eat small amounts of food, bathe in a nearby stream, and perhaps have sex. The women (usually two or three) wait in the bushes in different directions from the base camp so that they cannot be seen either from the camp or from each other’s location. Waiting their turn, men sit or lie in a group close enough to the women’s several locations in the bushes so that they can see when a man stands up, signifying he is leaving.

Research assistants say that in such impersonal group situations the sexual act takes place very quickly, perhaps in less than a minute: 10 to 24 thrusts. If a man takes much longer, he is likely to become the target of jokes. The position for intercourse used at such times is always their impersonal one, with the woman on her back and the man squatting between her legs, which are raised over his thighs. (For more on extramarital sex relations, see [II.D.2.e.(3), g] [III.A.2.j.(6).(b), (c)][III.F.8], and [IV.A.3.f].)

On ordinary village-based (not farm-based) days, women were not usually provided. Men working in a certain region—on one or two streams (Map 7)—assemble where logs have been cut [II.F.2.a.(1).(b)] to race back to the village in this manner.

[II.E.6.b] LOG RACE

Log racing [II.F.2.a] (Figure 13; Plates 34, 35) is a Pan-Gê sport (Nimuendajú, 1946:146). It is a principal daily cycle, village-based activity and is a favored way of returning from work sites to the village in the mid-afternoon. Basically, each Canela moiety has a heavy log, which one runner from each team carries on his left shoulder. When he becomes tired, he passes the log to the next runner on his team. The logs are so heavy that it takes four men to lift and place one log onto the shoulder of the first runner. The team that carries their log to the village first wins.

Races often start from near the day’s work site. The moiety that made the challenge just after the morning council meeting in the plaza, cuts the pair of buriti logs from one tree and prepares them to be the right shape and nearly equal in weight—usually around 100 kilos. Much time is spent testing the logs by walking and jogging with them.

Then the other moiety, which has been working all morning and is now resting not far away, enters the area where the logs are displayed so that the two teams can pick up their logs at approximately the same time and start racing to the village. The rest of the moiety members shout and urge their runners to do well. By this time the women, and other villagers who are not racing, have gone ahead so they can see some of the race from the sides of the trail, or so they can be near the village to see the finish.

Another and Parallel scenario takes place when the men leave for the afternoon log race from the village. This is done when they have not been working in a group on a farm, road, or boundary project, or been out on a moiety hunting expedition; or, when a number of men working in farms on adjacent streams have agreed to race home together. It is also done when the tribal council members have agreed on a certain day to work in the village and not to go out to work in the family farm plots.

If a log race takes place during the Wè?tè season, the challenging age-set moiety team assembles in their Wè?tè house before going out to race. For about half an hour before they gather there, one of their members sings in a corner of the house to summon the rest of his moiety. He stands singing with his arms high and his hands on the top of a ceremonial lance. While waiting for others to arrive, those present often put fresh bands of anajá palm leaf frond just above their ankles, just back of their wrists, around their waists (including a short tail), and around their foreheads to make a headdress (often with points in front). This is done to look fresh and dashing [III.B.1.f] for the race, and maybe for certain female spectators [III.A.3.c.(3).(j)].

Once most of the runners have assembled, the monotone chanting by the summoner stops. It is usually somewhere between 2 and 2:30 PM when the runners leave the village, walking rapidly in single file along a trail to where the log cutters are shaping the racing logs. The racers join in the final cutting, preparing, and maybe the painting of the logs. Then they test them, passing them from shoulder to shoulder. Onlookers chat and talk during this period to motivate the runners

FIGURE 13.—Timbira sport of relay racing between two age-set moiety teams, each carrying a buriti log.

.

At about 3:30 or 4, members of the challenged team assemble similarly in their Wè?tè house. They also go out to the agreed-upon place. Once the two teams have sighted each other, the challenged team members jog swiftly to pick up their log, hoping the challengers’ small head start will not leave them too far behind.

Many men and some women watch and run along side the racers through the cerrado, cheering on certain runners to overtake and pass their immediate opponents [II.F.2.a.(1).(f)]. The town criers [II.D.3.i.(4)] or chiefs may also urge on their team in a chanting style which augments the already considerable noise. Some youths may play their gourd ocarinas (Table 8, item 22; Plate 58c) [II.G.3.e.(4)], others may blast their horns (Table 8, item 20a, c; Plate 56a, 65e) [II.G.3.e.(1)], and still others may shout and urge on their team. In the great race of the Krówa-ti in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, girls and young women with gourds (Table 8, item 29) follow the racers in order to give them water along the way (Nimuendajú, 1946:138). Some runners may wear belts with deer-hoof-tip pendants hanging behind in a bunch (Table 8, item 5; Plate 59h) [II.G.3.a.(5)], and one runner may wear a heavy cotton belt with tapir-hoof pendants hanging down on all sides (tsù) (Table 8, item 3; Plates 56d, 60c, d) [II.G.3.a.(3)].

My favorite trick was to run well ahead of the racers (they jog slowly with heavy logs) in order to place myself and camera in heavy shrubbery directly in their path. The thundering herd of racing men then had to split and go around my island of bushes, and as they did, I caught close-ups of their expressive faces (Figure 13).

Arriving in the village, the leading team drops its log in the boulevard, as does the losing one. Then usually the team that has just lost makes a challenging shout in unison, and the now-challenged team swiftly responds with a corresponding shout—loud and crisp [III.B.1.f.(1)]. Consequently, the logs are lined up again in the boulevard by the challenging team, with the logs always exchanged to insure fairness in equal weights by the logs’ cutters. The challenged team members run in to pick up their log, and the race is on again, around the boulevard. These revenge races may be carried out several times, while the men become increasingly exhausted. After these races in the boulevard are over, men troop to the bathing holes (Maps 5, 6) to wash and cool off.

Participants talk a great deal about these races, but once they enter the plaza any grudge talk must cease. Members of both age-set moieties are there, and nothing competitive or disagreeable should be heard in the center of the plaza, which is a traditionally sacred place.

[II.E.7] Late Afternoon Activities

The climax of the day lies in sing-dancing, ceremonialism, and a council meeting. After log racing and bathing, the Canela become serious once again. This time, however, their seriousness is not over work but over matters of tribal concern. The sing-dancing in the plaza is dignified, slow, and short, intended mainly to enhance ceremonial presentations to the Prókhãmmã [III.D.2.c.(3), (4)]. When no such presentations are occurring, however, the sing-dances are longer and more animated (Plate 33) [II.F.1.b.(2).(a)]. With the last rays of the sun, the elders assemble for a dignified council meeting with its notably dramatic oratory [III.D.2.a].

The great heat of the day has passed, and the remaining warmth, much of it rising from the sands, is pleasant and relaxing. The Canela report their gratifications for just being alive to enjoy the sights in the plaza, hear the singing from the boulevard, and feel the sensations of the sun and breezes.

[II.E.7.a] AFTERNOON DANCE IN PLAZA

By 5 or 5:30 PM, an appointed sing-dance leader is out in the center of the plaza twirling his maraca [II.F.1.a.(2)], and some women form a sing-dance line before him. Usually, on more important occasions when most of the tribe is in the village, a great sing-dance master (in the 1970s, Tààmi (Plates 44g, 56d)) is selected, and the formal set of sing-dances, the ceremonial Great Sing-Dance (InKrel-re Kati: sing-dance dim. great) is put on. At such times large numbers of women (maybe 60 to 70) join the dance line, and about the same number of youths and men dance in front of it.

[II.E.7.b] KEY AUTHORITY-MAINTENANCE CEREMONY

Before 1938, when the Great Sing-Dance was being sung regularly, a mother’s brother or a grandfather would publicly discipline certain of his sister’s sons or grandsons [III.A.2.r.(1)] at this time of day. He started this ceremony by carrying out a fierce-warrior (hááprãl) act [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)]. He entered the top of the plaza with a shotgun, shouting—really screeching—that he would be the first one to go out into the cerrado to kill any enemy coming to attack the tribe [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)]. These days, mock performances of the old disciplining act still occur (Figures 14, 15). When the loud screech is heard and the wild behavior seen, the singing and dancing stop immediately, and the attention of all present turns to the “wild Indian” that has just entered the plaza. A close-by Informal Friend or relative stops him and takes his gun away. The somewhat chastened warrior goes down to the center of the plaza and grabs a “nephew” [In.4.i], the one to be disciplined, and stands him up in front of the center of the women’s line. He does this so that everybody can see how brave this young man has become and to shame him if he has not gained enough strength to bear up under the discipline. In earlier times, the uncle may have stamped on the youth’s insteps, yanked him off the ground by his sideburns, or just chastise him verbally. If he had committed a serious infraction of the code for adolescent boys [II.D.3.c.(1), (2)], such as having sex more than occasionally with young girls, the “uncle” (Glossary) might have grabbed his penis, pulled back the foreskin and exposed the glans to the women—the greatest shame conceivable (W. Crocker, 1961:78–79). This is no longer done.

In any case, regardless of the extent of shame or pain, the youth must not utter a word of complaint or show any response to pain at all [III.B.1.e], or all the women present would know his weakness and be less likely to want him for a love tryst (W. Crocker, 1961:79) [III.A.3.c.(3).(j)] [III.F.8]. The uncle may then proceed to discipline several other nephews or he may leave the plaza to let another uncle take his turn with a nephew.

This warrior’s act is reminiscent of the Kayapó’s rop-krore kam aibãn state (Moreira, 1965), an expression of temporary “madness” allowed by the society. The discontented or alienated Kayapó individual in the article started his act by brandishing weapons wildly in the plaza, and in one case was taunted by youths. He then attacked his taunters physically, throwing rocks at them and chasing them with sticks, taking the action out of the plaza to the circle of houses temporarily. In the plaza, certain responsible individuals finally subdued and tied him up to calm him out of his “exalted state” (estado de exaltação). In the Canela act, the uncle starts his act as a warrior wildly brandishing his shotgun in the plaza, which is quickly taken from him. The behavior of the Canela “wild” individual is limited and controlled even in his subsequent harassment of his nephew, while the behavior of the “wild” Kayapó is allowed full expression and only controlled much later by agents of the society. Moreover, for the Canela the act is a dramatization, while for the Kayapó the act is an outlet for frustrated emotions.

FIGURE 14.—Uncle disciplining nephew before female dance line, pulling him up off the ground by his ears and sideburns. (Escalvado 1975)

[II.E.7.c] HIGH CEREMONY FOR HÀMREN PEOPLE

The Canela are so informal and relaxed about their ceremonies that the observer is not necessarily aware when an act of high ceremonial honor is taking place. This is certainly the case with the Hààkwèl ceremony, the performance of which I have occasionally missed while watching something else, even though I knew ahead of time that it was going to take place during the performance of the Great Sing-Dance.

The Hààkwèl ceremony is carried out after a hàmren (Glossary) person has been very sick, has been in mourning [IV.B.3.d], or has been away on a long trip to a large city of Brazil [II.D.3.i.(1)]. It signifies an individual’s return to active participation in the social life of the tribe.

The ceremony does not occur very often—about two dozen times a year. A brief performance of the Great Sing-Dance is put on as background setting for the ceremony. During the Hààkwèl an individual of hàmren status [III.C.7] gives a meat pie to the Pró-khãmmã [III.D.2.c.(3)], as they sit in their age-set’s place on the southwestern edge of the plaza (Figures 19, 24).

When the sun is low in the western skies, the hàmren individual comes out of his maternal household (khá-tsá: breast-place: place of his mother’s breasts) adorned in falcon down and red urucu paint [II.F.5.a] and cloth on her or his head. This person is followed by two to four female relatives carrying the sizable meat pie or a bowl of food. Some member of the Pró-khãmmã walks to meet the procession. He receives the meat pie and head- or waist-band cloth for the Pró-khãmmã and the present (a machete, or some other item) for himself. After delivering the food, the hàmren individual joins either the women’s dance line or the men and boys dancing in front of it, depending on her/his sex.

Before the Pró-khãmmã proceed to eat the presented food, one of them exhales strongly all over it. It is said that the effect of the breath of a Pró-khãmmó on the food spreads good health and strength to those associated with the food: the hàmren individual, the bearers, and the preparers.

Great respect is paid to the foods that have been presented to the Pró-khãmmã in the plaza. No one but the Pró-khãmmã, a person of an older age-set, or of the immediately preceding age-set, may eat a portion of a Hààkwèl meat pie or bowl of food, and only then if offered these foods by a Pró-khãmmã.

FIGURE 15.—Closeup of uncle disciplining nephew before female dance line. (Escalvado 1975)

These days every family, if they can afford it, wants to present their young people to the Pró-khãmmã in the Hààkwèl manner, covered with falcon down, even if the young people are not hàmren. In the late 1970s the Pró-khãmmã were not strong enough to resist this change. The primary Formal Friends [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)] [III.E.5] of an individual returning to active social life put pressure on the family of the returning person to have the ceremony performed so that they, the primary Formal Friends, could gain compensation for their duties in adorning the returning individual with urucu (Glossary) and falcon down. While I have almost always seen individuals come out of their maternal houses in falcon down for the Hààkwèl ceremony, older Canela research assistants claim that in earlier times such hàmren persons were decorated not by Formal Friends, but by their kin, and then only in urucu.

[II.E.8] Early Evening Council Meeting and Boulevard Sing-Dancing

The evening council of elders (Glossary) used to take place in the late afternoon just after the afternoon dance. The two youngest graduated age-sets and the novices used to sing-dance around the boulevard at this time while the sun was quite low. Since before the late 1950s, however, the former late afternoon council meeting has taken place in the early evening, as has the singing of the younger age-sets. This singing event is now a rare occasion. These events shifted from the warmth of the late afternoon to the cool of the evening, because of the Indian service employment of the two principal chiefs: older Kaapêltùk since the late 1930s and Kaarà?khre in the 1950s [II.B.4]. Since they were not released from their services in time to conduct meetings in the late afternoon, these meetings had to take place in the early evening. Thus, afternoon age-set sing-dancing around the boulevard also had to start later. Because the Canela feel somewhat negative about the night and the moon [IV.C.1.b.(1)] in contrast to the day and the sun, it is not surprising that the age-sets sing-dance less around the boulevard [II.F.1.b.(2).(d)] these days.

Council meetings [III.D.2.a] are held twice-daily to resolve tribal problems and for the men to enjoy each other’s company [II.D.3.k]. Before and after council meetings, the men gather in their respective age-set locations on the edge of the plaza to chat and exchange news. Besides discussing or resolving major problems, meetings in the plaza serve to enhance male solidarity [II.D.3.d], especially within their age-sets [III.C.3].

The Canela and Apanyekra need these meetings to maintain peace and order [III.D.3.e.(1)]. When the meetings do not occur, and when the tribes are separated physically into two villages [III.D.1.g.(1).(b)] that can still communicate with each other, rumors grow and spread to a damaging extent to certain individuals [III.A.3.c.(3).(e)]. These evening meetings may be the most important factor contributing to the notably high degree of social cohesion found among the Canela [III.D.2.e].

At about 6 to 6:30 PM, after the late afternoon sing-dance with its rare Hààprãl and occasional Hààkwèl ceremonies, the Pró-khãmmã move from their traditional location on the southwest edge of the plaza to the center of the plaza and begin to chat informally. They may talk about success or failure in hunting, marks in sand revealing individuals involved in love trysts, sharp financial arrangements of backlanders, fights in festivals between drunken backlanders, ghosts bothering living relatives, rodents burrowing into somebody’s field and eating most manioc roots, and other similar topics. Soon, members of the older and possibly the next younger Upper age-sets gather around them moving from their age-set spots around the edge of the plaza, and finally, when almost all are assembled, the first chief joins them. He usually sits on the downhill side facing up towards the mass of seated men with few if any individuals to his rear. These days members of still younger age-sets, though not the novices, may sit around on the edges of this group when very important questions are being discussed, having moved in from their age-set locations (Figure 24).

The meeting has no formal beginning, but usually the chief of the tribe or one of his recognized subordinate chiefs begins to speak in a formal manner, indicating the beginning of the meeting. The informal political hierarchy of certain individuals orders the sequence of speakers at the more important of these evening meetings. After about the first four to six speeches, the degree of formality is somewhat, though never totally, relaxed, and the order of speakers does not matter. These days even much younger men may speak.

The topics debated at a late afternoon council meeting are more general, varied, and less immediate than those discussed during the morning session. They may have to do with Indian service matters, backland activities, and internal problems such as determining the basis of a rumor to render it harmless. In the late 1950s, some of the more difficult marital problems between two sets of kin were debated in the plaza, but in the 1970s, such difficult cases were taken to the chief’s house, completely bypassing the Pró-khãmmã.

At the formal ending of a council of elders’ meeting, they make a cry that goes first from low to high pitch. Then it descends dramatically and ends in tsii (chee). After this precise terminal statement, the town crier [II.D.3.i.(4)] leaves the circle of seated men and goes half way to the edge of the plaza to sing out the news of the meeting, which he may do several times in different directions for about a minute each time. Some of the vowel qualities of words are distorted in such traditional singing forms; nevertheless, the Canela in their houses understand such messages well enough.

[II.E.9] Canela Day Seen Ethnostructurally

The Canela day is over with the sunset, and a new day begins (Table 6). In their concept, night (katswa) and day (amkro) do not meet—they do not touch each other. Night ends (katswa ka?hul: night’s end) at about 4:30 to 5 AM, which is before the day begins at sunrise (pùt katol), and the day ends with sunset (pùt tsál) well before the night begins (katswa khat: night’s base). Thus, apē (daylight) separates night and day, and a?preprel (twilight) separates day and night. But a?preprel ends with the coming of night, while apē continues throughout the daytime, a structure that is similar to the continuation of the age-set moiety system during the Wè?tè season, while Regeneration log racing and its ceremonial season are coterminous, and night does not continue back into dusk.

While the Canela say they do not see the sun as going into a house (setting) and coming out of a house (rising), the expressions used (tsál: enter and katol: come out) are the same ones used for entering and leaving a house. They say that the sun goes behind (or under) the earth and comes back to repeat its performance every day, using a verb implying the tracing of the same course over and over again, i.e., “cycling” (amyi-yakhyê: self-stretching/repeating), as in their periodic trips between the village and their farm plots.

Research assistants say that night and day are in paired opposition with each other synchronically, but that diachronically, night “pushes” day and day pushes night: katswa amkro-mã to-kuyate (night day-onto pushes: the night pushes on the day). When using apē instead of amkro, they say that night “delivers” [something] to the daylight, but they could not say just what is delivered. Actually, it can be said that the three concepts, pùt(sun), amkro (day), and apē (daylight) all push night and that night pushes all three of them onward, all following each other, through time forever, linearly [V.B].

[II.E. 10] Observations

The Canela have a good time. Youths play at dawn, and before, during, and after the two council meetings. When the tribe is assembled in the village, serious work takes place four or five hours a day. The scheduling of their village day is flexible. Village living is interspersed with frequent absences on farms and even with travel “in the world” [II.D.3.i.(1)], which keeps life varied especially for men. The time given to sing-dancing (4 to 6 hours) and council meetings (1 to 3 hours) seems unusual to backlanders. The Canela do, nevertheless, resolve reasonably well most of their major societal problems: most individuals’ satisfaction with life, almost all communication between societal segments, and certainly tribal maintenance of peace.

Table 7 reviews and summarizes the sequence of events of the Canela day but does not represent the activities of women and men equally. The daily cycle of women is less well presented because it is not as conspicuous as the men’s cycle. It consists mostly of raising children, preparing food, keeping house, and fetching firewood and water. These are largely continuous activities that take place at any hour of the day and therefore occur independently of the men’s activities.

[II.F] “Recreation”

The fun-loving Canela immensely enjoy their various kinds of recreation, found informally in abundance throughout their sociocultural system and in a more prescribed manner in music, sports, games, and body painting. Their many expressive activities include sing-dancing, log racing, track events, and body painting, as well as their games for children and “games” provided by Formal Friends [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)]. These dramatic events and daily practices are fully developed and carried out in a spirited and sporting manner.

In modern times, the aunts and uncles have lost much of their authority to discipline their nieces and nephews after puberty [III.A.5.d]. This loss has been increasing since about 1938, so there is considerably less adolescent self-discipline these days than formerly to control hostilities due to frustrations. Thus, the Canela need these forms of recreation to provide gratifications to offset frustrations [III.A.5.e]. (For other materials on the acculturative loss of disciplinary mechanisms, see [II.B.1.c.(4), e] [II.D.3.c.(3)] [III.A.2.k.(5)] [III.A.2.s] and [III.A.5.d].)

Thus, with these ample expressive outlets the Canela individual can resist becoming too demoralized when faced with modern acculturational problems. Modern difficulties, such as having to work longer hours in farm plots to produce sufficient agricultural products, are not faced and endured very well by the traditional Canela. (For more materials on agricultural difficulties, see [II.B.3.j] [II.C.3.c] [II.D.3.i.(6), (7)] and [Ep.4.b.(2).(e), 7].)

[II.F.1] Music

Canela music is principally vocal. Instruments for producing sound are the maraca (ku?tõy: gourd rattle), a little ocarina-like gourd played like a flute (ku?khõn-l-re: gourd [nonphonemic phenomenon] dim.), and a horn (hõ?hi) made either of cow’s horn or gourd [II.G.3.e]. While the maraca gives a very precise percussion beat, the ocarina-like gourd and the horn are not instruments of precision. They neither keep rhythm nor play melodies and are not tuned to any standard. The tones produced from them are random, and more attention is paid to the noise and excitement [III.B.1.c.(4)] they produce than to the pitch, producing a sense of activity and contributing to the general euphoria and drama of the scene [II.E.1] [IV.A.1].

For comparative purposes, see Seeger (1987) for a notable analysis of singing in one ceremony. Seeger’s Suyá speak Northern Gê as do the Canela, but Suyá forms of vocal expression are strikingly different. Groups of Canela males almost never sing many different songs all together at the same time [IV.A.3.c.(4).(b)], competing with each other, but this is a principal Suyá form (Seeger, 1981).

[II.F.1.a] RATTLES

The gourd rattle (maraca) (Table 8, item 21; Plate 65a) [II.G.3.e.(3)] is made of the kind of gourd that is nearly spherical in form. Two holes are bored exactly opposite each another, and a rod of hard wood is introduced and fastened in place through these two holes in order to have a handle on one side and a pointed end on the other (Nimuendajú, 1946:114 and Plate 32b, c). Hard little seeds are placed in the cavity of the gourd, and the sound of these seeds hitting the inner surface of the gourd makes the sharp, precise rhythmic beat that the Canela like so much [III.B.1.f.(1)].

A man who can handle a gourd rattle especially well becomes a sing-dance leader/master (nkrel-re-katê: sing-dance [nonphonemic phenomenon] master), Nimuendajú’s (1946:114) “precentor” [II.D.3.i.(2).(a)]. More than one or two sing-dance masters rarely exist in any age-set. It takes a great deal of experience to become an expert; in fact, a youth starts learning when he is about 13 or 14.

[II.F.1.a.(1)]

Almost every activity that a young man learns while growing to be a capable and respected adult is learned through casual and informal personal contact rather than through formal training. One exception is the formal training in playing a maraca and singing. During the Pepyê festival a special role for novices learning to become sing-dance leaders exists [IV.A.3.c.(2).(b)]. Just after the novices are discharged from internment, they spend two to three weeks in a camp by the stream, carrying out various activities in the cerrado. Each morning they sing at their camping spot with a mature sing-dance master who has come from the village to train them, especially those who want to become gourd rattle users (Nimuendajú, 1946:190–191). This Pepyê encampment outside the village may last for as long as six weeks, so this training period for young sing-dance leaders covers a considerable period of time [II.D.3.d]. During the following Waytikpo ceremony, as a presentation of the results of training, one or two of these novice sing-dance leaders (Plate 43a) sing with the master and the two girl associates [IV.A.3.c.(2).(c)].

In festivals, a young man who is learning to become a sing-dance leader sings with his gourd rattle along with the master sing-dance leader. Apprentice sing-dance leaders practice their skills while leading the women’s dance line [II.E.4.a, 8], when most of the tribe is away from the village and the few remaining people want some sing-dancing. Eventually, when these young sing-dance leaders become more able and are better known, the Pró-khãmmã or one of the age-sets appoint them to lead an evening, morning, or late afternoon session, or to lead a Mē Aykhē-style dance [II.F.1.b.(2).(c)] around the boulevard.

[II.F.1.a.(2)]

The sound of one gourd rattle is strong enough to be heard through the voices of 50 to 60 women, each singing loudly in the female dance line. Sometimes two maraca leaders appear before a very long female dance line. The Canela employ rhythms of two or three beats to a measure as well as other counts. Generally, the rhythms employed are not complicated. Sometimes the gourd rattle is rotated so that the sound made by the hard seeds inside the gourd is continuous rather than sharp. This technique is used at the beginning of a dance, for instance, when a sing-dance leader has just started but is pausing in his regular performance to summon women to the plaza to form a dance line [II.E.4.a].

A sing-dance leader (Glossary) keeps the maraca rhythm constant during a set of songs that may last well over half an hour. After a small break, he continues in the same way with a different set of songs, and so, may perform for as long as two or three hours. He dances very actively himself, trying to bring out the best in the dancers by his own enthusiasm and movements. The sing-dance leaders are so experienced and well trained that they appear to carry out long, exhausting roles with very little effort. They are not visibly tired when they finish, though they may be perspiring freely.

[II.F.1.a.(3)]

Not all Canela singing, whether ritual or secular, is accompanied by a gourd rattle. In some cases, no particular instrument accentuates the beat, but people, nevertheless are sing-dancing, keeping their own precise rhythm. On other occasions as tradition demands, rhythm is provided by shaking a cord belt (tsù) (Table 8, item 3; Plate 60c, d) [II.G.3.a.(3)] on which 20 to 40 tapir hoof tips are attached as pendants. The hoof tips hang from the belt on cords strung with either seeds or beads. The sound comes from the belt being dropped on a mat causing the tapir hoof tips to rattle against each other [IV.A.5.a]; or the sing-dance leader ties the belt below his right knee and stamps his right foot on the ground at regular intervals, knocking the hoof tips together [II.F.1.c.(1)]. This belt rattle is used only on ceremonial occasions, never for secular ones; whereas the gourd rattle is used much more frequently on all sorts of occasions. Tradition prescribes whether a gourd rattle, a belt rattle, or no percussion instrument at all is used in a particular performance.

One example of using the belt rattle is when the novices perform the daily sing-dancing in the plaza during the Khêêtúwayê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:173–174) [IV.A.3.c.(1).(b)]. Here a sing-dance leader has his tsù tied just below his right knee (Plate 41c) so that every time he stamps his right foot on the ground, the sound from the rattling tapir hoof tips is heard. The belt rattle is also used in the evening just after the council meeting either for the corn planting ceremony (Nimuendajú, 1946:62) (Plate 53a) [IV.A.5.a] or for the Pàlrà ritual (Nimuendajú, 1946:164) (Plate 32e) [IV.A.5.e.(1)]. In both cases, most of the men sit around in a circle in the center of the plaza and sing, and a master drops a belt rattle on a that to provide the rhythm.

[II.F.1.b] SECULAR SING-DANCING

Singing and dancing are generally done together, though occasionally individual singing occurs without dancing. It is noteworthy that one Canela word (nkrel: sing-dancing) is used for both singing and dancing when performed together. otherwise singing is mē hõ?khre pôy: (their throat it-comes-out: it comes from the throat), while dancing is described by referring to one of its many steps like mē ?khõn toy toy (their knees spring-up spring-up).

[II.F.1.b.(1)]

While women are working in their houses, they often sing to themselves. Sometimes songs of the festivals are used, but usually they sing special songs they have learned from other women. Similarly, men may sing while working or when walking along a trail. Returning to a village after having been away, men like to sing loudly to announce their return. More than 90 percent of the Canela and Apanyekra have developed big, booming operatic-style voices because as children they learn good breathing habits and diaphragm support by copying their parents and singing almost daily as they grow up.

A little girl 3 to 4 years old sits with her mother almost every evening behind the female sing-dance line. By the time she is 5 or 6 she is standing in the women’s sing-dance line, bending her knees, keeping her torso vertical, and moving her arms and hands subtly, just as the older women are doing, in the style of that particular sing-dance session. In the early morning, little boys in great numbers sing-dance in the plaza before the women’s dance line. As cited above [II.F.1.a.(1)], actual individual instruction is given each novice for some weeks as part of the Pepyê festival proceedings. The strong voices of men have a mild tone fluctuation in pitch—vibrato—like trained singers in the Western world. Women have voices that are just as well developed and supported, but their style lacks fluctuation in pitch, and has a particular nasal quality.

Before the 1970s when Canela Indians visited great cities of the coast [II.A.3.a.(3)] [II.D.3.i.(1)], they were often asked to perform, and their usual choice of activity was singing. When city people discovered how well they could sing, the Canela were sometimes asked to put on shows. In 1960 when the younger Tààmi (Plate 44g) returned from a trip, he told me he had sung over the radio network in Salvador, Bahia. At that time he was one of the young sing-dance leaders; however, almost any Canela sings well enough to perform and be of interest to people listening to the radio. (Backland Brazilians, even their professional singers, generally have weak, pinched, nasal voices that are unsupported by their diaphrams and correct breathing.) Considering the amount of time the Canela spend on singing (three social sessions a day [II.E.3.b,4.a,7.a]), and the early age at which they start, their remarkable singing ability should not be surprising.

[II.F.1.b.(2)]

A musicologist should do a special study of Canela group singing before complete Westernization takes place because this singing is apparently evolved and certainly plentiful. With this thought in mind I borrowed a high-quality Nagra tape recorder (Plate 69f) in 1978 to record as many of the great variety and large number of songs as possible. Enough material is available for an ethnomusicologist to study for several years, I am told.

I find Canela sing in harmony of two, three, or more parts. These parts tend to Parallel each other rather than to systematically converge, diverge, and return. Although I cannot analyze or describe the scales, I found only one kind of singing, the early morning troubadour-like chanting, similar to the Western major scale. Half tone and less than half tone intervals are sometimes used. I heard fifths, minor fifths, fourths, thirds, and minor thirds a number of times, and surely other intervals exist I did not recognize. When I tried to sing with them (I have a reasonably good ear), I could do so and stay on key, but I could not sing any of their songs by myself without soon finding myself off key. I thought at first that the “dissonance” in their choral singing was due to some individuals’ singing off key, but later recognized the sound to be consistent with their traditional harmony. In attempting to categorize their various types of music, it is best to think of it in terms of styles of sing-dancing. (I learned in 1987 that a professional ethnomusicologist of the Summer Institute of Linguistics, Tom Avery, has tape recorded and already analyzed much of the Canela choral music.)

[II.F.1.b.(2).(a)]

The daily sing-dances in the plaza (Nimuendajú, 1946: 114–117) (Plate 33) are led by one sing-dance master with a gourd rattle. The set of songs that may be sung during each of these periods is different, and each set includes considerably more songs than can be sung during one period. Thus, the sing-dance master chooses from a large repertoire the song he wants the female sing-dance line to sing next.

The evening sing-dance (katswa ri nkrel: night then sing-dance) [II.E.3.b] may last for two to three hours. This traditional Canela sing-dancing is relatively dignified, with the sing-dancing women remaining in the sing-dance line and the men performing individual hop, skip, and jump steps before them, but they do not sing. The sing-dance leader moves among the individual men as if to agitate them with the point of his gourd-rattle. The Apanyekra sing-dance form, including the maraca master and the sing-dance line of women, is almost identical to its Canela equivalent.

For songs of other tribes (Apanyekra, Krĩkatí, or Pukobyé) the women and men often form a circle, which moves inward and out, contracting and expanding. There can also be a file of women and men hanging onto each other, with their hands planted firmly on the shoulders of the person in front, as the lead man pulls the file around the plaza. A number of other forms are possible.

The early morning sing-dance (awkati khãm nkrel: dawn in sing-dance) [II.E.4.a] is by far the most animated. Unlike the evening dance, young men sing as well as women. The pace of the sing-dance is slow (khên-pôk) until about 45 minutes before its termination at first full daylight. At this time the pace, the animation, and excitement of the performers increase (khênpey.) Theoretically, this kind of sing-dancing may take place everyday.

After the log race and bathing, the late afternoon dance (pùt-khãm nkrel: afternoon sing-dance) [II.E.7.a] begins between 4:30 and 5 o’clock. It is the shortest of the three secular dance periods, and is frequently omitted. In the cooler air of late afternoon, and in the light of the low sun, the women face the sing-dance master in a single line, bending their knees rhythmically to the beat of each measure. They hold their torsos erect and swing their arms as they push their knees forward.

When late afternoon high ceremony is scheduled (Nimuendajú, 1946:116), a different set of songs than the ordinary ones for the time of day may be put on—the Great Sing-Dance series of songs (the Nkrel-re Kati: sing-dance [nonphonemic] great). These sing-dances are quite distinct from the three other series of more secular songs, and they are truly magnificent to watch. Most of them are performed in three-quarter time, like a waltz, and are carried out in a sedate and refined manner. The motions of the women are minimized—conservative—the knee bending and thrusting forward is distinct but less extended. The torsos move up and down only slightly, with the arms and hands held upward, the hands cupped, swinging together side to side in front of the woman at chest height. This is the time when uncles discipline nephews [III.C.7.b] and falcon-downed hàmren individuals present themselves with meat pies to the Prókhãmmã in the plaza in the Hààkwèl ceremony [II.E.7.c].

[II.F.1.b.(2).(b)]

After the evening sing-dance and the songs of “other nations,” four to eight young singers of both sexes may sing in the boulevard. As they walk slowly around the boulevard, several abreast of each other with others bunched informally behind, they chant chords with long sustained tones. No instrument accompanies them. This same style of casual singing and strolling may occur very early in the morning.

This kind of “troubadour” singing [II.E.3.c] took place only about a dozen times during any full year of my stays. Nimuendajú does not report the existence of such a style of singing.

[II.F.1.b.(2).(c)]

Whenever some form of excitement is needed, or whenever a spontaneous festive occasion is appropriate, the Canela are likely to put on a Mē Aykhē/Mē Ipikhēn sing-dance (Nimuendajú, 1946:196). This consists of one line of men with a few women interspersed, sing-dancing sideways as they progress around the boulevard, with each person facing outwards toward the houses. They are dancing in a row kept together by arms held around the adjacent person’s shoulders or waists, while they hop sideways, first with the leading foot in front and then with the following foot crossing behind. (I found this exhausting.) They sing a set of songs that is special to this dance form. Upper age-sets go clockwise while Lower age-sets go counterclockwise around the boulevard.

Traditionally, and certainly in the late 1950s, though to a lesser extent by the late 1970s, members of an age-set danced in this style including wives of husbands of the other age-set moiety in their line, while age-sets of the other moiety did the same—all within sight of each other. On festival days like the Wild Boar day [IV.A.3.f.(1)], the men left behind in the village after dancing in this style, take their “other wives” [III.E.3.a.(6)] (i.e., wives of the men who went out to a farm house) into their Wè?tè house for sexual relations, or to some swimming spot on one of the streams (Map 5) Mē Aykhē sing-dancing suggests that extramarital sexual relations are going to take place.

This style of sing-dancing also takes place during parts of the whole day when they reconfirm the status of the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole tribe [II.B.1.d.(1)] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]; when they instate such a chief, a town crier [II.D.3.i.(4)], a ceremonial sing-dancing chief of an age-set [II.D.3.i.(2).0b)], or a Visiting Chief [III.C.7.a]; or when they honor an outsider [IV.A.5.e.(3)], giving her or him a name and a falcon-down body “painting” [II.F.5.a].

[II.F.1.b.(2).(d)]

There are many occasions for and styles of sing-dancing. One particular form is put on during or after the evening council meeting. A sing-dance leader with his maraca leads a file of young men (and maybe women these days) into the boulevard where they dance around it with their hands on the next person’s shoulders, singing one song after another. The age-sets also use this form as they go in opposite traditional directions around the circular boulevard. This style of sing-dancing served to keep the younger men busy while the elders were holding council meetings in the center of the plaza [II.E.8]. Because these days many of the youths attend the council meeting instead of dancing, this kind of age-set dancing is likely to be performed only during a large festival.

[II.F.1.c] CEREMONIAL SING-DANCING

The singing ability and repertoire of the Canela and similar Timbira tribes is quite remarkable. Other specialists, especially Alan Lomax (personal communication), who calls them “the Africans of South America” and musicologists who have heard their singing on tapes, confirm this observation. Traditional Canela rituals and festivals must be carried out exactly as they believe their ancestors did them or they are considered to have been performed incorrectly.

When music occurs in a ceremonial context, it is still recreational in the sense that people are freely enjoying themselves rather than being concerned with carefully putting on a precise, respected ceremony. Numerous occurrences of ceremonial sing-dancing take place. Each major summer festival has a number of styles of its own for its different ceremonies. The following are some of the more outstanding styles or forms.

[II.F.1.c.(1)]

During the Khêêtúwayê festival, the novices in the two large internment cells on either side of the village circle file out into the center of the plaza and turn to face each other in two rows (Nimuendajú, 1946:174). The first set of three or four songs is sung in slow time; following songs are sung in faster time. The facing rows approach and retreat from each other repeatedly. Each row is led by a sing-dance master, who, when the sing-dancing has gone on for some time, may turn sideways, forming the two facing rows into two files that follow their leaders. These two files, sing-dancing all the time, move independently all over the plaza, sometimes making circles around each other. All during this sing-dance, a female relative of each Khêêtúwayê boy must be close at hand, holding him, to prevent a ghost from snatching away his soul. (See Plate 41 for a series on the Khêêtúwayê festival, and [II.D.3.a.] and [IV.A.3.c.(1).(b)].)

[II.F.1.c.(2)]

Sing-dancing in a circle, facing inward, is a form carried out in a number of festivals. In the Festival of Oranges (Nimuendajú, 1946:73–75) [IV.A3.f.(5)], about 30 to 40 women who have just returned from their foraging trip in some backland community (usually Leandro) (Map 3), sing in a circle facing each other. They repeatedly move in and out, making the circle smaller and larger. This pulsating movement, continues all night except for occasional resting periods. These women have requested the sing-dancer leader with his maraca to come out from the village and sing in their circle.

This same formation is assumed by the novices in both the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê (Nimuendajú, 1946:176, 192) festivals, as they sing all night just before they march out of the village to hunt wild field rats (preá: Cavea perea) [IV.A.3.c.(1), (2)].

The Waytikpo sing-dance held during the climax of the three internment festivals is also carried out in this expanding and contracting circular formation (Plates 43a, 44e) [IV.A.3.c.(2).(c)]. The only difference from the other circular performances mentioned above is that in this sing-dance there are only about five or six people involved (Nimuendajú, 1946:196). (For other information on the Waytikpo, see [II.D.2.f, 3.e] [II.G.3.a.(2), (6), (7), b.(7)] [III.A.3.b.(3).(a), (b)] [IV.A.3.b.(3)], and [IV.A.3.c.(1).(e), (2).(c), (3).(d)].)

In the Pepkahàk festival [IV.A.3.c.(3)], the Pepkahàk troops sing in a circle facing inward. They do not, however, dance or move in and out in a pulsing manner (Nimuendajú, 1946:216).First, as they start their songs, they sit in one spot, singing very softly and slowly. Later, when their songs have gathered momentum and volume, they stand up. This pattern is also true in the Fish festival songs of the Clowns (Nimuendajú, 1946:229) (Plate 47b) [IV.A.3.c.(4)] who also sing the same Pepkahàk repertoire.

This circular formation is utilized when the age-set moieties go out from the village on collective hunting expeditions (mē hõt wèl: they sleep go-towards: they go to spend nights away) [IV.A.3.b.(2), (3)] to obtain enough game to prepare meat pies for the festivities of the terminal part of any of the great festivals of the Wè?tè ceremonial season (Nimuendajú, 1946:118). After maybe two weeks when enough game has been killed and smoked, the hunters prepare to return to the village. On the evening before their return, they dance most of the night in this circular formation. When they have been unsuccessful in the hunt, they also sing special songs about desired game animals: krôô-re (boar), poo-tsum-re (deer-male-dim.: the male cerrado deer), and tsoo-re (fox-dim.).

[II.F.1.c.(3)]

During certain festivals (e.g., the Pepyê and Pepkahàk), two rows of singers (consisting of both sexes) face each other, as they do in the Khêêtúwayê festival. However, instead of moving toward and retreating from each other (opposition), all individuals of the two rows make right turns and then file off in opposite directions, staying parallel to each other but moving out to opposite edges of the plaza. Then, when the edges of the plaza have been reached by the leading individuals, they all do an about-face and return to the center so that once again the two rows are opposite each other, but only for a moment. They then continue on, passing to each others’ side, until the leading individuals, at the opposite ends of the files this time, reach the opposite edges of the plaza. There they do an about face and keep repeating the pattern: backwards and forwards, always with the two files to the side of and paralleling each other. Eventually the two files stop in the center of the plaza, do a half turn, and face each other again in their double row formation.

In the Pepyê festival, the people in the village who are not involved with the Pepyê novices during the latters’ all night singing [IV.A.3.c.(2).(c)] maintain this Mē Hakrel formation for most of the evening while singing songs that the younger Kaapêltùk says are similar to praying (rezando) [IV.D.5]. In the Pepkahàk festival [IV.A.3.c.(3)] the Wetheads and the Dryheads [III.C.7] march parallel to each other in this manner during their only appearance in all the festivals.

[II.F.1.c.(4)]

Just before an age-set moiety leaves the village in the morning to go out to cut logs for the Krówa-ti (buriti-great) log race of the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, they form a moving square of men surrounding several girl associates. In this block formation, the age-set moiety sings for maybe 45 minutes while marching down one after another of the radial pathways, stopping short of the boulevard each time and returning to the plaza. They continue this pattern until they have entered almost all the radial pathways. This pattern of singing is called Kàà Kookhyê (plaza splitting) and is carried out on a number of occasions.

Sometimes individual men sing all night in the Kàà Kookhyê style. For instance, when a man has killed a large anaconda (ro-?ti: sucuruju) snake (Plate 15a), he must sing “splitting the plaza” all night long so that he and the villagers may gain strength from the anaconda.

[II.F.1.c.(5)]

As part of a ceremony, or because of having received a festival award [II.D.3.e], individuals sometimes sing alone all day or all night while going around the boulevard. Men who are members of the Upper age-set moiety jog clockwise while men who are members of the Lower age-set moiety go counterclockwise. The singer stops at every third to sixth house to sing, moving backward and forward close to the house and parallel to it (Plate 32d). Then, after about three minutes, he moves on, jogging to the next stop before a house to repeat his performance there. This kind of individual singing is so loud that conversations in the house being serenaded must stop.

A man can sing in this same style outside of festivals and ceremonies for personal reasons [II.F]. A research assistant who was upset about an extramarital relationship excused himself for the day to sing in this manner.

[IIF.1.d] FOREIGN SONGS

Songs of other Eastern Timbira tribes are called khrĩ-?nõ nkrel (village-other’s sing-dance; or cantiga de outra nação: song of other nation: songs of other Timbira tribes) [IV.C.1.f.(2)].

Apanyekra and Krahó sing-dancing is similar, but Pukobyé forms are somewhat different. All these tribes have the female sing-dance line facing a sing-dance leader, who leads them with his gourd rattle, but the quality of the music is distinctly different in each case. As a nonmusicologist, I cannot describe this difference other than by saying, subjectively, that the Pukobyé music sounds sadder. Moreover, it relies more on melodies while the Canela, relatively, emphasize harmony.

The Canela borrow and perform songs from other Timbira tribes freely, acknowledging their origin. A group of Pukobyé/ Krĩkatí Indians visited the Canela village at Baixão Prêto in 1960 and stayed there for well over a month. During this period the older Kot-hù learned a number of their songs which he still sings today. These songs are considered less worthy than Canela songs; nevertheless, certain Canela sing-dance leaders have learned them and are willing to perform them late in the evening, after the traditional evening sing-dancing has been finished [II.E.3.b]. The Canela are trying to preserve their own traditional forms exactly as they were, even though they have also learned some of the other Timbira forms of singing [IV.C.1.a].

[II.F.2] Sports

By far the most prominent Canela sport is log racing [I.A.1] [II.E.6.b]]. A number of track events and several kinds of arrow shooting or throwing contests are also popular. Since 1958, the Canela have been learning to play soccer, which under the Portuguese name of futebol is actually the Brazilian national sport. Canela traditional activities are well adapted to the cerrado [II.A.3.b.(2)], where contestants can run long distances relatively unhampered by vegetation. Forest Indians would have less of an opportunity for unhindered, long distance running.

[II.F.2.a] LOG RACING

Log racing is the pan-Gê sport (Nimuendajú, 1946:141 145), practiced throughout the Gê-speaking peoples [II.A.1, 2] in one form or another. Among the Canela, Apanyekra, and other Eastern Timbira tribes, log racing is undertaken by two teams which generally come from moiety divisions of some sort. The Canela race with logs according to the Upper and Lower age-set moieties, the Black and Red Regeneration season moiety divisions, and the Upper and Lower plaza moiety dichotomy in the Fish festival. They also race in the eastern and western men’s society divisions in the Pepkahàk and Masks’ festivals. Thus, there are five divisions in which log races can take place, though actually about 95 percent of all Canela racing is carried out between the Upper and Lower age-set moieties (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:140; Plates 34, 35; Figure 13).

Fortunately, among the Canela the two age-set moieties have been relatively even in running strength and numbers. Among the Apanyekra, however, one of the age-set moieties has become weaker; thus, the motivation to continue age-set moiety racing has diminished.

[II.F.2.a.(1)]

Unless they have been altered by some festival event, log racing procedures are as follows. After the morning council meeting, the members of one of the age-set moieties (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:137) challenge the other age-set moiety members by making a loud shouting call. Within 15 to 30 seconds, the other moiety responds with a similar, precise shouting declaration. Leaders of the two age-set moieties come together and decide upon the starting place from which they will race back to the village that afternoon. Such a challenge is usually made by the team that lost the last race, so they might win this time and erase some of the shame “passed on their faces” from the loss. These log races vary in distance from 2 to 12 kilometers.

[II.F.2.a.(1).(a)]

In earlier times, the Canela cleared race tracks through the cerrado so that the two racing teams could run side by side without being hampered by shrubbery (Nimuendajú, 1946:136). These days, however, it is difficult to summon, organize, and maintain a work force to clear such roads (pa-?khre: our hollowed-out-spaces). Although the Canela in the 1950s (or 1970s) did not maintain their old highways, they nevertheless did have clearings through the cerrado of a lesser sort. They also had the truck roads to Barra do Corda, Leandro, and Bacabal. They also raced along single-track trails through islands of dry forest where, for a considerable part of the race, one team could not pass the other. For instance, team passing on such pathways was impossible between the Mato Seco (Hĩn-re: intestines-dim.) area farms and Baixão Prêto (Map 3). Ideally, such raceways should have sufficient space and breadth so that a whole team can pass another, and individuals who want to catch up or go ahead of the leading racers have room to pass. The track should be about 15 to 20 meters wide (Nimuendajú, 1946, pl. 1c). With heavy logs and therefore a slow race, individual racers sometimes go ahead to take a rest, and then eventually lend a hand in the racing when the runners with the logs catch up.

[II.F.2.a.(1).(b)]

The challenging team goes out in the morning just after the council meeting to cut a pair of logs from one standing buriti palm (krówa: Mauritia flexuosa) or they send men ahead to do this job and then join them in the early afternoon to finish the preparation of the logs. When the log races take place after age-set moiety work on certain farm plots, reservation limits, or on truck roads, the two moieties are already in the starting area of the race. Therefore, the log cutters merely stop work a little earlier in order to do their log cutting jobs.

All log races are run with a pair of buriti logs cut from the same tree, a new pair for each race. Only the Pàlrà racing logs (Plate 35b) should be made from some other kind of tree trunk—necessarily hardwood (“heartwood” per Nimuendajú, 1946:137) for the special occasion. Often they do not bother to make the extra effort of using hardwood, as in the November 1974 Canela Pàlrà race (Plates 50, 51). Apparently, enough buriti trees exist in the Canela closed cerrado so that log races can take place 50 to 75 times a year without seriously diminishing the supply. Groves of the buriti palm grow along the water courses, particularly in headwater areas, where there is likely to be standing water during part of the year.

[II.F.2.a.(1).(c)]

Two or three members of the challenging team choose a tree to cut down. They use axes; they have no saws. Two sections of appropriate size are separated from the trunk, and the two racing logs are formed from these sections (Plate 34). Sometimes the logs look like long cylinders with small diameters, other times they are more like large coins or disks [IV.A.4.b]. The shape of the logs varies between these two dimensions, and also between small and large sizes, depending on the ceremonial tradition required at any particular time during the annual festival cycle or for the particular Wè?tè season great festival.

The surface of a buriti trunk is gray and relatively smooth; this covering is left untouched by axes. The cross-section is mushy but stable and has longitudinal spines projecting beyond the wet interior pulp of the trunk.(Consequently, a person cannot sit comfortably on a log’s cross section for long. Sitting this way was a punishment for insubordination during the 1963 messianic movement [II.B.2.f].) The ends of a racing log are somewhat hollowed out to prevent these spikes from scratching shoulders. The circular rims, which do not have such spines, are shaped to protrude so that runners can fold their fingers around one of them at any point along its circumference (Nimuendajú, 1946:137, pl. 29b), holding the log securely onto a shoulder. This circumferential rim extends 5 to 8 centimeters beyond the end mass of a log and is 3 to 5 centimeters across.

After both ends of the two logs have been prepared in this manner and all rough edges have been worn off with carefully placed axe and machete blows, the logs might be painted on their cross-sectional parts or longitudinally on their smooth gray bark.

After the logs are prepared, members of the challenging team test both of them. One person lifts one log barely off the ground and then moves to test the other one in the same way. Then someone meticulously chops material off the heavier log until it equals the weight of the other one. Men also test the logs’ carrying qualities by taking turns running with them on their left shoulders. They keep practicing with the logs for some time. When the challenged team is sighted jogging towards them, however, they put the logs down and place them parallel to each other, their ends facing in the direction along which the race is to be run. Sometimes, according to a ceremony’s tradition, they are put on leaves. Occasionally, they are put in a smoothed out, grass-removed rectangular area several times larger than the horizontal logs; and depending on the occasion, they may be painted.

[II.F.2.a.(1).(d)]

The racing logs are often so heavy that it takes at least two men, and sometimes three or four, to lift one of them high enough to put it on the shoulder of the first runner. In 1960, one log (a Pàlrà type), which was taken into Barra do Corda on a truck and weighed there, weighed 123 kilos. The logs are evenly balanced, and the hand grip and the surfaces are smooth. The racers have been doing this kind of log racing since they were 13 to 14 years old. Pepyê festival novices often practice racing with smaller logs just after they have come out of their internment and are camped outside the village [IV.A.3.c.(2).(b)]. Youths start practicing carrying such logs by putting them in the water, and getting under them, thus using their natural buoyancy to lift them. The carrier then walks the log out of the stream and begins to move with it with an even gait.[6]

The log racer must keep the log’s ends at the same height above the ground, not bobbing up and down but moving along under it as evenly as he can. With full-size logs, the racers go only slightly faster than a good walk, though they move with a running motion.

[II.F.2.a.(1).(e)]

In a great race like the Pàlrà one (Plates 50, 51), the two logs are raised when a signal is given, so that the skill of lifting the log and placing it on the first runner’s left shoulder is a very important part of the race. When the logs are heavy, the racers may not run more than 20 to 40 meters before they have to turn and pass the log onto the runner behind them. The next man runs directly behind the runner with the log and waits for the front end of the log to be turned towards him in a counterclockwise rotation as seen from above. This next runner then moves in under the log, and what was its front end becomes its rear end. The vertical motion of the log during the transfer should be minimal. All logs are carried on left shoulders to facilitate the transfer in a uniform manner. Usually, the first three to four runners are assigned to follow each other and are chosen because of their reliable qualities. After the team effort has been well started, the successive log carriers volunteer their services by moving themselves into the log-receiving position directly behind the racer with the log.

[II.F.2.a.(1).(f)]

The object of the race is for one team to carry its log over the edge of the village boulevard ahead of the other team. Usually, when one team is far ahead, it begins to slow down so that the other team has a chance to catch up. Then, when the logs are sufficiently close together, a second type of challenge may occur. An individual of the team that is behind tries to pass the log carrier of the opposing team. This is an exciting point in any race, as demonstrated by the shouting and cheering; and usually there are several individually staged contests of this sort during any race. After a race, a member of the losing team may boast with great satisfaction that at least he passed a certain member of the winning team. If it happens that opposing runners have a Formal Friend relationship with each other [III.E.5], the person who is behind does not try to pass or catch up to his Formal Friend. He races along somewhat more slowly than if he did not have this relationship, maintaining a respectful, noncompetitive distance.

[II.F.2.a.(2)]

The sequence is similar in big festival races except that the challenging team, just before the arrival of the challenged team, sings a set of songs that is particular to that log race. On certain festival days, the team that cuts the logs may pick up and start running with their log when the opposing team has been sighted, in order to gain a significant head start in the race. Usually the opposing team, blowing horns and shouting, comes running into the spot where the two prepared logs are resting in order to lift their log onto one member’s left shoulder at about the same time that the log-preparing team does. The arriving team may have had less time to rest, but they are the ones who had won the preceding race.

During the daily log races, only the participants go out to the log-preparation spot and return racing. On festival occasions however, or when the age-set moieties are out working on some particular project [III.D.1.c.(2), (3)], many more people may be involved and some go all the way out to the log-preparation spot to hear the special singing. Most of these spectators start walking back toward the village well before the race has begun so they can see the middle portion of the race (when individuals vie to pass each other) or the end, as the two teams, possibly neck to neck, struggle to enter the village first.

[II.F.2.a.(3)]

The arrival in the village, of course, is the high point of the race. It certainly does matter which team arrives first, but as Nimuendajú (1946:139) implies, it does not matter very much [III.B.1.h]; and little bitterness is felt because of a loss [III.B.1.c.(3)]: “There are neither triumphant nor disgruntled faces. The sport is an end in itself, not the means to satisfy personal or group vanity.”

After an exchange of challenging shouts, the same pair of logs is laid in the boulevard parallel to each other and in the direction the racers are going to run according to the challenging age-set’s tradition. They may run this second race just one or two times around the village circle. A few minutes after the race has ended, another challenging shout from the losers may be heard and a third race may occur, and then a fourth; but there are rarely more than three or four races.

If a sense develops that the racers are becoming too tired but that the losers’ pride may be obliging them to challenge and rechallenge the winners, one of the two Wè?tè girls (Glossary) [III.E.10] might come with a bowl of food for the men to eat. As soon as they see her, they know they must drop their challenges and race no more (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:225). (For complementary material on log racing, see [II.E.6.b].)

[II.F.2.b] TRACK EVENTS

The most popular time for track events is before, during, and after the morning meeting of the council of elders. These events take a number of forms. Sometimes, runners of the two moieties start from the plaza. The first runner to reach the boulevard turns the way that his age-set moiety runs—Upper goes clockwise, Lower counterclockwise—and the rest of the runners have to follow him. Then, it is simply a race to see what man in either age-set moiety can run completely around the village along the inner edges of the boulevard and return to the plaza first by the same radial pathway from which the exit was made.

People do not applaud. They merely show their pleasure or dislike by facial expressions and comments which actually are quite restrained.

They also have relay races with batons (Table 8, item 11; Plate 64a, b) [II.G.3.d.(4)]. Members of each age-set moiety are stationed together at six or eight points around the boulevard to pick up the baton of the runner as he comes abreast. Since each runner carries a baton only a short distance (30–40 meters) these races are run at a very fast pace.

During the morning period, one age-set moiety may challenge the other moiety to run around the boulevard with old buriti racing logs. This is one of the possible track events, which is conducted in the same manner as the boulevard log race following the afternoon log race. The latter log race started with new logs from outside the village. These old racing logs remain in the village, usually rolled up to the front of somebody’s house, so that people can sit on them and watch what is going on in the morning or late afternoon (Plate 7a).

Another track event is a race from either one of the Wè?tè houses to the edge of the plaza. This race, which is usually downhill, is carried out in heats of two, three, or four individuals—really sprinting, as in a 50-meter dash.

Young Canela men in their mid- to late-teens and early 20s are usually in very good condition and, therefore, are the fastest runners. While little serious competition exists [III.B.1.h], nevertheless, the young men want to do well because the young women are watching them [III.A.3.c.(3).(j)]. There is always the possibility that excelling in these races will touch the heart of somebody else’s wife [III.E.3.a.(6)] so that sexual encounters [III.F.8] can be arranged more easily.

[II.F.2.c] PROJECTILE GAMES

The Canela play several “games” with arrows, during or immediately after a festival. Considering this context, these events might be considered either ceremonies or games. None of these arrow “games” are played as daily events [II.E.1], however, except informally when the boys are away in the cerrado, amusing themselves [II.D.1.c] [III.A.2.m].

[II.F.2.c.(1)]

The arrow game that seems to attract the most interest is the I?têk, Nimuendajú’s (1946:147) watotēk (wa to têk: I with-it [untranslatable]). This contest appears in the Pepkahàk festival and is played out between the Pepkahàk and the Ducks near the beginning of the festival itself [IV.A.3.c.(3).(a)]. In this context, the episode might be considered a ceremony [II.E.1], since it is in a festival and since the Clown’s intervention to help the Ducks is artificial and its outcome is traditionally determined. When it takes place on the morning after the end of an internment festival, however, it is merely an informal game, since it is carried out with relative individual freedom of movement, and its outcome—which age-set wins—is not traditionally determined.

A section of a thick stem of a buriti palm frond is placed in the ground in a shallow cavity dug for it. This horizontally placed stem forms the front part of a low mound which, from the point of view of the archer, is just beyond a depression in the level of the ground. This buriti palm stem may be ⅓ meter in length and about 8 to 16 centimeters thick. The archer aims his arrow so that its point passes just above this stem or board. The body of the arrow, however, hits the board so that the arrow is deflected up into the air. If done properly, the arrow bounces off the round part of the cylindrical surface of the board, which lies horizontally and across the line of flight of the arrow. The arrow’s trajectory arches up into the air, and it flies 50 to 75 meters, depending upon the skill and strength of the archer (Plate 28a.)

Pairs of contestants representing two teams (usually age-set moieties) take turns, with the one who shot furthest the previous time going first. The one whose arrow, after its rebound and arched flight, lands and slides the furthest wins the arrow of the other contestant. Little boys run to collect this pair of arrows, bringing them to their winner. The game stops when one side’s contestant has won all the arrows (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:219) of the other side’s contestant or when an arrow is broken or badly damaged. It is then considered bad luck to proceed with the game, and the team that has the most arrows at that time wins.

Each team puts forward its best archer, and if he continues to succeed, he remains the archer until tired. If he does not continue to succeed, his team chooses a successor.

In the festival contest between the Pepkahàk and the Ducks, the competition is complicated because Formal Friends [III.E.5] of the Pepkahàk, using masks (Plate 56b), try to distract the Duck contestant while he is shooting, so that he will not do well (Nimuendajú, 1946:219).

The I?têk arrow game is often played just after the closing of the Pepkahàk and Pepyê festivals. These internment ceremonies end in the morning at about 8 or 9 o’clock, leaving nothing for the participants to do during the day but go to work or hunt. Consequently, they lengthen the period of festivities by carrying out these I? têk contests between the two age-set moieties. The competition usually stops before noon. In these postfestival contests, the depression in the ground is made near the edge of the plaza and the board of buriti palm frond stalk is placed where a radial pathway begins. Sometimes the shape of the depression and the hard mound just beyond it suffice to bounce the arrow; in which case, they place no board in the ground. Thus, the archers shoot down or up a radial pathway, one that does not lead to a house but goes well outside the village. The contestants, consequently, bounce their arrows from the edge of the plaza to some point along the radial pathway, or on the boulevard, or between houses, or along the road outside the village. Rivalries between good archers can be quite intense, but as usual the Canela try not to show such emotions in public [III.B.1.h].

[II.F.2.c.(2)]

As part of the Corn ritual [IV.A.5.d], an interesting game (or ceremony) takes place at night with lances that are padded with corn husk material (Table 8, item 50; Plate 63a) [II.G.3.b.(14)] so that when they hit a person, they will not penetrate the skin or cause any damage.

[II.F.2.c.(3)]

On the final morning of the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, the winner of the ceremonial lance and war bonnet [II.D.3.e] runs the gauntlet of the novices [IV.a.3.c.(1).(e), (2).(c)]. All these young men are equipped with bows and padded arrows (Table 8, item 35; Plate 63b) [II.G.3.b.(13)], and they attempt to hit the runner, with his war bonnet and ceremonial lance [II.G.3.a.(1), (2)], as he passes. The points of the arrows are padded in such a way that the runner cannot possibly be hurt. This youth is practicing his skill at dodging arrows, which was an art (hal-pey) the ancestors were known to have valued [IV.D.1.c]. This festival act also tests the skills of the young novice warriors who have just come out of an internment to see if they are stronger, both physically and psychologically [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] [IV.D.3.f].

[II.F.2.c.(4)]

The Arrow Dance (Nimuendajú, 1946:117) is performed in the setting of an ordinary evening dance, and so is not considered a ceremony. The sing-dance leader takes a bow and arrow from a dancing youth and gives it to one of the young women in the dance line. She then stalks one of the youths in the plaza—a lover or potential spouse [III.E.3.a.(6).(a)]. He is either dancing or sitting around the edge of the plaza, and she tries to hit him. He stands 10 to 15 yards away and tries to dodge her arrows, usually succeeding. Then she returns the bow to the sing-dance leader who gives it and an arrow to another young woman who goes after another man in the same way.

I saw this dance only once and was told that it came from the Krahó. An Apanyekra called Kôrã visited the Krahó some years ago and learned it. He returned to the Apanyekra village and later visited the Canela, teaching them this game.

The time I saw the Arrow Dance, a Canela woman stalked the Indian service agent, Sr. Sebastião [II.B.2.i.(4).(d)] (Figure 9), who played the game well but was hit.

[II.F.2.d] SOCCER

In 1957 the Canela began playing soccer (futebol), the national sport of Brazil. A field was cleared for young Canela to play in between the village and post at Baixão Prêto. The conspicuous characteristic of these games was that Canela individuals did not compete very much with each other. One individual had the ball and kicked it here or there and then tried to make his goal, while defenders of the goal scarcely attempted to stop him or take the ball away. They were hesitant about being competitive [III.B.1.h].

In Ponto, the Canela also played this game, but sufficiently level land for a good field did not exist there. Nevertheless, they played in a broad section of the village boulevard, and Emiliano, a son of the school teacher, Sr. Doca (Raimundo Ferreira Sobrinho), played with them. Here also, it was obvious that where as Emiliano was aggressive and willing to take the ball away from his opponents, Canela individuals were not willing to be competitive and were hesitant to behave in a manner appropriate for winning a game.

[II.F.2.d.(1)]

This sport became well developed in Baixão Prêto in the late 1950s because the post agent, Alcibiades Resplandes Costa, liked futebol and was willing to participate himself. A popular Indian agent being able to set the example was the significant factor in motivating young men to experiment with this new sport. But Sr. Alcibiades left in 1960, and the Canela did not play soccer while they lived in the forest near the Sardinha post from 1963 to 1968 [II.B.2.g].

With the reunification of the five tribal villages in Escalvado in 1968, the Canela were able to assemble a larger number of youthful players and gained a flat area for a field. With the arrival of the service’s Sebastião Ferreira in 1970, they gained another futebol enthusiast. Sr. Sebastião constructed a regulation field tangential to the post (Plate 28b, d) (Map 5), and once again young men started becoming futebol players, a sport which is changing their values. Sebastião himself trained and led his team. This time it was clear to any observer that the young generation of players in their late teens and 20s had lost their traditional concerns about being aggressive and were lunging into their opponents as any Brazilian player would do, taking over the ball in any legal way.

In 1975, the Canela fielded a set of players that beat all the backland teams. They were particularly proud of defeating a strong team from Leandro (Map 3), the community that had contributed the leadership and the most men to the 1963 attack on the Canela messianic movement [II.B.2.f]. Although the score of the match was almost tied at the half, the Canela were less tired in the second half and consequently outran their opponents so completely that they easily won by an uneven score. The Canela team also went to Barra do Corda to play against a “gendeman’s” team composed of sons of the wealthy and some well-off men in their 40s. Indian service personnel considered that these men, if losing, would not enter into a fight with the Canela, who easily won 5 to 1. Sr. Sebastião made four of the goals for the Canela, and Kôyapàà (Plate 70a), the son of the younger Kaapêltùk, made the other one.

[II.F.2.d.(2)]

By this time the Canela had “arrived” as a respected presence in the backland area (Map 3). It had become inconceivable for the backlander (Glossary) (Plate 72) to attack the tribe again [II.B.2.f.(3)]. Too many interconnections and friendships existed. In contrast, some backlanders were becoming jealous of the Canela, who received free medicines and even free trips to São Luis in the Indian service ambulance [II.B.3.g., h] to undergo surgical procedures. Occasionally, the Canela were shown free educational movies at the Indian service post. Moreover, it was obvious to the backlander in 1979 that the Canela sometimes ate better and possessed more basic materials (cloth, axes, machetes, medicines) because of their opportunity to trade artifacts with the Indian service for certain foods and goods [II.B.3.e] [Ep.6]. Thus, by the late 1970s, instead of looking down on the Canela in every respect as they had done in the late 1950s [I.A.I] [II.B.2.g.(7),4], the backlander had to look at them with greater respect, at least for some of their accomplishments. The Canela futebol team helped considerably in bringing about this change in relative status, and generated undeniable respect for the Canela in the backland area (Map 3), at least among the members of younger backlander generation.

[II.F.3] Children’s Games and Toys

Chance is conspicuously missing from games for children or adults. Of course, almost any game that can be devised has an element of chance—even an intellectually and psychologically oriented game like chess. Relatively considered, however, Canela games such as log racing, arrow bouncing, lance throwing, and now futebol are more obviously games of skill and teamwork than chance. The Canela are not gamblers [III.B.1.e.(3)], so in children’s games, as should be expected, chance, though an element, is not the important factor.

[II.F.3.a] INDIVIDUAL GAMES AND TOYS

Little girls play with dolls, which were made by their fathers and used to be simple lengths of the balsa-like stem of a buriti frond. Girl dolls had little wax breasts and small belts of tucum cords, which identified their sex, but boy dolls had no distinguishing features (Nimuendajú, 1946, pl. 23i-k). This kind of home-made doll was replaced by more realistic plastic ones, and other kinds of toys, bought in Barra do Corda in the 1950s and later.

Canela boys love to play with little tops (Table 8, item 87), which work on the same principle as tops known in the United States. A father cuts a piece of solid wood into a pear-like shape with a point on its bottom and an edge on its top onto which string can be coiled. Then, the string is pulled to make the top spin, as it is released on the ground. Then it moves around on a hard ground floor until its spinning momentum is lost, and it falls over (Nimuendajú, 1946:112).

Boys make another toy consisting of a central hole in a relatively flat circular piece of broken gourd. A doubled, continuous string is pulled through this hole, both ends of which are looped on fingers of opposite hands. The piece of gourd is revolved many times until the doubled string on which it is strung is completely wound up. The ends of the wound string are pulled outward with the hands, causing the string to unwind and the piece of gourd to spin around rapidly until its momentum rewinds the string in the opposite direction. By using an in and out motion with their hands, this spinning motion can be maintained for some time. Carved projecting points along the piece of the gourd’s circumference create a humming sound as these “teeth” pass rapidly through the air (Nimuendajú, 1946:112, pl. 24n).

Little boys have many individual toys, most of which are made for them by their fathers [III.A.3.a.(1).(a)]. The balsa-like wood (pith) of the interior part of the stem (puu-re-?ti) of a buriti palm frond is the material (cf. [II.G.3.d.(5).(b)]) most often used to make small trucks, airplanes, and various representations of backland implements, such as knives and machetes. The pith can be cut and carved very easily with a knife, and consequently is ideal for making toys. Quite notably, the Canela rarely make toys in the form of a backland pistol, but every boy had his miniature set of bow and arrows (Plate 19a), even in the 1970s. Toy trucks and airplanes made of buriti pith were replaced in the 1960s by those made of metal and later of plastic.

[II.F.3.b] GROUP GAMES AND TOYS

Little girls under the age of 6 or 7 [II.D.1.c] [III.A.2.m] play house together behind the houses (a?tùk-mã) that line the boulevard (Figure 24). They make toy houses (Plate 19d, e) about one-third to two-thirds of a meter high of local materials. Dolls represent human beings in the play houses, and tiny stones support the small cooking pots made of nuts. Older girls sometimes cook small quantities of real food, such as manioc pancakes (beiju) in small cast iron pots, but they are more likely to be helping their mothers carry out adult jobs. Little boys come by to eat these small contributions. Generosity training [III.B.1.a] starts young.

In the late 1950s group games were played that I never saw practiced in the 1960s and 1970s. Either they had recently been learned from the backlander or they were ancestral, but in either case they were lost during the Canela stay in Sardinha. One competitive game of chance called hôtsaktsak (chicken) [Ap.4.a.(1)] probably came from the backlanders. A blindfolded child who is “it” has to detect by sound and hit one of many taunting children with a straw bat. When finally successful, the hit child becomes “it” and is blindfolded. (I think this game is too competitive and “unfeeling” [III.B.1.b] to have been aboriginal.)

Boys play games in the cerrado, which they roam freely during the day [II.D.1.c] [III.A.2.m].

[II.F.4] Adult Formal Friendship Dramas

One of the most amusing aspects of Canela life is the adult Formal Friend chastising game (khritswè yààkhrun tsà Formal-Friend game thing). Public displays of this sort occur frequently and account for a large and increasing part of the recreation and amusement these days. Besides helping to keep general morale high, this game serves to keep people carrying out authoritative roles, especially parental ones, in conformity with tradition and prevents them from disciplining children in excessive ways. For a detailed account and example, see [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)] and [III.E.5].

[II.F.5] Body “Painting”

Body “painting,” including application of falcon down (Glossary) to the body, is associated with recreation. “Paint” is put on the body to make a person feel better or to express a person’s status or physical well-being of the moment (W. Crocker, 1986). Paints can be applied to all parts of the body except the hairy areas, genitals, and palms of hands and soles of feet. While women paint men and each other, men rarely paint each other and paint women only when they are applying charcoal and latex to their lovers. People of any age are casually painted red and black, though older persons tend to have themselves painted less often and prefer black. Individuals are painted far less frequently these days, as people tend to wear more clothing and adopt backland attitudes. This reduction in usage was well in progress by the late 1950s and was accelerated by the Canela stay in Sardinha in the mid-1960s [II.B.2.g].

The Apanyekra painted themselves far more frequently in the mid-1970s than did the Canela, and the former’s frequently used body paints (the non-rare ones) were the same as the latter’s and were used under similar circumstances.

The Canela have seven kinds of body “paint,” not including the no-longer-used white chalk. Four of these paints are worn on a number of occasions, and four are used only on a single ceremonial day per year, or only once in the entire ceremonial repertoire. Falcon down and the four rare paints can only be used in prescribed situations, but urucu, charcoal with latex, and dry charcoal can be applied casually at any time. The latter gives the viewer the message that the wearer is undergoing severe food and sex restrictions. Charcoal-and-latex paint (Glossary) imply extramarital sexual relations and joking; urucu (Glossary) suggests family care and concern, and falcon down informs the viewer that the wearer is participating in a high ceremonial situation. (See Nimuendajú, 1946:51–55, 355 [pigments], or Nimuendajú, 1974:111–119, for more extensive accounts of paint origins, preparations, and applications.)

II.F.5.a] FALCON DOWN

The most formal kind of body paint, or ornamentation, is falcon down (hàk kwèn: falcon down) (Glossary) (Plates 52a, 57c), which is glued on the body only for ceremonial situations. As the first step in application, a kind of tree resin (almècega: ràm: Hedwigia balsamifera) found in the Guajajara Indian dry forest reservations (Map 3) is put on the body. To do this, men chew babaçu nuts to cause salivation. They spit their saliva, along with the nut oil, onto a ball of collected tree resin, thus making the resin more flexible. As a result, this hard, solid material becomes soft and sticky enough to be spread evenly on the body. After a person’s Formal Friend has passed this strong smelling resin from his palms to this person’s body, the Formal Friend steps aside letting his helpers apply the falcon down (Plate 30d). Using tiny sticks to pull the down out of a small storage gourd, the helpers dab the down onto the area of the body covered by the moist resin. When thoroughly applied so that all gaps are filled (which they never are), the body appears as a solid white glistening surface (Plate 27f).

The down comes off by itself eventually through wearing and tearing, or is pulled off with fingers and fingernails (which hurts). After one washing or a night’s sleep, this formal suit becomes crushed, messy, and spotty in appearance (Plate 57c), the greasy red urucu being mixed with the white. Falcons (hawks) are harder to find and kill these days; consequently, ducks are raised so that their down can be used for this purpose.

II.F.5.b] URUCU

In terms of decreasing formality, red urucu (pù: Bixa orellana) (Glossary) (Plate 78d) body paint follows falcon down. Unlike falcon down, which can be worn only in ceremonial and prescribed situations, urucu can be spread on the body both for certain ceremonies and for daily use. It is associated with health and family welfare [III.B.1.b]. Women spread urucu on themselves, on other women (Figures 48, 49), on men, and on children. Wives decorate their husbands, and female kin decorate their male relatives. In earlier times, even in the late 1950s, if a man appeared often without urucu, it was said that his female relatives, and his wife, were not taking good care of him. Urucu is applied to the body with falcon down on all the occasions falcon down is used to complete the characteristic ceremonial dress, except for the procession to the plaza of the Visiting Chiefs’ society (Glossary) in the Pepkahàk festival (Plate 44d”).

[II.F.5.c] CHARCOAL AND WHITE LATEX PAINT

In contrast to the serious familial implications of urucu, charcoal and latex paint (Glossary) implies joking, informality, and recent sexual activity, usually extramarital [III.F.8] [IV.A.3.f]. First, a white, rubber-like, wet latex is fingered on to the body. This latex (aràm hôk: tree’s paint: sap of Sapium sp., a low cerrado tree) is jet white (Plate 47a, c), and can be used to water proof jackets and air proof bouncing balls for simple games. This pau de leite (tree of milk) tree, as it is locally called, is a relative of the rubber tree (not found in the area). Then, the charcoal from the bark of certain kinds of burned trees (Sapium included) is applied to the body by rubbing a branch from the tree onto the person’s body where the latex has already been applied. The applier often crushes the charcoal from the bark in her or his hands, and then spreads it onto the latex where it sticks. This paint’s adhesion to the skin is so strong that after only one washing away of loose charcoal, it sticks firmly to a person, only slightly diminishing its precision of pattern over a week. It scarcely soils clothing worn over it, unlike greasy urucu and falcon down.

A person is decorated in this manner by her or his lover or spouse. Women can “dress” their uncles and nephews in this manner, as is consistent with their mutual joking relationships [III.B.1.c.(1)]; but they would never do this to their fathers, brothers, or sons because of embarrassment over the sexual implications [III.A.2.j.(2)].

[II.F.5.d] BLACK CHARCOAL

Charcoal without latex can be applied to the body in a very casual manner by a man to himself. He takes the burned bark of certain trees and irregularly rubs it, or its powder, on his body. This indicates that he is undergoing severe food and sex restrictions (Glossary). Postpubertal youths are expected to paint themselves this way for at least a year [II.D.3.c.(1)]. When the contributing-fathers arrive in the mother’s house in the postpartum meat pie rite with the social father [IV.B.2.d.(2)], they arrive wearing patches of charcoal on their bodies.

When latex is unavailable, dry charcoal alone is sometimes applied to imply comic or extramarital situations.

[II.F.5.e] RARE “PAINTS”

The other kinds of Canela body paint are rarely used. Genipap (pôl-ti: Genipa americana) comes from a dry forest, apple-like fruit (Nimuendajú, 1946:53). It is used only on the day the novices finish their internment in the Pepyê festival (Plates 26, 27, 36c, d, 42g). The yellow paint, which comes from the root of the urucu plant, is put on the body early in the morning when the novices in the Pepyê festival are released from their internment (Plate 42f). Also, mere is wôhô-re (pad: Orcus sp.) (Nimuendajú, 1946:55), which is a fuzz applied to the Duck girl associates on just one day of the Pepkahàk festival.

White chalk, which is currently very difficult to obtain, was traditionally used for the Grasshopper ritual [IV.A.5.C]. White latex is used instead and appears similar to body-worn chalk at night (Plate 47a, c). Since the messianic movement of 1963, it has become increasingly difficult for the Canela to get chalk from their traditional source in the Alpercatas range hills on the Arruda lands, just south of the family sítio (Map 3).

[II.F.6] Generalizations

Recreation among the Canela may be considered to be an escape valve for expressions of frustration arising from the strong desires for immediate gratification developed during prepubertal years [III.A.5.a]. These frustrations are increasing in modern times [III.A.5.e]. For this reason, activities in the recreational sector of the sociocultural system should be increasingly needed. Upon this premise, predictions of future recreational trends can be based. The practice of futebol (soccer) [II.F.2.d] and Formal Friendship games [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)] should continue to increase, and so should track events. Log racing with very heavy logs [II.F.2.a] may become somewhat reduced, because the Canela are becoming relatively sedentary and physically soft. Log racing is too rough and too much of an effort, and a log dropped on a leg or foot can do much damage.

Body painting lends itself to extensive Canela interpersonal interpretations (W. Crocker, 1986), though little care is given to its form and precision. The Canela do not emphasize the visual arts, especially in contrast to their cultural cousins, the Xikrin-Kayapó [II.G.1] (Fuerst, 1964; Muséé D’Ethnographie, 1971; Vidal, 1980) or in contrast with their own extensive artistic expression through musical forms. Besides body painting analyses, specialists study other parts of the body, such as earlobes and lips, to arrive at similar social interpretations involving conformity and bellicosity (Chiara, 1975; Seeger, 1975; Turner, 1969; and Verswijver, 1978).

Similarly, dancing abraçado (embraced) [II.B.3.1] (Plate 55a) in the manner of backlanders and urban Brazilians has started to take the place of traditional sing-dancing of the secular kind. But I predict that the Canela will not lose their affinity for sing-dancing (Plate 33). It is too rich, varied, and personally satisfying. Abraçado dancing [II.F.1.b.(2)], which is more individualistic (especially for women) and increasing in popularity, is becoming a Parallel activity to sing-dancing rather than replacing it. Surely, abraçado dancing will be one of the major alternative forms of recreation. In general, recreation as a sociocultural sector, should continue to grow in relation to other sociocultural sectors as acculturation increases and becomes more oppressive in contrast to the lesser pressures of the earlier Canela style of living.

In the above sense of an escape valve for frustrations, the extramarital sexual relations sociocultural system should be considered “recreation” but is described in the chapter on festivals [IV.A.3.f] because it is sanctioned in several ceremonial settings. Like racing with heavy logs and body “painting,” extramarital practices [III.F.8] should diminish through acculturation [II.B.3.a, b, d, g, h, l] [Ep.4.b.(2).(e),5.c, d], placing a greater emphasis on the acculturation-approved forms of recreation.

[II.G] Artifacts

As with recreational activities—music, sports, games, and body “painting”—artifacts are daily and ceremonial in their use. Specific artifacts, however, instead of being both daily and ceremonial, are either one or the other.

Canela women and men make about 150 categories of artifacts for which precise manufacturing traditions exist (Plates 56–67). Variation from these traditions is allowed to some extent, depending on the destination of the item—whether for use in festivals, in private Canela life, or in backlander or city Brazilian life. For festivals, the item is used precisely according to tradition and made with traditional materials if possible. For individuals in a daily context, the rules of fabrication are less strict, though standards remain high. For sale to outsiders, however, the workmanship is not as good, and poor materials are often substituted for traditional ones, though the traditional form is largely preserved.

Studies of material artifacts, including those of other Timbira Indians, have been published by Heath and Chiara (1977), Newton (1974, 1981), and Marcos de la Penha et al. (1986), among others. Photographs of and references to Canela artifacts and corporeal adornments can also be found in V. Turner (1982a:28, 71–72, 77, 115–117, 184–185; 1982b, figs. 56–62); J. Turner (1967:64–66); Nimuendajú, 1946, plates).

[II.G.1] The Visual Arts

The item on which a careful, precise artistic technique is rendered by a woman is seen on a certain kind of headband (Table 8, item 12f). It is made from one leaf of a frond of a babaçu palm tree (Plate 56d) and is cut and tied to form a circle, which rests on the top of a male head. Dignified fathers of many children often wear it. Some of the designs that are painted on the leaf are traditional; other designs used in decorating such a headband are quite individualistic.

Few women attempt to express themselves in this art form. It is mostly Po-?khwèy, the wife of the younger Mĩĩkhrô, who frequently practices this form of art with a great deal of individuality and artistic expression. She uses both black [II.F.5.C] and red (urucu) in her designs, and sometimes yellow of the urucu root.

Canela body painting is far less elaborate than that of the Xikrin-Kayapó (Crocker, 1973; Fuerst, 1964; Vidal, 1980) (Map 1), and the Mēkrãgnoti-Kayapó (Verswijver, 1982), with their very precise, time-consuming body painting, using genipap [II.F.5.e].

[II.G.2] Commercial Products

The traditions according to which Canela artifacts should be made were quite narrow. The sex of the maker, the materials themselves, and the style with which certain items should be produced were well known. By the mid-1960s, however, and certainly in the 1970s, the Canela began substituting one material for another and adding extra paint (usually the yellow fluid from the root of the urucu plant; Plate 78d) to make the item more interesting for city dwellers [II.A.3.a.(3)] [II.B.2.g.(7)] [II.C.3.f] [Ep.6]. Moreover, the maker of the item no longer had as much concern about the precision with which most commercial pieces should be made. Women and men could be seen rapidly and carelessly constructing items (Plates 17b, 18e) to get them to the Indian service truck before it departed, or to one of the Canela stores to exchange for goods before it closed.

The market, of course, required that certain items be made for sale rather than others in the traditional inventory of items. Thus, certain kinds of baskets, whisk brooms, and containers with lids, for instance, were requested by the Indian service. These items, therefore, were made in great numbers in the late 1970s. Items of other traditional categories were made only when Canela individuals needed them for themselves. Items in this last type have suffered little change, but material artifacts made for sale have already gone through some changes away from their traditional form, materials, and design.

[II.G.3] Traditional Artifacts

The Canela artifacts presented here are divided into several categories: (1) items bestowed to honor good behavior, (2) items made only for use in certain festival acts, (3) objects just for women, (4) objects just for men, and (5) musical instruments. The Canela collection in the National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, has additional categories of artifacts, which are organized as shown in Table 8. This list was developed while I was in the field in the late 1950s and 1964 and is organized somewhat in the order of the items’ acquisition and on the years when certain festivals happened to be put on. To conserve space, many of the 150 NMNH categories of artifacts are not described here. The items presented here are a representative sample of the more significant artifacts in the NMNH’s collection, but not all the items presented here are listed in Table 8. These items and others are listed in a computerized inventory in the Department of Anthropology of the National Museum of Natural History.

[II.G.3.a] HONOR AWARDS

These items are very special to their owners and are made by certain categories of people for specific persons. Most objects of this sort are given to adolescent girls and boys who have displayed exemplary skill and behavior in public activities. Some of the artifacts are awarded by the Pró-khãmmã (Glossary) to festival participants for their excellence in singing, attendance, and attitude during the course of the festival [II.D.2.f, 3.e] [II.F.1.c.(2)] [III.A.3.b.(3)] [III.D.2.c.(2)] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(e), (2).(c), (3).(d)]. Other awards are given by the naming-aunt or naming-uncle [II.D.1.b.(1)] who has made the item (or had it made) to a particular named-niece or named-nephew who is considered worthy of receiving it. These items are used on daily occasions as items of honor [III.G.3.b].

[II.G.3.a.(1)]

FEATHER BONNET (hàkyara) (Table 8, item 2; Plate 56e).—The feather bonnet (Plates 37d, 47d) is the most prestigious artifact and is put together after a Khêêtúwayê or a Fish festival (Glossary). It is made from the many macaw tail feathers that the novices wear (Plate 41b) in their occipital headbands [II.G.3.b.(1)]. The last time the novices sing (Plate 41c), these headbands are collected and the tail feathers (Plate 41d) given to the Pró-khãmmã. The Pró-khãmmã choose a novice for excellence in the festival performance to whom they award the right to wear the warbonnet. This youth’s naming-uncle is then summoned and given the feathers to make the bonnet. The headband strap and the tassel at the end are made of cotton. If the bonnet is made on time, the runner with the ceremonial lance will wear it while he runs the gauntlet of padded arrows [II.F.2.c.(3)] on the last morning of the Khêêtúwayê festival. He dashes up a radial pathway, and runs quickly with the warbonnet (and ceremonial lance) across a portion of the plaza. This is done in front of the novices, most of whom are assembled to shoot at him with a bow and padded arrows.

TABLE 8.—Canela artifacts and field numbers of donations to museums from 1960 onward.

After the nephew has run this gauntlet, he sings with the bonnet and ceremonial lance while jogging around the boulevard [II.F.1.c.(5)] (Plate 32d). Then a sister of his, preferably a name-exchange sister [III.E.4.a], comes to the plaza and holds the bonnet and ceremonial lance in the center of the plaza while a name is sung onto them by the town crier [II.D.3.i.(4)] (Plate 51d). Next, the sister takes the bonnet and lance to her house and puts urucu paint on them and delivers them back to her brother. He then sings all day with them, jogging around the boulevard in the direction that is traditional for his age-set. The bonnet may be kept or broken up, according to the wishes and needs of the owner, who is considered its father(hàkyara pam: falcon wing’s father).

When first used ceremonially, items made of cotton have to be white and clean with no coloring on them at all; e.g., the tassels of some ceremonial lances (khrúwa-tswa) [II.G.3.a.(2)], the bracelets of the Waytikpo act [II.G.3.b.(7)], and the warbonnet of macaw tail feathers. However, as soon as their ceremonial display ends and they are to be used in a secular manner, urucu is then thoroughly applied and embedded into the cotton.

[II.G.3.a.(2)]

CEREMONIAL LANCE (khrúwa-tswa) (Table 8, item 1; Plates 56e, 63c, d).—The ceremonial lance (Plates 32d, 43a, 44e, 45a, f, 47d) is made for a festival and is awarded by the Pró-khãmmã to a ceremonial performer for excellence in singing and dancing. The staff is made from purple wood (kuuhê-?khà-?tùk: bow-wood surface dark: pau roxo: wood purple), the supply of which by 1978 was exhausted in the area because of over-cutting. The lance is adorned with four to eight long macaw(pàn: arara) tail feathers that hang from a point near the top. In the Khêêtúwayê and Fish festivals the ceremonial lance is adorned by the macaw tail feathers as described, but in the Pepyê and Pepkahàk festivals (Plate 44e), cotton tassels of about 50 strands hang down on all sides in the place of feathers.

In the terminal portion of the Khêêtúwayê festival, the Pró-khãmmã choose a youth who is to be the winner and future bearer of the ceremonial lance. The youth’s uncle is summoned and given the lance and the feathers so that he can remake the lance for his named-nephew. When the lance has been completed, the uncle must go around the boulevard all night long, singing in the plaza and before each house, as described just above for the warbonnet. After this, the uncle gives the lance to his named-nephew, who, in one of the last acts of the Khêêtúwayê festival, runs the gauntlet of his opposing age-set, the novices.

In the Pepyê festival the Pró-khãmmã receive the ceremonial lance from the uncle of the file leader (mamkhyê-?ti) of the Pepyê (Glossary) and give it to the file leader about 10 to 15 days after the novices are “caught” [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] (Plate 42a, d, e). The file leader keeps and uses the ceremonial lance for official occasions as he walks in front of his file of novices. On the third day of the terminal part [IV.A.3.b.(3)] of the Pepyê festival, just after the singing of the climactic Waytikpo set of songs (Plate 43a, c), the Pró-khãmmã select a youth who is not a Pepyê novice. He then sings all night with the ceremonial lance, and runs the gauntlet of padded arrows.

In the Pepkahàk (Glossary) festival just after the Pepkahàk are caught and interned in their hut outside the village, the oldest member of the Pepkahàk cuts the ceremonial lance, shapes it in the proper manner, and gives it to the mother of the file leader of the Pepkahàk troop, who then gives it to her son. He walks with it at the head of his troop file (Plate 44c), on all ceremonial outings. When the Pepkahàk sing each evening (Plate 45a), and later when they sing during an entire night in the plaza (Plate 45c, f), this ceremonial lance is thrust into the ground at the center of their singing circle so that it stands erect on its own.

In the Fish festival, the macaw tail feathers that will decorate the future ceremonial lance are strung on cotton headdresses that allow one or two macaw tail feathers to hang down the back between the shoulder blades of the members of the River Otter(Têt-re) plaza group (Glossary). While the Otters are on their way to their house, however, the Clowns step in and take the feathers and put them in a pile. The mother of the ceremonial chief of the Clowns receives the feathers, and the uncle of this ceremonial chief makes the ceremonial lance. The uncle then sings all night with the ceremonial lance and delivers it to his named-nephew who then runs the gauntlet of padded arrows, this time shot by the Clowns. An important difference in the Fish festival is that the ceremonial chief keeps the ceremonial lance for himself (Clowns can be selfish), whereas in the other festivals, the Pró-khãmmã take it away from the file leaders and give it to a deserving youth.

In all of the examples above, the final owner is called the “father of the ceremonial lance” (khrúwatswa pαm).

[II.G.3.a.(3)]

BELT WITH PENDANTS ALL AROUND (tsù) (Table 8, item 3; Plate 60c,d).—This belt of cotton (Plates 32e, 40a) is awarded for superiority in running. In former times the pendant strings were strung with seeds, which now are usually ceramic beads. At the bottom of each strand of beads were the tips of tapir hoofs (Plate 56d), which now are so rare and expensive that tips of calabash tops are used instead as well as tips of the beaks of toucan birds.

When it has been decided that a youth is to receive this award, his naming-uncle asks one of the youth’s sisters, preferably a name-exchanging one, to make this artifact for her brother. Before this item can be worn by the youth, his naming-uncle must wear it and run singing around the boulevard in the late afternoon to show it off. Then the youth can run with it in a log race or at any other time. The owner is the “father” of the belt, the tsù, pαm.

[II.G.3.a.(4)]

BELT WTTH PENDANTS ONLY IN FRONT (tsêp) (Table 8, item 4).—The belt band is made either of cotton or tucum, with tapir tips that hang down in front just above the genitals of the racing man. This item comes from the Apanyekra Indians.

[II.G.3.a.(5)]

BELT OF CORDS WTTH BEAD PENDANTS BEHIND (akàà) (Table 8, item 5; Plates 57c, 59h).—The Pró-khãmmã award another category of belt to individuals whom they expect to be the fastest runners in the great Krówa-ti log race [IV.A.3.c.(2).(c)] of the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals. One belt of this category in the NMNH collection has 52 cords of tucum fiber (Plate 18a-c). The pendants on these belts are often strings of beads adorned with deer hoof tips (Plate 57c), ostrich claw tips, or berries of the forest. However, hoof tips of either the female cerrado deer (poo) or the forest deer (gĩyatsùù) are most frequently used. Modern beads have replaced a certain kind of seed (akàà).

The name-exchange sisters of the officers of the Khêêtúwayê or Pepyê festival novices—their commandants, deputies, or file leaders [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]—make these running belts for them on the order of the officers’ naming-uncles. (See Glossary for “officers,” “novices,” and “festivals.”) The members of the opposite age-set moiety to the novices are designated by the Pró-khãmmã to win these belts. These winners take the belts from the officers of the novices just after these officers have run with them. When the ultimate owner of the akàà (the “father” of the belt) can no longer run well, he dismantles this artifact into its components to remake into other traditional objects.

[II.G.3.a.(6)]

DORSAL NECK PENDANT WITH BEAD PENDANTS AND SMALL GOURD BOWL (krat-re) (Table 8, item 6; Plate 59f).—The krat-re is worn in the terminal part of all three internment festivals by the two girl associates, who only wear it during the Waytikpo ceremony (Plates 43a,c, 44e). At its termination, the Pró-khãmmã take each krat-re off the backs of the girl associates and give them as awards to female performers who have sung well during this festival period [II.D.2.f] [III.A.3.b.(3).(a)]. The krat-re is often kept for the life of the awardee in a small basket (khaypo) hung up in her house, or it may be taken apart when its owner (“mother”) no longer sings much. The commandants and deputies in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals and the file leaders in the Pepkahàk festival make this item for the girl associates.

The dorsal cord of the krat-re is made of tucum fiber, and its small gourd bowl is about 2½ to 4 centimeters in diameter. The pendants are strung with beads and hoof tips of the female cerrado deer (poo) or the forest deer (gĩyatsùù). Ostrich claw tips are used but never the hoof tips of male cerrado deer (kaarà).

[II.G.3.a.(7)]

DORSAL NECK PENDANT WITH WOODEN COMB AND BEAD PENDANTS (khoykhe-re) (Table 8, item 7; Plate 59b,g).—Like the krat-re, the dorsal cord of the khoykhe-re is made of tucum fiber. At the end of the cord a little wooden comb and other adornments hang at the level of the small of the back on the wearer. The naming-uncle of an internment festival (Glossary) girl associate makes a comb as a replacement for the loss of her krat-re at the end of the Waytikpo ceremony in each of these three festivals.

This item is higher in prestige than the krat-re because it is only won by girls of hàmren status [III.C.7, 9] (Glossary). The dorsal neck cord is made of strings of rolled tucum, at the lower end of which a number of strands of beads hang. At the tips of these strands of beads, which are maybe 10 centimeters long, deer hoof tips hang in me same way as in the krat-re. The comb itself was traditionally made of purple wood, which grew no longer in the region by 1978 because of over use. After the Wild Boar day of each internment festival, the comb is painted red with urucu. This artifact may be kept for a lifetime or until its owner (‘mother”) no longer sings in the plaza.

[II.G.3.a.(8)]

SHOULDER TO WAIST DIAGONAL SASH WITH TWO TASSELS (hahĩ) (Table 8, item 8; Plate 56).—A girl’s mother, her uncles, and her naming-aunt decide whether or not a girl is to receive this singing sash of honor [II.D.2.f] [III.A.3.b.(3).(a)]. It is made of woven cotton and with tassels (Plate 18d, f). Small beads, where formerly wild seeds were used, are sewn into the heads of the tassels. The sash (Plate 32a) is a higher honor award than the little gourd (krat-re) and is given to a girl for her great voice, unusual singing, and excellent attendance at the daily sing-dances [II.F.1.b.(2).(a)] (Plate 32). Traditionally, only two or three women were qualified to sport such sashes in a tribe at one time, but now there may be half a dozen. Such a hahĩ mē-ntsii (sash its-mother) must take care of her sash as if she were its mother, as is implied in the name, and she must carry out such responsibilities fully.

The young woman who wins this award, Nimuendajú’s “precentress” (Nimuendajú, 1946:97), wears it for the first time during a Great Sing-dance high ceremonial performance [II.E.7.a]. The next morning her brother puts a name on the item [IV.A.5.e.(3)], unless she is married, and then her husband’s sister names it. After the sash has received its name, it can be painted with urucu and returned to its owner for her use whenever she sings in the female line in the plaza, especially during the early morning sing-dances [II.E.4.a]. When its owner does not sing much any more, this cotton sash may be taken apart.

Canela research assistants say the Apanyekra allow their women to wear these sashes for no special reason, whether they sing well or not. Among the Canela, however, only extremely good singers are awarded this right, though they are not as good as earlier singers; otherwise the wearing of such a sash would be criticized and ridiculed, they say.

The great hõ-?khre-pôy (her throat it-comes-out-from) women, those that sing extremely well, have to maintain high food and sex restrictions while they are wearing this sash of high honor, or they are likely to become sick, and then the sash has to be taken away. In earlier times, as in 1900 when the Cakamekra tribe joined the Canela [II.B.1.c.(1)], remnants of tribes joined each other [IV.C.1.d.(1).(a)] after taking part in a ceremony during which most warriors had sex with the great singing sash “mother” of the other tribe [III.B.1.a.(4)].

[II.G.3.b] FESTIVAL ITEMS

Some items are produced just for festivals. This assures their higher workmanship. Such items are usually not worn outside of their festival context. Some festival items, however, such as the ceremonial lance and the dorsal gourd pendant, are used on daily occasions as items of honor.

[II.G.3.b.(1)]

HEADBAND OF VERTICAL MACAW FEATHERS (pàn-yapùù) (Table 8, item 24, Plate 61a).—This headdress (pàn-yapùù: macaw-tail) (Plate 41b-d) is worn only in the Kêêtúwayê festival by the interned novices (Plate 41a). When the festival is over, the headdresses are taken apart and the macaw tail feathers, which are the principal part, are used for other purposes [II.G.3.a.(1), (2)]. This item is made for the young novice by his naming-uncle.

The stem on which the feathers are tied is made of purple wood. The headdress is put together with cotton string, and the chin and forehead straps are cotton as well. The headband, which fits between the upper part of the head and the occiput, is made of woven bast (hõl-ti-?hùl: bast-large-woven). Strings of tucum with beeswax are used to tie the feathers onto the small shafts of purple wood. The tip of a green and red tail feather of a parrot is tied to the center feather with a very fine string of tucum or of human hair. It is said to blow in the breeze and to be the hihot hihot (tip’s tip). A slightly larger piece, but still very small, of a parrot’s tail feather, is placed at the base of each macaw tail feather at the place of binding of the macaw tail feather to the purple wood shaft.

[II.G.3.b.(2)]

BODY SCRATCHING STICK (Table 8, item 25; Plate 67c).—Scratching sticks (amyi-kaakhrên-tsà: self-scratching instrument) are made of the stem (awal yà?khà) of an anajá palm frond leaf and are from 6 to 10 inches long. Only men may cut and carve these little sticks; women must never do so. A father will make such a scratching stick for his daughter when she is undergoing restrictions for her belt [II.D.2.f.(1)]. Such sticks are used to scratch the body and to move foods that fingers must not touch at that time. Such foods are soft, wet, and sticky substances. (Dry foods can be touched.) The only time a woman uses the stick is when she is undergoing restrictions for her belt, while her uncles are hunting for deer meat [IV.B.1.h.(3)].

Scratching sticks are used also by the novices in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, and in all situations where food restrictions are required for a man, such as during his postpartum couvade [II.D.3.g]. Men in earlier times used these sticks when planting peanuts (because restrictions were required) and when returning to the village after killing in battle.

[II.G.3.b.(3)]

CHILD’S DORSAL HEAD-STRAP BASKET (Table 8, item 26, Plate 66a).—This basket (amtsô yõ-?khay-re: field-rat its-basket-dim.) is only used in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals. Each of the two girl associates wears one when she goes out to hunt wild field rats (pereà: Cavia sp.) with the novices. It is given to the girl associate by her naming-aunt just after the all night sing, at the time that she is leaving me village for the rat hunting, but is taken away when she returns.

The day before, during their morning meeting, the Pró-khãmmã appoint another girl to win and own this little basket. According to tradition, this item is awarded to some girl of another tribe who is about the same age as the girl associate. When there is no such visiting girl (potentially including city dwellers and foreigners), the basket is awarded to a girl of some formerly independent nation now within the Canela tribe [III.C.7.a] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)] other than the Mõl-tum-re, the principal Canela tribe according to tradition.

The basket is made only of bast (hõl-ti) and the bark of the stem of a buriti palm frond (puu-re yatê: buriti-palm-stem little its-bark). This bark forms the vertical and more solid material on which the softer bast is woven to form the basket. Such little baskets always have three forehead straps attached to them and are shaped in the traditional manner, flaring near the top, like their full-size counterparts [II.G.3.c.(4)].

[II.G.3.b.(4)]

MINIATURE RACING LOGS WITH HANDLES (Pàlrà-re) (Table 8, item 27; Plate 67a).—This pair of tiny hand-sized logs with handle extensions on either side of them are used only in the Khêêtúwayê and the Pepyê festivals [IV.A.7.c] (Plate 36a,b). They are made by the catcher (mē-hapèn katê: them-catch agent) (Plate 42a,d) of the novices.

In the festival, the logs are passed from one relative of the Pepyê file leaders to another, and finally to the mother of the first file leader. She sits over them just where she has buried them in the plaza. She then unearths them and somebody in the Khêt-re plaza group takes them from her. All me novices then run out of the village down one of the roads.

After a sing-dance master has sung over these little logs, one is given to a Khêt-re (dwarf-parrot little) and the other to a Tsêp-re (bat) society runner. They then sprint back to the village according to the plaza moiety divisions (Figure 17), passing the little logs from runner to runner in a relay manner. Afterward, the tiny logs are delivered to any women (and later to their matriline descendants) in the current houses of the younger Tààmi or Hàwmrõ (Figure 24 B and BB), because these are the traditional houses [III.C.8.b] in which the Khêêtúwayê novices are interned.

An additional race between the novices and the adjacent opposite age-set takes place using these little logs. After this, they may be given to anyone to keep or to throw away. They must never be painted with any thing other than urucu [II.F.5.b], and they can only be painted outside the village just before the two plaza moieties race back with them to the village, not before they are buried or sat on in the plaza.

[II.G.3.b.(5)]

DIAGONAL SHOULDER-ARMPIT SASHES OF CORDS (Table 8, item 28; Plate 59a,e).—These sashes of many tucum strings are placed in the category of neckties (Table 8, item 14), but they are also festival items (Table 8, item 28a-c). There are three kinds of these sashes, distinguished only by their color.

First, there are the green sashes of many strands, maybe 30 to 50, but of one long piece of string. These are worn by the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê novices at certain times. The one long piece of string used to form a sash of tucum fibers (or any of the belts made of tucum) is rolled by women on their thighs (Plate 18a-c). These sashes are green from the color of fresh tucum fibers before they are used and soiled.

These same sashes of tucum string, when worn by the Pepkahàk troops, are colored black from the burned bark of the massaroc tree, or the burned seed (pit) of bacuri fruit (kumtsêê-ti-?khrã: bacuri-large-pit).

The third kind of ceremonial sashes are made of buriti bast rather than tucum strings. This kind of sash is worn by the Clowns (Mē?khên yara-?pê) (Glossary). The ceremonial chief of the Clowns wears one (Plate 46b right), as well as all the Clowns at certain times (Plates 46a,d, 47b). They are also used by the women in the Festival of Oranges when they sing outside the village all night, before undertaking their sunrise “attack” on the village [IV.A.3.f.(5)] (Plate 54).

[II.G.3.b.(6)]

NOVICE’S CARVED STAFF WITH TINES (Pepyê yõõ khô) (Table 8, item 31; Plate 64d).—These sticks or staffs can be made of any wood, but they are almost always made of a wood that is naturally white. The yellow juice of the urucu root is used to color them. The naming-uncle provides the wood, and the novice does the carving. The important point in carving the wood is to make tines at the top of the staff which, when rubbed on the arms of the novice, make a little vibrating, humming sound. The purpose is to let the commandant know that the novice is in his cell without the commandant having to enter it. When he passes by the cell, on the path around the village just outside the houses, the commandant expects to hear the novice causing this humming noise. The staff is collected from the novice just as he is leaving his internment. There is no particular tradition for the disposal of these instruments.

[II.G.3.b.(7)]

COTTON BRACELETS WITH TASSELS (pa-tsêê) (Table 8, item 34; Plate 60f).—The bracelets are made of cotton, and each are tied together with small strings made of tucum. They are worn by the girl associates and the young male singers who are apprenticed to the sing-dance leader of the Waytikpo ceremony in me Pepyê and Pepkahàk festivals. In the late afternoon just before the singers and girl associates leave the houses to perform in the Waytikpo ceremony (Plates 43a, c, 44e), they are given these cotton bracelets, without any paint on them. At the end of the Waytikpo ceremony, the young women whom the Pró-khãmmã have appointed to win the little back pendant gourds (krat-re) [II.G.3.a.(6)] of the two girl associates, also win the two sets of bracelets. Young men of the opposite age-set moiety from the Pepyê novices, or young men who are not members of the Pepkahàk, are assigned by the Pró-khãmmã to receive the wristlets of the young singing apprentices. The young men who win these bracelets must be great singers and are supposed to wear the ceremonial bracelets whenever they go out to the plaza to sing. In each case, their mother has spun the cotton, and a mother’s brother has put the bracelet together for his nieces. A naming-uncle does this for his nephew.

[II.G.3.b.(8)]

OCCIPITAL HAIR TIE OF COTTON WITH CANE ROD PENDANTS (poopok) (Table 8, item 39; Plate 61b).—This artifact is made of cotton, cane shoots, and two macaw tail feathers. Occipital hair is pulled through the circle of cotton, fastening the pendant to the back of the head. Two macaw tail feathers are placed into the cotton so that they stand up vertically behind the head. A kind of cane (cana juba) is employed for the rest of the artifact. Tubes about 30 to 38 centimeters long of this cane are hollowed out so that cotton strings can be pulled through them and tied, hanging the tubes vertically. There are maybe a dozen of them in this artifact.

This item can never be played with, dirtied, or painted. Only white chalk [II.F.5.e] can be put on the cotton part of the artifact. It is worn by the Visiting Chiefs (Tàmhàks) in their very high ceremonial procession (poopok nã ipikamēn: poopok with procession) [III.C.7.a] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)] (Plate 44d).

This item must be made for a Visiting Chief (Glossary) by his father, not by his mother’s brother. If he has no father, it must be made by some other poopok wearer. The wearer should keep it from being soiled and bring it out of its container only when he wears it in a Pepkahàk festival. When he dies, it cannot be buried with him, nor can it be given to his Formal Friend. It must be destroyed. More than any other artifact this is the Canela sacred object.

Cylinders made of buriti frond stalks (puu-re) are used to store this pendant. The poopok is deposited in a cavity made in a buriti stalk. Then a lid is fitted over the cavity and tied down securely. This container is called a poopok kyên tsà (poopok storing instrument).

[II.G.3.b.(9)]

FISH-SHAPED MEAT PIE FRAME (tep yà?-kuupu: fish its-pie) (Table 8, item 43; Plate 67b).—These Fish festival [IV.A.3.c.(4)] items are ordinary meat pies, that is, they are made of manioc flour with pieces of meat added that are cooked under the ground in wild banana leaves (Plates 20–23). These particular meat pies are small in size, from less than 30 to about 45 centimeters long at the most. They are placed inside a frame of branches from small trees. This frame is curved into the shape of a fish and tied with bast. Fish fins are added in the form of more bast tied to the frame. The bast is then made red with urucu paint.

This is not an important enough artifact for the uncles to be involved in its making. The father of the Fish performer makes the frame in the form of a fish, and the mother paints it and makes the meat pie. Each Fish society member carries this meat pie on his shoulder as he tries to escape from the weir the Clowns have made in the middle of the plaza, and runs to one of the houses which would be a place of safety. To capture a Fish, a Clown merely takes this fish-shaped meat pie off the running Fish society member’s shoulder.

When they have captured all the Fish members’ meat pies, the Clowns eat them (Plate 46a) and the frames are destroyed.

[II.G.3.b.(10)]

LIFE-SIZE BODY MASK (ku?khrùt-ti ?hô: water-beast large its-hair) (Table 8, item 47).—This principal item (Plates 48, 49) of the Masks’ festival [IV.A.3.c.(5)] completely covers a Mask society man. A particular Tôkaywêw-re mask’s bar (top horizontal supporting beam) is 103 cm across—really the mask’s width. This mask (Plate 48b) measures 155 cm from its bar to the ground, and its skirt is 82 cm wide and 49 cm high. The man inside such a mask supports this cross-beam at the top of the inside of the mask with a soft, doughnut-shaped cushion of buriti bast resting on his head. The “horns,” which are tied to the mask in the back, and also to the central beam, project diagonally to the right and left at about 45 degrees from perpendicular. These horns are made of either Brazil wood or purple wood.

Designs are painted on the face of a mask to indicate the category and behavioral character of that mask. About half a dozen categories of masks have designs that identify the personality that the mask should act out. (For a full discussion of each Masks’ construction and behavior, see Nimuendajú, 1946:203–205.)

The black color on the face of the Tôkaywêw-re mask is burned bacuri fruit pit (kumtsêê-ti-?khrã), or burned calabash shell. This is the principal coloring of the mask until the terminal part of the festival when urucu (red paint) may be painted on the parts of the face that are not black already.

At the end of the festival, the mask is given to the person with whom the mask owner has contracted as “mother” in the terminal part of the festival. After the festival the mask may be discarded and the horns are used for other purposes.

[II.G.3.b.(11)]

MASK’S FOOD-SPEARING STICK (Table 8, item 48).—Such a stick is from 30 to 60 centimeters long and is traditionally made out of purple wood. Not a carefully made and carved instrument, it is just cut and rubbed smooth. There is no handle or string attached. The men wearing a mask use the stick to spear the food they are not supposed to touch with their hands during the festival.

[II.G.3.b.(12)]

OCCIPITAL HAIR ADORNMENT OF CATOLÉ PALM FROND (hίwa?kèy) (Table 8, item 49).—The occipital hair adornment of the Closing Wè?tè festival (Wè?tè yikuu-tsà yõ?-hίwa?kèy: Wè?tè terminating-ceremony its hίwa?kèy) [IV.A.3.e] was used to tie the occipital hair of male performers. It is made of catolé palm leaves (hot-re ?hô: catolé-little its-leaf). These days this artifact is not used, but I remember having seen it worn in the old Ponto village during a Closing Wè?tè ceremony. The explanation from research assistants is that the younger people do not know how to make it anymore.

The catolé leaves are held together by small bast cords that also come around the neck to hold the artifact in place. It is made by men for themselves. When it is no longer needed after one particular ceremony, it is simply thrown away.

[II.G.3.b.(13)]

PADDED ARROWS (khrúwa kakot) (Table 8, item 35; Plate 63b).—These may more properly be considered lances than arrows, because they have no rear tip feathers though they are launched from bows. These arrows are made of two different kinds of cane: cana juba, which is like bamboo, though very thin and tough, and therefore used for the smaller arrows; and of cana braba, which is smooth, heavier, and longer, therefore used for the larger arrows.

These are padded arrows that are used at the end of the Fish festival and the three internment festivals (Glossary) to shoot at the runner who is trying to pass through the plaza, dodging arrows [II.F.2.c.(3)], carrying the ceremonial lance, and wearing the feathered warbonnet [II.G.3.a.(1), (2)].

[II.G.3.b.(14)]

PADDED LANCES (Table 8, item 50; Plate 63a).—This lance (põõhù-?prè khãm khrúwa: corn husk-leaf on arrow) is made of cana juba, with corn husks to pad the point, and used only in the Corn Harvest ritual [II.F.2.c.(2)] [IV.A.5.d] (Plate 53). These husks are wrapped so that a pad is formed 4 to 5 centimeters in circumference.

[II.G.3.c] WOMEN’S ITEMS

The are few female body adornments, festival or otherwise. Most of the containers and work-oriented items, however, are used and owned by women.

[II.G.3.c.(1)]

BELT OF TUCUM CORDS (i?pre) (Table 8, item 19; Plate 39d).—The woman’s belt that traditionally was worn every day consists of three strands of tucum string (Plate 18a-c), which goes around the girl’s waist, as many as 75 times. It is given by her naming-aunt [II.D.1.b] upon the girl’s completion of her duty as a girl associate [II.D.2.f.(1)], and then painted by her mother-in-law [II.D.2.f.(2)] (Figures 48, 49). In earlier times such a belt was kept for the lifetime of the person, but these days they are seldom worn and often sold.

[II.G.3.c.(2)]

BELT OF SHREDDED BAST (Table 8, no field number).—In earlier times, after childbirth, a woman wore a belt of shredded bast (hõl-ti), which are the fibers that can be stripped away from buriti palm frond leaves. It had a knot in front to show that she was undergoing restrictions, but when this belt was worn out, it was merely thrown away and not replaced. Another practice before the time of cloth, was for a woman to wear this same kind of belt band during her menstrual periods. It was painted red to show that she was in this condition so that men would not approach her [IV.B.1.f.(1)].

[II.G.3.c.(3)]

NECKLACE OF MANY STRINGS OF CERAMIC BEADS (Table 8, item 149; Plates 57b, 73c, 16g).—A very valued item is the heavy necklace of ceramic beads with pendants. Ceramic beads made in eastern Europe are assembled from various female kin in order to adorn girls from the ages of about 6 through 17. The necklaces consist of anywhere from 10 to 50 strands of beads around the neck with a pendant extension in front, which often has coins or medallions of the Virgin.

The Canela know what they prize in the quality of necklace beads: ceramic, not glass; fully colored, although not painted; dark reds, blues, and maybe oranges for people, but not yellows, greens, and blacks. These latter colors suit artifacts. The Apanyekra are not as particular.

[II.G.3.c.(4)]

DORSAL HEAD-STRAP BASKET OF BURITI STALK SURFACE STRIPS (khay) (Table 8, item 61).—This forehead strap basket is the woman’s work container for carrying heavy objects. She will use it to carry such things as firewood, manioc roots, sweet potatoes, and fruits from the cerrado and the farm plots to the village. The forehead carrying basket is made only for and by women. It is only used by them and may never be made or used by men.

The vertical strips that give it strength are the bark taken off of the stem of the buriti frond, the one that has balsa-like material as its core. The stem is called puu-re (talo). These strips are known as puu-re yà;?khà. The headpiece, is called the khay yũ?khô. There should be three of these head straps in any proper head basket. Around the basket there should be cords of buriti bast, which are called hal-tsêê. When a woman is carrying a load that is high, these straps can be undone and used to support the high part of the load.

The slightly flaring mouth of this basket must be formed very precisely to be within Canela tradition and not incur criticism. The Canela are very precise about this point of style. When made for commercial purposes, the flaring at the mouth is usually omitted.

This basket will not be buried with a woman when she dies; it will just be torn apart and thrown away.

[II.G.3.d] MEN’S OBJECTS

Most of the body adornments, whether of festival or daily use, are worn by men.

[II.G.3.d.(1)]

WOODEN STAFF (khô-po) (Table 8, item 9; Plate 64e).—Made from any wood, this staff is usually four-sided and has a point at the end that can be stuck into the ground. It is used for killing game animals, for singing in the street when held horizontally, as a walking stick for old men, and, formerly, as a killing weapon in combat. A man may keep his staff until he dies. It is not buried with him but is given to the Formal Friend who is responsible for burying him. It used to be given by an uncle to his named-nephew, but this is no longer the case. It was not decorated in earlier times but now, because it is used as a commercial item, it is sometimes decorated with feathers or beads to make it more appealing.

[II.G.3.d.(2)]

WOODEN CLUB (khôtàà) (Table 8, item 10; Plate 63f).—In contrast to the wooden staff, this club has a squared-off end. It is between 10 to 20 centimeters in length, and was used for defense, especially by young people between 10 and 15 years of age. It can be made of any wood, although piqui (kaarà-mput-hê) is probably the best kind.

Traditionally, it was not decorated beyond making one half black and the other half white. It was always round, with an indentation near its top, to accommodate a loop of tucum string to hang it up by. Now the Canela make clubs that may be decorated with feathers and beads for sale.

Youths make their own clubs and dance with them, as they are a symbol of maleness. They are not objects associated with any honor and are quite casually thrown away when not wanted anymore.

[II.G.3.d.(3)]

SMALL WOODEN CLUB (khôtàà-re) (Table 8, item 10; Plate 63f).—The Canela make small staffs of a related category (khôtàà-re) but with no points, and also small square clubs that were a form of art [II.G.1]. These items were very carefully carved and carried most of the time by their owner. A few examples of this sort were found in the late 1950s in the old village of Ponto. Better examples are in the museums of Germany where Nimuendajú sent them, and in the several museums in Brazil where he placed his collections. Pictures of this lost art are in Nimuendajú (1946, pl. 8b).

[II.G.3.d.(4)]

RELAY RACE BATONS (a?khrô-re) (Table 8, item 11; Plate 64a,b).—These are made of cane arrow material (khrúwa), measuring about ¾ meter in length, and come in pairs. In earlier times, they were never decorated, but now they may be adorned because of the desire to sell them in urban markets. They can be made by anybody, and they are throw-away items when they show some sort of wear.

[II.G.3.d.(5)]

HEADBANDS (i?khrã-?khà or hà?khà).—There are at least six types of these headbands, noted as follows.

[II.G.3.d.(5).(a)]

LITTLE OLD CERRADO DEER (poo-tsũm-re).—This type of headband is made from strands of bast of dried and woven material. These items are made and owned by their users, who are the young men in the age-set that is directly above the novices.

Besides the circular headband, the item consists of two prongs, or forks, which emerge from the front and project slightly to the right and left. These prongs project at a 45- to 60-degree angle from the line of movement.

[II.G.3.d.(5).(b)]

HEADBAND LIKE A CALF.—This headband like a calf (hà?khà ?te prùù-ti ?khra: headband made-like cattle’s child) is also made of bast and the prongs in front extend to the right and left; the prongs are flat, that is, they are at 90 degree angles to the line of movement of the walking person. The flat extension in the front may be 15 to 20 centimeters in length. This headband is made of whole leaves that must be fresh and green. This headband is worn by the third and fourth age-sets above the novices; that is, by men in their late 40s, 50s, and early 60s.

[II.G.3.d.(5).(c)]

PÓRO.—This headband must be fresh and green, and is made of the whole inner leaf (bast) of the buriti palm frond. This headpiece is characterized by one solid band of leaf about 15 to 20 centimeters long. It is made and worn by men in their 60s and 70s.

[II.G.3.d.(5).(d)]

CLOWN’S HEADBAND (hĩ or hĩ-?ti).—This headband is worn by the Clowns or by young men just barely out of their internment. It is made of dried, sometimes slightly twisted buriti bast, which may or may not be woven. Wearers must have participated in carrying the great log (Krówa-ti) in a Pepyê festival. This is used by the principal participants in the Festival of Oranges and by the Clowns in the Fish festival. Shreds of bast hang down on all sides. The front prongs point forward and may be forked. This headband also has a tail that goes down the back as far as the waist. This kind of headband may include the painted strip of a babaçu palm leaf in front. In the Fish festival, these headdresses are made only by the ceremonial chief of the Clowns.

[II.G.3.d.(5).(e)]

OLDER PERSON’S HEADBAND.—These older persons’ headbands (mē-?khra-?tum-túwa yà?khà: people’s child firm recently headband) are made of woven fibers pulled away from buriti fronds. They are often painted and sold. They usually have two prongs, which go to the right and left at an angle of 45 degrees. The sides of the headband are flat and can be decorated extensively. People in their 50s and 60s can wear this kind of headband. Men in their 40s must not be seen wearing such a headband.

[II.G.3.d.(5).(f)]

CALF HEADBAND (prùù-ti ?khra).—The front prongs in this item may be made of light (balsa) wood that comes from the stem (puu-re) of the buriti palm frond. This wood is made into a flat rectangular surface which can be painted in various ways. This item is a variation of the second headband [II.G.3.d.(5).(b)].

[II.G.3.d.(6)]

ROUND EARLOBE SPOOLS (khuy) (Table 8, item 13; Plate 62a,b,c).—Earlobe spools (Nimuendajú, 1946, pl. 13a) (Plates 73e, 76a) are inserted into openings made in the earlobes specifically for them (Plates 24, 25). First the ears are pierced and wooden pins inserted; gradually the holes are extended by inserting increasingly larger pins and spools until wheels of 5 to 8 centimeters across can be placed within the earlobe opening. [II.D.3.b] [III.A.2.o] [IV.B.1.e].

The spools are always circular, and can be made of different kinds of woods, but craíha (tôk-tsà) is the best kind. They also can be made of solid chalk (khenpoy-re). Chalk found near the Sítio dos Arrudas (Map 3) was used for this purpose. It may be pure white but often is partly rose or reddish. The spools made of wood can be painted black, red, yellow, or any available color. Some men roll fresh anajá frond leaves, forming a hollow circle, and neatly place this circle inside their lobe holes.

These items are usually made by men for themselves and can be thrown away when the user is no longer satisfied with them.

[II.G.3.d.(7)]

WOODEN EARLOBE PIERCER (hapak katswèl tsà) (Table 8, item 55; Plates 62g, 68c).—In earlier times, a boy’s ears were pierced when he was 9 or 10. Around the turn of the century, there were just two ear-piercing specialists in the tribe, who pierced all the boys’ ears. The ear-piercing instruments, or awls (mē hapak katswèl-tsà: Timbira-Indians’ ear piercing-instrument), were made of purple wood and were shaped with the teeth of a paca (kraa-tsà: paca-instrument). Nothing was put on the ear piercing instrument to make it slippery, but it was rubbed smooth with a sambaíba leaf (kràà-ti). An ear-piercing awl is not buried with its user and maker but is given to a relative (Nimuendajú, 1946:352 [ear lobes]) (Plates 24, 25).

[II.G.3.d.(8)]

BURITI BAST BAG FOR FIRST EARLOBE HOLE PINS (Table 8, item 56; Plate 62f).—This little container (po-re yõõ paptu-re: pin-dim. its containing-thing dim.) of the first earlobe pins that are put in a boy’s ear is made in the style of the man’s carrying bag, the paptu. These pins are small and made of cane (cana juba). A youth makes these pins just before and during the seclusion period for ear-piercing [IV.B.1.e]. In a set there may be as many as a dozen pieces of cane, each pair increasing slightly in diameter.

When the period of seclusion is over, the youth who made the pins and the basket will put them in the hollow of a great tree, perhaps a locust (ku?tàà). This will make the earlobes become strong, so that they will not be weak and break easily.

The bag is made of ordinary bast and is fashioned by the young man himself.

[II.G.3.d.(9)]

NECKLACES (hõ?khre-tsêê) (Table 8, item 149; Plate 59a).—These necklaces (hõ?khre-tsêê: throat-thing) were originally made of shredded bast, dried and rolled back together. They consisted of many strands, which hang down onto the chest.

Another kind of necklace is 20 to 30 loops of tucum worn in the same way. When painted black, this is what the Pepkahàk wear.

[II.G.3.d.(10)]

PLAITED SHOULDER-ARMPIT DIAGONAL SASHES (hara-?pê) (Table 8, item 16; Plate 58a).—These decorative items come in pairs and in two kinds of materials. They can be made either of tucum or of woven bands of shredded bast. In the latter case they can be very decoratively painted.

[II.G.3.d.(ll)]

ARMLETS (hara-khat-tsêê) (Table 8, item 17e) AND LEGLETS (i?te-tsêê) (Table 8, item 17f).—Such items are worn around the upper arm (hara-khat-tsêê), above the wrist (i?pa-tsêê), just below the knee (i?khõn-tsêê), or just above the ankle (i?te-tsêê). They can be made of fresh buriti fronds, fresh babaçu fronds, or bast (hõl-ti). These bands around the arms and legs are used for decoration when dancing and singing, and even racing. They were used only after a novice had graduated, and up to the age of about 60. Men use all of the four possible positions for armlets and leglets, but women only use wristlets.

In earlier times, men wore long strings of cotton which were wound from their wrists part of the way up their forearm, with no loops overlapping (Table 8, item 17d). Then this wrapping was well painted with urucu. These were called katsàt-te ?pa-?khà i?kaypre (cotton-made forearms’-skin wrapped-up). Almost any artifact that is made of cotton must be fabricated by women. However, men do make these items for themselves.

The Canela used to make wristlets of wood for male babies (mē-?ka?pôt pa-tsêê: they-infant forearm-attachment) (Nimuendajú, 1946, pl. 13b) (Table 8, item 17c; Plate 60e) between the ages of 6 and 9 months (Table 9, stages 4, 5). These wristlets were used to remind parents to keep up certain food and sex restrictions for the welfare of the baby [IV.D.3.e]. The naming-uncle carved the wristlet for his nephew, and they were often kept for years because the carving was of such good quality. Nothing similar was made for baby girls.

[II.G.3.d.(12)]

BELT WTTH TAIL OF BURITI FROND STRAW (tsoo-re yapùù) (Table 8, item 18; Plate 58b).—This item, worn only by men, is frequently seen. It is a belt made of 20 to 30 strands of bast with a tail that may be ¼ to ½ meter long and can be painted in any way. These items are very informally made, can be worn at any time, and are simply thrown away when they become somewhat used.

[II.G.3.e] MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS

While the Canela have developed the human voice as a musical instrument, they have no instruments of musical precision except the maraca, a percussion instrument. They have no instruments that are tuned to a certain pitch or that can accompany a melody [II.F.1.a].

[II.G.3.e.(1)]

CATTLE HORN (hõ?hi) (Table 8, item 20a; Plate 65c).—Canela horns are used as noise makers and so do not stress pitch and rhythm. They use horns to increase noise and therefore excitement during daily dances, log races, and festivals. Horns are used only by males.

The cattle horn is made from the actual horns of cattle. First the horn is scraped clean, then it is fitted into a bamboo (po?he) shaft in which a mouthpiece hole has been cut. The hole is approximately 3 to 4 centimeters by 2½ centimeters.

These horns have cotton pendants and are often wrapped in cotton from the horn to the open end of the bamboo shaft mouthpiece. They can be decorated with the hoof tips of cerrado deer, as well as aboriginal beads (akàà) and beeswax (pen-hê). Only men blow horns (Plate 56a), and generally it takes a young man with good teeth to do so with good results. The blowing action and lip control are similar to what is needed for a trombone, but the aperture (mouth piece) is elongated, not circular.

Such horns are used to enhance movement and gaiety during festivals [II.F.1]. In earlier times, apart from the festivals, such horns were not supposed to be blown except to signal that danger was coming; the enemy, a jaguar, or a threatening wild beast. Horns are not buried with the owner but are given to someone else after the owner has died.

[II.G.3.e.(2)]

GOURD HORN (pàtwè) (Table 8, item 20b; Plate 65d).—A gourd horn is made from a large gourd attached to a bamboo shaft, which is hollowed out in the same way as the shaft of the cow’s horn, but it is easier to blow. The gourd horn is blown in the same way and used for the same occasions as the cow’s horn.

[II.G.3.e.(3)]

GOURD RATTLE (ku?tõy) (Table 8, item 21; Plate 65a).—This is a completely round gourd or calabash: Crescentia cuiete. It is pierced by a spike of purple wood so that the gourd has a handle and a point coming out the opposite side with which to stick the gourd into the ground (Nimuendajú, 1946:114) (Plate 32b,c). Into the gourd are placed little balls (pam-ti ?-hù: [small banana braba tree -aug.] its-seed: caroço da flor). These are seeds that grow in the forests but can also be raised in a farm plot. The gourd rattle (maraca) can be hung by a strap through the handle. This strap is made of cotton which is always thoroughly impregnated with urucu.

Only urucu may be put on a gourd rattle. The instrument is difficult to make and is not buried with its owner, but rather is given to some other sing-dance leader.

[II.G.3.e.(4)]

GOURD WHISTLE (ku?khõn-re) (Table 8, item 22).—In earlier times a little ocarina of this sort was made for a youth by one of his lovers—never by his wife. Youths who were going to receive such a gourd made the holes in it, but their lovers made the loops of tucum string and assembled the beads and other decorations. When a young man appeared with such an object, everybody knew that he had a lover. It was hung on a tucum sash, going from his right shoulder to under his left armpit. The little gourd whistle was tied to this sash as were some other items, such as strands of beads with cerrado deer hoof tips at the end of each string. In earlier times, there was one larger hole for whistling and two small holes for the fingers in order to vary the sound. But these days there are three or four holes for the fingers.

These gourd whistles are not intended to produce the whole range of tones. No Canela expects to be able to whistle songs in this manner. The notes produced by this instrument are haphazard and by chance and only serve to provide joyful noises and to keep everybody happy [III.B.1.c.(4)]. The blowing action is like that of a flute, not an ocarina. Such instruments can be blown while young people are dancing in the plaza, and formerly were almost always played just after the early morning dance while young people were going to bathe in the swimming spots (Map 5).

Only urucu may be put on such an artifact, and it is not buried with its owner. The deceased person’s Formal Friend, the one who is in charge of digging the grave, takes it [IV.B.3.c].

[II.G.3.e.(5)]

STRAIGHT WOODEN WHISTLE (ku?khõn-khrèt) (Table 8, item 23; 65b).—Such a musical item is made of wood that is hollowed from one end. One cross-sectional hole is made into the hollowed out center, and a player blows across the hole to produce the sound (as with the gourd whistle), but the action is like that of a flute. The sound is varied by the player putting his finger in and pulling it out of the longitudinal hollowed-out space. These wooden whistles are made by men since women do not carve items of wood.

I only very rarely saw such a wooden whistle in use (Plate 57a), whereas gourd whistles were very frequently used.

All of the instruments that produce musical sounds through blowing breath into them are called i?kaakhôl-tsà (breath-blowing instrument). The gourd rattle, in contrast, is described as an i?kayrõn-tsà (rotating instrument).

Part III: Social Organization

The Canela have been compared to the Australian aborigines (Maybury-Lewis, 1979:303) because, like the Aborigines, they have developed a complex system of social organization at a relatively low level of technological development. Anthropologists who try to work out scales or ladders of unilinear or multilinear social evolution find the Canela social complexity to be uncharacteristic of most other tribes that are between the hunter-gatherer level and the fully agricultural one. (See Carneiro, 1967). Because this complexity makes the study of social organization a crucial one, and because most Central and Northern Gê specialists have concentrated on this topic, I have placed the main focus of the book on the presentation of Canela social organization.

The first chapter, “Socialization and Related Adult Activities” is about the enculturation of the young through the various foci of socialization into adulthood and about the molding of adolescents by the various forces of socialization. It is also about the social forces that keep adults within traditional lines of behavior. This traditional human processing, as carried out by parents, was permissive until puberty when much of the control was passed to aunts and uncles, who restricted the behavior of their nieces and nephews through severe discipline. By the mid-1970s, these roles of the aunts and uncles had all but disappeared, with the roles of the parents strengthened somewhat.

This chapter is followed by what is partly the product of socialization, “Psychological Polarities, Values, and Behavioral Orientations.” Aspects of this sort seemed best studied among the Canela through analyzing key polarities, such as individuality within solidarity.

The third chapter, “Socioceremonial Units,” is informational, describing and defining for the rest of the monograph the principal social units involved in on-going daily living and in the festival system, whether political [III.D] or ceremonial [IV. 1, 2].

The fourth chapter with sections on the chieftainship, council of elders, and judicial system emphasizes the political structures of Canela society. The tribal chief is in control of most of the political power in the tribe, while the members of the council of elders check and limit his political behavior and act in their own right with respect to ceremonial matters, governing festivals and bestowing prestigious awards on good performers. Canela informal law is well developed, especially with respect to keeping marriages with children together. Interfamily public hearings are frequently held to reduce excited or hurt feelings related to almost any disturbance of the peace. The chief of the tribe is the ultimate judge and arbiter in legal matters.

The terminological relationship systems discussed in the fifth chapter include consanguineal and affinal terminology, name transmission, Formal Friendship, Informal Friendship, teknonymy, the contributing-father system, mortuary terms, and ceremonial practices. These systems constitute most of the interpersonal social organization, in contrast to the political social organization, in a tribe at the Canela’s position in social evolution. Marriage completes the discussion of interpersonal linkages. The kinship system is Crow III in Lounsbury’s system (Nimuendajú, 1946:351–393), but “parallel transmission” equivalences published by Sheffler and Lounsbury (1971:110–112) provide more congruence with both the empirical data and the social structural correlates.

[III.A] Socialization and Related Adult Activities

This chapter concentrates on the specific points in the life of a Canela at which the forces of socialization are most intense. “Forces of Socialization” [III.A.3] is divided into three age groups: children, adolescents, adults. In discussing each group, emphasis is placed on the “forces” (that is, the outside influences, pressures, and facilities) that (1) restrict or discipline (i.e., limit), (2) reward or positively motivate (i.e., attract), or (3) activate or help (i.e., equip) the individual to develop in the socially desirable patterns. Thus, I see the individual moving through life reacting to (1) the restricting and restraining forces, (2) the facilitating and rewarding pressures, and (3) the aids provided and her or his own personal abilities. Reality is more complex. This simplification was adopted for heuristic purposes.

The next to final section presents ethnotheories of growth [III.A.4], some Canela ideas about the social development of the individual, and a summary of my observations [III.A.5] about Canela socialization.

[III.A.1] Research Methods

It would be methodologically correct, but too time-consuming, for an ethnologist to move systematically throughout an entire village, observing socialization from house to house, day after day. To some extent I did just this in both villages of the Canela in the late 1950s, and in the Apanyekra village of Aguas Claras (Map 8), while involved in other kinds of research (census taking, for instance). At such times I did notice and record various kinds of socialization in most houses of the villages. My principal studies of socialization, however, were carried out through observation in my houses of residence and through extended discussions with research assistants, which systematically covered the field of socialization.

[IIIA.l.a] PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS

About 75 percent of my observations on socialization of children were made in the Canela houses of my adoptive sister Te?hôk and my adoptive brother Hàwmrõ and his wife, Mĩĩ-khwèy. In Te?hôk’s house, her several sisters were usually present with their children. In my brother’s house I could watch the socialization practices of my brother’s mother, and later, the practices of his three grown and married daughters with their babies and children. Four generations lived in that house. The socialization practices in the house of my adoptive Apanyekra sister Pootsen provided another source of observation.

In all three of these houses of adoption, the age range of children was from breast feeding through belt winning for girls and through Pepyê internment for boys. During my 22-year period with the Canela, I observed some children mature into adulthood and raise their own children. It was not uncommon to see mothers and daughters raising their similarly aged babies and older children all together.

Opportunities to observe casually what older people were doing for children were excellent. I simply sat on a mat or chair while eating three meals a day, day after day for years, and watched what was happening in large rooms where many activities were occurring. I was one of the many fixtures of such rooms, being inactive but eating and observing. It was possible to take notes right there, or to speak into a microphone in English without disturbing the family interaction. Moreover, I often traveled with whole families to farms, or to one of the other villages. These trips were slow, lasting three days instead of one, because women and children took a long time in preparation for moving and then walked slowly. Sometimes I observed the traveling group and wrote or spoke simple notes for later elaboration. Observations made at such times (while eating or traveling) were often discussed with research assistants who went and asked details from the adults involved to improve our understanding of the facts of the situation. The socialization incident was then elaborated upon and its possible variations and parameters discussed in my research assistant council.

[IIIA.1.b] DISCUSSIONS WITH RESEARCH ASSISTANTS

Another way of approaching the study of socialization besides observing incidents was working with a group of research assistants on this topic. In 1958 and 1959, I studied with one or two research assistants [In.4.d]. Then, in the spring of 1960 and again in 1964, I worked intensively with a group of research assistants who used to debate points among themselves and then turn to me with their opinion in Portuguese, after I had been listening to their debate in Canela.

Although socialization was never again the principal topic of investigation after 1964, I reassessed this subject with research assistants from time to time during the 1970s to learn more about the more obvious trends and changes I was observing. It should be assumed, however, that the socialization process presented here comes from examples observed in 1959 and 1960 (i.e., “the late 1950s” [In.4.f]), unless otherwise stated, or unless some observation of the 1970s is specifically being contrasted with the earlier period.

[III.A.1.c] CANELA AND APANYEKRA SOCIALIZATION PROCESSES

Canela villages are relatively homogeneous in social training because of the openness of Canela life and the lack of significant intratribal ethnic differences. Nor are there class differences of any significance, although they were beginning to develop in the 1970s. Individual differences exceed any variation in family traits that might evolve because of relative status differences. However, child training in a Wè?tè house [III.D. 3.e. (3)], or a political chief’s house, could be somewhat different from socialization in an ordinary family house because the sociocultural atmosphere and traditional assumptions could be quite different. Significant differences could also exist between a house of self-sufficient individuals of high self-esteem [I.G.1, 4, 15] and a household of people who, rather than maintaining their own self-sufficiency through farm plots, depended on work at the houses of backlanders for support in September through December of each year [II.C.3.g]. This chapter, however, is not designed to cover such a possible range of variation in socialization, and focuses instead on a normative range of behavior.

I did not carry out intensive studies of Apanyekra socialization processes. Because their tradition is almost the same as the Canela’s (both tribes being Timbira Indians of the eastern variety), it is assumed that their socialization processes are similar. I observed the Apanyekra, for a total of 10 months over 17 years. It must be remembered, however, that the slightly different values of the Apanyekra probably are reflected in their socialization processes as they are in their versions of certain myths.

[III.A.2] Foci of Socialization

The foci of socialization presented here represent periods in a baby’s, child’s, or adolescent’s life that are more intense and formally focused than other periods. The underlying principles that govern socialization in general operate more conspicuously in these periods, and comparisons between earlier (prepubertal) and later (postpubertal) foci provide information on continuity or change.

[III.A.2.a] INFANT CARE

An infant lives at the breast of its mother. In the late 1950s infants were rarely put down except to clean them. Whenever a baby cried it was given a breast on which to suck. It was believed that infants and babies should not cry very much, and that the moment any baby did, it should be pacified, or distracted. A breast was the usual means. The four or five women in a household took care of each other’s babies [III.F.7], and almost always more than one of them could furnish milk. Thus, the very young babies, up to several weeks old, could be switched from breast to breast when one mother was absent, maybe fetching water or firewood.

Unrelated individuals who had fed at the same breast as babies were said to be “milk siblings,” and sometimes in later life called each other by siblingship terms. (This is also a backland practice, so the Canela may have learned it from them [II.d].)

In the house of Te?hêk, her uterine sister (Hapôl) was usually present, and two more “sisters” (really parallel cousins), Tel-khwèy and the younger Kroytsen, lived next door. In the late 1950s and 1960, Te?hôk’s daughter, Te?kurà, was part of the baby-tending team, and by the 1970s another daughter Píyapit had grown up to join it, but by then Te?kurà had died.

Ideally, even when a mother was sleeping, she held her baby in her arms. In the 1970s, however, babies were often left in hammocks as long as they were not crying; but if any crying started, they were picked up and nursed immediately. Sometimes they were carried around in commercial cloth slings instead of on the hip. Fathers sometimes hold babies, but this is not a regular practice.

[III.A.2.b] BREAST FEEDING

Babies were not only fed on demand, but often were nursed for long periods. On a trip to Barra do Corda in 1960, Atsuu’s baby was at her breast and nursed almost the whole time, even while they were in the back of a truck where riding was rough. This trip, through Leandro and Escondido (Map 3), must have taken a dozen hours, including rest periods. The breast was the place of security for a baby, and a mother encouraged it to nurse there during any long periods of stress.

Active attempts to distract a baby were a principal socialization technique and pattern of adult behavior. A baby became enculturated to put up with almost no confrontations and relatively few difficult aspects of living. When something unpleasant happened or when a baby was frightened, its attention was distracted from the disturbing object. Its mother gave it her breast, or it was put on the breast of some woman it knew.

However, by the time that the baby was five or six weeks old, it could distinguish and preferred its mother to other women and often did not accept the breast of another “mother.” No attempt was made to force a baby to accept a woman it did not like. Sometimes in my brother Hàwmrõ’s household, babies were given to their grandmother or great grandmother, the older Khroytsen (Figure 22), to hold and nurse, even though she had no milk.

[III.A.2.C] FEEDING OF SOLIDS

At about 2 to 4 months, depending on a mother’s attitude, she feeds her baby mashes of foods, such as bananas, manioc, sweet potatoes, rice, and even brown sugar. By 9 months, she might feed it soft, well-cooked meat. I never saw, and my research assistants denied, what Nimuendajú (1946:108) reports: that mothers gave babies pre-masticated food.

A baby is given only soft foods until it has teeth. In the late 1950s, babies were spoon and finger fed. No bottle feeding existed. Nothing was forced on a baby of that age. By the 1970s, however, some babies had plastic pacifiers in their mouths.

[III.A.2.d] EXPLORATION AND DISTRACTING SMALL CHILDREN FROM DANGERS

Babies first experience some degree of freedom in creeping and crawling across the earth or sand floors in their maternal houses. They are not restrained. They are encouraged to go where they wish and explore whatever they happen to find.

Sometimes older children put a toy a half meter ahead of the baby and coax it to crawl to the toy. When the baby almost has the toy in its hands, the child moves the toy a little bit further, not to frustrate the baby, but to encourage it to crawl a little more. Any signs of frustration, however, are appeased by immediately letting the baby have the toy. No crying for any length of time is allowed.

When my wife arrived for the first time in Sardinha (1963), she was disturbed to see little boys barely able to stand playing with large knives, wielding them and poking them at objects. While this happened quite often, I never saw or heard of a baby hurting itself with a knife in such a situation. Babies also wander close to fires, but more man one adult, including a parent, is usually watching. They let the baby wander and explore, but the moment it endangers itself with fire, or anything else, they call to it to draw its attention to move in a different direction. They may also pick the baby up, giving it the breast as a distraction so that it will not cry for what it has lost.

In the late 1950s, I witnessed an excellent example of the freedom to explore allowed toddlers. In Baixão Prêto, a large rooster, well tied with cords, was lying on the ground just inside the house. A little boy, A?prol, barely able to stand, approached closely and watched it. The rooster could swing its head slightly and could have pecked at the boy, but not with much force because of its tied position. With great patience, his parents, especially his father Hàwmrõ, were observing the situation, but nobody interfered. They could see the baby was not going closer to the rooster and therefore was safe.

This kind of freedom continues for boys of 7 or 8, when they go in groups into the cerrado to play [II.D.1.c]. They are not called to account for what they were doing during most of the day. This freedom to explore continues for men as adults when they go on trek to the large coastal cities [II.A.3.a.(3)]. Groups of men, sometimes with a woman or two, escape most restrictions of tribal life when they go out “in the world” (no mundo), as they call it [II.D.3.i.(1)].

[III.A.2.e] STANDING AND WALKING

At 11 to 15 months, adults encourage babies to stand and walk by holding them upright by their hands and encouraging them to take steps. A mother often holds her baby boy from behind with one hand while guiding its hand with her other hand into shaking a toy gourd rattle, hoping he might grow up to be a sing-dance leader [II.F.1.a]. I saw parents holding girls of that age by the ribcage, causing their bodies to go up and down, while their knees bent in the traditional rhythmic manner. Such a mother was hoping her daughter would grow up to be a great sing-dancer [II.D.2.e.(1)].

They encourage babies to walk at the beginning of their second year, though they do not make an ordeal of the learning experience. They still give it a breast if it cries, and relieve it of any activity that might cause crying. Nothing is forced. They believe each child will walk when she or he is ready to do so [III.A.4.a].

[III.A.2.f] WEANING

One of the oldest Canela men, Khà?po (Plate 70e) [I.G.7], who was in his early 80s in the late 1950s, reported that, in earlier times, weaning occasionally took place as late as 3 to 4 years. He demonstrated the age by pointing to two little girls, Kahuk and Píyapit, who were 2 and 4 years old. My research assistants identified several living people who had been weaned at this age (e.g., Khen-khwèy of Baixão Prêto and Yawè of Ponto), but this was not a usual practice by the late 1950s. By then, the weaning took place this late only when it especially suited the mother, they said. If nursed too long, they believe the child would grow up a weak person (irerek) [III.A.4.b].

My younger Canela research assistants said that the proper time for weaning is between teething and walking, depending on how the child appears to be maturing. Any time beyond standing and walking, up to 1½ or 2 years, was considered too late by the late 1950s. In any case, if the mother becomes pregnant, in spite of the practice of avoiding intercourse while actively nursing, they quickly wean the baby. They believe mother’s milk is for the fetus rather than for the baby. They said a baby would become sick if it continued to nurse while a new pregnancy was developing.

[III.A.2.f.(1)]

The principal technique in weaning is to fool the baby (i?-hey: it fool/trick/deceive: fool it: enganar êle: fool he [as is said ungrammatically in Maranhão backland Portuguese]). They attempt to trick a baby so as not to have to force it to do anything against its will. Thus, they encourage a baby to eat soft mashes of foods increasingly, especially when it is obviously hungry and more receptive to accept almost anything. Later on, even when it is less hungry, such soft foods are given more and more often in order to accustom it to them and train it to accept them in place of a breast. Any food that a baby does not like is quickly removed from its mouth to avoid an outburst of crying. If crying does occur, a breast is quickly given to the baby. They make attempts, however, usually through mild chatter and persuasive talk, to take a baby’s attention away from a breast and focus it on the substituted food.

[III.A.2.f.(2)]

If weaning is absolutely necessary because a mother is pregnant, she sometimes applies babaçu nut oil or mild pepper (pimento) to her breasts to make them distasteful to her baby. This technique is a regular backland approach, according to research assistants, and therefore highly criticized. The Canela say that the backland women have no feeling for their children [III.B.1.b.(1)]. These women always wean their babies early with pepper, which makes them cry most of the day. The Canela disapprove of such treatment and only a few mothers practice it.

[III.A.2.g] TALKING

As in any culture, babies learn to talk by listening to their parents and imitating them. Parents attempt to have them repeat phrases, especially in joking relationships between kin. For a baby girl, if one of her joking uncles comes into the house, an appropriate adult begins the relationship by telling the girl what to say to joke with him. I heard extended conversations of this sort between uncles and nieces and aunts and nephews. (Naming-aunts and uncles, and those who have assumed disciplinary roles, seldom joke [II.D.1.b, c].) They even tried to teach me Canela in this manner. In old Ponto in the late 1950s, Pat-khwèy, an aunt next door, used to scold me, but my niece Te?kurà spoke my answers, so I merely had to repeat her phrases, at first scarcely understanding them. They were usually highly descriptive of personal sexual matters.

[III.A.2.h] URINATION

The urine of a baby in her arms does not seem to bother a Canela mother. If she is standing, she might hold the baby away from her to let it urinate more freely while she continues talking with somebody. With tiny boys this might be a problem, however, because of the direction of the spurting, but even here it caused women little concern. If a mother were sitting and busy working or talking to another person while holding her baby in her lap, she let the liquid wet her wrap-around cloth and pour down her legs, without giving it very much thought. Cloth dries quickly in the dry tropics and can be washed easily during any one of the several visits to the stream a woman is likely to make each day. Thus, they do not attempt to control urination in any way.

Female research assistants commented on how differently backland women viewed the urinating of their babies. They do not tolerate their clothing becoming wet this way.

In the late 1950s, Canela men urinated openly, anywhere, in the sight of Canela women. Research assistants asserted that if a grown woman walking along a trail in the late 1950s needed to urinate (even with a number of men present) she simply stepped somewhat off the trail, loosened her wrap-around skirt, and urinated while standing. By the 1970s, however, women no longer do this openly, but they still urinate standing in the dark of the early morning within 20 meters of their houses, when most people are asleep.

In the late 1950s, however, the Canela were concerned about being seen urinating by certain relatives. They were reticent in front of any individual they addressed using the personal pronoun yê [III.E.3.c], instead of ka. A man avoided being seen by his mother, sister, and daughter, and a woman by her father, brother, and son [III.E.2.b].

Traditionally, men went completely naked in their houses and villages. During the exile (1963–1968) in the village of Sardinha [II.B.2.g], they had to start wearing shorts or long pants because of the occasional, unannounced visits of Guajajara women, who lived in a village 500 meters away [II.A.2.g.(6)]. Thus, urinating in full view of the opposite sex tended to stop also. These changes with respect to clothing and urination were maintained and completed after the return to the cerrado in 1968. Since the late 1960s, men no longer go naked in Escalvado, and they are careful to hide themselves when urinating except in the presence of just men.

[III.A.2.i] DEFECATION

The principal point to make about toilet training is that it is carried out completely and satisfactorily only when the child can understand and do it for her- or himself. The toilet training of a child occurs between the ages of 2 and 4 years. There is no punishing or shaming if the child makes a mistake. Proper behavior is rewarded simply by signs of approval and affection.

When a child of 2 to 3 years starts to defecate, the mother, father, or even some other person carries her or him by the armpits quickly to the bushes behind or beside the house. There the child is allowed to continue, and then is cleaned by the parent or another person who happens to be child tending at this time.

During one of my visits to Baixão Prêto, a certain little boy of three in my family was still making mistakes in the house. His parents were very patient with him. They did not punish or make him feel ashamed; they merely moved him outside and helped him take care of himself. They talked and explained while this process was going on but made no attempt to take him out to the bushes ahead of time to help him have the bowel movement there when they already knew he wanted to have one. They let him make the mistake rather than saving him from making it.

The expected result is that sooner or later any young person will, upon feeling the need for a bowel movement, go out to the bushes her- or himself. If the child still makes mistakes inside the house, no form of punishment or disapproval follows, even after the child knows well enough to carry out this function outside the house. They simply tell the child to go out and finish and hope that next time the child will not make the same mistake indoors.

[III.A.2.i.(1)]

The tradition for defecation, unlike that for urination, was for women and men to go separately into the cerrado far enough to completely hide themselves. This, of course, did not pertain to small children, who squatted in sight in bushes near the village and between houses with no concern on their part or on the part of older people who saw them.

The method of cleaning the body after defecation was not to wash the area or to wipe it with leaves or paper, but rather to scrape it clean with the strong, smooth central rib or edge of certain leaves. Thus, when adults looked for a hidden spot away from the village, they usually made sure they were near foliage with a firm and sharp but even rib or edge. The waste was left to dry in the sun, or until some animal, usually a pig, came to consume it. Such practices seemed to work in the cerrado countryside where the sun baked feces dry, and where they were scattered throughout a large area because of the long distances individuals had to go to find sufficient cover. (Most small trees are cleared for firewood around any village within two years, so the cover is lighter than generally found in the cerrado.) Thus, unburied feces, their traditional practice, were not a health hazard in the cerrado. Moreover, the Canela bathed themselves twice a day.

Although they carried out adult defecation in private, the Canela were not concerned about anybody knowing they were leaving the village to defecate. In the late 1950s, I often heard people of either sex say, when they passed me leaving the village, that they were going out to defecate: wa ikhwè (I defecate: I am going to defecate). In similar situations, they said they were going out to urinate: wa itu (I urinate: I am going to urinate). Such natural daily salutations, like wa yμ: I sit; wa tsa: I stand; or wa nõ: I lie (I am lying down), are the way they say “hello.” By the late 1970s, however, nobody referred to their going out to defecate any more as a salutation. They had become embarrassed.

[III.A.2.i.(2)]

Defecation practices was one of the Canela non-adaptations to the village of Sardinha (Map 3) in the dry forests [II.B.2.g.(5)]. They still followed the principles developed in the cerrado that they merely had to be out of sight and did not need to bury feces. While this often involved walking as many as 500 meters in the cerrado, in Sardinha the distance necessary for cover was 50 meters or less, especially when it was raining heavily. Consequently, feces deposited near the village produced unattractive odors in the bushes and shrubbery.

Accumulation of waste so close to the village contributed to sanitation and health problems. I never saw or smelled such conditions in the cerrado where the waste was more widely dispersed. As I understand it, the Guajajara Indian defecation practices in the dry forests around their Sardinha village were very different. They were more embarrassed about defecation, so they sought better cover and went greater distances. The Canela did not bury their feces in the dry forests, except when they came from a child who had left them in or around a house. Then, a parent removed the feces with a shovel to some place not far away and buried them.

After the missionary-linguist and his family arrived in Escalvado in 1968, they built an outhouse behind their house, which was on the village circle. For the visit of my second wife and three step-children in 1969, we followed the same practice. Possibly because of us, the Indian service personnel tried to teach these practices to the entire village. They required men of every house to build outhouses about 30 meters behind their houses. These outhouses were actually built but rarely used except for urinating, and just when somebody wanted to do this quickly.

The problem with outhouses was that they had to be built properly and maintained carefully or flies would swarm out of them into family kitchens. To prevent this, they had to dig the holes sufficiently deep, and they had to continually refurnish a pile of earth to throw over and thoroughly cover the feces below every time, so light would not reach them. The alternative was to make the hole lightproof. To do this, they had to make a usable cover in such a way that no light could penetrate the hole, and this was difficult but not impossible to do with just the woods and carpentry of the village. Another approach in some areas, though not the Canela one, was to lightproof the outhouse itself—impossible with just the available materials.

While most Canela were certainly capable of obtaining (not making) usable, lightproof covers or repairing the inevitably developing cracks in such a hole cover, not enough of them were sufficiently interested in the construction and maintenance processes to do these necessary tasks well enough. Therefore flies swarmed from their outhouses and invaded kitchens and sat on food. This practice was obviously not a healthy one to continue, as the Canela themselves liked to point out.

Some of my research assistants maintained outhouses to save time—to avoid long absences from our council sessions—but they nevertheless complained of smells that they believed would bring them diseases.

[III.A.2.j] SEX TRAINING

In a society where frequent extramarital sexual relations were the custom [IV.A.3.f], and where the purpose of certain festival acts was to help young women become accustomed to multiple sexual relations with men [II.D.2.e.(3)], sex training of the very young and of adolescents must be especially interesting and unusually important to them.

[III.A.2.j.(1)]

PENIS PLAY.—Mothers occasionally twist or tweak the penises of their young baby boys. This is done, like the use of a breast, to distract a baby from whatever he might be doing that adults feel is inappropriate, untraditional, or dangerous. It is done to give a baby an alternative pleasure, or interest by indirectly diverting its attention away from what is not desirable [III.B.1.h.(4)].

More often than mothers, however, the infant’s other wife category persons [III.E.3.a.(6).(a),(c)] are the most active in teasing or playing with his penis. In my sister’s house, one childless young woman in her early thirties, who had been married for a while to one of the baby’s older brothers in his twenties, spent a lot of time teasing the baby about his penis. (Since she had been a wife to his older brother, she was a classificatory or “other” wife to him.) Several years later when the baby was 4 or 5 years old, she threatened several times with a knife to cut off his penis. This was done in a spirit of fun, nevertheless he was scared, and sometimes cried. Then she rushed in to reassure him, becoming very supportive.

Research assistants said that sometimes much older brothers pull a baby’s penis, and that women may also do this to a tiny nephew. In the latter case, this practice is consistent with the extensive joking relationship that traditionally exists between aunts and nephews [II.D.1.b.c]. Nothing similar was recorded for a baby girl.

Under no circumstances are any attempts ever made to pull back the baby’s foreskin, which should remain intact until the time of his first sexual experience [II.D.3.c].

[III.A.2.j.(2)]

MASTURBATION.—In babies and young children masturbation is strictly disapproved of and not allowed. If a little boy of 1 or 2 years develops the habit of playing with his penis, his mother gently corrects him. If much older, his mother and sisters are embarrassed and ashamed to approach such matters. Thus, for a little boy of 5 or 6, a grandmother or aunt who has been summoned for the purpose tells him to stop the activity. Parents traditionally do not like to talk about the sexual matters of their children [II.D.3.c.(1)], although they would talk to their children in the absence of aunts, uncles, and grandparents. One unmarried female research assistant [In.4.e] reported that she had had to correct her young son in this way. The Canela can be expected to be flexible about almost any matter.

[III.A.2.j.(2).(a)]

One reason given for such directness with both girls and boys is that either could lose their virginity payment, the significance of which is serious for girls [III.F.4.b, c.(1)] [II.D.2.a] but slight for boys [III.A.2.j.(5).(b)]. Apparently, some foreskins have to be torn somewhat to be retracted, they say. Sufficient stretching could occur through masturbation so that no tearing occurs during first intercourse.

Just like the girl, the boy is said to lose his payment for the loss of his virginity, if his foreskin can be retracted easily and does not tear when he has his first sexual relations with an older woman. Although this is the traditional position on male virginity, one male research assistant [In.4.e] said his foreskin did not tear upon retraction in intercourse with a classificatory wife at the age of puberty, though no masturbation preceded.

Whether this physical concept of virginity can apply to men of the world in general is an interesting ethnological question. An obstetrician in Washington, D.C., told me that this variation—a tight or loose foreskin—exists among human babies. More research is needed among tribes in which males are naked from birth through puberty, tribes in which no traditional alteration is performed, such as circumcision or subincision, or could have occurred through masturbation. However, it may be too late in the history of the world to find such comparative ethnological evidence.

[III.A.2.j.(2).(b)]

Canela do not pull back the prepuce and expose the glans in order to clean or inspect it. This is not done generally, although some may do this in a hidden manner under stream waters, they say. A woman or man feels embarrassed to see a glans penis exposed, including men seeing those of other men, except for a man with a sexually contacted classificatory spouse or his wife.

Although both sexes used to go naked in their homelands most of the time, some circumstances were considered embarrassing regarding body exposure: the exposure of the glans penis for men [II.D.3.c.(3)], and the visibility of the inner genitalia for women.

[III.A.2.j.(3)]

OPPOSITE-SEX SIBLINGS’ SEX PLAY.—Canela socialization is mild in disciplining children; but opposite-sex sibling sex play is one of the two occurrences about which they are quite nonpermissive, although never cruel or abusive.

In the context of socialization, I asked research assistants what could be the worst possible occurrence imaginable (short of death or dismemberment) that could occur if a parent were returning home and heard a great commotion in her or his house from a distance. What would the parent fear? The answer eventually after much discussion, was either that two young sons had been fighting or that a young daughter and son had committed some form of incest, the latter being the worse by far of the two possibilities. Actually, incest (Glossary) between young cross-sex siblings was so unthinkable that it was not the first mentioned offense. Incest was not thought of as a possibility, but when I suggested it, the reaction of research assistants was one of extreme dismay.

A mother uses distraction to discourage the usual infractions of tradition, or just frowning disapproval when the misdeed involves a 2 to 4 year old. She would, however, be very severe and scold a daughter of this age who was playing with her little brother’s penis or a boy who was exploring his little sister’s genitalia, they said. At the ages of six to eight or older, however, such occurrences could precipitate the calling of aunts and uncles to administer more severe punishments [II.D.1.c].

It is considered worse for girls to be caught in opposite-sex sex play than for boys. It is very important for a girl not to lose her virginity so that she can receive her virginity-payment (ganho) [III.F.4.c.(1)] promptly from her first lover (by definition her first husband).

[III.A.2.j.(4)]

ADOLESCENT OR ADULT INCEST.—With adolescents or adults, cross-sex sibling incest is punished, according to tradition, by a shortened life, or even by early death for uterine siblings. Another result of uterine sibling incest was that both participants soon become crazy.

The Canela have a story about sibling incest that occurred in 1937, after the time of Nimuendajú in 1936 but before the first residence of Indian service personnel near a Canela village in 1938. In this case, it is believed that the full siblings went crazy after having had sexual relations with each other. The woman died very soon after. The man survived but became so physically dangerous that they had to imprison him in what was called a “pig pen” (a small stockade). They constructed a cage a little larger than his standing body of strong poles made of saplings stripped of bark, put in the ground as posts, and tied together securely. Confined and continuously watched in this stockade, the man soon died. This occurred in one of the two old village sites that are close together on the Raposa stream just below the actual village site where Nimuendajú (1946:33) joined two parts of the tribe during his last visit with them in 1936.

This story is not a myth in the classical sense, although it may become one. In the late 1950s the Canela informants knew the names, time, and place of these events. They showed me the site of the stockade in 1960.

[III.A.2.j.(5)]

SEXUAL EDUCATION OF MALES.—Young boys first hear about sexual relations in stories told by adults. Adolescents or grown people do not modify their stories involving sexual relations just because of the presence of young children or preadolescents. Sometimes when my research assistant group was talking about sexual relations, small boys sat near us listening with interest. None of my research assistants seemed at all concerned about their presence.

Another way that young boys learn of sexual relations is by hearing the sounds of sexual intercourse coming from platform beds in the rafters [II.D.2.d]. A young wife, or a young woman who has lost her virginity but not retained a husband, is often sexually active at night in her high platform bed. Sexual relations are approved of by the family as long as they cannot be seen—even though everything can be heard. Thus, a little boy can add these sounds to the stories he has heard and understand something about what is going on.

If a young boy has a classificatory spouse of the right age (adolescence to 20s or even 30s), the joking relationship described earlier, which involved her threatening his penis with a knife, might take place [III.A.2.j.(1)]. In this context, particularly with their verbal exchanges rather than just the threats, he is likely to learn extensively about sexual relations.

A young boy also learns about sex from overhearing the ordinary joking between aunts and nephews and uncles and nieces. In my sister’s house, when a certain uncle of one of my adolescent nieces came in, they invariably had a sex-joking exchange [II.D.1.b.(3)]. One time he said she had a large vagina, like a mortar made from a tree trunk, into which it would please her to have a large wooden pestle grinding. She responded that his penis was twisted at a strange angle and had a black head. This descriptive joking went on between the two relatives, amusing everyone for about 15 minutes.

Inferences from Nimuendajú suggest that parents and siblings of such role performers were embarrassed to hear such verbal exchanges. However, my observations were that such one-link-away kin merely sat or stood by quietly, paying little attention, but nevertheless listening and appearing to be unamused but certainly not embarrassed.

The situation in which many boys learned most extensively about sexual relations was when they spied on couples having sex in the woods. Young boys of 6 to 9 years were often used as messengers between lovers. One research assistant told me he first saw sexual relations taking place when he was such a messenger boy. Thus, he knew where the tryst was going to take place, so he went there, hid, and watched. Considering the freedom allowed boys between the ages of 6 and 12 [II.D.1.c], I have no doubt this kind of sexual learning often took place.

[III.A.2.j.(5).(a)]

Research assistants reported that homosexual acts did not occur between preadolescent boys wandering alone through the cerrado. If discovered, this offense would have been cause for being struck by an uncle. Boys were warned thoroughly about such matters, and of the likelihood of losing their first sex payment if their foreskin became loose.

Turning to associated adult practices, only three men were thought of as being homosexuals during my period with the Canela. Two were in their 60s in the 1970s, and one was also identified for me in Nimuendajú’s (1946) volume. Both wore wrap-around skirts like women, though the lower edge of the skirt was a little higher than the knees, instead of well below the knees as women wear them. One of them had effeminate mannerisms but the other one did not. Neither raced with logs when younger but tilled the soil and helped their female kin keep house. The more effeminate one was ridiculed occasionally, but not to his face, so research assistants said. He was married, but his wife required him to leave, even though they had children. I never heard the less apparent homosexual being ridiculed, even though his wearing a short wrap-around skirt made it clear to everybody that he did not intend to carry out certain male roles. He lived with his female kin. Both of these men belonged to the age-set of the Pró-khãmmã of the 1960s and 1970s. However, they seldom sat with the Pró-khãmmã in the plaza in the late afternoon, nor were they active talkers in the council of elders.

Research assistants said neither man was an active homosexual, but that the more effeminate one occasionally allowed Canela men to have anal intercourse with him when he was younger. No tradition existed among the Canela for homosexuals or transvestites to follow. The Canela have no berdache tradition, as do some North American Indians, and they have no myths or stories about homosexual practices. It is an important comment on Canela social relations that the individuality of these two men was respected, and that they did not receive extensive criticism. They were allowed to remain as they were [III.B.1.f.(2)].

One man of the age-set of the new Pró-khãmmã (Glossary) of the 1980s had obvious effeminate characteristics. At the time of my arrival in 1957, he was a late teenager just leaving his childless first marriage, with his family paying the girl’s kin heavily [III.D.3.e.(5)]. Then, he went to live at the Ponto Indian service post (Plate 11a) and made dresses there on the new sewing machine, following the instructions of the Indian agent’s wife. In 1963 and 1964, he lived away from the Canela community entirely, spending many months as a cook’s assistant in hotels, first in Fortaleza and then in São Luis.

When he returned to the tribe in 1966, he owned and played one of the first radios. Later, between 1967 and 1969, he married again and had a first child in 1972. Research assistants commented that nobody was very sure that the child was actually his son. The child was more likely the product of several contributing-fathers [III.E.9], they thought, although as the social husband he might have contributed some small amount of semen, but they doubted this, considering him impotent. Nevertheless, this younger homosexual—if he was one—was not conspicuously oriented in this behavior in the late 1970s. He remained a married man, had several children, and did not wear a wrap-around skirt. Homosexuality was more disapproved of by the late 1970s than the late 1950s because of acculturation, a fact that may account for his marrying and not wearing a skirt.

[III.A.2.j.(5).(b)]

An adolescent male has his first sexual experience [II.D.3.c] at about age 13 with a woman considerably older than himself who wants to initiate her young classificatory spouse, or who might simply like the young fellow.

Older research assistants said that the earlier age for initiating a young man into sexual relations was for the old “wife” to be 45 or 55, but that could not happen these days. Now, the woman would be in her late teens or 20s. Afterward, an aunt of the boy approaches the woman to receive a small payment from her.

One research assistant claimed that a woman’s vagina is very hot, and therefore not good for the penis of an adolescent boy. He also said that if a woman took a boy who was too young, he might be so shocked by the experience he would become ill.

A belief supported by all research assistants was that the penis and testicles grew after his first sexual relations, and that these organs matured because of occasional sexual relations. Also, the first nocturnal emission occurred as a result of sexual relations.

[III.A.2.j.(6)]

SEXUAL EDUCATION OF FEMALES.—Little girls learn about sexual matters by hearing detailed sex jokes, probably not from older “husbands” but rather from uncles. Of course, they also hear sounds coming from platform beds in the rafters (Plate 9b) [II.D.2.d] occupied by an older sister or another female relative.

By the time she is 6 years old, a little girl is closely segregated from boys and has to stay near her female relatives, especially her mother, doing small tasks [II.D.1.c]. The feared potential danger is that a gang of little boys might catch and experiment sexually with her, it was said.

In the late 1950s, a girl started wearing wrap-around cloth by 11 or 12, but by the late 1970s, she began at 7 or 8.

An uncle who is not carrying out a disciplinary role might joke with a niece extensively. One such uncle in his early 30s threw his 10-year-old niece on the ground in the boulevard, in front of all their relatives, and pretended to be having sexual relations with her, thrusting between her legs, to the merriment of everybody, but to the inexperienced girl’s embarrassment. There is safety in the kinship relationship, in the protection of clothing, and in the presence of onlookers.

[III.A.2.j.(6).(a)]

By the age of 10 or 11, a girl received inspections of her genitals from an aunt, or the person who had made it her responsibility to carry out the role of her disciplinary aunt. If it were found that she had lost her virginity without gaining a husband [II.D.2.a] [III.F.4.b] at an age ranging from 10 through 14, her aunt or uncle required her to reveal the name of the man (or men) who had taken it. If she refused to tell, her uncle might have slapped her. This is one of the very few extreme situations in which an aunt or an uncle might have resorted to physical punishment, a practice that was not continued into the 1970s.

[III.A.2.j.(6).(b)]

Before serving as a girl associate or participating in the various semipublic extramarital situations, a girl learns to be sexually generous through individual experiences. The man who takes her virginity is her husband by definition, if he has fathered no children in an already existing marriage. He remains her husband unless his kin pays for him to leave her [III.F.4.b.(1)].

For several months after her marriage, the young girl is allowed to be exclusively with her husband. Then men, her “other husbands” [III.E.3.a.(6).(a)], begin to seek her out to ask for what they believe is their right, namely, to have sexual relations with her. If she refuses too often, so that female and male groups begin to talk about her lack of cooperation, the refused men organize themselves to teach her to be generous (hà?kayren) [III.B.1.a].

Usually, these men gain the cooperation of a female companion of the “stingy” girl. If the companion agrees that the girl has been stingy, the companion takes her stingy friend out to the woods or into the cerrado to collect fruits, having first told the men where to find them. The men may leave the companion to herself or enjoy her sexually, but a half dozen “other husbands” will force intercourse on the stingy girl, if necessary, holding her down and having intercourse with her in turn. The lesson for the stingy girl is that she must be generous in individual relationships with men. When men desire her, she must give her assets or suffer such group encounters again.

My research assistant groups reported on different occasions that if the “stingy” girl were hurt (bleeding or a bone broken) in such an encounter, her kin could not collect a payment [III.D.3.e.(5)] as a result of an interfamilial judicial hearing. Her uncles would be too ashamed of her [III.D.3.c.(3)] to bring her case to a hearing [III.D.3.a]. Her mother and her female kin would also be ashamed of her but would give her sympathy.

Comparing such group encounters with the Murphys’ gang rape among the Mundurucú, research assistants of both sexes say that the Canela “stingy girl” group encounters mature an early adolescent girl into traditional sexual generosity, while the Mundurucú gang rape serves to maintain male supremacy over mature women. “The loose woman who seduces men takes me initiative from them,” and if she persists, gang rape by 20 Mundurucú men or more, not by four or five rejected Canela lovers, follows as her punishment for stepping beyond the limits of male control (Murphy and Murphy, 1974:107). Older Canela women participate and take the initiative in sexual trysts as fully as men [III.F.8.b]. Three women giving a male work force “relaxation” in the early afternoon do it out of generosity and to cooperate with the chief [III.D.1.c.(2)], not to enable men to maintain their supremacy.

This kind of training for generous sexual behavior still existed in the late 1970s. It is relatively easy for traditional occurrences that are as inconspicuous and private as this “lesson in generosity” to continue into modern times, because it is not a socially visible activity carried out in the plaza, by a farm hut, or near some other public place. The traditional sexual practices being lost are those that are socially conspicuous, like the Ayrēn ceremony [IV.A.3.f.(2)], where the sexes sit on either side of a fence and choose lovers sitting on the other side (Figure 47). The purpose of this ceremony was fairly obvious to an Indian service agent in the 1940s, exerting his “right” to roam around freely [I.A.1] [III.A.2.s.(2)]. Similarly, the festivities during the Wild Boar day [IV.A.3.f.(1)] can be hampered by the presence of backlanders or Indian service agents wandering through the village. A group of young men teaching a girl to be generous is carried out only where it can be seen by Canela individuals. Thus, it can be expected to remain part of the practices by which girls are made to understand what is expected of them as mature women.

[III.A.2.j.(6).(c)]

By 12 or 14, if not earlier, a girl becomes a girl associate (Glossary) to a men’s society, during which time of service she becomes accustomed to group sexual relations with men, depending on the character of the society into which she is inducted [II.D.2.e.(1)] [III.C.9].

A female is not considered a fully responsible adult until she has borne a child [II.D.2.h] [III.F.4.h].Ideally, childbirth occurs after her belt painting by her mother-in-law and after she has passed some time in the free mē nkrekre-re stage [II.D.2.g] [III.F.4.e.(2)]. Thus, before becoming pregnant, she should have been “made tame” (kapônu-re) in a group ambush session, if necessary, and she should have become experienced in sequential group sex through the fun of being a girl associate of a men’s group. Through these group experiences she is well prepared for the free existence of the nkrekre-re woman who spends much of her time mixing with men and having free sexual relationships with them even though both may be married.

[III.A.2.k] AGGRESSION REGULATION

Socialization largely prevents Canela individuals from being aggressive in tribal life. In earlier times, aggression in times of war was highly valued, but such hostilities were expressed against the outsider [IV.C.1.c.(2), (14), (16)]. This need for extra-group aggression, however, has not existed for over 150 years. Consequently, training in this area cannot be expected to represent prepacification orientations.

[III.A.2.k.(1)]

Aggression between women rarely occurs. For little girls, I noted only a few examples. In the house of my sister, Te?hôk, one of her daughters who was just 2 years old was behaving in an aggressive manner to a smaller girl, a baby from Porquinhos. Her mother did not scold her; she merely put mild negative expressions on her face, and this was a sufficient indication of disapproval to check her daughter.

[III.A.2.k.(2)]

Second only to cross-sex sibling sex play, the worst possible behavior male research assistants could imagine was fighting between their sons. Fighting between boys is simply not permitted. As with incest taboos, the taboos against fighting are so strong that the parents might call in the disciplinary-uncle to take action. In an extreme case, the parents might even encourage the uncle to hit the boy if his lectures and scolding are insufficient to gain their son’s respect [III.A.3.a.(2).(i)]. Some research assistants emphasized that “respect” and “fear” (hũũpa) are very close, so that if some considerable degree of fear is not instilled into the boy, he would not become a fully socialized adult [III.A.4.b]. These same research assistants lamented the loss of control of the uncles over the nephews, a loss that was apparent by the 1970s.

Research assistants pointed out that if the boys were the same size, the situation would not be as serious as if one of the boys was larger and had initiated the fight against the smaller one. They do not tolerate bullies. Causing scratches and bruises was not considered sufficient damage to require legal payments, but if blood were drawn, bones broken, or an eye severely injured, the aggressor’s family had to pay a sizable amount after due process through a formal hearing [III.D.3.c.(3), (4)]. Such a hearing and consequent payment are a great family shame [III.A.3.c.(3).(a)].

The taboos against boys or adolescents fighting are so strong and effective that such offences may not have taken place at a serious level during the 22 years I was there, because I never was aware of such occurrences nor did my research assistants report any to me [III.D.3.c.(3)]. The fights reported occurred only between drunk adult men.

[III.A.2.k.(3)]

In my brother Hàwmrõ’s house, A?prol (age 3) was unusually high spirited and willful. He did not get into fights with other boys but was aggressive and demanding of them. Research assistants said that A?prol’s behavior reminded them of a traditional belief that if a mother hit her son on the back of the head with a dead bat, he would grow up to be fierce and daring. The only way this bat’s spirit could be taken from him would be if a woman, presumably the mother of a boy he had aggressed, were to bite him lightly on the forearm. Then he would become tame and docile once more. Research assistants suggested that A?prol was like the boy who eventually matured into becoming a war leader (hààprãl) in past eras.

[III.A.2.k.(4)]

A?prol’s behavior reminded me of the older Tààmi who perished in the July attack of 1963 [II.B.2.f.(3)]. Everybody knew that when Tààmi was a young man in his 20s traveling out “in the world,” he had killed a Brazilian backlander in the state of Ceará. He managed to escape from the Brazilian authorities, however, and returned to his tribe by keeping to the countryside and traveling only at night. When he arrived in the Canela area and sent word in about what had happened, they required him to go through the traditional ceremony of the warrior who had killed an enemy tribesman before allowing him to rejoin daily life. This ceremony included leaping over a dead deer upon first entering the boulevard and a long seclusion outside the village and very severe food and sex restrictions [IV.D.3.d].

In the late 1950s, the older Tààmi also had displayed a fierce demeanor. He did not get into fights, but if he had, he would surely have won through his strong will and compulsion to prevail and through his innate ferocity. Men did not test the aggression-potential of this man, whose temper threshold seemed very low. They stayed out of his way. Research assistants convinced me that the older Tààmi would have been the ideal Canela warrior in earlier times, and that little A?prol in my brother’s house behaved in a similar manner.

When boys are in their Khêêtúwayê internment, their uncles come to their two age-set cells (Plate 41a) [IV.A.3.c.(1).(a)] and tell stories about ancient warriors who were fierce when fighting the enemy but who curbed themselves while in the tribe citing Tààmi as a model.

[III.A.2.k.(5)]

During my time with the Canela, I never saw boys fighting. Fights probably occurred in the cerrado when boys were off in groups exploring and having a good time by themselves, but research assistants reported no fights of this sort to me, maybe because of their forbidden and shameful nature. I believe, however, that generally the research assistants reported almost everything to me.

The Canela orientation is toward nonconfrontation in almost all the various foci of socialization. They resort to diversion, not punishment of babies and small children for avoiding unacceptable or dangerous activities. Their parents never confront them with an absolute “no,” nor does anyone else who is socializing them, except their uncles at puberty [III.A.3.b.(1).(b)]. Moreover, the society provides many ways to channel feelings of hostility and aggression into other activities. Frustrated young people, depending on the sex, may sing (Plate 32d), dance, run, and participate in log races. These diversions provide many outlets for the young Canela’s energies [II.F].

[III.A.2.1] EATING PRACTICES

Children are allowed to eat anything they want with the exception of tripe, brains, and the eyes of animals, all of which are reserved for the aged. Other foods that are denied to older persons are not denied to children. They may eat meats that are considered “rich” (encarregado) and are included in the restrictions of anyone becoming a shaman [IV.D.1.c.(2)] or going through the period of their postpubertal restrictions [IV.D.3.c]. They also may eat liver and kidneys which people at the age of making babies may not eat for fear such organs would make them infertile or sterile.

Children are not required to eat at regular intervals, and no forced or required eating exists. Little boys come and go as they want, and are not usually called to specific meals unless they happen to be present at the time of their serving. Little girls eat with their parents. In the late 1950s, meals were very irregularly served even for adults. People ate when meat was brought in by hunters, regardless of the time of day or night.

These especially permissive eating practices for children continue until puberty, when the lives of girls and especially boys are considerably changed. Then, aunts and uncles require food restrictions of several months for girls [IV.B.1.f] and of several years for boys [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)].

[III.A.2.m] INDEPENDENCE/DEPENDENCE

Besides showing respect for the individuality of children [III.B.1.d.(1),(2)] during the times of weaning and toilet training, parents allow boys to roam quite freely in the cerrado between the ages of 7 and 12 [II.D.1.c]. They play games in the cerrado, such as tossing chips of manioc on top of other chips from a distance, diving into streams to see how much vegetation could be brought back at one time, and climbing trees together. Boys swim much of the day and amuse themselves. For instance, they tie tiny strands of buriti fiber to flying insects or lizards in order to lead them around, and they shoot birds with miniature bow-and-arrows and slingshots. In contrast, girls keep close to older women, do chores, and help their mothers and older sisters with household matters and babies [II.D.1.c].

At the age of 5 or 6, boys carry messages to other houses, fetch water when older people are thirsty, and bring burning sticks with coals for old men to light their cigarettes. Girls begin to help their mothers and sisters in almost any activity they are capable of carrying out. Little girls of seven often mind younger children and babies.

By the time a boy is 6, he might go on hunting expeditions with his older brothers; by age 10, he might go hunting by himself after his father or uncle train him. At 8 years of age, one of my nephews, Ta?pa [III.A.3.a.(1).(a)], went fishing alone and usually brought home a number of small fish for the family to eat. A father might take a boy of 10 or 11 to work in the family fields, depending on the time of year. This is not, however, a consistent practice. Boys are allowed considerably more freedom than girls, approximating the relative amount of freedom allowed adult men in contrast to adult women [II.C.3.d] [II.D.2.h.(2)] [III.F.4.e.(2)].

Continuing the contrast into adolescence and adulthood, boys are allowed to run wild in packs in the cerrado. They are interned (Glossary) in cells during festival situations [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)], so their age-set leaders (Glossary) and uncles can enculturate them [II.D.3.d]. Girls are confined to the sides of their mothers and older sisters in service to the family household; but the moment their belts are painted by their female in-laws, they are free to have as much extramarital sex as they wish [III.F.8.a]. Men are free for most of their lives to move with their age-set [II.D.3.f], hunt for game, travel out in the world, and chat with each other each morning and evening in the plaza. Women, once children arrive, are bound by their duties to their home and farm. With acculturation, however, men’s activities have shifted increasingly to extensive work on their farms for which their earlier psychological orientation provides little support [II.D.3.i.(6), (7)], while women’s activities have shifted less—from extensive gathering to more farming.

[III.A.2.n] KHÊÊTÚWAYÊ FESTIVAL

A number of socialization factors come into play in the Khêêtúwayê (Glossary) festival for prepubescent boys (Plate 41) [IV.A.3.c.(1)]. First is the impact of internment for several months with members of the boy’s age-set [III.C.3.a]. This is a boy’s first time away from his parents, when he lives with a group of boys ranging in age from 4 to 10 years old [II.D.3.a]. Instead of being under the authority of parents, they are under the command of young men who are not their relatives. If the novices disobey, they can receive several whipping strokes with a thin, flexible wand (pĩ ?-hii-re: wood it-thin-dim.) carried by each of the commandant’s assistants.

[III.A.2.n.(1)]

While learning the new aspects of formal group living, the boys file to the plaza several times a day to sing songs [II.F.1.c.(1)] that attract ghosts. The boys are in danger of losing their lives to these ghosts, except for the protection of their sisters or other female relatives who come to the plaza to hold them from behind by their ribcages as they sing. Thus, the influence of female relatives as protective agents is another socializing influence besides the impact of group living away from home. Uncles also stand behind the line of female relatives and sing. The message conveyed to the boy novices is that if people live in groups, they will be safe, and if they rely on female and male relatives, the latter will protect them from ghosts and presumably from other known and unknown dangers.

[III.A.2.n.(2)]

More socialization of young boys during the Khêêtúwayê festival takes place while they are interned in the two large cells (Plate 41a). Their being fixed in location, probably against their will, makes it possible for their uncles and certain older people to come and instruct them about the traditions and values of the ancestors, through telling stories. The period of group seclusion, known to the backlander as prisão (prison), stands in sharp contrast with their usual freedom to roam the cerrado.

[III.A.2.o] EAR-PIERCING FOR BOYS

It is difficult to assess the socialization impact of ear-piercing (Plates 24, 25) [II.D.3.b] [IV.B.1.e], because the Canela no longer practiced it in a regular manner by my time. In contrast to roaming the cerrado in small groups, or internment in the Khêêtúwayê festival in a large group under the command of an older man, the ear-piercing seclusion took place alone in the youth’s maternal home in a dark corner separated from the rest of the house by mats. The boy had time to think about his life, and his advising-uncle visited him frequently, teaching him values through telling stories.

The expression for advising and counseling, or lecturing and warning, is to hapak khre (make/do ear hollowed-out-space: to open up someone’s ear hole). I associate this kind of activity with creating in the boy socialized responses to hearing and understanding, namely, to receiving orders and obeying them. The Canela are a very order-oriented society [III.D.1.a.(1)] [III.B.1.k]. Attention to the ears and to receiving aural information epitomizes the compliance required in the socialization process.

[III.A.2.p] PUBERTY

When it is known that a youth has had his first sexual experience [II.D.3.c], his advising-uncle tells him that he may no longer spend nights in his mother’s and sisters’ house. After a week’s seclusion in his mother’s house, he has to sleep in the plaza [III.A.3.b.(1).(c)], or in a future wife’s house. If sick, he may return temporarily to his mother’s and sisters’ house. The simplistic rationalization for this move out of his natal home is that his mother and sisters will be very embarrassed to see his erect penis at night while he was sleeping. Today young men wear shorts or even long pants and sleep clothed so that nothing embarrassing can occur in the house of their mother and sisters. The primary reason for the move to the plaza was more profound, however: the move effected the transfer of relative control over the boy from parents to uncles. Now that the move to the plaza does not take place, the transfer of authority to the uncles is not complete.

[III.A.2.q] PEPYÊ FESTIVAL

In contrast to the Khêêtúwayê festival, the Pepyê festival is postpubertal in orientation [II.D.3.d] [IV.A.3.c.(2)]. The main focus of the festival is the internment of the novices in their maternal houses, where discipline is exerted through restrictions against the pollutions of certain foods and sexual relations [IV.D.3.c]. These restrictions are to develop and maintain strength for the youths to carry out the prized roles in life [IV.D.3.f]. Maintaining restrictions is a tool for developing one’s ability in running, racing, hunting, log carrying, and endurance under the mid-day sun, and formerly, ability in warfare. When a man (or woman, to a lesser extent) does well in some activity—except for sing-dancing and in agriculture—it is said that he (or she) must have maintained very high restrictions against food and sexual relations during his (or her) postpubertal period.

When the youths are released from their internment, they continue to associate with those in their age-set. They spend about 6 weeks together camped outside the village, following the same routine every day under the disciplinary leadership of their commandant until the terminal phase of the festival. Sometimes they carry out tasks for the community. Thus, in the Pepyê festival, socialization toward individuality takes place during the internment, but the emphasis toward group solidarity [III.B.1.d] occurs in the terminal period of the festival.

[III.A.2.r] GROUP DISCIPLINARY PRACTICES

Traditionally, the older generations maintain considerable control over the younger ones. The older generations apply their authority through the aunt-niece, uncle-nephew, and uncle-niece relationships. That the uncles largely or even partly prevented adolescents from having sexual relations with each other is a measure of this authority and control. The public act through which they enforced much of this control was uncles disciplining nephews before the dancing line of women in the late afternoon [II.B.1.e].

[III.A.2.r.(1)]

One of the most dramatic disciplinary events I witnessed was the hazing that took place in the full ceremony of an afternoon dance [II.E.7.b] [II.D.3.c.(3)]. An uncle came into the plaza dressed as a warrior and summoned a nephew to stand before the line of sing-dancing women, who stopped to watch with impassive attention. The uncle then yanked the youth off the ground by his sideburns (Figures 14, 15), which caused the youth much physical pain, as well as shame. Traditionally, not currently, this harassment was given the youth for two reasons. The first was to see if he could endure the shame and pain [III.B.1.e]. The second was to punish him for having had sexual relations with too many young women. This current disciplinary act, however, appeared to me to be perpetrated by the uncle more to satisfy his ego than to teach a youth that his actions were socially unacceptable.

Other disciplinary measures that have been taken on these occasions in the past were that an uncle might pull sharp-edged grass [II.A.3.b.(2).(b)] under the youth’s armpits, thereby cutting him; or scrape the youth’s back, legs, and chest with the teeth of a coati until blood was drawn. As many as six nephews were disciplined in this manner on any afternoon. Since 1938, however, such disciplinary actions constitute mock situations, because the authority of the uncles over youths has diminished within the society.

[III.A.2.r.(2)]

The Apanyekra held a hazing ceremony in 1975 in connection with their Pepyê internment festival. Pepyê novices knelt in a row sitting on their heels in the center of the plaza facing their similarly kneeling sexual partners, whether wives or lovers (Plate 37b, c). A lover’s Formal Friend may take the lover’s place in this act [III.A.3.c.(2).(b)], sparing her or him this embarrassment. Chiefs and elders then gave the group severe lectures for breaking internment celibacy. I have never seen such a severe lecture among the Canela. My Canela research assistants claim their ancestors never practiced this ceremony.

[III.A.2.S] TRADITIONS LOST DUE TO SERVICE PERSONNEL’S PRESENCE

With the arrival of the Indian service personnel to live by the tribal village in 1938 [II.B.2.b], the Canela had to abandon this hazing practice. It was too embarrassing for an agent or his wife to watch a man openly hazing his nephew. These Barra do Corda dwellers called such hazing acts “cruelty” and forbade their practice.

With the abandonment of this hazing ceremony around 1935, the uncles lost a social device that enabled them largely to control their nephews [II.B.1.e.(2)], and, more particularly, they could no longer enforce the prohibition against youths’ having sexual relations with girls their own age. Once their nephews no longer feared this kind of public punishment, the uncles lost their traditional influence.

[III.A.2.s.(1)]

The arrival of Indian service personnel in 1938 also coincides with the end of the practice of youths having sexual relations with women approximately 20 years older [II.B.1.e]. The age-set of the older Kaapêltùk graduated through their final Pepyê festival internment in 1933 during the time of Nimuendajú. Their members reported that, according to tradition, they had sexual relations during their postpubertal period almost exclusively with older women. The graduation of the age-set of Chief Kaarà?khre in 1941 occurred after the arrival of Indian service personnel, and their effect on these puberty-aged youths was considerable. Members of Chief Kaarà?khre’s age-set reported they had sexual relations with older women in their postpubertal period only occasionally. In contrast, research assistants from the age-set of the younger Kaapêltùk reported that they never had sexual relations with older women during their postpubertal period. His age-set graduated from their final Pepyê festival in about 1951 (W. Crocker, 1984a:75).

[III.A.2.s.(2)]

Another practice that was lost because of the arrival of Indian service personnel was the custom of women without children sleeping with men in the plaza at night. It was too embarrassing to a Canela woman to be found in the plaza before dawn by an Indian agent who was wandering through the village at night. The Indian service personnel were ill at ease when they came to realize that “promiscuous activities” were taking place, and they revealed their puritanical orientation by shaming the Canela about such practices. The Indian agent at the Ponto village post between 1940 and 1947 told me he had seen women sleeping in the plaza and that they did have sexual relations there. The disapproving tone in his conversation with me was obvious.

[III.A.3] Forces of Socialization

Socialization can be seen in terms of many forces impinging upon, or influencing, the individual, molding his behavior and character. I heuristically divide these forces between those that I see to be restraining and those that I see to be rewarding or facilitating. In addition, for adolescents and adults there are forces that I believe to be enabling—namely, those resources or facilities that channel the individual impulses to move forward against the restraining forces or with the facilitating ones. I see enabling forces also to be “props” or instruments that the individual chooses to use, or not use, through her or his own volition, such as restrictions on food and sex to keep out pollutions [III.A.2.q] [IVD.3.a]].

The process of socialization will be divided diachronically into three parts for the purpose of discussion: (1) children, (2) adolescents, and (3) adults.

[III.A.3.a] FORCES OF SOCIALIZATION FOR CHILDREN

Both sexes from infancy to a few years before puberty are referred to by the same terms—a?khra-re (children [no mē]) reflecting the fact that the stages (Table 9, Figure 16) they are passing through are relatively similar for males and females, as are the forces which are socializing them. A few years before puberty and always after puberty, however, the series of terms for their stages are different, reflecting the greater differences in the forces of socialization for the two sexes and the differences resulting between the sexes—mē kuprè (the-pl. girl: girls) and mē ntúwayê (the-pl. youth: youths [male]).

[III.A.3.a.(1)]

REWARDING AND MOTIVATING FORCES.—Some forces are “positive,” rewarding, and motivating (in the sense that they can be seen as moving the individual on through life), while other forces are “negative,” in that they restrain and mold the individual. (No moral connotations are meant here.)

[III.A.3.a.(1).(a)]

In the late 1950s, a Canela mother’s primary goal was to take care of, gratify, and socialize her children. To accomplish this, her principal activities were to take care of the house, cultivate and bring food from the farm plot, and keep her family happy.

A particularly good example of this supportive role was demonstrated by my sister, Te?hok, toward her son Ta?pa (trade: he trades for things). This motivated and energetic youth had a harelip, the only one in the tribe. Since the Canela usually attempted to hide rather than explain away such abnormalities or problems [III.B.1.f.(3)], Ta?pa was in a difficult situation, because he could not conceal the defect. He may have felt he had to do more than other boys to overcome such a handicap. In any case, at about the age of eight, Ta?pa began fishing independently for his family rather than roaming the cerrado with the other boys [II.D.1.c] [III.A.2.m]. He was successful in this enterprise, and frequently brought fish to supplement the family fare. This was greatly appreciated by his mother and father, and Ta?pa was highly rewarded with praise and extra food.

His mother served and apportioned the food at meal times to each of her children, to her husband, and then to herself [III.E.2.e.(1).(a)], usually from a large cast iron pot into small bowls made of gourd. (In later years, dishes or bowls of enameled metal were popular.) Quite visibly, so that all could see, his mother, Te?hôk used to ladle an extra portion into Ta?pa’s bowl, expressing her great pleasure with this particular son and his fishing. Although it is unlikely that Ta?pa would have been treated badly because of his harelip by the other boys in the groups that roamed the cerrado, the extra support that Ta?pa received from his mother surely helped him to develop self confidence. Ta?pa later became the age-set deputy commandant [III.D.1.i.(1)] of his age-set.

The father, depending upon his age and particularly his personality, could be merely an adjunct to the family, or he could be quite strong, as was the case with my sister Te?hôk’s husband, the older Krôôtô. There was no father-in-law in this family, so the older Krôôtô was the principal male, except when my sister Te?hôk’s brothers and male cousins came to dominate a situation. The older Krôôtô played a large role in socializing and in pleasing the children, both in rewarding as well as in disciplining them.

In the house of my brother Hàwmrõ, he too was a significant influence. We were proud of his hunting ability; he often brought home game for everyone to eat. He was a skillful storyteller to the children when they behaved well, keeping their attention upon the narrative by a subtle rise and fall in the inflections of his voice and by the vivid narrative details that he presented. Most fathers are good narrators, whether of myths, stories of the ancestors, or of events that might interest me children.

Fathers make simple toys, often with wheels, including little airplanes. They also make little trucks that can carry small stones, pebbles and rocks. Particularly in the late 1950s, such trucks were in style, and were referred to as caminhão (truck). They are frequently seen in houses or pulled on a string along the boulevard by small boys [II.F.3.a].

[III.A.3.a.(1).(b)]

Although parents may spend 10 times the amount of time with their children as the aunts and uncles, the aunts and uncles [II.D.1.b] still bring love and attention into the child’s world. Except for the certain ones carrying out disciplinary roles, they behave in ways consistent with the Canela values of affection and generosity.

Praise and joking from the visiting aunt or uncle comprise the principal forms of reward for the niece or nephew. Moreover, the uncle frequently tells stories to the children during his visits in the evening, although these occasions are becoming less frequent. By the mid-1970s, the parents were taking the socialization roles over more completely [II.B.1.e]. The visit of uncles after the council meeting in the morning was still a frequent occurrence, however. The socialization uncle must be particularly aware of what is occurring in the lives of his nieces and nephews, and consequently usually appears for a few minutes to discuss matters with his sister [II.D.1.b.(2)]. This was the case in Te?hôk’s household.

Children are kept in awe of the disciplining-uncle’s presence. They see him coming and going, very often leading or taking a strong part in the tribal council meetings. For instance, Tep-hot rarely joked with his nieces and nephews because he was their disciplining-uncle. He came into the house with a serious expression on his face and was respected by everybody there.

The naming-uncle traditionally gives small bows and arrows (Plate 19a) to his named-nephew, and when these break, he supplies another set, or another appropriate toy [II.D.1.b]. Though they might be seen as toys, the weapons are capable of killing birds. The boy is encouraged to shoot some birds and bring them home as food for the family. Ideally, the naming-uncle takes his named-nephew hunting when he is about 10 years old and teaches him the art of tracking animals. He also tests his named-nephew to see if the lad has the talent and the ability to use a maraca gourd rattle, and to sing traditional songs to its rhythm.

Uncles other than the naming and principal socialization one joke extensively with their nieces and nephews and raise their morale.

A naming-aunt supplies her named-niece with a head carrying-basket and builds a caring relationship with her, as does the socializing aunt. While a naming-aunt’s role for a girl is similar to a naming-uncle’s for a boy, an advising-aunt has less of a disciplinary role, because much of the disciplining is carried out by the disciplining-uncle, even for a girl.

[III.A.3.a.(2)]

RESTRAINING FORCES.—Some forces are clearly restraining, like punishments, in that they prevent or inhibit individuals from carrying out certain kinds of behavior, while other forces manifest lack of restraint, like not using “bad” names or not restraining a very willful individual. Either case pertains to the use of control or the lack of control, so both are considered here.

[III.A.3.a.(2).(a)]

Parents (the mother in particular, with the father in a supporting relationship) are supposed to teach children not to be stingy with food and toys, etc., not to become angry, not to hit other children (especially younger ones), not to break household items, and not to lie, though veracity is not highly valued. Simple lying is not a serious form of misbehavior [III.B.1.h.(4)], but telling falsehoods maligning other people is. The really objectionable offenses, however, are stealing, fighting, and sex play, especially with opposite-sex siblings, nor may hostility be shown to any pet animal. Parents are very quick to be severe about their children’s eating clay, which practice is treated in Canela myths (see khrúwapu in W. Crocker, 1984b: 195).

[III.A.3.a.(2).(b)]

When a child is less than 3 years old, and certainly less man 2, the parents are very mild in their verbal socialization. In this case I am particularly thinking of my sister Te?hôk, whose attention to her children seemed to be her continuous activity in life. Her nonstop crooning comforted the baby. By the time her child was 1½ to 2 years old her constant flow of mild words (directly related to what the child should or should not be doing) was taking on meaning for the child. This monolog was in the form of repetitive mild requests with a rising emphasis in the voice, to carry out certain behavior. Training is through verbal insistence with the expectation that the child will comply: an incessant stream of mild talk, never spoken in anger, but often slightly shaming. Situations such as the child’s going too near the fire, slapping a younger baby, or getting into a bowl of poisonous manioc juice, are prevented by this kind of continuous talk.

[III.A.3.a.(2).(c)]

Distraction of the child seems to be the principal Canela technique for channeling actions toward acceptable behavior. They explain this approach as “tricking” the child (i?-hey: it fool; enganar êle: fool it) in order to make it do what they want.

One time when the parents needed the Indian service agent, Hugo Ferreira Lima, to give their 2-year-old daughter, Kahuk, an injection, her father, the older Krôôtô, told Sr. Hugo to wait, saying he would trick the child. He played with her and caused her to smile and be happy, but whenever she saw Hugo’s face she burst into tears with fear. Hugo’s intention was simply to jab the needle into the little girl’s buttocks and leave. The older Krôôtô’s intention, in contrast, was to bring the girl into a happy mood and into a position where the injection could be carried out swiftly without her being aware of it. Finally little Kahuk was lying on her stomach on top of the table with her face towards the wall playing with something, and then the older Krôôtô signaled Hugo to perform his duty.

The injection was given in an instant, with the little Kahuk “fooled” into acquiescence. She cried in surprise, but in an instant was in her mother’s arms and at the breast. Distraction of the child and then tricking her, while carrying out the act that she had perceived as threatening—all for the sake of not frightening Kahuk and not confronting her will—is the principal pattern of Canela socialization at that age.

[III.A.3.a.(2).(d)]

In any discussion about socialization with research assistants, Canela parents or grandparents invariably made the point that their kind of child training was very different from the practices of the backlander [II.A.3.d.(1)] [II.B.4]. According to the Canela (and what I saw of Brazilian backland socialization [II.c] supports them), backlanders call their children by negative names, such as cara feia (face ugly), cara inchada (face swollen), and você é ruim (you are bad). According to Canela thinking, parents or aunts and uncles should not speak negatively to their children or nieces and nephews. (Similarly, I could not express displeasure about a research assistant’s work without great offense; but I could say she or he was hindering my research by arriving late.) A person may not even treat pets with verbal abuse. (Dogs are not pets.) An adult had to be positive and indirect in talking to another person. Loud accusing talk that other families in the village could overhear (i.e., public shaming of individuals) is not characteristic of Canela socialization, but some loud conversations, nevertheless, sometimes may be heard between adults.

[III.A.3.a.(2).(e)]

Another technique that I observed often in the late 1950s amounted to mildly scaring the child (fazer medo: to make fear). One time, little Píyapit, age 4, was crying so hard that she could not stop, and her mother, Te?hôk, was trying to comfort her. In the meanwhile, her father, the older Krôôtô, attracted her attention by picking up a small hand broom and threatening her with it. There was an exchange of conversation between father and daughter, in which the older Krôôtô simply forced his stronger will on her through scary facial expressions, so that she stopped crying.

Parents may threaten that (1) a ghost will come and kill the child, (2) an animal will arrive to eat it, (3) the child will have to go out the next day to work on the farm, (4) strong pepper will be put in its mouth, (5) the child will have to stay in the house all day long and the following day too, or (6) the backlanders are coming. Parents, however, did not threaten so far as to say that (1) they will give their child away to the backlanders, (2) the Devil will come to get the child, or (3) the child has unattractive characteristics. Negative characteristics of the Devil were more absolute [V.A.5.c.(2)] and frightening than those of ghosts. It is thought these days that if such negative outcomes and traits are made clear to a child when, in a moment, God the Protector is not paying attention, then the Devil might come and give a disease to the child, or actually take the child away in death [II.B.4].

[III.A.3.a.(2).(f)]

Frightening a child out of some form of behavior, or into cooperation, is carried out only to a certain point. For instance, the same Píyapit, a year later, was crying so willfully and inconsolably that she could not be stopped. Her parents led her behind the house and left her there to cry as much as she could possibly want. The principle here was that if a parent could not control or dominate a child when it had become too willful, it was better to let it have its way and ignore it than to try to overcome and subdue it, i.e., break its will.

The fierce little 2-year-old A?prol, in my brother’s family in Baixão Prêto, was certainly an example of this kind of willful behavior. I saw his parents give way to him many times. One day just after my arrival when I was giving toys to various children, he demanded a miniature truck in addition to another toy I had already given him. I denied his demand because otherwise there would not have been enough toys to go around to the other children in the family. He was so insistent in his temper tantrum that his parents could not comfort him and make him keep quiet. They came to me for another small truck, which they knew I had. I said I could not let them have it because it was due to be given to a child in another family. (Everything had to be rationed fairly, as in a Canela communal meat distribution [III.B.1.b.(2)].) The child nevertheless kept on crying and the parents asked me again for the truck which I finally gave. Thus, the little boy was appeased and calmed himself shortly, having gotten his way, his will not broken.

[III.A.3.a.(2).g]

For certain extreme forms of misbehavior beyond the age of 5 or 6, such as fighting with other boys, especially in cases where the child was being a bully, or in cases of opposite-sex sibling sex play, mild forms of hitting and slapping by parents are permitted. This could include hitting the child on the palm of its hand with an object made of hardwood. This instrument presumably came from backland traditional sources because it only has a Portuguese name, called a palmatória (Table 8, item 92). One research assistant related that a mother sometimes said to a child that if his father had to hit him, he would not grow up quickly the way other children did, and when he had grown up, the father would be ashamed of him.

[III.A.3.a.(2).(h)]

After the age of about 3 years, parents no longer force children to do anything against their wills. In the particular case of a girl of 4 who refused to allow an Indian service agent to give her an injection, her refusal was respected by her parents.

The question of how to administer medicine—forcing it on a child for its good or not giving the medicine to the child at all—seems to have placed many Canela parents in a position of ambivalence. In the late 1950s parents often refused to give their child medicines simply because the child did not want to take them. They could trick a child below the age of three into taking medicine, but it was not possible to do so without a fuss—even by threatening and overpowering the child—over that age. It was against their principles to even try to do so.

One time my sister, Te?hôk, and her husband, the older Krôôtô, wanted me to give the little Kahuk, 2 years old, deworming pills. Kahuk did not want to take the pills. After several attempts, Te?hôk held the little girl’s nose and caused her to swallow the pills with water, and in the scene that followed, she tried to comfort her daughter as much as possible. But Píyapit, 4 years old, simply refused to take the pills and was not forced to do so.

This issue of forcing children was particularly interesting to observe over the course of acculturation. In the late 1950s no force was used on children over three, but the ways of backlanders and Indian service personnel were influencing Canela behavior, particularly in the administration of medicine. By the late 1970s parents who would not have done so in the late 1950s were verbally forcing children up to 8 or 9 years of age to take medicines these children did not want to take. Consequently, while most forms of socialization were growing less harsh, giving medicine was becoming more direct and compulsory, especially when the Indian agent (Sr. Sebastião) insisted and the parent was convinced he was correct [II.B.2.i.(4).(a)].

[III.A.3.a.(2).(i)]

Parents carry out the major socialization of their children, but call upon the aunts and uncles when traditionally more severe authorities are needed. I often heard a mother making the threat: “if you do not do this, your uncle will come.” The uncles held positions of great authority and respect in the judicial hearings [III.D.3.b], which the little nieces and nephews could observe probably several times a month. Nevertheless, with all of their potential and attributed power, the uncle could speak harshly, or use physical punishment, only once or twice against a niece or nephew. If he were not obeyed, he had to let the matter return to the responsibility of the parents. This trend has been particularly true since the diminishing of power of the older generations during the late 1930s and early 1940s [II.B.1.e].

Canela research assistants made it clear that whereas parents could slap a child or pull its ear as an ultimate act of discipline, aunts and uncles could not touch their nieces and nephews except for the most extreme offenses; the Canela feel that the aunts and uncles do not have sufficient feeling for the child to be able to apply such discipline at the right time.

One of the ordinary occasions during which an uncle could actually strike a nephew was in the plaza before the female line of dancers in the late afternoon when he was performing his wild warrior act [II.D.3.c.(4)] [III.A.2.r.(1)]. The only other time that an aunt or uncle could conceivably strike a child is when it is older than 6 or 7 and involved in cases of sex play or in serious fighting between boys. This avuncular discipline is only resorted to when parents cannot manage the child. Such behavior would have to be extremely unusual for uncles to actually strike a child. Research assistants said such discipline was conceivable but almost unheard of either for current or earlier times. If a girl refused to tell who had taken her virginity [III.A.2.j.(6).(a)]—then the uncle slapped or hit her a few times.

[III.A.3.b] FORCES OF SOCIALIZATION FOR ADOLESCENTS

Because restraining forces assume so much importance after puberty, I discuss them first. Then enabling forces, which are scarcely discernible for children but are quite apparent for adolescents, are presented. Finally, rewarding forces, which are more formalized for adolescents than for children, are described.

[III.A.3.b.(1)]

RESTRAINING FORCES.—Parents in the late 1950s became less significant in their children’s adolescent socialization, although they remained very close to their children. Aunts and uncles took more initiatives in the adolescent socialization of their nieces and nephews because of the nature of the required discipline.

[III.A.3.b.(1).(a)]

Parents do not like to engage the sexual problems of their children. Considered embarrassing, such topics are not discussed between parents and children (or between siblings, or between Formal Friends), unless absolutely necessary. For instance, when a mother has no relatives to call upon while living away from the tribe, she may have to communicate with her children about their sexual concerns.

Parents also do not like to manage the food and sex restrictions (Glossary) that are imposed on their children, especially the serious and extreme restrictions their sons have to endure just after puberty [II.D.3.c.(1)] [III.A.2.p]. A mother is considered to have too much feeling (hapê) for her children to be firm or strong enough to manage the matters of food and sex restrictions. The father is considered only slightly less soft than the mother. An aunt, however, would have no problem talking about sexual questions with either her niece or nephew within the context of the joking relationships [II.D.1.b.(3)]. Carrying on from this joking role, she could easily manage the actual affairs of a young man with mental agility, humor, and little or no shame.

Besides teaching about restrictions against food and sexual relations, the uncle (Glossary) teaches the youth about various medicines that can remove pollutions from the body. These pollutions could enter the body in the polluted juices of “rich” meats [IV.D.3.a].

Uncles [In.4.i], unless they are the naming- or advising-uncle, have a joking relationship with their nephews; so any of these uncles could manage their nephews’ sexual relations and affairs. The naming-uncle and the disciplinary-uncle [II.D.1.b.(1),(2)] are expected to be more formal than the other uncles; nevertheless, they too could manage such matters if necessary. Because the aunts and uncles in their various roles are two or more genealogical links away (Glossary: Further-link kin) from their nieces and nephews (Figure 20) [III.E.2.b], they are expected to take care of their matters more dispassionately.

[III.A.3.b.(1).(b)]

The very special and characteristic message of the advising-uncle for his niece, and to a much greater extent for his nephew, is that she or he must learn to endure hardships and suffering (both physical and emotional) particularly with respect to family life: awkanã: agüenta (endure!: the imperative form). Although young people surely hear about such harsh values as they are growing up, they are not confronted with self-denial and endurance before puberty [II.D.1.b] [II.D.3.c.(1)].

The permissive socialization of a boy up to the time of puberty takes a sharp turn toward moderate confrontation, so that the youth will be hard on himself and learn to endure the difficulties of war, sports, hunting, and marriage. Thus, potentially, through this externally imposed device for learning moment-to-moment self-denial, he develops a high degree of self-control and may also learn shamanic abilities [IV.D.1.c.(2)]. (However, compare the confrontation above with the general value for adults of avoidance rather than conflict [III.B.1.h].)

[III.A.3.b.(1).(c)]

Quite pertinent here is the story of strength through virginity of a youth called Pààtsêt. He lived during the last century in one of the earlier village sites of today’s Canela area—the village of the first Canela chief, Kawkhre, just a few kilometers south of the old Ponto village near the headwaters of the Santo Estévão stream (Map 3). For some unexplained reason, Pààtsêt lived away from the tribe with his grandmother. Apparently, he maintained an excellent postpubertal period of restrictions against polluting foods and sexual relations, so that when he returned to the tribe he was strong enough to outrun any of the other young men. He could also race with the heaviest logs, passing all of his competitors.

Research assistants thought he was about 16 but had not had his first sexual experience. However, when he experienced his first sex with a young girl, he lost his physical advantage over the other runners and racers of his tribe and became like any other youth.

[III.A.3.b.(1).(d)]

In earlier times, the principal confrontation between uncles and postpubertal nephews occurred when the uncle commanded his nephew to live in the plaza and (1) to visit his female kin only for food, (2) to eat very little food and no “bad” foods, and (3) to not have sexual relations with the young women in the plaza. However, living in the plaza at night, the youth came into contact with childless older women [III.F.4.e.(2).(a)] with whom sex would be possible if it were not for the postpubertal restrictions against frequent sexual relations just imposed on him by his advising-uncle. The young man has moved from the protection of his mother’s house into the permitted-but-restricted sexual life of adolescence. The nearly complete proscription on intercourse with young girls his own age was to avoid acquiring the girls characteristic weaknesses through sexual relations, whereas he could obtain the characteristic strength from an older woman in the plaza [II.B.1.e.(2)]. Even so, he was enjoined to have sexual relations only rarely, and then mostly with the same woman.

His uncles also ordered him to eat sparingly so as to grow large and strong and be able to chase down and kill deer in the noon-day sun. They also told him to avoid certain “bad” foods that have polluting effects [IV.D.3.d.(1)], such as most meats and certain vegetables. If the advising-uncle caught or heard that his nephew was violating these food or sex proscriptions, he would respectively confiscate the food or shame him before the late afternoon sing-dance line of women (Figures 14,15) [II.D.3.c.(3)] [II.E.7.b] [III.A.2.r.(1)].

[III.A.3.b.(1).(e)]

After the age of puberty young adolescents begin to rely on, and to have respect for, their Formal Friends [III.E. 5]. If a young person commits a wrong upon someone, the Formal Friend of the wronged person may carry out a “game” (hààkrun-tsà: play-thing) against the injurer. Thus a ceremony is performed in which the injurer must repeat his offense against the injured person’s Formal Friend. (For more about Formal Friendship games, see [II.F.4].) Fear of exposure through such games helps to restrain improper behavior against another.

[III.A.3.b.(2)]

ENABLING FORCES.—Enabling forces become apparent to young people by the time they begin to do things for themselves, instead of having matters arranged for them by their parents or aunts and uncles. These forces are referred to by the Canela as “their leg-supporting devices” (mē ?te-?kaypal tsà), which I have termed alternatively in English as “helping hands” (W. Crocker, 1982:154). The principal facilitating devices of people’s roles of this kind are food and sex restrictions, “medicines” (certain herbal infusions), Formal Friends, and opposite-sex siblings.

[III.A.3.b.(2).(a)]

The inculcation of self-control through food and sex restrictions (Glossary) provides a means [IV.D.3] by which the youth and young woman gain strength to succeed in any of their chosen life roles, except for sing-dancing and agriculture. They may become better runners, hunters, athletes, and log racers, and better at anything for which endurance is important, including marriage. The Canela refer to the food and sex restrictions as i?-te ?-kaypal tsà (his-leg its-supporting instrument: his supporting thing), one of the tools for achievement in life, which is figuratively equivalent to “his helping hand” (W. Crocker, 1982:154).

[III.A.3.b.(2).(b)]

“Medicines,” Formal Friends, and appropriate relatives may also be considered as categories of “enabling forces” to the adolescent. The purpose of some medicines [IV.D.4] is to rid the body of pollutions, and one of the purposes of a Formal Friends is to defend a person from her or his wrong-doer. To a considerable extent, siblings (i?khyê: sibling, leg: includes thigh, calf, and foot) also strongly support each other, especially in consanguineal and classificatory opposite-sex sibling relationships, as emphasized by teknonymy [III.E.8.a].

[III.A.3.b.(3)]

REWARDING FORCES.—For both sexes, achievement in their chosen roles is a rewarding force because members of the tribe, and particularly individuals of the opposite sex, reward the achiever with high consideration and good opinion. The approval by the opposite sex becomes very important to postpubescent individuals. As in any society, young men and women do many things to attract the interest and the high esteem of the opposite sex [II.F.1.c.(5)]. If a person’s role is being carried out well, a person of the opposite sex in Canela society may reward the individual with sexual intercourse [IV.A.3.f]. Public recognition by the community at large and various relatives is also awarded both girls and boys in the form of belts, sashes, bracelets, etc. [III.G.1] (Table 8, items 1–8) that they may wear on their persons for all to see.

[III.A.3.b.(3).(a)]

A girl who performs unusually well in sing-dancing and general good citizenship may be awarded a ceremonial sing-dancing sash of honor (hahĩ) by her naming-aunt (Plate 58e, f) [II.G.3.a.(8)]. The girl has to continue to sing-dance and do well (Plate 32a) and be the first woman out in the early morning to start the female sing-dancing line and encourage others to come after her. Another award may be earned just after the Waytikpo ceremony [IV.A.3.b.(3)], which is the climax of any of the internment festivals. The Pró-khãmmã may award a girl who performed well a little gourd back pendant (krat-re) of high honor (Plate 59f) [II.G.3.a.(6)]. In other circumstances the Pró-khãmmã may award her a comb back pendant (khoykhe-re) of high honor (Plate 59b, g) [II.G.3.a.(7)]. Girls may wear these awards whenever they go out to sing-dance in the female line or in festivals.

Thus, there are many incentives to motivate young women to perform well, especially during the festival activities. These artifacts of honor are kept in little closed baskets (khaypo) (Table 8, item 62), perhaps for the rest of their lives, to help recall these achievements of high ceremony.

[III.A.3.b.(3).(b)]

For a young man who carries out his festival roles and daily life roles very well, a naming-uncle may instruct the youth’s sister to make a cotton ceremonial racing belt (akàà) (Plates 57c, 59h) [II.G.3.a.(5)]. The youth may then wear this while he is log racing to demonstrate to others that he is highly esteemed by his kin. A more highly prized award is a belt encircled with pendant tapir hoof points (tsù) (Plate 57d) [II.G.3.a.(3)]. This belt also demonstrates that he has performed well and is highly esteemed by his relatives, particularly by his naming-uncle, who presents it to him.

If a young man has done extremely well during certain festivals by sing-dancing and adding to the merriment and general joy, he could be awarded certain of the following ceremonial items by the Pró-khãmmã after the Waytikpo act: (1) cotton wristlets (Plate 60f) [II.G.3.b.(7)], (2) a ceremonial lance (Plate 56e) [II.G.3.a.(2)], (3) a feather bonnet (Plate 56e) [II.G.3.a.(1)]. These items are highly prized especially because women give themselves easily to such winners [III.A.3.c(3).(j)].

[III.A.3.C] FORCES OF SOCIALIZATION FOR ADULTS

Forces of socialization are usually seen to be operating on children and adolescents. Adults are assumed to have been socialized so that studies of socialization usually stop with the entry of the subjects into adulthood. The view taken here is that socialization, to some extent, continues for the entire life of a person.

[III.A.3.c.(1)]

REWARDING FORCES.—The primary rewarding force for adults is the general high esteem of relatives and friends.

[III.A.3.c.(1).(a)]

A very important reward in Canela life is the winning of partners for extramarital sexual relations. Since these activities are so widely practiced and were a traditional Canela custom (W. Crocker, 1974a) [IV.A.3.f], the popularity of women with men, and of men with women, is an extremely important rewarding factor in the Canela sociocultural system. When asked why they preferred Canela life to living out in the world, male research assistants consistently said they liked the young Canela women and longed for them when they were away. Women rarely travel out in the world, so the same opinion was not sought from them, although I expect it would be similar. Moveover, women initiate the choice of partners at least as often as men for extramarital sex, research assistants say.

[III.A.3.c.(1).(b)]

One intergenerational adult bond is maintained by giving and sharing “advice.” Members of the older generation advise the younger generation for as long as the old people live. Parents advise their children even when their children are adults. Similarly, aunts and uncles advise and counsel their nieces and nephews until the former are almost in the grave. This is not to say that the older generation kin give me younger generation advice on every little matter, but rather that the older people try to bring objectivity to the problems of their younger kin. Out of respect for the old, many younger people listen to them and do gain advantage from their counsel, even when these younger people are over 50 years old themselves. When the older Mĩĩkhrô [I.G.3] died at just over 80 years of age, his son, Rõõ-re-?hô (Plate 68d) [I.G.11], 45 to 50, lamented that his father was no longer alive to advise him. The extent of this intergenerational advice-giving is pervasive throughout the tribe.

[III.A.3.c.(1).(c)]

Successful men in their late 30s and 40s are rewarded by the placement of their children into prominent festival positions by the Pró-khãmmã [III.D.2.c]. To have a daughter as a Wè?tè girl (Glossary) [IV.A.3.e.(1)], as a girl associate of the novice festivals [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)], or as a Pepkahàk girl associate [III.C.3.f], is a very high honor; the girl’s or father’s kin, as well as the father’s extramarital sex favorites, are very proud of such appointments. The younger Kaapêltùk boasted to me on tape about his being chief of the tribe [Ep.4.b.(2).(a)], father of a Wè?tè girl, and father of the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]. These statuses facilitated his ascendency to the chieftainship, he implied. Mothers are also equally proud of their son’s or daughter’s winning awards and high-status ceremonial positions.

[III.A.3.c.(1).(d)]

There are also prestigious roles for men, particularly that of master sing-dance leader [II.D.3.i.(2).(a)] [II.F.1.a]. A number of grand traditional positions in the festivals exist for male sing-dance leaders (Plate 41c). There are also high political positions, such as chief of the tribe or one of the assistant chiefs [III.D.1.a, f]. There is membership in the council of elders for men once a certain age is reached [III.D.2]. If a man is a member of the Lower age-set moiety and therefore a member of the Pró-khãmmã [III.D.2.a.(3)], he is entitled to the honor of receiving and eating prestigious meat pies (Figure 19) from hàmren individuals when they present themselves in the plaza after a social absence [II.E.7.b.(1)]. These Pró-khãmmã councilors are also the persons who reward adolescents for excellent festival performances [II.D.2.f,3.e]. Such formal public high status roles are lacking for women, although there are a few women, like Tel-khèy (principal research assistant) and Katsêê-khwèy, aged 60 in 1970, who assume significant informal (unappointed) roles of leadership in the Festival of Oranges. Nevertheless, women dominate the day-to-day scene in households, because the control of their brothers and mother’s brothers is decreasing with each decade. Traditionally, women own houses and farms, although backlanders and Indian service agents refer to such Canela ownerships as belonging to women’s husbands.

While the public roles are gratifying, the most satisfying roles of all appear to be those of a successful parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle, who were looked up to by many young kin, although such attitudes are changing.

[III.A.3.c.(2)]

ENABLING FORCES.—Adults and adolescents receive the same social reinforcement in guiding their behavior: food and sex restrictions, “medicines,” Formal Friends, siblings (especially cross-sex ones), and others, such as following orders. In a sense, an individual can make almost anything (sources of money, farms, etc.) into a “helping hand,” but I am referring to the traditional, Canela termed, “leg-supporting devices” [III.A.3.b.(2)].

[III.A.3.c.(2).(a)]

As with adolescents, a principal enabling force is the extensive use of food and sex restrictions, but adults tend to pay less attention to this helpful device because, presumably, they have already assumed most of their life roles. However, a sensitive shaman and a great hunter, maintain a certain level of restrictions to retain their special powers and vision.

[III.A.3.c.(2).(b)]

While food and sex restrictions are more of an enabling factor for adolescent development, Formal Friends play a far more significant role for adult social control (see Pepkahàk festival [IV.A.3.c.(3).(f)].

[III.A.3.c.(2).(c)]

Specific male roles, e.g., shaman and hunter, require specific enabling devices, e.g., ghosts and visions. The “powers” received from a ghost while becoming a shaman [IV.D.1.c.(5)] give him the power to heal. The “vision” acquired from the use of “medicines” enables a hunter to find and attract game [IV.D.4.a] [V.A.5.b.(3).(b)].

[III.A.3.c.(2).(d)]

Another significant enabling force was the formal order a Canela waits to receive before carrying out an action. For me, this was an especially surprising and notable kind of behavior. No sing-dance leader sang for a group, for instance, unless he was instructed to do so. No festival act could be put on unless the Pró-khãmmã, or some other appropriate group or person, gave the order. Of course, no orders were needed from the outside to initiate personal or family undertakings. To a considerably greater extent than in the Western world, however, Canela individuals expect orders (halkhwa-?khôt: word-following) [III.B.1.k] to come from somewhere, and these are considered “leg-supporting devices” or “helping hands” (W. Crocker, 1982:154). After receiving such an order, a Canela felt well-supported in carrying it out, and he felt he needed this support.

[III.A.3.c.(3)]

RESTRAINING FORCES FOR ADULTS.—Restraining forces for adults are many, but only major examples are discussed here.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(a)]

“Shame” (pahàm) is enculturated into a Canela at an early age. The Canela talk about shame (Plate 48c) as being the inhibiting factor preventing an individual from performing less traditional forms of activity. A person with a high level of shame (“loss of face”) would not be caught in a direct lie or an obvious theft because he would be too ashamed. Research assistants spoke of the hàmren (Glossary) individual as being a person of great shame (restraint) [III.C.7] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]; that is, their behavior was inhibited by tradition. They spoke of the Clowns as having very little shame (restraint) (Plate 46d) [III.C.7.b] [IV.A.3.c.(4).(b)], meaning that the members of this society were very little inhibited by most traditional requirements. Of course, the degree of difference in restraint is relative because, whether hàmren or a Clown, an enculturated person is restrained by a large number of learned sociocultural patterns.

Formal Friends experience great shame with respect to each other. In the kinship system, shame between the generations inhibits much of the behavior of younger people toward older ones. Being of the opposite sex introduces a restraining influence in most situations, especially when people are affinally related unless they have come close to each other as classificatory spouses. (For further development of similar ideas, see Da Matta, 1982:161–164.)

Canela shame (pahàm) is a broader concept than the English one. In fieldwork, “shame” was discussed frequently, and it seemed to me that most restraints on individual behavior in public and private situations were attributed by Canela individuals to pahàm. Depending on its context, Canela shame includes the Asian concept of “loss of face,” the inhibitions and pride of high status people in many cultures, the respect (often due to fear) frequently found between the generations, and the respect (sometimes due to fear of incest) often found between the sexes unless they are permitted to have sex. Canela shame is more of a socially external concept than an individually internal one in its enforcement on a person. It is not “guilt” in the sense of some Western subcultures in which an individual experiences severe suffering and self-recriminations for having committed a wrongdoing, even though friends and the public know nothing about the wrongdoing and are not making accusations. Nevertheless, the Canela individual, in my understanding, has internalized traditional values thoroughly, so that she or he significantly fears potential accusations, especially in the form of gossip and stories, if not in the form of social actions, such as pressure from female kin for women or coercion by his age-set or the council of elders for men. Thus conformity with traditions occurs in most situations.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(b)]

Formal Friends exert a significant restraint upon the individual not to commit a wrong act against another person (including children and adolescents). When such an event occurs, the primary Formal Friend of the injured person stages a Formal Friendship “game.” For instance, if a parent slaps a child too much, or if a child is stung by a bee and becomes very upset, the primary Formal Friend (khritswè mpey) of the injured individual requires that the damage be done to her- or himself in the same way that it was done to the injured person (Nimuendajú, 1946:101–102).

In Escalvado, for example, a baby (who should have been sleeping between its parents) rolled into the fire during the night and was somewhat burned. The baby’s primary Formal Friend heard about the circumstances through village gossip and prepared to chastise the parents. She assembled some relatives and friends and they approached the house of the baby and its parents. While a small crowd gathered, the Formal Friend walked into the dwelling. All work in this house and the surrounding houses ceased, and everybody gathered to watch the evolving Formal Friendship “game” (khritswè yààkrun-tsà: Formal-Friend’s play-thing).

After the parents had been well forewarned and had thought through their roles and what they were going to have to do, the primary Formal Friend of the baby proceeded with her act. She required that a fire be made in the sleeping area just as it had been burning the night before when the baby rolled into it. She then lay down on the ground on the parents’ mats, and talking and joking all the time, required the parents to lie down beside her on either side just as they should have done for the baby. Then she squirmed out from between the parents, presumably as the baby had done, and rolled herself into the fire, actually burning herself slightly. The intent was to become burned exactly as the baby was, though precision is not required but extent of damage is. In wriggling away from the parents and rolling into the fire, the Formal Friend of the baby shamed the parents in a most ridiculous manner. The onlookers, and even the parents, exhausted themselves laughing. (The parents’ names are not included here to protect them [In.4.e].)

Then, as part of the traditional proceedings, the mother paid the Formal Friend and her family followers one large bowl of food, a traditional “payment.” This usually consists of pieces of meat on top of a considerable amount of cooked rice or manioc.

This Formal Friendship game [II.F.4], as played against the parents, operates as an effective social control device. The parents will be more careful in the future about how they position the fire and the baby before going to sleep. It exacts a payment, that is, a formal punishment [III.D.3.e.(5)], from the parents. Even though the game is carried out in a spirit of joviality, the offenders nevertheless dread this kind of shame “being passed on their faces.”

The Formal Friendship games as a Canela social institution are assuming an increasingly greater role in Canela life since acculturation toward Brazilian backland ways of living began. The Formal Friendship role is usurping that of the disciplinary-uncle or aunt, which is greatly diminished today [III.A.2.r.(1)]. Formal Friendship shaming, as a controlling and restraining force, however, is not applied in the same social contexts as was the aunt and uncle’s social pressure: The disciplinary-aunt or uncle role kept nieces and nephews from having sex with individuals their own age [II.B.1.e] and from eating “bad” foods so they could grow strong [III.A.2.q]. The Formal Friendship games are not necessarily intergenerational in their application, and they do not facilitate the extramarital sex system [IV.A.3.f] through the reduction of sex jealousy between spouses [III.F.4.e.(2).(b)]. Thus, these Formal Friendship roles may be seen as a shift in societal emphasis of acceptable behavior as new values are adopted from the more dominant culture of the backlanders.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(c)]

There is a particular story for parents who exert too much pressure on their adolescents. Apparently, some time in the last century, a girl refused to marry a certain young man, her mother’s choice. In the course of disciplining her for her rebellion, the mother slapped her daughter’s hands. The daughter felt so shamed by the punishment that she quietly went out into the cerrado and hung herself from a tree with the cords of her ceremonial belt (Plate 59d) [II.G.3.c.(1)]. Although parents have lost their influence over their children’s marriages [III.F.4.c.(2)] and many other aspects of living, this story still serves as a warning to parents not to be too severe in punishment. Similar stories and myths serve as restraints in other sociocultural sectors.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(d)]

A particular Canela restraint is the fear of being accused of stinginess (sovina: hõõtsè) [III.B.1.a] i.e., antisocial. Not being generous and open is considered such an evil form of behavior that individuals with strong desires may use the accusation to force another person to submit to unreasonable demands. A Canela owner of an axe, for instance, would be sorry for the other Canela who, for some reason or other, strongly desired to use that axe. This kind of strong demand was respected—or at least, resisting the demand generated fear. The fear of being considered stingy, mean, or antisocial is a potent inhibitor. By the 1950s witchcraft scarcely existed, so it was not fear of witchcraft retaliation that made people “generous”; it was merely that they did not want to gain the reputation of being stingy. A person’s “other spouses” also did not like a stingy person.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(e)]

Most Canela, particularly women, are afraid of rumors or false stories being spread about them (tswa-?nã). Adult women could be heard saying that they would not do something for fear of generating rumors. The fear of negative small talk among the Canela is far more inhibiting than I have experienced similar rumors to be in the United States.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(f)]

An important restraining force for a man is control by his age-set (mē hakhrã) [III.C.3.a]. Boys grow to manhood belonging to the same age-set and carry out many of their activities with this group. The approval of the other men in the age-set is very important to the individual.

For instance, in the 1970s when Ku?khop was angry at his wife Píyapit and living away from her and their children for a number of reasons, Tep-hot, Píyapit’s disciplining-uncle, but also Ku?khop’s age-set mate, went to Ku?khop with several other age-set mates to discuss the matter with him directly. Ku?khop could not retain anger against his age-set mates, with whom he had passed through the internment festivals. Ignoring pleas of age-set mates is difficult and very antisocial (hõõtsè) and it constitutes cutting off a principal source of support for the future. Thus Ku?khop gave in, and after fully voicing his complaints to Tep-hot, returned to Píyapit.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(g)]

Political pressure constitutes a great restraint on the individual. Although neither the chief of the tribe nor the council of elders has any sort of police force with which to enforce their instructions, individuals feel constrained or coerced to follow their orders. (For discussions on the high degree to which the Canela rely on orders, see [III.B.1.k] [III.D.1.a.(2)].)

[III.A.3.c.(3).(h)]

The fear of illness or even death from the influence of sorcerers constrained the freedom of adults in the tribe 50 years ago. Curers, or shamans (kay), received powers from ghosts, and almost always used these powers beneficially to facilitate their own relationships in the tribe or to cure people of diseases [IV.D.1.e.(1)]. Sometimes, however, the shamans, became sorcerers and used their powers for antisocial purposes to have their way or to carry out revenge [IV.D.1.d.(2)]. In 1903, a woman sexually refused the shaman Francelino Kaawùy a number of times (Nimuendajú, 1946:240) [II.B.1.c.(4)]. According to the story, he subsequently cast spells of illness (hũũtsùù) upon her so that she eventually died. One reason Canela individuals were afraid to be stingy was that they were concerned about witchcraft spells being cast upon them if they were not generous, even when the refusal was reasonable. However, by the late 1950s, they feared only moderate sicknesses rather than death, because the existing shamans were not considered very powerful [IV.D.1.d.(1)].

[III.A.3.c.(3).(i)]

In recent times, Satan, the Devil (Mē?pa Yõõtswèn), has a significant role in restraining antisocial activities. The belief in the folk Catholicism (Glossary) that the Canela have been gradually adopting [II.B.3.(2)] [Ep.4.d.(1).(e)] is that God is watching almost all the time, and so is aware of and protecting almost everyone. The problem, however, is that God cannot watch and protect His people all the time. Therefore, when He is resting and not watching, Satan can take what is his due. If a person acts outside of the traditional behavioral patterns, Satan might enter the scene and take advantage of the person, causing injury or death. Thus, if a parent calls a child by a bad name, or if the parent threatens to give a child to the backlanders, Satan may easily enter and take the child for his own (in death) or make the child sick.

[III.A.3.c.(3).(j)]

Probably one of the most significant factors in restraining behavior, as well as in rewarding it, is the socially sanctioned practice of extramarital sexual relations. Because extramarital sexual relations with persons in the “other spouse” category (mē ?prõ ?nõ: plural wife other or mē hõ ?camarad: plural possessive comrade: their comrade) (Figures 29,30) are so easy and frequent, they have a great impact on Canela behavior patterns. A Canela does not do something very often that will risk her or his popularity with the opposite sex in her or his classificatory spouse category [III.E.3.a.(6).(a)].

It is clear that the human being throughout the world is motivated to a considerable extent by the opinion of available members of the opposite sex. For the Canela, the possibilities of having sexual relations outside of marriage far exceed such opportunities in most other cultures (W. Crocker, 1964, 1974a). Even in cultures where extramarital relations are condoned, they do not usually receive the public support of traditional festivals that they do among the Canela [IV.A.3.f].

With the Canela, both women and men talk to each other in their same-sex groups about their sexual experiences: women by the streams, men in plaza age-set positions (Figure 24). Consequently, much of what goes on between classificatory spouses becomes known to the entire village except to the married-to spouse, who does not want to hear and is not told. When discussing sexual techniques with female and male research assistants, they spoke about how relatively quickly certain men came to orgasm (number of strokes) and which women “cried” or were silent, and which became “wet” quickly.

Similarly, ungenerous, antisocial behavior becomes quickly known throughout the society and affects the behavior of individuals in the classificatory spouse category toward each other. Fear of losing popularity with members of a person’s “other spouse” (classificatory spouse) category is the most effective Canela (not Apanyekra) cultural restraining device, according to my assessment. (The Apanyekra extramarital system is not as extensive.) However, acculturation has already reduced (1950s) and is diminishing (1980s) the viability of the extramarital system, because extramarital relations are slowly becoming abandoned as a festival-sanctioned system. The spread of folk Catholicism [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)] and SIL Protestantism [Ep.5.d] will eventually almost eliminate this formerly extensive sociocultural sector.

[III.A.4] Ethnotheories of Individual Development

The Canela were not very verbal about the underlying reasons for their behavior. Communication about ethnotheories of any sort was most fruitful between 1974 and 1979 because by those years the powers of analysis among research assistants had become more developed. Because almost all of my research on socialization was done in the late 1950s and 1960, it is largely lacking ethnotheories about socialization. Two very important viewpoints emerge, however, which seem to be in contradiction with each other. But to find oppositions in these kinds of materials is not unusual.

The first view is that a parent is a caretaker, or trustee, in bringing up children. The pertinent belief here is that children are born with their personalities already immanent, and that the parent’s responsibility is to provide the proper environment within which the child is to grow up. Consequently, the parent must not take a very active role in the child’s development, because the child matures through its own inner forces.

The other view is that if parents are not severe enough with their children, scolding and occasionally slapping them on the hands, the children will grow up soft and unable to endure the hardships of life, and will therefore be selfish and willful as adults.

[III.A.4.a] PERSONALITY IS IMMANENT

To the extent that the future personality of the mature adult is inherent in the infant when it is born, the child’s parents do not have to play a very active role in the socialization of the individual. This belief may be the reason why mothers are so permissive in feeding, weaning, toilet training, and various other foci of socialization. It may also account for parental behavior when a particular child is willful and persistent, eventually giving up and letting the child have its way.

The exceptions to this permissive training lay in the areas of sex play between opposite-sex siblings (and homosexuality) and fighting between siblings and among boys in general. In these two cases, the issues are confronted and totally controlled. No fighting is permitted in Canela life, that is, within the tribe. Sexual relations, even though extensive, are proscribed within certain limits, or the opposite-sex kin of an individual would be seriously reduced in number [III.F.3]. An accusation often found in joking relationships is that the other person has no relatives (i.e., has turned them into “other spouses”), meaning she or he has no kin of the opposite sex (a-yũũkhyê naare: you-kin not: you have no kin). But with respect to other sectors of socialization, the Canela are permissive toward their children until puberty. Thus, prepubertal socialization appears to be consistent with the parent-astrustee ethnotheory for socialization except for the expression of sexuality and fighting [III.A.2.j.(3), k.(2)].

[III.A.4.b] DISCIPLINE BREEDS RESPECT

“Respect for older people comes from the fear of being slapped or hit.” This statement was made emphatically by one of my research assistants and later accepted by the whole research assistant group. At another time, an important Canela research assistant said that if you did not put fear into a child, it would not obey you and later would become selfish, self-centered, and willful: stingy and antisocial [III.b.1.a, b]. This second ethnotheory of socialization suggests not only that there is an active role for parents, but that if the parents, aunts, and uncles are not strong and severe in certain respects, the child and adolescent would grow up to be an adult with entirely unacceptable personality traits.

Consistent with this second ethnotheory is the general belief that first born children are likely to be soft, selfish, and willful because their parents have too much feeling and concern for them and let her or him become spoiled. Subsequent children, especially the last child, are believed to be the “best” because their strong desires had become blunted by older siblings and by the discipline of the parents who no longer feel so strongly for their children that they could not impose the necessary discipline. Research assistants presented a number of examples to prove their points. The most obvious one was a case in the house of Te?hôk. Her oldest child, an otherwise healthy adult male, was very weak (só andando: only walking: barely moving around), while her other son, the youngest Mĩĩkhrô, many years younger, was quite active and able as well as disciplined. This is often, though not always, the case in other families. In the house of Hàwmrõ in contrast, the oldest child, Hômyĩ-khwèy, a woman, was the most admirable of her many siblings, as evidenced by her reliability, imagination, and willing service to her family.

If a man behaves badly and hits his wife, it is said that his parents must have spoiled him; that they were not sufficiently harsh with him and did not hit him when they should have. These after-the-fact statements are typically Canela, and recall their classical statement that if a certain person succeeds well in activities that require endurance, he must have maintained very high food and sex restrictions just after the age of puberty. This relationship between food and sex restrictions and endurance or fortitude can be thought of as an ethnotheory of growth but also of the development of self-confidence, self-control, and willpower.

[III.A.4.c] CONCEPTUALIZATION OF GROWTH PERIODS

One way of finding out how a people see life is to ask them to draw its course in the sand of the ground, birth to death. Then, the investigator can notice the words they use in describing their drawings. In addition, if the drawer is able to do so, she or he should carefully define the key words used. I found the key expression mē haalĩya to mõ (they insteps with move: they progress through life in steps) described the Canela concept of movement through life: in steps up and down. The sand drawer made the steps slope upward to mid- and to old age, and then let the steps slope downward. When asked about this “progress” for different human characteristics, the peak of life’s rising and falling varied. For running, the peak is in the 20s or 30s, depending on the kind of running. For wisdom, it is in the 50s or 60s. All these progressions through life, however, follow the same pattern—sloping steps up and down—except one: shamanism. The kay is said to move up sharply with each visitation from a ghost but not to rise between visitations so that his steps of progress are flat. (For a portrayal of these stages of life, see Figure 16; for commonly used expressions identifying and describing these stages, see Table 9.)

[III.A.5] Summary

Canela children are relatively free of crying, temper tantrums, and the antisocial and destructive behavior found in many societies. Canela children obviously do cry, but childhood is relatively free from obvious expressions of hostility. Most children are active and vibrant, joyous and amused. Their faces were full of expression, both positive and negative. They are a delight to their parents.

In the late 1950s, if a baby or child cried continuously for a significant period of time, the parents thought of themselves as being a source of the problem by having broken current food and sex restrictions or certain taboos parents must keep until the child is over 2 or 3 years old. However, beliefs in the significance of food and sex restrictions in general, and in parental taboos for children in their first 2 or 3 years (Table 9, stage 11), were reduced by the late 1970s; thus, the causes for a baby’s crying were viewed more directly. Mothers looked more for immediate causes, such as frustrations or willfulness.

FIGURE 16.—Growth-stages. The stages of life are conceptualized as steps slanting upward. The study of key descriptive words shows that the Canela see themselves as passing through definite socialization stages, and that while they are in each stage, they progress upward. They peak at 40, 50, or 60 years of age for different attributes and then descend in steps that slope slightly downward. Only the shaman grows and declines in flat steps.

TABLE 9.—Social developmental stages of the individual as described in current Canela expressions (number = life stage; italic words = description provided by Canela; asterisk = life marker).

[III.A.5.a] PERMISSIVE TRAINING

The relative calm and joy among children and babies is probably due to the lack of frustration during breast feeding, weaning, and toilet training [III.A.2.b, f, i]. The Canela’s tacit and over-riding belief is that parents should do everything they can to avoid frustrating the child or causing it to cry. They attempt to make the child want to do what they want by talking to it with great patience, love, and consistency [III.A.3.a.(2).(b)]. They distract or “trick” the child [III.A.2.f.(1)] [III.A.3.a.(2).(c)] to remove it from a dangerous situation on its own volition.

Forcing a baby [III.A.2.C] and slapping the hand of a child [III.A.3.(2).(g)] are techniques of last resort, done only for its protection or because every other less serious attempt has failed. If this harsher course fails, the situation is turned over to aunts and uncles. However, if the aunts and uncles have no quick success, the case is returned to the parents [III.A.3.a.(2).(i)], where the parents may let the child have its way [III.A.3.a.(2).(f)]. I seldom saw children in temper tantrums, but when I did, parents let them alone to cry themselves out. Again, confrontation with the child is avoided so hostilities are less likely to build up inside the child.

The mother and infant are in very close contact almost all the time because a mother carries the baby around in her arms [III.A.2.b]. She is almost constantly sensing, checking, and rewarding her baby [III.A.3.a.(2).(b)]. She carries out this intimate training in small, subtle ways, especially before the child is given freedom to move around on the ground inside the house.

In weaning and toilet training, mothers do not frustrate their babies and small children. In toilet training, the child is restricted only after it can understand what is expected [III.A.2.i]. Then, little by little, the child is induced to take care of itself completely. Thus, the child is permitted to develop relative independence and self-reliance. This is particularly true for the small boy and later for the larger one who has great freedom to run in the cerrado with the other boys [III.A.2.m].

[III.A.5.b] DEPENDENCY TRAINING

Overall, Canela socialization may be seen as encouraging relative dependency [III.A.2.n, o, q]. Babies and little boys, but especially little girls, are kept quite dependent on older people in authority. For the infant, the breast was given at any moment so that the baby becomes dependent on being rewarded at any time there is a problem instead of learning to wait and endure the frustration [III.A.2.b]. Little children are taught to “beg” things from their uncles and persons of authority in the tribe as well as from outsiders. These customs develop the expectation of having to depend on orders from other people before carrying out many activities [III.A.3.c.(2).(d)]. As a Khêêtúwayê novice and as a member of an age-set between festivals, little boys are thoroughly socialized into taking commands from the leaders and older boys in the age-set [III.A.2.q]. Thus, most Canela children grow up to be dependent on authority figures.

Girls receive more dependence training than boys [III.A.2.m], and the boys who are younger when joining an age-set receive more dependence training man those who happen to be older when they join an age-set [III.A.2.n].

[III.A.5.c] DISCIPLINE AND FREEDOM

Most Canela arrive at puberty having faced relatively few frustrations. They have strong positive feelings that need to be expressed and satisfied, great expectations of being cared for that need to be fulfilled, and relatively little value placed on self-control with which to contend with frustrating situations. At puberty, the aunts and uncles assume much of the responsibility for continued socialization [III.A.2.p] [III.A.3.b.(1).(b)]. The disciplinary-uncle is responsibile for enforcing relatively harsh socialization measures, especially on the boy.

Canela research assistants were very clear about the changed atmosphere after puberty for the boy, though for the adolescent girl there is more continuity with her former patterns of socialization. The uncles’ duties included keeping the young men from having sex with girls their own age almost entirely, allowing each sex to have limited sexual relations mostly with considerably older individuals [III.A.2.s.(1)]. They also kept boys from eating most “bad” foods: rich gamy meats [III.A.2.q]. The directing of the sexual activities of young people was verified by the Canela research assistants, young and old who were alive at the time and who were very clear about the nature of extramarital relations prior to the arrival of Indian service personnel [III.A.2.s] and earlier. Research assistants emphatically stated that it was the aunts and uncles who suppressed the jealousies of young husbands, and even adolescent girls. However, after the first postpubertal period of near-abstinence from sexual relations, there was, almost as a reward, a second period (mē nkrekre-re) [II.D.2.g] of free mixing with available members of the opposite sex whether or not a person was married.

The main theme of the Opening Wè?tè festival [IV.A.3.a] serves to place even older women and men than the mē nkrekre-re stage into this mental and emotional orientation even today: during the festival summer period, everybody is going to amuse themselves with available members of the opposite sex who are not their own spouses (Figures 29, 30).

[III.A.5.d] ACCULTURATIVE FACTORS IN THE DISORGANIZATION OF THE 1970s

In the late 1970s, the Canela continue to socialize their children in very much the same permissive way, though with somewhat less emotional closeness and patience. During puberty, however, they cannot discipline the adolescents with the same strength and harshness as was once the custom.

The traditional uncle-to-nephew hazing ceremony in the late afternoon before the line of sing-dancing women became impossible to carry out once Indian service personnel had arrived in 1938 to live beside the village [III.A.2.s]. Consequently, the relative transfer of authority from parents to aunts and uncles at the time of puberty has been reduced and aunts and uncles have lost their power, relatively, to influence young people significantly.

Another factor that has limited the partial transfer of authority from parents to aunts and uncles at puberty has been the fact that since about 1947 [II.B.2.b.(1)], the Canela have experienced difficult economic times. They have not produced enough food to be self-sufficient in meat and farm products. The result has been that between the months of September and December, or even August and January, many families have had to leave the village to settle temporarily first in one backland community and then in another, living beside the houses of backland Brazilians [II.C.3.g]. In such a social setting, which consisted of from 20 to 50 percent of the year depending on the family, aunts and uncles were not present to continue or assume the socialization of their nieces and nephews when they reached puberty. Aunts and uncles had to be with their own children in another backland community rather than with the children of their opposite-sex siblings.

This factor of geography (the distances between the various backland farm locations and the Canela village) prevented aunts and uncles from tending to and enforcing the traditional food and sex restrictions on their nieces and nephews [III.A.3.b.(1).(a)]. Parents traditionally were not used to taking care of such responsibilities, being too embarrassed to carry them out. Thus, food and sex restrictions often were inconsistently maintained by adolescents, many of whom believed that as a result they would not be able to run and hunt effectively. In my opinion, such adolescent beliefs easily became generalized to other activities, such as farm work and festival participation.

[III.A.5.e] STATE OF BEING IN THE 1970s

The Canela of the 1970s are a people with strongly developed feelings who characterize themselves as having insufficient self-control. In my opinion, Canela adolescents and young men in their late teens and early twenties range from being full of life and activity to being listless and detached. They are not controlled by their chiefs or by the older generation to the extent that they had been formerly [III.D.1.a.(4)]. It was through the use of food and sex restrictions that the ability to overcome hardships and the stresses of daily life (boredom, hunger, strains of racing, problems of marriage) had been developed [III.A.2.p]. Backlanders and Indian service personnel, however, do not believe in the efficacy of these social practices and have helped to undermine the Canela’s use of them.

With the change in power relationships between the older and younger generations, frustration-tolerance training has almost disappeared, especially after puberty. This accounts for much of the disorganization in the tribe (especially concerning authority) during the 1950s and 1960s in particular.

Comparing the Canela with another Northern Gê tribe may be helpful. Traditional individual frustrations among the Canela appear to be less than among the Kayapó. The Kayapó’s rop-króre kam aibãn state [II.E.9.b] and its consequent hostile and uncontrolled running around the village are inconceivable forms of behavior for the Canela. When in this state, Kayapó individuals become wild, damaging themselves and others (Moreira, 1965). The Canela may not need this emotional outlet—a catharsis—because they are less frustrated in their training before puberty and because their recreational outlets are so numerous and well developed [II.F].

While there is a balance between dependence and independence on the part of many individuals, it is clear that most Canela are relatively dependent and nonbellicose. It appears to be the willful children who, if socialized strongly after puberty, become the strong leaders, but these are few [III.A.2.k.(4), (5)]. The willful babies and children too often grow up to be dissidents, instead, in the sense that they are listless and idle most of the time rather than working with any sense of direction. This is quite understandable when their acculturative history is considered.

The Canela have a highly structured system of recreational outlets [II.F], which may be viewed as one of the stabilizing forces within the society. These outlets give the young a sense of identity and self-discipline, so that the ravages of acculturation may not be as devastating for them as it has been for other Brazilian tribes.

[III.B]            Psychological “Polarities,” Values, and Behavioral Orientations

The analysis of certain Canela values, personality traits, and social behavior is necessarily a subjective approach. There will be no attempt to make distinctions between the theoretical orientations provided by various schools of psychology or psychological anthropology, or to define terms tike “values,” “polarities,” and “dichotomies,” because there is no intention to treat this subject matter in depth or to formulate novel theories. As with the chicken and the egg, these orientations may be seen as being either sources or products of the socialization process.

[III.B.1] Valued Orientations

In doing studies on valued orientations and personality characteristics that contribute to forming behavior, I found that the research assistants preferred to answer questions in terms of “paired” opposites. It was easier for them to explain one side of the issue by studying the other side at the same time, an aspect of their characteristic dualism [V.A.2]. My research assistants and I also found that besides conspicuous paired oppositions, there are also conspicuous paired polarities that are “complementary” in their relationship to each other. The following set of valued orientations with their complementary or oppositional polarities will be taken in the order of the openness with which the Canela can talk about them.

[III.B.1.a] GENEROSITY VERSUS STINGINESS

When Canela individuals are asked what qualities a good Canela should have, their first response usually is: a person must be generous (hà?kayren). The worst characteristic—its opposite—to display is almost always “stinginess” (hõõtsè).

[III.B.1.a.(1)]

If asked for examples of these traits, the Canela are most likely to say that the backlanders are stingy and that the Canela are generous. This means that the backlanders (Glossary) (Plate 72) keep their possessions and will not give them even to people who need them badly. The backlanders, they point out, store a number of months’ worth of staples. Then when strangers pass by, or even friends or relatives, they will say that they have no food even when the other person is very hungry. This kind of behavior is anathema to the Canela, who are particularly anxious about food [II.C.3.g].

In the late 1950s there were stories about a backlander in the community of Jenipapo do Resplandes (Map 3) who was so stingy that he would not obtain the proper medicines for his ailing grandparents. Although in the 1970s the Canela had more understanding of the backland position on the storage of foods and expenses for relatives, in the late 1950s they simply believed that if a backlander had food and did not give some to people in need, he was evil [II.B.2.b.(2)].

[III.B.1.a.(2)]

In the late 1950s, the Canela were almost always “generous” when confronted with a situation that called for a display of generosity. For instance, when a family man had killed a deer (Plate 15c) and hungry people came asking for some venison, a piece was quickly given to them. When asked, the man responded by being generous. Nevertheless, he usually tried to hide the fact that he had deer meat to avoid the requests of others. The generosity of the Canela family man, therefore, was more practical than altruistic. If he could, he would keep as much as possible for his family. The Canela accusation against any people of the region who say they have nothing to give is usually that such people must be hiding what they have. After all, this is what everybody does except the unusually generous person.

[III.B.1.a.(3)]

A female or male of high standards would place ample provisions at the disposal of others when a festival situation called for this kind of behavior. The person who believed himself to be generous would under such circumstances supply more than was generally expected. Thus self-image, how a person wants other people to perceive him, is very much a part of the Canela practice of generosity. An individual who is stingy and demanding may be suspected of becoming an evil shaman capable of casting spells of fatal illness. Thus the fear of the accusation of being a witch encourages generous behavior [III.A.3.c.(3).(h)] [IV.D.1.d].

[III.B.1.a.(4)]

The implication of generosity that seems extreme to outsiders is that both women and men must be generous with sex. The socialization for sexual generosity is extreme [II.D.2.e.(3)] [III.A.2.j.(6).(a),(b)]. It could be said that in the Canela world a person’s sexuality is not her or his own to dispose of as she or he chooses, and that those in the tribe who desire to have access to this person’s body are permitted to do so.

Other advantages that an individual might possess must also be shared. The sing-dance master [II.D.3.i.(2).(a)], the great hunter [II.D.3.i.(6)], the woman with a fine voice [II.E.4.a], and the visiting anthropologist who has a lot of paper for rolling cigarettes, all must be generous with the things that other people want. The institution of “begging,” which is in keeping with this thinking, surprises and alarms outsiders. This “begging” is traditionally sanctioned, so that the word for it does not have negative connotations. Begging serves as a social leveler by redistributing material wealth, and it is an important part of the food distribution system. Canela individuals approach and simply ask for items that the outsider possesses, fully expecting to receive a portion of them as their right. (This trait is also evident among the Shavante, Maybury-Lewis, 1965:172.) The very definition of a good person is one who gives many things to the Canela when they ask for them. The institution of “begging” (a-?nã wè: something-for ask) is supported by a number of festival acts, found particularly in the festival of Masks [IV.A.3.c.(5).(c)].

In theory, women are allowed to be more stingy than men, because women must conserve, ration, and distribute family possessions and must think about the welfare of their children [II.D.2.i.(1).(5)].

[III.B.1.b] FEELING AND CARING VERSUS SELF-CENTEREDN ESS

The next most esteemed and expressed Canela attribute is the ability to feel and care for (hapê) other people. Its opposite is mē kumã i-yapê naare (them in I-care not: I have no feelings for them), of course, but negatives in general fail to add to our knowledge of a concept. Another opposite, the expression yum kuuni (a-person whole) tells us more. This is a person who is whole (without openings) so that her or his feelings are contained or blocked. Thus, they do not let their feelings go out to others because they are inhibited.

[III.B.1.b.(1)]

In the late 1950s, favor for this human attribute (caring for others) was conspicuously manifested in a number of ways. The Canela said the backlanders were bad because they did not feel strongly or care enough for other people—including relatives and even their own children. Nuclear families were concerned only about their members. There were many stories about the backlanders and how unfeeling they were with respect to friends and relatives not living with them. The Canela told stories of this sort in the plaza at night to amuse each other [II.E.8], and probably to raise their self-confidence.

In 1964, when my wife Mary Jean saw that the six-year old daughter [In.4.e] of my Canela sister was holding and hiding her semi-paralyzed left arm, my wife cried quite visibly and the Canela noticed this. Here was a city person who cared and had feelings, they said. Nothing else really mattered as much; in their eyes Mary Jean was a wonderful person. Not to have feelings or not to care was akin to being stingy, which is part of that complex of negative characteristics the Canela express in the term hõõtsè.

[III.B.1.b.(2)]

Another aspect of caring among the Canela is the leaders’ concern that everybody receive a fair portion in any distribution. The apparent sense of fairness and justice is supported by feelings of concern for the person who does not obtain her or his portion or who does not receive anything at all. For example, it is easy to cut and apportion meat and to divide rice or manioc flour into as many piles as necessary for each individual or family to receive its due (Plate 15b, d). However, some shared items are not so easily apportioned. When I was trading [I.C] with iron implements, it was not possible to divide a machete or an axe among several people who might want it. There could not be an iron tool for everybody, only one or two for each family, as was agreed to in a tribal council meeting. However, I was considered unfeeling if I did not have items of this sort for certain individuals who felt they must have them, even if this exceeded their family’s quota as I had set it. If Canela individuals presented themselves to the and wanted an item strongly enough, fairness was not of primary importance; concern and feeling for other people came first. Rules previously agreed-upon between the council of elders and myself had to be broken because iron items (ferramentas) could not be supplied to everybody; the degree in intensity of the requester’s feelings would require that he be given the axe he wanted [III.A.5.a].

[III.B.1.b.(3)]

Similarly, care or lack of care for the feelings of other people overrides the concern for “telling the truth.” If the Canela feel strongly for the other person, they may not tell the truth if it would hurt their feelings, even slightly [I.G.4]. Truth is not a value of great concern among the Canela. Indirection is their usual means of communication [III.B.1.h.(4)], because it is more important to be concerned about people’s feelings than to tell them the truth (Epigraph).

In the late 1950s in Barra do Corda, I sometimes bought meat for Guajajara Indians [II.B.2.g.(6)] who were staying at the Indian service agency (Plate 2b), as well as for Canela individuals who happened to be in the city [II.B.4]. The Canela typically divided the meat (Plate 15b, d) into as many portions as there were Canela in the city and reserved each portion for the intended recipient’s return to the agency for as long as a day. The Guajajara, in contrast, divided the meat among only the individuals, or families, who happened to be at the agency at the time I gave them the meat. The Canela saw this tribal difference, which was well recognized, in terms of the care one Canela had for another one, and they spoke against the Guajajara for their lack of feeling for each other.

[III.B.1.c] JOY AND FUN VERSUS SADNESS AND INTROSPECTION

The third most-valued orientation most openly spoken about is joy, or having fun (amyi-?khin: self-liking: euphoria) [II.E.1.b] [IV.A.1] and a sense of humor (hapak-tu tsà: ear-swollen activity). The opposite of euphoria is weakness: mē ?pek (those weak: the people who are weak and sad). Such people are motivated by little self-liking or self-esteem.

[III.B.1.c.(1)]

Fun is seen most obviously in the performances of the several joking roles: between a classificatory mother’s brother and his “sister’s” daughter, between a classificatory father’s sister and her “brother’s” son, between Informal Friends, and between classificatory spouses. (Joking between immediate consanguineals and married spouses is muted.) People in these classificatory roles are almost required to joke when they meet each other, unless they happen to live in the same house. Such joking is most extensive and enthusiastically expressed between the sexes and usually involves descriptive, explicit sexual references, the exception being between Informal Friends. For discussion and examples, see [II.D.1.b.(3)] [III.A.2.g] [III.A.3.a.(1).(b)] [III.E.3.a.(6).(c)].

[III.B.1.c.(2)]

Such a spirit of fun is also expressed by an individual for her or his Formal Friend (Glossary) when the latter is honored on some ceremonial occasion. The individual dances and goes into unusual comic behavior (i?-khay-nã: it-off-condition) (Plate 39c, d, e) for the Formal Friend (Nimuendajú, 1946:102). Then again, when an individual’s Formal Friend has been accidentally injured—being stung by a wasp or having rolled into the fire at night—the individual stages the Formal Friend game [II.F.4] [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)]. The Canela predisposition to enjoyment makes them seem like children to the Brazilian backlander.

[III.B.1.c.(3)]

Sadness and introspection is the opposite of amusement. An individual is not allowed to sit alone and worry about her- or himself or think introspectively. If anyone is brooding in this way, some person in an appropriate role is likely to say ka ay-khãm pa: (you self-in listen) to bring the individual out of the inwardly-centered state. The Canela value a constructive, outgoing disposition that is involved with others. To be inward-thinking is associated with being stingy, angry (inkrùk: she/he/it-angry), and selfish (amyi-á-khôt: self-superlative-following) [III.B.1.k], all antisocial characteristics from the Canela point of view. Moreover, such an individually inward orientation is associated with revenge, which they consider equally despicable.

[III.B.1.c.(4)]

A similar psychological orientation to that of enjoyment is the Canela love of activity and movement (hà?khritkhrit). Ideally, something should be happening all the time [III.D.1.a.(3)]. Somebody should be singing around the boulevard or people should be actively working at productive tasks. Activity and movement are the opposite of sitting alone and thinking of problems. Most activities should involve group participation [II.D.3.d.(1)] rather than an individual pursuit; a lone individual singing around the boulevard is directing his efforts toward the people in the houses [II.F.1.c.(5)] (Plate 32d).

For most of the tribe, the Canela way of life is full of activity and movement, with little time to rest (Table 7). Potentially, in a given day there could be three daily dances, two tribal council meetings, two age-set meetings, a judicial hearing, a log race from outside the village, two or three log races around the boulevard, and a number of footraces and athletic sporting events, besides all the daily work a person must do to keep a family properly maintained. This is a considerable amount of activity. This balance of various activities partly explains why the Canela consider “work” or “labor” [II.E.5.g] only one part of their social responsibilities.

[III.B.1.d] INDIVIDUALITY WITHIN SOLIDARITY

Besides enjoying themselves and being active, Canela individuals are supposed to function and work in groups whenever possible: mē kutom to mõ (they massed in go: they go along massed in a group). The opposite is simply yum ayte-á nã mõ (someone alone-superlative state goes: someone who lives always alone). Research assistants frequently raised the point of the need to always move in groups when we were studying the Pepyê festival in 1957.

A Canela moves from one group to another all day long, rarely working alone. At a young age, small boys are “captured” and placed in a festival situation (Khêêtúwayê) where they are interned in two large groups away from their family homes [III.D.3.a] (Plate 41a). They are said to be very similar to wild boar during their training period, running together, keeping themselves apart as a group, and always maintaining activity, except when in their cells [III.A.2.n] [IV.A.3.c.(1)].

[III.B.1.d.(1)]

In some Western thinking, we believe that in group involvement the individuality of a person is submerged for the betterment of the group. With the Canela, the individuality of a person, even though he must be involved in groups most of the time, is seriously considered and respected. This may be because of their emphasis on feeling and caring for others. If any particular individual in the group is being hurt too much by group activities, the members of the group stop their activity. (The only film edited on the Canela in the 1970s is on this topic [Ap.3.h].) Nobody wants to hurt anybody else too much as long as that person is behaving within acceptable Canela cultural norms.

[III.B.1.d.(2)]

Extreme individual tendencies, though joked about at first, are largely ignored by others if a person persists in carrying them out. Thus, over-aggressiveness in war-like leaders is largely accepted and ignored as long as certain traditional limits are not crossed, such as ingroup fighting [III.A.2.k]. It is generally believed that people are born with certain traits and that the parents or the group can do very little to change them [III.A.4.a]. Consequently, though the Canela force younger people to live in groups, they nevertheless do not interfere with the individual who persists over a considerable period of time in her or his own divergences from group behavior such as the rare manifestations of homosexuality [III.A.2.j.(5).(a)].

One of the worst forms of behavior is to say an offensive word directly to a physically disabled person about her or his handicap. (In the early 1970s, there were several disabled people: a harelip, a woman with an atrophied right arm, and a dwarf [In.4.e]). Fundamentally, this would be an action against the individuality of the person, and would be hurting or damaging this person because of a trait for which she or he is not responsible [III.A.4.a].

[III.B.1.d.(3)]

The Clowns epitomize themselves in the Fish festival where they assume control of the ceremonial events from the Pró-khãmmã’ elders [III.D.2.c.(1)]. As one of the daily events of the Fish festival, the Clowns sing the same set of very dignified songs that the Pepkahàk troop sings in the Pepkahàk festival (Plate 45a). The Clowns sing them in the same dignified manner as the Pepkahàk, suggesting that they too are as noble as the wetheaded Pepkahàk and capable of ruling like the Pró-khãmmã, whom the Pepkahàk ceremonially represent. However, between each song the Clowns perform in a “shameless” (mē pahàm naare: they shame not) manner assuming extremely deviant behavior. Individual Clowns screech curses or obscenities in a high voice (one at a time) for all to hear [IV.A.3.c.(4).(b)]. Thus they remind the listening tribe that the Clowns, after all, are not the “shame”-restrained Pepkahàk or Pró-khãmmã [III.A.3.c.(3)], but rather the independent, individually acting, and even defiant Clowns (Plate 46d). Nevertheless, the Clowns respect the establishment-oriented Pepkahàk, spending most of the time singing their songs in a traditional manner but expressing their individuality only within (i.e., between songs) these confines.

In this way the Clowns can be seen as the “somewhat bad ones” or the “little bit bad ones” [III.B.1.g], not the “very bad ones” [V.A.5.C]. They are not “beyond the pale” of the governing Pró-khãmmã. Correspondingly, individual behavior is not anathema to the Canela; it is just not preferred behavior, as group behavior is. Nevertheless, individual behavior, and taking initiatives as the Clowns do, are acceptable forms of behavior and even enshrined in a festival for all to see as long as such “deviant” behavior is held within traditional limits (Plate 46c). Because it occurs only within a festival, the Clowns are “allowed” to win completely—“eating” all the Fish members—not having to compromise or conform entirely.

Research assistants had no direct equivalents for the concepts of “individuality” and “solidarity.” However, taking one’s own initiative paired with always needing to receive an order [III.B.1.k] before carrying out an objective is similar to individuality within solidarity. Research assistants usually found this “polarity” “complementary” [V.A.2] rather than “oppositional” (Glossary).

[III.B.1.e] ENDURANCE VERSUS WEAKNESS

The Canela conspicuously admire endurance (awkanã: endure!) and dislike its opposite “weakness” (i?-pekpek to mõ: she/he-weakness with goes), especially in men.

[III.B.1.e.(1)]

The ideal male is supposed to be able to hunt in the noonday sun and not mind it. He should endure going without food and drink for long periods of time. He must be long-suffering with his wife and family and put up with considerable trouble and even abuse from women. It often seems to the observer that the husband is the passive element in the family because the wife is so active and can protest so effectively in public interfamilial hearings [III.D.3.c.(1)]. The demure attitude for sexually active women depicted by Murphy and Murphy (1974:132) for the Mundurucú is not characteristic of Canela women who look firmly back at men, challenging them any time depending on their relationship roles. The man is supposed to be impassive and bear all marital problems patiently. The domestic world is not the man’s sphere of activity, except economically [II.D.3.h], unless he is playing the role of the advising-uncle.

[III.B.1.e.(2)]

According to female and male research assistants of my council group, women are expected to have less endurance and to be more frail, less patient, and more expressive of their feelings man men. Men discuss this difference with each other, saying that a woman is soft and does not know how to endure physical difficulties. Men expect women to give vent to their anger, to show pain and physical suffering outwardly, and to lose patience long before men in female-male relationships. Nevertheless, to me, Canela women are conspicuous in the effective way they manage domestic chores and care for their children, demonstrating considerable endurance and strength [III.D.3.b].

[III.B.1.e.(3)]

In keeping with this orientation toward endurance, the Canela admire permanence and items that last “forever.” The expression nõ?nμ-?ti mã (forever in) describes objects such as stones that cannot be shattered, glass that resists fire, and matrilines that survive time. Even more than matrilines, a corporate festival matrilineal unit (haakhat) [III.C.8.a] can be expected to survive as long as the tribe lives in a circular village. Canela research assistants described and talked about this kind of endurance through time with great admiration and pleasure. While their villages and farm plots move, and even matrilines come to an end with a lack of female offspring, the corporate festival units can last nõ?nμ-?ti mã because they can be transferred from one matriline to another by the Pró-khãmmã.

The Canela admiration for endurance, and therefore for survival, is manifested in what may be their only form of prayer [II.F.1.c.(3)] [IV.D.5]: singing about enduring objects such as stones, the armadillo that lives through the heat of the mid-day sun, and the locust tree (ku?tàà) that survives cerrado fires.

[III.B.1.f] THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE UGLY

The Canela do not comment or say very much about things that are beautiful (mpey-ti) versus those that are very ugly (?khêán-re). Questioning old research assistants about this elicits very little information. Nevertheless, it is easy to find out from listening to discussions whether people, artifacts, human behavior, or the transformation of the countryside is beautiful or ugly. The Canela do highly value beauty.

[III.B.1.f.(1)]

The Canela enjoy a straight line. They like tall, straight, reasonably thin human beings. Hair should be black and straight, and when cut and combed it should fall in straight lines.

They love the cerrado because it is relatively open (kaarã) and because the various trees of the cerrado are beautiful to them. Moreover, they enjoy seeing great distances from hillside to hilltop. They longed for these vistas while exiled at Sardinha (Map 3) for 5 years in the dry forests [II.B.2.g] (Figures 5,6).

When roads are made through the cerrado the Canela take care that they are as straight as possible, deviating only because of features of the landscape that require turns. For instance, when the Pepkahàk troops construct connecting roads from their shelter through the cerrado to the village and to their swimming place, they make these pathways absolutely straight, with well-defined lines on either edge (Map 5) (Plate 5a).

When the Kô?khre log is erected in front of the Wè?tè house at the closing of the Wè?tè summer season [IV.A.3.e.(3)], every care is taken to see that this section of tree trunk is standing absolutely perpendicular and exactly between the midpoint of the plaza and the center of the door of the Wè?tè house (Figure 45).

When the women sing-dance in a line in the plaza, their torsos must be completely vertical with only their knees bending as their bodies go up and down in time with the music (Plate 33).

[III.B.1.f.(2)]

The Canela have a particular point of view of what is beautiful, and the range away from this traditional standard is not very great. On the other hand, if a person has a darker skin and the hair is somewhat kinky, and she or he is short in stature, and somewhat rounded beyond cultural expectations (Moon’s descendants) [IV.C.1.b.(1)], this is not a disaster for the individual. She or he is merely less within the ideal as far as the beholder is concerned. There is no question of prejudice or ostracism. The concern or compassion [III.B.1.b] for the individual who is not ideal is foremost in their feelings.

[III.B.1.f.(3)]

Usually, the Canela attempt to hide any bodily defects if they can. Of course the dwarf could not conceal her size, the boy his harelip, or the old willow her atrophied right arm and hand. But the young girl whose arm was temporarily paralyzed in 1964 [III.B.1.b.(1)] attempted to carry it in such a manner that she concealed her semiparalysis. Similarly, a man who in 1966 lost his leg because of a snake bite and subsequent gangrene moved everywhere on crutches but tried not to call attention to his condition.

[III.B.1.f.(4)]

It is interesting that while “begging” (Glossary) was practiced by more than half the tribe in the late 1950s in order to have enough to eat [II.C.3.g], it was done with dignity and poise. With the exception of a few individuals, there was little self-consciousness about begging.

In the late 1950s the dignity and poise with which the old Canela women and men used to carry themselves was obvious and striking. This balance and self-respect has been slowly eroded in the younger generations.

[III.B.1.g] THE LITTLE GOOD AND THE LITTLE BAD

The Canela consider acceptable most behavior of other Canela, ranging between “a little good and a little bad.” The word i?-khên-re (it bad little) in contrast to i?-kêán-re (“á” being the superlative of very bad, beyond the pale) expresses this difference well. Most things are said to be i?-khên-re, meaning that they are only somewhat bad—maybe “naughty” if pertaining to children, or “nasty” if about adults (the Clowns). Words equivalent to “wicked” or “evil” [V.A.5.d.(4)] would not be used directly or indirectly except in the most extreme cases, which fall beyond this range, such as when a shaman becomes a sorcerer, killing other people with his spells [IV.D.1.d.(2)].

[III.B.1.g.(1)]

When a woman or a man acts in an untraditional manner, it is said that the person thinks she or he is greater than everybody else (mē-hirô-á-pe kati: them-over-[superlative]-ly great: very over everybody in pretensions). Next to being stingy [III.B.1.a] (the greatest evil) trying to give the impression of being more important or better than other people is considered the second greatest evil. Canela research assistants did not volunteer information about this particular trait so that it had to be learned through observation and overhearing conversations.

For many years one Canela male [In.4.e] who spent most of his time away from the tribe used to come back to the village periodically, drinking too much alcohol and dressed in the gaudy style of the large city. He used to give away beads, cloth, knives, and other presents, and when he had finished his elaborate philanthropy, he expected to live off everybody else for at least six or eight months doing no work, which he considered was beneath his dignity. Besides being enormously fat, his behavior was aggressive and arrogant, as well as patronizing to most other Canela. He was generally disliked; nevertheless, the forbearance and tolerance of the people toward him was amazing to me, although he greatly departed from Canela standards of proper social behavior.

[III.B.1.g.(2)]

A woman who had a congenitally atrophied arm, and who was very ill-natured (according to the research assistants), might have been expected to provoke negative judgments. However, references to her were always mild and were never made to her face. Any negative words [III.A.3.a.(2).(d)] said overtly to her would have been a severe violation of Canela ethics.

[III.B.1.g.(3)]

Along these lines, the Clown society (Glossary), the Me?khên, might be called the “malicious ones.” (The term i?khêán-re is not used for them.) The Clown society in the Fish festival, the members of which are supposed to represent the somewhat lesser (the more relaxed and individualistic) aspects of life, deliberately behave in an untraditional, inadequate fashion, transgressing basic rules of behavior. By doing what is wrong they emphasize what is right. For instance, the hut the Clown society builds in the center of the plaza is necessarily off line, with none of its angles being 90 degrees (Nimuendajú, 1946:226) (Plate 46c). Moreover, when they finish properly singing the great Pepkahàk songs as a group, they disband and walk away separately to their houses as individuals, singing individually and consequently out of rhythm and off tune with each other. In this drama, the Clowns epitomize the Canela “little bit bad” orientation—wrong but not evil. (See the “little bad” Mask [i?-hô-?kên-re: its straw little-bad dim.] in Plate 48d.)

The Clown girl associates wear long pigtails of hair that are quite different from the traditional style, although not grotesque (Plate 46c). They break most of the rules regarding clothing, adornments, postures, child care in performing their public dramas, including jokingly committing incest with one of their supposed brothers behind the small hut erected for them in the northern part of the plaza. What the male Clowns do to their girl associates in this act is carried out in a spirit of fun and joking which mitigates and neutralizes the breaking of the traditions and the maltreatment of the girls (Nimuendajú, 1946:228).

The Clowns, by definition, are not hàmren (Glossary). In contrast, the Pepkahàk troop (Plate 44c) is made up of both hàmren and non-hàmren individuals, and the Visiting Chief society members (Tàmhàk) [III.C.7.a] are all hàmren by definition, so they represent extreme formality (Plate 44d). These Visiting Chief society members, while sensitive as hàmren individuals, portray roles as a group that imply that they are better and greater than everybody else. This may be why they appear in only one act (dof ½ hour) in the festival; their aloofness and arrogance could not be tolerated longer. Indd contrast, the Pepkahàk, (Glossary) have some hàmren and some non-hàmren individuals, which represent a better balance; therefore, the Pepkahàk can be the principal group of the whole festival. The dramatic epitome of the “somewhat good” people of the Pepkahàk festival balance the “somewhat bad” Clowns, which is the principal group of the Fish festival, in characteristic Canela off-setting fashion.

[III.B.1.g.(4)]

When the Pepkahàk (Glossary) race against their opposites the Ducks (Glossary) [IV.A.3.c.(3).(b)], the Clowns help the Pepkahàk win their race as well as the Falcons and Visiting Chiefs. Thus, the somewhat good Pepkahàk and the somewhat bad Clowns are on the same side in a complementary pairing as they move competitively against their common opponent, the “somewhat bad” Ducks, in an oppositional pairing. The structure in this ceremonial situation depicts complementary and oppositional pairings (Glossary) operating at the same time—the Pepkahàk and Clowns being paired in complementarity but not being extreme and the Visiting Chiefs and Ducks being paired in opposition and being extreme.

[III.B.1.h] AVOIDANCE VERSUS CONFLICT

The Canela avoid direct face-to-face confrontations, as do the backlanders and Brazilians in general. When there is an unavoidable conflict or confrontation, one person simply removes her- or himself from the scene. These are not orientations that research assistants can describe to the visiting anthropologist; they are related behaviors that become obvious to an outside observer who does not share this orientation. These patterns are repeated over and over again in festivals.

I did not inquire into opposition or complementarity for these contrasting orientations, nor do I know even if they could be “paired” [V.A.I,2] (Glossary) by research assistants. I have included them here because, to me, they significantly characterize the Canela behavior patterns.

[III.B.1.h.(1)]

While this kind of behavior is characteristic of personal life between individuals, it is also a pattern for public situations. For instance, according to the 1984 communication from the Canela, Chief Kaarà?khre resigned as the chief of the tribe because he was denounced by one Pró-khãmmã in the plaza [Ep.2]. The normal pattern is for chiefs to the in office [III.D.1.h]. Apparently, he did not present any resistance, but simply removed himself as the political tribal chief.

Another example of confrontational avoidance in the public sector was that of the older Kaapêltùk (Figure 50) and Chief Kaarà?khre (Figure 18). These two chiefs were very hostile to each other as leaders of their two villages of Baixão Prêto and Ponto [III.D.1.g.(1).(b)]. Nevertheless, they were very civil whenever they were by chance in each other’s presence. It was conspicuous, however, that whenever Chief Kaarà?khre was leading the council meetings in Escalvado (long after the schism between the two villages had been healed), the older Kaapêltùk was rarely present in the plaza. When Chief Kaarà?khre was away, the older Kaapêltùk often ran the council meetings. Because Kaapêltùk had been the deputy commandant of the graduating age-set of the Pepyê of the 1930s (Nimuendajú, 1946:182) (the Pró-khãmmã of the 1960s and 1970s), it was his role to preside over the council meetings. He was, however, the loser of the political succession and competition from 1951 to 1968 and, therefore, accepted his lesser position with equanimity and nonconfrontation.

[III.B.1.h.(2)]

Nonconfrontation in the ceremonial arena may be seen in the high honor Apikrawkraw-re act [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)] of the Pepkahàk festival. During the act, the Pepkahàk troops and the Falcon society troops (Plate 44b) almost confront each other. However, a line of ceremonially high-honor individuals is placed between the two sets of symbolically fighting warriors. Even though the warriors are no more than 10 meters apart, they may not breach the file of honor to confront each other [V.A.5.c.(2)].

[III.B.1.h.(3)]

In the kinship system, the roles that are most likely to bring individuals into conflict are the opposite-sex adjacent-generation roles: the mother-in-law/son-in-law and the father-in-law/daughter-in-law [III.E.3.a.(5)] [V.A.5.c]. These roles traditionally, and even today, call for complete avoidance. Nothing may be said between these two sets of people. They are not even supposed to look each other in the face. This is also true of opposite-sex, high-priority Formal Friendship relationships [III.E.5].

One relationship I knew of between Informal Friends [III.E.6], who are traditionally quite direct with each other, evolved into hostility and therefore indirection. They continued to call each other by the Informal Friendship terms of address (ikhwè?nõ), and superficially behaved according to this relationship’s roles, though joking between them ceased. They avoided each other whenever possible, but if they could not, they completely controlled their inner hostility when in each other’s presence.

[III.B.1.h.(4)]

The Canela avoid potential confrontations by a number of subterfuges such as lying, reporting false information, not appearing on the scene, and showing expressionless faces. In this way the Canela are often able to live through potentially dangerous situations without aggravating the conditions between the parties. They are experts in carrying out indirect behavior [V.A.5.c.(2)].

[III.B.1.i] YOUTH VERSUS AGE

When research assistants are asked to describe the ideal Canela individual, it becomes apparent that they are talking about young people in their late teens or early twenties, with the women being somewhat younger than the men. These are the ideal human beings according to Canela norms of beauty.

When a young girl dies before she has become pregnant, the mourning throughout the village is intense. The emotion is also strong when a handsome young man with great abilities in running and singing dies. While older people manage the festivals and politically govern the tribe, youth is the epitome of the ideal Canela.

Research assistants were very cognizant and found it easy to say that the old (mē ?wey: those old) and the young (mē ntúwa: those young) are in paired opposition with each other.

[III.B.1.i.(i)]

An example of this extreme idealization of the young occurred in 1970. In the middle of the terminal phase of the Pepkahàk festival, the beautiful daughter of the younger Tààmi, Kuwrè (Plate 8d), died quite suddenly; she was sick only from 6 in the evening to about 3 in the morning. Both the suddenness of her death and her being in the prime of life caused great shock to the assembled tribe. The festival was postponed for her funeral and burial (Plates 30, 31e), and one day for mourning, a procedure that I have never known to happen during any other mourning period.

[III.B.1.i.(2)]

It is notable that in most of the festival performances the festival is either principally for young people or the main roles are performed by these young ones. The Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, especially, serve to enculturate young people. In the Pepkahàk festival, most of the Visiting Chiefs (Plate 44d) are young (10 to 30 years old), because it is believed that their shamanic powers are stronger then. The Pepkahàk troops themselves and the Clown society members are likely to be older, though there could be young men in their late teens involved in each membership. The girl associates of all of these groups are also quite young (6 to 14 years old).

When a man entitled to a certain festival role lets a named-nephew take his place, he has the youth perform beside him (Plate 52a) for one or two years, and after this apprenticeship, the young person (usually between 15–25 years old) takes charge of and performs the role himself.

[III.B.1.i.(3)]

The Canela, in many respects, live for the young people. The early morning and evening sing-dances [II.F.1.b.(2).(a)] (Plate 33) are definitely for the younger people, not really for anyone beyond the age of 25 or 30. In contrast, the late afternoon sing-dance takes place for the benefit of older as well as younger people. Marriages and family life, through the hearth group [III.E.2.e.(1), F.7], are adapted more for the requirements of children and adolescents than for the parents.

[III.B.1.j] KIN BEFORE AFFINES

As is probably true in most tribal societies, consanguineal relationships are held to be more important man affinal ones. This is conspicuously the case among the Canela. Canela “blood” concepts and genealogical linkages strongly emphasize this preeminence [III.F.1 1,12]. The marriage link is usually less important to the individuals concerned than certain consanguineal ones, though marriages are unbreakable while children are growing up [III.F.9]. Family members focus not so much on the affinal tie between the mother and father as on the consanguineal relationships that grow strong between the parents and children. An important affinal bond, however, is the work-related tie between a man and his son-in-law [II.D.3.f]. The son-in-law is caught by his feelings for his wife and children into a relationship with his father-in-law, which leads him into working for his in-laws with great forbearance. This relationship is ceremonially recognized in the final phase of the Pepyê festival, when the women hold their sons-in-law by a cord symbolizing this tie (Plate 40a, c, e). In contrast, kin are connected to each other by unbreakable bonds of blood (Figures 38, 39, 41, 44). The Canela feel these bonds very strongly—the Apanyekra to a considerably lesser extent.

While a man does not feel fully at home and at ease in his wife’s house until his children are partly grown, the tension between affines seems less among the Canela than among the Shavante, as the latter are depicted by Maybury-Lewis (1965:263): “Indeed Shavante appeared to regard a state of permanent tension between the dominant faction and the rest, between kin and affine as the natural order of things.” The Canela regard internal peace and harmony as the natural order of things: the way things are supposed to be [III.D.3.e.(1)]. Affinal relationships are structured in a way that produces some tension, especially between brothers-in-law. Nevertheless, this tension is modified and reduced by the general belief and acceptance that harmony is the most important state for all personal relationships. The Apanyekra appear to be less compulsively concerned about quickly resolving even the minimal threat to interfamilial peace.

[III.B.1.k] FOLLOWING ORDERS VERSUS INDIVIDUAL INITIATIVE

I did not appreciate before 1979 the extent to which the Canela prefer to carry out almost all activities only when orders are issued for their execution [III.D.1.a.(2)]. This is one of the most important and far-reaching Canela orientations, and it is notable that it is so highly valued by them. However, research assistants cannot explain or define this behavioral pattern. While working with “oppositions” in 1979, the significance between halkhwa-?khôt (order-following) and amyi-á-khôt (self-superlative-following) became apparent and understandable to me. While all agreed these two concepts were “paired,” some said they were opposites and others said they were paired in a complementary manner [V.A.2], depending on whether “self-following” was completely wrong or whether it was an acceptable form of behavior under certain conditions.

[III.B.1.k.(1)]

In the winter of 1979, for example, when cattle entered some of the farm plots of the Canela, even though they were strongly fenced on all sides, the strong delegado of the Indian service in Barra do Corda declared that the Canela had permission to kill such invading cattle. However, the Canela were very reluctant to do so, because the killing of cattle in 1963 resulted in the death of five Canela [II.B.2.f.(3)].

In 1979, it was reported that a young man in his 20s [In.4.e] had given orders to another man of the same age to kill a head of cattie that had repeatedly invaded the latter’s farm plot and had destroyed much of his crops. Thus, the youth who had suffered the loss shot the cattle with impunity. I was told that as long as one Canela had given the order, even though he was of low political rank, the other Canela was blameless in carrying out the command. Evidently the responsibility for an act may be shifted from the doer to the authorizing person.

[III.B.1.k.(2)]

Further investigation revealed, however, that it is only the chief of the tribe, and in his absence certain of the sub-chiefs, who regularly give orders to large segments of the tribe. The Pró-khãmmã issue orders at certain times, especially in festival situations [III.D.2.c.(1)]. Similarly, heads of households, whether women or men, and in certain cases advising-uncles, issue orders about family matters and expect to have them obeyed. The shaman, on the other hand, proceeds on his own authority, receiving orders from no one. In most situations, unless the individual is clearly at the apex of authority in her or his particular sphere, she or he waits for the person in authority to give the orders. There is little competitive challenging for leadership.

Even today, orders have to be given for almost anything significant to occur in Canela life. The sing-dance leader must be selected and ordered to perform for every session. The Pró-khãmmã have to order that certain festivals be put on, or the special performers have to receive requests from other traditionally correct parties that a particular festival begin. There are dozens of roles in each festival, and if the Pró-khãmmã do not give orders and name the person who should carry out each role, most of these activities are not carried out.

For instance, the same man, or a member of his close kin, cuts the logs for the annual Pàlrà race every year [IV.A.5.e.(2)] because he inherited the right matrilineally [III.C.8.a] to do so. But if the council of elders does not give him the order to cut the logs, he simply will not do it. Similarly, even though the Corn Harvest festival ritual [IV.A.5.d] is held in the possession of a certain family line matrilineally, this family will not make the traditional preparations for the festival unless the Pró-khãmmã have called one of them to the plaza and asked her or him to do so.

As a result of this tradition for following orders, the Canela reacted favorably to the comparatively severe and extensive commands issued for their welfare by the strong Indian service delegado in Barra do Corda in 1978–1979. They became more cooperative with the Indian service agent, worked harder, and had fewer disputes than they had before his arrival.

[III.B.1.k.(3)]

I had long discussions with my research assistants about the meaning and application of the expression amyiá-khôt (self-following: giving oneself orders to carry out certain activities). While research assistants agreed there were cases in which an individual had to give her- or himself orders and then carry out these orders, they said it was nevertheless preferable for the ordinary person to be acting on the orders of somebody else. Some thought that acting amyiá-khôt was evil.

These days, many Canela speak about orders from God as rules that everybody should obey rather than their own orders to themselves. In earlier times, however, as I pointed out to my research assistants in 1979, there could not have been any orders from God, because for the Canela—and research assistants totally agreed—God did not exist in the Christian (Católico) backland sense, only ghosts and culture heroes [IV.C.1.c.(17).(b)]. The implication is that the traditional Canela orientation was to follow orders for most undertakings.

[III.B.1.1] INNER OR OUTER, WE OR THEY

While Canela research assistants were not easily verbal about the concepts of we and they, or inner and outer, these polarities, complementary or oppositional, are embedded in their language, festival groupings, and in almost everything they do.

[III.B.1.1.(1)]

In the language this pattern is manifested in their use of a dual pronoun form with both the singular and plural persons. For instance, a Canela can say i-khra, meaning “my child.” However, if he is speaking about the child born to himself and his wife, and addressing just his wife, he can use the expression pa-?kkra, meaning “our” (just the two us) “child.” He can also say, if he is speaking to his three co-contributing-fathers [III.E.9] and his wife, mēpa-?khra, meaning “our” (all five of us) “child.” Then in still another situation, when he is speaking for himself, his wife, and his three co-contributing-fathers but addressing some other person or group, he can say mēi-khra, meaning “our child” (but implying “not your child”). We do not make these distinctions in English, presumably, because we do not need to the same extent to make these dualistic distinctions—to distinguish between just two groups.

The dual forms are useful when the speaker needs to indicate grammatically whether she or he is included or excluded from the group being addressed. It is easier to picture what is occurring by thinking of one age-set moiety sitting on the eastern side of the plaza, and the other age-set moiety sitting on the western side (Figure 24). Then, if the leader of the age-set moiety on the eastern side of the plaza stands up and speaks to his own people sitting there directly below him, using the dual plural pronoun mē pa: (plural us [two persons]: we [more than two]), he is talking to all of the people in his group on the eastern side of the plaza including himself. Whereas if he turns around 180 degrees and talks to the people on the other (western) side of the plaza and uses the first person plural pronoun mē-i: (plural-I: we) instead mēpa, he is addressing the western age-set, giving them information about the eastern age-set, including himself.

[III.B.1.1.(2)]

From the above model, it should be easy to see why the language is so well adapted to speaking within the group (excluding outsiders), and to speaking of the group to outsiders (including the outsiders). These distinctions are important for communication within and between the several moieties [III.C.3, 4, 5, 6]. (For other dichotomies or polarities, see [V.A].)

In their thinking and behavior, the Canela almost always divide their activities, perceptions, preferences, hopes, tastes, etc., into categories such as we and they, mine and yours; but they also attempt quite characteristically to bridge these dichotomies so that when discrepancies are pointed out, they prefer to hear about the similarities rather than the differences.

I interpret J. Melatti’s (1979a:46–50) “principle of opposition between oppositions” in this context:

A notable feature of Krahó dualism is that every opposition which states a difference between two elements is counterbalanced by another one which insists on the identity of those same elements. The two oppositions thus cancel each other out… At the same time it should be noted that, whenever a statement of difference between two elements is opposed by another affirmation of their identity, the first proposition carries more weight, for it represents the rule while the second indicates certain institutionalized exceptions to the rule. In other words, these exceptions act in such a way as to produce a double result: at the same lime that they emphasize the rule, they also deprive it of its absolute character.

J. Melatti then describes the opposition between men and women, pointing out that while men are opposed to women (difference), two women are nevertheless included (similarity) in most men’s ceremonial groups. Thus, “during [Krahó] initiation rites, two girls always accompany the boys who are taking part in the ritual” (J. Melatti, 1979a:49). Similarly, during the Canela Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê initiation festivals [IV.A.3.c.(1),(2)], two girl associates [II.D.2.e] always accompany the male novices. In daily life, the Canela like to bridge differences (women against men), making them similarities (women with men) [V.A.5.c.(1)], depriving the major rule (women against men) of its absolute nature. J. Melatti’s principle is important and can be applied almost everywhere among the Canela.

[III.B.2] Observations

It is necessary to analyze Canela psychological characteristics in terms of polarities because research assistants see things this way and use such pairings (complementary or oppositional) (Glossary) in their explanations. Research assistants recalled more information if the researcher used this context with them in group meetings [Pr.2]. Moreover, they felt better if oppositions in real life were resolved [III.D.3.e.(1)]. Whenever I returned to the tribe after an absence, they would ask me in the evening council meeting about the world scene and sometimes about the Russians and the Americans. The old people, in their conversation with me, seemed to be visibly pleased when I reported that peace continued between the two superpowers. Many Canela individuals obtain personal gratification from resolving existing differences.

[III.C] Socioceremonial Units

This chapter adds to data presented in “The Eastern Timbira” in which Nimuendajú (1946:77) outlined the various social groups among the Canela in a relatively complete manner, and on my articles of 1977 and 1979.

The objective here is to describe in depth each traditional social group (whether political or ceremonial): its membership, its methods and principles of recruitment, its operation in the society, and its changes or trends that are either incipient or have been in progress for several decades. (For the roles of social groups in festivals, see [IV.A].)

[III.C.1] Defining the Units

The social groups of highest visibility are the Upper and Lower age-set moieties [III.C.3] referred to as the eastern and western age-class moieties by Nimuendajú (1946:91). Nimuendajú (1946:79–82) also states that the Canela had exogamous moieties of the same names as his “age class” moieties, but the existing evidence suggests that this was not the case (W. Crocker, 1979:237–240; Lave, 1971:341–344; J. Melatti, 1967:64). Matriliny is limited to certain festival rituals [III.C.8.a] and is not related to marriage. (For a general discussion in which I concur on why Nimuendajú made the serious ethnographic errors he did in several Gê tribes, see J. Melatti, 1985:19–20.)

These age-set moieties exist both in ceremonial and daily life [II.E.1.b], as do Nimuendajú’s rainy season moieties. However, I call his “rainy-season” moieties the “Red and Black Regeneration” season moieties to keep them consistent with the events of the season during which they take place and consistent with the meaning of their term of reference in the Canela language, Mē-ipimràk (they renewed-and-renewed) [IV.A.4] (Figure 25).

The rest of the numerous social groups operate only in their festival (i.e., ceremonial) contexts, although the behavior required of the members of some groups is often carried over into daily living, as with the Clowns and the Visiting Chiefs (Tàmhàk: Nimuendajú’s king vultures or his courtesy chiefs) [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]. “Visiting Chiefs” is more descriptive of their prepacification intertribal role [IV.C.1.d.(1).(a)] than “courtesy chiefs.”

The third named set of moieties, the Upper and Lower plaza moieties, are each divided into three plaza groups, their names depending on the festival [V.A.5.a.(1)] (Figure 17). There are also two unnamed sets of moieties which can be found as opposing “men’s societies” (Nimuendajú’s term, 1946:95) in three festivals. In the Pepkahàk festival the Falcons (east) oppose the Ducks (west), and in the Closing Wè?tè and the Masks’ festivals the Jaguars and Masks (east) oppose the Agouti (west) (Glossary).

Nimuendajú (1946:95) includes the Clowns in his category of men’s societies; I prefer to see them as a special society because their rules of recruitment (nonnaming) and their traditional behavior are too different and specific for inclusion. Moreover, the Clowns are paired with the Visiting Chiefs. These two societies represent high (traditional: Visiting Chiefs) (Plate 44d) and low (idiosyncratic: Clowns) (Plate 46d) ceremonial behavior which transfers into daily life to some extent. On the other hand, the plaza groups and men’s societies (both name-set transmitted; Glossary) have little significance for daily behavior.

The remaining social groups, though still numerous, are more difficult to define. Some exist only momentarily in festivals during one 30-second act and others maintain their roles for several days. Moreover, it is not always clear whether such a “group” consists of one person or many. Groups of this sort can be found only in what I call the “river-oriented” ceremonies: the Fish, Closing Wè?tè, Mask, Sweet Potato, Corn Harvest, and Pàlrà (Table 4)—and will be designated as the “ritual” (Glossary) societies or groups [III.C.8].

[III.C.2] Recruitment Principles

One way of organizing and understanding social groupings, or societies within the overall sociocultural system, is according to how members are recruited. The principles of female recruitment are name-set affiliation [III.E.4], request by the societal membership, appointment by the Pró-khãmmã, matriline succession, and matrilineality. The most common principles of male recruitment are relative age and name-set affiliation. Four less common methods used are matrilineality, patriline succession, personal choice combined with group selection, and appointment by the Pró-khãmmã.

[III.C.3] Age-Set Moieties

The two most outstanding and noticeable Canela and Apanyekra groups are the Upper age-set moiety (Khèykatêyê) (Glossary) and the Lower age-set moiety (Harã?katêyê) (Glossary). Permanent members are males who are recruited on the basis of relative age and are grouped into age-sets (Glossary) [III.D.2.b.(1)] (Figure 24, Plate 40b, f). When the tribe is functioning according to the age-set moiety system, its members can be said to be performing mē hakhrã khãm (they groups in). (The morpheme -khrã means head, or something massed into a round shape, and the affix ha- is a generalizes) Nimuendajú (1946:79) called this major tribal division the “eastern” and “western” exogamous or age-class moieties, but the words khèy and harã mean “upper” and “lower,” respectively, though symbolically they can be associated with the east and the west. When I first arrived in 1957, I became aware immediately of the partido de cima and the partido de baixo (upper party and lower party) which were the obvious political and racing entities. I soon realized that these parties were Nimuendajú’s (1946:90–95) eastern and western age-class moieties.

After identifying these Upper and Lower age-set moieties, I noticed that their names, if descriptive, seemed reversed. In old Ponto the geographic eastern rim of the circular village is at a lower elevation than the western rim, because the terrain slopes from west to east. However, in the village of Baixão Prêto, the eastern edge is located at the highest elevation; in Sardinha the western edge is the highest (Figure 5); and in Escalvado today, the western edge (Plate 6c) is higher than the eastern rim, but neither rim is the highest part of the village. The most elevated part of the rim lies to the south. Surely, if “Upper” and “Lower” once described relative elevations, they have since become only proper names without descriptive significance [In.4.g]. (See Ritter, 1980, for a general discussion on age-sets, using the Canela in particular, and Vidal, 1977b, for an analysis of the changing role of age-grades among the Xikrin-Kayapó.)

[III.C.3.a] FORMATION OF AGE-SETS

New age-sets are formed about every 10 years. Boys who are born since the last age-set graduation in a Pepyê festival are interned (Plate 41a) during the next Khêêtúwayê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:90–92). This internment is followed two or three years later by a similar “capturing” of the same boys (mē-hapèn: them-captured; Plate 42a-e) for a Pepyê festival, or for another Khêêtúwayê and then a Pepyê festival [IV.A.3.c.(1),(2)]. The process is characterized by a succession of ceremonial imprisonments (prisão, as the Canela say in Portuguese), so that the age-set is finally graduated into adulthood after having undergone four or five festival internments over a period of about 10 years. Adolescents and young men average in age from about 7 to 17 at mid-internment. Because they belong to a cohesive group, they become personally very close and know each other well. In earlier times, ages at graduation ranged from approximately 15 to 25, whereas today they range from approximately 12 to 22.

Apparent age at the time of the first Khêêtúwayê internment is clearly the principal factor in determining membership in one age-set or the next, though some manipulating occurs of age dividing lines, usually for political reasons. A young boy with potential abilities for leadership (and the right connections politically and among the Pró-khãmmã) is sometimes withdrawn from one age-set where he is one of the youngest and recaught to be one of the oldest in the following age-set. Around 1913 this happened to Ropkhà (who was 85 in 1984 but dead by 1987; Plates 17b, 71e). He was first captured as a young member of the Lower age-set of the older Mĩĩkhrô [I.G.3], and later recaptured as one of the oldest members and the file leader of the following Upper moiety age-set (Figure 24). There are only a few cases of such deliberate overlap, but because the Canela do not know their exact ages, selections are made by apparent maturity rather than by chronological age.

An individual rarely changes his age-set membership, though this can occur as a result of hostilities and consequent personal mistreatment. Research assistants gave only two earlier examples, and no changes occurred during my time. However, one general exception exists: a sing-dance master [II.F.I.a] is chosen from his age-set to be the singing ceremonial chief (mē-hõõpa?hi) (Glossary) of the following age-set [II.D.3.i.(2).(b)]. He is so honored by his selection that he usually changes age-sets to be with those who chose him. On the other hand, if a youth should carry out his Pepyê internment responsibilities very poorly, he could be removed from the age-set by being rolled in the ashes of a plaza fire site, making him ineligible for any age-set membership at all. Such a removal is said to have occurred once (mythically), changing the boy to a pró-khãmmã (ashes-in) without membership in the Pró-khãmmã age-set (Glossary) [III.D.2.b]. He was then left out of age-set activities.

Fortunately for the Canela, the racing abilities and numbers of both moieties have been approximately even during the past few decades, a balance that helps preserve the vitality of the system. Among the Apanyekra this has not been the case, so that one side has won repeatedly, reducing the interest in the age-set system and, Consequently, its viability.

[III.C.3.b] PRÓ-KHÃMMÃ AGE-SET

Although size and racing ability between the two moieties has been relatively equal in the past, access to leadership roles has not been equal. The Lower age-set moiety members enjoy a permanent ascendancy over the Upper moiety in that they, and only they, assume the leadership as an age-set of the council of elders. This council consists of both moieties and meets in the center of the plaza every morning and evening [II.E.5.b,8] [III.D.2.a]. The expression, “Pró-khãmmã” (ash-in: in the ashes) refers to the Lower age-set that is in charge for 20 years and which will cede the leadership and control of the council of elders only to the next Lower age-set 20 years younger [III.D.2.c] (Figures 19,24). The relationship between the age-set moieties is not symmetrical (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:90–92).

[III.C.3.c] SEPARATE AGE-SET ACTIVITIES

Earlier, at the end of each initiation festival, each age-set, even the one being processed, received a different name from a pool of traditional names (Nimuendajú, 1946:91). No knowledge exists these days about traditional cycling of such names among successive age-sets, and the names themselves are all but forgotten. In 1958, the older Kaapêltùk gave me the following names: Pró-khãmmã (ashes-in), Kukhoy-khãmmã (monkey-in), Pàn-rã-khãmmã (macaw-flower-in), Ron-khãmmã (tucum-in), and Tsêp-ti-khãmmã (bat-large-in). The younger Kaapêltùk gave me one additional name: Hàk-ti-khãmmã (falcon-large-in). (In my notes, there is some question of validity concerning the last two names.)

[III.C.3.c(1)]

The operating of an age-set alone and apart from its age-set moiety is now rare. Research assistants say that in earlier times considerably more independent age-set activities took place. The use of the age-sets as separate entities fell into disuse in the mid-1940s when the two leaders of the emerging age-sets were employed by the Indian service. The older Kaapêltùk (Figure 50) was employed by the Indian service upon Nimuendajú’s recommendation in 1938, and Chief Kaarà?khre (Figure 18) was first employed in the mid-1950s. The employment of these two tribal leaders effectively removed both leaders from the daytime leadership of their age-sets. Neither chief could be present to lead their age-sets during the afternoon log races and the subsequent activities in the plaza and boulevard. This lack of understanding of Canela political structure on the part of a series of Indian service agents was a factor in causing a considerable degree of political disintegration.

[III.C.3.c.(2)]

Some specialists in Northern Gê ethnohistory (including D. Gross, personal communication) have thought that age-sets developed after contact with Brazilian settlers [II.A.3.a.(1)] [II.B.1.a] to build up warrior groups trained to fight together. Several of the words preserved in specific ceremonies suggest that these festival internments did indeed foster the training of young men as warriors. The name of the Pepyê festival itself means “warriors” (Nimuendajú, 1946:212). When “uncles” pull the Pepyê novices one by one from their cells to see if they have matured sufficiently, they ask harassingly if the nephew is ready to fight the enemy should he appear outside the village [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)].

Data supplied by the research assistants [Pr.2] while studying myths and war stories suggests that warring or raiding parties were led by unusually able warriors (hààprãl). These warriors, however, were followed by kin, affines, special friends, Formal Friends, Informal Friends, and admirers: a group that cuts across age-set lines [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)] (W. Crocker, 1978:18). In fact, reference to only one age-set (Pró-khãmmã) appears in all the myths and war stories collected [Ap.3.b]. Perhaps hààprãl war leaders led followers against enemy tribes in the 17th century and earlier, while age-sets developed in the 18th century to fight settlers and other tribes in the new kind of tribal dislocations and intensified warfare caused by the settlers’ pioneer movements.

[III.C.3.d] MOIETIES COMPETE AS WORK FORCES

In the 19th and early 20th centuries, the age-sets (and age-set moieties) played an important role in maintaining the agricultural level of the Canela and Apanyekra tribal economies. However, when leadership became relatively less effective [II.B.1.c.(4)], chiefs were not able to coerce their moiety members into the fields to complete the harvesting. It was particularly during this period that the tribes had fallen into difficult economic circumstances, thereby having to supplement their economies by working on backland farms [II.B.3.j.(1)] [II.C.3.g].

With power returning to Chief Kaarà?khre in the late 1970s [II.B.3.e], and through the leadership of certain Indian service agents [II.B.2.i.(4)], it became possible to summon the Canela age-set moieties to carry out regular work on the road to Barra do Corda and on the legal boundaries of the tribal area (Map 3). The younger Kaapêltùk’s political ascendancy in 1963 [II.B.2.f.(4)], 1968 [II.B.2.g.(5)], and the mid-1980s [Ep.4.a, b.(2).(e)] was based on successfully leading his moiety into carrying out extensive agricultural projects.

The moieties usually compete to see which will do more work [II.E.5.g], and then they race home with logs in the afternoon [II.E.6.b]. They also compete in preparations for the termination of the great Wè?tè season festivals. The two age-set moieties go off separately to different parts of the reservation. There they hunt for two or three weeks to provide enough meat to support the festival over a period of ten days [IV.A.3.b.(2)]. At other times, instead of individual families going to their fields as usual, the moieties each go hunting separately [III.D.1.c.(2)], especially if the objective is to encircle and kill wild boar.

[III.C.3.e] ROLES OF AGE-SET MOIETIES IN FESTIVALS

The age-set moiety system is still vital and active as a daily operating system. It is also the most notable and frequently used organizing principle for arranging social groups in festivals. In the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals (i.e., the initiation festivals) [IV.A.3.c.(1),(2)], the social groupings are almost always based on the age-set moiety system. In the Pepkahàk festival, the age-set moiety system emerges only at certain points during the festival, for example, when all the men race into the center of the plaza carrying the Awalwrêw-re poles [IV.A.7.c] (Nimuendajú, 1946:220). The age-set moiety system does not function in the Masks’ festival at all and rarely in the Fish festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:230). However, using age-set moieties instead of plaza group moieties is an alternative way (apparently rarely) of putting on the Fish festival. This alternative did not occur during my span of 22 years with the Canela.

When various elements of the Wè?tè season great festivals are considered in light of what elements appear to be underlying and what traits may be overlaid, the age-set moiety system appears to have been the last added element. The full analysis of this question is intended for inclusion in a later publication, but a brief overview is presented in [III.C.10].

[III.C.3.f] RECRUITMENT OF WOMEN

The two girl associates [II.D.2.e] of the two Nkrel-re internment initiation festivals, the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê, are appointed to their positions by the Pró-khãmmã. One set of girls is assigned for about five years to complement the Nkrel-re initiates during the first half of the initiates’ 10-year training period. These girls are usually 6 to 8 years old when they are first chosen and have to be retired when the oldest one becomes pregnant, or older than 13 or 14. Then a new set of girl associates are selected by the Pró-khãmmã for the second half of the training period of the Nkrel-re initiates (novices). These girls are dismissed until the next festival the day before the end of each festival, and the second set is released for the last time the day before the graduation of the initiates as a fully formed age-set.

These initiation festival girl associates (Nkrel-re kuytswè), as well as the Pepkahàk girl associates and the Wè?tè girls [III.E.10, IV.A.3.e], are hàmren in status (wetheaded), but rather than being called hàmren, they are referred to as being pep-khwèy (warrior-women) [III.C.7.a].

[III.C.3.g] EASTERN TIMBIRA COMPARISONS OF KRAHÓ AND KRĨKATÍ

Among the Eastern Timbira, the Krĩkatí still have their Upper and Lower age-set moieties, but their age-sets no longer exist. Initiation into each moiety is by “individual choice and arrangement” (Lave, 1971:344). Similarly, the Krahó still have ceremonially active Upper and Lower age-set moieties. While Krahó age-sets do exist, they are “decadent” with respect to use and membership, not every man knowing to which one he belongs. An experienced old man divides the youths into two groups, each of which is an age-set in one of the two opposing moieties. Thus, among the Krahó opposing age-sets are of the same age, unlike the Canela age-sets, which alternate ages about every 10 years (J. Melatti, 1971:348). In contrast, the Canela age-sets and age-set moieties are in full use in festivals and in daily life, and every man knows to which age-set and to which moiety he belongs.

[III.C.3.h] BEHAVIOR WITHIN AND OUTSIDE THE FESTIVAL CONTEXT

The Canela are very clear about when they are in or are not in a festival or ceremonial state [II.E.1.b] [IV.A.1]. The expression amyi-?khin nã (self-esteeming in) means they are in a festival condition, but there is no specific word for not being in such a state, though they give mē ?pek-pek nã (they weak-weak in: they go along feeling weak) as the opposite state.[7]

The Upper and Lower age-set moieties, and to a lesser extent the Red and Black Regeneration season moieties, operate both in festival situations and out of them, namely, in ceremonial situations and in daily life. In contrast, most other ceremonial groups operate only in their festival contexts.

Individual roles within a festival context may affect individual behavior in a nonfestival context. For instance, a Wè?tè girl [III.E.10] behaves in a somewhat superior and reserved manner outside of festival performances as well as during them. However, the influence of festival roles on the behavior of individuals in daily life is largely limited to the Clowns (Glossary) [IV.A.3.c.(4)] of the Fish festival (who carry out practical jokes in daily life) and to the Ceremonial-chiefs-of-the-whole-tribe [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)] of the Pepkahàk festival. Some other hàmren individuals (Visiting Chiefs), also behave with restraint in their daily lives because of the honor and sense of “shame” [III.A.3.c.(3).(a)] they assume in their life-long, seriously regarded festival roles. These are examples of individuals carrying the “personalities” of their festival roles over into ordinary living. In contrast, festival groups (societies) do not carry over their behavior into nonfestival contexts, except for the Upper and Lower age-set moieties. For example, the daily log races [II.F.2.a] (Plates 34, 35) are almost always organized within the age-set moiety divisions. In addition, the commandant in a Khêêtúwayê or Pepyê festival summons his novices (initiates) out into the cerrado for practicing group solidarity and recreational activities between festivals, as well as during them. Moreover, the Pró-khãmmã Lower moiety age-set maintains its ascendancy over the Upper moiety age-sets in the council of elders’ plaza meetings twice a day.

The great significance of the age-set moiety system lies in the fact that a considerable part of men’s daily living is organized along its principles. Gê specialists who compartmentalize ceremonial and daily activities must realize that for the individual Canela (who knows which state she or he is in) some festival units and many behavioral patterns transcend ceremonial/daily living dichotomy.

[III.C.4] Red and Black Regeneration (“Rainy”) Season Moieties

The Red and Black Regeneration (rainy) season moiety system (Mēipimràk) (Glossary) [II.C.4.a] [IV.A.4] (Table 4), in contrast to the age-set moiety system, is all but abandoned by the Canela but less so by the Apanyekra. This de-emphasis occurred so long ago that it is impossible to determine when it happened. Even Nimuendajú saw little of this system, so what he described is mostly a reconstruction from the memories of his old informants (Nimuendajú, 1946:168–170). I also spent much time on several visits trying to reconstruct the various performances of the Regeneration season moiety system. Several old and experienced research assistants helped in this task: the older Kaapêltùk [I.G.2] (Figure 50) and Tel-khwèy (Plate 73a), and the younger Kaapêltùk [I.G.4] (Figure 51), who facilitated communication as usual.

Since the importance of the Regeneration season moiety system is now minimal, it would be surprising if it occupied as much of the year and the same months of the annual cycle as used to be the case. The Regeneration season log racing, which is now the central focus of the system instead of the Regeneration ceremonies, currently takes place from October through the first part of January, if it occurs at all. It may be omitted. If the system was intended to become operative during the rainy season as the name of the moiety system implies (Nimuendajú, 1946:84), the ceremonies should take place in December through March or April, when most of the rainfall occurs [II.C.1.a] (Table 1). My reconstruction of the Regeneration season moiety festival and log racing system is very complex, and some episodes still have to be presented with alternative solutions. Thus, describing them and their analyses will have to wait for a later publication.

[III.C.4.a] “REGENERATION” DEFINED

When some portion of the Regeneration season festivities is being performed by the Canela, they say they are in the state of mē ipimràk nã (they renewing-and-renewing in: being in a state of changing again and again or regeneration in steps). The reference is to the practice of switching back and forth between the ascendancy of (“the time belonging to”) the Red or the Black moiety. Moreover, the weather during this period oscillates between predominant dryness and occasional light rain, and the various fruits of the cerrado periodically ripen and fall in succession [II.C.2] (Table 2).

The people of the Red moiety are referred to as being the Kàà-mã-?khra (plaza at Indian-children: people of the plaza) while the people of the Black moiety are the A?tùk-mã-?khra (outside-the-houses at Indian-children: people of just outside the village). The expression a?tùk mã indicates the symbolically important area between the Village circle of houses and the cerrado, where trash usually exists if women have not cleaned it for a festival. It begins immediately behind the rear wall of each house, so that the Pekahàk’s trail around the village just behind the houses (Figure 24) and the houses in the second circle of houses being formed in the late 1970s are all a?tùkmã. The term i?tùk means “black,” “very dark,” or “it [is] black.” The affix a generalizes ?tùk, and the second morpheme is only orthographically different (for esthetic purposes) from i?tùk. The term kàà does not denote “red” but can be symbolically associated with this color.

[III.C.4.b] RECRUITMENT INTO REGENERATION MOIETIES

Recruitment to either moiety is by name-set affiliation [III.E.4.c] [IV.A.7.a.(1)]. The name, or rather the set of names, given to a name-receiver (usually a named-niece or named-nephew) by a name-giver (usually a naming-aunt or a naming-uncle [II.D.1.b]) belongs to the Red or the Black moiety by tradition [IV.B.1.c] (Figures 35–37). It is the only social grouping into which females [III.C.9] are recruited by name-set affiliation. Otherwise, name-set affiliation applies only to men [III.C.5, 6, 8.c]. In the rare cases when a person changes her or his name-set [IV.A.5.e.(3)], the person might thereby also change her or his Regeneration season moiety affiliation (Nimuendajú, 1946:85), depending on the chance affiliation of the new name-giver.

[III.C,4.c] PRINCIPAL CHARACTERISTICS OF MOIETIES

The Regeneration season moiety system serves as the organizational principle for log racing and for their special meeting places in the plaza. The Red and Black moieties assemble on the edges of the plaza (Figure 25) for the usual morning and evening council meetings: the Reds meet on the eastern side and the Blacks on the western one. When their separate meetings are over, one prominent person of each moiety (the same men each time) meet in the center of the plaza to talk over any matters of consequence. I have seen this occurrence only among the Apanyekra. The Canela say that the apparent leaders of the Regeneration season moiety system, the i?kakhàl-katê, are not really leaders of the tribe in the political sense or as ancient war governors. They are just individuals who call their groups together and act as their spokesmen. Thus the Regeneration season moieties lack real “leaders” (cf. Lave, 1977:316–317) as the Canela currently use the terms pa?hi (Glossary) [II.B.1.b] and hààprãl [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)], or even the more ceremonial mē hõõpa?hi [II.D.3.i.(2).(b)].

[III.C.4.c.(1)]

ALTERNATE ASCENDANCY STATUS OF MOIETIES.—The moieties alternate in holding the position of ascendancy [IV.A.4.b]. The leader of the moiety in ascendancy is called the i?kakhàl-katê (summoning-master) (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:85) and the leader of the other moiety is referred to as the i?katsun-katê (meddling-adept) which, refers in part to the traditional behaviors occurring before, during, and after the log racing itself. When going out to the starting place of the afternoon log race, the members of the ascendant moiety suffer small indignities at the hands of the members of the “lesser” moiety exhibiting mock antagonism. For example, items in pockets or baskets are sometimes taken away. The attitude is one of leveling with respect to ownership, the lesser people taking items from those who are temporarily greater [IV.A 4.c].

The Blacks assume ascendancy after the erection of the Kô?khre log (Figure 45) of the Closing Wè?tè festival [IV.A.3.e,4.a] in September or October. The next day the Ayērn ceremony [IV.A.3.f.(2)], which includes the first log race typical of the Regeneration season, is held. All the racing logs of this Mēipimràk (i.e., Regeneration) season are made of cross-sections of buriti palm trunks, which have smooth gray bark. All the Black moiety logs are painted longitudinally with several heavy black charcoal stripes. They are cut long and thin (hapyê-shape) [V.A.5.a.(1).(b)]. The first Black moiety logs are less than an extended palm in length (about 22 cm) and perhaps only 5 centimeters wide (Katàm-re logs). Gradually, during the course of this first Black ascendancy period, the logs (exemplifying regeneration and growth) are cut larger in size, up to a little over a meter in length and a quarter of a meter in diameter (Katàm-ti logs).

After a few weeks, the Reds take over the supremacy and paint the two logs (called Wakmê-re) with a solid red urucu circle on both of the cut sides at the center point of their cross-sections on the somewhat spiny longitudinal strands of the buriti palm pulp. (The terms katàm and wakmê were not translatable.) These first Red team logs are small enough to be held in one hand and are shaped like wheels or discs, but they are made larger with time until they become large logs (Wakmê-?ti ones), though their length is still less than their diameter (i?po-shape) [V.A.5.a.(1).(b)]: the Red moiety characteristic. With the Reds in ascendancy, their leading man becomes the i?kakhàl-katê and the Black representative then is the i?katsun-katê. The Blacks harass the Reds in return when the latter attempt to reach the log racing site before the race. A few weeks later the Blacks take over the ascendancy again and go through similar procedures, with their logs made middle-size this time; still later the Reds assume the ascendancy to the end of the season.

[III.C.4.c.(2)]

AYRĒN CEREMONY.—The only Regeneration season moiety system ceremony that takes more than a few hours to perform is the Ayrēn [IV.A.3.f.(2)]. This activity, lasting all day and ending in a log race, is performed the day after the Closing Wè?tè festival has ended. Here, women choose (Figure 47) men of the other moiety to go hunting for them and may or may not reward them with sexual favors if the men are successful. Then, the men race home to the village (Reds versus Blacks) with logs cut in the Regeneration season style and bearing a Regeneration season name (Katàm-ti).

[III.C.4.d] DIMINUTION OF THE REGENERATION MOIETY SYSTEM

During October, November and December, the Canela and Apanyekra (who traditionally raced according to the Regeneration season moiety patterns) now live scattered throughout the backlanders’ region, sharecropping or working at odd jobs for the backlanders [II.B.3.j.(1)]. Thus, the economic deficiencies in the 1910s [II.B.1.d], and especially since 1947 [II.B.2.b.(1)], may be factors in the almost total loss of the Regeneration season moiety system. In more recent times, the Canela usually race once or twice in the Regeneration season moiety manner after the Ayrēn ceremony, before returning to the age-set moiety system for log racing long before the traditional January termination of the Mēipimràk season.

The Apanyekra, in contrast, have preserved more of their Regeneration season moiety practices. They have several Ayrēn ceremony performances, one of which I attended in December, 1974. After their Red and Black moieties met on the eastern and western sides of the plaza, their representatives met in the center of the plaza for a few minutes just to communicate decisions about the activities of the coming day (as the Canela had told me they used to do.)

A great deal will be learned about these matters when it becomes possible to compare the elements of the Regeneration season moiety system cross-culturally throughout the Eastern Timbira area, but especially with the Krahó and Melatti’s monograph (1978) on the Krahó festival system.

Regeneration season moiety system activities appear infrequently as isolated acts in all the Wè?tè season festivals except me Masks’ one, which is of Krahó origin. That is, there are moments in these festival-pageants when the groupings, marching formations, or chanted words are suddenly switched from being age-set moiety-oriented to being Regeneration season moiety-oriented. For instance, such a switch from age-set grouping to Regeneration division occurs when the Pepyê novices return to their cells after their commandant has scared and harassed them during his first appearance at the end of his internment (Nimuendajú, 1946:193). Just after this harassment, the novices return to their cells, the Reds filing clockwise around the outside of the circle of houses, while the Blacks march counterclockwise. It appears that at this point in an age-set oriented festival they needed to divide the novice troop (one unit in the age-set system) according to some principle involving halving and chose the Regeneration moiety possibility, still available from an earlier era.

[III.C.5] Plaza Group Moieties

The Canela and Apanyekra each have two moieties composed of six plaza groups, with three groups in each moiety [IV.A.7.b] [V.A.5.b.(1)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:87–90). Recruitment for all men to these plaza groups is by name-set affiliation; for girl associates by Pró-khãmmã appointment and group membership choice. These plaza group moieties appear throughout the Eastern Timbira tribes, the number and names of the plaza groups differing. The Krahó and Krĩkatí each have eight plaza groups, four in each moiety, their names varying. The Canela and Apanyekra have the same names and numbers for their Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festival plaza groups, but the Canela have different names for their six Fish festival plaza groups (Figure 17).

The principal difference between the Canela and Apanyekra is that during the Pepyê festival, the Apanyekra plaza moieties act as the operating units, instead of the plaza groups. For the Canela, the plaza groups operate separately in the Pepyê and Fish festivals. However, among the Canela in the Khêêtúwayê, except during the final all night singing, the plaza groups merge into their two moiety divisions for the principal daily acts (Plate 41c).

[III.C.5.a] DEFINITIONS OF PLAZA GROUPS

A plaza group is characterized by (1) a special name (Figure 17), (2) certain name-sets for male membership, (3) a precise position in the plaza for meeting and chanting, and (4) membership in either the Upper or the Lower plaza moiety. These moieties face each other in the center of the plaza, three groups of one moiety on one side and three on the other [VA.5.a.(1).(c)].[8] In the Fish festival, the Upper plaza moiety (Glossary), the Khêy-ram-mē-nkàà-tsà (Upper-side-they-plaza-placed: those located on the Upper side of the plaza) members construct three huts in a row on the eastern side of the plaza facing west. The Lower plaza moiety (Glossary), the Harã-rum-mē-nkàà-tsà (Lower-side-they-plaza-placed: those located on the Lower side of the plaza) members construct huts on the western side facing east (Nimuendajú, 1946:87). In the Khêêtúwayê festival the Upper moiety files in from their cell of internment (Plate 41a) in a house on the eastern side of the village (Plate 41b) and forms a row facing north, while the Lower moiety marches in from their cell on the western side and forms a row facing south (Nimuendajú, 1946:173–1974, fig. 12) (Plate 41c). While symmetrical in number, the plaza moieties definitely oppose each other during the daily act [IV.A.3.b.(1)] of the Fish festival, the Otter group of the eastern side being ascendant, though the moieties join each other during the terminal part (in the weir for all Fish) while the Clowns oppose (“eat”) them as they escape from the weir (Nimuendajú, 1946:229) (Plate 46a).

FIGURE 17.—Locations of Lower and Upper plaza moiety groups in the plaza in the Pepyê (bold) and Fish (light face) festivals.

[III.C.5.b]  CHARACTERISTICS OF PLAZA GROUPS IN THE FISH, KHÊÊTÚWAYÊ, AND PEPYÊ FESTIVALS

The plaza groups occupy a central position in the plaza where they carry out daily act roles during the Fish and Khêêtúwayê festivals. They act as separate groups in the Fish festival, while in the Khêêtúwayê festival these groups act together within their moieties. Thus, in the Fish festival the plaza groups are principal units of the daily acts of the festival, while in the Khêêtúwayê festival the plaza moieties are the two halves of the age-set being initiated, and the age-set halves are the principal units of the daily acts [IV.A.3.b.(1)]. The casual observer may not be aware that the age-set halves are really the plaza moieties. In the Pepyê festival the plaza groups appear only on “great days” (Glossary) [IV.A.3.b.(1)], not as principals in the daily acts of the festival. In the Pepkahàk, Mask, and two Wè?tè festivals the plaza group moieties do not appear at all. The men’s societies are used instead.

The plaza groups have different names in the Fish festival in contrast to the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê initiation festivals (Figure 17), but the group membership is the same in all three festivals. Moreover, the Canela themselves sometimes confuse the plaza group names of the initiation festivals with the ones of the Fish festival, mentioning an initiation festival name instead of a Fish festival one when the latter is intended. Also, in the alternative, “variant” form (Nimuendajú, 1946:230) of the Fish festival, the initiation festival plaza group names are actually used instead of the Fish festival ones.

[III.C.5.c] RECRUITMENT OF GIRL ASSOCIATES

The Fish festival plaza moieties have full-time girl associates (Glossary), but the plaza moieties of the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals have girl associates for only two events: the night of the all night singing in the Khêêtúwayê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:176) and the day of the genipap painting [II.F.5.e] of the novices in the Pepyê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:194–195) (Plates 27, 42g).

Recruitment of girl associates to the plaza groups may be by appointment by the Pró-khãmmã or by the membership of the groups with the approval of the Pró-khãmmã. The Pró-khãmmã appoint the prestigious Têt-re (Otter) girl associate without consulting the Otter membership. This is the only example of a male festival unit having just one girl associate instead of a pair, and this difference represents higher prestige. The most highly prestigious Visiting Chiefs have no girl associates [III.C.7.a.(2)].

For the middle-to-low prestige Fish plaza groups, the members choose girl associates with the approval of the Pró-khãmmã. The recruitment of the girl associates of the plaza groups of the initiation festivals follows the same pattern, with the more prestigious Khêt-re (Dwarf Parrot) (Glossary) and Tsêp-re (Bat) girl associates being chosen and appointed by the Pró-khãmmã.

Female membership in plaza groups is not the same from festival to festival, while male membership is, unless an individual has changed his name-set, a rare occurrence [IV.A.5.e.(3)]. Membership shifting is infrequent, temporary, and deliberate and done for a particular reason. One generic Fish (Tep) member, Kawkhre, who was an Armadillo (Awtsêt) by initiation festival reckoning, joined the Otters (Têt-re) so he would not see his Tep fellow members having sex with his sister, one of their two girl associates for that year.

[III.C.5.d] EVOLVING POSITION OF PLAZA GROUP MOIETIES

Plaza groups seem to be basic to the Fish festival but to be “inclusions,” “inserts,” or devices, and not principal elements, in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals: the two initiation festivals. If this is the case, and only hypothetically, the Fish festival might represent an earlier period in the evolution of the tribe’s festival system than the two initiation festivals.

By “inclusions” or “inserts” I mean that the plaza moieties appear to act as relatively isolated units within the overall context of the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, and that they are not as much a part of the whole festival-pageant (not single-acting, festival-length units). In the Fish festival, they are the principal units along with the Clowns. In organizing the festivals, the elders of some earlier period might have used the plaza group moiety concept of a still earlier period to divide the Khêêtúwayê novice age-set into two groups. In addition, such festival-designing elders might have used the plaza moiety concept for reviving the earlier more individual and family-oriented practice of “uncles” disciplining “nephews” [III.A.2.r.(1)]. The Pepyê festival is more impersonal and tribal-oriented wherein the commandant and his hierarchy of agents discipline the age-set initiates [II.D.3.d]. In any case, while the age-set moieties clearly provide the principal social contexts for the initiation festivals, the plaza group moieties seem to be “fitted in” to enhance the proceedings by providing special structures for them. Thus, it is plausible to conceive of plaza moieties as “left overs” from an earlier time, now used as devices for organizing specific festival situations.

[III.c.6] Men’s Societies

The men’s societies (Nimuendajú, 1946:95–97) participate in the Pepkahàk, Mask, and Closing Wè?tè festivals only, and so are exclusive with respect to the plaza groups that are found in the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Fish festivals. These men’s societies have recruitment through name-set affiliation just like the plaza groups, but no correspondence between affiliation in the plaza groups and membership in me men’s societies exists.

The men’s societies are the following (see Glossary): Falcons (Hàk) in the east versus Ducks (Kôkayu) in the west during the Pepkahàk festival (Plates 44, 45), and Masks (Ku?khrùt-re) with Jaguars (Rop) both in the east versus Agoutis (Kukhên) in me west during the Mask and Closing Wè?tè festivals, though the Masks sometimes help the Agoutis against the Jaguars [V.A.5.b.(1)] (Plates 48, 49, 52a, c, e).

Two similar groups exist called the Clowns and the Visiting Chiefs (Tàmhàk), which I do not consider “men’s societies” (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:96–97) because they are not name-set oriented and have unique ways of recruitment [III.C.7]. The Clowns take in new members through a combination of the group’s selection and the individual’s choice, the Prókhãmmã having no input, while the Visiting Chiefs, at least in earlier times, had modified patriline succession.

Another associated festival group, the Pepkahàk troop, helps the Falcons compete (in log races) against the Ducks, though the troop is not a men’s society, not being name-set affiliated. The Pró-khãmmã appoint each Pepkahàk member, who is a mature man, to membership in the Pepkahàk troop (the festival’s principal group) for an adult re-enactment of the food and sex restrictions of the initiations festivals [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] [IV.D.3.f].

[III.C.6.a] MEN’S SOCIETIES COMPARED WITH PLAZA GROUPS

In terms of their physical formations in ceremonial contexts, plaza groups and men’s societies differ mainly in that the former take their positions in the center of the plaza and face each other in equal group numbers (i.e., 3 versus 3), while the latter maintain their positions on the edge of the plaza and face each other across the plaza in an asymmetrical relationship (i.e., 2 versus 1 [V.A.5.b.(1)]). The Pepkahàk troop races with the Falcons after their internment is over. Actually, in the terminal phase of the Pepkahàk festival, at least one log race takes place during which the Visiting Chiefs and even the Clowns race with the Falcons and Pepkahàk troop against the Ducks. These alliances are traditional. However, I was not able to resolve the question of overlapping memberships in this situation. Nevertheless, the Pepkahàk are inherently opposed to the Clowns, research assistants said, but in this one situation the Clowns help the Pepkahàk so that the analyst has to look at the context in each case before making interpretations about oppositions.

The plaza groups are referred to as mē-nkààtsà, while the men’s societies have no general term of reference. The men’s societies have full-time girl associates like the plaza groups of the Fish festival. All of these social units (both plaza groups and men’s societies) race with logs in their combined moiety formations, and rarely as individual societies. Plaza groups and men’s societies also operate for the full duration of their festivals, except that in the Pepyê festival the plaza groups appear, disappear, and reappear sporadically. In the Khêêtúwayê festival the presence of the plaza moieties is disguised; they are actually the two operating halves of the age-set being initiated.

[III.C.6.b] RECRUITMENT OF GIRL ASSOCIATES

The recruitment of girl associates for men’s societies is similar to their recruitment for plaza groups. The Falcon and Mask girl-associate positions are more prestigious and so are appointed by the Pró-khãmmã, while the others are selected by the membership of the groups with the approval of the Pró-khãmmã. Uncles can veto their nieces’ selection (Nimuendajú, 1946:96).

[III.C.6.c] COMPARISON WITH THE KRAHÓ MEN’S SOCIETIES

J. Melatti (1979a:47–48) writes that among the Krahó, men might join a certain festival moiety by choice one year and the other moiety of the same festival the next year. The Canela were not yet doing this in the 1970s, though signs appeared suggesting that voluntary and temporary recruitment would eventually become the rule.

During the 1970 census taking, I asked men what festival groups they belonged to and found many young ones were doubtful of their memberships: they would have to ask their naming-uncles to know the next time around. Because such naming relationships were becoming tenuous, they might join the group they wanted to be with rather than the society they traditionally belonged to. Young men are more likely to forget their plaza group and men’s society memberships than most other festival name-affiliated memberships because most of me latter are more individual and special. The plaza group and men’s society memberships are more general and mass-oriented. When rights to name-set affiliated roles are also haakhat-related (Glossary) [III.C.8.a], their ownership is too prominent and prestigious to be forgotten, even by young men.

[III.C.7] “Wetheads” and “Dryheads”

All Canela males are either Wetheads (mē ka-?khrã nkràà: they generalizer-head wet) or Dryheads (mē ?ka-?khrã nkoo: they generalizer-head dry) (Glossary). The state of being wetheaded is called hàmren (Glossary), but no contrasting term exists for dry-headedness. Wetheads are more sensitive, conservative, serious, and inhibited by “shame” (Plates 27f, 68c), research assistants say, while Dryheads like to joke, play tricks, tell bad stories, lie, and are little restrained by “shame” [III.A.3.c.(3).(a)] (Plate 77b). The only women considered Wetheads are the girl associates of the three internment festivals and Wè?tè girls, and they keep this status for life. They are called pep-khwèy (Glossary) (warrior women) rather than hàmren, although this terminology is not used often today. Wetheads often have high ceremonial roles, while Dryheads have ceremonially less prestigious ones or none. Wetheaded roles and behavior are epitomized by the members of the Visiting Chief association (Tàmhàk), while the relative lack of inhibition by shame and the relative informality of Dryheads are epitomized by members of the Clown association. The Visiting Chiefs may number about 50 men and meet only twice during the Pepkahàk festival. They have no girl associates. In contrast, the Clowns, also numbering about 50, are the principal group of the Fish festival, vying in power even with the Pró-khãmmã for the duration of the festival. The Clowns have two girl associates, usually “infamous” ones (Plates 46b, c) [IV.A.3.c.(4).(b)].

Hàmren people do not constitute a formal group; they are individuals who are permanently “wetheaded” unless caught by the Clowns in a Fish festival. They become Wetheads when young through a number of traditional ways, but principally in one of three ways: (1) appointment to a certain festival position by the Pró-khãmmã, (2) transmission of a certain name-set from a name giver, or (3) inheritance of Visiting Chief membership through “patriline” transmission. The relative degree of ceremonial high status attributed to any particular hàmren individual varies with the way this status is gained, from the first (low) to the third (high) category.

The age-set file leader (mamkhyê-?ti:) is an example of the lowest level of hàmren status. He is appointed by the Pró-khãmmã and operates in this position almost all the time, in and out of initiation festivals. The chief [I.G.14] (Plate 68c) of the Visiting Chief membership is second highest in ceremonial prestige, his position being related to name-set transmission. The Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe (Glossary), Kôyapàà [I.F.2.a] (Plate 70a), the son of the younger Kaapêltùk (Figure 51), has the highest prestige, along with Khrùt and his son. If this role cannot be passed on traditionally, due to the lack of a son, the Pró-khãmmã will choose another patriline, giving the role to their members. The Pró-khãmmã are the final arbiters for almost any ceremonial role determination when a traditional line terminates. However, they rarely have to exercise this authority [III.D.2.c.(1)], because candidates having traditionally correct kinship ties usually exist.

Although all Canela males are either wet or dryheaded, this dichotomy does not constitute moieties because the two groups come together as such only on two occasion during the Pepkahàk festival: in the late afternoon of the highest ceremonial day during the terminal phase of the festival to reaffirm and recognize their association so that each man knows where to go on the following day. The Wetheads go out to a farm with the wives of the Dryheads to carry out the usual events of the Wild Boar day [IVA.3.f.(1)], including extramarital sex before a log race, while the Dryheads remain in the village with the wives of the Wetheads.

It is hard to be sure whether the Apanyekra share this tradition of wet-/dry-headedness with the Canela, because Apanyekra research assistants tended to always say yes when asked about such matters. This is because they did not want to appear to be lacking something that the more prestigious (to the Apanyekra) Canela had. Nevertheless, I assume the Apanyekra did have such a tradition, but have lost it in terms of still acting out associated ceremonies. The Krĩkatí also have remnants of this tradition (Lave, personal communication).

[III.C.7.a] VISITING CHIEFS

The Visiting Chief or Tàmhàk (urubu-rei: vulture king: Gypagus papa) membership is distinctly different from any other socioceremonial unit because of its traditionally patriline-oriented succession (cf. 1946:99, 217). The Visiting Chief membership, composed of Nimuendajú’s (1946:97–100, 217–218, 223) “courtesy chiefs,” is made up of intertribal male representatives. Eastern Timbira tribal male membership is from father to son; female tribal membership is from mother to daughter.

Representatives of five different tribes, which were formerly separate tribes, now live among the Canela. During the preparation for the Visiting Chief procession during the Pepkahàk festival, Canela men meet in five groups, the members of which are descendants of the five tribes. Traditionally, each member of the Visiting Chiefs was born in one remnant of an ancient tribe and is the honorary chief of another one. Thus, there should be only 20 Visiting Chiefs performing in the procession. There are, however, at least twice that number. I call this Tàmhàk membership “Visiting Chiefs,” because each Tàmhàk acts as a resident receiver and ambassador for visitors from the tribe that made him such a chief when he was visiting them in their village (Nimuendajú, 1946:99–100). When members of one Eastern Timbira tribe visited another Eastern Timbira tribe in precontact times, they first communicated with their Visiting Chief in the other tribe to obtain his protection, sponsorship, and hospitality [IV.C.1.d.(1).(a)]. Otherwise it was dangerous to go near the village of the other tribe [IV.C.1.c.(2)].

In 1958, the older Kaapêltùk gave me the names of the six ancient tribes from which the present Canela descend: Mõl-tum-re (going-along experienced dim.), Krôô-re-khãm-mē-?khra (boar-dim.-location-Timbira-children), Tsoo-khãm-mē-?khra (fox-location-Timbira-children), Karē-?katêyê (mud enemy-people), Apàn-yê-?khra (piranha honorable-plural children), and Hô-?ti-khãm-mē-?khra (hair/feathers-aug.-location-Timbira-children). Only descendants of the first five of these ancient tribes still existed. The younger Mĩĩkhrô said that the Mõltum-re and the Ràm-khô-khãm-mē-?khra (almecega-tree stand-of location Timbira children) are the same people. The other tribes joined the Ramkokamekra-Canela, the central tribal group. Consequently, the Mõ1tum-re sit in the middle of the plaza on the evening before the procession of Visiting Chiefs, because they were the original tribe, while the other four tribes sit at the edges of the plaza in the direction of the former locations of the tribes from which they came. The name “Ramkokamekra” is not used today; “Mõ1tum-re” is the name of the tribe from which most Canela believe they are descended.

The Visiting Chiefs are hàmren by the simple fact of being Visiting Chief society members (like the “Honorable” ambassadors of the USA), and the required formal and conservative behavior follows into their daily lives to some extent. They are not the only hàmren members of the tribe, however. The holders of a number of other festival roles receive the honor of being considered hàmren. Nevertheless, Visiting Chiefs do characterize high ceremonial behavior, they say, and as such are all “wetheaded.” For me, the noticeable restraining characteristics of “honorable” behavior are carried over into daily life more for the very prestigious people who have individuals roles than for the many Visiting Chiefs who have only group roles in a procession.

[III.C.7.a.(1)]

Traditionally, a Visiting Chief’s son, or his brother’s son, or his parallel “brother’s” son through all male links, assumed the role of Tàmhàk. This pattern of succession kept the role in the same remnant Eastern Timbira tribe, because Eastern Timbira tribal membership is from father to son and from mother to daughter. If the succession was given to a sister’s son, or to a mother’s sister’s son, the right to hold a certain Visiting Chief’s office might have passed from one remnant tribe to another one and not have remained in the same tribal line, the chief-chooser’s and the chosen-chief’s tribal line. Thus, passing the role to a nephew instead of to a son might have obviated the purpose of these visiting chieftainships, which was to provide continuous protection down the generations between the same two tribes, now both tribal remnants living in a larger tribe. In later times, especially with the current population expansion of the tribe and the diminished need for these individuals as peacemakers, a man’s “sister’s” son often takes the position, or in a house where no one else has the role, some young male assumes the Visiting Chief’s role. This is consistent with the tendency for the members of every family household to want and demand a presence, as well as a material gain (usually food) for their performance in almost any ceremonial situation. Such open flaunting of traditions happened in the 1970s because me Pró-khãmmã were too weak and powerless to prevent it, as surely they were at other times during the 19th and 20th centuries near the end of the cycle of their 20 years of tenure [III.D.2.b.(2)].

[III.C.7.a.(2)]

The Visiting Chief membership assembles twice during the Pepkahàk festival: once in the evening before their formal procession to plan and prepare for this occasion (sitting in their traditional positions in the plaza; Nimuendajú, 1946:217–218), and again for their mid-afternoon procession to the plaza (continuing on to certain traditional houses, Plate 44d).

The Visiting Chiefs have several limitations that characterize their high ceremonial status: no girl associates and no “little boy” ceremonial members (mē ?khra-re: pl. child dim.)[9] (unlike most other social groups), and their infrequent appearance in the Pepkahàk festival, which is held only every 5 to 10 years. White is their associated color (chalk and falcon down) [II.F.5.a, e]. However, in 1958 red paints were mistakenly applied to their bodies during their ceremony. I have photographs showing that the Visiting Chiefs applied red urucu paint between the vertical lines of falcon down (Glossary) that year. Old research assistants explained in 1970 why this red paint was wrongly used, so that in 1970 and again in 1979 this mistake was not made.

[III.C.7.b] CLOWN SOCIETY

Clown (Glossary) society individuals, the Mē-?khên (they somewhat-bad: the mischievous and individualistic ones), have no shame (mē pahàm naare: they shame not) (Glossary), research assistants say. They are less restrained by many of the traditions related to politeness, courtesy, and consideration for others [III.A.3.c.(3).(a)] [III.B.1.d.(3)]. They characteristically are brazen and do spontaneously what they want to do (Plate 46d).

[III.C.7.b.(1)]

Recruitment is by mutual agreement between an individual and members of the Clown society, as described in Nimuendajú (1946:96–97). When a serious person who is hàmren wants to become a person who jokes much of the time and sometimes plays tricks on others, he can join in the breaking of a wasp’s nest (Plate 45b) at an early point in the Pepkahàk festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:214). Then the Clowns know he is willing to join them and will induct him into their group near the beginning of the next Fish festival performance. Similarly, if a hàmren, overburdened with his “seriousness,” begins to joke too much and to move away from his hàmren-type personality state, the Clowns may still try to “catch” him and bring him into their group during the next Fish festival, even if he has not struck the wasps’ nest. As is usually the case in such matters, however, Clown members ask relatives of the lapsing hàmren whether he would acquiesce in his capture. Sometimes to have fun, the Clowns try to surprise such a person without warning, approaching him forcefully at first in the context of the festival to amuse the crowd. The Clowns approached my sister, Te?hôk, about capturing me in 1970, but she said no, preferring me as a hàmren, so they desisted.

[III.C.7.b.(2)]

The two girl associates of the Clowns (Plate 46b) are chosen by the Clown membership; the Pró-khãmmã have no say in the matter. Once the Fish festival is in session, the Clowns brook few interferences from the Pró-khãmmã. The Clowns often choose ex-Wè?tè girls, bringing them down from the sublime to the ridiculous. As Wè?tè girls, and therefore as ceremonial kin to the opposite age-set moiety from their fathers’ [III.E.10], they are never ready considered girl associates; they are not exposed to the same sexual training for extramarital purposes as girl associates experience in general [III.A.2.j.(6).(c)]. Thus. it is quite fitting for them to serve later as girl associates to the Clowns. Nevertheless, such a girl’s mother and uncles can veto the Clowns’ request. I remember well how my niece Te?kurà’s father (the Clown’s leader) had to absent himself from the family meeting over the Clowns’ demands for Te?kurà as one of their girl associates in 1964. My family acquiesced; Te?kurà’s father would not have, because he had “great caring” [III.B.1.b] for his daughter and was embarrassed to think of her having this kind of sexual experience, even though he, himself, was a Clown.

The Clown girl associates have a prominent festive role on one of the “great days” in the middle part of the Fish festival. Here they act out a number of Canela evils to the great amusement of the crowd assembled to enjoy this dramatic act (Nimuendajú, 1946:228) (Plate 46c). One of them drops her “baby” (a buriti pulp doll) to have mock incest with her “brother” while the doll, lying on the ground, cries outrageously—the voice of the other Clown girl. In their selection of girl associates and male members, Clowns like to seek those who already have, or who can learn to display, a flamboyant and independent personality.

[III.C.8] Ritual Societies

The haakhat-oriented. ritual societies (Glossary) [IV.A.5] perform in the Fish, Mask, and Closing Wè?tè festivals and the Sweet Potato, Corn Harvest, and Pàlrà rituals. These “RIVER-ORIENTED” (W. Crocker, 1979:242) festivals allude to animals and plants in their ceremonies. The appearance of ritual societies in the Pepkahàk festival as well, however, undermines any one to one correlation between river-oriented festivals and haakhat-oriented societies. The ritual societies do not perform in the two initiation festivals (the Nkrel-re) or the Regeneration moiety system, although research assistants said that the institution of the two Wè?tè girls was once held by two families matrilineally (each in a haakhat); but this is not the case today.

The existence of the Canela haakhat, and Nimuendajú’s mistaking the limited occurrence of the haakhat for overall tribal matrilineality (Glossary), are points I first raised and clarified in two articles (W. Crocker, 1977, 1979). Only about one-fifth of the Canela families possess a ceremonial haakhat. Some Apanyekra say they have the haakhat tradition also, but I am convinced after careful questioning that they were merely saying they had the tradition to appear to be more like the Canela, whom the Apanyekra consider more prestigious.

Members of ritual societies may appear momentarily as a group in a festival, as do the Turtles in the Fish festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:230); or they may be the principal individuals managing a whole festival, as are the members of the Corn ritual-holding family in the Corn Harvest festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:62–63) (Plate 53). Ritual societies may also be composed of many individuals, as in the case of the Sweet Potatoes of the Sweet Potato ritual (Nimuendajú, 1946:63–64) (Plate 47a, c), or they may consist of just one person (and therefore not be a society at all), as in the case of the cutter of the Pàlrà log in the Pàlrà festival [IV.A.5.e.(2)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:163–165).

[III.C.8.a] FESTIVAL HAAKHAT

What the ritual societies have in common is that the right to carry out a ritual’s roles may be possessed by an individual, by a family, or by one matrilaterally extended family, all of whom are based in one house, or by a series of adjacent houses along the village circle. In this sense, a haakhat (Glossary) may be a small part of a longhouse, a large part, or the whole longhouse [III.E.2.e.(2)] (Figures 24, 25), and the term haakhat denotes both a ritual and a physical house or set of houses.

In the term haakhat, the morpheme haa-, or tsaa-, is a particular generic kind of vine. The term -khat is always a somewhat massive base with a “root” below it and something larger growing out above it. This three-part structure can be visualized horizontally as well as vertically and refer to an object as well as an idea.

For instance, night has a base (katswa-khat: night’s-base): initial and full darkness. It also has a root: twilight, which is an extension back into earlier time from the base. Then, the major part of the concept, extending forward in time from the base, is the rest of the night. A tree is an obvious example with its roots, broad base, trunk, and branches, research assistants pointed out. In the case of the haakhat, family lines going back through time are the roots, ritual-holding families in their houses along the boulevard are the base, and future generations of descendants who are going to perform the ritual year after year are the vine or branching tree.

Within a haakhat, which is both a series of houses and a ritual, membership is passed on in one of three ways, which may change from generation to generation. The membership may be transmitted through name-set affiliation (e.g., the Kô?khre log hole-shapers [IV.A.3.e.(3)]), through matrilineality (e.g., the Corn Harvest festival family [IV.A.5.a, d]), or through a mixture of these two principles (e.g., the Capybara, see Nimuendajú, 1946:230). Because a male name-set goes out from the owner’s natal house with a man’s marriage and his move into his wife’s house and returns to his natal set of houses when the man names his sister’s son (or his “sister’s” son), a male name-set can remain within a haakhat generation after generation (Figure 36). Female name-sets cannot do this; they circulate around the village (Figure 35), because a woman’s names move into the families where her brother or “brother” has a daughter. A man usually has classificatory nephews outside [III.E.4.a] (Figure 37) his natal haakhat as well as in it. If he holds traditional rights to festival rituals, he must remember his nephews in his haakhat and pass on his ritual rights to one or several of them, depending on the tradition and nature of the particular ritual. However, if he passes the ritual to a “nephew” born outside the ritual’s haakhat, he may be violating the ritual’s tradition, and thereby contributing to the deculturation and changing of the system, an act which often happens these days.

[III.C.8.b] LODGE AND HAAKHAT COMPARED

Plaza groups and men’s societies have name-set transmission but not matriliny. They do not have the haakhat. However, these groups and societies meet during a specific festival at traditional houses located along the village circle. These locations are called standing places (mē ?ku?hê tsà: their standing place) or sitting places (mē ?khrĩn tsà: their sitting place) (Glossary), depending on how much time they spend there—”standing” if brief and “sitting” if lengthy. Nimuendajú (1946:210) calls these ceremonially-designated family houses on the village circle “lodges.” Each standing or sitting place remains in the same narrow sector of the village circle “forever,” research assistants say. Thus, these lodges remain with certain families for generations; but individuals of these families are not necessarily members of the plaza group or the men’s society who gather in these families’ houses for festive purposes. If family members are lodge members, it would be by coincidence.

The festival society’s members stand, sit, rest, eat, or decorate their bodies as a group in these houses, depending on the tradition of the festival act being carried out. They may perform their ceremony or ceremonies only in the traditional house, but they usually come out of it to perform activities in the boulevard, down the radial pathways, or in the plaza. The families who live in these houses (lodges) are proud to have the members of the plaza groups and men’s societies temporarily under their roofs, and they are pleased to serve them water and perhaps some food, though they do not own or control the visiting groups or societies.

If the family that is living in the correct position to serve a ceremonial lodge no longer has female descendants to maintain the matrilines of the house, that house will cease to exist. Families of a neighboring house on either side will occupy the space of the terminated matriline and take over the role of serving the festival society that traditionally has its lodge in that immediate part of the village circle. The Pró-khãmmã decides which family will assume this responsibility. Some male research assistants point with nostalgia to houses not their own, or to spaces between houses, to indicate where on the village circle they were born and where their sisters’ matriline ended.

In new villages, the position of a ceremonial lodge on the village circle in relation to the sun should always be the same. There can be no question of matrilineal succession to ownership of a festival lodge. The lodge is owned by the festival society members in the sense that they have the right to use the house in that particular position “forever.” Hosting a festival lodge is a temporary right, held maybe for just a few generations, of a family matriline that happens to live “traditionally” in this part of the village circle. The festival lodge of a plaza group or a men’s society (or in addition, of the Visiting Chiefs, Pepkahàk, or Clowns) is not a haakhat.

In contrast, a haakhat ritual is owned by a family or a matrilaterally related set of families, though one family or one person may take me leading role in performing the owned ritual. If the owner’s family line dies out (i.e., cannot provide the women or men needed to perform the particular roles), the possession of the haakhat (taken as a ritual) passes to some other matriline including its related men within the haakhat (taken as a set of matrilaterally related houses). If no matrilines in the traditional haakhat (set of houses) can maintain the ritual, the Pró-khãmmã gives the ownership of the haakhat ritual to another family or set of families and their houses. This happened to the ownership of the Corn Harvest festival in early March of 1979. Thus, a haakhat has no traditional location on the village circle “forever.” Consequently, it is quite unlike a festival standing or sitting place (a ceremonial lodge) which has a precise traditional location. Because a haakhat is corporate, it continues “forever” in the possession of one or another family in different parts of the village circle.

[III.C.8.c] ACCULTURATION

The general trend for membership transmission within a ritual society is away from matriliny and toward name-set transmission (Glossary). Although name-transmitted now, most ritual societies still are inherited within a haakhat. However, other rituals exist that are passed on through name-set transmission without being restricted to the confines of a haakhat (set of houses), going instead to any part of the village circle where a name-giver has a sister’s or “sister’s” son.

In 1975, I compiled complete records of almost all ritual transmittals for as many generations as the oldest research assistants with good memories [Pr.2] could remember. The pattern of transmission of some rituals is consistently through matriliny or naming. The transmission pattern of others varies between matriliny and naming as individuals chose, or were forced to choose because of the lack of traditionally appropriate ritual-receiving personnel. Name transmission now is much more frequent throughout the society than matriliny, which occurs relatively rarely. Haakhat inheritance, as a process, is more appropriate for large matrilaterally extended families and villages with larger populations, while name transmission is more adaptable to survival in smaller populations, because the ritual may be passed on through this mechanism to any nephew in any place on the village circle.

It is easier for a young man these days (not knowing or caring about the traditions) to resort to name transmission rather than to matriliny (Glossary) when he has a role to pass on, a nephew to receive it, and no naming-uncle close at hand to tell him of me traditional procedures. Matriliny restricts his choice to a haakhat (one or more houses) and, bothered by such an “unimportant” matter, a young man is inclined to forget this limitation and give his name-set as quickly as possible to any “nephew” just born anywhere around the village circle.

This mixing of name-set transmission with matrilineality may explain Nimuendajú’s (1946:63) seemingly ambiguous statement about Sweet Potato role performance rights: “Membership is inherited matrilineally with the personal name.” Most probably, Nimuendajú’s (1946:79) belief in earlier exogamous matrilineality for the Canela came from his awareness of just a few examples of matrilineally inherited rights to possess, or to perform in, certain ritual societies, even though these rituals only operated infrequently and were possessed by only a few families.

[III.C.8.d] INDIVIDUAL AND FAMILY RECRUITMENT

Succession and membership in ritual societies that are solely haakhat-oriented (rare) follow strictly matrilineal principles for both women and men. In some cases the whole consanguineal family succeeds to membership and performance in a ritual (Turtles: kaprãn-pey-re: Platemis sp.) (Nimuendajú, 1946:230). In other cases only one person succeeds to ownership and performance (the foam girl: the Kôyamprô kuytswè) (Nimuendajú, 1946:226) of a particular ritual. In such cases a daughter should succeed her mother, but often it is a younger sister or some other closely related female who succeeds, such as a parallel cousin. The principal persons in a haakhat (female or male) look for an appropriate person in a small field of kin to carry out the role, considering age, voice, relationships, ability, personality, and the degree of beauty (mpey-nã) (Glossary) to be presented. Of course, in a haakhat that involves only name-set transmission (Tsù?katê-re) (Nimuendajú’s “hũyakrikate” 1946:167) women cannot be role performers because female name-sets occur only in the Regeneration moiety system [III.C.4.b]. Nevertheless, a woman related to the male name-set receiver may consider herself the owner or controller of the ritual, especially if the male receiver is very young. In the Pàlrà log cutter’s haakhat no name transmission exists and the one role is demanding enough for one man: Paapôl, who received it from his older brother some years ago.

[III.C.9] Relative Status of Women in the Various Socioceremonial Units

The Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Pepkahàk festival girl associates are hàmren in ceremonial status, as are the two Wè?tè girls who are not really girl associates [III.A.2.j.(6).(c)]. All these young women are referred to as being pep-khwèy (Glossary) (warrior-women) rather than hàmren, but they hold hàmren-honor rank (Glossary) nevertheless; these are the only women who do. These young women of honor are all appointed to their positions by the Pró-khãmmã. These appointments are the highest kind of designation for women, bringing great prestige to their families [III.C.3.f]. Other kinds of access to festival positions for women are less prestigious, including haakhat succession, and especially selection by group membership.

Until recent times, these high-status girl associates and the younger of the middle-status girl associates—Falcons (Hàk), Masks (Ku?krùtre?hô), Jaguars (Rop), and the one Otter (Têt-re) plaza group girl—had to be accepted in these men’s organizations as virgins (Nimuendajú, 1946:96). Parents worked to keep their daughters virgins so that they could be selected to fill these positions. In contrast, the older middle-status and the definitely low-status girl associates (Ducks (Kôkayu), Agoutis (Kukhên), Clowns (Mē?khên), and certain plaza moiety girls) were traditionally inducted into the men’s groups as nonvirgins, chosen precisely for their perceived abilities for rendering pleasing sexual services and female companionship (Nimuendajú, 1946:228).

[III.C.10] Hypothetical Development through the Eras of Organizing Principles

Various organizing principles are found in the festival system and may reveal an evolutionary sequence for three hypothesized basic periods: early, riverine, and bellicose. The principles of recruitment to group membership for the three periods are the following: early (Regeneration: female and male name-set transmission), riverine (haakhat: matriliny and male name-set transmission), bellicose (age-set moieties: relative age of males).

[III.C.10.a] EARLY PERIOD AND THE REGENERATION PRINCIPLE

My hypothesis is that the Regeneration moiety system was characteristic of the early period because name-set affiliation for women appears only here, while the general trend since then has been away from this principle. Moreover, name-transmission membership to socioceremonial units for both sexes exists broadly among the Northern Gê, while the other principles do not.

[III.C.10.b] RIVERINE PERIOD AND THE HAAKHAT PRINCIPLE

Many river-associated traits (mostly faunal) occur in certain ceremonials and myths, especially in the Fish festival, that are not prominent in the present Canela environment. Old research assistants said that the piranha (apàn: Serrasalmo sp.), swamp deer (poo-kahàk: suassuapara: Cervus paludosus), and capybara (kũũtũm: Hydrochoerus) did not exist in the Canela area, that ducks and herons (garça: Tigrisoma sp.) only flew overhead, and that only the small varieties of turtles (kaprãn-pey-re: Platemis sp.), stingrays (tsêwtsêt-re: Trygon sp.), anacondas (ro-?ti: sucuruju: Eunectes murinus), otters (têt-re: lontra, ariranha) (very rare), crabs (pay: Cancer uça?), and alligators (mĩĩ: jacaré: Caiman niger) are found in the Canela headwater streams. Research assistants knew about these non-local animals and about the larger-size varieties of similar animals living either down stream in the forests to the north, or down the Alpercatas or the Itapicuru rivers to the northeast. They had seen these absent, rare, or larger animals in their travels. (For Latin equivalents, see Nimuendajú, 1946:65, 229–230.)

To account for this water-oriented misrepresentation of the current Canela locality in their festivals I hypothesize a lengthy river-oriented (Glossary) period of Canela residence and development along a sizable river with swamps, lakes, and land for more settled horticulture, such as the lower Alpercatas (likely), the middle Itapicuru somewhat further to the northeast (possible) [IV.C.1.b.(7).(c)], or even the larger Parnaíba considerably further away (less likely) (Maps 1, 4). The haakhat, and evolutionary development toward matriliny, could have developed in such a riverine environment because of the greater possibility for reliance on sedentary living and its increased possessions, and because of the likely need for leaders to control larger numbers of people and their competitive problems with respect to limited resources. Here, incipient matriliny could have replaced female name-set transmission to socioceremonial unit membership but not necessarily have replaced male name-set transmission, with which matriliny could co-exist and still does today.

Insufficient evidence exists to hypothesize whether full tribally extensive matriliny (Glossary) with clans and exogamy evolved, so I prefer to rest on my claim of “incipient matriliny” (W. Crocker, 1977). Nevertheless, I suspect that if exogamous moieties had existed in full force for a number of generations, matriliny would have prevailed over male name-set transmission, which would therefore either not exist at all or be considerably less evident today. However, Nimuendajú (1946:90) holds the plaza moiety groups may be remnants of village-localized clans but makes no similar claim for the men’s societies, writing only that “there is no indication that they anciently represented the two exogamous moieties” [III.C.1] (Nimuendajú, 1946:97–98).

Similarly, the rituals in the annual festival cycle between the Regeneration and Wè?tè seasons [IV.A.5] (Table 4) are clearly haakhat-oriented and therefore riverine. The Closing Wè?tè, Mask, and Pepkahàk festivals have mixed riverine and bellicose period representations, and the initiation festivals are fully of the bellicose period, although traits appear in them from all three hypothesized periods.

The Opening Wè?tè festival displays none of the organizing principles discussed above, except that the institution of the Wè?tè may have been haakhat-oriented, research assistants say, though it is not so oriented today. The elders may have initiated this festival as late as post-pacification times, to introduce and authorize the extramarital sex freedom of the entire Wè?tè season [IV.A.3], which in its extreme seems a special development of the Canela even in contrast to the Apanyekra. Research assistants report that the elders created one ceremony in the first decade of the 20th century: the Apikrawkraw-re of the Pepkahàk festival [II.B.1.d.(1)] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)], which survives to this day. Thus, they may have created the two-day Opening Wè?tè festival (and the Festival of Oranges) earlier in the 19th century, perhaps not long after their stabilization around 1840 [II.B.1.b], as an adaptation to peacetime living, to the demands of women in the absence of warfare, and to enhance tribal cohesion.

[III.C.10.c] BELLICOSE PERIOD AND THE AGE-SET PRINCIPLE

The age-set system may have evolved as a defensive device against the devastating threats of advancing Brazilian pioneer fronts in Piaui (Map 4) and along the Atlantic coast and the potentially closer contact with bandeira troops [II.A.3.a.(1)].

Visiting Chiefs and Clowns, and Wetheads and Dryheads are organizing principles and socioceremonial units that are hard to place on this evolutionary continuum. However, their intertribal emphasis suggests the bellicose period, but the origins of wet-headedness could be much earlier. The nobility implied in hàmren status (as I have seen it) encourages me to think in terms of relative peace and plenty—the riverine period. Nevertheless, no haakhat that is solely matrilineal provides hàmren status, and the Fish festival in which the haakhat is most prominent has few or no roles providing hàmren status in themselves. Thus, I tend to associate the Visiting Chiefs, Clowns, and hàmren-ness with the bellicose period. I also associate Eastern Timbira matriline (Glossary) and patriline tribal membership (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:217) with the bellicose period because the patriline principle is consistent with succession for the Visiting Chiefs and for the two recently established Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe lines in post-pacification times [II.B.1.d.(1)].

[III.C.11]         Summary and Discussion of Canela Socioceremonial Units

The most evident social groups are the age-set moieties because they operate almost every day outside of festival situations, socialize the young boys and men of the tribe into maturity, and serve as political bases for training future leaders [III.D.1.j] and for the festival-governing Pró-khãmmã. Recruitment is by relative age, and membership comprises all men starting from childhood. According to Canela dualism, these moieties are in diametric asymmetrical opposition to each other, the Lower moiety always being ascendant over the Upper one (Figure 24).

The exogamous moieties reported by Nimuendajú (1946:79, 82) are inoperative today and Gê specialists in general believe they never existed. Apparently, Nimuendajú mistook [III.C.8.a] occasionally occurring festival matriliny, held by a limited number of families, for earlier tribal matrilineality with exogamous moieties [III.C.1].

The Regeneration (“rainy”) season moieties formerly operated on a daily basis in their season; now they are scarcely in evidence, having degenerated through internal devolution (my hypothesis) and culture contact. Their recruitment is by name-set transmission, and their membership comprises all women and men from the time they are named, which is within a few days of birth [IV.B.1.c]. According to research assistants, these moieties are in opposition with each other, alternating their traditional ascendancy and therefore their asymmetry over each other. The Regeneration moieties are the principal socioceremonial units organized along concentric principles and the only ones that include all women.

The plaza groups and the men’s societies are similar because they are (1) operative only in festivals, not in daily life, (2) characterized by name-set transmission for men and by Pró-khãmmã appointment or choice by the membership for women, and (3) arranged diametrically in oppositional moieties [V.A.5.b.(1)]. Their memberships consist of all the men of the tribe from the time they are named. Each group or society has just two women assigned to it temporarily for the course of a particular festival, except for the Otter plaza group which, prestigiously, has only one girl associate.

Plaza groups differ from men’s societies in that plaza groups face each other in the center of the plaza in equal numbers (three versus three), while men’s societies face each other at the edge of the plaza in unequal numbers (two versus one) (V.A.5.b.(1)]. Moreover, the plaza group moieties are named (Upper and Lower), while the men’s society moieties are unnamed. Each man’s name-set associates him with a certain plaza moiety and a certain men’s society, but no traditional correspondence exists between the two memberships.

There are two special social groups that complement each other: the Visiting Chiefs (Tàmhàk: King Vultures) and the Clowns (Mē?khên). These two social groups epitomize wetheaded versus dryheaded behavior: formality/informality, seriousness/jocularity, inhibited traits/gross ones, high ceremonial honor/low ceremonial values, order-followers/ individualists [III.B.1.d.(3)]. The Visiting Chiefs may number 50 and appear on only two occasions in the Pepkahàk festival. Their recruitment was traditionally from father to son, father to his brother’s son, or from father to his “brother’s” son; that is, they are “patriline”-oriented, an aspect of high status [III.C.7.a.(2)]. Whether they really are a society is questionable [III.C.6].

This patriline-oriented succession (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:99) served to keep the Visiting Chief’s succession within the same intratribal remnant, because Eastern Timbira male tribal membership passes from father-to-son (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:217). If the membership in the Visiting Chiefs were passed to a sister’s son (often the current practice), it could go to a member of another internal remnant of a formerly independent Eastern Timbira tribe.

A Visiting Chief in earlier times was the formal protector that members of tribe A had when they visited within the territory of tribe B. The Visiting Chief (a member of tribe B) was selected by tribe A when he had visited tribe A (Nimuendajú, 1946:99). Thus, when members of tribe A wanted to visit tribe B, they communicated with their Visiting Chief in tribe B to request his promise for their peaceful access, protection, and sponsorship.

The Clowns (numbering about 50) are the leading Fish festival society, performing every day during the Fish festival. They have two outrageously behaving girl associates (Plate 46b, c), who are selected by the Clown membership. The Clowns gain new members by waiting for hàmren-status individuals to join them (which is indicated by breaking a wasps’ nest in the Pepkahàk festival) or, at the beginning of the Fish festival, they simply try to capture certain hàmren individuals, who conspicuously joke or lie in daily life, hoping for their cooperation in their internment. Visiting Chief and Clown society memberships are independent of plaza group and men’s society memberships.

The Visiting Chiefs and the Clowns, both as social groups and individuals, are considerably more distinctive and dramatic than their plaza group and men’s society counterparts, and the individual behavior of the first two groups is far more likely to be carried over into daily life. The Visiting Chiefs are likely to be restrained (Plate 68c), while the Clowns may be adamantly independent [III.B.1.g.(3)] (Plate 46d). The Visiting Chief and Clown societies have lodges on the village circle in traditional locations in relation to the sun, just like plaza groups and men’s societies.

Research assistants stress that in Canela dualism, the Visiting Chief and the Clown societies are in clear opposition to each other, especially in daily living. Nevertheless, in certain festival situations (e.g., log racing) the Visiting Chiefs are paired in a complementary manner with the Pepkahàk, with the Falcons, and with the Clowns, and all four groups are paired in an oppositional manner against the few individuals who remain with the Ducks. Opposition and complementarity depend on context in festivals and on individual intention [III.B.1.d.(1),(2)] within a context in daily living.

All men are either Wetheads or Dryheads, and as such they act as individuals as much as in groups; they do not act significantly as members of moieties. Thus, I have not considered this very definite tribal male dichotomy a moiety system. Nevertheless, the men divide along these lines in the terminal phase of the Pepkahàk festival for the Wild Boar day [IV.A.3.f]. The majority of Wetheads are Visiting Chiefs, so young Canela tend to confuse the terms hàmren (wet-headedness) and Tàmhàk (Visiting Chiefs).

In Canela dualism, Wetheads and Dryheads are in opposition and represent the extremes of “high” and “low” ceremonial honor [III.B.1.g.(4)], while the Pepkahàk and the Clowns, though sometimes in opposition and sometimes in complementarity, represent intermediate positions, being somewhat high and somewhat low [III.B.1.g.(3)]. In daily life and in the context of the Fish festival, the Pró-khãmmã councilors are in opposition to the Clowns but cooperate with them, and so are similar to the Pepkahàk. Both the Pró-khãmmã and the Pepkahàk are composed of Wetheads and Dryheads. Political leaders can be either [III.D.1.i.(2)].

A “ritual” (Glossary) society is characterized by having a haakhat, which is a family- or extended family-owned right to carry out a certain traditional ritual. A haakhat (Glossary) also is a certain number of houses along the village boulevard defined by the occupation of these houses by the matrilines who own the ritual. (Young Canela confuse these two usages of the word haakhat.) Ritual societies are composed of one person or many individuals. Their festival performances may be completed in less than a minute or may take a number of days or years. Inheritance of membership is through matrilineal relationships, name-set transmission, or by a combination of these two principles [III.C.8.a]. If a family does not have the traditionally correct personnel to carry out its ritual, the right to possess this ritual may have to be transferred by the Pró-khãmmã to another family that lives in any position on the village circle.

The festival haakhat lasts “forever,” research assistants say. Such rituals are found in all the Canela festivals except the Regeneration system and the two initiation festivals (the Nkrel-re), but are most frequent and conspicuous in the Fish, Sweet Potato, Corn Harvest, and Pàlrà ceremonies: the river-oriented ceremonies, which emphasize fish, and water animal and bird representations.

Unlike the haakhat, festival “lodges” (Nimuendajú, 1946:220) [III.C.8.b] are controlled by the festival groups that use these houses for their activities. The family serves the festival groups (e.g., plaza groups, men’s societies), giving the members water and maybe food, but the family does not “own” the unit or its ceremony, as they would if it were their haakhat. If the family matriline dies out, the Pró-khãmmã appoint one of the neighboring families to continue the service. Festival lodges exist “forever” in the same locations.

In contrast to the age-set moiety system, including the institution of the two Wè?tè families [III.E.10], other moieties, groups, societies, and ceremonial memberships are quite inconspicuous and not easily recognized by the outsider. These less apparent socioceremonial units are the Regeneration (“rainy”) season moieties, plaza group moieties, men’s society moieties, Visiting Chief and Clown “societies,” Wetheads and Dryheads, and the ritual-holding families. These ritual family memberships do not form complementary or oppositional pairings [IV.A.2] in Canela dualistic conceptualization with the same facility as the other socioceremonial units, when thatched and paired by old research assistants [Pr.2].

My hypothesized evolutionary sequence of organizing principles and resulting social institutions as perceived in the data of the Canela festival system is as follows. The Regeneration moiety system seems consistent with an “early” period during which naming for both sexes was important. A “riverine” period followed, including relocation and village settlements near the banks of a river system with marshes and lakes, allowing the development of more permanence in living styles and the evolution of limited matriliny in the form of ceremonially owned family rights to perform festival acts: the haakhat. Then, in defensive response to the threats of pioneer fronts and increased intertribal warfare, the age-set moiety system evolved with its “bellicose period” of tribal membership matrilines and patrilines, intertribal Visiting Chiefs, and wetheaded status. Finally, the “post-pacification” period includes the installment in the festival system of a special peace-maintaining ceremony (a remembered event) and maybe the piecing together of the Opening Wè?tè festival, as well as the Festival of Oranges, to involve the interests and concerns of women more completely, now that warfare is lost.

[III.D] Political System

The political system is comprised of three parts (the chieftainship, the council of elders, and the judicial system), which form a relatively balanced political system. The chief is surprisingly powerful, considering the Amazonian traditions for chiefs (Kracke, 1978:2). He controls most tribal matters except where ceremonial questions are concerned, but his actions are checked by the council of elders. Members of one age-set of the council (the Pró-khãmmã) manage all ceremonial matters, but when they fail to carry out their responsibilities, the chief will assume them. Similarly, the council members manage certain political matters for weak or new chiefs.

[III.D.1] The Chieftainship

The Canela had one head chief (pa-?hi: [our[inclusive dual}]-bone: my and your [within the group being spoken to] bone: our collective strength), Kaarà?khre (Figure 18), who assumed the chieftainship in 1951. The Apanyekra, in contrast, had three chiefs in the 1960s, each for different purposes: for internal relations (Khen-yawèn, age 59 in 1970), for external relations (Teynõ, age 65 in 1970), and for festival activities (Kupaakhà, age 75 in 1970). More recently, however, the Apanyekra have had just one chief, Hà?hàt, age 40 in 1975. During Nimuendajú’s (1946:161–162) stay (1929–1936), the Canela had three chiefs.

Old Teynõ, who was considered the Apanyekra first chief by the Indian service, traveled frequently to Barra do Corda bringing back instructions and a small payment for himself. (No Apanyekra received salaries during my time (1957–1979), although six Canela received Indian service salaries [II.B.4]). The Apanyekra, however, considered old Kupaakhà as their number-one chief. When he was absent, Khen-yawên (hill whale-back-like: small whale-back hill in the savanna), the very strong second chief, governed the tribe and ran the meetings of the council of elders. He was not Kupaakhà’s assistant in the sense that he was appointed by him. He was a chief in his own right, being capable and independent, but was handicapped because he was a Kenkateye descendant [II.B.1.d.(2)] rather than an Apanyekra. He nevertheless cooperated fully with Kupaakhà. Apanyekra research assistants cited this handicap pejoratively several times, but I did not receive a satisfactory explanation concerning why being born a Kenkateye placed Kenyawên at such a disadvantage. I know he had one uterine brother among the Apanyekra but no female kin; yet he was married to my adoptive sister, Pootsen, who had numerous kin throughout the tribe.

The Apanyekra were very well governed by these three chiefs in the 1960s. There was less drunkenness and far more respect for and compliance with the tribal leadership than among the Canela. With the death of Kupaakhà of the Apanyekra in 1972, however, and the arrival of Sr. Sebastião [II.B.2.i.(4)] among the Canela, the situation reversed itself, with the Canela holding more respect for their leaders than the Apanyekra.

Traditionally a Canela or Apanyekra first chief has no insignia of rank and is addressed in no special way. Nor does he carry or sit on a special instrument of office. He is addressed and referred to through the regular relationship terms (consanguineal and affinal, Formal Friend and Informal Friend, etc.) just like any other person. He maintains his position and authority by preserving the peace, resolving problems, acting in a chiefly manner (being authoritative, haranguing followers, maintaining a “pecking order”), and by keeping many of the available initiatives for himself. Rather than facing competition directly, he is more likely to remove himself from the competition and then assert his authority in some politically viable way.

The chief is the final arbiter of interfamilial hearings. Most of these judicial matters do not reach his level, because they are usually resolved at hearings between extended families. If no resolution can be found among the various uncles of the two families, however, the case is brought before the chief in a special hearing and his word is final. He decides the case and sets the payment that must be made by the family of the injurer to the family of the injured person. The system of payments is well developed. The chief’s power extends potentially into each individual family, including the families of the members of the council of elders.

[III.D.1.a] EVIDENCE FOR STRONGER EARLIER LEADERSHIP

The chieftainship among the Canela appears to have been surprisingly strong in the past when compared to other lowland South American tribes. In most tropical forest tribes the chief rules by consensus over several disparate groups of a few hundred people at the most. Evidence now exists that Eastern Timbira tribes ranged in population size between 1000 and 1500 and, therefore, may have needed stronger leadership.

While the leadership of the Canela’s Chief Kaarà?khre was not very authoritative during most of my 22-year period, it became quite strong and effective in 1979 under the influence of a capable Indian service delegado in Barra do Corda [II.B.3.e]. He coached Chief Kaarà?khre alone in his office in Barra do Corda for great lengths of time. The ease with which the Canela adjusted to this strength was impressive. Their greater morale under stronger leadership made me think that it must have been the norm in earlier times. The sudden ascendancy and considerable political strength of Khêê-khwèy as the prophetess of the 1963 messianic movement [II.B.2.f] also suggest the easy acceptance of rigorous leadership.

Nimuendajú (1946:93) states that age-set leaders in the 1930s issued precise orders and implies that they were obeyed. (I can believe this in the context of the Pepyê festival group training I saw in 1957.)

It is they [class leaders] who actually govern the age classes, being possibly the only functionaries who literally issue orders among the Canela, a task for which they are trained from the beginning. Only they have the right to summon their class fellows, who are obliged to obey the call and may not assemble without their leaders. Anyone who has dealings with a class, including the chiefs, must turn to its mamkhyê?ti. These leaders are subject only to the council.

If age-set leaders behaved in this manner in the 1930s while in training, I believe that tribal chiefs may have behaved at least somewhat more authoritatively while leading their tribes in earlier times. Turning to symbols for what they are worth (suggestions, not proof), the Canela stress obedience (ear plugs) (Plates 24, 25) rather than haranguing (large lip plugs), and the reciprocal of strict obedience is the issuing of strong orders.

[III.D.1.a.(1)]

A number of Canela words cover broad ranges of meanings. One of these suggests aboriginal attitudes toward authority. The term hũũ pal pey (it heard/etc. well) means she or he has heard-understood-learned-obeyed-performed something. The implication may be that when a chief gives an order, his followers no sooner hear what he has said than they automatically carry it out. Semantic assumptions of this sort are dangerous to make, however, so I do not wish to stress the point. However, the terms are significant as applied to both the Canela and the Apanyekra in that they are consistent with relatively strong authority reciprocated by relatively strict obedience. Research assistants were emphatic about the instant connection between hearing and obeying implied in this expression. Even doubting the efficacy of an order is considered relative disobedience.

[III.D.1.a.(2)]

Terms for following orders appear very frequently in the Canela language. Anyone can give an order, and almost any activity seems to have been properly authorized if someone, even a person of little significance, has given an order to do it. Most orders, however, are given by leaders. A general expression is halkhwa-?khôt (word-following: following an order), and specific ones are “pa?hi khôt” (chief following), “Pa?pαm khôt” (God following), “Krôôtô khôt” (Krôôtô[a person] following), and amyi-á khôt (self-superlative following: acting under one’s own responsibility). Canela thinking is so full of such authoritative orientations that acting under some sort of order must have been very important in the past to any individual [III.B.1.k]. Acting under one’s own responsibility is possible but considered potentially dangerous, because it is associated with stinginess, self-centeredness, and antisocial shamans [IV.C.1.h].

[III.D.1.a.(3)]

The older Kaapêltùk (Figure 50)(the first chief of Baixão Prêto, 1957–1963), liked to see things run with dispatch and precision. If he ordered a youth to go and fetch a gourd rattle and deliver it to the house of a certain sing-dance master to summon him to sing for the group, he liked to see the youth begin instantly and keep up the pace until his mission was accomplished. He then wanted to see the sing-dance leader come out to the plaza without delay. The older Kaapêltùk expected constant activity [III.B.1.c.(4)] on the part of the youths. They were never to be found sitting around and thinking about things (ay-khãm pa: self-in listening). A traditional leader never allowed such introspection, the older Kaapêltùk maintained.

The older Kaapêltùk expected that in the mid-afternoon when men dressed in their Wè?tè houses to go out to race with logs [II.E.6.b.(2)], they should decorate their bodies with fresh green palm leaf strips just above their ankles and wrists, just below their knees, and around their waists. They should have a headband of similar material, neatly fashioned with some traditional front piece above the forehead. During this period of preparation, the men should not be just sitting and thinking; they should be swiftly and effectively preparing themselves and painting their bodies with charcoal if appropriate. Then when they left the house and village for the log racing site, they should move with dispatch and certainty.

During this period some leader should be urging the men (mē-hààpôl: them urge-on: encourage them) to pay attention, not to fall asleep, not to daydream, but to remain focused on their activities. This attitude reminded me of my military officer-candidate training. Canela age-set leaders were supposed to lead by example, by urging their followers on in a certain tone of voice, and by telling them repeatedly what they ideally should be doing. The older Kaapêl told me several times in the late 1950s that earlier his people were like this, and that even in his youth (the time of Nimuendajú) the young men behaved with greater dispatch [III.B.1.f.(1)]. This is the way he himself behaved [I.G.2], but few other Canela demonstrate this sort of constant presence, awareness of others, and sharp focus of attention. This kind of behavior is consistent with more authoritative leadership than the Canela or Apanyekra have today.

[III.D.1.b] CHOICE OF TRIBAL LEADER BY OUTSIDERS

The tribal chief is chosen partly for his anticipated ability to deal effectively with outsiders. In much earlier times, the principal person governing the tribe was a great warrior in his prime (hààpôl:) [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)], but around 1835 a new kind of chief was imposed upon the Canela, a man chosen and supported by local backland Brazilian authorities [II.B.1.b.(2)]. This change marked the final step in the historical tribal transformation from war-like independence to peaceful dependency [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)]. Backland community leaders would choose an outstanding tribal leader who spoke Portuguese fairly well and who could convince the tribe to comply with backlanders’ wishes. Research assistants said that in earlier times the council of elders tended to support the leader chosen by the backland authorities. These days the Indian service tends to encourage the council of elders to choose whom they want.

[III.D.1.c] ROLES OF CHIEFS

The parameters of the roles of a chief expand and contract depending on his abilities. While the roles of the elders, and especially those of the Pró-khãmmã age-set, are more prescribed by tradition, the roles of the first chief are more variable. He is expected to meet all novel situations and to improvise. Thus, the extensions and limitations of the chieftainship will vary from era to era.

[III.D.1.c.(1)]

HEAD OF COUNCIL OF ELDERS.—The chief governs the council of elders (Glossary) during the daily evening and morning meetings. His leadership is more obvious in the morning with the planning (Figure 18) and the setting of daily work assignments than with the determination of the more general and often ceremonial topics discussed at evening council meetings.

[III.D.1.c.(1).(a)]

Before such a meeting begins, the assembled members and adherents await the chief’s arrival as he slowly walks along the radial pathway from his house to the plaza. The elders sit in the center of the plaza with most of their membership facing downhill to the chief; that is, with few elders behind him except during unusually large meetings. When the chief is comfortably seated facing uphill toward the elders in the center of the plaza, he opens the meeting with significant tones, setting the formality of the meeting.

The chief usually avoids becoming involved in the debate, but he provides crucial topics and enters the discussion near its end, having heard most of the significant points of view. Then he makes his comments and gives his opinion or decision with dignity and finality. To bring about conformity with traditions, he lectures extensively [IV.A.3.f] (Figure 18). (For more descriptive information, see [II.E.5.b,8].)

[III.D.1.c(1).(b)]

The Canela and Apanyekra tend to follow the agreements made in the presence of the chief in the plaza; however, such understandings are not binding. There are no agents to enforce the chief’s orders [III.A.3.c.(3).(g),(h)]. There is, however, a special and sacred quality about decisions made in the center of the plaza at a formal meeting, which commands respect and adherence [III.B.2]. Above all else, anger or aggression [III.A.2.k] must never be expressed in this central spot. Everybody should conduct himself with calmness and impartiality. I have rarely heard anger expressed in the center of the plaza; the preferred alternative would be to walk away from the plaza, back to one’s own house [III.B.1.h.(1)].

[III.D.1.c.(1).(c)]

When the chief is not in the village or when he has not yet joined the council of elders in the plaza in the late afternoon, one of the deputy chiefs (appointed by the first chief or the Indian service) or a senior member of the council may preside. Members of the Upper age-set moiety, whose age-sets are just older and just younger than the Pró-khãmmã age-set, are not likely to take such an initiative. Among the Apanyekra the traditional dominance of one particular age-set in the council and in ceremonial life does not occur, so that such an initiative may occur.

In both tribes this leadership role of the chief or his deputy is carried out with great dignity. Archaic words are spoken in a formal tone which is heard as a very distinctive style. Today the young are not learning this ceremonial language.

Before the formal meeting begins, the Pró-khãmmã and those old enough to sit with them chat in a casual way, telling jokes or talking about the latest hunting success. When a prestigious Pró-khãmmã member, one of the deputy chiefs, some other elder, or the chief begins talking in the formal manner, the rest become quiet and listen respectfully. (This formal manner of speech is also used at interfamilial judicial hearings [III.D.3.a, b].)

[III.D.1.c.(1).(d)]

The chief plans the events of the day with the help of the council of elders and the age-set leaders in the morning meeting. This planning often includes age-set moiety hunting in two different locations, harvesting on two separate family farms, or working on two parts of an access road or on keeping open the tribal boundary vistas through the cerrado [II.B.3.f]. It may involve the decision for each man to go separately to his own family farm with his family members, or to work with them in their village houses all day, as well as several other possibilities for the tribe as a whole. For instance, they might agree to visit the houses of backland Brazilians to earn money by working for them for several days [II.B.3.j.(1)] [II.C.3.g]. Furthermore, if they are about to terminate a festival, they may decide that the tribe will disband for two or three weeks to hunt and obtain the items needed in the final festival acts [IV.A.3.b.(2)].

The chief also appoints certain women without children to accompany the work groups [II.E.5.f,6.a] [III.F.4.b.(2)] and young males to run as messengers when necessary. Through the messenger the tribe can request a backland rancher to come to the village with a certain number of cattle to sell them for a festival. Even though such messenger services are carried out on a rotating basis, it is becoming increasingly difficult to find runners who will make the trip for no immediate compensation [III.A.3.c.(3).(h),(j)][III.A.5.a].

|III.D.1.c.(2)]

AGE-SET MOIETY LEADER.—Periodically, the Indian service requires work from Canela men on the service post’s farm. Chief Kaarà?khre in Ponto and the older Kaapêltùk as chief in Baixão Prêto would make arrangements with their own age-set moieties to carry out work of this sort [Ep.3.a]. On group labor days, the Canela traditionally expect either the post personnel or a chief to furnish lunch for each worker. Thus, it is important for moiety leading chiefs to earn Indian service salaries [II.B.4] from which they can buy food for such lunches [Ep.4.b.(2)].

Such work is usually carried out in age-set moiety groups so that there could be two competing work forces. After a day’s work competing with each other to see who can do the most work, the two groups race back to the village carrying logs, continuing the traditional intermoiety competition [II.E.6.b]. Within each moiety the age-sets mix together. In the late 1950s, this arrangement required two leaders from each village. In Ponto, the younger Kaapêltùk led the Lower age-set moiety in opposition to Chief Kaara?khre’s Upper age-set moiety, and in Baixão Prêto the old Ikhè led his Upper age-set moiety in competition with the older Kaapêltùk’s Lower age-set moiety. Unfortunately, neither Ikhè nor the younger Kaapêltùk (both former Pepyê age-set commandants) were employed by the Indian service, so the source of merendas (light lunches) for their age-set moieties was always problematic. In spite of this lack of support, this system works well to supply labor for the post farms.

In the Canela village of Escalvado since 1971, the age-set moieties and their leaders clear the legal boundaries of the Canela reservation every year. These age-set moiety groups of workers also keep the roads open and in good condition (Maps 3, 7).

[III.D.1.c.(3)]

TRIBAL REPRESENTATIVE.—While the first chief’s governing of the council of elders may be his most socially visible function, his more important role is managing the tribe’s external relations: to backlanders and Indian service personnel. This duty requires daily visits to the service post, frequent trips to Barra do Corda, and possibly even travel to Brasília (formerly to Rio de Janeiro) several times a year. He may make reports for or against the local Indian service agents and school teachers, or request tribally desired goods or services. Chief Kaarà?khre has been quite successful in such missions [Ep.4.a]. For instance, in 1984 he obtained a truck from the federal Indian service personnel for his people even though he was no longer formally the chief of the tribe. Originally, the first chief was chosen by the elders and the Indian service, primarily for his ability to act as the tribal representative to various Indian service personnel [Ep.3.a] and other outside political authorities [II.B.1.b]. In the 1980s, the responsibility for selecting the first chief has shifted to the Pró-khãmmã.

The chief manages relations with neighboring backland Brazilians (Plate 72), as well as with the Indian service. Backland merchants often visit the village to sell their products (Nimuendajú, 1946:216). While the chief cannot be concerned with each visitor, he does arbitrate problems that arise from this intermittent commerce. If a Canela causes problems in the backland area (Map 3), the chief deals with backland community representatives who come to the Canela village seeking retribution; or he may go to the backland community himself to settle the issue [V.B.3].

[III.D.1.c.(3).(a)]

The Canela and Apanyekra distinguish among three kinds of outsiders that are not personnel of the Indian service. The first group consists of the backland farmers and ranchers for whom the Canela have contempt because of their general stinginess, their “small” personality traits, and their lack of gaiety and activity [III.B.1.a.(1), c.(4)]. Many of the backland families live alone by their cultivated fields and mix with others of their kind only during certain saint’s day festivals [I1.d] [II.A.3.d.(1)]. Thus, they are often sad, quiet, and gauche in social situations. The Canela used to think these people were simply “mean” and “bad” (hõõtsê). When such Brazilians visit the village, the chief has little to do with them unless he needs to buy something. The chief does, however, expect the backlanders to stay near his house, occupying some part of it, or a lean-to near by. If such a visitor is well known, he might stay with a Canela family with whom he has a special relationship, such as being a compadre. In the mid and late 1970s, such visitors stayed overnight only in a backland-style house near the post (Map 4, F).

The second group consists of Brazilian visitors from the small city of Barra do Corda, 60 kilometers to the north. These people should, after reporting their presence at the Indian service post, go straight to the chief to explain the purpose of their trip. The chief wants to know what is going on in his village; this awareness and sense of responsibility is part of his role. In the 1950s-1960s, the Barra do Corda town dwellers, however, felt they were superior to the Indians, so they usually did not pay their respects to the chief and were likely to burst into any village house at will, treating the Canela as if they were not people [I.A.1]. This sort of behavior by some Barra do Corda dwellers was particularly characteristic during the Canela’s stay in the dry forest village of Sardinha between 1963 and 1968 [II.B.2.g], when they lived only slightly more than an hour’s truck drive from Barra do Corda (Map 3).

The third group consists of visitors who come with permissions issued at the federal level, or as tourists who are guests of the Indian service or the SIL. These people come from Brasília, the big coastal cities, or even from other nations. They must see the chief to arrange for cooperation from the Indians. The chief has to accept them and treat them well because of their federal permissions. He has little choice with respect to their presence, because he is under orders from the immediate post agent, who is supported by the município, state, and federal service personnel [I.A.1]. Such visitors are, however, held in far higher esteem by the Canela and Apanyekra than individuals in the first two categories. People from the big cities who have top level permissions tend to treat the Indians with due respect and appreciation.

One of the chief’s principal roles is to gain benefits for his people from outsiders. A chief’s demands, however, are limited by the fact that the chief knows the outsider may eventually report all events to the Indian service president. The chief wants to remain in the good graces of his president, because he knows he is the greatest potential source of benefits for his people [Ep.4.a].

[III.D.1.c.(3).(b)]

A fourth category consists of Indian visitors from other tribes, such as the Krahó, Krĩkatí, and Pukobyé. The Apanyekra and Canela are familiar with each other (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:155–156), and therefore go immediately to the house of particular relatives or friends, without seeking permission from the chief. However, a representative of the visiting group would be summoned by the chief to appear before the council of elders during a morning or evening meeting to explain their presence and its duration. Members of other Gê-speaking tribes are likely to go straight to the chief and would probably stay with him unless they had worked out a “kin” relationship with some family in the village.

[III.D.1.c.(3).(c)]

The Apanyekra frequently receive other Eastern Timbira tribal members, maybe several times a year, whereas the Canela seldom do. This is partly because the Apanyekra are further west and closer geographically to the other tribes (Map 6). On the other hand, the Canela were hostile to the Apanyekra and their allies [IV.C.1.d.(1)], even as recently as the time of Nimuendajú (1946:155–156), and being a far larger group, had an attitude of self-sufficiency and superiority. While I was in Ponto in 1960, a group of Krahó passed from east to west along the Alpercatas River only 24 kilometers to our south without visiting.

[III.D.1.c.(4)]

CHIEF JUSTICE.—The first chief is also the Canela’s “chief justice.” Problems involving consanguineal extended families, if not resolved at the interfamilial level [III.D.3.a, b], come before the chief, usually on Sundays when nobody is working. It usually takes several Sunday morning meetings before a settlement is reached at such hearings (Glossary) (audiências: mē aypēn pa: they in-relation-to-each-other listen).

The chief makes his house large enough to hold such hearings (Map 4, J). Kin on both sides of the question and other interested people gather in a large room of his house or in a shed nearby—many more man at an interfamilial hearing. Kin and onlookers sit in the shade on mats, while the chief may recline in his hammock or sit on a modern chair. He calls on the accuser and the accused to speak and make their points, and then summons witnesses. The “uncles” of the parties are not as evident as at the interfamilial hearings. Although he directs the order of the proceedings, the chief says very little but listens carefully. When the chief renders his decision, it may involve a relatively large payment of shotguns, cast iron pots, or machetes from the family of the accused to that of the plaintiff. Sometimes a horse might be involved, but money is rarely a form of restitution. The principles involved are the same as for the interfamilial level [III.D.3.d], but the problem has to be a big one to arrive at the Chief’s house for settlement.

These payments are almost always made as ordered, even though the chief cannot force anyone to comply. If some family failed to make such payments, they and the individual concerned would suffer adverse public opinion and would be less favored by members of the opposite sex [III.A.3.c.(3)]. Moreover, the next time the chief had advantages to distribute, he most likely would not include the nonconformist among the recipients [III.D.1.i.(4)].

[III.D.1.d] CHIEFS AS SHAMANS

Some chiefs have been traditional shamans (Glossary) or have become involved in the use of backlander “magic.” When this is the case, greater compliance with the chiefs orders occurs for fear that he might use his special powers to enforce his pronouncements [III.A.3.c.(3).(h)]. Chief Hàktookot of me Canela, who died in 1951, was said to have been an excellent curer, or traditional shaman (Nimuendajú, 1946:237), as was one of the several chiefs during my time among the Canela and Apanyekra. A former chief of the Apanyekra, Kupaakhà, who also was a shaman (now deceased), used his power for personal advantage by making nightly rounds of the village, expecting to be fed in most of the houses. No one dared refuse him or complain about this breach of tradition [IV.D.1.e.(2)]. Research assistants said that he considered this food to be payment for his services rendered as chief, but people were feeding him out of the mild fear that he might exercise his generally social powers antisocially.

From studying Dole’s (1973) presentation of chiefs and shamans among the Kuikúru, I can state that Canela and Apanyekra chiefs are clearly more prominent and dominate their tribes far more completely than their Kuikúru counterparts do. On the other hand, Canela and Apanyekra shamans are scarcely political figures at all in the Kuikúru sense [IV.D.1.b]. In my time, none of the significant Canela and Apanyekra shamans had political stature, and the Canela and Apanyekra political leaders did not govern mainly through their shamanic abilities, if they had such powers at all. The politically successful younger Kaapêltùk has no such powers [I.G.4]. Nevertheless, certain chiefs, whose shamanic powers were only moderate, did benefit considerably from these abilities because of the mild fear that they might use them.

[III.D.1.e] RANGE OF POWERS

A chief has the support of tradition to move into any power vacuum, should he be so inclined. He should have the ability to take advantage of this tradition if he is going to be a successful, strong chief. Thus, the chief, rather than the Pró-khãmmã, is traditionally supposed to take the initiative when a situation calls for it, research assistants say. I have observed this initiative taken by both parties.

For instance in the 1970s, as the Pró-khãmmã members were becoming quite old near the end of their 20-year period of tenure, the younger first chief occasionally usurped certain of their duties concerning the governing of festivals. In 1978–1979, Chief Kaarà?khre sometimes moved around the plaza, actively telling festival performers what to do next in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepkahàk festivals, much to the annoyance of the older Krôôtô, a Pró-khãmmã, who should have been carrying out this role. However, these Pró-khãmmã members were weak, having lost much of their personal strength, and so could not offer much resistance.

On the other hand, my 1986 communications from the Canela indicate that the young new chief (in his 30s), the youngest Mĩĩkhrô (Plate 76h), is thoroughly dominated by the strong, new Pró-khãmmã in their mid-40s to mid-50s, led by the younger Kaapêltùk [Ep.3.b]. Thus, the strength and activities of the first chief vary with the abilities, attention, and concern of the Pró-khãmmã.

[III.D.1.f] OTHER POLITICAL LEADERS

There have always been several Canela and Apanyekra chiefs. Sometimes no one of them is the principal chief, and at other times one emerges as the first chief. In such a case, he may appoint deputy chiefs, or the Indian service may do this to help him. If no supreme leader emerges, “potential” leaders share the first chief’s power, and sometimes provide different services.

[III.D.1.f.(1)]

DEPUTY CHIEFS.—Among the Canela, there have usually been one or two, and sometimes three, deputy chiefs. Rõõ-re-?hô (63 in 1975) was such a deputy chief (Plate 68d) for the older Kaapêltùk in Baixão Prêto during the late 1950s, as he was for Chief Kaarà?khre in Escalvado during the mid-1970s. Although he was really self-appointed, the two village first chiefs accepted him, because he was not a political threat to them and his abilities were somewhat limited. Rõõ-re-?hô [I.G.11] acted in their place when they were absent from the plaza or the village. He had not been an age-set official in the days of his internment festival initiations [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]; rather, it was his strong ego and pride that drove him into assuming positions of leadership. Perhaps he felt he had something to live up to because he was the son of the older Mĩĩkhrô [I.G.3], the great historian of the tribe and his age-set’s file leader. But Rõõ-re-?hô’s services were useful to the chiefs he served, as he was willing to do time-consuming tasks that others would have found onerous. He was also the town crier [II.D.3.i.(4)] [II.E.8].

[III.D.1.f.(2)]

SELF-APPOINTED LEADERS.—Neither the older Kaapêltùk nor Chief Kaarà?khre appointed any of the several “potential chiefs,” as I call them, to be their deputy chief of the tribe. These potential chiefs are individuals who have led factions during schisms [II.B.2.h.(2)], and they have always been former initiation festival officials [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]. Possibly, the first chiefs made no appointments of this sort for fear the potential chiefs would assume too much authority and usurp the chieftainship. In the mid-1970s this was why Chief Kaarà?khre (as leader of the Upper age-set moiety in its 50s) did not appoint the younger Kaapêltùk to be his deputy chief. The latter was the chief’s principal rival because he had been an age-set Pepyê commandant (Glossary), as well as being the unopposed leader of the Lower age-set moiety in its 40s [Ep.3.a].

[III.D.1.f.(3)]

INDIAN SERVICE APPOINTMENTS.—In 1975 the Indian service agent, Sr. Sebastião [II.B.2.i.(4)], appointed two deputy chiefs, one from each age-set moiety: Hàktookot (age 45), from the Upper one, and Yõõkhên (Plate 73b; age 38) from the Lower one. He appointed them to help Chief Kaarà?khre and to lead their moieties as work force managers. These two deputies, however, could not maintain authority over their people. Sebastião later replaced Yõõkhên with the younger Tep-hot (age 36) [I.G.1] (Plate 70g, d), who was more able to take the initiative.

[III.D.1.g] SCHISMS

Schisms take place when potential leaders feel they want to be independent leaders themselves. When a chance appears for successfully taking a group composed of their kin, certain affines, and a number of friends to a different village location, they do so. Dissension rarely occurs within a village [III.B.1.h.(1)].

In 1955 the Canela tribe was still divided over the question of leadership succession after the old Chief Hàktookot died in 1951 [II.B.2.C]. The older Kaapêltùk (Figure 50), who had been the Lower moiety age-set commandant at the time of his final Pepyê internment in 1933 (Nimuendajú, 1946:182), and Ikhè, commandant of the next oldest Upper moiety age-set, both wanted to be chief. Though both were “potential chiefs,” neither was quick enough to head off the move made by young Kaarà?khre (Figure 18) [Ep.3.a].

[III.D.1.g.(1)]

SUCCESSION TO CHIEFTAINSHIP, 1951–1957.—Traditionally, a first chief of the Canela governs the tribe until he dies (Nimuendajú, 1946:162), and then a subtle and quiet jockeying for position among the various candidates who would like to succeed him occurs. Those who have been deputy chiefs or recognized rivals to the late chief obviously have the advantage over others. Thus, in 1951 when Chief Hàktookot (Doroteo) died, a number of possible successors existed. Kaarà?khre, who was a young deputy to the deceased chief, went to the Indian service headquarters in Rio de Janeiro and obtained a formal paper of instructions, which he claimed was his patente (commission). The tribe accepted his credential, and he was accepted as the new chief by the tribal council of elders as well as by the Indian service. (Olímpio Cruz (Figure 7) [II.B.2.b.(1)] told me that Kaarà?khre’s formal piece of paper was not a patente, but no Canela could read well enough to tell, so “what did it matter.”) Subsequently, Kaarà?khre acted as the succeeding chief of the tribe through the 1970s, even though he had considerable nonconfrontational, quiet competition from several of his rivals, mostly from the two Kaapêltùks.

[III.D.1.g.(1).(a)]

Following the death of Chief Hàktookot, a number of Canela farms were started and farm huts were built in the Baixão Prêto area because its gallery forest soils were more fertile than the depleted stream edge soils of the village of Ponto (Map 7), research assistants said. In 1955, the owners of some of these farm structures, instead of living at Ponto and in these farm huts, formed a small traditional circular village of houses near their farms and largely moved to live there.

At some time during the following two years, Ikhè became the chief of this new village in the Baixão Prêto area. As the village’s chief, it was he who adopted me into his household upon my first visit to Baixão Prêto in August 1957. A month or two later, however, the Indian service put the older Kaapêltùk in charge as first chief. They replaced Ikhè and officially recognized the new village by sending an Indian service agent, Sr. Alcibíades Costa Resplandes, with his family from the backland community of Jenipapo do Resplandes (Map 3), to build a post house (Plate 11b) and live there. Thus a struggle for the loyalties of all tribesmen began to take place between the two first chiefs, each in his own village about 6 kilometers apart: about 265 persons in Ponto and 145 in Baixão Prêto.

FIGURE 18.—Chief Kaarà?khre, age 49, lecturing his people in the plaza during a morning council meeting. (Escalvado 1970)

[III.D.1.g.(1).(b)]

In my judgment, the older Kaapêltùk (Plate 70b) was somewhat restrictive and severe so that he was not as well liked as the more easy-going Kaarà?khre (Plate 75c). For this reason, some families drifted from Baixão Prêto back to Ponto in the late 1950s and early 1960s. At the time of the tribe’s exile to Sardinha (Map 3) in 1963, the older Kaapêltùk still managed to retain a few families to live with him in Baixão dos Peixes (Map 3) instead of Sardinha. Thus, the schism was continued for the duration of the 5-year stay in the dry forests [II.B.2.g] and was terminated by the founding of the present village in the Escalvado area in 1969.

The period of the schism was notable for the intensity of the negative rumors (tswa ?nã: sharpened/biting state) [III.A.3.c.(3).(e)] which spread between the two villages, vilifying both chiefs and certain of their adherents. In the 1970s, the Canela referred to this unpleasant period as the time of me “bad talk” (halkhwa ?kên: speech bad) and gave this misery as the reason why no further schisms should ever take place. The elders did not meet daily to terminate such talk, they said.

[III.D.1.g.(1).(c)]

The splitting of this tribe in 1955 into the villages of Baixão Prêto (Map 3) and the new and smaller Ponto (initiated in 1955 and established in 1957) was a direct result of competition for tribal leadership [III.D.1.g.(1).(a)]. No Canela in the late 1950s, however, could verbalize this cause. I was given various other reasons for the divisive founding and maintaining of Baixão Prêto, but never succession to the chieftainship or the leadership ambitions of individuals [III.B.1.g.(1)]. Presumably, such motivation was unspeakable if not unthinkable for my research assistants, including the older Mĩĩkhrô, the sophisticated age-set leader and cultural “librarian” [I.G.3] in his early 80s.

This apparent inability for overt expression of competition reminds me of my work with the “broad” term “listen-hear-understand-know-respond-obey-perform” (-pal-pal) [III.D.1.a.(1)] [V.B]. To doubt a chief’s order, even without voicing the “challenge,” was equivalent to disobeying it, though individuals nevertheless did do this in certain circumstances, research assistants admitted. Thus, they could not easily say openly that Ikhè or the older Kaapêltùk were acting against Chief Kaarà?khre and the existing social order because such behavior would constitute significant psychological confusion and emotional betrayal of the highest ultimate Canela value: maintaining the peace [III.B.1.h.(1)] [III.D.3.e.(1)].

Thus, according to my assessment, three factors contributed to the schism: (1) succession to the chieftainship; (2) ambitions with respect to personal power on the part of former age-set initiation festival officials; and (3) the strengthening of the schism by the formal recognition of Baixão Prêto as a village, not just a farm settlement, by the Indian service. A fourth factor, according to the research assistants, was (4) the attraction of the far better soil in the Baixão Prêto area. Gross’s analysis of village movements of the Canela and three other tribes in relation to their available resources should be considered in the context of these factors contributing to schisms (Gross, 1983:436–439).

[III.D.1.g.(2)]

SEPARATIST MOVEMENTS, 1963–1968.—In 1964, not long after the 1963 Canela exile to Sardinha about 45 kilometers away (Map 3) following the attack on their messianic movement [II.B.2.f.(3)], some Canela families began filtering back from Sardinha into a relatively hidden region (Campestre) (Map 3) in the cerrado homelands. By 1966 other groups had returned to the cerrado, and by 1968 four well-established settlements existed in different parts of the cerrado, each with its own chief: Ache in the Campestre, the older Kaapêltùk in the Baixão Prêto area, the older Krôôtô near old Ponto, and Chief Kaarà?khre at Escalvado. All of these potential chiefs had actually tried to form separate villages before, some of them in the same areas. The older Krôôtô (Plate 77d) had not been an age-set commandant (Glossary) or an age-set file leader, but he had been a messenger boy (Glossary), because he was one of the youngest when his age-set was formed. The position of messenger boy is one of significance and recognition, if not leadership [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]. There would have been still another separate settlement if the younger Kaapêltùk had succeeded in staying in Sardinha on the Guajajara Indian reservation with a large agriculturally oriented group of adherents [II.B.2.g.(5), h.(2)].

[III.D.1.g.(3)]

REUNIFICATION, 1968.—To terminate these separatist movements, Chief Kaarà?khre put on a Khêêtúwayê festival at Escalvado in 1968, summoning the whole tribe to attend and inviting everybody to participate by placing their daughters and sons in this initiation festival. In the Khêêtúwayê, twelve positions for girls as associates of the Plaza groups exist, as well as two positions for associates of the novices.

This is why the Canela came together in Escalvado: they did not want their daughters or sons to miss the chance of being properly initiated: girls winning their belts and boys being introduced into an age-set. After the long four-month period of the festival, most Canela stayed in the Escalvado area and formed a new and much larger village in 1969, reuniting the tribe for the first time since 1955. Chief Kaarà?khre had demonstrated his great, behind-the-scenes leadership ability through the initiative he took in putting on the initiation festival in his settlement. Once together, temporarily, just for the festival, the potential leaders and their families forgot their rumored differences, or their unvoiced ambitions, in favor of a better future for their children [III.b.1.i.(2)]. That Kaarà?khre’s wife is a member of the longest longhouse [III.E.2.e.(2)] (Figure 24) surely helped end the schism.

The rivalry over the chieftainship, muted though it was, had ended, never to arise again among this set of potential chiefs. Ikhè died in the early 1970s, and the older Krôôtô and the older Kaapêltùk were in their 60s and 70s, respectively, in 1979, too old to compete for the leadership any more.

[III.D.1.h] SUCCESSION

Pursuit of the tribal leadership among the Canela is subdued, to say the least. No one admits he wants to be the leader or that any one of the quasipolitical steps he is taking is being carried out with that purpose in mind [III.B.1.g.(1), k.(3)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:162). Political succession is not a matter of general interest to the Canela. To my knowledge there are no myths or stories on this topic. Canela research assistants say that the chieftainship is passed on to a son, sister’s son, or “sister’s” son of the chief who has just died, always a male. The tribal council and outside regional “authorities” (autoridades) both play crucial roles. Since about 1835, outside regional leaders or the Indian service have played important roles in choosing chiefs, and the tribal council has tended to accept the outside selection [II.B.1.b]. As recently as 1957, the Indian service directly installed the older Kaapêltùk as first chief of Baixão Prêto, and the Canela simply accepted this as part of the existing “tradition” and chain of command. The council’s alternative is to choose a second chief for internal purposes, as was done by the Apanyekra during the 1950s and 1960s [III.D.1].

In the late 1970s, Chief Kaarà?khre stated several times that his son, Kaprêêprêk would succeed him, and Kaprêêprêk did so in about 1981 but soon lost the position [Ep.2]. In 1935, Chief Hàktookot succeeded Ropkhà, his older brother (Nimuendajú, 1946:162) who had died of small pox. Leadership ability is a more significant factor than kinship in helping the Pró-khãmmã determine who becomes first chief, though “blood” is always a factor in who can develop a political following [Ep.]. Chief Kaarà?khre is not related to Chief Hàktookot whom he succeeded in 1951. With Hàktookot’s death the chiefly presence, which enables the development of a small but noticeable degree of elitism, passed from one longhouse to another (from matrilines in house ZZ to those in MM, Figure 24).

The younger Kaapêltùk, my special interpreter-assistant [I.G.4], never admitted (even in our most private and personal discussions) that his ambition was to succeed Kaarà?khre as tribal chief. I think that he wanted this more man anything else, but for several reasons he did not attain the position in the 1970s.[10] First, the younger Kaapêltùk was too strong and capable a political rival to Chief Kaarà?khre in the 1970s in the same way that his name-giver, the older Kaapêltùk, had been a rival in the 1950s and 1960s. I believe that the younger Kaapêltùk’s ascendancy to chieftainship would have caused another schism. Villagers still remembered the tribal rift of the mid-1950s and 1960s and its damage in terms of harmful rumors between the two villages. Nobody wanted to suffer these painful experiences again.

Chief Kaarà?khre gained considerable political strength while the Indian service official (delegado) of 1978–1980 was in power in Barra do Corda [II.B.3.e]. Consequently, the position of the younger Kaapêltùk was subordinated. The delegado had long talks with these two political rivals and put them in their respective political places according to Canela tradition: Kaarà?khre as first chief and Kaapêl as future head of the Pró-khãmmã.

Moreover, the well-built Indian service post buildings, standing next to the village of Escalvado, were permanent and offered too many excellent and needed services (especially medical and educational ones) for potential Canela splinter groups to consider separatism. By the late 1970s, the Canela greatly appreciated the Indian service’s support [II.B.2.i.(2)] (Figure 1; Plates 5b, 11).

[III.D.1.i] CHIEFLY CHARACTERISTICS

While chiefly characteristics vary from individual to individual, there are nevertheless some common denominators. It helps to be well liked, respected, trusted, and remembered for service to the community. A strong first chief maintains a tie of small personal debt (material in nature or from favors rendered) with each individual regardless of moiety or society affiliation. In theory, the chieftainship transcends any socioceremonial division, although kinship (the chiefs and his wife’s), achieved leadership positions, and age-set support facilitate the maintenance of the first chief’s authority. Individuals tend to support their kin and the leaders of the groups they have belonged to whom they have liked. Thus, leadership is both inherited and achieved, and is maintained partly through personal ties and through style of personal behavior. A respected chief behaves with a certain degree of self-confidence and command but never too much [III.B.1.g.(1)], and he provides the ultimate peace-keeping services through his governing of the council of elders and his settling of interfamilial problems as chief justice [III.D.1.c.(4)].

[III.D.1.i.(1)]

In festivals, political leaders follow their troops, as in the Pepyê festival where the commandant marches along side or behind his troop of novices instead of being out in front of them [II.D.3.d] [IV.A.3.c.(2)]. This is one of the training positions from which prospective chiefs emerge: the mē-?kapõn-katê (them-sweep-master, the one who sweeps or dusts them off). There is nothing very war-like about this title. The semantics of the expression suggest that he takes care of them and develops them. Thus, a political chief of the tribe (pa?hi)—in contrast to sing-dance masters, ceremonial leaders in general (mē hõõpa?hi) [II.D.3.i.(2).(b)], and war leaders—symbolically moves behind the people he is governing, not in front of them. This difference is very important. He must watch over them, look out for them, urge them on, think for them, give orders to them, and finally judge them in many matters.

In contrast, sing-dance masters (mē nkrel-katê) [II.F.1.a] either dance facing their group in the plaza, or lead the way for their group as they go around the boulevard. The age-set “class leader” (mamkhyê-?ti; Nimuendajú, 1946:93, 172), whom I call a “file leader” (Glossary), leads in the Pepyê festival by marching at the head of the long file of Pepyê novices. He is a ceremonial leader [III.C.7.a] rather than a political one, so he must be less direct, having more “shame” [III.A.3.c.(3).(a)].

A war leader (hààpôl:) [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)] is said to have led the way into battle, stalking through the countryside ahead of his file of men, and to have “governed” (governado) his tribe in times of peace. Still earlier in their history but before war became prominent, Canela group leaders are said to have been those who were more able and enthusiastic than other members of the group. Thus, the leader quite naturally gained the greatest esteem of his people but did not really govern them. Research assistants compared the similarity of such a leadership style to that of the foremost coatimundo (wakhõõ). This animal moves at the head of his pack, providing no more leadership man his own example.

[III.D.1.i.(2)]

Nimuendajú (1946:97) thought that the political leader of the tribe was necessarily hàmren (wetheaded) in status, probably because the principal chief of his time happened to be hàmren (Glossary). Actually, the political chief of the Canela is most properly not wetheaded at all. This ceremonial rank and human quality is not inherent in the office of the chieftainship. There is a distinction between political leadership (non-hàmren) and ceremonial leadership (hàmren). The chief of the tribe has most correctly been the deputy commandant and then the final commandant of his graduating Pepyê festival age-set, and therefore the leader of his age-set for life; but commandants of age-sets are political leaders and not hàmren in status in their own right.

In contrast, age-set file leaders are inherently hàmren but nevertheless may become political chiefs of the tribe. These file leaders have been given their positions by appointment by the Pró-khãmmã in one of the earlier initiation festival internments. They are thereby hàmren in status merely from having occupied this position. If an age-set file leader later becomes a politically viable person, he may be taken on by the principal chief as a subordinate chief and helper: a deputy chief. Then, when the principal chief dies, this young hàmren age-set file leader is an obvious candidate to succeed the old chief. Chief Kaarà?khre of Escalvado followed this route to power. He was a Pepyê age-set file leader, who was taken by the old chief Hàktookot as his deputy and assistant, so that he knew how to run the tribe. When Hàktookot died in 1951, Kaarà?khre knew what to do and Consequently succeeded him as first chief. However, a Pepyê file leader competes quietly over a lifetime with his Pepyê age-set’s commandant for the eventual leadership of his age-set and maybe the tribe.

As in the case of old Chief Hàktookot, three male roles were combined into one for Chief Kaarà?khre, and all three contributed to his political strength as chief of the tribe. Not only was he the political chief, he was also high in ceremonial prestige due to his being hàmren. Moreover, people were somewhat afraid of him because he was a weak kay (shaman), but a “good” one, not an antisocial one.

[III.D.1.i.(3)]

There can be no cult of personality among the Canela chiefs, deputy chiefs, and aspirants to the chieftainship. They cannot appear to be greater than others [III.B.1.g.(1)]. They wear no special clothing, nor do they carry distinctive staffs or weapons. However, they are usually employed by the Indian service [II.B.4] and can provide lunches and work for their people on special occasions [III.D.1.c.(2)]. This advantage has not been necessary to being a good chief, although it is becoming so these days [Ep.4.a]. They sometimes build larger houses but so do some of the fathers of the Wè?tè girls [II.D.3.i.(2)]. The size of the house depends partly on the need for community service and partly on the owner’s need for social or political prestige.

[III.D.1.i.(4)]

A Canela chief cannot become a dictator because the council of elders would not follow him and the spirit of individuality epitomized in the Clown society could not be suppressed (Plate 46d) [III.B.1.d.(3)]. However, a chief can exert a considerable amount of authority. This power was probably stronger and carried out more directly in earlier times [III.D.1.a]. These days a chief has to exert his control over situations and individuals far more indirectly [Ep.4.b.(2)].

The political practice of using indirect techniques for individual rewards and punishments becomes evident even though the Canela will not talk about their tactics. They are afraid to do so. The effective rumor network rapidly spreads almost anything political anyone says [III.A.3.c.(3).(e)] to everyone else. I was careful not to talk about the political activities of individuals in my research assistant council. When I did ask questions about such matters with individual research assistants, I felt I had to be concerned about others overhearing what we were saying (such as unseen little boys beyond the thatched wall) and about what my research assistant would say to others about my perceived preference for one or another political leader.

Political power and efforts to exert indirect control over others are certainly the most secretly held information among the Canela. I have pondered the question of how much of such behavior (both initiatives and responses) is consciously planned. I suspect that a relatively large proportion of such behavior is unconscious, unplanned, and spontaneous at the interpersonal level but that it is quite well thought out, deliberate, and strongly motivated at the long term societal level.

[III.D.1.j] BASES OF POLITICAL POWER

A leader of one of the smaller uxorilocal Amazonian societies often builds his principal political base of power on his domestic group or cluster [II.D.3.h.(2)] (Kracke, 1978:35–37). He has his sons-in-law in his group because of the society’s uxorilocal structure, and their support is effective depending partly on how many years tradition requires them to stay with him. A leader may be able to keep his married sons in his domestic cluster as well, depending on tradition. Additionally, more distantly related, or even nonrelated, adherents may join a strong leader’s domestic faction. Among the Canela, the principle of uxorilocality is strong, and the position of a family’s matrilines on the village circle is almost equally binding [III.E.2.e]. Exceptions to these two principles exist, but individuals give compelling reasons for their family’s variation in every case, which are not arbitrary. Thus, within the Canela village, longhouses [III.E.2.e.(2)] do not form the principal base for building political power, although some power does come from the unity and influence of the leader’s female kin and his wife’s female kin.

Like everything else in the Canela world, the sources of power are divided and many, as Da Matta (1982) points out for the Apinayé in the title of his book. Probably, a leader’s strongest political base, however, comes from his leadership of an age-set (Glossary), whether or not he has survived politically after being its graduating file leader or its graduating commandant [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]. Nevertheless, it takes significant individual leadership ability to become an official of a graduating Pepyê festival age-set [II.D.3.i.(3)], as well as great political competence to survive and eventually become the first chief [III.D.1.f.(2)]. Thus, the leader’s personal qualities and abilities are ultimately very important, but so are his kinship ties and his wife’s kinship ties as well.

Chief Kaarà?khre’s natal kin are few (Figure 24, house P), but his life-long wife is a member of the longest longhouse in the village (Figure 23, houses BB-NN). The older Kaapêltùk’s [I.G.2] natal kin are similarly limited to one house (V), and the longhouse he married into is only moderate in size (M-O). The younger Kaapêltùk’s [I.G.4] natal kin live in me second longest longhouse (TT-ZZ), and he married into the longest one (BB-NN). Thus, on the basis of blood and affinal ties alone, he should be the strongest leader. However, his becoming commandant of his graduating Pepyê age-set, followed by his continuous leadership of the Lower age-set moiety from 1957 onward [Ep.4.b.(1)], provides me with the most compelling reason for his current ascendancy. His name-set transmission ceremonial positions have next to nothing to do with his ascendancy. However, other reasons exist such as his long term advocacy of backland ways, seen in his emphasis on agriculture, folk Catholicism, and commercial trade [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)]. He also has a current program for his people. Furthermore, his personality and ceremonial status, carried over into daily living, contribute significantly to his present status [Ep.4.b.(2).(a)].

Similarities to the characteristic power base resting on domestic clusters mentioned by Kracke (1978:194) do not appear within the Canela village [III.B.1.h.(1)] and its sacred plaza [III.D.1.c.(1).(b)] but do become evident outside the village in its farm communities, which have grown numerous in the 1980s (Map 3). Each community with significant numbers constitutes the base for the source of power of a potential chief [III.D.1.g] or an ex-chief. Note that ex-Chief Kaarà?khre resides far to the west in the Two Rivers area while the younger Kaapêltùk has the largest community and is putting in the biggest agricultural fields in the newly opened Pak-re area, the furthest one to the east. The older Kaapêltùk is too old to compete.

[III.D.2] Council of Elders

The council of elders (Glossary) is the group of mature men who meet in the plaza regularly to discuss matters of the tribe. Today, this group consists of two to three age-sets as well as men who attend on their own from older and younger age-sets. In the late 1950s, the membership was narrower, including considerably fewer men and age-sets. In Ponto and Baixão Prêto of the Canela, not more than 24 and 12 men, respectively, formed the council, while in Aguas Claras (Map 8) of the Apanyekra, less than six very old men met in me center of the plaza to debate matters. The Canela-Apanyekra contrast was notable.

[III.D.2.a] MEETINGS

Meetings held by the council of elders, whether in the evening or in the morning, have the same form. Generally the morning meetings [II.E.5.b] (Figure 18) are devoted to planning what is going to be done during the day (e.g., group work or group hunting, or individual farm work and individual hunting), while the evening meetings [II.E.3.a] are left open to debate more serious topics and to plan festival activities.

In both cases, members of the age-sets are likely to have gathered before the meeting in their traditional locations at the edge of the plaza (Nimuendajú, 1946:91) (Figure 24). The Pró-khãmmã [III.D.2.b] is the first age-set to start the move toward the center of the plaza. If the chief wants to hurry the process, he might move to the center of the plaza, with the governing Pró-khãmmã joining him almost immediately. Then, the members of the other age-sets that also comprise the council of elders, depending on what part of their 20-year cycle (earlier or later) the Pró-khãmmã age-set is in, move in to surround them.

This movement into the center of the plaza is not likely to be seen by the observer as a movement of age-sets as units, but rather as individuals drifting in at different times from their age-set’s edge-of-plaza locations (Plate 40f). These movements are likely to be deliberate and hurried in the morning and more casual in the evening.

Once in the center of the plaza, the membership may chat informally for half an hour or more, especially if me chief is not present or if he does not choose to begin a formal meeting right away. Informal Friends might amuse each other by trying to throw sand in each other’s eyes, catching the other person off guard. When there are very few older men in the village, these meetings may commence even more informally. The men may forego meeting in groups on the edge of the plaza and just go to the plaza’s center immediately.

[III.D.2.a.(1)]

Sometimes the informal banter takes the form of swift but light exchanges, and at other times an individual tells a long story with everybody listening attentively. A favorite topic among men is hunting, and they go into the smallest details about the tracking, stalking, shooting, and finally, finding the wounded game and bringing it home.

A favorite informal topic is the latest difficulty or indignity suffered at the hands of some backlander. In the late 1950s the Canela liked to hear and speak evil of backlanders [II.B.2.e]. This enabled them to feel better about themselves [II.B.2.a]. Stories about backlanders included drunken brawls, killings, wife beatings, child harassment, and stinginess with respect to money and the care of old relatives [III.B.1.a.(1), b.(1)]. In the late 1970s there was less of this kind of talk, probably because there was a much better understanding of the Brazilian world and the interior backland culture [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)]. Moreover, the Canela lands had been demarcated, so encroachment on Canela land by the backlander was no longer to be feared [II.B.3.f] (Map 3).

The informal part of a council meeting is often devoted to investigating rumors: virginities lost, affairs, etc. Such stories come into existence every day and might be called the “spice” of Canela life. We have seen how the fear of negative rumors against oneself is a powerful force toward social conformity [III.A.3.c.(3).(e)]. Rumors may be discussed even in the formal part of the council meeting if they are sufficiently serious; such as the first report of a young man trying to leave his wife and child, or of cattle breaking into a farm, or a Canela being knifed while out in the world. Questions are then asked of relatives of the principals in the rumor and further facts are sought. The investigation usually leads to neutralization of the rumors [III.D.2.d.(1).(a),(b)].

[III.D.2.a.(2)]

When the chief, or the leading person present, feels it is time to proceed with the business of the meeting, he begins to talk in the old formal style of interfamilial judicial hearings [III.D.3.a] and council meetings. In ancient times, this formal style was almost a different language and was used more extensively in plaza meetings and judicial hearings, but little is remembered these days, except by certain specialists [I.G.5]. At this point, side discussions stop, and full attention is paid to the speaker.

The order in which speakers address the council is significant, because it is an indication of their individual political importance. In the 1970s, after Chief Kaarà?khre, Rõõ-re-?hô (as deputy chief) often spoke first. When Kaarà?khre was absent, the older Kaapêltùk sometimes spoke first although he was seldom present [Ep.3.a], and then Rôô-re-?hô followed. In any sequence of this sort, the older Krôôtô was at least third or fourth, followed by the younger Mĩĩkhrô, a direct descendant of the late Chief Hàktookot. These persons are all Pró-khãmmã, except for Chief Kaarà?khre.

The length of each speech (3 to 10 minutes) is not as significant as its order, but after about the fourth or fifth discourse, the order no longer counts. The order is an informal matter (personally enforced by strength of personality each time) rather than a precise protocol.

After about 30 or 45 minutes, or even 90 minutes for difficult questions, the leader of the meeting begins to summarize the events and may pronounce some conclusions [III.D.1.c.(1).(a)]. Next, the terminal call, which rises slowly for about 4 seconds and then descends sharply for about 2 seconds, is voiced by all in unison. This call, a symbol of agreement, changes in form depending on whether the Wè?tè season is in session or not. In the latter case, the Clowns lead the terminal cry in a humorous, indecorous manner. Finally the town crier [II.D.3.i.(4)] sings out the news of the meeting for all the villagers to hear [II.E.8]. Some council members linger on in the plaza for more informal chatter, but others hurry home to their families. Soon the center of the plaza must be cleared so the evening sing-dance can take place.

[III.D.2.b] PRÓ-KHÃMMÃ AGE-SET

The Lower moiety age-set whose members average 45 to 65 years old, depending on the part of their cycle they are in, is always called the Pró-khãmmã among the Canela. These men dominate the council of elders for about 20 years.

[III.D.2.b.(1)]

As described in “Socioceremonial Units” [III.C], young Canela boys are formed into an age-set about every 10 years by being processed through four or five Nkrel-re (Glossary) initiation festival ceremonies over the 10-year span [IV.A.3.c.(1).(a)]. Individuals live as members of this age-set for the rest of their lives, only rarely changing the membership to one of the other moiety’s age-sets. Only the name, such as Kukhoy-khãm (monkey-in) or Pró-khãmmã (ashes-in), of an age-set changes [III.C.3.c] (Nimuendajú, 1946:90–91). If one just-graduated age-set belongs to the Lower age-set moiety, then the next one processed about 10 years later belongs to the Upper age-set moiety, and so on [III.C.3.a]. Every Lower moiety age-set eventually becomes the Pró-khãmmã when these men are in their middle to late 40s [III.C.3.b]. They tend to control the council of elders right from the start of their entry into this new position and for about 20 years thereafter [III.D.1.g.(1).(a),(b)] [Ep.3.a]. Members of the Upper moiety age-set never become the Pró-khãmmã and are never dominant in the council of elders, although they speak up as individuals and sit with the Pró-khãmmã in the council of elders.

[III.D.2.b.(2)]

When a younger Lower age-set, whose members are in their 40s, takes over from an older one, whose members by this time are in their 60s, the remaining members of this older and now retired Lower age-set continue to remain in the council of elders and help their younger moiety colleagues: their mēi yapal-re (our nephews). The reciprocal of this expression is mēi pa-?turn (our arms-experienced: our experienced supporters). (The term i?tum means “it dirtied,” “used,” “old,” “experienced,” and “ex-” in the sense of “former” as in ex-Wè?tè girl: Wè?tè-?tum.)

The council of elders at the time of the entry of a new Pró-khãmmã age-set is composed of two Lower moiety age-sets with one Upper moiety age-set between them. To the extent that there are survivors from the oldest Upper moiety age-set in their late 70s or early 80s, members of two Upper moiety age-sets also sit in the council of elders. Ten years later, the situation is reversed: a new Upper moiety age-set enters the council of elders and the older Lower moiety age-set has died or become ineffective through age.

Considering the newness of their membership and their junior status, the younger Upper moiety members say very little at council meetings, but 10 years later when they are in the central position between two Lower age-sets, they may speak out frequently as individuals, though they are not in a dominating position because they are never the Pró-khãmmã. These in-between Upper moiety members enter the discussions fully, especially when the matter in question has something to do with one of their relatives [III.D.2.d.(1)].

[III.D.2.b.(3)]

When I first arrived in 1957, the Pró-khãmmã members sitting in the plaza in the Ponto village were the age-set of the older Mĩĩkhrô (late 50s to mid 60s). (See Nimuendajú, 1946:91 “rópkama (1913).”) To me, they were a truly noble group [III.B.1.f.(4)], walking to the plaza with great dignity and reigning with impressive equanimity and calm [II.B.2.g.(8).(a)]. They seemed to possess a high degree of impartiality and good will [I.G.2].

When I returned in 1963 just after the messianic movement to find the Canela in the dry forest village of Sardinha, the old Pró-khãmmã had given way to the new Pró-khãmmã of the age and age-set of the older Kaapêltùk (early 40s to early 50s) (Figure 24). (See Nimuendajú, 1946:91 “põhμtíkama (1933).”) This new Pró-khãmmã seemed to lack the peace and calm of the earlier group but was more familiar with the ways of the backlanders. I sensed more generalized hostility in their personalities. The members of this age-set were the novices in the 1933 graduating Pepyê festival in which the older Kaapêltùk was outstanding for his remarkable performances and leadership abilities (Nimuendajú, 1946:182).

From correspondence, I understand that in the early 1980s the members of the Lower age-set of the younger Kaapêltùk took their turn as the Pró-khãmmã. They were then (ca. 1981) in their early 40s to early 50s. This turnover was very much to be expected because during my last visit in 1979 the Pró-khãmmã members who had not yet died were already very ineffective [III.D.1.c] (Figure 19).

In fact, the old Pró-khãmmã of the late 1970s were so weak that a number of their roles were being assumed by the strengthened chief, Kaarà?khre [III.D.1.e]. Under the leadership of the younger Kaapêl, however, who can read, write, translate, and speak Portuguese very well, this new Pró-khãmmã should be able to introduce a number of important innovations toward closer cooperation with the Indian service and the backlanders. For example, the Canela might possibly undertake some form of intensive agriculture to support their growing population in the face of the diminishing fertility of the local gallery forests of the reservation [Ep.7].

[III.D.2.b.(4)]

Because of the cyclic patterns in Pró-khãmmã leadership, change among the Canela takes place in steps, rather than at an even rate. Change accelerates just after new age-sets of Pró-khãmmã have assumed control (approximately: 1923, 1941, 1961, and 1981) (Nimuendajú, 1946:91). It also accelerates just after the death of strong chiefs (e.g., Ropkhà, 1935; and Hàktookot, 1951 [II.B.2.c]).

[III.D.2.b.(5)]

Many members of the Lower age-set moiety, when they have become a member of the Pró-khãmmã, seem to walk with more dignity and self-assurance than do members of the Upper age-set moiety, even if the latter are members of the council of elders. Even though only Lower moiety members can look forward to being Pró-khãmmã as they grow older, I have never heard of Upper moiety members making complaints against Lower moiety members because of this difference.

This asymmetry is a necessary part of the effective operation of a major Canela sociocultural system. It is important for peace and tranquillity in the tribe, especially in this moiety system which operates on a daily basis. Tradition gives one moiety permanent and operative ascendancy over the other (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:79), reducing the competition between the two. The age-set moieties reflect this competitive relationship, however, in their references to each other as mēi katêyê (our opposition-people/masters). (The expression -katêyê is also used for enemy tribes.) An older opposing age-set is referred to as, mēi hàà-yê (our older-brother honorific-plural) and a younger opposing age-set is referred to as, mēi yõ?hêw-yê (our younger-brother honorific-plural). This distinction between “older brother” and “younger brother” is a traditional mark of respect and authority, which they still carry out in address these days but not in behavior. It is notable that in this context older and younger brothers are more socially distant from each other than an uncle is from a nephew (Table 11).

[III.D.2.b.(6)]

The identity of the formal leader of the Pró-khãmmã remained a mystery for most of the time during my visits with the Canela. If a formal leader existed at all, he was never evident nor spoken about.

During the late 1950s no one was identified as leader of the Pró-khãmmã in Ponto village, and in Baixão Prêto the older Kaapêltùk so thoroughly exercised his power as village chief that none of the few Pró-khãmmã there assumed this position of leadership. In the mid-1960s, the older Kaapêltùk became a Pró-khãmmã but had his own village in Baixão dos Peixes apart from the principal population of the tribe in Sardinha. As the former final Pepyê festival commandant of his age-set, however, he would have been the leader of the Pró-khãmmã in Sardinha if he had been living there.

In the village of Escalvado during the 1970s, the same older Kaapêltùk had rejoined the main body of the Canela tribe together with his few remaining political adherents, kin, and affines. Sometimes he led the evening council meetings but only when Chief Kaarà?khre was absent. His intermittent ascendancy among the Pró-khãmmã seemed natural enough, for he had the personality of a chiefly individual who would always assume responsibility whenever he could. However, no one identified him as the leader of the Pró-khãmmã.

From my 1984 communications, the younger Kaapêltùk sees himself as the leader of the new Pró-khãmmã. This ascendancy is the outcome of his original role as final commandant of his Pepyê age-set at the time of their graduating festival in 1951. He refers to himself as the mē-?kapõn-katê (“commandant” in Nimuendajú, 1946:182) of the new and current Pró-khãmmã, which is the same expression used for the person who is the commandant of the novices.

Thus, it appears that the Pró-khãmmã have a formally recognized leader to the extent that the earlier Pepyê commandant-leader survives and is able to maintain his personal and political leadership. While the older Kaapêltùk did not succeed in retaining his leadership, the younger Kaapêltùk has done well so far. This flexibility and subtlety of the Canela system in providing, withdrawing, but retaining crucial leadership roles is typical, and is one of the most important factors contributing to their ability to adjust and survive.

Research assistants referred to the age-set of the Pró-khãmmã in power in the late 1950s as the older Mĩĩkhrô’s age-set, and they said that Mĩĩkhrô was the file leader [III.D.1.i.(1)] of his graduating Pepyê age-set. Whether this would make him the “commandant” of the Pró-khãmmã later on if its final Pepyê “commandant” did not survive politically or otherwise, I do not know. In any case, there appears to be at least two obvious spring-boards for reaching the political heights, Whether the chieftainship or the Pró-khãmmã: being assigned either the position of the commandant or that of the file leader of an age-set’s final Pepyê festival performance [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)].

[III.D.2.b.(7)]

The Apanyekra do not use the expression “Pró-khãmmã” to represent their corresponding Lower moiety age-set, or any age-set. When asked about this, they give the term me-?khà (elders), in its place, which the Canela also use in a similar way [II.D.3.J] but not as the name of an age-set. They use it to describe people of age and strength, people who have become strong and resistant because they have survived beyond about 55 years of age (Table 9).

While the Apanyekra have the same expressions for their age-set moieties, namely, Khèy-katêyê (Upper opposing-people) and Harãy-?katêyê (Lower opposing-people), they do not have the asymmetry in power relationships between the age-sets in their council of elders. They form this body the same way the Canela do, namely, through Nkrel-re (Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê) initiation festivals over a period of approximately 10 years, but their me?khà are composed of either moiety, and the distinction between the me?khà and the council of elders is not clearly made. Moreover, the Apanyekra performance of these festivals has been quite irregular for at least the last two or three decades, so a direct relationship between graduated age-sets and their me?khà may not exist.

It is clear that the Apanyekra have lost much more of their festival system than the Canela, and that they are less concerned about maintaining and practicing it. I have seen two Apanyekra Pepyê festivals (1958 and 1975) (Plates 36c, d, 31 b, c) and one of their Khêêtúwayê festivals (1966).

[III.D.2.c] ROLES OF THE PRÓ-KHÃMMÃ AGE-SET

Sometimes it is hard to distinguish the roles of the Pró-khãmmã from those of the council of elders as a whole. The individuals who comprise the Pró-khãmmã age-set sit among the elders in general, and no formal distinction is made between them in the plaza. However, the Prókhãmmã do sit separately as an age-set on the southwestern edge of the plaza (Nimuendajú, 1946:91) (Figure 24) before joining the elders in the center of the plaza for a meeting.

The Pró-khãmmã, as a group apart from the elders, are traditionally in charge of (1) coordinating the festival-pageants, (2) choosing the several young people who are to receive the honor awards after a festival, (3) receiving honor meat pies in the plaza, and (4) seeing that some hàmren person of maturity tastes the first fruits of the season to test them for ripeness. Several other minor roles exist that can be attributed traditionally to the Pró-khãmmã as a special age-set among the rest of the age-sets comprising the council of elders.

[III.D.2.c.(1)]

GOVERN FESTIVALS, RITUALS, AND OTHER CEREMONIES.—In contrast to the roles of the chief, it is the principal role of the Pró-khãmmã to govern the ceremonial system of the Canela. Most of the ceremonials occur during the great summer Wè?tè season festivals, though they also appear at other times of the year.

[III.D.2.c.(1).(a)]

For instance, the Pró-khãmmã decide when it is the right time to put on the Opening Wè?tè festival. After it is over, the lowest graduated age-set may formally ask the Pró-khãmmã if the great festival of the Wè?tè season can be an Nkrel-re initiation festival, or the Clowns may do so if they want to put on the Fish festival. However, the Pró-khãmmã take the initiative with the Pepkahàk festival, surprising the tribe. The Pró-khãmmã decide when the Corn ritual is to commence and summon the correct family member of the Corn haakhat to the plaza to ask that this person proceed to undertake the ritual activities. The procedure is similar for the Pàlrà ritual: at the proper time the Pró-khãmmã summon the traditional Pàlrà log cutter, the Pàl-yitep-katê ([Pàl-style-log]-cut-master), and ask him to go out the next day and cut down the kind of tree that can be used for a Pàlrà ceremonial log. The traditional procedure for initiating any Canela ceremonial is quite precise.

[III.D.2.c.(1).(b)]

Once the great festival has been selected, the Pró-khãmmã choose most of the principal female and male performers, except for the Fish festival [III.C.7.b.(1)]. To make their decision, they leave in the morning for the seclusion of a farm hut or a shed well outside the village near the buildings of the Indian service (Map 5). A relative of a prospective principal actor is usually invited to attend if he would not ordinarily be present, and he passes the invitation on to the chosen performer or performers, who invariably accept.

For haakhat or name-set role owners, or the traditional performers of certain other roles, the Pró-khãmmã summon them to the plaza during a late afternoon council meeting to ask them if they with carry out their particular role. It is at this time that the Pró-khãmmã find out if succession in a particular line is intact. If it is not, they designate a new line to carry out the role [III.C.8.b].

At evening council meetings during the performance of a festival, certain Pró-khãmmã members volunteer or are assigned to oversee and direct various acts of the festival-pageant taking place on the following day to be sure that the performers know just what to do. Performances are not very spontaneous. The performers, especially in group situations, simply do not know what they are to do next and so have to be told in this manner.

[III.D.2.c.(1).(c)

The Pepkahàk festival has been performed about every 10 years (1958, 1970, 1979) and the Masks’ festival even less frequently (1960, 1970 only partially). For these festivals the Pró-khãmmã have to discuss very carefully just what went on during remembered, previous performances. They want to carry out the traditions; innovation is avoided if possible. A number of days before each festival, they debate very carefully what should take place on each festival day at evening council meetings. Then each evening during the festival, they discuss exactly what is to be done the next day, and sometimes they even repeat this effort of reconstruction of traditions during the council meeting the following morning.

Except for the annual festivals, no one person among the Pró-khãmmã remembers the exact sequence of acts from the beginning to the end of a festival and just how each role is carried out traditionally. At the evening and morning meetings, they have to piece the performance together with contributions coming from many individuals, including the Upper age-set moiety council members. Decisions are sometimes the consequence of strong personalities or political favoritism rather than good memories. Much later, during the preparation of the next performance some years later, the good memory might prevail and cause the act to be performed in a manner that is consistent with an earlier performance rather than the last one [III.C.7.a.(2)]. The Canela genius for “getting along” well with each other and their compulsion to arrive at a peaceful consensus (often at the expense of objective truth [III.B.1.b.(3)]) is very apparent at such meetings.

For instance, the younger Kaapêltùk complained in 1988 that the selected Pepkahàk troop members were mere adolescents instead of mature men. He says on tape that the older Krôôtô claims this is the traditional way but that he, Kaapêl, knows otherwise. Apparently, the older Krôôtô—even though of the older, retired Pró-khãmmã—won this point with his forceful personality (which I know so well) over the younger Kaapêltùk, even though the latter is first chief of the tribe and commandant of the sitting Pró-khãmmã. Surely, when the older Krôôtô dies, the younger Kaapêltùk will still remember the Pepkahàk performance of 1970 and will take his tribe back to the earlier “tradition” of mature internees. It is also possible that the younger Kaapêltùk will allow the performance of 1988 to become tradition because it has become so difficult to coerce mature men into going through a Pepkahàk internment. The Canela are pragmatic about cultural change.

[III.D.2.c.(2)]

BESTOW HONOR AWARDS TO YOUTHS.—At the peak of a great festival’s terminal period during the summer Wè?tè season [IV.A.3.b.(3)], the Pró-khãmmã award prize ceremonial objects to several of the minor performers [III.A.3.b.(3)]. These treasured items are awarded on the basis of good singing and dancing and are given to both young women and young men [II.D.2.f,3.e].

In the late afternoon just at sunset [II.E.7.a], the Prókhãmmã summon the winners to appear in the plaza and bestow upon them these awards for civic merit [II.G.3.a.(1),(2), (6), (7)]. This is a sight I have always enjoyed watching. The Pró-khãmmã receive reflected prestige as they present the awards [II.D.3.k]. The Upper age-set moiety members of the council of elders take no part in this ceremony.

FIGURE 19.—Members of the Pró-khãmmã eating the food of * Hààkwèl ceremony presentation in their southwest plaza corner. (Escalvado 1970)

[III.D.2.c.(3)]

ACCEPT HONOR MEAT RES.—One of the great privileges of being a Pró-khãmmã is receiving meat pies, or bowls of food, and eating these gifts of honor in their traditional position on the southwestern edge of the plaza (Figure 19). When a person of hàmren status returns to the Canela social world after having been out of communication with the plaza (away in the outer Brazilian world or away because of sickness, mourning, or couvade) she or he is presented to the Pró-khãmmã in the plaza in the late afternoon [II.E.7.C]. The person is adorned with falcon down and urucu paint and is accompanied by female relatives carrying a large meat pie. This meat pie presentation to the Pró-khãmmã is called the Hààkwèl ceremony.

Younger individuals than the Pró-khãmmã do not eat meat pies in the plaza in the late afternoon. If meat pies distributions take place at this time, the pies are brought to the houses for eating, except for the Pró-khãmmã who eat their pies in their southwestern plaza position.

[III.D.2.c.(4)]

RECEIVE FIRST CROPS.—From January through April certain traditional crops become ripe and are ready for eating for the first time that year [II.C.2]. These include varieties of sweet potatoes, yams, corn, squash, peanuts, bitter and sweet manioc and others (Nimuendajú, 1946:58). Before anyone eats them, they are supposed to be presented to the Pró-khãmmã, who have assembled in the morning in their southwestern spot at the edge of the plaza before the council meeting is held (Figure 24).

It is not necessarily a Pró-khãmmã member who tests these first crops, but the ceremony is managed by them. A hàmren person, probably from the Pró-khãmmã because such a person is close by, is selected by the Pró-khãmmã to test the new crops. If he chokes or if the passage of the food down to the stomach is in some way untoward, then the people may not yet eat the crop. The same food must be presented to the Pró-khãmmã again in a few days.

If the food passes the test, one of the strongest and healthiest men of the Pró-khãmmã blows his bream over the offering. It is believed that in this way his strength is spread to all tribesmen who later partake of the crop during that season. This ceremony is seldom practiced these days, and if a family member does send a bowl of food to the Pró-khãmmã for testing, it is almost certain that a number of individuals of other families have already lasted it ahead of time.

This ceremony is sometimes practiced for new wild fruits that appear for the first time in the months of September through December, such as buriti, buritirana, bacaba, and bacuri (Table 2).

[III.D.2.d] ROLES OF THE COUNCIL OF ELDERS

Like the chieftainship, the council of elders has a number of loosely defined roles. As an extension of the judicial system, or as an adjunct to it, the council of elders is a forum in which problems between families can be aired before, during, or after they are taken up at interfamilial hearings [III.D.3.a]. Then, the elders of the council discuss the festivals and help the Pró-khãmmã reconstruct the sequence of events that traditionally should take place during the coming week or day. Also, in times of a weak chief or when the chief might be about to do something extreme, the council stands ready to advise him or to offer alternative solutions. Since the council meets twice a day when the tribe is in the village, it constitutes an excellent forum at which any older member of the tribe can air his views or simply discuss what has been going on during the past 24 hours. In this way rumors are often dispelled before they travel very far, and solidarity is maintained among me participants.

[III.D.2.d.(1)]

Everyone in the tribe is likely to be represented by at least a “mothers’ brother” or a “grandfather” (an “uncle” [In.4.i]) in the council of elders. When topics concerning any of his younger kin arise, this uncle is likely to say something about them. The Canela prefer to have such two- or further-link-away kin [III.E.2.b] representing them because a father cannot be impartial, they say. He has too much feeling and cares too much for his children. Traditionally, one-link-away kin must always support each other. The term for sibling, i?-khyê, also means “it pulls” (i.e., supports) or “her/his/its thigh/leg,” the limb that supports its body.

[III.D.2.d.(1).(a)]

Because the council meets twice a day, discussions about problems between families are likely to arise in the council before they can be taken up in an arranged hearing between the families. Such meetings between extended families do not occur regularly and take place during the part of the day that is ordinarily devoted to work or hunting. Thus, it sometimes may be hard to schedule them to suit the various participants, or to have them take place in time to be of much use. However, the problem is often resolved so that a formal hearing is not necessary in the relatively impartial atmosphere of the plaza, with further-link-away kin discussing the matter for the two families.

[III.D.2.d.(1).(b)]

We have seen that one of the worst evils of Canela life, according research assistants, is the negative rumor (tswa-?nà) rni.A.3.c.(3).(e)]. While the tribe was split between Ponto (Chief Kaarà?khre) and Baixão Prêto (the older Kaapêltùk) and then between Sardinha and Baixão dos Peixes for a total of 13 years, malicious rumors frequently caused hurtful feelings between individuals of the two segments of the tribe [III.D.1.g.(1).(b)]. I used to hear many complaints about such rumors; there were no joint morning and evening council meetings to dispel them. Research assistants inevitably said that the cause of the rumors was the schism in the tribe, and that if the villages were joined, the rumors would cease.

Research in 1979 on key words and concepts indicated that the Canela do not understand the Western concept of chance, and that although they have words for “maybe” (màlmà) and “almost” (aymàl), these concepts are very approximate and are easily lost as qualifiers. Thus, a certain lack of concern for reality testing in casual verbal communication facilitates the spread of rumors, which are then seriously addressed in tribal and interfamilial meetings.

[III.D.2.d.(2)]

During most of my time with the Canela, it seemed that the chief had more power man the council of elders, particularly in the late 1970s when the Pró-khãmmã of the age-set of the older Kaapêltùk was reduced in number by deaths, and the power of Chief Kaarà?khre was rising through the help of the strong Indian service official in Barra do Corda [II.B.3.e], During my visits, there were few obvious examples of the council of elders curbing the chief; but this was happening constantly in the informal discussions and the resulting interplay between the members of the two institutions. The chief usually discussed matters with the council at least once a day. In small societies in which individuals face each other directly, a chief realizes he has to live with his people for the rest of his life. Thus, he must remain in relative agreement with them or lose their support, so that considerable and significant checks on his behavior and consequent balances take place at the level of simple plaza meeting verbal communication.

[III.D.2.d.(2).(a)]

In my 1984 communication from the tribe, I was surprised to learn that in about 1981 Chief Kaarà?khre was actually called upon to resign, and that he did so immediately. In 1979, I would not have thought this possible, since chiefs have traditionally died in office. Kaarà?khre’s overthrow was characteristically Canela. When a prominent member of the young new Pró-khãmmã, Tep-hot, denounced him in the council of elders, Kaarà?khre promptly withdrew from the chieftainship without any fuss. When challenged, Canela leaders simply turn their backs and leave [III.B.1.h.(1)]. This is why challenges are so serious and so rare. Tep-hot must have had many of the new Pró-khãmmã strongly behind him or he would not have denounced his chief. (For more information, see Epilogue, [Ep.2].)

[III.D.2.d.(2).(b)]

According to the 1984 reports from the tribe, the council “voted” four new chiefs into office during the two to three years after the resignation of Chief Kaarà?khre, and they were all very much younger than him. The last one, the youngest Mĩĩkhrô, was selected in 1984 at age 35. Two sources report that he is not doing well, that leadership has gone to his head, and that Kaarà?khre is trying to regain his former position.

Four chiefs in so few years is unprecedented in modern Canela history [Ep.3.b,4]. Since about 1981, the council of elders, led by the new Pró-khãmmã of the younger Kaapêltùk, has been governing the tribe. Thus, the council of the elders, including the Pró-khãmmã, checks and balances the power of the first chief when the chieftainship is weak [III.D.1.e].

[III.D.2.e] COUNCIL AS KEY TO TRIBAL SOLIDARITY

The high degree of solidarity found among the Canela is reinforced by the twice daily council meetings. They usually start very informally with some of the members gossiping about the latest game killed, a girl’s virginity loss, or a backland encounter. Much of the communication in these meetings constitutes emotional bonding for the speakers, and this is especially the case when the chatting takes place in the center of the plaza, where overt hostility must not be shown.

When the formal meeting starts and the tone of the speakers is radically altered, serious topics come up. Arriving at their solutions serves to enhance the solidarity of the participants: they have come through these “battles” together and worked out of them successfully, by compromise and consensus, techniques in group dynamics that have demonstrated sacrifice and good will [III.B.1.d].

Such strong reliance on tribal council meetings is not reported for most other Indian tribes. The Canela and Apanyekra institution of the tribal council meeting may be especially necessary for these tribes to maintain the desired level of peace, order, and individual satisfaction. Other tribal communities may be less concerned with peace and harmony [III.B.1.h.(2)]. The institution of the tribal council of elders contributes significantly to the smooth operation of the Canela sociocultural system.

[III.D.3] Judicial System

The effectiveness of the Canela judicial system is remarkable. Considerably more than any other Timbira tribe in the last half century, the Canela have been able to stay together in large numbers in one community. I believe that one of the principal factors contributing to this societal cohesiveness is the effectiveness of their judicial system. It helps to keep most Canela individuals relatively satisfied with their lot by reducing their frustrations to a tolerable level.

[III.D.3.a] GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS

The Canela judicial system is characterized by inter-extended family hearings (Glossary) (audiências: mē aypēn pa), nonpunitive restitution, payments by the extended family as a whole for one of their individual members, and searches for “objective” evidence from witnesses on which to resolve the case. The hearings can be convened and held very rapidly on almost any subject that is thought to threaten the peace and tranquillity of the society [III.A.3.c.(3).(h)].

An uncle [In.4.i] of the offended person makes the complaint informally to an uncle of the person who is alleged to have caused the problem, and these persons and other members of the two families have informal discussions about the circumstances. Then the uncles agree when a formal hearing is to take place, usually within a few days and not long after the morning council meeting in the plaza. Morning is a time when men go hunting and fishing and families go off to work in their gardens if they have not left before sunrise. It is also when women become involved in their more time-consuming domestic activities, such as preparing hot rock ovens for meat pies, or when men start weaving large mats or carving required objects for a festival. It is a time when people undertake substantial activities [II.E.5.e].

If the problems of the hearing cannot be resolved in one day, during two or three of the morning hours, the meeting is adjourned and held again on the following day, or during the following week, depending on various circumstances. Usually the problem is resolved at this interfamilial level, but if no agreement is reached, then the matter has to be taken up before the chief of the tribe. At the end of the deliberations the chief pronounces his decision, which is final.

[III.D.3.b] TYPICAL HEARING

A judicial hearing takes place in the prime work period of the day and is not just squeezed in during a time when there is nothing important to do. At about nine in the morning with breakfast over and some of the household chores done, members of the two concerned families gather. The meeting takes place on whichever property of any concerned party is the most convenient and appropriate. Participants sit on mats or benches around an open area.

The atmosphere of a hearing is less formal than that of a council meeting. People arrive or leave; children play nearby. Older uncles or grandfathers of either party take turns conducting the meeting. Deputy chiefs often come to provide their considerable leadership abilities. Sometimes they call on individuals for testimony and at other times people speak up voluntarily. Any listener, however (even an outsider) can tell that a formal meeting is taking place. The tone of voices is different and the cadence slower and more precise than in casual speech. More archaic language is employed. Such hearings last 20 minutes to several hours, until noon or one.

While small children attending such hearings are not required to be absolutely silent, they are nevertheless taken out if they cry or create a disturbance. The atmosphere is quiet and serious. There is an air of dignity and respect towards all that is said; and there is poise in behavior and clear articulation in speech [III.B.1.f.(4)].

This drama is impressive to see. The Canela have a particular genius for resolving interpersonal problems. I used to wonder how a female plaintiff in a marital hearing could be allowed to go on railing in serious but angry tones against her husband, asking him to leave. How could the audience have the patience to sit through such stories of personal abuse when everybody knew divorce was not possible and never would be allowed because the unfortunate couple had children? Nevertheless, the people would be attentively listening with excessive forbearance [III.B.1.e] while she ridded herself of her hostility.

[III.D.3.C] CHARACTERISTIC PROBLEMS

While any problem that amounts to disturbing the peace can be the subject of a hearing, the likely problems fall into definite and limited categories. By far the largest category is marital difficulties, maybe 90 percent of all cases. The frequency of marital cases in their judicial hearings suggests that the greatest area of societal stress among the Canela may be found in the institution of marriage. After marital problems comes theft, followed by physical abuse. There may be also some questions about farm plot rights, but these are rare. In earlier times, suspicion of witchcraft was a more frequent issue. I was aware of only one hearing on witchcraft during any of my visits.

[III.D.3.c.(1)]

IN MARRIAGE.—Marital difficulties that come up before hearings are diverse in their characteristics but can be put into four categories. The first problem that comes up in a woman’s life is the question of virginity: who took it and do her and her lover’s claims differ. This is very important, because the act of taking a girl’s virginity, done by an “unattached” man (i.e., one with no biological child of his own in a marriage [II.F.4.b.(1)]), means that he is now married to her. Sometimes, but rarely, girls are caught by several male friends and willingly lose their virginity in this way. In this case none of the men are her husbands. She is “on the street” (na rua), and has lost the price of her virginity (i?-pore piktol: her-money lost [III.F.4.c.(2)]).

Secondly, there is the problem of a young man not wanting to stay in his recent marriage. The hearing must determine the items in the payment to be made by his extended family if he leaves his wife. A woman usually does not want a man to leave her; but if she does, she denies that her motive is to get the payment. On the other hand, if a woman without children wants to leave a man, she takes up with another man and no payment is involved. The husband simply leaves and there is no trial. Hearings come up only when there is a disagreement over Whether a payment should be made and over how much it should be. Men pay to leave women; women do not pay to have men leave their house (W. Crocker, 1984a:67).

Thirdly, for couples with children, the possibility of divorce does not exist—or did not, before 1970. There is still the question of the wife shaming the husband by an overly public extramarital act. Although traditional extramarital sexual relations are sanctioned by many of the festivals [IVA.3.f] and enjoyed by all in practice [III.F.8], an insecure male may make a fuss when his wife has had an affair, the details of which come back to him in too public a way. He may feel he must take some action to save face and may leave his wife and children to return to the house of his sister or mother. From there he may make a public claim for a payment from her family to erase the shame “from his face” before he can be expected to return, there by obliging his extended family to support his protest.

Finally, there is the typical case of a woman whose husband has been indiscreet in conducting his affairs and has also perpetrated many other unkindnesses, such as giving large presents to other women, providing insufficient food (especially meat) to her family, and maybe even physically abusing her. Although she knows she cannot get rid of him while they have growing children [III.F.9], she may nevertheless act as if she thinks she can achieve divorce and may even insist that he temporarily leave her house and their children. Subsequently, the two extended families must hold hearings to convince her that she has to let him return. She usually will yield to the pressure from of her female kin but not until or after having received a considerable payment from his relatives. The important point may be, however, that she has aired her problems about him publicly and let him know what she thinks of him directly at the hearings or, almost worse, indirectly through friends (male or female) [III.A.3.c.(3).(e)].

[III.D.3.c.(2)]

THEFT.—It is often difficult to decide what was stolen and what was freely taken, because personal items are so easily exchanged between good friends of the same sex, especially men. Moreover, since generosity is the highest value [III.B.1.a], it often behooves certain more prestigious individuals to look the other way while others take what they want. Taking other people’s food is hardly considered theft since nourishment is a basic necessity. Certain festivals even sanction “begging” [IV.A.3.c.(5).(c)], making food a free commodity.

Most traditional items are freely borrowed and kept, but a few objects like tapir hoof-tips, are too valuable, either in terms of rarity of original resource or time consumed in fabrication (woman’s sing-dancing sash of woven cotton [II.G.3.a.(8)]; Plate 58e, f), or of ceremonial honor (back-pendant comb [II.G.3.a.(7)]; Plate 59b,g), so that the owner could not just let other people take them. Acculturation is spreading the sense of possession to most other traditional objects, even to those of little value.

Certain traditional objects and equipment from the cities are of sufficient value to the Canela, so that taking them without compensation or an understanding with the owner constitutes theft. One of the most valuable traditional items is a girl’s necklace (hõ?khre-tsêê: throat attachment) of many beaded strands [II.G.3.c.(3)] (Plate 57b). The ceramic beads have come from eastern Europe since the last century, but the style is traditional. Similarly, a man’s ceremonial belt (tsù) is valuable, both in the tribal world because it may have tapir hoof-tip pendants [II.G.3.a.(3)] (Plate 56d) and in the urban world because these pendants may be attached to the woven cotton belt by strands of European beads.

Some other items of value in the traditional category are, for women: cotton singing sash (hahĩ), comb back pendant (khoykhe-re), gourd back pendant (krat-re), a full belt or girdle (i?pre), forehead carrying basket (khay); and for men: ceremonial lance (khrúwatswa), war bonnet (hàkyara), cattle horn (hõ?hi), cotton singing bracelets (pa-tsêê), earplugs (khuy), certain wooden staffs (khô-po). Any of these items (Table 8; [II.G.3]), would be considered stolen (hà?khĩya) if taken from their owners.

It is mostly urban-made items, however, for which individual possession seems to be inalienable, following the backlander custom. Machetes, axes, shotguns, hoes, pots, caldrons, cups, plates, spoons, knifes, cloth, tailored clothing, suitcases, beads and many other similar items, when taken and kept, are considered to have been stolen. Some of these items would not be sufficiently valuable to bring up before a hearing; however, machetes, axes, shotguns, caldrons, and especially young girls’ bead necklaces would be sufficiently valuable. The bead necklace may represent the accumulation over years of bead collecting by a number of women, all bestowing their beads on a favorite daughter, niece, or granddaughter.

The apprehension of the thief is a particular problem. Apparently shamans are good at this. They are always watchful as part of their shamanistic role, and research assistants say that a ghost can tell them the location of the stolen items [IVD.l.e]. It is particularly hard for the culprit to hide his tracks in a sandy region; such tell-tale traces often give the thief away.

The surest way of obtaining money for the stolen item is to take the goods to specific backlanders who buy them for a fraction of their real value and do not give away the thief’s secret. In the late 1950s and mid-1960s young men were occasionally culpable of such acts of desperation in order to buy gifts to please their lovers.

The mere restitution of an axe for an axe, or a pot for a pot, as is the custom, does not seem commensurate with the trouble the thief causes the whole community. Many people are inconvenienced and spend much time over the case. Everyone seems to have plenty of time to spend on such matters, however, and are troubled very little by losing time. The thief on the other hand, loses a great deal more if apprehended, because he loses the favor of many tribal members. Stealing has never been sanctioned by the Canela, and anyone apprehended in such an act is remembered for that act for many years. The chief is less likely to favor him, lenders would find it harder to give him credit, and potential lovers are less likely to cooperate [III.A.3.(j)].

[III.D.3.c.(3)]

PHYSICAL ABUSE.—Fighting between men (outside of warfare) was and is very much against the Canela cultural tradition [III.A.2.k.(2), (4)]; physical abuse is even more against their tradition. Elements of masochism, however, especially in male competition for women, are entering the Canela scene with acculturation. When men speak during interfamilial hearings, they sometimes switch into Portuguese saying sou homem (I am a man) to excuse their nontraditional tendencies toward jealousy and retaliation against other men.

Physical abuse does occur, usually when men are returning from backlander homes or from Barra do Corda. The Canela believe that in such cases it is the cachaça (raw distilled cane alcohol) that is to blame rather than the person. On the rare occasions of physical abuse, it is usually the wife who has been the victim rather than other men. Thus, the case comes up before a formal hearing.

Cases of physical abuse occurred more often in the late 1950s and in the 1960s than in the 1970s. There was greater instability in these two decades; in the 1970s the Canela political establishment had largely disapproved of alcohol and such indulgences were less frequent [II.B.2.i.(5)].

One type of physical abuse that would never come up before a court occurs when a young girl has been stingy with her sexual favors [II.D.2.e.(3)] [III.B.1.a.(4)]. Then young men have to “tame” her by catching her off picking fruit with a girlfriend and forcibly having intercourse with her, each taking his turn (W. Crocker, 1974a: 187, 1984a:65). If she should be hurt in such an encounter, her family would be ashamed that the youths, with me cooperation of the girlfriend, had had to resort to such measures to make her become more generous [III.A.2.j.(6).(b)]. In fact, they would be so ashamed that they would not think of bringing the case to trial on a question of physical damages.

In other cases of physical abuse, compensatory payments are awarded the plaintiff if the skin is broken and bleeding or if bones are broken. Bruises do not warrant payments.

[III.D.3.c.(4)]

VIOLENCE.—While violence is not as characteristic of the Luso-Brazilian as it is of the Hispanic or North American, it is more characteristic of the regional backlanders than of the Canela who are meek and tame by comparison [III.B.1.h.(4)], these days; formerly they may have been fierce [III.A.2.k.(3), (4)]. Thus, it is to be expected that with acculturation, violence will increase among the Canela.

One of the most violent individuals [In.4.e], 40 years old in the 1970s, had spent much time away from the tribe in large cities. He even spent a year or more in the Indian service detention center in the state of Minas Gerais for committing homicide while drunk in Brasília. If he does not stay away from the tribe, more violence for Canela males can be predicted as others follow his example. He visited Escalvado during my stays there in 1975 and 1979, and caused much trouble for the leaders of the tribe and for the Indian service agent, declaring that the Indian service in Brasília was going to give him both positions.

In contrast, the younger Tsààtu (Plate 45d, on left), in his 20s in the 1970s, who has spent far more time away from the tribe in Rio de Janeiro, has returned to the Canela in the 1970s and 1980s and is not given to violence at all. In 1984, he had a Indian service salary as the teacher’s assistant to help the students understand Portuguese by translating it into Canela [Ep.5.a].

[III.D.3.c.(5)]

SUSPICION OF WITCHCRAFT.—In earlier times, suspicion of witchcraft used to be a prime cause of dissension and schisms among the Canela and other Timbira tribes. Currently, however, witches have become weak in their psychic abilities [III.A.3.c.(3).(h)], and physical retribution against witchcraft is no longer possible. In the past, the Canela executed witches, but now the Indian service personnel would intervene, most likely by taking away the executioners as murderers, as they did in the last known execution for witchcraft in 1903 [II.B.1.c.(4)].

One morning in Escalvado when I was getting ready to receive my research assistant council, I was invited to attend a hearing on a witchcraft accusation. The hearing appeared to be the same as any other one. A deputy chief was in charge, the plaintiff and the accuser were called on to speak, witnesses were summoned and heard, and the uncles of both sides discussed the matter thoroughly. I had heard this rumor of witchcraft the night before but was nevertheless surprised and impressed by the rapidity with which the chief had called together the meeting to resolve the issue [III.D.2.e]. The accused immediately denied the accusation, and finally the accuser withdrew the accusation in the face of the evidence. The case was dismissed after two hours, and I did not hear of the matter again.

[III.D.3.d] THREE LEVELS OF HEARINGS

Interfamilial problems first arise, quite casually, in the council of elders [III.D.2.d.(1).(a)]. If not informally resolved there, they are taken up at a formal interfamilial meeting in a house on the village circle. Currently, if matters are not resolved at the interfamilial level, they are taken up again in the chief’s house behind the village on a Sunday or holiday. This occurs at the same time of day, about eight or nine o’clock in the morning. Thus, there are two levels for the formal resolution of problems and sometimes there has been a third.

When I arrived for the first time in 1957, a formal trial was in progress in the plaza among the elders. They met about once a week a number of times over the failure of one family to pay sufficient compensation to another family. A youth of the first family, Mããkhrô, had left a girl of the second family, Wakhõõ, whom he had married when she was a virgin. Thus, there have been times when there were three levels at which problems could be solved formally: between family houses, in the plaza, and at the chief’s house. It is not clear from my research just how many levels were in operation in the past. Nimuendajú (1946:159) concurs with the plaza resolution of problems, although current research assistants do not believe formal plaza trials were the practice of their ancestors. When population levels were much higher in prepacification times, however, it might have been advantageous to have had certain problems solved at three levels. In addition, nonresolution at the interfamilial level might have led to resolution in the plaza when the chief was weak (i.e., new) and resolution in the chief’s house when he was strong.

[III.D.3.e] PRINCIPLES USED AT HEARINGS

A number of traditional principles exist according to which problems can be resolved when they are brought before a formal hearing. These principles have been alluded to before in the above materials but will be addressed here more directly.

[III.D.3.e.(1)]

MAINTAIN PEACE.—The first and foremost principle for the Canela must always be keeping the peace [III.D.1.g.(1).(c)]. Older men abhorred any occurrence, or even an idea, that could lead to divisiveness.

The older Canela (those in their 60s when I first arrived in 1957 [II.B.2.g.(8).(a)]) used to dislike questions that appeared to separate people into different categories. If I asked what portion (few or many) of the people did such and such a thing, they liked to respond, if it were a “good” activity, that all the people did such a thing. When I asked another similar question, the response was always “the whole.” Even though it would have been inconsistent with the first question, they nevertheless answered that all people did this second activity too, not recognizing the inconsistency. They enjoyed the idea that everybody did everything the same way without exception.

The need of these old men for uniformity in their answers disturbed me at first. I soon discovered that the basis for their desire to live with 100 percent uniformity was really their fear that categorization into separate parts—portions, “percentages”—might lead to divisiveness. In contrast, the present Pró-khãmmã (1980s) have adapted to thinking in terms of social parts (and market-related prices) quite effectively [Ep.5.d].

[III.D.3.e.(2)]

CONSENSUS.—The Canela genius lies in their ability to resolve interpersonal and interfamilial problems by compromise and arriving at a consensus—by overlooking what does not “fit.” Of course, acculturation could change this orientation.

It is relatively easy for the Canela in tribal council meetings and judicial hearings to come to a consensus which they then claim is a unanimous decision. They do not like to remember or recognize that differing points of view were expressed during the course of the debate. The Apanyekra may differ here. The research assistants who had worked with me in groups for years still had the same basic orientation, even though they knew that Pêp (W. Crocker) “wanted only the truth” [III.B.1.h.(4)] (Epigraph). It was difficult to convince them that legitimate different points of view were worthwhile for me; they wanted to give me only what was “right.”

In 1975 and 1976, I compared the Canela ideas about the folk Catholic story of the creation and God’s development of the world into more modern times with the more aboriginal points of view of the shamans. My faithful old research assistants kept wanting to arrive at a consensus in our group of four to six people [Pr.2]. I tried to convince them, with the very considerable help of the younger Kaapêltùk, that there could be two or more legitimate points of view, and that I wanted all points of view separately. Since the people on the folk Catholic side in my meetings were more assertive, I had to continually bring out and preserve the points of view of those on the shamanic side in the discussion.

These research assistants, true to the Canela spirit, wanted to develop a consensus and turn it into an absolute statement. This was a potentially weak point in my field research into memories about the past against which I always had to take precautions. The younger Kaapêl could help me watch out for this difficulty because he understood my thinking and preferred it for himself [Ep.7].

Similarly, debates in the formal interfamilial judicial hearings, which could be heated at times, were usually resolved into a consensus before the meeting was over, enabling everyone to part with a feeling of good will. The consensus emerged partly because the weaker individuals gave into the stronger, but also because the stronger individuals—if they were more prestigious or if they had less feeling invested in the case—gave in to the weak with strong feelings to preserve the peace.

[III.D.3.e.(3)]

COMPROMISE AND SOCIAL LEVELING.—Several ways exist to be more prestigious among the Canela. A person or a family can have ceremonial prestige, political prestige, and also, in current times, prestige gained through acquired relative wealth (Gross et al., 1979:1049), largely through Indian service salaries [II.B.4]. In any of these cases it behooves the more prestigious, in the setting of a judicial hearing, to let the weaker persons have their satisfaction when it seems appropriate to do so.

[III.D.3.e.(3).(a)]

I vividly remember a case that took place in 1958 in my adopted family. My sister’s oldest daughter, Te?kurà, had been the Wè?tè girl for a number of years until the year before, and so our family was ceremonially prestigious. (My presence was also a factor.)

One time when Te?kurà went down to the stream in Ponto village during the middle of the day to get water, she met a male friend there who flirted verbally with her. Someone saw the two together and told Te?kurà’s husband who was immediately consumed with jealousy.

According to Canela custom, Te?kurà had not done anything wrong except that the particular bathing spot was a public place. If she had been more thoughtful, she might have avoided lingering there alone for a conversation with someone not her husband. If she had had sex with the same man in the bushes further away from the village, this too would have been all right, even if someone had seen her and reported it to her husband. (Such reporting was quite untraditional.) In any case, the husband and his family made a fuss, and he left his wife’s house with all of his possessions and returned to his mother’s dwelling (next door). They had no children. Te?kurà’s husband came from a ceremonially less prestigious family and may have been looking for some excuse to redress the balance.

The husband demanded a payment from my family to erase “the shame passed onto his face” (passou vergonha na cara). Certain uncles must have told him he had no case [II.B.1.e], and they surely lectured him that he must suffer such jealousy and suppress it [III.A.3.b.(1).(b)] [III.B.1.e.(1)]. His immediate family (one-linkers [III.E.2.b]), however, persisted in the suit.

What I remember most about the trial was that the grandfather representing my adopted family, who happened to be my naming-uncle’s naming-uncle, the older Mĩĩkhrô [I.G.3], said that according to tradition no one had to make a payment on the basis of any wrong committed in this case. He said times were changing, however, and therefore our family should pay Te?gurà’s husband’s family something in order to keep up with the times.

A research assistant later told me that Mĩĩkhrô had given in to the opposing side because the husband’s family was poor and because they were for some unknown reason very angry and hostile. The payment had been made to keep the peace; less fortunate families were to be appeased so that they too could be happy and satisfied with the social status quo.

A solution of this sort reminded me of the pattern of the Regeneration season moiety log racing practices [III.C.4.c.(1)] [IV A 4.c]. During their ascendancy, the prestigious side gives way to the harassments of the lesser side, a relationship that is reversed when the period of ascendancy changes sides. This social leveling is one more way in which the Canela preserve social cohesion and peace [III.D.2.e].

[III.D.3.e.(3).(b)]

In keeping with the same predilection for social leveling, a number of complaints were resolved before they reached the stage of formal hearings. For instance in the early spring of 1975, the younger Kaapêltùk suffered a very significant financial loss. Many pineapples were stolen one night from one of his large farms. He told me that he was sure which family had done this, and his proof seemed quite convincing. I asked him why he did not press the case against that family in a hearing, and after some discussion he reminded me that he was the father of the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]. He offered no further explanation; I knew the customs. He and his son, as the highest hàmren persons in the tribe, could not press such a case against a much “lesser” family. He received pay from me, so he had financial prestige, whereas the other family had no source of income other than subsistence farming. Furthermore, Kaapêl was in charge of the whole Lower age-set moiety, a position that gave him great political prestige and power.

This kind of loss happened to Kaapêl a number of times during my visits. In his store, which he was trying to make profitable, it was hard to refuse giving goods on credit to certain individuals, even though he knew this amounted to giving the goods away freely [Ep.4.b.(2)]. In effect, his customers were taking advantage of his high hàmren position (Glossary).

[III.D.3.e.(4)]

EASE SHAME, SAVE FACE.—As in the case of Te?kurà’s husband, payments are frequently made to save someone’s face or to ease her or his shame. The Canela do not have a guilt-oriented society basically; most problems are seen more in terms of the shame brought upon an offended party than the guilt of an offender. If no one has seen an offense, the perpetrator does not feel badly about having done it, though she or he knows the act was wrong. The offense is not felt as really being wrong until discovered and exposed. With acculturation, the Canela increasingly believe in the backlander’s folk Catholic concept that God is everywhere and sees everything, and that He will punish a person for an offense He has seen, even if no Canela has seen it [III.A.3.c.(3).(i)].

Regardless of this growing belief in God’s punishment (guilt-oriented), the Canela still live in a society where everybody knows everyone else. Even though the Canela are unusually quick to forgive and forget offenses [III.B.1.c.(3)], they nevertheless remember antisocial acts and tend to modify their behavior toward those who commit them. Thus, publicly saving face is still very important, giving the offended person a little more social viability in the future, and at the same time possibly restraining the offender in a similar future situation [III.A.3.c.(3).(a),(b),(e),(j)].

[III.D.3.e.(5)]

RESTITUTION, NOT PUNISHMENT.—Restitution in the form of a payment when something has been stolen is clear and easy to understand, but the principle among the Canela also holds for intangibles, such as easing shame, saving face, and making up for certain kinds of personal suffering experienced by the plaintiff. Restitution is sought not to punish the offending party as much as to improve the position of the plaintiff, as seen by the plaintiff. Thus, arguments and claims follow a restitutive rather than a punitive kind of thinking. Nevertheless, in extreme situations, such as fathers attempting to leave their children, punitive payments are demanded of the father [III.F.9.a].

[III.D.3.e.(5).(a)]

Restitutive thinking is operative in setting the payment a youth has to make to leave a wife who has no children by him. The amount he must restore to her family varies according to the number of steps he has taken into the marriage, because her family has paid his at each step for “buying” him [III.F.4].

First, he and his natal family must usually pay for the loss of her virginity. Then, they may have to pay for the meat pies given by her family to his at the time of his “purchasing” rite. Later still, there is the expense of the deer given to his female relatives just before they paint the belt and body of his bride with urucu.

The payments for disengagement must be considerably greater if his wife has had a child by him that died. After childbirth, research assistants speak of the ripping and tearing of the girl during this ordeal that has to be paid for by the young man’s family. Finally, there is the great expense of the postpartum rite—the contributing-father rite (hà?khrēl)—and all the meat pies that were delivered to the young man’s family members at that time. Additional considerations would be the undue suffering he has caused her, such as shame and loss of face because of open infidelities, and hunger if he has not supplied her with sufficient meat.

Subtracted from these payments from his family to hers would be any public shaming she had caused him. A certain amount would also be subtracted if she had not provided him with good cooked meals and all the traditional comforts of home.

Sometimes these days, at the time of the son-in-law buying rite, the husband’s family sends the wife’s family a number of meat pies to balance those already received from the wife’s family. This would reduce the amount of the restitution that a young man’s family would have to pay his wife’s family upon his leaving her. (For marital balances from a somewhat different point of view, see [III.F.5.b].)

[III.D.3.e.(5).(b)]

Thoughts of punishment do not enter the picture except in the very unusual situation when a young father is leaving his child or children as well as his wife—and they call this “children-leaving,” not “wife-leaving.” Then, the young man has to depart with “clean hands” (mão limpa), they say, retaining nothing except his clothing [IV.B.3.b]. This happened in 1958 when a man [In.4.e] in his late 20s with a wife and several children took the virginity of a young girl. He subsequently left his wife and started living with the young girl in her family setting. Under these circumstances, it was considered that he was married to two women at once, because taking a woman’s virginity and moving in to live with her usually constitutes marriage. However, this was not considered a proper marriage, because the man already had children in a marriage [IILF.4.b.(1)]. To the Canela, having two wives is absolutely forbidden, but at the same time very comical, and the jokes and rumors flew around the village. They likened him to a certain contemptible backlander, Tomas, who they believed had “wives” in two different backland communities. They even called him by that backlander’s name.

The girl’s family may have accepted his living in their house (which was unusual), because he was an excellent economic provider. The young husband left almost everything he had with his first wife and children, including a horse and saddle, many iron implements, a shotgun, and a farm plot he had prepared and cultivated. I returned in 1959 to find that this young man with two wives had rejoined his first wife and children, having eventually left the young girl but having paid her family a high amount. He did not regain his earlier payment to his first wife’s family. I have wondered what would have happened if his second wife had become pregnant and a baby born. That would have forced a Canela “divorce” [III.F.9] from one wife or the other because children would have been involved on both sides.

[III.D.3.f] EFFECT OF JUDICIAL SYSTEM

The Canela have always surprised me by the extent to which they seem to enjoy and to be satisfied by their way of living. This is manifested by the fact that so few Canela have left their society permanently to live in the outer world. Even though the Canela have had a tradition of traveling to the great coastal cities since some time in the last century [II.A.3.a.(3)], few have stayed away for long. The one period of two years when significant numbers did emigrate tends to demonstrate the generalization because of its unusual circumstances.

In 1963, just after the denouement of the messianic movement [II.B.2.g.(1)], and in 1964 and 1965 before news arrived in 1966 from the Indian service in Brasília that the Canela were to be allowed to return to their homelands during the next two years, some 40 young people had left the tribe to live in the great cities of the coast and in Brasília. All of these youths returned to their tribe by 1968, however, except for nine young men who were between the ages of 14 and 20 when they left.

These nine youths either had married away or had found comfortable situations that they must have felt were disadvantageous to leave. Three young men remained in Recife, two of whom had married city Brazilians. Another adolescent, the younger Tsààtu [Ep.5.a], was taken in by a wealthy lady in the Cosme Velho part of Rio de Janeiro. She had lost her American husband just a year before and needed a handy man to help her around the house. Hôy went to São Paulo, became associated with a Protestant center, and came back to Escalvado sporadically in the 1970s. One Canela stayed in Brasília, and three more went to smaller cities. In any case, only nine young men left the tribe, apparently never to return, under the extreme conditions of their tribe’s difficulties in adjusting to a dry forest environment [II.B.2.g.(9)].

Since about 1880, only two or three other examples of emigration were reported in the history of the Canela. I take this general reluctance to leave their people to be a measure of high social cohesion, of the considerable satisfaction they derive from their tribal living, and of the sufficient degree to which individual frustrations are reduced. I see the effective operation of the judicial system as one of the most important factors contributing to lowering general frustrations to a tolerable level [III.A.5.a].

[III.E] Terminological Relationship Systems

The expression “relationship system” is used by some anthropologists[11] and not by others; thus it may be important to explain that I am referring to various terminological systems such as the consanguineal and affinal (Formal Friendship, and name-set transmission ones), which tend to pattern behavior even though terms of address and reference may be only occasionally employed.

Researchers of the Harvard-Central Brazil group have already described much of what is in this chapter for their particular Timbira tribes (Maybury-Lewis, 1979; Da Matta, 1973, 1976, 1982). Arnaud has made a significant contribution for the Gavião Indians (Arnaud, et al., 1976), and Gross’s (1979) approach should be considered. However, the materials here, though similar, vary from the tribal presentations of these other researchers, because all of these related tribes were somewhat different aboriginally and have become more different through acculturation and population loss (Wagley, 1973:154; 1974:375). Moreover, the Canela, through isolation and greater population numbers, have remained more traditional, and they have retained more of the Timbira traditions of 200 years ago.

[III.E.1] The Nine Relationship Systems

The consanguineal and affinal terminological systems are the most obvious and frequently used of all the relationship systems. Next, there are the name-set transmission and Formal Friendship systems. Notably, Canela speakers give name-set and Formal Friendship terms a higher priority in choice and use than consanguineal and affinal terms when alternatives exist, except at the first-link-away from ego terminological range (Figure 23). Then in addition, there are the Informal Friendship and mortuary terminological systems, which are considerably less used.

The next three systems, teknonymy, contributing father relationships, and ceremonial relationships, are different in that they draw terms from the consanguineal and affinal systems and do not have terms of address and reference that are uniquely their own. The first of these, teknonymy, is terminological in the sense that a regular sequence of words is used in address and reference. For the next system, contributing father (co-father) relationships, terms from the consanguineal system are used, but the patterning of their application is somewhat different from the patterning in the consanguineal system. Finally, there is a ceremonial system found in the initiation festivals in which consanguineal terms are used. Away from these festivals settings, these consanguineal terms are still occasionally used to the extent that these festival behavioral patterns continue to be observed in daily life, but the use of these ceremonial terms is diminishing with acculturation.

[III.E.2] Consanguineal Terminological System

The consanguineal system is similar to Crow (Glossary) and most similar to Lounsbury’s Crow-III (Lounsbury, 1964:375–377; Tables 10, 11; Figures 26, 27; see also Lave, 1979:22.) A similar arrangement of terminology for kintypes is found among the other Timbira tribes (Maybury-Lewis, 1979), with variations in the direction of Omaha in the west. There is evidence, however, that Scheffler and Lounsbury’s (1971) parallel transmission equivalences are somewhat more congruent with the terminological data and with the social structural correlates than Crow-III, or even a mixture of Crow-III and Omaha-III, with preference in conflict situations given to Crow (Keesing, ms). However, the Canela and all Timbira tribes are not matrilineal (Da Matta, 1967:142) [III.C. 1, 10.b]. There is no current evidence for clans having existed, though experts wonder from what structure the men’s societies and plaza groups derive (J. Melatti, 1979b). The Canela and Apanyekra have bilateral kindred with the matrilateral side emphasized and the patrilateral side evident mostly in the practice of individual rites. Nevertheless, the patrilateral kin are treated as relatives when such people happen to meet [III.E.2.e.(3)].

[III.E.2.a] TERMS FZ = FZD = FZDD = FZDDD = FM = MM; MB = MF = FF = FMB; F = FZS = FZDS = FZDDS

Mother’s sister and father’s brother are “mother” (nàà) and “father” (pαm), respectively, and mother’s sister’s children and father’s brother’s children are “siblings” (khyê) to female and male ego. There are no cousin terms. Father’s sister’s daughter is “father’s sister” (tùy) (Glossary) and father’s sister’s son is “father.” The reciprocals to father’s sister’s daughter are “niece” (tàmtswè) and “nephew” (tàmtswè), and to father’s sister’s son are “daughter” and “son,” that is, “child” (khra).

A special characteristic of this particular kinship system is that father’s sister is equivalent terminologically to father’s mother and mother’s mother; and mother’s brother (kêt) is equivalent terminologically to mother’s father and father’s father so that there are no special amital or avuncular terms. Female ego’s brother’s daughter is called the same as this female ego’s son’s daughter, or daughter’s daughter; similarly, male ego’s sister’s children are equivalent terminologically to male ego’s grandchildren—all being tàmtswè, or “descendant,” regardless of sex and generation (Figure 20).

Father’s mother’s brother is especially interesting, since it varies between “mother’s brother” and “father.” Research assistants were clear that father’s mother’s brother should be “father” (Crow-III) when involved in name-set transmission but “mother’s brother” (“parallel transmission”) when not. (Compare Melatti, 1979a:53, 72.)

TABLE 10.—Some kintypes of the consanguineal and affinal categories.

[IILE2.b]          DISTINCTION BETWEEN ONE-LINK-AWAY AND FURTHER-LINKS-AWAY KIN

The Canela distinguish between individuals who are one “blood” (Glossary) link away from ego (including ego’s parents, uterine full- and half-siblings, and children) and those who are two links or more away (i.e., further-link (Glossary) individuals) (Figure 20). (J. Melatti, 1971:351, and Da Matta, 1979:91, make this same division, though they do not express it in terms of “links away” from ego.) The Canela call these one-link (Glossary) individuals ego’s “restrictions maintaining people” (i-to mē ipiyakhri-tsà katêyê: me-for they restrictions doing people) while all the rest (“further linkers”) do not carry out food and sex restrictions for ego [IV.D.3.a]. Except for ego’s parallel cousins (“siblings”) and their parents (“parents”) and for ego’s same-sex parallel cousins’ children (“children”) (Figure 23), all of the further-linked from ego individuals (except for cross-generational merging ones) fall into three categories: if they are in an ascending generation and female, they are called tùy and if they are male, they are kêt; if they are in a descending generation from ego, regardless of sex, they are called tàmtswè.

TABLE 11.—Canela kinship terms (consanguineal and affinal, reference and address, first through third persons, with affixes (left of line) and stems (right of line)).

[1]No term exists.

[2]Alternative second person forms are akatswèy/gatswey, ayamtel/gamtel, ayapaltswèy/gapaltswèy, ayapal/gapal.

[3]Combines name of first-born child and mē-ntsii (her/his mother) or mē-hum (her/his father); or they use personal names or iprõ/ipyê if their relationship is not well developed.

Ego’s one-link kin and her or his further-link kin are additionally distinguished in that one-linkers are not included in the category khwè (relative/kin: hũũkhyê) while all further-linkers are. Further more, restrictions kin (one-linkers) are paired in a complementary manner with all other kin in Canela dualism [V.A.2] (Glossary). Apparently, the distinction between ego’s restrictions kin and all other kin is a major one.

In contrast, Melatti (1971:351) divides Krahò consanguineal kin types into two groups: those involved in procreation (mother, father, child) and those involved in transmitting names (aunt, uncle, niece-nephew) with siblings belonging to either group. I find it more useful to distinguish the biological one-linkers from all other kin, as the Canela do with their concepts of “restrictions kin” and hũũkhyê.

Da Matta (1979:113–115, 1982:121–122) divides Apinayé (Western Timbira) consanguineal terms into three groups, instead of two, because ego’s mother’s and father’s same-sex siblings, and the latters’ parallel cousins (“siblings”) carry out the significant roles of adoptive parents for female and male ego, unlike among the Eastern Timbira.

FIGURE 20.—Model of one-link/further-links away from ego kin. Further-link kin terms of reference and address vary with sex and with ascendant or descendant generations in relation to ego (with kintypes due to Crow-like skewing and classificatory one-link kin (Figure 23) being exceptions). Thus, for ego’s further-link kin there are principally three terms: ascendant generations, tùy (female) and kêt (male), and descendant generations (tàmtswè). Sex-distinguished terms for child and grandchild are limited (Table 11) and used infrequently.

[III.E.2.C] DISTINCTIVE CROW-III KINTYPES

From the above further-link delineations, there are the characteristic Crow-III cross-generation merging exceptions. Ego’s father’s sister’s son, who is “father,” has children, whom female and male ego call “sibling,” but this depends on what female and male ego happen to call this “sibling’s” mother, and there are several possibilities.

Ego’s father’s sister’s descending female line’s members are “father’s sisters” “forever” according to certain Canela research assistants. Similarly, all of these “father’s sisters” sons are “fathers,” forever. Actually, this cross-generational merging practice is often lost, especially among the Apanyekra with respect to the “father” terms more so than with the “father’s sister” ones.

Generally, ego’s father’s mother’s brother is “mother’s brother” (as in “parallel transmission” but not as in Crow-III) unless name-set transmission is involved, in which case he is “father.” (Of course, the reciprocals of the Crow-III-like cross-generation merging kintypes mentioned in this section are additional exceptions to the general further-link delineations mentioned in [III.E.2.b].)

[III.E.2.d]     SUCCESSIONS D/M, DH/WF, ZS/MB, “Z”S/M“B,” S/F

When studying successions—who takes whose place—with research assistants, they are quick to say that a daughter takes her mother’s place and that a man takes his father-in-law’s place. They also say that a man takes his mother’s brother’s place, or his naming-uncle’s place. A man, however, takes his mother’s brother’s place principally when his sister takes their mother’s place. He takes it in tandem with her (Figure 21), as the most important male succession of all, they say. I pointed out to them that a man may take his father’s place in tribal membership in the Eastern Timbira world, in becoming the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)], and sometimes in becoming a Visiting Chief in the Pepkahàk festival [III.C.7.a]. This kind of succession is not foremost in their minds these days, but they did apply the same terms to these son-to-father successions as to the others: hatsà yahêl tsà khãm (his-place’s filling instrument/person in: his father’s place he (the son) fills in). For the Canela, rather than talking about “succession,” we should talk about the junior person (as in the cases above) “taking the place of” the senior one.

[III.E.2.e]       DEMOGRAPHIC ARRANGEMENTS IN RELATION TO VILLAGE CIRCLE AND FARMS

These Crow-like kinship patterns are well expressed through the demographic arrangement around the village circle. Residence is uxorilocal with a husband coming from his natal home “on the other side of the plaza,” his khà-tsà (breast-place: the place of his mother’s breast), to live with his wife and her female relatives.

The cognates of the Canela term i?-khwè (its-piece: a piece of it), meaning some part of a whole, are found among all Timbira tribes. Lave (1979:17) refers to the multiple use of this term (mekwu) in kinship among the Krĩkatί. For her it means varying groups (smaller to larger) of close kin in relation to larger groups or to all kin. Mekwu may also mean all kin versus all other people in the village, or all people in the village versus all people in the tribe (several villages). Da Matta (1979:87–91, 1982:103–115) makes what is essentially the same point for the Apinagé term kwoya. (See J. Melatti’s, 1979a:61–62: meikhïa for the Krahó.) The Canela use khwè in a totally general way—for kinship and for material items. If a person wants a piece of brown sugar, she or he might say, “i-mã ?-khwè gõ” (me-to its-piece you-give: give me a piece of it [brown sugar]). The more specific Canela term for kin is hũũkhyê. Other Timbira researchers do not mention cognates for this term. A Canela can also say i-kaprôô khwè (my blood portion [of the whole]: my kin), meaning female and male linkages equally.

FIGURE 21.—Model of the two most important consanguineal successions: a woman takes the place of her mother when she dies, and the woman’s brother takes the place of her mother’s brother.

Thus, the term khwè can be used in relation to any of the village circle or farm groups: mēi pul khwè: (our farm group: people who place their farms in the same area with us).

[III.E.2.e.(1)]

THE “HEARTH”.—Characteristically, two uterine sisters, married or not but with children, live in the same house as their mother and father (occasionally grandparents also) and maintain just one hearth (Glossary) location (hàwmrõ: hearth: cooking place) for cooking. They share all food, whether from the hunt, farms, or raised in the village (pigs, chickens, fruits, etc.). They are less likely to share small amounts of food bought from commercial sources, such as canned goods. The hearth itself may consist of 3 to 10 well-placed rocks to support 1 to 4 cast iron pots or caldrons at the same time over one spread fire. This “hearth group” (hàwmrõ) is the minimal and principal economic unit: almost all food collected or produced by this group is cooked by any of the sisters, by their mother, or by a growing daughter and is likely to be shared by all members of this living unit, including these women’s husbands and daughters, their temporarily resident married brothers, and their unmarried brothers and sons [III.F.7]. If some of these indicated close female kin the or were not born, other closely related female kin move in from adjacent houses—first or second cousins to the mother or her daughters. These hearth or domestic single house units are made up of from two to five active female kin—rarely one or more than five. These females usually, though not necessarily, cultivate adjacent farm plots. Melatti (1979a: 50) calls this hearth unit a “domestic group.”

[III.E.2.e.(1).(a)]

A still smaller unit than the hearth exists, the elementary family which is the eating unit. It has no name in the language but is spacially associated with a particular platform bed in the house. Spouses eat together, usually separately from her kin. A woman and her husband eat with “their” children (including step and adopted ones), apart from her sisters but maybe with her widowed, unremarried mother. If opposite-sex individuals eat in the same group, their proximity implies sexual relations are taking place between them, as does sitting on the same mat. Thus, adolescent and adult opposite-sex siblings are careful not to eat too closely together or to sit on the same mat.

FIGURE 22.—Division of a Canela hearth group (hàwmrõ: hearth). In 1979, in Escalvado, Hômyĩ-khwèy, with her husband and children, set up a separate house (BB2) and hearth just east of her mother’s (Mĩĩ-khwèy) house (BB1) along the village circle. Thus, Hômyĩ-khwèy’s BB2 household members no longer shared the same cooking location nor the same foods with her mother’s and sisters’ families. (Khroytsen, having no daughters, lives with her son, Hàwmrõ, who is in his wife’s (Mĩ-khwèy’s) position on the village circle.)

[III.E.2.e.(1).(b)]

As the older daughters attract husbands and produce a number of children, they usually put up a separate house on one side or behind their mother’s house and establish a new and economically independent hearth unit (Nimuendajú, 1946:83), but some informal but minimal economic cooperation continues between the members of these two hearth groups.

Such a domestic and economic splitting off from her mother by a married daughter with several large children occurred in 1979 in one of the two Canela families into which I was adopted (Figure 22). (By coincidence, the name my adopted brother of this family used from his name-set was Hàwmrõ [hearth].) Homyĩ-khwèy (thorn-woman), age 32, Hàwmrõ’s oldest daughter, and her husband Rãrãk (thunder), age 39, simply moved over a period of several days with all their possessions and four children about 15 meters to the northeast along the village circle (counterclockwise) into a small house they had recently built in the nearest adjacent vacant place for a house. The distance was unusually great, however, because the rain waters had carved a channel between the two houses and made the closer area unfit for a building.[12]

By the mid-1970s, an outer circle of houses was forming around the principal circle of houses in Escalvado. In almost every case, female kin by all female genealogical linkages to the women living on the principal circle were constructing these houses. One temporary exception occurred in 1975 when an incompetent male in his thirties married a widow with no close female kin and put up a house behind his uterine sister’s. By 1978 they had moved to the location of her nearest but distant kin. All exceptions to uxorilocality were explainable. For instance, Jack Popjes’ [II.B.3.a] previously adopted “kin” moved their house position next to his during the construction of the new Escalvado village in 1969.

[III.E.2.e.(2)]

PARALLEL-COUSIN MATRILATERAL ARC.—The neighboring houses on either side along the village circle next to the house of uterine sisters [III.E.2.e.(1)] are likely to be inhabited by these sisters’ first or second cousins, or by cousins who are genealogically even further away (Figure 23). In theory, and if name-set transmission and Formal Friendship systems (and others) do not alter the terminology, all the women of the same generation in these consanguineally related houses refer to each other as “sister” (tõy). They refer to the women of their first ascending generation as “mother” (nàà), to the women of me second ascending generation or higher as “grandmother” (tùy), to kin of the first descending generation as “child” (khra), and to kin of the second descending generation or lower as “grandchild” (tàmtswè). These sisters “brothers’” descendants live elsewhere.

All the female kin in these adjacent houses extended along an arc of the village circle are related through only female genealogical ancestral linkages. These women say they live in the same “longhouse” (ikhre-rùù: house-long) (Glossary), their mothers’ longhouse (mē tùltswè ikhre-rùù: pi. mothers’ house-long), which is not one long house, but rather a row of a few or many separate houses. Apparently, the Kayapó use the same term kikrê ry (house long) for the same purpose (Verswijver, 1983:304). Married male relatives of these women do not sometimes come back with their families to live permanently in their sisters’ longhouse for political reasons, as they do among some other Eastern Timbira tribes (Lave, 1979:42–43), including the Apanyekra.

[III.E.2.e.(2).(a)]

In 1971, the longest Escalvado village longhouse contained 13 houses, while the shortest longhouse consisted of one house. The most genealogically distant “sisters” in this long longhouse are fifth cousins, and they call each other “sister.” These longhouses have no names, and they are seldom referred to as longhouses. The long Escalvado village longhouse (houses BB through NN [house CC omitted] in Figure 24) is special, however, because the female ancestor, Amyi-yakhop, from whom all me women in the longhouse are descended in matrilines (Glossary) was an Apanyekra woman, so in traditional intertribal terms all the women of this longhouse are Apanyekra (Apàn-khwèy-yê: piranha-woman-pl.). In the Rancharia village of the Apanyekra, there were 11 longhouses (Figure 25; see also Figures 26, 27).

FIGURE 23.—Classificatory one-link away kin are one-link kin in terms of reference and address only. They are not part of ego’s one-link away (doing restrictions for each other) shared “blood” group (stippled). They are, however, “siblings” if on the same generation as ego, they are “parents” if on the first ascending generation from ego, and they are “children” if on the first descending generation from ego (except for the children of cross-cousins). (Large circles = female kin; small circles = females that are not primary (-mpey) classificatory one-link kin, i.e., nonrelatives.)

FIGURE 24.—Canela longhouses around village circle and the six age-set positions around edge of plaza. In 1971, Escalvado (population 436) had 13 matrilateral, unnamed units (“mothers’ longhouses”), connected internally through ancestral female links. Note that the longhouses numbered 1, 2, 7, and 8 (as bracketed) are not continuous, each being interspersed with houses of other longhouses.

[III.E.2.e.(2).(b)]

Nimuendajú (1946:84) is right when he writes that a “house the community” fails to “constitute a definite economic unit.” He was referring to several closely related hearth units, probably related through women no more distant than first or second cousins. Among the Krĩkatί such units have grown to sometimes include a woman’s brother’s family and other political adherents, so Lave (1979:40) calls them “domestic clusters.” I agree with her that these Krĩkatί units “are more integrated and solidary units than such groups were among Timbira [Canela] of 1935.”

Canela longhouses are not necessarily economic, jural, ritual, or political units, though they are exogamous with very few exceptions, because their members recognize each other as kin. While never really political in purpose, a longhouse may be economic if identical with a hearth unit. A longhouse may be jural (if not too long) in the sense that relatively distant matrilateral kin may assist or take the lead in conducting inter-extended family hearings (usually intra-longhouse ones) and in making extended family payments resulting from such hearings [III.D.3.e.(5)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:84, 161). The making of payments from several hearth units away happens in the case of a man who wants to be prominent in the village or when a family lacks a close uncle to represent it in the plaza or at a hearing [III.D.2.d.(1).(a)]. A longhouse may be ritual when it is comprised of the same houses with a particular haakhat [III.C.8.a].

FIGURE 25.—Apanyekra longhouses around the village circle and the Red (Kàà) and Black (A?tùk) Regeneration moieties’ meeting positions on the edge of the plaza. In 1971, the Rancharia village had 11 of these matrilateral units, as numbered and bracketed.

During the 1970s, Canela individuals were vague about the differences between a longhouse and a haakhat (Glossary). The latter is only ceremonial and basically matrilineal, and occurs discontinuously around the village circle. The former is matrilateral and distinguished by its strong tendency toward exogamy and by its traditionally fixed position on the village circle through time or from village to village in relation to the cardinal points. Continuing the contrast, arcs of longhouses are continuous around the village circle. (These distinctions and their complexities will be clarified in a later publication.) J. Melatti’s (1979a:51) description of the “residential segments” among the Krahó is almost me same as for Canela longhouses. I am not sure, however, to what extent Krahó residential segments are formed just by female kin who are related through just female ancestral linkages. The Apanyekra have allowed exceptions to this rule to continue and maybe the Krahó do also.

FIGURE 26.—An anthropologically conventional representation of ideal Canela consanguineal terminology, female ego; terms expressed only when they differ from when ego is male.

[III.E.2.e.(2).(c)]

Members of longhouses who live within two to four houses from each other along the village circle tend to place their farms in adjacent positions along one of the several gallery forest (Glossary) streams, but longhouse cohesion does not go much further. Although longhouse kinship is one factor in a member’s choice of her farm plots location, other factors are important too: male concerns, such as personal age-set loyalty, political alignment, and agricultural preferences. The man who is the leader of a farm community is important to mat farm community’s female members from several hearth units, so that a husband’s adherence to a particular age-set leader, or a tribal leader, is also a factor in choosing their farm’s location. (Women own farms.) Potential chiefs, when the opportunity arises, tend to found different farm settlements, any of which may be dependent or independent of the principal tribal village or villages. This dispersal of leadership has occurred a number of times in Canela history, and the study of each community’s a composition provides clues to the sources of political power in the tribe

In 1987 the Canela had 14 separate farm communities (Map 3) dependent on one central Indian service supported village (Escalvado). One chief and three ex-chiefs led four of these farm communities, and I have to assume that the remaining ten communities were led by young and aspiring potential chiefs.

[III.E.2.e.(3)]

CROSS-COUSIN ACROSS-THE-PLAZA KIN.—Besides the matrilaterally related kin, there are also “across-the-plaza” (Glossary) (i.e., through a male ascendant) kin who live in longhouses “on the other side of the village” (khrĩ i?nē rum: village over-there side). These relatives can be descendants of a person’s father’s sister, mother’s father’s sister, or father’s father’s sister, though the latter case is rare. They live in a person’s “grandmothers’ longhouses” (mē puptswè ikhre-rùù: pl. grandmothers house-long). In a number of instances the terminology of address and reference used by individuals between the two across-the-plaza longhouses has been held consistent with Crow-III equivalence rules for three generations: father’s sister/brother’s daughter, father/son, mother’s brother/sister’s son, etc. (Reciprocal across-the-plaza relationships, of course, also exist.) These relatives live in a person’s “grandchildrens’ longhouses” relationships, of course, also exist.) These relatives live in person’s “grandchildrens’ longhouses” (mē tàmtswè ikhre-rùù) (Figure 43).

FIGURE 27.—An anthropologically conventional representation of ideal Canela consanguineal terminology, male ego.

Such kin form me across-the-plaza (kàà ?nē rum: plaza, its-further side) part of ego’s kindred, which is based on cross-cousin instead of parallel-cousin relationships. Male ego should not marry into such relatives’ longhouses or have sexual relations there, and female ego should not marry men from the longhouses of these relatives or have sexual relations with these men. Women in such across-the-plaza relationships, if they have not forgotten the relationship of the lower generations over there, often treat such men as a joking relative [II.D.1.b.(3)]. Such across-the-plaza (“patrilateral”) kin contribute food and services along with ego’s matrilateral kin particularly in individual rites, though I found such across-the-plaza kin helping to wrap shuttlecocks in the Corn Harvest festival of 1979. This particular across-the-plaza cooperation, among kindred, though minimal, was notable because the Corn Harvest festival ownership is haakhat-oriented and therefore this Corn Harvest festival ownership is matrilineal and not bilateral [III.C.8.a]. Young Canela are becoming increasingly forgetful about such distinctions. I could not have discovered such refinements of the traditional system without the lengthy debates of much older women and men among my experienced research assistant council members [Pr.2.b].

[III.E.2.e.(3).(a)]

There are many reasons why the Crow-III (Glossary) (or “parallel transmission”) terminological patterns are so often broken by family members in the first, second, and third descending generations. Name-set transmission, Formal Friendships, Informal Friendships, and contributing-fatherships are all factors in the alteration and disruption of the basic and underlying Crow III-like patterns. Among the Krĩkatί, Lave (1979:23) found that “naming relations take precedence over all but ceremonial trading partnerships and formal friendships as criteria for assigning customary terms of reference.” (The Canela and Apanyekra do not have ceremonial trading partnerships.) She pointed out that a man could call his uterine sister tuire (Canela tùy-re: “aunt”) if his father’s sister had named her. This same precedence of the naming over the genealogical system takes place among the Canela and Apanyekra. Similarly, the older Kaapêltùk called one of his sons Hààpin-re (Formal Friend, dim.), but his son called him intsuu (my-father).

J. Melatti (1979a:57–58) writes about this same “confusion” among the Krahó: “… the application of the terminology gets more and more snarled as one gets farther away from ego’s genealogically closest kin.”

[III.E.2.e.(3).(b)]

This terminological disruption may have been considerably less in prepacification times two centuries ago, when some of the Timbira tribes may have lived in groups and even villages of between 1000 and 1500 in population. In those days, name-set and Formal Friendship relationships may have been made mostly with more distant relatives (name-set) and with nonrelatives (Formal Friendship) to extend the individual’s personal support network throughout the larger groups.

[III.E.3] The Affinal Terminological System

The Canela affinal system is less well known by ethnologists than the consanguineal one, because Nimuendajú (1946:105) covered it less completely. The Krahó affinal system is also less well known than the consanguineal one (Melatti, 1970:151–156, 1973, 1979:46–79). However, the Krahó affinal system should be very similar terminologically to the Canela one because the two tribes were so close geographically (Map 4) in earlier times and are so close linguistically now. The SIL considers their speech as one language [Ap.4]. Thus, kinship specialists will find new aspects in the affinal system presented here.

The Canela affinal system appears to be more extensively developed because the Canela were less deculturated and more traditional at the time they were studied than when the other Eastern Timbira tribes were studied. Moreover, the Canela were living in a larger single community. While the across-the-plaza consanguineal terminology of the Krahó was presented by J. Melatti (1970:151–156, 1973:14), the corresponding across-the-plaza fully extended affinal terminology probably no longer existed when he was there. It is also in this extended affinal terminology that Scheffler and Lounsbury’s parallel transmission equivalence rules fit the data better than the Crow/Omaha-III systems. (I hope to present such materials in a later publication.)

[III.E.3.a] DISTINCTIONS AND USAGES

Canela affinal terminology is predicated on four terminological distinctions and four kin category usages. Terminological distinctions are made between affines in the following relationships: (1) “in-house”/”out-of-house”; (2) same-sex same-generation; (3) same-sex adjacent-generation, and (4) opposite-sex adjacent-generation. The kin category usages are that (1) avoidance terms can be used to replace classificatory spouse terms; (2) opposite-sex same-generation individuals are classificatory spouses, and they are often found in notably extended kintypes (GLossary); these relationships are widely spread (completely apart from the primary (-mpey) affinal system generated through marriage) in secondary (-kahàk) affinal systems generated through affairs or courtships; (3) secondary consanguineal terms (-kahàkones) are used as affinal terms for the aged, and (4) secondary consanguineal terms are used to conform certain of ego’s affinals to their spouses, who are ego’s kin. These affinal terminological distinctions and kin category usages are used for both female and male ego’s spouse’s matrilateral longhouse kin and for ego’s spouse’s across-the-plaza grandmothers’/grandchildrens’ longhouse kin. This affinal terminology follows the consanguineal terminological patterns of the circular uxorilocal village.

[III.E.3.a.(1)]

“IN-HOUSE”/”OUT-OF-HOUSE” DISTINCTIONS.—The Canela make a clear distinction terminologically between individuals born into an extended consanguineal family and their affines married into the same family. The exception is male ego’s wife’s father, who by the time he has married children is terminologically “in” the house for the younger generations. Because the individuals born into a family come from “in” the uxorilocal longhouse while the individuals married into a family come from “outside” this longhouse, the expressions “in-house” and “out-of-house” are used to emphasize this distinction (Figure 28). The terminological basis for this distinction is that all of the out-of-house individuals can refer to their in-house affines with terms that include the basic morpheme pree. No reciprocals of these in-house terms, namely, me out-of-house terms, have pree (Figure 28). The term pree is associated with “tying” or “binding,” so that i-pree (I-bound) can be translated freely in this context as “the one I am bound to,” which would be quite appropriate for an “out” woman-in-law and an “out” man-in-law to say about their “in” in-laws. (Ego’s mother’s brothers’ son’s children are not included in this “in-house”/”out-of-house” context, because they are born into still another longhouse; thus they are too far away genealogically, as are many other kintypes.)

FIGURE 28.—Affinal models of “in”-house (born in family) versus “out”-of-house (married into family) terminological reference distinctions.

J. Melatti’s (1979a:69–71) “marriage prestations” for the Krahó can be applied to the Canela; and when they are, they flow from out-of-house to in-house lines terminologically. Such voluntary marital gifts from a man’s kin to his wife’s kin (in contrast to formal payments [III.F.5]) from a woman’s kin to her husband’s kin are taken less seriously among the Canela.

[III.E.3.a.(2)]

SAME-SEX SAME-GENERATION RELATIONSHIPS.—Considering the “in-house”/“out-of-house” distinction between same-sex same generation affines ( Z over W and B over H), a woman’s male relatives (in-house: born in her house) are referred to as pree (WB) by her husband, and in return, her male in-house kin refer to her husband as piyõyê (out-of-house: born out of their house, ZM); and similarly, a man’s female relatives (in-house: born in his natal house) are referred to as pree (HZ) by his wife; they in return refer to her as tswèyyê (out-of-house: born out of their house, BW). All the out-to-in-house terms of reference of either gender, except avoidance terms and spouse expressions, have just one stem, pree [IV.B.1.h.(5)] as the principal part of the term. The reciprocals, in contrast, the in-to-out-of-house terms (except for the avoidance terms and spouse expressions) have two stems: one for each sex (Figure 28). This simplicity is impressive when the affinal reference terminology is viewed according to this dichotomy. Affinal out-to-in-house address terminology differs for each sex (Table 10), unlike the reference terminology.

This in-house/out-of-house distinction is important in the translation and use of the term “brother-in-law.” For instance, in the myth in which a Canela youth takes fire from the jaguar; or in the myth “Tetswa-re,” in which a man kills his brother-in-law with his fire-sharpened and pointed tibia (shinbone), it is the “out”-brother-in-law who is carrying out his revenge on his “in”-brother-in-law, his wife’s relative. The “in”-brother-in-law has almost necessarily been arbitrary and inconsiderate to his “out”-brother-in-law as an outsider to his matrilateral kin group. Some translations of Northern Gê myths do not distinguish between these two different kintypes and terms for “brother-in-law.”

[III.E.3.a.(3)]

SAME-SEX ADJACENT-GENERATION AUTHORITY DISTINCTIONS.—An in-house woman of a senior generation (mother-in-law) is usually distinguished (reference) as preekêy by her out-of-house woman-in-law (or daughter-in-law) (tswèyyê), and an in-house man (including wife’s father) is usually distinguished (reference) as preekêt by his out-of-house man (piyõyê) or son-in-law.

The above in-house terms of reference and address differ, while out-of-house terms of reference and address are the same as for same-sex same or adjacent generation affines (Figure 28).

The terms kêy and kêt indicate seniority, and the suffix yê is honorific and not the plural in this case. The morpheme tswè has several referents; one of them means to be pierced or crippled. Research assistants gave no meaning for the out-man-in-law term, but I know that hõ or -yõ is the word for garden produce (manioc, rice, yams, etc.) and pi can indicate the past tense. The out-son-in-law (or out-brother-in-law) does a lot of work in the farmplots for his wife’s family.

The “out”-in-law person (both sexes), especially the male, is held in a position of subservience and service by his “in”-in-laws. This “out”-in-law is responsible for much of the economic support (farming, hunting, contacts with backland merchants, etc.) of his wife’s family. He works together with the other “out”-in-laws who are husbands of his wife’s sisters and “sisters,” usually under the direction of his wife’s father, their “in”-father-in-law. No special terms exist for wife’s sister’s (or “sister’s”) husband, or for husband’s brother’s (or “brother’s”) wife.

[III.E.3.a.(4)]

OPPOSITE-SEX ADJACENT-GENERATION AVOIDANCE TERMS.—Opposite-sex adjacent-generation terms both break and keep the in-house/out-of-house patterns, depending on me alternatives used (Figure 28). Where this pattern is kept, pree is always an in-house term. Other in-house terms that imply avoidance, in which pree is not part of the term, are the most used terms among the Canela. In this alternative system, which implies avoidance, an “out” man-in-law refers to his “in” mother-in-law as hàtswèyyê (wife’s mother (in-house)), and a man (in-house) refers to his son’s wife (out-of-house) as hàtswèyyê. A woman (in-house) refers to her son-in-law (out-of-house) as wawè (woman’s daughter’s husband); a woman (out-of-house) refers to her father-in-law (in-house) as khrã?tumyê (husband’s father). These avoidance relationship terms were used traditionally for only adjacent generations, while the spouse terms were used for further generations. This was a realistic practice when young women and men in their mid-teens were supposed to have sex only with much older people [III.A.2.p], preferably of the postmenopausal age [II.B.1.e]. Now that they do not have such sex relationships, the avoidance terms may be used also for the second and even the third ascending generations, or the consanguineal grandparental term for age (tùy/kêt) may be used instead.

In the term hà-tswè-y-yê, the morpheme hà or-tsà means to be “hurt” or “sick,” tswè has been discussed [III.E.3.a.(3)], y indicates the feminine gender, and yê has been discussed [III.E.3.a.(3)]. The term tswèy can be associated with tswèy yê, the “out”-woman-in-law term.

Research assistants said that the wè in wawè means “to beg” and that wa is the first person singular pronoun or adjective, “I” or “my.” The morpheme wè may also be the third person singular of -tswè: itswè (1st), a-tswè (2nd), wè (3rd).

The term khrà-?-tum-yê (head-its-old-honorific: honorable old head) may be the most obvious and easiest translation of all me affinal terms, and there by lends some encouragement to this kind of an investigation for the other less obviously translatable terms.

Ego’s immediate avoidance affines carry out a full avoidance relationship with her or him, which is notable to the outsider in its completeness. More distant classificatory avoidance affines can be treated with considerably less formality.

[III.E.3.a.(5)]

AVOIDANCE TERMS AS ALTERNATIVES TO SPOUSE TERMS.—These avoidance terms, hàtswèyyê, khrà?tumyê, and wawè, are alternatives to spouse terms when ego and alter are genealogically sufficiently removed from each other—sometimes three terminological links away from ego in a kintype (Glossary) (WMM), and surely four links away (WMBD). These avoidance terms are never alternatives for spouse terms in me kintypes “wife’s mother” and “husband’s father,” and their reciprocals, because ego and alter are too close (only two links away from each other; see Glossary: further-link kin). Similarly, since same-sex siblings are equivalent in Crow-III and in Canela ideology (Figure 38), “wife’s mother’s sister” and “husband’s father’s brother” are also too close. Avoidance terms must be used here as well.

[III.E.3.a.(5).(a)]

Wife’s mother’s mother, however, can sometimes be a “spouse” now and was more frequently a “spouse” in earlier times (Figures 31, 32). In Canela theory wife’s mother’s mother’s mother is also a “spouse” but is more likely a secondary grandmother through age. If, however, much joking occurred with her in earlier times, she could have been addressed by personal name, as may occur between “spouses.” Sexual relations were not necessary to create “spouses” between generations, just joking. Wife’s mother being an avoidance woman in “parallel transmission” reductions, prevents all the women in a man’s wife’s ascending matriline from being reduced to husband’s wife, or just “wife.” Thus, these affinal relationships are expressed more appropriately through “parallel transmission” (Scheffler and Lounsbury, 1971) than through Crow-/Omaha-III. However, I do not want to emphasize any formal system of reduction/extension equations as the Canela solution, because I basically agree with Maybury-Lewis (1979:308–311); the application of these formal systems of equations should, nevertheless, be mentioned.

[III.E.3.a.(5).(b)]

Spouse terms used as alternatives for avoidance terms first became apparent to me in the terminological practices of the name-set transmission system. A name-giver has to decide whether to refer to his name-receiver’s wife as “wife” or as “avoidance woman,” depending on whether he has sexual interests in her (traditionally he can) or just wishes to be on speaking and joking terms with her (“wife”), or whether he prefers to carry out a serious, responsible relationship with her (“avoidance woman”).

It is noteworthy that my naming-uncle, the younger Mĩĩkhrô [I.G.10], chose to call my first wife, Mary Jean, by her Canela name (a “spouse”-address practice), while he chose to cad my second wife, Roma, “avoidance-woman” (hàtswèyyê) instead of Hô-mã, one of her Canela names. His choice of address reflected how he wanted to behave and actually did behave toward them, respectively: friendly and jocular or serious and respectful.

[III.E.3.a.(5).(c)]

A similar decision (avoidance woman/man or classificatory spouse) has to be made for an across-the-plaza affine (Glossary) (e.g., HFZDS, HMFZDS, WMBD, WMBDD). For, instance, a man may call his wife’s mother’s brother’s daughter, “wife” (primary); but he may also call this same woman’s mother (his WMBW) “wife” (secondary) as well. Any woman in a man’s wife’s mother’s brother’s daughter’s matriline (below her) is his classificatory wife (a primary one: -mpey) (Glossary) (Figures 29, 30, 33, 34). One Canela calls two such distant classificatory spouses (a woman and her daughter) “wife,” but this is usually not done. He “does wife” (to prõ: make/do wife) with either one or the other. Once he “speaks” (kakhôk: a euphemism for sex) to one woman in such a matriline, her mother becomes a secondary (-kahàk) (Glossary) avoidance woman and her daughter becomes a secondary daughter. (For clarity, in the matriline from top to bottom, male ego has an avoidance woman, a wife, and a daughter, all secondary ones.) But years later, if this secondary daughter becomes very attractive, he might have sex with her too. In such a case, he does not start calling her mother “avoidance woman” because once he has had sex or has joked with her extensively, though much earlier, he will always consider her a “spouse.” Thus, he continues to call her by her personal name implying the possibility of having sex with her as well as her daughter.

FIGURE 29.—One of seven variations of classificatory spouse model (between two marriage-connected longhouses). Female ego may call certain of her husband’s male kin in his consanguineal extended family on both sides of the plaza, “husband” and alternative terms.

FIGURE 30.—One of seven variations of classificatory spouse model (between two marriage-connected longhouses). Male ego may treat as “wife” certain of his wife’s across-the-plaza “aunts”/“nieces.”

In summary, a woman’s across-the-plaza “nieces” are her husband’s “spouses” (WMBD, WMBDD, WMMBDD, etc.) as are her across-the-plaza “aunts” (WFZD, WFZDD, WMFZDD, etc.). A man’s across-the-plaza “uncles” are often his wife’s “husbands” (HMFZS, HMFZDS, etc.), as are his across-the-plaza “nephews” (HMMBDS, HMMBDDS, etc.). (See Figures 33 and 34.)

[III.E.3.a.(6)]

OPPOSITE-SEX SAME-GENERATION AFFINES.—These affines are “spouses”: “other spouses” (mē ?prõ ?nõ: pl. wife other; mē mpyên nõ; pl. husband other), the Canela say. Moreover, they are considered to be primary (-mpey) spouses in both the married-to spouse’s longhouse and in the married-to spouse’s across-the-plaza longhouses (Figures 29, 30, 33, 34). (The distinction between primary and secondary kin is very complex and will be discussed more fully in a later publication.)

It was helpful in learning affinal kinship to reckon from an outsider to the tribe as ego (e.g., a Krahó married to an Apanyekra), through this person’s tribal spouse, and on through this spouse’s one-linked and further-linked kin to any alter, since the outside person could not be related to such an alter except through her or his tribal spouse. Because I already knew the tribal spouse’s consanguineal relationships, the outsider’s affinal ones were easy to reckon through this technique, even though name transmission or Formal Friendships had caused changes in the system between the outsider’s spouse and her or his alter. This use of an extratribal, Eastern Timbira person was a valuable technique for unraveling the several different relationship systems, which were so thoroughly interwoven among the Apanyekra and the Canela.

[III.E.3.a.(6).(a)]

The anthropological expression “potential spouse” is not as accurate for the Canela situation as “classificatory spouse” or simply “other spouse,” as the Canela call it. This is because while sexual relations are traditionally allowable with all “other spouses,” although rare these days, most of the across-the-plaza “spouses” are not likely to become candidates for marriage even if the married-to spouse dies.

[III.E.3.a.(6).(b)]

If a woman dies before all her children are grown up, a uterine sister, or a close longhouse “sister,” becomes a strong candidate to be the widower’s next wife. The sororate is preferred. Then the widower can remain in the same house with his children. His deceased wife’s further-away longhouse “sisters” (his “other wives”) and her across-the-plaza female kin (also his “other wives”) are unlikely candidates.

[III.E.3.a.(6).(c)]

A man may have sexual relations with his wife’s uterine sister and behave with her in the joking manner characteristic of classificatory spouses even in front of his wife; but the fact of actual sexual intercourse with her must be hidden these days. This is not because she could object to the liaison (such liaisons were the custom), but because her feelings and sense of pride would be hurt if the tryst became public knowledge. Exactly the same relationship exists for a woman with her husband’s brothers and “brothers.” My bashful brother, Hàwmrõ, used to play sexual games with his wife’s (Mĩĩ-khwèy’s) unmarried uterine sister, Khêt-khwèy, forcefully tumbling her onto a mat and trying to suck her breasts in sight of everybody in the house, including his wife who laughed and urged him on. It was an unequal wrestling match, with Khêt-khwèy putting up a good fight, protesting and shouting bad names in fun.

One of my enjoyable diversions as a participant observer was the harassing (a joking relationship) given me by my “spouses” as I walked up the boulevard between houses BB (my brother’s) and NN (Figure 24) when my wife Roma was away from the tribe. This long longhouse was Roma’s longhouse by virtue of her being adopted into house NN in 1970. Sometimes, by the time I passed house JJ, the harassing was quite intense as many of her “sisters” came out of their houses and joined the chorus warning me not to “speak” to any woman or they would tell Hô-mã, their “sister,” when she returned.

For some reason mat I never fully understood, this mock “harassing” was more intense and direct among the Apanyekra in whose villages my wife had never visited and was not adopted. The classificatory spouse harassing worked through my Apanyekra brothers’ wife and “wives” and because any woman not a kin or a Formal Friend to me is an “other wife.”

[III.E.3.a.(7)]

SECONDARY CONSANGUINEAL TERMS.—The Canela relationship system makes frequent use of the grandparental or grandchildren terms. This usage masks a number of other practices that would otherwise be easier to discern.

When a person has a much older affine, such as 40 to 50 years older, she or he usually refers to her or him as “grandmother”/”grandfather” (or “aunt’/’uncle”: tùy/kêt). These terms are said to represent secondary relationships (-kahàk) rather than primary ones (-mpey), however, and there is no thought that these elderly affines have become kin. These days, the formerly extensive intergenerational (often two) extramarital relationships (prescribed for the mid-teens) are no longer practiced. Thus, some affines that are two generations and most affines that are three generations above ego are referred to and addressed as “grandparents” though formerly they were sometimes “spouses.”

The affinal kintypes that are most resistant to this kind of acculturative transformation (from affinal to consanguineal terms) are the all feminine -pree ones. A woman will always call her husband’s mother’s mother toktùyyê (“in” sister-in-law) or propêêkêy (“in” mother-in-law), and her husband’s mother’s mother’s mother as well. (Four generation matrilines are often found in Escalvado, especially with the current practice of earlier marriage of women.)

Another application of consanguineal terms in affinal situations occurs when ego’s affine of either sex is given the consanguineal term corresponding to her or his married-to spouse, who is ego’s kin. For example, ego may call her or his father’s brother’s wife “mother” because she is married to a man mat ego calls “father,” and ego may call her or his father’s sister’s son’s wife “mother” because ego calls her husband “father.” Affines being called kin terms because of their marriage is merely one terminological alternative, because ego may have good reasons for calling such affines by several other terms. She or he may already be related to them in other ways.

If a man calls his mother’s father’s sister’s daughter’s husband “grandfather,” this may be (1) because he recognizes a significant age difference,(2) because he calls this man’s wife “grandmother” (his MFZD), or (3) because he knows this man is consanguineally his grandfather through some other genealogical reckoning.

[III.E.3.b] COMMENTS ON THE AFFINAL SYSTEM

There are essentially three kinds of affinal terms: (1) pree terms (primary and secondary, including their reciprocals); (2) spouse or avoidance terms (immediate and classificatory, primary and secondary); and (3) secondary consanguineal terms (for age and by marriage).

The understanding of why the Canela use a particular term (consanguineal, affinal, Formal Friendship, or otherwise) and me prediction of which term will appear as alter at the end of any particular kintype are mental processes that are made increasingly difficult for the anthropologist as the kintype becomes longer. These difficulties come from within the affinal system as well as from outside of it. On the inside, beyond two and certainly beyond three links away from ego, the individual speaker can make several legitimate choices, as are listed in the ideal affinal terminology presentations (Figures 31–34). From outside the affinal system, other relationship systems compete with the affinal one, again offering the individual speaker legitimate choices. The competition comes especially from the name-set transmission and Formal Friendship systems but also from the other terminological relationship systems.

A complicated and extensive terminological reference system is employed for affines of affines (using terms not presented here) so that when ego is speaking to an affine about this affine’s affine, this other system of terms must be utilized.

[III.E.3.C] HONORIFIC PRONOUN YÊ

The honorific pronoun yê is used instead of the regular ka and ki for the second and third persons, respectively, address and reference, singular and plural. Only spouses and “spouses” do not use yê. Instead of ka ha mõ (you will go) and kê ha mõ (he will go), These certain affine says yê ha mõ (you, my affine, will go) and yê ha mõ (he, my affine, will go). Yê is used in the same way between all Formal Friends, and the honorific and avoidance behavior practiced between such affines and Formal Friends are similar, including a range in behavior from mild respect to complete avoidance.

[III.E.4] Name-Set Transmission Terminology

Name-set transmission (F’Z”/”B”D, M”B”/ “Z”S) (Nimuendajú, 1946:77–79, 109–111) is complicated and can only be covered in a summary manner here (Figures 35, 36). I collected over 200 recorded cases of name-set transmission, which will be discussed in a future publication.

A person may have from one to well over a dozen names in her or his name-set bestowed by one name-giver, but most young people today can remember only two or three of the names they are supposed to have. The names in a person’s name-set are not semantically connected. Nicknames exist but do not have the emphasis placed on them that the Krĩkatί place on theirs (Lave 1979:19). Most names are sex-related, but a few are held by both sexes, like Ku?tàà (locust [the tree]).

Following the principal model, a woman gives her set of names to a classificatory brother’s daughter, and a man bestows his names to a classificatory sister’s son [IV.B.1.e] (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:78). Thus, women follow a pattern that is consistent with Omaha kinship, and men follow Crow. Actually, names are passed on to a variety of kintypes, but the principal ones are to the parallel first cousin’s child (through all female links) and to the uterine sibling’s child (Figure 37). (Compare J. Melatti, 1979a:59.)

FIGURE 31.—Ideal affinal terminology of a woman’s affines in her husband’s natal longhouse, with alternatives.

FIGURE 32.—Ideal affinal terminology of a man’s affines in his wife’s longhouse, with alternatives.

KEY: Nonconventional symbols for affinal address used in Figures 31–34.

Women to Women

I-Z “in” sister-in-law (toktùyyê)

I-M “in” mother-in-law (propêêkêy)

O-W “out” woman (itswèyyê)

Men to Men

I-F “in” father-in-law (pàykêt)

I-B “in” brother-in-law (impàyyê)

O-M “out” man (ipiyõyê)

Cross-sex

A-W “avoidance” woman-in-law (hàtswèyyê)

A-F “avoidance” father-in-law (khrã?tumyê)

A-S “avoidance” son-in-law (iwawè)

Either Sex Speaking

“GM” secondary grandmother (-kahàk)

“GF” secondary grandfather (-kahàk)

“GC” secondary grandchild (-kahàk)

[III.E.1.a] SPECIAL TERMS

Canela name-givers call their name-receivers i-túwa-re (my young-one dim.: my young self) or itúwa regardless of sex, while a female name-receiver calls her name-giver tùy and a youth calls his name-giver kêt-ti or kêt-re, depending on the physical size of the addressed person. The female term tùy is unique to name-set transmission practices because in other situations (consanguineal or affinal) tùy-ti or tùy-re has to be used by ego, depending on the size of the addressed person. In contrast, the morpheme kêt- never appears alone (J. Melatti, 1979a: 54). The Canela have not developed two terms related especially to name-transmission as have the Krĩkatί: inchigrunto (mother’s name-receiver) and inchungrunto (father’s name-receiver) (Lave, 1979:23).

[III.E.4.b]      THE INFORMAL AGREEMENT BETWEEN “BROTHERS” AND “SISTERS”

The principal name-exchange ceremony does not take any particular form; the pair of opposite-sex “siblings” or uterine siblings simply agree to be name-exchangers with respect to one of their children well before the time of their birth [II.D.1.b.(1)] [IV.B.1.c]. If the contracted man does not arrive in the house of his “sister” within a few days after the birth, some other “brother” is likely to take his place. Completing the agreed-to exchange is important (Nimuendajú, 1946:78), but it is difficult for a woman to refuse another “brother” when he is insistent. The sense of compulsion for reciprocity between pairs of name-givers is clearly not felt as strongly as among the Krĩkauí (Lave, 1979:25).

There is only one public ceremonial act involving name-giving, which is not the more conspicuous and better known (by outsiders) name-changing ceremony [IV.A.5.e.(3)]. In this name-giving act, a male name-giver makes the high cry of his particular Regeneration moiety in the door of his “sister’s” house at sunrise (Nimuendajú, 1946:85), the morning after she has accepted this “brother” to be the name-giver of her recently born male. The Canela are losing this practice, while the Apanyekra are retaining it. No similar rite exists for female infants.

FIGURE 33.—Canela representation of ideal affinal addresses, matrilateral and across-the-plaza connected. Two female egos in two positions on the model each relate to their husband’s mother’s (and to their husband’s male ascendant’s sister’s) matriline family members, and their affines.

FIGURE 34.—Canela representation of ideal affinal addresses, matrilateral and across-the-plaza (i.e., cross-cousin) connected. Two male egos in two positions on the model each relate to their wife’s (and to their wife’s female ascendant’s brother’s daughter’s) matriline family members, and their affines.

FIGURE 35.—Canela and Apanyekra model of female name-set transmission. Female name-set transmission, through the generations, goes across the plaza and about the village, seldom coming back to the same longhouse. It usually goes to a woman’s “brother’s” daughter, it goes to where he marries.

[III.E.4.C] DISTANT SIBLINGSHIPS

In a relationship referred to as amyi-pùtàl (self taking-over: taking each other over), a distant sister and brother agree to give a name-set to one of each other’s children of the same sex as her- or himself. A man does this especially with his father’s sister’s son’s daughter ( FZSD=Z) or his father’s sister’s daughter’s son’s daughter ( FZDSD=Z), or even with a distant female parallel cousin. A man’s name-set exchanging with a uterine sibling, however, would not be referred to in this way because she would already be so close (personally and in terms of “blood”; Figure 38) that an amyi-pùtàl relationship would not make them any closer.

Research assistants said that a man has to choose between exchanging names (amyi-pétàl) or committing incest (to ayprè: do incest) with a distant sister (turning her into a “spouse”), such as his father’s sister’s son’s daughter. She is two longhouses away genealogically, and therefore necessarily a secondary (-kahàk [Glossary]) sister. A man also has to make this same choice with a “sister” related through some male links ( FB“D”). His longhouse “sisters” (related through all female linkages) are considered primary (-mpey) ones, and are more conspicuously “siblings.” Thus they are more difficult to commit incest with. However, incest may eventually happen, which would convert the matrilines (mother-daughter-granddaughter) to other relationships and disrupt the continuity from generation to generation within the longhouses.

An unrelated outsider adopted into a tribal family is seen to be like an amyi-pùtàl sibling of some Canela, not like a uterine one. I put a name on my name-exchange sister’s (Te?hôk’s) son, Ku?tàà-tèy (locust-tree tough) just after he was born in 1960. Then, Te?hôk put her own name (Te?hôk-re) on my step-daughter, Tara, when she visited the tribe in 1970. When I was leaving the Canela in 1971, my wife Roma was pregnant. One of Roma’s “brothers” (the younger Tààmi, a parallel first cousin of hers), told me in a simple verbal exchange of a few seconds to name his “sister’s” son, if a boy, Ku?tàà-khre (locust its-hollow). To honor that exchange, my son Myles was subsequently christened in 1972 in Washington, D.C., with that name as one of his middle names.

[III.E.4.d]      EARLIER EXCHANGES WITH MORE DISTANT “SIBLINGS”

One declared purpose of a name-exchanging agreement is to maintain and even increase the number of a person’s significant relatives, and there fore, to broaden the person’s social support base (Ladeira, 1982), according to the research assistants. I believe that some of them were wrong when they said that it was mostly uterine siblings who exchanged names in earlier times. Maybe they were remembering their childhood days when the tribe was smaller or were recalling reports of the early 1800s when the tribe was in social disarray. Before contact with Western culture, however, Timbira tribes were much larger, maybe between 1000 and 1500 or more. Thus, even more so man now, it must have been advantageous to maintain as many kin as possible and to have some as far away as practical.

FIGURE 36.—Canela and Apanyekra model of male name-set transmission. Male name-set transmission usually returns to the same house or longhouse every generation. It usually returns to a longhouse sister’s (or “sister’s”) son.

In a 1970 study of 198 uterine cross-sex siblings and cross-sex cousins who had agreed to exchange names for their children and had carried out at least one naming, close to 25 percent of the relationships were between uterine cross-sex siblings and approximately 75 percent were between cross-sex cousins (“siblings”). Thus, I take name-exchange between cross-sex “siblings,” not cross-sex siblings, as the traditionally preferred form.

[III.E.1] CREATION OF NEW NAMES

Although many of the names are traditional, it is possible to create new names for a particular name-receiver. The new name is usually made up from an event the name-giver experienced just before the time when the name-set was to be given. For instance, a woman who had just chastised her husband by ripping up his side of their platform bed (so he could not sleep with her), named her name-receiver Pàlrà-rê (platform-bed torn-up). This name probably will become one of the names of the name-receiver’s name-set and so will be transmitted to a name-receiver a generation later and eventually will be known as being “traditional” (mam mẽnkêtyê nkààkàà tsà khôt: early ancestors’ breath thing following). The trend is toward creating these situationally derived names rather than choosing traditional ones.

[III.E.4.f] NAME-SETS, NAME-GIVERS AND NAME-RECEIVERS, AND FESTIVAL ROLES

A name-giver designates one name of the set of names she or he gives as the name to be used publicly by each name-receiver. A name-giver may have 3 to 10 name-receivers. The name-receiver, however, receives the whole set of names to pass on and all the potential ritual rights that go with the set, although any one of the name-giver’s name-receivers (depending on the ritual) may be designated by the name-giver to carry out the roles of the ritual that are connected with the name-set.

FIGURE 37.—Canela and Apanyekra model of exchanged name-set transmission. Usually, matrilaterally connected siblings, or “siblings,” exchange names; occasionally the siblingship may be patrilateral, as when a man and his father’s sister’s son’s daughter exchange names for their same-sex children.

Thus, for every name-set performer, there are other persons of the same name-set who are not involved in the performance of the name-set held ritual. (Ceremonial privileges are connected with certain name-sets rather than with certain names; cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:167.) If the ritual-designated name-receiver dies, the chief name-giver of the name-set’s corporate group (usually the oldest) selects some other person from among his various name-receivers to carry out the roles of their ritual. In some cases, all name-receivers and all name-givers of the name-set holding group (there may be three or four generations involved) perform in the ritual together, as for the cutting out of the Kô?khre log’s trough in the Closing Wè?tè festival UV.A.3.e.(3)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:168). In the two Tsù?katê-re name-set transmission lines in the 1970s, the right to carry out the Tsù?katê-re roles in the various festivals and rituals (Pàlrà, Closing Wè?tè, Pepyê) falls upon just one individual in each of the two name-sets: Kôham in Mĩĩkhrô’s line (Nimuendajú, 1946:165, fig. 10:6) and Rãrãk in Pànhi’s line (Nimuendajú, 1946:165, fig. 10:5). Such name-holding groups like the Kô?khre log’s trough-cutting group are not formally split into older and younger halves as among the Krĩkatί (Lave, 1979:24–26), and their development is minimal among the Canela and their festival appearance infrequent.

[III.E.4.g]        NAME-CHANGES DURING A PÀLRÀ LOG RACING CEREMONY

A child’s names are rarely changed, which, however, may occur only after a Pàlrà log race [IV.A.5.e.(3)], which occurs just once or at the most twice a year. (This happens if a child has to be transferred to the care of a new name-giver.) A man who knows the traditional song (usually the town crier [the hààpôl-katê: urging-on master]) sings the chant standing in the center of the plaza with his back to the name-giver who stands beside the name-receiver, all of them with their backs to the rising sun (around 7:00 to 8:00 AM) (Plate 51d). Special visitors from the cities may be named (honored) in a similar manner at any time, including in the afternoon or evening and without the benefit of a Pàlrà log race, and the ceremony of being made a ceremonial chief (Glossary) is similar to the Pàlrà name-changing one.

Nimuendajú was named this way and so was I, because we were outsiders. However, Canela and Apanyekra babies do not receive their name-sets in this ceremony, as Nimuendajú (1946:110) suggests, although some artifacts do.

[III.E.5] Formal Friendship Terminology

Formal Friendship (Nimuendajú, 1946:100–103) unites two people in a bond of honor, respect, and especially of mutual assistance and protection. If a person suffers in almost any sort of way, her or his Formal Friend (Glossary) has to help immediately, often undergoing the same suffering [II.F.4] [III.A.3.b.(1).(e)] [III.B.1.c.(2)]. This relationship, involves maintaining a respectful social distance and experiencing great shame (Glossary) when infractions against the relationship occur. Formal Friendships exist between two women, two men, and a woman and a man. A person has a number of Formal Friends, but only one of these Friendships is intense (including complete avoidance) while the other relationships vary in seriousness to a minimal point where mild joking may occur. Individuals united by Formal Friendship are referred to as being khritswè. A woman is addressed by her Formal Friends of either sex as pintswèy and a man as hààpin.

(There are primary (-mpey) and secondary (-kahàk) Formal Friendships, which will be discussed in a later publication, as will the description of the minor and limited system of terminology extending to the near kin of a person’s Formal Friend.)

I use “Formal” rather than “Ceremonial” Friend to emphasize that the relationship exists in daily life outside of festivals and ceremonies (cf. Carneiro Da Cunha, 1978:74–94; Da Matta, 1982:87–99; Lave, 1979:17–18; J. Melatti, 1979a:74–76).

[III.E.5.a]       EXTENSIVE SYSTEMS OF REFERENCE AND THEIR HONORIFIC PRONOUN YÊ

The honorific personal pronoun Yê is used between Formal Friends instead of the regular ka and kê in the second and third persons, respectively, singular, dual, and plural. In addition, Formal Friendship terms apply when ego is referring to her or his Formal Friend, when ego is talking to a person about this person’s Formal Friend, and when ego is addressing a Formal Friend but referring to her or his (ego’s) other Formal Friend. The complexity of this system, which includes many special terms not presented here, is increased because of combinations in the terminology of the two kinds of yê-related persons: certain affinals and all Formal Friends. (These systems will be fully described in a later publication.)

[III.E.5.b] INITIATION OF PRINCIPAL FORMAL FRIENDSHIPS

Formal Friendship is initiated in a number of ways, but the most important manner is through the performance of the Ntêê ceremony in which a person chants a traditional song in front of the house of a pregnant woman and delivers a present to her relatives (Nimuendajú, 1946:100). When the baby is born, she or he becomes the Ntêê performer’s Formal Friend. This latter person does most of the helping and honorific work for the child, such as body decoration with falcon down, until the child grows up. Then the relationship becomes reciprocal and may last until one of the pair dies.

A person’s kin and spouse carry out her or his Ntêê ceremonial responsibilities. For instance, in the burial and funeral activities of a person’s Ntêê Formal Friend, one or two dozen relatives of the deceased person’s Formal Friend may offer their assistance [IV.B.3.a]. The Ntêê ceremony does not exist among the Apanyekra.

Formal Friendships are also initiated during the Pepyê festival proceedings, when youths jump into the water and emerge from it side-by-side, not looking at each other (Plate 39a) [III.A.3.b.(1).(e)]. The two girls serving the same male festival society as associates become Formal Friends for life, as do the commandant and the deputy commandant and the two file leaders of the novices in the Khêêtúwayê festival.

Another source of Formal Friendship takes place when certain personal names are linked traditionally so that their bearers are necessarily khritswè (Nimuendajú, 1946:100). This practice is especially characteristic of the Apanyekra where a greater percentage of individuals than among the Canela are linked by Formal Friendship. Just after they gave me an Apanyekra name (Khenku?nã), one of the political chiefs, the old Teynõ, began to use yê-related terms with me instead of ordinary ones. He explained that individuals bearing the names Khenku?nã and Teynõ were always Formal Friends.

If there is an active crowd around a person’s house and a great deal of noise, surely, a khritswè “game” (hààkrun-tsà: game-act) is in progress [III.A.3.b.(1).(e)]. A Formal Friend must come to the aid [III.A.3.b.(2).(b)] of her or his Formal Friend or the relationship may be felt violated by one of them.

These khritswè games [II.F.4] are increasing in popularity and frequency, maybe for the same reasons that the activities of Formal Friendship are spreading into ceremonial areas where Formal Friendship was not practiced traditionally [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)]. Formal Friendship spreads because the services of a Formal Friend cannot be refused for fear of violating the relationship. Also, the Formal Friend can earn food in hard times through these games and other services. For instance, a hàmren person’s female kin used to decorate her or his body just before this person went to the plaza with a meat pie (hààkwèl) for the Pró-khãmmã [III.D.2.c.(3)]. these days, however, the hàmren person’s principal Formal Friend with her or his kin and spouse usually do the decorating because they want to gain something. They can break the traditions these days because the Pró-khãmmã are no longer strong enough to prevent it. (For individuals “rejoicing” [carrying out comic acts] [III.B.1.e.(2)] in the festival honoring of their Formal Friends, see Plate 39c-c.)

[III.E.6] Informal Friendship Terminology

Individuals involved in Informal Friendships made between two men of the same age-set address each other as i-khwè-?nõ (my-group-one: a person of my group; my age-set) and usually joke with each other when they meet. Informal Friendships (Glossary) are made almost entirely between men, although research assistants say it is possible to form such a relationship between the sexes. A novice and one of his age-set’s girl associates may do this. There are far fewer Informal Friendships than formal ones. The former tend to become fewer in an age-set as its members grow older, because the terminology of almost all the other relationship systems is held in higher priority by most Canela individuals.

Informal Friendships are only made during the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festival performances, when a pair of novices jump into a stream together and come up facing each other (Nimuendajú, 1946:191). Informal Friendships are made only in this way in the two tribes (Plate 39b), and they last for a lifetime. Informal Friendships cannot be formed between women, because the two girl associates of the initiation festivals have to be Formal Friends by tradition. Both tribes make Informal Friendships with large city outsiders of either sex.

Ideally, Informal Friends may borrow or simply take things from each other in an exaggerated manner, expressing closeness and confidence in each other in this way. If, in reality and through time, it happens that they are no longer close personally and have become antagonistic toward each other, this joking behavior is largely curtailed, but not the associated terms of address and reference.

Informal Friendships provide one of the four joking relationships found among the Canela and the Apanyekra.[13] Informal Friends often play both traditional and original tricks on each other. A characteristic trick is tossing sand in the face of one’s Informal Friend who will wait for the right moment to carry out reciprocal action. This can be done even between members of the Pró-khãmmã. From 1963 to 1979, I saw the older Kaapêltùk and the older Krôôtô periodically do this at some dull moment during a council meeting in the center of the plaza [III.D.1.c.(1).(b)].

Formerly, Informal Friends had sexual relations with each other’s wives (J. Melatti, 1979a:74). In fact, the current practice is to call each other’s wife “wife” and, in speaking to each other, to refer to any one of each other’s children, as “our child,” using the dual inclusive form pa-?khra [III.B.1.1.(1)]. A secondary terminological system, quite limited in extent, spreads from ego through his Informal Friend to his Informal Friend’s consanguines and affines.

[III.E.7] Mortuary Terms

Special terms for referring to dead consanguines and affines were fully in use in the 1970s. these special terms are often similar, but with small added differences, to the ones used for the living. Sometimes, however, the basic morphemes used are entirely different. these expressions are very similar to those reported for the Krahó by J. Melatti (1973:14–15).

[III.E.8] Teknonymy

Teknonymy is widely and consistently used among me Canela between opposite-sex siblings, married couples, and classificatory spouses who are having, or have had, a long term affair. It is used only in terms of address, not reference. There are no words that are unique to this system, but there are unique expressions that are used consistently and are associated with certain behaviors.

[III.E.8.a] BETWEEN CROSS-SEX SIBLINGS

Regardless of Whether they have exchanged a name, a woman calls her brothers (uterine and most classificatory ones) i-tùwa-re-mẽ-hum (my young-one dim. her father: my name-receiver’s father), and a man calls his sisters (uterine and most classificatory ones), i-túwa-re-mẽ-ntsii (my young-one dim. his mother: my name-receiver’s mother). (Itúwa-re is the term of address a name-giver uses for her or his name-receiver [III.E.4.C].)

This kind of address implies respect and caring, and is almost always maintained between adult uterine and amyi-pùtàl siblings. Other classificatory parallel-cousin and cross-cousin siblings (Figure 37) usually maintain this practice of teknonymy. When the relationship is weak and the individuals are young, they may not. If the more distant cross-sex siblings have sex, they are no longer considered siblings; they have become “other spouses.”

[III.E.8.b] SPOUSES AND “SPOUSES” IN LONG-TERM AFFAIRS

Married couples and unmarried “spouses” who have carried on long term affairs [III.F.8.a] call each other by the name of their first-born child, regardless of sex, whether living or dead. As with cross-sibling teknonymy, mẽ-ntsii (possessive-mother) and mẽ-hum (possessive-father) are added, but in this case the addition is made to the name of the child. For example, Mĩĩ-khwèy and Hàwmrõ’s first child was Hômyĩ-khwèy, so they address each other as Hômyĩ mẽ-ntsii and Hômyĩ mẽ-hum (Hômyĩ her mother and Hômyĩ her father: Hômyĩ’s mother and Hômyĩ’s father). Sometimes, this form of address may be abbreviated to mẽntsii/mẽhum or to just Hômyĩ, when this daughter is not present.

In contrast to this marital or quasimarital form of address, totally unrelated opposite-sex individuals call each other by their own personal names whether or not they have had limited sexual relations, and most individuals who are classificatory spouses through the affinal system do the same [III.F.2].

[III.E.9] Contributing-Father Terminology

The contributing-father (co-father) (Glossary) relationship system [III.F.1l.a] does not have unique terms, or expressions of address or reference, but the system does determine behavior to a considerable extent. Moreover, its practice does occasionally change consanguineal and affinal patterns of address and reference [III.E.2.e.(3).(a)]. Consanguineal and affinal terms of address and reference are used, though the priority of such terms in relation to other relationship systems is relatively low.

I prefer “contributing-father” and “social father” to “genitor” and “pater” because no one in the tribe knows who the real genitor is [IV.B.1.b]. For the Canela, they are all genitors because they have contributed some semen to the formation of the fetus. A contributing-father, therefore, is a primary (-mpey) rather than a secondary (-kahàk) father. I prefer the term “contributing-father” to “co-father” because “co-father” puts all the “fathers” in the same category, which is not the case. The role of the social father who is married to the mother is far more outstanding and distinct in its responsibilities [IV.B.2.d].

The contributing-father relationship system, which is comparatively extensive, is also based on the ethnobiological belief that any semen added by one or several men during the period of gestation contributes to forming the fetus. Thus, a person usually has several fathers in the “contributing-father” sense. these fathers are considered to be as much biologically the chàà’s fathers as the social father.

A contributing-father is considered a one-link-away person [III.E.2.b] from the point of view of “blood” equivalence (Figure 39) with his contributed-to child [III.F.1l.a]. This means he must maintain food and sex restrictions when his contributed-to child is ill because she or he has the “same blood” [IV.D.3.a, b] Likewise, the child reciprocates when her or his contributing-father is sick. When the tribe is dispersed, messengers have to be sent to contributing-fathers as well as to non-classificatory first-link-away kin (Figure 20) in order to tell them to keep the necessary restrictions so that the sick person can recover.

I first became aware of the extensiveness (both in frequency of cases and in number of consanguineal links between ego and alter) of the contributing-father networks, when I was studying the ancestry of name-set-exchange siblings [III.EAa]. A considerable portion of these opposite-sex pairs were “siblings” because their parents, grandparents, or great grandparents had had sexual relations outside of marriage. For example, as an extreme case, a woman and her mother’s mother’s mother’s lover’s daughter’s (in the lover’s marriage) daughter’s son (MMM“H”DDS) are distant “siblings” and so could exchange name-sets for one of each others’ children.

Once the children of such an out-of-marriage union have recognized and maintained their “siblingship” for one generation (especially between two women) their same-sex children and, in turn, their parallel-sex-on-the-same-generation descendants (especially if all female) would have just as good a chance of continuing the two matrilines of connecting “siblingships” down the generations as if the origin of their “siblingship” had been in marriage (Figure 42). Often such “siblings” have bonds of great attachment, but in other cases the relationship is lost, especially if “siblings” on the same generation are “brothers.”

As with relationship systems with special terms, the contributing-father relationship system contributes significantly to the formation of behavior patterns. Contributing father-generated relationships—with obligations to provide food (the fathers) and maintain restrictions (all first-linkers)—continue for life for such “parents and children” and such first generation “siblings,” who more than likely are not biologically consanguineals according to Western science.

[III.E.10] Ceremonial Relationship Terminology

The ceremonial relationship terminological systems have no unique terms; only consanguineal terms are used occasionally. these relationships, however, somewhat determine behavior in certain ceremonial settings. Moreover, these behavioral patterns are continued and carried out in daily, nonceremonial life to a considerable extent, as reflections of positions held in festivals [II.E.1.b].

An example of this kind of behavior extended from festivals into daily life is exhibited between members of an age-set and their honored Wè?tè girl and her mother and father [IV.A.3.e.(1)]. Age-set members address her as “sister” and her parents as “mother” and “father” and behave correspondingly to some extent.

[III.F]

Marriage

Marriage among the Canela and Apanyekra is monogamous, largely endogamous, and almost always uxorilocal. It can take place between any nonrelated persons of the opposite sex, but not, ideally speaking, between consanguineals, affinals (except in the sororate), and Formal Friends. Distant consanguines, affines, and Formal Friends sometimes marry or have sexual relations outside of marriage with each other. In so doing, however, they are committing incest (to ayprè). Matrilineality with exchanges between exogamous moieties (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:79) does not exist and most probably never did [III.C.1] [Ill.C.1O.b] (W. Crocker, 1977, 1984a).

[III.F.1] Preferences and Restrictions

There are no marriage prescription or preference rules, except that if a woman dies, her widower is encouraged to marry her sister or close “sister” (Figure 23), so that he does not have to make mortuary payments and can remain in the same household with his chààren [III.E.3.a.(6).(b)]. Making mortuary payments would enable him to leave her kin (Glossary) early, well before being released formally by her family, and marry again into another consanguineal family after a period of mourning [IV.B.3.d.(2)].

A definite restriction is that a woman should not marry a man born in her own longhouse [III.E.2.e.(2)], although there are several exceptions in the one very long Canela longhouse (Figure 24, houses BB through NN, excepting CC). It has become so large that its members near the opposite ends scarcely think of themselves as being of the same longhouse.

Since there is no direct or indirect formal exchange of spouses between marriage alliance groups (Levi-Strauss, 1963:149), among the Canela there is no question about whether it is wives or husbands who are “exchanged” in the classical sense. Quite clearly a son-in-law and his services to his wife’s family are exchanged (“bought”) on several occasions for ceremonial foods and his wife’s services to him [III.D.3.e.(5).(a)].

Exchanges are seen by the Canela as being between the extended families of the spouses. This interfamilial bond, however, is not strengthened generation after generation into a traditional alliance pattern, because brothers and their sons do not marry into the same families. They say there is no tradition against uterine brothers marrying into the same household, but in practice it is rarely done. Research assistants offer no reasons why uterine brothers, classificatory brothers, and fathers and sons avoid marrying into the same “hearth” household and generally even into the same longhouse if it is short [III.E.2.e.(1),(2)]. I suggest that brothers are not welcomed into the same matrilateral “hearth” (Glossary) group because the first-married wife’s kin want to be able to control the later marrying-in sons-in-law, who, if the sons-in-law were kin, might offer too much resistance to being dominated.

[III.F.2] Classificatory Spouses

Opposite-sex individuals who are neither kin, affines, nor Formal Friends, and certain opposite-sex affines [III.E.3.a.(6)L call each other by their personal names and behave toward each other as classificatory spouses (mẽ ?prõ-?nõ: plural-wife-other: Timbira men’s other wives; and me mpyên nõ: plural husband other: Timbira women’s other husbands). An unrelated person (i?ka?khrit) from another Eastern Timbira tribe is a classificatory spouse to every Canela or Apanyekra of the opposite sex. Tribal or village endogamy was and is the general practice, but there were and are a few exceptions, especially among the Apanyekra who have several intertribal marriages with the Canela, Krĩkatí, Pukobyé, and Krahó. In earlier times the fear of witchcraft, along with warfare, precluded most intertribal marriages, but such fears are minimal today [IV.C.1.c.(1)]. Women as well as men move to another tribe in marriage.

[III.F.3] Incestuous Marriage

Marriage and sexual intercourse occasionally takes place between individuals who do not know they are related, especially if they are connected through all male linkages, because such bonds are easily forgotten (Figure 42). There can also be marriages between distantly related individuals such as fifth, fourth, or third cousins (through ad-female links); between more closely linked persons, such as second cousins (rarely); or, as recorded only once, between first cousins once removed. (these individuals know they are related before having had sexual relations or before getting married.) In these cases (even for same-longhouse fifth cousins) their first act of sexual intercourse is considered to be committing incest (Glossary) (to ayprè: make transformed), which amounts to turning kin into affines.[14] A man has to give a woman a small payment for having brought about this transformation.

When committed by distant kin, incest is thought to shorten the life span of the individuals involved, but when committed by uterine siblings, incest is thought to bring about madness and death within several years [I.A.1]. There was no talk about parent-child incest.

[III.F.4] Steps into Marriage

Unlike most Western marriages, which begin with a religious or civic official’s pronouncement or the signing of a legal document, Canela marriage takes place through a series of events and becomes relatively more complete over time as certain steps are carried out.

Older women used to take the initiative in arranging traditional engagements between young people pV.B.1.d]. They still play the more active role in searching for an able son-in-law when the young people leave it to them. A girl’s mother approaches a prospective son-in-law’s mother, and if agreement is reached, the two mothers turn to their male relatives for support. Whereas the ultimate control and command is theoretically held by each mother-in-law’s male kin, it is the women who are more actively engaged in attracting and securing the young males to their matrilaterally extended families. These days, however, it is more likely the girl herself who selects her mate by presenting her mother and male relatives with a fait accompli through her loss of virginity and her identification of her partner.

[III.F.4.a] ENGAGEMENT

In earlier times (Nimuendajú, 1946:118), marital engagements (ku ?le mẽ aypẽn tê: he past-tense plural relational restrict: they were restricted for each other) were made for potential spouses when the girl was 4 to 6 years old and the boy, 12 to 18. This relationship was usually initiated by the mother of the girl in her approach to the mother of the boy. Research assistants say that these engagements usually did not lead to marriage, even though both families carried out bride- and groom-service for years. Just prior to and after the girl’s puberty these engagements could be broken if the boy’s kin made a small payment for his release. Canela young people could not be forced into marriage. Usually, the young man found another woman before the girl grew up, or she simply did not like him. The Canela feel that while men can be coerced and disciplined [III.A.3.c.(3).(f)] [III.B.1.e.(1)], women’s feelings are unchangeable. Today, such early engagements are not attempted.

[III.F.4.b] MARRIAGE DEFINITION

When an “unattached” male takes the virginity of a girl, the two are said to be “married” in the usage of the Canela expression mẽ hikhwa (they lie-down) and the Portuguese se casa. The act of sexual intercourse marries the couple in this limited sense [III.D.3.c.(1)], but this marriage is very weak and easily broken, and many steps still have to be carried out before the marriage is strong. “Unattached” for a man means he has no chààren by a formal wife.

Another marriage is created when an unattached man breaks the sexual mourning restrictions of a widow. Still another marriage is initiated when an unattached, unrelated older man starts to live openly in the house of an unmarried older woman (implying they are having sex). There are, however, a number of steps to be completed before the marriage becomes secure.

[III.F.4.b.(1)]

The expression “unattached” needs to be examined for its meaning in this context. If a married man has no children by his wife, he is “detachable” from her. Testing extremes in an hypothetical case, research assistants debated that if a married man takes a girl’s virginity (or breaks a widow’s mourning restrictions), he has married her too. Most likely, he would have to leave the wife with whom he was living, if he had not taken her virginity earlier, or make a large payment to the girl’s family to leave her. The kin of the three concerned persons would call a meeting, and after testimony from the three principals and witnesses was heard, the man most probably would have to stay with the girl whose virginity he had taken (or the widow); that is, unless his first wife had just become pregnant. The likelihood of a prospective birth is more important for holding a marriage together than a lost virginity (or widowhood) [III.D.3.e.(5).(b)]. However, he or his kin would have to make a payment for the lost virginity (ku-?te kukhẽn ya?pan tsà ?nã: he-past it-broke paying thing for: he broke it—its payment: virginity’s fine), or for the lost widowhood. Such exercises with my research assistant council members were instructive but not definitive.

[III.F.4.b.(2)]

A “single” woman has no husband but she may have children. The Canela call this condition mpíyapit (Glossary), and this term applies to both sexes. Whereas men prefer their female kin not to be mẽ mpíyapit, these days, and speak with pity for a girl who, in the course of a hearing, may be about to be left in such a situation, they do not treat such women pejoratively. However, such women are expected to appear more often than others on the extramarital exchange days PV.A.3.f] and to participate more readily in the early afternoons for male work groups [II.E.6.a] piI.D.1.c.(1).(d)]. Being a female mpíyapit is an accepted style of life (Nimuendajú’s (1946:130–131) “wantons”) although it is becoming increasingly less desirable with acculturation [II.D.2.i.(6)] pl.E.5.f]. A man seldom remains a for long, often marrying a younger woman as soon as his period of mourning is over.

In the 1950s, me female mẽ mpíyapit were held in the same esteem as married women, their actual level of esteem varying more with other factors, such as their personalities, their ability to work, or their number of kin. these single women often furnished their households with more money and food, given by lovers, than most husbands could provide theirs. Presents from lovers to single women are not “payments,” they are presents, because such women are not considered prostitutes. The Canela use the Brazilian Portuguese term rapariga (whore) for backland and city prostitutes but not for their mẽ mpíyapit.

In return for her sexual favors, an mpíyapit (when a dedicated single woman) persuades men to work on her farm plot, particularly felling trees and clearing shrubbery [II.C.3.d]. Some single women, however, clear shrubbery and small trees themselves with machetes and axes, and do an excellent job. My principal female research assistant, Tel-khwèy, age 46 in 1970 (Plate 13a), did this year after year. Such women, however, usually persuade men to carry out a number of tasks, particularly in their fields. Tel-khwèy [II.B.2.e], although a mpíyapit in the late 1950s, was one of the two informal leaders of the women during the Festival of Oranges [IV.A.3.f.(5)] each year, a point which demonstrates her considerable prestige. By the 1970s, she was permanently married.

[III.F.4.C] MARITAL HEARINGS

The Canela make a distinction between “contracting” marriage (mẽ to aypên tê: they for each-other restricted) and “adjusting” the marriage (mẽ aypẽn pa: they with-respect-to-each-other listen: they hold a council: an audiência: a hearing (Glossary)). Always occurring before sex, “contracting” a marriage in a small interfamilial meeting constitutes an enduring relationship, including a continuing exchange of services between families. “Adjusting” a marriage, occurring either before or after first sex, consists of some members of each family holding a larger meeting to consent to the marriage as well as to counsel the couple. During this meeting of the couple’s kin, the uncles (Glossary) of each side do most of the talking but anyone may participate. The uncles try to find out if the young man intends to stay with the young woman. If he does, their uncles ask each of them, individually, if they really care for each other. If they both say they do, they are admonished and lectured about the roles and duties each should carry out in their marriage. This “adjustment” hearing PII.D.3.b] is me closest the Canela come to a wedding ceremony.

[III.F.4.c.(1)]

If the young man who has taken a young woman’s virginity does not want to stay in the marriage, his extended kin must make a significant payment to her kin to release him. Such a payment might be several pieces of iron equipment (axes, machetes, hoes) and maybe even a horse, should they have one. The payment is relatively large in Canela terms, because both virginity and a first marriage are highly valued. Women make no payment if they do not want to stay with a man, but this rarely happens [III.D.3.c.(1)].

[III.F.4.C.(2)]

Sometimes, a hearing occurs just before the girl’s virginity is taken when the couple obviously like each other (mẽ aypẽn kin: they each-other like) and when the parents want to encourage their marriage. This is the sequence of events that parents prefer. If, however, her virginity is taken first, the marriage is referred to as having been “stolen” (hà?khĩya: roubado). If she subsequently fails to obtain the seducer’s admission or to prove her case in identifying him during a series of hearings, she would be said to have “lost her money” (i?pore piktol: money lost), the payment due her if she loses her virginity without obtaining a husband. This loss depreciates her socially rather than constituting a significant financial loss to her extended family. The acculturative trend is moving from “contracting” or “adjusting” first toward “stealing” and “liking each other” and then “adjusting” afterward, but not toward the virgin’s “losing her money.” these meetings bring both families into more closely recognizing and reinforcing the union of the young couple.

[III.F.1.d] PURCHASE OF SON-IN-LAW

After a period of time has elapsed for the marriage to stabilize and appear sufficiently secure, the third step in strengthening the marriage is taken; the wife’s female kin prepare to put on the purchase-of-the-son-in-law rite (mẽpa wawè ?nõ hàmyõl: our son-in-law for pay). In this small rite the wife’s female kin make and carry large meat pies (Glossary) to the natal house of the husband [LV.B.1.i]. these days, the husband’s kin sometimes send meat pies to the house of the wife so that the pies are exchanged. Then, if the bridegroom should want to leave the marriage later, there would be a lesser amount to pay the bride’s family [III.D.3.e.(5).(a)].

The meat pie purchase of a son-in-law used to occur before sexual relations began, but now the rite almost always takes place afterwards. This is an individual matter, however, and apparently these alternatives existed at the turn of the century as well as now.

[III.F.4.e] PAINTING THE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW’S BELT

The fourth step toward securing a marriage is painting the young woman’s belt. This takes place just after she has won her belt (i?pre) as a girl associate for a men’s group in a great summer festival [II.D.2.e]. Her uncles (Glossary) hunt for a deer while she undergoes several days of restrictions in seclusion [II.D.2.f.(1)]. Then she carries the deer part of the way to her husband’s house and her husband’s female kin rush, running in a disorderly fashion (mẽ ?prõt), to take the deer off her shoulders. Then they escort her to her mother-in-law’s house and rework her belt, painting it red with urucu as well as covering almost her entire body with the red paint. (See PV.B.1.h] for a full description of this sequence of rites.)

[III.F.4.e.(1)]

With this rite passed, the new wife has become more acceptable to her in-laws, and there fore is freer to involve herself in the more public extramarital festival days when sex occurs with “other husbands” (mẽ mpyên-nõ: pl. husband-other) [III.E.3.a.(6)]. Finally, she can be seen by female affines in a public place, about to sally forth in a group of women to meet a crowd of men in the cerrado for extramarital sex PV.A.3.f.(1)]. Before the belt-painting ceremony, she could have become involved only in very hidden affairs, or her female affines would have criticized her and complained. After the belt-painting rite, however, she is encouraged to become involved in all the customary extramarital activities without these exploits causing embarrassment to her in-laws [II.D.2.e.(3)].

[III.F.4.e.(2)]

After the belt-painting ceremony, if she has not become pregnant, she has become one of the free and unburdened mẽ nkrekre-re (pl. slippery-one dim.: little free/uncatchable ones). This is the period of great fun in a woman’s life [II.D.2.g], because later she is hampered by raising children and household responsibilities. She is expected to make the most of her short time of freedom before children limit her activities. In contrast, men are freer during their later years as well as in their me nkrekre-re period p1.d.3.f].

[III.F.4.e.(2).(a)]

In early times, the period of being an nkrekre-re (Glossary) woman was said to be a time of great turnover with respect to husbands. She was loosely married, but slept with men on the other side of the plaza from her husband and his age-set moiety members. (Men without children in marriage slept in the plaza [II.D.3.c.(2)].) As a result, she easily became attached to other men who, if she allowed them, showed her continuing attentions. Research assistants say that during this period, a woman might become the wife of several men in succession, merely by choosing to be with one and then another for a significant period of time, rather than with her original husband. This continued until she was caught by pregnancy with one of them who was thereby her permanent social husband until she was no longer encumbered with growing children. During the woman’s free period her serial husbands did not have to pay to get out of their marriages if she left them first, and she did not have to pay anything herself either. Payments existed (and still exist) only to restrain men.

[III.F.4.e.(2).(b)]

In modern times, serial marriages do not occur. This is because the husbands complain too much and require that their wives’ families pay excessively “to erase the shame passed on their faces” (para apagar a vergona que elas passaram nas caras) that their wives’ behavior has made them feel PH.D.3.e.(3).(a)]. The nkrekre-re period for a woman was possible because, in former times, the aunts and uncles worked very hard to suppress the sexual jealousy of their nieces and nephews, particularly the nephews [II.D.3.h.(1)]. Under such circumstances it was difficult for the young husbands to claim and win payments in formal hearings because of the “infidelity” of their wives [III.D.3.c.(1)]. The uncles did not side with them in me hearings.

[III.F.4.f] PRESENTATION OF MOTHER-IN-LAW’S MEAT PIE

On the first day of the Regeneration season log racing in the Ayrẽn (Glossary) ceremony [IV.A.3.f.(2)], a woman chooses an “other husband” to hunt game for her; and if he is successful, she usually rewards him with sexual relations. Then the following day the woman makes a small meat pie of the game and presents it, privately, to her mother-in-law. This rite—the fifth step in marriage—is like a personal answer to the belt-painting rite. Since the mother-in-law has shown her confidence in her daughter-in-law, the latter makes the former a present of the proof of her new freedom.

[III.F.1.g] CONCEPTION

The sixth step is apparent conception. Up to this point in the life course of a couple, marriages are breakable by either partner. But conception catches the husband in a permanent union with his wife for the sake of the fetus and later for the welfare of the infant and future children. If there is a miscarriage, or if the child dies some time after birth but before the next conception, the marriage is no longer permanent; but it is more expensive for the husband to pay his way out of the union because of the suffering (the “ripping and tearing,” they say) his wife has undergone [III.D.3.e.(5).(a)].

[III.F.4.h] CHILDBIRTH

Successful childbirth is the point at which a marriage becomes secure, and is the seventh step. In my 1970 Canela marriage study, there were no cases with ordinary circumstances of a man’s leaving his wife and child (or children), and successfully staying away from them for more than a year. There were, however, numerous cases of 3- to 6-month separations. (No similar study was done of Apanyekra marriage.) A man’s uncles, his age-set, and men in general all pressure him into returning to his wife and children piI.A.3.c.(3).(f)]. There were, however, seven cases in the 1970 marriage study with unusual circumstances: either a “crazy” man left both his wife and their children or a woman ordered him to leave and live elsewhere permanently, the equivalent of divorce [III.F.9].

[III.F.4.i] COUVADE

Soon after the infant is born, both the wife and husband go into confinement in the same house, separated from each other by partitions. They carry out extensive food and sex restrictions for the sake of the health and survival of the baby. In my view, it is this confinement (the eighth step), as well as the birth of the child, that really cements the marital union. In earlier times, this occasion was the first time the husband came to live on a 24-hours-a-day basis in the house of his wife [IV.B.2.C].

[III.F.4.J] POSTPARTUM CO-FATHER MEAT PIE RITE

About 40 days after the childbirth, the wife’s family holds the postpartum restrictions termination rite (Mẽ Hà-?khrẽl: they generalizer eat: they all eat), lasting most of a morning [IV.B.2.d]. At the end of this rite, during which the husband and the baby’s contributing-fathers ritually avoid tasting one meat pie, the wife’s family sends several large meat pies to the husband’s longhouse kin. This is the ninth and last ceremonial step reinforcing the marriage, and occurs only for the first child. these various marriage reinforcing rites are less needed for succeeding births because the first child is sufficient to reinforce the marriage. Only the couvade is practiced for successive births, and then only to a lesser extent each time.

[III.F.5] Marital Payments and Balance of Costs

The total of all payments made from the wife’s to the husband’s family to secure the marriage is large in Canela terms, but the husband’s family has to pay this approximate amount back to retrieve him from the marriage should this become necessary. There are three big payments to the husband’s family: (1) the meat pies (Glossary) of the buying-of-the-son-in-law rite, (2) the deer at the time of the belt-painting, and (3) the meat pies of the contributing-fathers’ rite. In addition, there is the token payment of a small meat pie given just after Ayrẽn day. Occasional groom service (i.e., providing water and wood) takes place in the early stages of the relationship between the two extended families, as well as occasional bride service (providing meat).

[III.F.5.a] GIFTS VERSUS PAYMENTS FOR SEXUAL SERVICES

Within the marriage relationship, the woman gives her virginity (kolmã ?kuuni naare: still whole not: no longer virginal), exposes herself to the risks and pain of childbirth, and renders many domestic services, including sexual relations. The debt of sexual relations between the sexes may be evaluated by noting how sex is exchanged outside of marriage: neither the woman nor the man makes a “payment” (hàm-yõl tsù: pagamento). The man, however, is supposed to supply a small “present” (agrado) just to please the woman every now and then. Research assistants are very clear that there is an important distinction between “payments” and “presents.” Payments are made to settle past “debts,” or they are future debts that may have to be paid. Presents are given to please people and no “return” for them is expected. Thus, sexual services given a man by a woman are not paid for, and they change the balance of intersex contributions only very slightly—maybe in her favor.

[III.F.5.b] CONTRIBUTIONS BY HUSBAND AND WIFE TO THE MARRIAGE

Concerning economic support and domestic services, men supply almost all the meat (the most highly valued food), and do most of the work in preparing, fencing, planting, and weeding the fields. This tends to balance the workload of the housework and child rearing done by women, who also work in the fields, planting, weeding, and doing more of the harvesting (except for rice) than the men [II.C.3.d]. Thus, these kinds of services from one sex to the other are relatively balanced. Nevertheless, when a man returns from trips out in the world PLD.3.i.(1)], he gives his mother- and father-in-law significant presents, usually cloth, beads, iron farming tools, and possibly a shotgun (J. Melatti, 1971), which suggests he owes more than she. these contributions to the other sex are hard to “weigh” as being greater or lesser in relation to each other, and the relative amount in any category of a contribution varies in each case piI.D.3.e.(5).(a)]. In general, however, the balance of contributions can be represented as follows.

Wife to Husband

Husband to Wife

Occasional groom service (water and firewood) in early stages

Occasional bride service (meat) in early stages

Meat pies at time of son-in-law purchase rite

Continual supply of meat in middle and later stages

Deer at time of belt painting

Preparation of farm: clearing, felling, burning, fencing

Meat pies at time of contributing-father rite

Preparation of food

Cooking only when necessary

Child rearing

Child tending only when necessary

Supplying water and firewood

Water and firewood when necessary

Maintaining house

Building house

Planting farm

Planting farm

Weeding farm

Weeding farm

Harvesting rice

Harvesting rice

Harvesting roots and tubers when needed

Loss of virginity

Pain and damage in child bearing

Gifts upon return from trip

Sexual services

Gifts to please wife

[III.F.6] Purpose of Payments

The purpose of payments that result from judicial hearings PII.D.3.e.(5)] is to keep youths and young men with their wives. Men are seen as being looser, freer, and hard to stabilize, but they are far easier than women to coerce and restrain socially [III.A.3.c.(3).(f),(g)]. Age-set training has served partly to establish this malleability, and men are part of an on-going, active age-set for their whole lives, in both the festival context and in daily life. An age-set’s force towards social conformity extends also to marriage piI.B.1.e.(1)]; men of me same age-set shame and ridicule each other in informal, humorous ways, thereby keeping each other in line.

Women, in contrast, are said to be stable, stubborn, and immutable. They are restrained by the fear of rumors (tswa-?nã: sharp-conditional) being spread against them, especially by their female relatives among whom they live and work [III.A.3.c.(3).(d),(e)]. In this sense, female kin are to a woman as an age-set is to a man: the prevailing and compelling social matrix. While this female matrix is focused principally on marriage and family, the male matrix is only partly focused in this way, so that additional persuasion is required to keep men in their marriages. In this context, payments serve to add stability to the male side of the marital equation.

It is not that the payments are economically so large that the difficulty in paying them restrains men; it is more the fear of being shamed in public hearings [III.D.3.b]. It is this personal shame, with his error publicly agreed to by his own kin, that hurts the individual male [III.A.3.c.(3).(a)], not the fine against his extended natal family.

[III.F.7] Purpose of Marriage

Marriage exists for the purpose of raising children, that is, for the maintenance of a family group for socializing its young members. The small unit of the one-link-away (Glossary) family [III.E.2.b] (Figure 20) is held together by concepts of “same” blood (Glossary) identity; therefore, for example, all one-link-away family members need to observe restrictions when any one member is ill in order to help that person recover, which keeps the cohesion of the nuclear family high.

However, one mother and father pair is rarely the actual social unit for raising children, except when the tribe disperses to live in the farm plot huts or in the houses of regional backlanders [II.B.3.j.(1)]. The one-hearth-for-all economic unit (Figure 22), which is usually composed of two to four families with or without husbands, is the domestic unit that is most instrumental in maintaining the cohesion of the larger group, for the ultimate purpose of developing children’s behavioral patterns. The social forces of this basic food-sharing unit [III.E.2.e.(1)] also serve to hold the marriages in it together.

Joking relationships, to the extent mat they are allowed to be carried out in this hearth group of several marriages, are considerably muted. For instance, if a man were living temporarily in a somewhat distant “sister’s” household, this sister’s children would be his “nieces” and “nephews,” with whom he would usually joke. Under the circumstances of living in the same hearth group, however, extensive joking is not appropriate p1.d.l.b.(3)] [III.E.6]. Marriages and hearth groups must be serious and viable social structures, because they are oriented toward dealing with two of the prerequisites for tribal survival: food preparation and raising children.

[III.F.8] Lovemaking and Affairs

Lovemaking and affairs can be found easily outside of marriage, but this is not inconsistent with the fact that many Canela and Apanyekra married couples appear to maintain a very loving relationship with each other. Several festivals take place each year during which spouses go with different moieties and have sexual relations with their “other wives” and “other husbands” [IV.A.3.f]. Because these festivals are part of me ancient tradition of the tribe, extramarital relations are sanctioned within certain festival conditions.

[III.F.8.a] INFORMAL RELATIONSHIPS

Individual one-time meetings, or even long term affairs, are entirely within the tradition. I used to hear of numerous examples of each. In fact, I believe that extramarital sex is (or was) the greatest source of fun and joy in Canela life, adding zest to the daily routine and making life considerably more worthwhile for the individual (W. Crocker, 1964a, 1974a.)

These extramarital arrangements are simple and entirely personal. A man feels a sexual attraction for an appropriate woman in the other spouse category who happens to be passing by. He makes this known to her with his eyes or gestures, and if she responds favorably, he soon finds an occasion to quickly say when and where they should meet, or she does. The assignation usually takes place in a concealed spot in the cerrado or by the streams, often in the late afternoon. When I was walking with Canela away from the village, they often pointed out with glee the tell-tale marks of sex encounters in me sand. During these quick encounters, the man squats between the lying woman’s legs, which rest on his thighs.

(For fascinating comparative materials on marital and extramarital sexual relationships and related activities, see Gregor (1973, 1985) for the Mehinaku and (Lizot, 1986) for the Yanomami.)

[III.F.8.b] WOMEN ALSO TAKE THE INITIATIVE

Women used to take the initiative in these matters at least as often as men, I was told. For example, when Western dancing with couples embracing was first becoming popular with the Canela in 1959, they danced indoors, on hardened floors, bare breasted, and to the rhythm of beaten metal barrels without other music. At that time, it was almost exclusively women who were choosing male partners. A year later, however, they were dancing well clothed to the accordion music Tsaahù had learned to play; and only men were taking the initiative of asking women to dance, in imitation of the backland style. There can be no doubt, however, that women often, if not usually, take the initiative in extramarital sex affairs, just as research assistants say, because the context is traditional.

[III.F.9] Divorce

In theory, divorce cannot occur while a couple’s children are growing up, until all the children have left the home or become married. Consequently, no grounds for “divorce” (that is, leaving children) exist (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:128–129). Nevertheless, most of these older couples remain married until death takes one of them. In my 1970 study of 96 Canela marriages, only 5 cases occurred in which a man succeeded in leaving his wife with his own children while they were still growing up. One mentally ill man left two wives, in succession, each with a chàà by him. One Apanyekra left a Canela wife to return to his tribe. One difficult woman was left twice, once by a man who later served time in the Indian service correctional detention center in Minas Gerais. There were, in addition, two cases of women who required their husbands (fathers of their children) to leave the marriage permanently. One of the fathers was at least a latent homosexual and scarcely supported his wife economically. Thus, there were only seven “divorces” in the study. The five cases of men leaving their children on their own initiative exhibited exceptional rather than ordinary circumstances.

Separations invariably involve numerous hearings called by the kin of both parties to mend the marriage. There are no myths, stories, or reports of such hearings taking place in earlier times that I know of, so this phenomenon (at least its extent) is possibly of 19th century origin.

A man who leaves a wife who was neither a virgin nor a widow at the time of his appearance in her life, nor the mother of his children, pays something to leave but not much, depending on how long he has been with her as well as on many other factors. She may or may not have children of her own, but this point makes little difference in the amount of the payment if he is not considered to be their father through marriage.

[III.F.9.a] STARTING A TREND IN THE 1970S

Between 1975 and 1979, two divorces took place in which men left women who were mothers of their children. One man had a wife, Pèp-khwèy, who was dying of tuberculosis over a period of years. I remember she obviously had the disease in 1964 and was wasting away by 1975. Because her husband had a salary from the Indian service and was willing to give her half his monthly pay, the council of elders and the Indian service allowed him to divorce her. The division of his salary was arranged through the Indian service. He then remarried. Another man, but one with no salary, left a wife and his children to marry a single woman, against the wishes of the council of elders and the Indian service. There were no exceptional circumstances in his case; he was merely a willful individual. Other unexceptional cases of divorce with children involved were in my 1984 communication from me Canela. Unfortunately, a trend in this direction may have been started.

[III.F.9.b] DIVORCE AMONG THE EASTERN TIMBIRA

The Canela speak of a man’s divorcing his wife with his children as his “leaving his children” behind, not as his “leaving his wife.” It is surprising that there is so little “divorce from children” among the Canela in comparison with the Krahó and the Krĩkatί (personal communication with J. Melatti and Lave at the Harvard Pan-Gê Seminar, Cambridge, 1966). However, Canela men have many long separations from chààren, who always remain with their mothers. For one man, his separation lasted for almost a year in 1958–1959.

[III.F.10] Group Age-Set Marriage

Although marriage is associated with the loss of virginity, the Canela at the turn of the century held an age-set marriage ceremony in which every male in the age-set was “married” (or remarried) on the same day [II.B.1.e], according to my research assistant council and Nimuendajú (1946:123). The age range of the men was spread over a period of about 10 years; the age range of the women must have been similarly spread, but as much as ten years younger, so that some were already married and some were still virgins. Women who had babies, and their husbands, were excluded from the ceremony because of the inconsistency of their condition with the ideal model. Besides, the baby would ensure their staying together anyway, so they did not need the reinforcement of a group marriage ceremony.

Each age-set “graduate,” whose intended wife or wife was not already pregnant, was conducted in turn from the plaza by a Pró-khãmmã, usually a grandfather of the graduate, to the house of his present or future parents-in-law where he was made to lie, limbs interlaced, with her. Then both were advised to care well for each other. The Pró-khãmmã received a meat pie from the bride’s kin and took it back to the plaza as a present to his age-set. The procession was repeated for each graduate, with the Pró-khãmmã marching in file to escort one graduate at a time to his wife’s bed. A ceremonial individual followed alone, considerably behind, singing a traditional song that was special for the ceremony. In 1923, however, the ceremony did not occur. The age-set file leader, Ropkhà, as on other occasions, was the first to undertake his age-set’s activities. His wife Yõõtsen had become pregnant before me ceremony was to be performed and the elders decided it would not be propitious to carry out the performance for any members of the age-set. File leaders of age-sets are hàmren in ceremonial status and strong in psychic powers and prognostic sensitivity (W. Crocker, 1978:17), unlike the age-set commandant and the age-set deputy commandant (Nimuendajú, 1946:193), who are just political figures [III.D.1.i.(1)]. Therefore, when an age-set’s “seer,” with group-protective and danger-sensing abilities, cannot be the first participant in the ceremony to test its propitiousness [IV.A.5.e.(2)], it might well be safer and wiser not to carry out the performance at all. This same “seer,” Ropkhà [I.G.9], age 65 (Plate 17c), was a member of my research assistant council, when I did this research in 1964, and another member of the council, Pyê?khàl, was a woman still older than him. They both remembered the circumstances around why this ceremony did not take place in 1923 (Nimuendajú, 1946:91) just after the graduation of his age-set.

Moreover, until young men had been conducted to their spouses’ homes, they were not supposed to visit them in the daytime. When most young husbands and even the age-set leader himself were seen to be ignoring this rule, as Ropkhà said, there was little reason for the elders to carry out the group marriage ceremony.

[III.F.11] Ethno-ideology

Ethno-ideological concepts are generally used by preliterate societies to describe, support, or substantiate certain of their social structures. The Canela hold a number of these “truths” to be self-evident and enjoyed teaching them to me. The Apanyekra are assumed to hold similar views, but the data supporting these ethnoconcepts was collected mostly from the Canela.

[III.F.1l.a] “BLOOD” CONCEPT

The Canela believe in a concept of “blood” (kaprõõ: blood) (Glossary) or some corporeal substance that is similar for and shared by certain relatives (W. Crocker, 1977:263). The degree of similarity of the blood of different relatives is a measure of how close they are as kin, as Da Matta (1982:51–52, 105–109, 160) maintains for the Apinayé and J. Crocker (1985:79) for the Bororo. Uterine siblings of both sexes have similar or almost “identical” (i-pipẽn) blood, because they were born as a twig, or a branch, coming off the same umbilicus (Figure 38).

This ethnotheory maintains that all consanguineal first-link individuals (ego’s parents, siblings, and children) [III.E.2.b] have “equivalent” blood (Figure 39), that is, their blood composition is very “similar” (i-pipẽn: it-balanced: literally, the items are the same in weight). Consequently, one-link-away kin have to carry out restrictions for each other when any one of them is id in order to help each other recover (W. Crocker 1971:325). One-link kin exist in a common blood “pool” which any one of them can pollute, hurting any weak member. Thus they must refrain from sex and from eating certain polluting foods when any one of their blood-pool members (i.e., one-link kin) is sick [IV.D.3.a, b].

FIGURE 38.—Canela and Apanyekra equate “blood” of uterine siblings (i.e., all siblings are born on the same umbilicus and therefore have the “same blood”).

FIGURE 39.—Canela and Apanyekra matriline “blood” attenuation. Marriage dilutes blood-similarity (i.e., equivalence) with respect to descendants. A man and his wife grow, through sexual relations, to have similar blood in common with each other and their children. They have a “pool” of common blood. Grandchildren and grandparents share blood but not enough to satisfy the “equivalence” principle.

After being married for several years, a couple also begins to have similarly equivalent blood. Their blood becomes equivalent through sharing certain of each other’s body fluids—mostly through sexual intercourse and perspiring together. Thus, they have to carry out restrictions for each other when they are sick just as if they were consanguineal first-link relatives.

An expression for consanguineal relatives is kaprõõ khwè (blood group). Thus, I thought that perhaps ego’s spouse, after having spent some time living with ego, would become part of ego’s kaprõõ khwè, but research assistants say this is not the case. The spouse becomes one of ego’s ipiyakhri katêyê (her/his-restrictions people/contenders) but not one of her or his blood kin (kaprõõ khwè or hũũkhyê: consanguineal-relative).

[III.F.11.b] FLOW OF HUMANITY

In the Canela view of the flow of humanity through time (Figure 40), descendants (tàmtswè: grandchildren) come horizontally towards (aypên tẽ: hither move) ego. Having passed ego, these former descendants are seen as ascendants (tùylkêt: grandmothers/grandfathers) who are moving away (amu te; away move) linearly [V.B.1.b]. More precisely, what the Canela conceptualize are matrilines of women (mother, grandmother, great grandmother, etc.) moving away, with their married-to husbands (mẽ nkêtyê: pl. male-ascendants) attached to them. The female line is the more permanent one, and, as such, is seen as the structure that survives through time, with the male ancestors portrayed as marital appendages.

FIGURE 40.—The flow of kin through time. Descendants (tàm) arrive, pass ego, and move away as ascendants: grandmothers (tùy) with grandfathers (kêt) attached by marriage. (Ego is considered to be stationary in time.)

[III.F.11.c] EXTENDING THE SWEET POTATO VINE

The Canela have different imagery for portraying a similar aspect of the flow of humanity through time. They observe the growth of a sweet potato vine on which additional potatoes appear further and further out along the vine, away from its central spot of origin and towards its growing tip. Each more distant potato is a female descendant further on in time. (Note mat the imagery is reversed. Here, descendants, instead of ascendants, are moving away, if the observer is in the center of the potato patch.) The vine grows because a male from some other vine joins this furthest and newest potato in marriage so mat eventually a still newer potato—their daughter—is formed even further out on the vine. Their son, born next to their daughter, traverses to another vine when he becomes adult, and finding its growing tip, marries the newest potato there to extend the vine and produce their own children. In this image the Canela see tribal “descent” as the horizontal spread of their people, in matrilines, away from a central point (Figure 41).

[III.F.11.d] ACROSS-THE-PLAZA BRIDGES OF “BLOOD”

The Canela also use imagery to describe the transit of a youth moving from his maternal house across the plaza to the house of the mother of the young girl he is marrying. They say the youth moves like a shooting star crossing the great expanse of the sky (Nimuendajú, 1946:233). His crossing creates a kin bridge across the plaza (Glossary).

Two other images portray the congruence of the Canela social structure and the village structure. The first image is the ring of houses around the circumference of the village where a network of totally female kin (“sisters”: parallel cousins; Figure 42) forms the blood structure of the matrilaterally based longhouses [III.E.2.e.(2)]. The second image is the across-the-plaza network of kin (cross-cousins) initiated by the passage of many youths who traverse the plaza in marriage. (See Figure 43 for actual intermatriline ties in Escalvado.)

The Canela point to the form of their ceremonial meat pie (Plates 22e, 23b) as exemplifying these two structures. The rim of the circular meat pie, which is wrapped in wild banana leaves, is like the circular boulevard and its houses, and the bands of buriti straw crossing the meat pie are like the youths crossing the village in marriage.

The linkages, Whether around the boulevard or across the plaza, are made through blood equivalences existing through time: a just-married youth’s sister who is a one-link kin to him has blood that is equivalent to his. Soon his across-the-plaza wife has equivalent blood to his, and later, so does his daughter. Much later, his granddaughter has blood that is equivalent to his daughter’s blood (but not to his own blood because his granddaughter’s blood has become diluted by being two generations away; i.e., by two marriages; Figure 39). Thus, a bridge (hapàà) [V.A.5.b.(1).(b)] of overlapping equivalent blood pairs (mẽ-hapàà: Timbira-speakers’ bridge) spans the plaza (Figure 44).

[III.F.11.e]    CROSS-COUSIN AND PARALLEL-COUSIN LONGHOUSE MATRILINES

This bridge of overlapping paired equivalent blood kin are all blood relatives (mẽ kaprôô khwè). these kin are a unit, created through a marriage, that is held together over two to four generations (at the most) through the individual relative’s recognition of shared blood. The individual recognizes her or his father’s sister’s, mother’s father’s sister’s, and father’s father’s sister’s kin and the reciprocal relationships [III.E.2.e]. Thus, an individual may have up to three across-the-plaza kin groups into which she or he cannot marry or have sex. In these cross-cousin kin groups, the individual recognizes up to second cousins and their children (the third descending generation), if the appropriate linkages are still intact. I know of no cases where fourth cousins, as calculated through this structure, mutually recognize each other. However, in the parallel-cousin matrilateral kin groups based on the longhouse, fourth and fifth cousins are sometimes recognized as “primary” (-mpey) “siblings.” Prepacification Eastern Timbira tribes, with their greater populations living in one village, possibly extended the longhouse and across-the-plaza kin structures to include more generations.

[III.F.12] Summary of Village “Blood” Ethnostructure

While the social structure around the village circle of houses (Figure 42) is based on “sororally” related females and extended through time by marriage (Figure 39), me social structure across the plaza is based on an individual male linking two matrilines, through his siblingship to a member of one and through his marriage to a member of the other (Figure 43). Marriage not only extends matrilines generation by generation (Figure 41), it also holds diverse matrilines together for up to three or maybe four generations (Figure 42). Thus, marriage, in which blood of the couple becomes equivalent, is one of the two most important factors contributing to social cohesion. The other factor is genealogical relationships in which equivalent blood is also the basic concept. These two blood concepts, as well as others [III.D.2.e,3.f], hold the village and the tribe together. Thus, blood concepts, which are basic to both marriage and kinship, are also basic to village structure.

FIGURE 41.—Canela matriline “blood” attenuation is expressed in their sweet potato vine concept of descent. Each potato is a woman and the next one on the vine going out from the center is her daughter, and so on. A man comes to her in marriage from another vine to enable the next potato out along the vine to be “born.” This “offspring’s” blood is diluted in contrast to its mother’s by the addition of its father’s blood. The imagery of “descent” is one of spreading outward, flat, along the ground, in every direction.

FIGURE 42.—Model of genealogical “distance” between parallel cousins. The “fullness” (i.e., “blood” similarity) of the relationship attenuates with each generation of paired females (“sisters”) and even moreso with every male pair of “siblings” in the lines so that male second cousins are “secondary” (-kahàk) ones or they might not even know they are related. (1st = -mpey (full); 2nd = -kahàk (weak).)

It is known that such blood ethnoconcepts support Timbira social structure (Da Matta, 1979:113), but the existence of genealogical blood ties beyond two-link-away individuals has not been stressed in studies of other Timbira tribes. This relative lack of emphasis by other Timbira tribes on extended genealogical connections must be due largely to more extensive culture contact, depopulation, and consequent deculturation (Lave, 1979:36–44). Apparently, most other Timbira tribes (even the Apanyekra) base their terminological systems less on actual genealogical ties and more on name-set transmission and simple individual choices (fictitious ties) than do the Canela.

FIGURE 43.—Canela cross-cousin, across-the-plaza linked longhouses for Escalvado, 1971. The lines across the plaza represent most longhouses connected through female or male ego’s male ascendant ties (FZC, MFZC, FFZC, and reciprocals). The Canela speak of these “grandmothers’ longhouses” in terms of where a male relative came from in marriage (cf. Figure 24).

FIGURE 44.—A bridge of equivalent “blood” pairs, originated through marriage, connects two houses across the plaza from each other. (Ego is male, O represents females.)

Probably blood ethnoconcepts are rarely exemplified as clearly in the demographic composition and the physical arrangement of the villages of other tribes in the world as they are among the Canela.

Part IV: Ceremonial and Belief Systems

Religion may be defined as broadly as the relational system that ties man into the world in which he lives, or as narrowly as what is seen in each culture as being supernatural in contrast with what is natural. In this monograph, the broad relational approach, including ceremonial and belief systems that tie individuals to each other and to the world they live in, is used. Thus, Canela religion can be found in their festivals, individual life cycle rites, mythology, cosmology, shamanism, witchcraft, and positive chanting, as well as in their concepts of pollution, of purgative medicine, of affirmations, and of transformational practices.

There are few generally accepted, recognizable forms of religion or religious practices among the Canela: no obvious praying, no worship, no services led by priests, and no attempts to influence supernatural forces to intervene on behalf of the people. (Nimuendajú, 1946:231–234, also found little evidence of the existence of formal religion.) In earlier times, supernatural phenomena were recognized by the Canela and brought into their daily lives mainly through contacts with ghosts [IV.D.1.c.(1)]. These supernatural spirits were of the recently deceased and were not considered superior or supreme beings to be venerated. On the contrary, they were placed on the same level with humans but were very much pitied.

The ecological niche that the Canela occupied in precontact times and at present is relatively benign, which may account for their this-worldly oriented religious system, along with other factors. The Canela and Apanyekra, as culture carriers, project relatively few of their ideas onto the supernatural, but rather onto the physical world. There are no earthquakes, droughts, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, volcanoes, fires, or other natural disasters around which religions have often been formed by peoples seeking help or solace. The worst Canela disasters are rattlesnake bites and rare invasions by plagues of caterpillars. Formerly, there was seasonal intertribal warfare [IV.C.1.c.(2)], but this only occasionally had drastic results. The 18th and 19th century pioneer incursions and their consequent diseases were far more devastating [II.B.1.b] but probably occurred too recently to be formative factors in the evolution of the traditional Canela religious system. The Canela messianic movement of 1963 was an exception to their reliance on largely this-worldly religious solutions and must be understood through the analysis of acculturative factors. The increasing involvement of the Canela in the backlander’s folk Catholicism is another exception.

[IV.A] Festival System

The Canela are well known for their vast festival system in the South American ethnological literature through Nimuendajú’s monograph (1946). The complexity of the many moieties and their interlocking nature are crucial aspects of the festival system, and notable when found at the Canela’s technological level of development (Carneiro, 1967). The purpose of this chapter is to present a comprehensive view of this system. Outstanding aspects of each great dry season festival and some obvious interpretations are presented. Comparisons with the festivals of other Eastern Timbira tribes are not attempted here.

The festivals (Glossary), an aspect of Canela religion in the broadest sense, are ceremonies (Glossary) that instill, especially in the young, profound feelings for and beliefs in the Canela way of life. The festivals provide guide lines for acting out traditional roles, thereby sanctioning them, as well as social settings in which the individual can experience joy and express love. The festivals contribute in this way to the unusually high social cohesion [III.D.3.f] that is characteristic of the Canela sociocultural system.

[IV.A.1] In and Out of the Festival State

Many of the festival performances look the same as daily activities to an outsider, but the Canela know Whether a particular performance is an aspect of the on-going daily life cycle [II.E. 1.b] or whether it is part of a festival. The expression amyi-?khin nã (self-liking in: euphoria) means roughly “festival in” but might be more accurately translated as “being in a festival state.”

Among all the festival groups, only the age-set moiety system to a major extent and parts of the Red and Black Regeneration season moiety system to a smaller extent transcend the festival system and operate outside as well as inside it. As such, the age-set moiety system may well be the most important component of the festival system, uniting the real and model worlds [II.E.1]. When assembled in their village, the Canela may have daily races between the age-set moieties, and may work or hunt in their age-set moiety divisions. In addition, the Wè?tè girls (Glossary), representations of high festival honor, are treated with prestige outside the Wè?tè festivals. Thus, on the same day that these nonfestival activities take place, the Canela may also go into a festival state.

[IV.A.2] Festivals as Pageants and Role Models

The Canela festivals, which are really pageants sometimes lasting several months, portray the Canela way of life as well as most of its beliefs, values, and roles. Models of traditional behavior are provided in these festival-pageants for all Canela individuals to see, learn, and eventually internalize. A sister rushes to aid and comfort a brother hit by a firebrand, pouring water on him. Mothers-in-law parade holding strings attached to their sons-in-law (Plate 40a, c, e).

A festival’s acts and scenes are very much like the sections of a Western play, except that there is no obvious plot that holds the many performances together. One scene follows another (singing, dancing, and sometimes athletics) with no obvious continuity except to the Canela or to the person who has studied and analyzed the dramas. Viewed as a whole, most scenes, almost every act, and all the festival-pageants make sense, have a certain continuity, and can be seen as an understandable totality. For instance, as the Pepyê novices come out of their long internment, they let the villagers see a little more of their bodies in each successive act. First they live away from the village for several weeks; then, they appear marching behind mats around the village for several days; later, they file through the village at dusk; and finally, they take their position in the plaza in full sunlight.

During their internment, the health of the novices is considered fragile, but as they emerge they become progressively stronger. If, nevertheless, a villager with an evil eye (an antisocial kay) views them just after their emergence and before they regain strength, this evil might hurt them. Thus, they emerge from their internment gradually, in stages. Knowledge of the novices’ weakness while secluded and of the potential “dangers” [IV.B.2.c.(1)] they might encounter as they emerge from internment, facilitates comprehension of a series of nonconsecutive acts occurring on different weeks and days.

All the kinship roles, consanguineal and affinal, and almost all other roles in the society, are acted out at one point or another in these festival-pageants. These traditionally repeated dramatic festival roles define how individuals in such roles should ideally behave. The enactment of the roles reaffirms traditional values and operates against social change.

Special roles in the pageants are provided for a number of individuals, giving some of them high ceremonial status and therein a strong basis for satisfaction in the society. The status acquired through carrying out festival roles is often transferred to private life, thereby structuring some relationships in an otherwise classless society. Such transferences apply to the roles of the hàmren girls [III.C.9] and to a larger number of males, such as age-set file leaders, commandants (Glossary), deputy commandants [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)], Ceremonial-chiefs-of-the-whole-tribe, and the leader of the Visiting Chiefs. (The expressions “high” and “low” ceremonial honor are mine and are meant to describe the relative ranking the Canela give to the various hàmren positions [III.C.7].)

The festivals of the annual cycle [II.C.4] occur as follows (Table 4): Regeneration season (Ayrẽn, Katàm-re, Wakmê-re, Katàm-ti, Wakmê-?ti), Sweet Potato, Corn Harvest, Pàlrà, Opening Wè?tè, one of the five great Wè?tè festivals, Closing Wè?tè, and again the Regeneration season. The five great summer festivals are the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, Pepkahàk, Fish (Tep-yalkhwa), and Masks (Ku?khrùt-re-?hô). The Wè?tè season is presented first in this chapter, since it epitomizes festivals, and the annual cycle festivals and rituals are placed afterward.

[IV.A.3] Wè?tè (Dry) Season

The Wè?tè (Glossary) season is the time for one of the great festivals, beginning during the late spring or early summer of the Western calendar year and ending in the late summer to early fall. It might be called the “extramarital” or the “self-enjoyment” season. The great festival interrupts the domestic continuity of the married couple. Wives partially give up their husbands and husbands their wives to the gaiety and fun of this season. The five great festivals of the season are the only ones that can be referred to as an amyi?khin (state of euphoria).

The sexes are supposed to move somewhat apart during the Wè?tè period so that a woman can mix and have sexual relations more easily with her “other husbands” (mē mpyên nõ: they husband other: a woman’s other husbands) and a man can do the same with his “other wives” (mē ?prõ-?nõ: they wife other: a man’s other wives) [III.E.3.a.(6).(a)]. Certain men are sometimes removed from the daily scene by festival internments, so that in principle they cannot have sexual relations at all. This makes it easier for their wives and the noninterned husbands to associate freely. In the Pepkahàk festival mature men are secluded away from the village, in the Masks’ festival a men’s society is removed from daily circulation, and in the Pepyê festival novices are restricted to cells in their maternal houses. Sex is prohibited for all the individuals of these special groups.

[IV.A.3.a] OPENING WÈ?TÈ FESTIVAL

The Wè?tè season is opened with a log race (Wè?tè Yõõ-Pĩ) between the age-set moieties. Sexual freedom and the opposition of the sexes is very apparent in the symbolism of the Opening Wè?tè festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:163–166). Female and male groups march separately to the center of the plaza, shouting hostile phrases at each other. The following day, 30 to 40 women who are in the opposite Wè?tè houses from their husbands go out “hunting” into the woods and take several male associates (mē kuytswè) along, chosen so that each woman will have at least one man, other than a relative or a Formal Friend, with whom she can have sex. The male associates hunt meat for the women. When the women return in the late afternoon, after having had sexual relations with the men, they put on the Hat-re act (Nimuendajú, 1946:165–166) (Plate 52d), in which women demand and take the meat, hung on a tall pole, from the men in a disorderly dash (mē ?prõt) [IV.B.2.d.(6)] that is expressive of extramarital sex and hostility between the sexes. (For a discussion of far sharper antagonism between the sexes in a tribal society, see Murphy and Murphy, 1974:136–140.)

Prior to the beginning of the festival, the tribal political chiefs lecture their followers extensively on how each husband must control his jealousy and let his wife move freely with her other husbands. Although extramarital sexual relations may occur outside the Wè?tè festival, both in festival situations and informally [III.F.8.a], the structured emphasis is very clear: during the Wè?tè season spouses must “look the other way” and accept what happens. During the rest of the year, the sexes are supposed to be more serious in their attitudes toward each other, to work harder to maintain their household for their children, and to make every effort to be closer personally. (For more extensive information on the Canela extramarital relationship system, see W. Crocker, 1964a, 1974a.)

[IV.A.3.b]    STRUCTURE OF THE FIVE GREAT WÈ?TÈ SEASON FESTIVALS

After the Opening Wè?tè festival of two days’ duration, one of the five great Wè?tè season festivals commences in late March through May. The diachronic structure of each great festival is strikingly similar: (1) an opening period (in which the theme is presented, the festive groups of men segregated, and the girl associates selected); (2) a middle period (which includes the performance of characteristic daily acts and several “great days”); (3) the hunting phase (to provide and prepare meat for the terminal phase), and (4) the terminal phase (which includes the most dramatic and ceremonial events of the festival).

[IV.A.3.b.(1)]

For any one of the five great Wè?tè season festivals, the opening period lasts two to four days, depending on the particular festival. The special male group of the festival is designated and set apart from the rest of the society, and the girl associates are either chosen by the Pró-khãmmã or by the groups they are to join. Then, the special festival performers are selected by the Pró-khãmmã or, if they are traditional name-set or haakhat performers, they are reminded by the Pró-khãmmã that their participation will be expected.

During the middle period, daily festival acts occur each day. In the Masks’ festival, these daily festival acts take place each morning directly after the council has finished its meeting. In the Fish, Pepkahàk, and Pepyê festivals, the characteristic daily acts take place in the late afternoon. During the Khêêtúwayê festival their principal daily act occurs at any time, as many as six times a day. Thus, the festival acts continue to be enacted daily during the whole (1 to 3 months) middle period.

All of the festivals have characteristic 1 to 4 “great days” (dias grandes: amkro kati: day great), which usually require considerable preparation and expense on the part of the principals, and special performances by the designated male festival groups. These performances take place several weeks apart and tribal spirits build up to these dramatic high points of the mid-Wè?tè season.

[IV.A.3.b.(2)]

After six weeks to three or four months, the Pró-khãmmã or the leading festival men’s group decide to terminate the middle period and begin the terminal one. For this, they put on the A?tu ?Pôk (grass it-burns) (Plate 44a) ceremony during which villagers burn the grass between the village radial pathways. This activity is reminiscent of a cerrado hunting practice used to scare game out of protective cover or to encircle it. The hunters sing Waytikpo (Glossary) songs [II.F.1.c.(2)] (Plates 43a,c; 44a,e) in the plaza, shooting their shotguns into the air at dramatic points. They also hunt “game,” by “shooting” at various “animals” enacted by the boys near the flames in the grass. The boys pretend to be killed as the prey of the hunters, who carry them back to the plaza. This enactment is intended to bring success in the real hunting that follows.

To provide enough meat for the terminal period, the two age-set moieties hunt for two to three weeks away from the village (mē hõt wèl: they sleep go-toward: they go on overnight hunting). Each moiety takes four to six female associates with them to maintain the daily housekeeping, smoke the game, and have sexual relations with after the game has been caught and cooked. These women smoke the meat over a very low fire. Each piece is suspended separately on thin, weak platforms made of green sticks of wood that will not burn. I could place my hand between the coals and the meat because the fire was so low. This smoking is an entirely traditional method for cooking and preserving meat. (The backlanders do not preserve meat this way; they cut it into thin continuous strips which they salt thoroughly.) This Canela smoked meat becomes black on the surface and well done inside, and is, in my opinion, the most delicious form of cooking the Canela practice.

The hunters celebrate the last night before returning to the village with great hilarity. They paint themselves black, dance all night, and have sex with the women. The two moieties return separately the following morning, filing into the village from different directions at sunrise, carrying smoked game in baskets on their backs. They march along the boulevard to their respective Wè?tè houses where they leave the game. That afternoon or the following evening the formal activities of the terminal period of the festival begin.

[IV.A.3.b.(3)]

The terminal periods (hikhul tsà: ending thing) of each of the five great Wè?tè season festivals are characterized by a series of dramatic acts, the Pepyê and Pepkahàk ending in a particular climactic performance, the Waytikpo sing-dance [II.F.1.c.(2)] (Plates 43a,c, 44e), followed by all night singing by the principal group involved. One of the purposes of all night singing and the ensuing log race is to test the endurance of the performers. These are spectacular occasions.

After these several climactic acts, high drama gives way to low comedy, including extramarital intercourse arranged within the context of the festival.

[IV.A.3.C] FIVE GREAT FESTIVALS

The Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, called the Nkrel-re (Glossary), are the initiation or socialization festivals which introduce the practice of food and sex restrictions [IV.D.3.f] to the youths. The Pepkahàk festival continues this practice for mature men and portrays high honor roles and their values and restraints [III.B.1.d.(3)]. The Fish festival, in sharp contrast, portrays defiance of high honor values and emphasizes individuality. The Masks’ festival is foreign in origin (Krahó) and, therefore, not integrated into the socialization and restraint versus individuality themes of the four principal festivals. Social leveling and economic distribution are epitomized here through emphasis on goods being dispersed to all through the legitimizing of “begging” [III.B.1.a.(4)]. (For more comprehensive and detailed descriptions of these festivals, although less structural, comparative, and interpretive, see Nimuendajú, 1946:163–230 and W. Crocker, 1982.)

[IV.A.3.c.(1).]

KHÊÊTÚAYÊ FESTIVAL (Nimuendajú, 1946:171–179).—This festival begins during a late afternoon sing-dance with the sudden presentation to the plaza by a Pró-khãmmã of a ceremonially painted staff partly covered by pea green parakeet down. People recognize it as the Khêêtúwayê (Glossary) symbol and thereby know this festival has begun (Plate 41).

[IV.A.3.c.(1).(a)]

Immediately after the showing of this ceremonial staff, “catchers” previously designated by the Pró-khãmmã catch [II.D.3.d] the members of the youngest age-set and place them in two rows in the plaza (Plate 41c) [II.F.1.c.(1)]. Each boy is placed in a northern or southern row according to plaza moiety affiliation [III.C.5], which is determined by name-set transmission. All these young males, who range from infants to boys of 7 or 8 years old, are to be members of the same age-set [III.C.3]. The catchers (mē-hapèn-katê: them catch master: those who catch them) then march the novices (in two single files and in opposite directions) from the plaza into rooms of internment (Plate 41a). These rooms are prepared for them on either side of the plaza in two traditional matriline locations, one in the east, the Upper plaza moiety (Khèy-rum-mē-nkàà-tsà), and the other in the west, the Lower plaza moiety (Harã-rum-mē-nkàà-tsà) [III.C.5, 6.a]. The novices may remain interned for as much as two months before they are released during the terminal period.

[IV.A.3.c.(1).(b)]

Every day these novices are called upon to present themselves in the plaza (Plate 41b) a number of times and to sing a traditional set of songs. The length of time singing in the plaza varies with each appearance. Sometimes they remain in the plaza singing for more than an hour and sometimes only for 10 minutes. When performing, they face each other in two rows (each composed of a plaza moiety) in the center of the plaza, one row with its back to the north and the other with its back to the south [II.F.1.c.(1)]. They have headbands on the backs of their heads with two or three, or sometimes even five, macaw tail feathers pointed upwards [II.G.3.b.(1)] (Nimuendajú, 1946, pl. 35a) (Plates 41d, 61a). Behind the novices is a row of female relatives, each one holding her male relative by his ribcage while he is singing to save him from ghosts, from which these songs come and attract. Behind the varied female relatives (Z, “Z,” M, M“Z”), several meters away, is a group of “uncles” (MB, M“B,” B, “B,” MF) (Glossary) of the novices who sing along with their nephews and their female relatives [III.A.2.n]. (See diagram of positions of all parties in Nimuendajú, 1946:174, fig. 12.)

[IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)]

Each row is led by a sing-dance master, and also by a file leader (mamkhyê-?ti: front-pull-great) who was appointed by the Pró-khãmmã. Each file has one girl associate (kuytswè) and one messenger boy (mē ?krat to-ipa katê-re: their bowl it-going master-dim.: their bowl-carrying person). The two file leaders (Glossary), messenger boys (Glossary), and girl associates (Glossary) form a group of six who always eat together and do not freely associate with the rest of the novices. They are seen as being somewhat “superior,” because the two girls and the file leaders are appointed by the Prókhãmmã and, therefore, are hàmren in status [III.C.7]. There are also two commandants (mē-?kapõn-katê: them-sweep-masters), one for each file, who come from higher and opposing age-sets, and two deputy commandants (mē-?kapõn-katê-?kahàk-re: them-sweep-master-lesser-dim.: the lesser sweepmasters, or caretakers) who are selected from the age-set of the novices by the Pró-khãmmã. The commandants and deputy commandants are not hàmren, being more political than ceremonial [III.D.1.i.(2)], but eat and associate with the elite group.

[IV.A.3.c.(1).(d)]

During the course of the two to four months duration of the festival, there are two or three ceremonially great days during which the novices sing a special series of songs (Ayèk) that they do not sing in their many daily outings in the plaza. As they sing the Ayèk songs, they kneel and sit on their ankles in two rows facing each other, rubbing the Palms of their hands back and forth on their knees. Since all of their songs are believed to attract ghosts, the female relatives and uncles, as well as the macaw tail feathers worn by the boys, serve to protect the boys from these dangerous ancestors from the world after death [III.A.2.n.(1)]. (According to a myth, the daily songs and the Ayèk ones were brought from the world of the ghosts by a Canela youth.) When research assistants were asked if any songs could not be sung casually in daily life, they invariably spoke of these Khêêtúwayê songs, almost their only sacred ones in this sense [IV]. Almost any other festival song can be sung casually, they said. I have often heard the Waytikpo songs sung by women grating manioc.

[IV.A.3.c.(1).(e)]

During the terminal phase of the Khêêtúwayê festival, the novices gradually come out of seclusion. After an all night sing, the Waytikpo high ceremonial chanting takes place on a late afternoon, after which the artifacts of high honor of the Waytikpo performers are bestowed on the great singers and dancers of the festival [II.D.2.f,3.e], [II.F.1.c.(2)], [II.G.3.a.(1),(2), (6),(7), b.(7)], [III.A.3.b.(3)]. The following day a race with heavy logs (Krówa-ti: buriti-large) takes place in which the Khêêtúwayê novices are too young to participate, except for the older novices during their second or third Khêêtúwayê performance. Then comes the Wild Boar festival day for adults during which extramarital sexual favors are exchanged [IV.A.3.f.(1)]. After two more days of such activity, the festival is terminated.

[IV.A.3.c.(2)]

PEPYÊ FESTIVAL.—There are likely to be two or three Khêêtúwayê festivals and two Pepyê festivals (Nimuendajú, 1946:179–201) to complete the training of an age-set over a period of 10 years [III.C.3.a]. Thus, a Pepyê festival in this sense is a continuation of the Khêêtúwayê training. Instead of protecting the novices from ghosts and teaching them to appreciate the roles of their female relatives and their uncles, a Pepyê festival trains a young person in self-discipline through the observance of food and sex restrictions.

[IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)]

The Pepyê novices are interned (formerly in a beehive-shaped cell) in their maternal houses and fed by female relatives according to prescriptions ordered by their uncles. At first, they are given very little to eat until a specified period is over. Then for several weeks they are fed great quantities of a few kinds of foods that are thought to be almost entirely free of pollutions [IV.D.3.d, f] so that they will grow robust in size and be enhanced spiritually.

During the great days of the middle period, each youth is inspected for his progress or “growth” by an older man who is playing the role of his naming-uncle. This man is in theory a member of the youth’s and his naming-uncle’s plaza moiety group [III.C.5.b]. This “uncle” screeches at each novice in turn, as done in the hààprãl act [II.E.7.b], asking the Pepyê internee if he is ready to go out to kill the enemy [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)], if such a force were to appear nearby in the cerrado. (The term pepyê means warriors or warrior people, though the Canela do not know this meaning themselves anymore. Cognates of the word pep (or pēp) are found among the Kayapó, and other Northern Gê tribes; T. Turner, personal communication.)

[IV.A.3.c.(2).(b)]

Later, the Pepyê novices come forth as a group and carry out a number of specified activities, including living outside the village in a campsite where they practice singing (Plate 32c) the great songs for the terminal part of the festival. Every morning a sing-dance leader (Glossary) walks out to their campsite to train them in this singing [II.F.1.a.(1)]. They also try raising logs out of water to develop strength and balance, and they foot race to improve these abilities. They make Formal Friends and Informal Friends by either entering the water looking away from each other in shame (Plate 39a), or by going into the water together, coming up facing each other in Informal Friendship (Plate 39b) [III.E.5, 6]. Their commandant and his deputy march them around from place to place to instill group discipline [II.D.3.d] [III.B.1.d].

[IV.A.3.c.(2).(c)]

When it is decided to start the Pepyê terminal phase, the novices are summoned by their “catchers” from their campsite and approach the village in stages (Plates 36c,d), moving closer with each daily act (Glossary) and gaining strength and resistance against pollutions (Glossary) at each stage. In the terminal phase, all-night singing once more tests the endurance of the novices and other performers, and the festival climaxes in a Waytikpo ceremony [II.F.1.c.(2)] at which awards are given [II.D.2.f,3.e] [III.A.3.b.(3)]. The next day a great log race (Krówa-ti) is put on to test the strength gained by the novices during their internment. This test of endurance is especially important during the race of the final graduating festival. This log race is also important to those Pepyê individuals who want to demonstrate their newly gained strength to relatives and “other wives” [III.A.3.c.(3).(j)].

Next is the Wild Boar day (which includes arranged extramarital sex for the novices [IV.A.3.f.(1)]), which is followed by a solidarity day [III.B.1.d] when the novices go off together into the woods to decorate each other in a jocular manner with black paint (Glossary) (aràm hôk). When the novices return to the village after this final day of fun, the girl associates and messenger boys are dismissed. The following morning the novices are given a new age-set name, and after the performance of their last Pepyê festival, are considered a newly graduated age-set [III.C.3.a] (Plate 40b). They are novices no longer.

[IV.A.3.c.(3)]

PEPKAHÁK FESTIVAL (Nimuendajú, 1946:212–225).—This festival is a continuation of the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals. This time, however, the festival is oriented around the catching and internment of grown men who have already graduated as part of a formed age-set. One of the purposes of the festival is to make it possible for the internees to experience once again the practice of supervised food and sex restrictions.

[IV.A.3.c.(3).(a)]

The Pepkahàk troop is interned in a hut that is about 150 meters outside the village. The troop is under the leadership of a special file leader appointed by the Pró-khãmmã for the whole festival. During the day, the Pepkahàk are supposed to undertake jobs that serve the whole tribe. However, they must first make paths for themselves from their hut to the village and to their swimming spot (Plate 5a). These paths, wide enough for two people to walk side by side, have to be arrow straight [III.B.1.f.(1)].

As Pepkahàk (Glossary) individuals, who are persons of high ceremony (hàmren), they must carry out jobs to perfection and experience great shame when faced with certain undignified (and therefore affronting) activities of the non-Pepkahàk villagers, called põõ katêyê (cerrado people). They are never supposed to leave their hut to return to their wives and families, but most of them do so occasionally. In theory, if it is known that they have had sexual relations during this period, the troop’s file leader can order them tied to a post in their hut by the troop’s messenger boys and whipped several times with light wands.

[IV.A.3.c.(3).(b)]

The dramatic daily act of the Pepkahàk troop is to file counter clockwise around the village (Plate 44c) just outside of the circle of houses (a?tùk-mã) to collect food in the late afternoon. They march by with great pride, looking neither to the right nor left, nor up or down, and keeping very serious faces. As they pass by, they are given food by the women of their affinal or natal houses. When they return to their hut, the food is redistributed and shared.

Around nine o’clock in the evening when all is quiet, the Pepkahàk start their series of songs, which in theory are sung every night of the middle festival period. These songs start very low, proceed with a distinctive and precise rhythm, and increase slowly in volume. When the troop stands up, they sing with such great volume that everybody in the village can hear them well. According to their haughty reputation, however, if there is any interference on the part of anything in the village (that is, if a dog should bark intermittently, or if somebody in the village should begin to sing) the Pepkahàk instantly cease even if they are in the middle of a song. The haughty Pepkahàk do not brook competition. They are either accepted as they are or they withdraw.

[IV.A.3.c.(3).(c)]

During the several ceremonial great days (Glossary), each separated by a few weeks of regular daily events, each of a Pepkahàk’s several other wives [III.E.3.a.(6).(a)] tries to find and take small hidden cords from his body. These wives wait in a group all day for the Pepkahàk file’s surprise appearance in any direction from the cerrado, and upon sighting it, dash in its direction in a disorderly manner (mē ?prõt), falling on their other husbands to feel for and retrieve as many tiny cords of fine buriti bast as possible from hidden places on their bodies. The dignity of the Pepkahàk is not respected by their other wives.

[IV.A.3.c.(3).(d)]

Finally, after a hunting phase, the terminal period of the festival begins. Again, a number of increasingly dramatic acts culminate in the honor ceremony of the Waytikpo sing-dance [II.F.1.c.(2)]: its awards for good performances given by the Pró-khãmmã [II.G.3.a.] and its slow sunset-lit procession to the plaza. This daily, progressive rise in drama begins with acts of low ceremonial honor during which the Clowns harass the Ducks (Glossary). Then the Pepkahàk sing all night while their Formal Friends protect them from the cold of the early morning. These Formal Friends form a circle around the singers, standing with mats encircling their backs and bodies against the cold (Plate 45e). Then on the same day, the following acts represent high ceremonial honor [III.C.7.a] and increasing drama: (1) the Ceremonial-chiefs-of-the-whole-tribe (Glossary) intervene between the Falcons and the Pepkahàk (Plate 44b), preventing mock warfare [II.B.1.d.(1)]; (2) the Visiting Chiefs (Tàmhàk) parade down all radial pathways to the plaza (Plate 44d), demonstrating their hàmren-level style, and (3) the hàmren and non-hàmren status persons (Wetheads/ Dryheads) separate and march past each other in parallel files, marking this distinction. Finally, culminating the rise in degree of drama portrayed, the Pepkahàk girls perform the celebrated Waytikpo sing-dance (Plate 44e), which they and male sing-dancers had practiced daily in the cerrado campsite (Plate 32c). After the dramatic procession to the plaza of this special sing-dancing group, the Pró-khãmmã present awards to the best festival performers of the whole tribe [II.D.2.f,3.e] [III.A.3.b.(3)]. The next day the Wild Boar ceremony occurs with its extramarital sexual exchanges, this time with the Wetheads in the field’s hut and the Dryheads in the village. After several more days of athletics, fun, and low comedy, including log races, taking each other’s pots, painting each other with black paint, and conducting an arrow-shooting contest (i?têk) [II.F.2.c.(1)], the festival ends.

[IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]

The internees in the Pepkahàk are not the only important group performing in the festival, as they are in the Khêêtùwayê and Pepyê. The Pepkahàk festival might even have been named, “The Hàmren,” their role is so central to the overall meaning of the festival. Although the Pepkahàk troop is cast in the principal daily role during the middle period of the festival, the hàmren (Wetheads), share a very important act with the non-hàmren (Dryheads) in the terminal part of the festival, completely excluding the Pepkahàk. Likewise, the Visiting Chiefs (Tàmhàk: tàm-hàk: raw/uncultured-falcon) play the important role in a festival act during which no Pepkahàk appear. These chiefs are all hàmren in state and status just because they are Tàmhàk members, whereas the Pepkahàk, as individuals, may or may not be hàmren.

[IV.A.3.c.(3).(f)]

Comparing the three internment festivals, the Khêêtúwayê teaches novices about the dangers of ghosts (the unknown) [IV.C.2.c] as well as about the supporting roles of relatives. The Pepyê festival teaches them how to use food and sex restrictions as aids [III.A.3.b.(2).(a)] for developing their athletic skills, their endurance, and their personal abilities in many activities [IV.D.3.f]. Both of these initiation festivals inculcate in individuals the desire and need to move in groups [II.D.3.d.(1)], like wild boar. The Pepkahàk festival reenacts the practice of restrictions through the internment. Moreover, additional protective devices are emphasized in the Pepkahàk. Instead of relatives protecting Khêêtùwayê novices against ghosts, and food and sex restrictions protecting Pepyê novices against pollutions, Formal Friends protect the Pepkahàk internees against almost any of life’s social dangers [III.A.3.c.(2).(b)]. Thus, the three festivals parallel each other in the sense that they serve to teach methods of protection to prepubertal, postpubertal, and adult individuals against the particular dangers of their respective ages. (An analysis of this parallel structure of the three internment festivals is presented and developed in W. Crocker, 1982:147–158.)

[IV.A.3.c.(4)]

FISH FESTIVAL (Tep-yalkhwa: fish mouth/talk/language) (Nimuendajú, 1946:225–230).—This festival contrasts starkly with the three internment festivals. In Canela dualism, these three internment festivals are each paired (Glossary) in a complementary relationship with each other. In contrast, research assistants see each of the three internment festivals as paired in an oppositional relationship with the Fish festival, with the Pepkahàk being in the most striking opposition [V.A.5.a.(1).(c)]. The Clowns are Dryheads (mē ka?khrãnkràà) [III.C.7.b], which means they have little ceremonial prestige, whereas the Pepkahàk are a high honor group, although as individuals they may be either Wetheads or Dryheads.

Clown (Glossary) society members control the festival rather than the Pró-khãmmã. Once the Pró-khãmmã agree to have the Fish festival put on, they remove themselves from the day-to-day governing and directing of festival acts [III.B.1.d.(3)].

[IV. A. 3.c.(4).(a)]

Six plaza groups [III.C.5], three in each plaza moiety, are the performing societies: the Tsêwtsêt-re (Stingray-dim.), Têt-re (Otter-dim.), and Tep (Fish) are stationed on the east side of the plaza, while the Teprà-?ti (small fish species), Apàn (Piranha), and Tep (Fish) are on the west. (Two of the Tep groups do not have specific names.) The Clowns constitute the seventh grouping, and are the principal performers of the festival.

Each of these six plaza groups erect well-made huts on the eastern and western sides of the plaza. The huts face each other in parallel formations in sets of three (Figure 17). Five of these plaza groups have two girl associates, but one, the Têt-re (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:225) or river Otters, has just one. The Otters’ hut is also different from the others; it is high and conical instead of rectangular like 20th century Canela backland-style houses. The one Otter girl associate is high in ceremonial honor [III.C.9], though not hàmren. This festival has the fewest hàmren persons of any of the great festivals.

Finally, after a delay of several days, the Clowns erect their own hut on the northern edge of the plaza facing south. In contrast to the six other finely constructed and squared houses, the Clown’s hut is an incredible sight. No straight lines exist throughout its structure [III.B.1.f.(1)], and it has no complete walls nor a full roof. In theory, everything that could possibly be wrong is built into this house. Following the same spirit, the girl associates wear grotesque fake pigtails with straw wrappings extending their hair to reach their buttocks (Plate 46b).

[IV.A.3.c.(4).(b)]

The daily act occurs in the evening during which each plaza group separately sings its special song. Then the Clowns usually sing the special Pepkahàk songs of the Pepkahàk festival, but often the Clowns choose to be absent. They sing them well and correctly, however, but between each song several Clowns separately add hideous commentaries. They shout them in loud, descending voices so that everybody can hear the offensive remarks and feel apprehensive. These derogatory cries [III.B.1.g.(2)] are often sexual or about deformed human beings such as dwarfs and hunchbacks or certain particularly reprehensible backlanders [III.A.3.a.(2).(d)].

When Clowns finish their Pepkahàk songs, they wander back to their homes singing these same songs separately and out of key, unlike the Pepkahàk, who do everything in unison. This simple act characterizes the Clowns as individualists (amyià?khôt: self-following) who will not take commands from the Pró-khãmmã or from the tribal chief during the festival. The Clowns have a troop leader of their own, who invariably is the “worst” of them all in humor, improper behavior, brashness (Plates 77b,d), and surprising initiatives (Plate 46d).

During one of the special great days of the festival’s middle phase, the girl associates of the Clowns put on a special act. One of the girls nurses a baby doll (Plate 46c), which she proceeds to drop on the ground, causing it to cry. The girl then does everything a good mother should not do, such as slapping her “baby.” In one of the scenes in this drama a girl associate is caught in an act of mock incest with her “brother.” All of these dramatic events are carried out in hilarious gaiety and with comical gestures. Of course, most of the village is watching and expecting more amusement and looking for funnier performances each time.

[IV.A.3.c.(4).(c)]

When the terminal phase of the Fish festival begins, the Fish (Glossary) sing for most of the night, and the Clowns build a weir into which the Fish are herded. The Clowns symbolically capture the Fish in this way. The Fish, however, try to escape and run for one of the houses on the boulevard where they will be safe. As they sprint to escape the weir, the Clowns try to capture them individually by snatching a small meat pie shaped in the form of a fish off their shoulders. The game is a crafty one, with Fish dodging in and out of the weir, and cooperating with each other to tempt the Clowns out of position to gain an advantage in a race to one of the houses on the village circle. Then they may also run from house to house taunting the Clowns. Finally, however, all the Fish are caught—their meat pies [II.G.3.b.(9)] are snatched from their shoulders as they run from one base to another. At dawn, more singing occurs and the festival ends.

[IV.A.3.c.(5)]

MASKS’ FESTIVAL.—Nimuendajú (1946:201–212) called the fifth and final Wè?tè season festival the Mummers’ festival. For simplification, I call it the Festival of Masks or the Masks’ festival, as the Canela say in Portuguese: A Festa das Máscaras (Plates 48,49).

The Canela also call this festival the Ku?khrùt-re-?hô these days, but more traditionally it was the Kô-?khrit-re-?hô (water monster-animal diminutive its-hair). In this case, “its-hair”really means “its-straw” since ?hô refers to whatever is pendant on a body or on an object, and the masks are made of buriti palm straw [II.G.3.b.(10)]. Research assistants say the Masks’ festival came from the Krahó when a Canela who was visiting there saw it and brought it home.[15]

The members of the men’s society of Masks have received their membership, as well as their right to make certain kinds of masks, through name-set transmission. The masks are painted in a variety of ways (Plate 48a); each of the designs represents a set of different personality traits that the Mask assumes while performing in the village.

[IV.A.3.c.(5).(a)]

At the opening of the Festival of Masks, the Mask society members walk out to a spot 2 or 3 kilometers from the village where they build a lean-to, which shelters and houses the masks while they weave them.[16] Women are prohibited from the area, except for the Masks’ two girl associates. If other women were to appear, the men could not make the masks properly.

Each morning in the village, Jaguar society members (Rop) pounce upon Agouti (Glossary) ones (Kukhên). If however, the particular Agouti happens to be hàmren, a Jaguar cannot pounce upon him and “eat” him. If the Agouti is not hàmren, he is pushed to the ground, sat upon, and generally abused, as everyone laughs.

To begin the terminal phase of the Festival of Masks, a grand parade of all Masks is staged (Plate 49a). They march in single file with great dignity from the cerrado hut into the village itself. The masks are head high and about three-quarters of a meter wide, so the owners inside are well concealed. Users support masks by carrying a traverse beam on their heads. Owners weave the front and back mats of the mask so that they cover their bodies from head to waist, below which a skirt of pendant palm frond leaves reaches almost to the ground. The front mat is slit so its user can see but go unrecognized. He opens, closes, and shapes the slit by pulling strings, giving the face of the mask various expressions (Plates 48c).

Arriving in the village, the Masks perform a number of traditional acts (Glossary). One is a dignified single file procession of Masks at twilight, another is a hilarious drama with Clowns dragging and insulting Masks, and another is a show requiring skill in which Masks enter doors of houses while running (Plate 48b). The difficulty in this last act is that each mask has “horns.” These are pointed poles made of purple wood which would pierce a person in the way. Nevertheless, Masks run through a low and narrow doorway, one after another, ducking the front pole to enter and lowering the back one when inside, demonstrating a high degree of skill. The crowd goes wild when a Mask misses, piercing a house wall or splintering a horn.

[IV.A.3.c.(5).(b)]

The chief occupation of Masks, when free from carrying out traditional performances, is “begging” (Glossary) from villagers (Plate 48e). The Masks are seen as strange, almost human animals, who have emerged from river waters (kô-?khrit: water-beasts). They are supposed to have certain personalities consistent with how they are painted. For instance, the tall Khen-pey (hill-beautiful), never runs. He just parades everywhere serenely and sedately and is leader of the Masks’ troop. The Tôkaywêw-re and Espora (Spur) Masks, in contrast, are always running after one object or another. Masks do not speak, but each kind of mask has its own way of grunting. Specific body and facial movements are also significant. One posture indicates shame (Glossary) (pahàm) (Plate 48c): head bowed to the ground, backing away. A gesture implies begging (a-?nã ?wè: something-on beg): repeated jerking of face slits, up and out impatiently. A number of additional expressions, such as anger (in-krùk tsii: she/he/it-angry inherently), are part of the repertoire.

As the Masks arrive at the entrance of the village on the day of their great procession, they are chosen by women to be “pets,” but to fill this role the women must be “other wives.” Thus, the Mask will give a sign for the woman to avoid him or these women peek into the masks before choosing in order to avoid Formal Friends, relatives, and certain affines. These women, once having chosen and accepted a Mask, refer to them as their “pets” or their “children” (to disguise the “other spouse” relationship), and the Mask calls this woman his “mother.” At the end of the festival, the Mask members leave their masks with their mothers.

[IV.A.3.c.(5).(c)]

The most important purpose of the Masks’ festival is to sanction “begging” [III.B.1.a.(2), f.(4)] (Plate 48e). All of these immense palm straw “beings” have strong desires and feelings and are easily pleased or hurt. They all “beg,” some with dignity and some without. This is their principal activity during the two terminal days of the festival.[17]

The system of begging (almost nonexistent by the 1970s), which the Masks dramatize, ensures a swift distribution of foods coming into the village, whether from hunting or agriculture. When the Canela were a hunter-gatherer people, only somewhat dependent on food production, it was important for foods, especially valued meat, to be passed around to any people in need. This was not done automatically except for certain relatives. Hungry people had to go to where food was and ask for it without shame [III.B.1.a.(4)]. The Krahó of the mid-1960s gave food only to relatives (J. Melatti, 1967), but the Canela and Apanyekra extended this generosity to any hungry person [III.B.1.b]. The Canela even gave food to non-Canela persons and backlanders of the region.

Food distribution through “begging” (Glossary) was a significant factor in maintaining Canela morale and social cohesion at a relatively high level. It was also an expression of the intensity of their feelings and caring for each other, especially in the late 1950s. It is consistent with their greatest traditional good: generosity (hà?kayrn), and with their greatest traditional evil: stinginess (hõõtsè).

The Canela are a very loving people, but they are losing this generosity of spirit to the extent they become ashamed of begging and desirous of building up stores of material possessions. Today they have to be at least somewhat “stingy” to be in accord with newly established customs.

[IV.A.3.c.(5).(d)]

The Festival of Masks is different from the other four great festivals because it is really part of the Closing Wè?tè festival. The Opening Wè?tè festival continues directly into the Festival of Masks without a break, and the end of the Festival of Masks continues directly into the Closing Wè?tè festival. The Masks, Jaguars, and Agoutis of the Masks’ festival continue their performances with similar behaviors in the Closing Wè?tè festival.

[IV.A.3.d] ORIGINS AND RETENTION OF FESTIVALS

The origins of all Canela festivals, as reported by research assistants and Nimuendajú (1946:202–203), are introductions by individuals with special experiences in “other worlds.” The Masks’ festival and Arrow Dance [II.F.2.c.(4)] came from the Krahó in post-pacification times.

The origin of the Khêêtúwayê festival is attributed to a youth who learned it from the ghosts while wandering alone in the cerrado (Nimuendajú, 1946:171–172). He watched the ceremony, and was allowed the privilege of taking it back to the Canela as a presentation from the ghosts [IV.C.2.c]. However, one result was that the singing of the Khêêtúwayê songs would attract ghosts who would come and remember the old songs that they used to sing.

The Pepyê festival was brought to the Canela by the youth Khenku?nã (hill/rock grating-instrument), who, with his younger brother, Akrêê, lived with their grandparents away from the tribe (Nimuendajú, 1946:179–181). Their grandfather put them in an internment cell that was built over the waters of a stream, where they underwent a high level of food and sex restrictions [IV.D.3.a]. Thus, they grew rapidly and acquired great strength. When they came out of their internment, they realized their special task was to kill the two great birds who were carrying away and eating their people one by one. Every now and then the large birds passed overhead carrying one of the tribe’s members in its claws. Akrêê was killed by one of the birds, but the older and stronger boy killed both birds and returned to his village. He brought with him the basic experience of the Pepyê festival and its internment to ensure the proper use of restrictions and bathing in water for rapid maturation. In this case, the surviving youth was not cured of any disease and did not become a kay.

The Pepkahàk festival was brought back to the Canela tribe by a youth who had a seriously infected ear and had remained behind alone in the cerrado while his people were on trek (Nimuendajú, 1946:247). In this condition he was visited by one of the great birds out of the skies. After being cured, he was taken to the skies to visit the great birds. They taught him their Pepkahàk festival, which he later brought back to his tribe.

The Pàlrà ritual (not a great festival; Glossary) was learned by a youth, Khrúwapu, who was sick and weak from eating clay. Feeling especially ill, he went down to the stream to get some water. As he sat there he saw a large alligator come to the surface. The alligator, Mĩĩ-ti, talked to him kindly, and invited him to go on a trip to the underworld of alligators. While there, Khrúwapu saw a number of festivals, including the Pàlrà ritual and the Red and Black Regeneration moiety racing styles. When the alligator returned the boy to the Canela world, he cured him of his sickness and also made him a shaman. He was then able to show his uncle and the tribe how to sing and dance the Pàlrà ceremony in a “stronger” more affirmative way [IV.D.5] than they had done (W. Crocker, 1984b: 195–203).

Other than the Masks’ festival, there is little likelihood that any great Wè?tè festivals will be lost in the near future. The two novice-forming festivals, the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê, are too necessary for training young people. The Fish festival is not likely to be lost because its participants have so much fun in it. Furthermore, a majority of girls win ceremonial belts through the Fish festival because it offers more positions for girl associates. The Pepkahàk festival however, is the hardest to prepare for and requires the most food. This festival could be lost, especially since it was traditionally performed only once every five years. During my time, closer to ten years elapsed between performances (1958, 1970, 1979, 1988). The Pepkahàk series of songs are likely to survive however, because they are performed in the Fish festival which takes place more frequently. They are also sung on Good Friday evening every year as part of the new folk Catholic customs developed by the Canela in Sardinha and Escalvado.

The Festival of Masks, probably will be lost because of the large amount of work necessary for weaving the 40 to 50 body-size masks. Many men have lost the technique of making the masks and have to ask other men to do it for them. Time spent on fabricating these masks is in direct competition with time devoted to clearing and preparing farms, and acculturation is giving farm work an increasingly higher priority over festival participation. In addition, while older men still retain the power and influence to intern younger ones, the older men do not like the daytime internment they have to undergo when the membership goes out to their cerrado hut to weave masks for about six weeks.

When a great festival ends, the Canela seem to want to linger in the Wè?tè season, even without the daily acts of a great festival to enjoy. Thus, except after the Masks’ festival, when the Closing Wè?tè follows immediately, two weeks to two months pass before the Closing Wè?tè festival is put on, usually in September or October. The higher priority of preparing fields accounts for delays and for the occasional omission of the Closing Wè?tè festival. This is the annual festival most likely to be omitted in the future.

[IV.A.3.e] CLOSING WÈ?TÈ FESTIVAL

In contrast to “manifesting” the two Wè?tè girls, as the Canela say of the Opening Wè?tè festival (Wè?tè to-aypē: Wè?tè manifested/shown), the Closing Wè?tè festival (Wè?tè to-amtsu: Wè?tè hidden) hides them or puts them away. Thus, married couples must return to relative fidelity and work, and singing and dancing can take place only in the plaza, not along the boulevard by the houses, though a man can sing while jogging up and down the radial pathways. The two Wè?tè girls (Figure 45) represent the spirit of the Wè?tè season, during which they are said to be “out” in the boulevard so that everybody can “play.” When they are back “in” their houses, life becomes serious again.

FIGURE 45.—A Wè?tè girl and her Kô?khre log with its trough burned, representing her absence and the corresponding termination of the Wè?tè season’s festivities. (Baixão Prêto 1959)

These two girls also represent the ceremonial elite; they are pep-khwèy, or hàmren, in rank (Glossary). Thus, without the example of the Wè?tè girls’ model behavior and their potentially restraining presence—they can and do stop excessive male activities [II.F.2.a.(3)]—full enjoyment cannot be risked. The lack of their ceremonial presence places the responsibility for the control of excesses more on the individual and on the political leaders.

[IV.A.3.e.(1)]

The Wè?tè girls reflect the stability of family life rather than the playful sexual life of the girl associates (mē kuytswè) (Glossary). Each Wè?tè girl’s family has the responsibility to hold “open house” for and to act as “relatives” for the age-set moiety opposite to that of the particular Wè?tè girl’s father. Thus, whether in festivals or in daily life, the two Wè?tè families provide food and shelter to half of the male adolescent and adult population of the tribe. They even provide platform beds for extramarital sex on certain ceremonial occasions, with two to six women having sex with the men of the opposing age-set moiety to their husbands [IV.A.3.f.(6)].

Age-set members address their Wè?tè girl’s family members in kinship terms, both on certain ceremonial occasions and in some daily situations [III.E.10]. Thus, one of the roles of the Wè?tè girl and her family, in and out of the festivals, is to provide for age-set members a respected, “family-oriented” place away from home for food, water, rest, and sometimes even sex, when the Wè?tè girl is “out” in the boulevard. Her presence restrains male jealousies and antagonisms.

One of the principal acts of the Closing Wè?tè festival is called the Hίwa?kèy by the Canela, after the artifact worn in the occipital hair of each of the men (Table 8, item 49) of the age-set moieties who perform in this act. These moieties form two rows in the center of the plaza facing each other along a north-south axis. The eastern Wè?tè girl stands in the northern end of the eastern row of men and the western Wè?tè girl stands in the southern end of the western row of men. While the entire repertoire of Híwa?kèy songs are being sung, the men perform various dancing maneuvers. At the termination of the singing and dancing in this formation, the two Wè?tè girls return to their respective houses on the eastern and western rims of the village circle.

As the two Wè?tè girls walk slowly back to their houses, they are accompanied by the ex-Wè?tè women and also by their rejoicing Formal Friends. The latter are attached to the Wè?tè girls by long ropes by which they are pulled along. The Wè?tè girls’ Formal Friends perform grotesque comic acts (Plate 39c-e) to demonstrate the joy they are experiencing because the Wè?tè girls’, their Formal Friends, are being honored through their performances in the Hίwa?kèy ceremony. The summer Wè?tè season is essentially closed when the two Wè?tè girls enter their respective houses, where they will symbolically remain until they are ceremonially brought out again at the Opening Wè?tè festival the following year.

[IV.A.3.e.(2)]

During one of many the acts of the Closing Wè?tè festival, a “cage” (Figure 46) is erected before the house of a Wè?tè girl. The cage is shaped like an early cerrado forager’s hut (ikhre yirõn: house rounded[the top]; W. Crocker, 1978:5). This cage is made of stripped and curved sapling branches about 1 to 2 centimeters in width, which are tied together in the form of a hemisphere about 1.5 meters high, with a strong pole (6–10 cm in width) placed vertically in the center, 4 to 5 meters high. A vine is tied to the top of this mast, and the Little Falcon, standing on the cage, swings on the vine, holding onto it with his hands. He throws himself off the cage into the air, hanging onto the vine (as if trying to fly) falling back onto the cage for other foot thrusts out into space (Figure 46).

If a girl has become pregnant before being chosen a girl associate, she can win her belt only by climbing onto the cage with the Little Falcon as he attempts to “fly,” and later by running behind him in the boulevard as he dashes out and back to his cage, trying to escape the harassment of members of the Agouti men’s society. In this fashion, she wins her belt the quick way without having had the “maturing experience” of multiple extramarital relations [II.D.2.e.(3)] [III.A.2.j.(6).(c)]. One to three girls obtain their belts this way every year.

[IV.A.3.e.(3)]

The fact that the Wè?tè girls have been taken away, ending the season, is symbolized by the erection of the Kô-?khre log (water its-hole: a spring) in front of one of their houses (Figure 45). This log is their replacement. It is erected vertically and placed directly on a line from the center of the plaza to the front door of the maternal house of one of the girls to show that both girls are now “in” (their houses).

The log is made of a buriti palm trunk cross-section and stands about 1.5 meters high, with its base dug into the ground. A vertical trough facing the plaza is cut through the bark into the core of the log, and the pulp of the sides and flat bottom of this hole are blackened by fire. The emptiness of the opened space inside the log symbolizes the absence of the Wè?tè girls and the termination of the Wè?tè season.

According to Darrell Posey (in Hamù, 1987), people of the Kayapó nation (all the Kayapó communities together) call themselves the Mēbênkôkre, or “people from the water’s source.” The Canela cognate of this expression is mē pê kô ?khre (we[people] are water’s hollow [source]), which is paralleled by mē pê Apàn-yê-?khra (we are piranha-pl.children: we are Apanyekra). Thus, the Kô?khre log may be referred to as a water’s source, or a spring.

FIGURE 46.—Cloth-and-feathered decorated Little Falcon swings on vine from mast, “flying’’ (pushing off) from his cage. Girls may join him, instead of serving as girl associates, to win their maturity belts.

[IV.A.3.f]    OCCASIONS FOR SANCTIONED EXTRAMARITAL SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS

The pleasure derived from the extramarital network of sexual relations engendered by the Wè?tè season is one of the most important factors maintaining the characteristically high Canela social cohesion. Information on the extramarital system was not given me during my first year of fieldwork because the Canela were very embarrassed about the extent of these practices [I.B.2.a] and wished to avoid an anticipated negative reaction on my part. They think the backlanders and urban dwellers are shocked even to hear about such practices and look down on them for their “animal-like” behaviors. The Canela are right in sensing that these non-Indians do not appreciate the generosity [II.D.2.e.(3)], the feelings of solidarity, and the expressions of generalized mutual affect, or love, that are generated among the members of the group, and in the society at large, through these practices [III.B.1.a.(4)] [III.F.8].

During the Wè?tè season all the young girls in the tribe have to earn their belts by serving as girl associates to a men’s festival group in one of the five great Wè?tè season festivals [II.D.2.e.(3)] or by climbing on the Little Falcon’s cage and running with him in the boulevard in the Closing Wè?tè festival (Figure 46). Thus, to win their “maturity” belts [IV.B.1.h.(2)] (Figures 48,49), they should have had multiple sexual relations as part of their socialization [III.A.2.j.(6).(b),(c)].

Wè?tè season extramarital relations (even when carried out privately) are sanctioned or encouraged in festival acts, and play an important role in the operation of the entire sociocultural system. Only one of these sanctioned occasions must occur during the Wè?tè season (the Wild Boar Day), but I am presenting all of the occasions here because the positive attitude toward extramarital relations is best dramatized in the Opening Wè?tè festival and is carried out generally and informally in all five of the great Wè?tè season festivals.

The Wè?tè season encourages informal extramarital relations and makes it easier for individuals to carry them out, but the opposite is true for festival internees who are forbidden to have sexual relations and who are punished if they do. The Apanyekra have a special ceremony in which Pepyê internees have to sit in the center of the plaza opposite their partners in sex, whether their wives or not, for all the tribe to witness their shame if they have broken the internment rules (Plate 31b, c). During the Pepkahàk and Pepyê festivals the interned men are not supposed to have sexual relations, so other men find it relatively easy to have sex with these internees’ wives. During the Masks’ festival, the Masks spend most of the day away at their camp, so other men may take this opportunity to have sex with their wives. In the Khêêtùwayê, the interned boys are usually too young to be concerned about sex; and in the Fish festival, the men are not interned, but extensive extramarital sex is available for most of the plaza group members and the Clowns, within the formal context of the festival.

[IV.A.3.f.(1)]

WILD BOAR DAY.—This day (Krôô-yõõ-pĩ: boar its racing-log) occurs in each of the three internment festivals, that is, in the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Pepkahàk festivals. This day occurs after each of the climaxes of the three festivals in the Waytikpo ceremony during the late afternoon of the preceding day. Thus, a day of enjoyment and relaxation follows the day of high ceremony and tension.

On this day of relaxation the tribe is divided into the Upper and Lower age-set moiety dichotomy for the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals and by the wethead/dryhead dichotomy for the Pepkahàk festival. The males of one moiety go out to a farm plot while the males of the other moiety remain in the village. The wives of the males in the farm plot stay in the village, while the wives of the men who remain in the village walk out to the farm plot. Thus, a clear separation exists between any formal spouses.

[IV.A.3.f.(1).(a)]

The people of both sexes in the village dance around the boulevard most of the morning in the Mē Aykhē manner [II.F.1.b.(2).(c)] and then go to the stream to bathe. They have refreshments in the Wè?tè house of the male age-set moiety that has stayed in the village. Here, partitions are erected between raised platform beds or between platforms on the ground with mats. A woman is installed in each, and men come to them, in turn, for sexual intercourse. The position is the usual one for quick encounters: the woman lies on her back, and the man squats between her raised and partly folded legs; her calves rest on his thighs. This extramarital activity may also take place down by the stream near one of the bathing spots.

[IV.A.3.f.(1).(b)]

After a light early-afternoon meal, the men walk or run from the village to where the Wild Boar log race is to be held. The moiety that went to the farm plot in the morning has been preparing the two racing logs, which are fashioned from one buriti palm trunk.

The age-set moiety of males that goes out to the farm plot rests there in the morning, telling stories and jokes, one man singing while leaning on a ceremonial lance. The interned novice group is always part of the moiety that goes out to the farm hut.

In the early afternoon, when most of the work has been done to prepare the great meat pies that are necessary on this occasion, small unescorted groups of women can be seen going off into the woods. It is known that groups of men are already out there in the shrubbery and that these women are joining them for sexual purposes. When they return, separately, they invariably have black charcoal-and-latex paint (Glossary) smeared on their limbs and faces. This kind of body paint implies they have had sexual relations [II.F.5.C].

These days, most of the women in the farm hut who prepare the great meat pies do not go out and have sexual relations with waiting men. The possibility is always there, and this is a culturally sanctioned arrangement, but times are changing. It was evident from watching the groups go out into the woods that the older women are not very much involved. It is only the women in their teens and twenties, and possibly their early thirties, who participate in such activities these days. I was led to understand by my research assistants (both female and male), that formerly most of the adult women in the tribe had sexual relations with somebody other than their actual spouse on such a ceremonial day.

[IV.A.3.f.(2)]

AYRẼN DAY.—On the morning after the Wè?tè season is closed by the terminating of the Closing Wè?tè festival, the Ayrēn (Glossary) ceremony begins.[18] Women and men walk along one of the roads that leads out of the village to where a barricade of dense foliage has been erected.

The hedge is a little more than a meter high, so that when people are sitting on the ground, no one can see through or over it (khwèk). Members of the Red Regeneration season moiety sit between the fence and the village, while members of the Black Regeneration season moiety sit beyond the fence along the road (Nimuendajú, 1946:168–170) (Figure 47).

Two male representatives of each moiety are the only people who go back and forth between the two groups on either side of the fence. These representatives take requests from the women of their side and then walk, singing, to the other side of the fence and tap the indicated male with a wand. Along with the tap on the male’s shoulder or back, the representative whispers the name of the woman who has chosen him to be her hunter for the day. When all the women have had the chance to indicate different men [III.F.4.f], the two moieties disband and move along trails out into the woods where hunting can take place. Quietly, without making any fuss, the designated pairs find each other and eventually leave the trail to go off into the woods as a couple.

Choosing of male partners is done in such a manner that the husband of the chooser does not know whom his wife has chosen, so they say. I tried to point out to research assistants, however, that this is not necessarily the case. If the husband is of a different moiety from his wife [III.C.4.b], he could be sitting next to the man she has chosen when the representative comes to tap his neighbor on the shoulder. Of course, the representative is supposed to exercise his sense of tact in that he does not say the name loudly enough so that the husband can hear.

FIGURE 47.—Red and Black Regeneration season moiety membership sitting locations during the Ayrēn ceremony. The two Red Regeneration season groups (the two sexes) sit on the village side of the fence while the two Black groups sit on the cerrado side of the same fence to prevent husbands from seeing who their wives have chosen. Red women choose Black lovers and Black women choose Red lovers.

Moreover, as they all walk along the trail, the man whom the woman has designated has to join her in such a way that the husband does not see who he is. Perhaps the husband does not want to look around very much so that, although he knows his wife is going with another man, he does not see this person.

Out in the woods the designated male leaves the woman at some spot where she can sit out of the sun, maybe in a temporary hammock made of buriti fronds, and goes off to hunt for several hours. As soon as he has killed some suitable game, he returns and presents it to her as her reward for having chosen him. Then, she is supposed to have sexual relations with him [III.C.4.c.(2)], although I have heard that some women do not choose to go through with the exchange. In any case, she is not obligated to do so, and cannot be forced [III.F.9.a]. Thus, even though the Wè?tè season is over, extramarital relations in a ceremonial context are sanctioned.

Whether or not sexual relations have occurred, the couple separate and go to the site where the great log race of the afternoon, the first Katàm-ti, has been scheduled to begin. At this site the women sit in one place while the men gather in another spot, working at preparing the logs that have already been cut by designated log cutters. At three to four o’clock in the afternoon, the men return to the village, racing with logs, while the women walk together with the game they have received from their chosen males of the day. This first log race of the Regeneration season is with large Katàm-ti logs and is done only once. The following race is with small Katàm-ti logs, which increase in size with each following race until the original size logs are attained again.

That evening the young woman makes a small meat pie using the meat of the animal her lover had killed for her, and takes it to her mother-in-law. This acceptance by the mother-in-law of her daughter-in-law’s meat pie, made with the meat killed by her daughter-in-law’s lover instead of by her son, demonstrates the mother-in-law’s full acceptance of her daughter-in-law’s sexuality and extramarital interests [III.F.4.f].

The Apanyekra have three or four of these Ayrēn days, each about two or three weeks apart, but the Canela have only one. For the Apanyekra, the Ayrēn days are the principal occasions when they can experience festival-sanctioned extramarital relations, because their Wild Boar days and other festival occasions do not sanction extramarital sex.

[IV.A.3.f.(3)]

MALE WORK GROUPS ON TRIBAL PROJECTS.—Maybe half a dozen times a year, the agent of the Indian service or the chief of the tribe organizes work groups by age-set moieties [III.D.1.c.(2)]. The two age-set moieties go out more or less to the same place but work apart. In this way, repairs and improvements are done on the road connecting Escalvado with Barra do Corda, and the reservation boundaries are cleared to keep them free of shrubbery. This age-set moiety activity is a modern correlate of former times; the Canela actually had racing courses, which were like roads with the small trees and shrubbery cleared. Thus, two whole teams could run parallel to each other within the track pa-?khre (our hollowed-out-space) without having the intermittent interference of trees and bushes hindering their progress. Moreover, separate age-sets rather than whole age-set moieties performed similar tasks.

Such a work day might be considered a secular daily activity rather than a ceremonial one, but such distinctions are difficult to make among the Canela. Before going out to the work area, at least two age-sets of the opposing moieties usually sing-dance around the boulevard in the Mē Aykhē manner thus making it a ceremonial day if not a festival one.

Traditionally during the morning council meeting, the chief designates certain women to walk out to where the work is being done and make themselves available for sexual relations early in the afternoon before the log race back to the village. These days, women without husbands are usually chosen [III.F.4.b.(2)]; but it is hard to oblige them to go, and they often do not obey, even when designated by the chief [II.E.5.f]. It was felt by research assistants that women without husbands and without children really should go out on such occasions. In former times, any woman, except one with many children, was asked to help the men work on various projects and keep their morale high.

While these work days are relatively few, the general log racing days are many, and the village chief may appoint women to serve in this way for any log racing day. But again, it is much harder to find women who will cooperate.

[IV.A.3.f.(4)]

MOIETIES HUNT DURING GREAT FESTIVALS’ TERMINAL PHASES.—The terminal period of the great festivals lasts from five to ten days, depending on the particular festival. For this relatively long period of time, enough meat has to be collected so that everybody in the village can pass the time enjoyably, eating meat as they desire. In preparation, both age-set moieties file out in different directions to go hunting (mē hõt wèl: they overnight[hunting] [go]toward) for two or three weeks to accumulate enough game to last the required period of time [IV.A.3.b.(2)]. Female associates are designated by the chief to go out with the opposite moiety from their husbands’, which means that these women will be away from their husbands for two to three weeks. Each day, while the men hunt, these women stay in camp and tend game collected on earlier days.

Sexual relations are prohibited on evenings of hunting days. It is thought that sex will bring bad luck to the hunt. However, on the night before the return to the village, when hunting has been completed, sexual relations occur with the women who have been cooking the meat. Then everyone dances and sings special songs.

In the morning the troop marches back to the village and enters single file. Each person is loaded with the blackened meat which they carry in fresh green baskets made of buriti palm fronds. This allows everybody to eat well and have a good time during the festival without doing much daily maintenance work.

[IV.A.3.f.(5)]

THE FESTIVAL OF ORANGES.—This festival does not have a certain place in the annual festival cycle, nor does it have a name in Canela. It is simply called A Festa das Laranjas (The Festival of the Oranges) (Glossary) and is put on for entertainment at any time, once or twice a year, usually during the late spring or early fall months. Sexual antagonism is more fully and formally expressed here than in any other ceremonial context, including the Opening Wè?tè festival [IV.A.3.a].

Zarur (1979:650) writes that sexual antagonism is more fully expressed and sexual opposition more obviously concrete among the Xinguanos than among the Gê, citing J. Melatti (1978) on the Krahó. I agree with Zarur. Murphy (1973) writes about antagonism between the sexes among the Mundurucú and the symbolism involved. In contrast, such antagonism among the Canela is muted, like any other hostility. A pertinent question is whether sexual antagonism was greater in earlier times when men without children slept in the plaza, which was therefore almost like a men’s house. However, women without children also slept there, having sex with the men of the opposite age-set from their husbands’, if they had one [III.A.2.s.(2)]. Symbolically, such extramarital exchanges neutralize the mutual antagonism [II.B.1.c.(1)].

Another pertinent question is why the Festival of Oranges only came into existence during post-pacification times, and a similar question is why women were only made ceremonial chiefs (Glossary) in recent times [IV.A.3.f.(6)]? I suggest that the relative balance of control over the other sex is shifting closer to equality with acculturation, so that women can now express the difference in the balance more openly.

While all the other festivals are run by men, this is the women’s own festival. It is a remnant of the ancient practice of going on trek. The women choose four or more male associates (mē kuytswè [the expression is the same as for female associates]), and one of the young sing-dance leaders, to accompany them and go off to some backland settlement, usually Leandro (Map 3), where they “gather” foods, such as oranges, babaçu nuts, brown sugar blocks, sugar cane stalks, and many other easily purchasable and transportable items. The male associates who are chosen by the women are in their late teens or early twenties, and are expected to have multiple sexual relations with the women during this period.

On their return, they camp just outside the village and sing all night, wearing body adornments of buriti bast identical to those of the Clowns in the Fish festival (Plate 41b). They behave like warriors about to attack the village the next day. All that follows is role reversal. At dawn they mock-attack the village. The defending men are in the plaza and the women march up several adjacent radial pathways. They throw food at the men who try to dodge it, especially the hard babaçu nut. Then they race in to tackle men (usually lovers) but are invariably “bowled over” instead. Then, a woman takes a gourd rattle and imitates a sing-dance leader. She stands before the line of men who bend their knees in time to the singing and the maraca’s beat just as women do for the daily sing-dances. This exchange of sex roles continues into other acts until a final dramatic performance symbolizes the reintegration: the women and men march parallel to each other (Plate 54b) and then sing in unison against other tribes (Plate 54a).

[IV.A.3.f.(6)]

CEREMONIAL CHIEF DAYS.—When the Canela want to honor any individual, or make her or him a ceremonial chief (mē hõõpa?hi: their ceremonial-chief) (Glossary) [II.D.3.i.(2).(b)], they put on a festive day during which they sing-dance frequently, eat well, and have extensive extramarital relations. The honored person’s family provides the food. Such occasions occur during the installation or reconfirmation of (1) a Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe (Glossary), (2) a ceremonial chief from another tribe (Glossary; Plate 28e,f), (3) a town crier (Glossary), and (4) a sing-dance leader (i.e., ceremonial chief) of an age-set. Distinguished city-dwellers (including some anthropologists and certain esteemed Indian service personnel) may be honored by the tribe in the same manner.

While foods (which must include meat) are being prepared in the morning, age-sets sing-dance around the boulevard in the Mē Aykhē manner [II.F.1.b.(2).(c)] and go down to the several stream bathing spots frequently to refresh themselves (Map 5). The wives of the other age-set moiety brought into an age-set’s dancing line are taken to the age-set’s Wè?tè house or down to the stream for sex. The other age-set moiety uses their Wè?tè house and a different and hidden stream bank for the same purposes.

Log races usually take place between the age-set moieties in the early afternoon; meat pies are cut up and distributed by members of me moieties in the late afternoon; and well attended sing-dances are held in the afternoon, evening, and early morning. Meat is so scarce that a piece for everybody and a good supply of rice and manioc flour goes a long way toward providing sufficient energy and good spirits to make the sing-dancers loud and active. Extramarital sexual intercourse, which is often associated with meat, serves a similar purpose.

Sometimes women have log races on these ceremonial chief-making days, and on other festival occasions. When they do, they race in teams that are opposite from their husbands’ age-set moiety membership. Such racing, like the Mē Aykhē boulevard dancing above, implies freedom from their husbands for sexual purposes. They are not members of the opposite moiety from their husbands’; they just group themselves in this manner for racing. It is notable among the Krahó that a woman belongs to her father’s Wakmeyê/Katàmyê moiety before marriage and to her husband’s after marriage (J. Melatti, 1979a:47). It seems from this difference that their festival system provides women with less formal freedom for extramarital sexual relations [III.F.8].

The Canela made one of their women (Hômyĩ-khwèy) a ceremonial chief along with her husband (Rãrãk) in 1966, and they treated an Apanyekra woman (Tepù) similarly in 1975. They did not do this in the late 1950s, and research assistants considered this inclusion of a woman with her husband a change in 1966. This trend is reminiscent of Lave’s (1979:38) “second consistent difference between 1935 [Canela] and 1965 [Krĩkatί],” the “increasing participation of [Krĩkatί] women in ceremonial activities.” This trend is clearly the case because of acculturation, though less so, among the Canela.

[IV.A.3.f.(7)]

IN SUMMARY, there are six occasions on which ceremonially sanctioned extramarital sexual relations occur: (1) internment festivals’ Wild Boar day, (2) Ayrēn day, (3) age-set moiety tribal work days away from the village, (4) age-set moiety hunting weeks to provide meat for the terminal phase of each of the five great Wè?tè season festivals, (5) Festival of Oranges, and (6) ceremonial chief installation and reconfirmation days. These practices are being lost or becoming covert if they are visible to outsiders (W. Crocker 1964a, 1974a).

The Apanyekra have Ayrēn and Wild Boar days also, but they practice no extramarital sexual relations on the Wild Boar days. These practices do not occur even though the tribe is divided along age-set lines and the one moiety stays in the village while the other goes out to a farm plot area to prepare great meat pies before racing back to the village with logs, as do the Canela. The men who go out to the farm take their actual wives with them to make the great meat pies.

During the Ayrēn ceremony, on the other hand, exchange of sexual partners is practiced, in fact more often among the Apanyekra than with the Canela, maybe three or four times during a Red and Black Regeneration moiety season.

I have tried to find reasons for the difference in frequency of extramarital practices between the Canela and Apanyekra. No doubt exists that the Canela extramarital system is far more frequently carried out (informally between individuals and formally in festivals) than the Apanyekra one. It is not clear whether the extramarital practices among the Apanyekra have been reduced because of earlier and more complete acculturation around the turn of the century or whether they practiced it less traditionally, since the system is not as principal a focus in their culture [III.C.10.b].

[IV.A.4]    Red and Black Regeneration Moieties’ Season (Wet)

The Regeneration season (Glossary) moieties are literally “the continually changing ones” (Mē-ipimràk: they continually-changing) [III.C.4]. The Red Regeneration season moiety (Glossary) is called “The Indians of the plaza” (Kàà-mã-?khra: plaza-of-Indians) and the Black Regeneration season moiety (Glossary) is referred to as “the Indians from just outside the village” (A?tùk-mã-?khra: outside-the-village of Indians). Nimuendajú (1946:84) called them the “rainy season” moieties, but the central part of the rainy season occurs in January through March, well beyond the period when the Mēipimràk season is in operation (September into January). Although some rain may fall in October and November, the heavy rains are delayed by two to three months in this part of central Maranhão [II.C.1.a], unlike in western Maranhão and points still further west or north. Thus, an interpretation of the actual Canela expression will be used here. (I have capitalized “Regeneration” to make it clear that the word is a name as well as being a description of the time of the year.)

Similarly, with the “summer season,” June through August, the Canela have an exact expression that is easy to use: Wè?tè season, or Wè?tè ?nā (Wè?tè on/during).

[IV.A.4.a] EVENTS PRECEDING THE REGENERATION SEASON

The erection of the Kô?khre log marks the symbolic end of the Wè?tè (dry) season (Figure 45), although the brief Pyêk-re Yõ (roadrunner-dim. its-food) (Plate 52c) and Tsêp-re Yalkhwa (bat-dim. song) acts follow consecutively the same afternoon. Then, after a few minutes, the first event of the Black and Red Regeneration (wet) season moiety takes place. For all the activities of the Regeneration season (sometime in September or October), men will organize themselves according to their memberships in the Black and Red moieties rather than according to the age-set moieties of the Wè?tè season.

The second event of the Regeneration season is the Ayrēn day ceremony during which women chose men of the other moiety to hunt for them and give sex in exchange for meat.

[IV.A.4.b] ALTERNATION IN “GROWTH”

The day after the Ayrēn ceremony me first of the regular Regeneration season log races takes place, with the Blacks the first moiety in ascendancy. The Reds hinder and harass them as they try to reach their log-racing sites. The Black logs (called Katàm-re, see Glossary), with their longitudinal black stripes, are small enough to be supported by one hand. Each day for several weeks a larger one is substituted until the logs become full-sized (Katàm-ti) [III.C.4.c.(1)]. Then, the Reds take their turn at domination, cutting small disc-shaped logs (Wakmê-re) of buriti that can be carried in one hand and are painted red with urucu at the center of each circular cross section. These Red moiety-styled logs are cut increasingly larger until after several weeks they are full-sized Wakmê-?ti logs.

Then the Blacks resume the ascendancy and cut logs in their style: the length being much greater than the diameter. This relationship between the dimensions is called irùù (long). The logs are made full-sized every day and painted with black longitudinal stripes with black axis points at the center of the cross-sections. After a month or more, the Reds take over the ascendancy again and cut large logs in their fashion, the diameter always being slightly larger then the longitudinal axis, but almost equal, a relationship called hayoo (round, square) [V.A.5.a.(1).(b)]. The central points of the axis on both sides are painted red in the form of a filled-in circle, the radius of which is about one-quarter the radius of the cross-section of the log.

[IV.A.4.c] PRINCIPLE OF SOCIAL LEVELING

The Mē-ipimràk (Regeneration season) activities are oriented toward social leveling, which is demonstrated in the continual ceremonial alternation of ascendancy between the Black and Red moieties. The men in ascendancy, instead of having their way and overpowering their opponents, are the ones who are harassed and have simple possessions taken from them by the men of the subordinate moiety. The situation is then reversed. This activity represents the new growth (sprouts, shoots, leaves) that overcomes the old established growth, until an exchange of relationships takes place. This replacement through regeneration continues until this year’s new growth has fully replaced the old vegetation.

[IV.A.4.d] MĒ-IPIMRÀk’S OCCURENCES IN EARLIER YEARS

There were different points of view among experienced research assistants about when the season of the Mē-ipimràk system began and ended in much earlier times. Some assistants placed it between September and February and others between June or July and March. All agreed that its season had been longer (up to half the year) and had been emphasized far more in earlier times.

I think of the Mē-ipimràk season as formerly beginning in the first half of September, with their new environmental year. This is the time when the first dew (a?tàt) falls, and when the first wild flowers and green shoots begin to appear (Table 2). This season could continue until some time in February or even March, completing the growing and changing time of the year. If so, the Black and Red Mē-ipimràk racing would have had to have taken place during the time of the Sweet Potato and Corn Harvest festivals, which it does not do now. Mē-ipimràk racing comes from one origin myth (Khrúwapu) (W. Crocker, 1984b: 195–203), while the sweet potatoes and corn complex come from another (Star Woman) [IV.C.1.b.(4)]. Perhaps the present ending of the Mē-ipimràk season in January, well before the time of the Sweet Potato (February) and Corn (March) festivals reflects very early tradition, contrary to what some old research assistants have been suggesting.

On the other hand, in the origin myth of Khrúwapu, both the Mē-ipimràk and the Pàlrà racing were brought from the alligator world to the Canela one. Since the Pàlrà ritual traditionally occurs in March or April, the termination of the Regeneration season could be extended even to these months.

[IV.A.4.e]    COMPARISON WITH THE APANYEKRA AGE-SET MOIETY RACING

When the time comes to end the Regeneration season moiety racing in January, the Canela hold one big final Red moiety Wakmê?ti race. The day after this race, the age-set moieties make Corn logs (Põõhù Yõõ Pĩ: corn its-log) (Table 4) of buriti palm trunks and race back to the village mē hakhrã khàm (in the age-set moiety style). All subsequent activities are organized by age-set moiety formations for approximately the next nine months, until just after the Wè?tè season is closed with the erection of the Kô?khre log. Then traditionally, they return to racing in their Regeneration season moiety formations. Thus, it is essentially two moiety groupings that race during the entire year—Regeneration season and age-set, the exceptions being the men’s society racing moieties (Pepkahàk and Masks’ festivals) and the Fish plaza group moieties.

Although the Apanyekra carry out the Regeneration season practices in a more prolonged manner than do the Canela, I do not know to what extent they still practice their Regeneration season moiety racing. The Canela have all but forgotten their Regeneration season moiety racing practices, and utilize the Regeneration season formations perhaps only three to six times a year: Ayrēn day, the first Black moiety race, the final Red moiety race, and then maybe one or two Red- or Black-styled races.

[IV.A.5] Unnamed Ritual Period

Between the last Regeneration season race and the first day of the Opening Wè?tè festival is a period two to three months long for which the Canela have no name. During these months (February, March, and maybe April), three small rituals take place: Sweet Potato/Grasshopper, Corn Harvest, and Pàlrà. Conceptually, the first two have more in common with the Mē-ipimràk season, because they express the concepts of growth and change. For the transmission of ceremonies, however, they are all “river”-oriented (Glossary) in that they are haakhat-oriented (Glossary) like the Fish, Masks, and Closing Wè?tè festivals [III.C.8.a,10.b]. The Pàlrà ritual, besides two name-set transmission roles, has the matrilineal haakhat of the Pàlrà log cutter, and thus is a river-oriented ritual. Its role performers (Tsù?katê-re) [IV.A.7.d], however, are more closely connected with the Wè?tè period and the three internment festivals in the incidence of their roles’ performances.

[IV.A5.a] CORN-ORIENTED ACTIVITIES

Sometime in late November or December (before the end of the Regeneration season) the Corn Planting ceremony takes place. A sing-dance leader with a belt rattle (tsù or akàà) sits on a mat in the center of the plaza and sings before a large red-lipped (urucu) gourd filled with corn that is to be planted the next day (Plate 53a). Then just after the end of the Regeneration season a Corn-style log race opens the age-set moiety season. Finally the Corn Harvest ritual usually occurs in mid-February or near the end of March at the latest, at the time when the corn is ready for harvesting.

[IV.A5.b] BURITI WET PITH BALL-THROWING CEREMONY

While reconstructing the Regeneration season practices, research assistants pointed out that a ceremony, the Hõõ Krówa-ti Yõõ-ti (massed-ball-of buriti-aug. inner-mass/mushaug.: wet buriti pith formed into a ball), which I had seen during the dry season just following a Pepyê performance, took place in much earlier times just after the Regeneration season terminated and before the Sweet Potato ritual (Nimuendajú, 1946:198–199).

Early in the morning a sing-dance leader throws balls of the soft wet inner pith of the buriti tree at youths who have aroused him abruptly from his sleep beside a fire. In 1957, the same Pù?tô performed this ceremony as he had for Nimuendajú (1946:199) in 1933, and it was essentially the same.

[IV.A.5.c] SWEET POTATO AND GRASSHOPPER RITUALS

In early February, the Grasshopper (gafanhoto) and Sweet Potato (yàt: Batatas edulis) rituals (Glossary) take place. Both of these ceremonies (Glossary) occur during the same evening, and are referred to jointly as the Hô-tswa (leaf-pointed: the sweet potato leaf is pointed). The Canela refer to the Grasshopper ritual as their “carnival,” which approximates the Brazilian car naval. The entire haakhat of Grasshopper performers paint their faces with white chalk [II.F.5.e] and hop and skip with great hilarity in a line before a sing-dance leader (Plate 47a,c). Then, late in the evening, maybe around 11:00, the Sweet Potato ritual act is put on. The women stand at the entrance of the radial pathways leading from their respective maternal houses to the plaza, while a sing-dance master goes from female house group to female house group, chanting a song to help increase the sweet potato harvest.

[IV.A.5.d] CORN HARVEST CEREMONIES

Some three weeks to a month later, usually in March, the Corn Harvest ritual (Glossary) (or simply the Corn ritual) takes place. The principal participants of the Corn ritual are virtually the same as the individuals who are involved in the Sweet Potato and Grasshopper rituals. It is the largest ceremony outside of the two Wè?tè festivals and the five great Wè?tè season festivals, requiring a considerable amount of preparation and a whole evening and part of the next day to perform. The first of the three acts of the Corn ritual is a race with a pair of Corn-style logs. The second act is a throwing event early the next morning during which men hurl lances padded with cornhusks at an opponent to test his dodging abilities [II.F.2.c.(2)]. The third and principal act of the Corn ritual occurs around noon of the same day when the sun is in its highest position. The objective of the act is to see how many times a shuttlecock can be batted up into the air with the Palms of the hands without its touching the ground (Plate 53b,d), occasionally 40 to 50 times. The purpose of the ritual is to increase the corn harvest.[19]

[IV.A.5.e] PÀLRÀ CEREMONY

The next ceremony is the Pàlrà log race and its concomitant acts. This log race is said to bring on the Wè?tè festival. Thus, when it is more or less time to put on the great summer Wè?tè festival, the Pàlrà ritual is started.

After the evening council meeting on the day before the Pàlrà log race, a special Pàlrà ceremony is put on in the plaza, during which a master sing-dance leader sings on his knees surrounded by the men of both age-set moieties. The next morning the two age-set moiety teams go out 5 to 10 kilometers from the village to a place where the challenging team has placed two large (over 100 k), nonburiti logs in a rectangular area from which all grass and shrubbery have been removed. Ex-initiation festival, cloth-adorned female associates paint the coin-shaped logs red on their cross-sections (Plate 50a), and two Tsù?katê-re performers line up on either side of the logs (Plate 50c), the round sides of which are facing down track toward the village. An old ceremonial singer chants with a moving wand pointed at the logs from their village side, and a sing-dance master leads the singing of the two age-set moieties (Plate 50b,d). When the Tsù?katê-re give the signal, the two teams grouped on either side of the track rush up to the logs, raise them onto their chosen racer’s left shoulder, and follow their first log-bearers down the track (Plate 51a-c).

Halfway to the village, there is a second rectangle of bare earth prepared in the grass where the two logs are deposited side by side. The teams switch logs and race off again toward the village. Unlike most of the other races, the Pàlrà race requires the runners to pass across the boulevard, go down the nearest radial pathway, and drop the logs within the plaza.

The Pàlrà ceremonies are the only ones that can be repeated during the year out of their annual cycle’s traditional position (April, May). I have known them to take place in November, but when put on then, they are not meant to bring on the Wè?tè season.

[IV.A.5.e.(1)]

When asked why this ritual exists, and how it relates to the other festivals, Canela say that it “pulls” (puxa) the Wè?tè season festivals because the two Tsù-?katê-re (tsù-master/owner-diminutive) (Glossary) who perform in the Pàlrà ceremony are “relatives” of the Wè?tè girls. This means that they are similar in status and mystique to the Wè?tè girls and part of the Canela ceremonial elite. They are hàmren through name-set transmission inheritance and are controllers of ceremonies.

The Tsù?katê-re wear a tsù, a ceremonial belt-rattle with many hanging tapir hoof-tips (Plate 60c,d), which makes a precise percussion sound when shaken [II.G.3.a.(3)]. It is used to mark the rhythm of the performance, and is tied just below the knee or held in the hand and shaken. Wild tapirs no longer inhabit the area, but tapir hoof tips can be obtained from other tribes to the west. Undoubtedly the hoof tips were always a scarce commodity and highly valued. Thus the Tsù?katê-re had great prestige.

[IV.A.5.e.(2)]

A Pàlrà is both a platform bed and a nonburiti log made for racing. A Pàlrà race is the only occasion on which the Canela race with nonburiti logs (necessarily hardwood (Nimuendajú, 1946:137, heartwood) for the special occasion) but often the racers cut logs of soft buriti (Plate 51a–c) for the Pàlrà race rather than of hardwood. At an evening council meeting, the Pró-khãmmã ask the special Pàlrà logs cutter, the Pàlrà yitep katê (Pàlrà-log cut owner/master), to try to cut the logs the next afternoon. This ritual is still held matrilineally in a haakhat (Glossary). Thus, year after year, the same traditional Pàlrà cutter, Paapol, age 43 in 1970, goes out to find a suitable tree and proceeds to chop it down with an axe and to fashion two segments of the trunk into racing logs. That evening, he is asked by the Pró-khãmmã in the plaza to report on any strange events that occurred, such as a woodchip flying into someone’s eye. If all the circumstances are auspicious, then that evening or the following one, they begin the ceremonial proceedings.

[IV.A.5.e.(3)]

After the Pàlrà racing logs are dropped in the plaza, an older man, usually the town crier [II.D.3.i.(4)], chants a ceremony through which new name-sets are given individuals who wish to change their names [III.E.4.d]. In the center of the plaza, he faces west with his back to the low morning sun (Plate 51d). The name-giver and name-receiver stand directly behind him, also facing west. In the same manner, names are put on artifacts such as ceremonial lances, war bonnets, and pets. An individual may have his name changed for a number of reasons: when his naming-uncle dies while he is still an adolescent; when his mother developes an unacceptable relationship with his naming-uncle; or when he is ill too much of the time so that his mother thinks a new naming-uncle may bring him better health. A girl’s name is changed for similar reasons. The Canela place names on outsiders in this way at any time of the year (Nimuendajú, 1946:10).

[IV.A.6]

Apanyekra Festivals

The Apanyekra have the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, Fish, and Closing Wè?tè festivals but do not have the Opening Wè?tè, Pepkahàk, and Masks’ festivals. They had, but have lost, a form of the Pepkahàk festival called the Krokrok (papa-mel, lontra, or irara: fresh water mammals (a kind of otter); J. Melatti 1978:200), which is similar to the Krahó ceremonial of this name (J. Melatti, 1978:90).

The Apanyekra have allowed their festival system to become relatively nonfunctioning, so by now they have lost far more of their ceremonials than the Canela have. For instance, they do not process youths into age-sets with four or five initiation festivals. The youths go through each festival only once. This deterioration may be attributed to the Apanyekra’s low population numbers and more extensive culture contact with backlanders during the first half of this century, but this is only a hypothesis.

Krahó festivals (J. Melatti, 1978) seem similarly deculturated in contrast to Canela ones.

[IV.A.7] Elements Used for Associating Festivals

The analyst of festival systems derives meaning, and abstracts interpretations, from associations between elements of the system, such as the associations between elements presented below. Eventually, I hope to carry out more extensive studies [III.C. 10] and to include similar festival materials from other Timbira tribes, especially from the Krahó. Cooperation with J. Melatti and the use of his excellent volume on Krahó ceremonialism (1978), would considerably enhance such studies.

A careful study of all the Canela festivals and ceremonies suggests they can be grouped according to certain characteristics. Among others, the most obvious characteristics are (1) recruitment to membership, (2) presence of men’s societies and plaza groups, (3) use of Pàlrà-like logs, (4) presence of signal-giving Tsù?katê-re, and (5) internment of male groups and practice of pollution-avoiding restrictions.

[IV.A.7.a] RECRUITMENT INTO GROUP AND ROLE MEMBERSHIP

Individuals are recruited into ceremonial groups according to several criteria: (1) relative age, (2) name-set transmission, (3) matrilineality, (4) matrifiliation, (5) patrifiliation, (6) appointment by the Pró-khãmmã, and (7) individual’s and membership’s choice [III.C.2].

Induction by relative age is characteristic of only the two initiation festivals, the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê (the Nkrel-re) festivals. Thus, these most frequently performed age-set moiety-oriented festivals use a very noncharacteristic form of recruitment when all the festivals are considered.

[IV.A.7.a.(1)]

NAME-SET TRANSMISSION [III.E.4.c].—In contrast to induction by relative age, induction by name-set transmission is practiced widely and found in the great festivals and the Closing Wè?tè, Regeneration, Sweet Potato, Corn Harvest, and Pàlrà ceremonies. As such, name-set transmission cannot be used for grouping or categorizing festivals meaningfully because it is so widely spread. Moreover, it is used increasingly these days as the more convenient way of passing down rights. Therefore, name-set transmission is found in ceremonies in which it probably did not exist traditionally [III.C.8.C]. Thus, name-set transmission cannot be applied as one of the categorizing or associating criteria in relating elements of festivals; but it can be used in a general sense, such as saying that the Masks’ festival is generally name-set transmission-oriented.

[IV.A.7.a.(2)]

MATRILINEALITY.—Recruitment according to matrilineal principles, as a way of passing on to a receiver (or receivers) a right to own a ritual, or perform in a ritual (Glossary) [III.C.8], occurs in all the festivals except the two initiation ones, where recruitment by relative age is used. In general rather than in an absolute sense, a high frequency of matrilineal recruitment characterizes the following festival and rituals: Fish, Sweet Potato, Corn Harvest, and Pàlrà. These four are “river-oriented” ceremonies. The Closing Wè?tè and Masks’ festivals are river-oriented also, but the frequency of matrilineal recruitment in them is minimal. My hypothesis is that all group and individually held rituals in these river-oriented festivals and ceremonies were once matrilineally acquired and that some of these rituals have shifted from matrilineal to partial and even total name-set transmission acquisition, thereby letting names and ownership of certain rituals pass outside the boundaries of the ritual’s traditional haakhat. This shift in recruitment principles has been occurring since contact, I hypothesize. (This trend is especially conspicuous among the Krĩkatί; Lave, 1979:36.) This model sets the initiation festivals off from the rest of the festivals and ceremonies as, possibly, not having been “river” influenced.

[IV.A.7.a.(3)]

PATRIFILIATION AND MATRIFILIATION.—Recruitment by patrifiliation (son to father) traditionally occurs in three cases: the Visiting Chief membership (Tàmhàk), the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-entire-tribe succession, and the Eastern Timbira intertribal membership for males [III.C.7.a.(1)]. All three of these memberships by patrifiliation are only dramatized in the Pepkahàk festival and are concerned with Eastern Timbira intertribal relationships or Canela intravillage ones [III.C.10.c]. Today, the Visiting Chief society recruitment by patrifiliation is almost entirely forgotten and would not be practiced at all were it not for a few Canela specialists who remember its principles.

Recruitment by matrifiliation occurs in only one case, except for the domestic one, namely, in Eastern Timbira intertribal membership for females [III.C.7.a].

[IV.A.7.a.(4)]

MEMBERSHIP BY APPOINTMENT VERSUS SELECTION.—The Pró-khãmmã appoint many of the individuals who perform roles in all the festivals and ceremonies, but not as many in the Fish festival. Pró-khãmmã appointment is the ultimate mechanism of transfer for name-set, matrilineal, and patriline transmission, when any of these ceremonial procedures for succession fail [III.C.8.b]. However, the Clowns (Glossary) govern themselves and many aspects of the Fish festival, and their autonomy in this festival demonstrates its principal point: individuality.

A combination of choice by the membership and acceptance or refusal by the individual characterizes the Clown society, including their girl associates [III.C.7.b.(1),(2)]. Canela individuals generally do not choose or select their ceremonial positions. They feel that taking initiatives on one’s own (amyià-khôt: self-following) is antisocial [III.B.1.k.(3)], because it is making oneself bigger than others [III.B.1.g.(1)]. However, catching unwilling individuals for Clown membership would be pointless, since innovative jocular role performance is so important. Similarly, a combination of these same two principles (appointment and selection) characterizes recruitment of girl associates to most of the plaza groups of the Fish festival [III.C.5.c]. Again, cooperation of the individual is needed for these relatively non-prestigious appointments where so much sexual intercourse is expected. In contrast, the Pró-khãmmã do appoint the prestigious one Têt-re (Otter) girl associate, who is almost untouchable sexually.

Thus, control of the festivals and role appointment by the Pró-khãmmã are associated with higher ceremonial prestige than is choice by individuals and groups. Similarly, less group sex and only one (Têt-re) or no girl associate (Visiting Chiefs) [III.C.7.a.(2)] is associated with higher prestige of the group [III.C.9].

[IV.A.7.b] MEN’S SOCIETIES AND PLAZA GROUPS

Membership in men’s societies and plaza groups [III.C.5, 6] is based on name-set transmission. This form of recruitment is also used for the Regeneration moieties, the two Tsù?katê-re lines, the leader of the Visiting Chiefs’ line, and others. Men’s societies perform in the Pepkahàk, Closing Wè?tè, and Masks’ festivals while plaza groups carry out their roles in the initiation and Fish festivals. Their occurrences do not overlap [III.C.6.a]. Presence of men’s societies or plaza groups does not differentiate them with respect to river-orientation. Associating festivals with men’s societies or plaza groups appears to be unproductive, unless it is done to characterize the Wè?tè season festivals (mēn’s societies and plaza groups) versus the non-Wè?tè ones. In this broad dichotomy, the Opening Wè?tè festival is the only one that does not have either men’s societies or plaza groups, but this exception is a small one since the Opening Wè?tè is really part of the Masks’ and Closing Wè?tè festivals.

[IV.A.7.C] NONBURITI PÀLRÀ-LIKE LOGS

The novices race with miniature pàlrà-re logs [II.G.3.b.(4)] (Plate 67a) in both the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals (Plate 36a,b). Nimuendajú (1946:88) claims that these logs are associated with ghosts, although my research assistants could not confirm this relationship. They did, however, associate the pàlrà-re logs with the far longer ones of the Awalwrêw-re act of the Pepkahàk festival [IV.A.3.c.(3).(d)] (Plate 44g) and with the far heavier ones of the Pàlrà ceremonies. All of these logs are made of nonburiti woods and all other racing logs are cut from buriti palm trunks. Thus, the three internment festivals are related in this way, from shorter to longer pàlrà logs, symbolizing a progression from less to more maturation of internees.

[IV.A.7.d] TSÙ?KATÊ-RE

The two Tsù?katê-re (Glossary) receive their roles through two name-set transmission lines (moieties are not involved). They give the signals for starting or ending some performances in the Pàlrà, initiation, and Fish festivals, though the Tsù?katê-re are called the Kutap-ti in the Fish festival. Research assistants say they are the helpers of the Wè?tè girls, who head the ceremonial elite. This connection associates the Pàlrà ceremonies with the three festivals in which plaza groups perform, but the Wè?tè girls themselves do not appear in the Pàlrà, initiation, or Fish festivals—only their helpers do.

[IV.A.7.e] INTERNMENT AND RESTRICTIONS

In the three internment festivals, the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Pepkahàk, large groups of males (30–50) are separated in different ways from the rest of the tribe, from most of their kin, and from their spouses if they have any [IV.A.3.f]. While they are secluded for two to four months, their practice of restrictions against food and sexual relations to prevent pollutions from entering their blood is a principal focus of their lives [IV.D.3.f]. The practice of restrictions to avoid pollutions occurs only during these three festivals and during certain individual rites. While members of men’s societies, plaza groups, the Clowns, the Visiting Chiefs, and the performers of certain other roles avoid sex and certain foods at traditionally prescribed times, they do this for other reasons than to avoid pollutions. Thus, the three internment festivals can be associated with the practice of such restrictions and with most individual rites. As such, the restrictions are associated with maturation, success in warfare (now athletics), and development of kay abilities.

[IV.B] Individual Rites

Individual rites parallel the more public festival system. The same person goes through the tribal-oriented festivals as part of a group and through the kindred-supported rites as an individual. Thus, a girl wins her belt (i?pre) in a public festival performance but is confined privately in her family house, while she observes restrictions alone for the belt. Similarly, a youth undergoes a public Pepyê festival initiation experience (which also has a private internment), but his ears are pierced beside his mother’s house in a individual rite. A listing of a person’s rites of passage in the traditional sense would have to include her or his social processessing through certain public festivals as well as through individual rites. The latter are put on for a person largely by her or his matrilateral kin, although “patrilateral,” across-the-plaza kin (Glossary) sometimes contribute as well.

Individual rites structure the passage through life for the individual. Most of these rites, especially the various steps into marriage, involve more than one extended family, and thus build relationships between the families. This chapter will describe these rites briefly and show how they contribute to the strong social cohesion of the Canela.

[IV.B.1] From Birth to Parenthood

The Canela are considered adolescents, in a sense, until they have children; becoming a parent is seen as a considerably maturing event. Before childbirth they are relatively free and unencumbered [II.D.2.j] [III.F.4.b.(1),(2)], but after it they take on the responsibilities of parenthood. The postpartum rite of couvade emphasizes this transition [II.D.2.k.(2)] [III.F.4.i].

[IV.B.1.a] BIRTH INTO FEMALE SOLIDARITY GROUP

The infant is born into a world of women. Men, especially the father, are not allowed into the house where childbirth is taking place. A male shaman might be called in if there is trouble during the birth process, but usually the female relatives of the mother and certain female self-styled midwives handle the situation.

The expectant mother is helped primarily by her sisters and her own mother, research assistants say. (As a man, I have not seen childbirth.) Ordered into a sitting position, she leans back between the spread knees and against the chest of a sister who holds and braces her from behind. The laboring mother also holds onto a cord which hangs from an overhead beam, partly supporting herself in this way. At the moment of birth, the infant “falls” (i?-pèm: she/he-falls) toward a mat beneath the mother, andher mother-in-law “catches” the baby and holds it up for all to see. The umbilical cord is now cut with scissors; formerly it was severed with a bamboo knife. Then the baby is washed and urucu is smeared on its body [II.F.5.b]. Soon amulets and cords are made for its wrists, ankles, and knees to protect it from certain dangers [III.A.4.c]. The mother cuts the traditional tracks through the baby’s hair above its ears. All of the above is carried out by women in the absence of men.

[IV.B.1.b] DESIGNATION OF CONTRIBUTING-FATHERS

The mother of the husband asks the mother of the baby for the names of the contributing-fathers (Glossary), and a young messenger of the mother’s family walks around the boulevard to each house where these men are living to tell them that they have been designated by the mother as contributing-fathers [III.E.9]. These men might be in the houses of their wives at this time, in which case the situation would be quite embarrassing. Expecting his designation as a contributing-father, a man might arrange to be in his maternal or sororal home. In any case, he may have to move to his maternal house to undergo about forty days of internment couvade and its restrictions. If he is hàmren [II.E.7.c] [III.D.2.c.(3)], he must present a ceremonial meat pie in the Hààkwèl ceremony to the Pró-khãmmã in the plaza before he can return to active social life.

By accepting the baby and the existence of the contributing-fathers, the mother-in-law is accepting more completely her daughter-in-law. Through this acceptance the bonds between the mother-in-law’s family and the new mother’s kin grow. This procedure also constitutes further steps along the progressive continuum of marriage [III.F.4].

[IV.B.1.c] NAME TRANSMISSIONS

Placing a name on a baby is a relatively simple life cycle rite. The naming-aunt or naming-uncle appears in the mother’s house [II.D.1.b.(1)], reconfirming the naming agreement previously made. Then the naming-aunt or naming-uncle mentions the name in her or his name-set (or a new name) that the infant is to use (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:110) [III.C.4.b]. If the baby is male, the name-giving uncle goes to the door of the mother’s house at sunrise and chants the high call of the Regeneration season moiety to which he and his named “nephew” belong. In this way everybody in the village may know that there is a new Red or Black moiety male member in their midst. I have mostly heard such a high call among the Apanyekra; the Canela have all but given up the practice. This is not done for baby girls.

A pair of cross-sex siblings (uterine or classificatory) agree to exchange names with each other’s children (of the same sex as the name-giver) making sibling ties much stronger [III.E.4.a]. Uterine siblings, who are already close, treat each other more formally after exchanging names. The alternative to name-exchanging between the more distant cross-sex “siblings” might be to commit incest (to ayprè) if they like each other enough physically, thus turning a consanguineal bond into a affinal one [III.F.3].

The extended family becomes more extended through name-exchanging. A distant “siblingship,” Whether of cross- or parallel-cousins, then becomes a close one (Figure 37). The motivation for having more close relatives is that close kin support each other in political matters [III.D.1.h] and in the division of food (Plate 15b,d).

The institution of name-set transmission creates an important ceremonial bond between the generations, especially among males. A ceremonial tie is instituted between a man and maybe half-a-dozen or more named-“nephews.” Such ties may be relatively isolated, as between a man and one of his “nephews.” Because of the ceremonial context of the ties, the name-set may unite people of two to four generations [III.E.4.c]. The most socially visible Canela example of such a corporate group can be seen when, in the Closing Wè?tè festival, the Kô?khre log groove cutters assemble on the inner edge of the boulevard to take turns in carrying out their roles [IV.A.3.e.(3)]. Among the Krĩkatί, because of deculturation, such name-set transmission-formed corporate ceremonial-holding groups have become one of their principal kinds of socioceremonial institutions (Lave, 1979:24–26).

[IV.B.1.d] CHILDHOOD ENGAGEMENT AND BRIDE SERVICE

Formerly, when a girl was 4 or 5, her mother began to look around for a young man about 10 years older with whom she could contract an engagement for her little daughter [III.F.A.a] (Nimuendajú, 1946:118). She searched particularly within a family with which she would like to become associated. When an eligible young man’s mother had agreed to such an arrangement, the two families began bride service practices.

The girl and youth had very little to say in the matter.

The youth’s family left game every now and then at the girl’s house, and the girl’s family deposited firewood and gourds of water at the youth’s house. Then, occasionally the fiancé was taken by his family to visit his fiancée in her house and later she returned the visit with her family. These arrangements were usually broken when the girl or the youth married someone else.

These engagements were a creation of the mothers, but both families are said to have entered into the relationship seriously. Research assistants said the two families were usually very sorry when these engagements were broken by one of the children marrying someone else. No trace of such early engagement practices exist today, and average age differences between spouses at the time of their first marriage have become dramatically reduced from around 10 years to about 5 (W. Crocker, 1984a:77–78).

[IV.B.1.e] EAR-PIERCING FOR BOYS

The ear-piercing experience for boys (Nimuendajú, 1946: 49–51) [II.D.3.b] is an extensive rite requiring a number of steps for its completion. It has been carried out only sporadically during my time with the Canela.

In the late 1950s, the advising-uncles of groups of youths, maybe three to six in number, arranged for the rite to be held for their nephews. Then the practice was dropped for a number of years and repeated for five or six more boys in the mid-1970s. Very few of the youths born in the late 1950s or the 1960s have had their earlobes pierced.

I witnessed several of these occasions and took still photographs in 1960, 1966, and 1975 (Plates 24, 25) and super-8 movies in 1975. The youths were about 13 to 15 years in age, but old research assistants insist that in earlier times the proper age for undergoing this rite was about nine to eleven.

The advising-uncle, after arriving at an agreement with his nephew and the latter’s mother, summons a specialist in earlobe piercing (Plate 68c) and makes the arrangements. At about 7:00 or 8:00 in the morning me youth kneels on a mat, sitting on his ankles, in the shade beside or behind his mother’s house. A female relative cuts away the hair from around his ears to facilitate the operation. His mother holds his shoulders from behind and the specialist kneels in front of him.

The ear-piercer marks, with urucu, the points on the earlobes where he is going to make the hole and sits back to give the advising-uncle a chance to approve the locations. He then holds the bottom edge of the earlobe very firmly and thrusts the hardwood awl (hapak katswèl tsà: ear pierce instrument [Plate 62g]) [II.G.3.d.(7)] through the center of the lobe. The youth should not wince or display any signs of pain [III.B.1.e].

After piercing the earlobes, the specialist slips small wooden pins covered with urucu into them and covers the entire area of the earlobes with more urucu [II.F.5.b]. Finally he gives the lad instructions on how to take care of the wounds. The ear-piercer soon goes on to the maternal house of the next boy whose ears he is to pierce.

The ear-piercer becomes a specialist through experience. He may be asked to do the job by the boy’s family, especially by the advising-uncle. He can be any older man in the tribe, hunting and preparing his wife’s fields like anyone else. He may or may not be a curer.

After the ordeal, each youth is interned in his mother’s house in a corner set off for him by mat partitions. He undergoes restrictions [IV.D.3.a] that are similar to, but less severe than, those practiced during a postpartum couvade. Here the youth carves earlobe-hole pins needed for the coming two weeks, each one slightly wider in diameter than the last one [II.G.3.d.(8)], and the specialist comes to dress the wounds each day. The uncle also visits the lad to make sure he understands what to do and to ensure adherence to the restrictions. The uncle uses this time to tell his nephew stories of their ancestors and to inculcate moral values [III.A.2.n.(2), o].

The uncle pays all the expenses which include the awl, urucu, and proper wood for the pins. He also must provide the white cloth the lad puts over his head and ears just after they are pierced. The young man wears this protective cover all the time during his internment and the following week (Plate 41c). Depending on the time of year, the uncle might also supply rice, the special food that is consistent with required restrictions. The uncle also gives the specialist a small present (not a payment) and furnishes his nephew with a suitable gift by which to remember the occasion.

They say that the earlobe holes, and the pins in them, have just been born. Each day the holes and pins increase in size, facilitated by the restrictions their parent (the youth) is maintaining for their health and growth. Later, the wooden pins will be replaced by small spools and then larger ones.

[IV.B.1.f] MENSTRUATION AND SECLUSION

There are no public puberty rites for girls [II.D.2.b, c]. Formerly at the time of her first menses, she was secluded in a portion of her mother’s house in an enclosure made of kô?pip palm mats. The palm rib spines were stuck into the ground, and the tops tied in place. In such an enclosure, she could not be seen by other people in the house. Inside this small cell she sat on small sections kô?pip mats which she made for herself for the occasion. They were 35 to 45 centimeters square and disposable after use. In this first experience with menstruation, she did not go out in the daylight. Water was brought to her for washing, but in the evening she was allowed to go down to the stream. She wore an urucued band of buriti bast around her waist to indicate her condition so that men would not approach her for sexual reasons. In her seclusion she was required to undergo certain food restrictions (Nimuendajú, 1946:120–121). Today, even though she wears cloth, a girl may still be secluded at the time of her first menses.

Regular monthly menstruation seclusions were abandoned a number of decades ago. An important factor contributing to this change was the arrival of cloth about 1910. Earlier, women used the kô?pip palm mats to sit on during their menstrual periods. From 1910 until the time of Nimuendajú in the 1930s, women wore cloth increasingly.

Nimuendajú stated that women wore wrapped skirts all the time but that they were not particularly careful about covering themselves when dressing or when near the streams bathing. By my time in the late 1950s, they were careful at all times to avoid exposure to men.

In the late 1950s, young women were beginning to wear panties, which were obtained at very little expense in Barra do Corda or made by themselves at the Indian service post on the Indian service sewing machine. Young men used to joke about this new custom. One youth saw it as a way for women to prevent his access to them should they not happen to feel like being generous on any particular occasion [III.B.1.a.(4)].

My female research assistants, old ones especially, said that even with the arrival of cloth, they still wore the red menstrual band around their waists under the cloth skirt. When asked why they still continued to do this, they said that it was just their practice and that they felt better maintaining the traditions. The younger women, however, ceased to use the red menstrual bands. With the availability of panties in the 1950s, into which pieces of old cloth could be arranged, any further recognition of menstrual periods through outside manifestations was abandoned. When a man approached a woman suggestively, he would not see the red warning band around her waist, and she would have to say the word i-tàm (I raw) [III.A.2.i.(1)].

[IV.B.1.g] GIRL’S STEPS INTO MARRIAGE

By the time a girl is 13 to 16, she most probably is married in the sense that her virginity has been taken and some man is considered her social husband. A hearing has been held between the two extended families (mē aypēn pa: they to-each-other listen), and the marriage has become somewhat solidified. Most of the individual rites of women pertain to marriage and are covered in sufficient detail in the chapter on marriage [III.F.4].

[IV.B.1.h] WOMAN’S BELT-EARNING PROCESS

Winning her belt (i?pre) [II.G.3.c.(1)] (Plate 59d) is one of the principal attainments of a woman’s life [II.D.2.e.(2)]. When women talk about and describe other women, they often include references to the festival in which she won her belt, indicating her higher or lower status depending on the festival [III.C.9].

[IV.B.1.h.(1)]

A woman’s female kin prepare the belt for weeks. It is made of tucum (rõõ-re) fibers, that come from the leaves of a very small palm “tree” (rõõ-re pàl) that is the same size as, and appears to be, grass. They break the central rib of this palm leaf, and rip the fibers from the “flesh” of the leaf. Then they roll these fibers on their thighs into a thin thread. (The special verb for this activity is hààhĩk or a?tĩ.) Finally, they take three of these threads and work them together, again rolling them on their thighs into a cord (Plate 18a-c). This line is symbolic of what her relationship should be (long and durable) with her female kin who have made the belt for her, and soon her female in-laws are to be “included” on the same line after they have painted it.

[IV.B.1.h.(2)]

This belt (Plate 59d), which was worn by women every day, is given by her naming-aunt upon the girl’s completion of her duty as a girl associate. In earlier times such a belt was kept for the lifetime of the person, but these days they are often sold.

The usual way to earn such a belt is to serve as one of the two girl associates (mē kuytswè) to some men’s group (Nimuendajú, 1946:119–120). Depending on the nature of the festival society to which she is assigned as a girl associate [III.C.9], she has sexual relations with few or most of the men in the society before graduating with her belt [II.D.2.e.(3)].

Experience as a girl associate to a male festival group is socially important [III.D.2.e,3.f]. Its purpose is to make it easy and desirable later for women to join with pleasure in the several extramarital sex festival days [IV.A.3.f]. It also prepares them to be sent out with age-set moiety work forces to keep all the men working hard [II.E.5.f,6.a]. Thus, the importance of extensive festival sexual intercourse [III.A.2.j.(6).(b),(c)] to earn her ceremonial belt (a badge of relative maturity) is a significant factor in the maturation of a girl associate into Canela womanhood [III.F.8].

To gain her belt the quick way, when already pregnant, a girl has to climb on the Little Falcon’s (Hàk-re’s) cage (Figure 46) during the Closing Wè?tè festival, while he is hanging from a vine and swinging off of it (“flying”) [IV.A.3.e.(2)]. Then she runs with him around the boulevard, trying to keep up with him as he sprints to escape harassing Agouti members. No more then one to three girls obtain their belts this way every year.

[IV.B.1.h.(3)]

After a girl has won the right to wear her belt (i?pre) by having completed a girl associateship to a men’s socioceremonial unit in one of the great Wè?tè season festivals, she still has to go through a couvade-like seclusion for the symbolic growth of the belt and herself for several days [II.D.2.f.(1)]. While her uncles go deer hunting for her belt-painting ceremony, which takes place in the house of her mother-in-law, the girl is secluded in a small part of her mother’s house, which is partitioned off with mat walls for this purpose. These internments last from three to five days, the length depending partly on the ability of the uncles to find and kill a deer.

FIGURE 48.—Bride’s female in-laws painting her belt of one long tucum cord by passing it through their fingers, which are greasy with red urucu.

The internment of the girl with her newly won belt, and their symbolic maturation together, is likened to the boy’s internment for his pierced earlobes with their wooden pins, but the restrictions with respect to food and length of time are considerably less for the girl. Both internments follow the postpartum couvade practices with respect to diet, the absence of sexual relations, and various other precautions.

The belt and the pins are considered their owners’ children, who have just been born, so that these restrictions are necessary for their health and growth [IV.D.3.b]. Whereas the size of the pins grows and the earlobe holes heal, the ceremonial belt can follow neither of these courses. Instead, it is hung out on a post in the boulevard in front of the house of its owner for everybody to see and know that there is a maturing woman in the village

FIGURE 49.—Bride’s female in-laws wrapping her belt around her painted body while she rotates on a ka?tù mat and draws the long cord around her hips in loops.

When me uncles return with a deer from their hunting, the girl comes out of seclusion. Once more she has been taught to rely on her male kin and what they can do for her ceremonially.

[IV.B.1.h.(4)]

In the morning of the next day, well after the council meeting, a sense of excitement stirs in the village. The female kin of the young bride’s mother-in-law are preparing to race each other to see which one can first reach their new “out”-sister-in-law [III.E.3.a.(1),(2)]. The women are moving about outside and watching to see just when the young bride appears in the doorway of her mother’s house, so they can immediately sprint to her in a disorderly, individualistic manner (mē ?prõt) [IV.A.3.c.(3).(c)]. When she does emerge, the young bride comes out running, with a deer slung across the back of her shoulders and its hoofs tied together across her breasts for her to hold. The other women, all her “in”-sisters-inlaws (Figure 28), are faster because they have nothing to carry, so they meet the young bride, having run at least three-quarters of the way to her house. They then take the deer off her shoulders and carry it themselves while escorting her, walking, to the house of her mother-in-law. Her husband plays no part in the rite.

Once in the house of the bride’s mother-in-law, the in-sisters-in-law and in-mothers-in-law sit on mats with their out-sister-in-law, the bride (Figure 31). They take the cord of the bride’s newly won belt and begin to pass the entire length of it through their hands which are covered with red urucu paint (Figure 48). Consequently, all of the bride’s husband’s female kin have had a part in decorating the belt which was made by all her female kin.

When the cord has been painted, the young bride (for this is one of the marital ceremonies [III.F.A.e]) stands before them, formerly naked, but now with cloth bunched between her thighs, on a special mat (ka?tù) where she is painted red all over in the usual manner except for her face, scalp, genitals, the Palms of her hands, and the soles of her feet (Figure 49). Then, the bride’s husband’s female relatives direct her to rotate as she stands on the mat so mat her body draws the cord around her as she revolves. Thus, the belt gradually accumulates around her, resting lightly on her hips, where there may be 150 to 200 loops from a line 45–80 meters long. Then the women tie the loose cords together at the back by making about two dozen circular and parallel loops with the end of the cord. The bride takes the belt off her body by passing it up over her breasts and shoulders. That afternoon she sing-dances in the female line in the plaza [II.E.7.a], with leaves (pau de leite: aràm-hôk) tucked under her belt to conceal her genitalia, even though women now wear cloth, except sometimes in this context.

[IV.B.1.h.(5)]

With the belt painting ceremony over, the young bride is now thoroughly accepted [II.D.2.f.(2)] and integrated into her sisters-in-laws’ and mother-in-law’s longhouse, where she is expected to come quite frequently and work with them. They have one term of address for her, namely, itswèyyê, while she calls them either toktùyyê, for the women of her generation and younger, or propêêkêy for her mother-in-law and her mother-in-law’s sisters as well (Table 11). (It is surely not a coincidence that the belt is called an i?pre, which is very similar to the basic term of reference for “in” in-laws namely pree. The word pre also means to bind or to tie up.)

The young woman is so completely accepted by her in-laws after this ceremony that she is totally free [III.F.4.e.(1)] (for the first time) to enter fully into any of the sanctioned extramarital activities, whether initiated within the context of a public gathering, or privately by herself with a lover [III.F.8]. Before this time her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law might have objected to her love trysts and to her appearing on any formal extramarital sex occasion [IV.A.3.f].

She has become a Canela woman, although without full social responsibilities. All that is still missing for her to be considered fully mature is to have a child.

[IV.B.1.i] GROOM-PRICE

The rite to buy the groom, or the son-in-law (Mēpa Wawè Hàmyõl Tsà: our son-in-law his-payment occasion), consists of the bride’s family making some very large meat pies (Glossary), each 1 to 1.5 meters in diameter. Then the bride’s female kin transport them on their shoulders across the plaza, or around the boulevard, to the house of the mother of the groom. The bride and groom do not take any part in this rite. Sometimes, especially today, the son-in-law’s family makes and sends similar meat pies to the bride’s family on the same day, to neutralize the indebtedness.

This simple rite can occur before or after the belt-painting ceremony. Since bride-price practices are so prevalent throughout the tribal world, it is important to stress that the Canela actually speak of paying for the groom: buying him (W. Crocker, 1984a:67–68). Also, the goods move from the bride’s to the groom’s extended family [III.F.5, 6], while the groom himself moves in the opposite direction, from his maternal house (khà-tsà: breasts’ place: his mother’s breasts) to his wife’s house (hũlkhwa [not translatable]). Moreover, the Canela do not form marriage alliances between their extended families and most likely did not ever have clans or unilineality [III.C.10.b] (W. Crocker, 1977:268, 1979:237–240).

[IV.B.2] Natal Rites

The most elaborate set of Canela rites are the perinatal ones. While prenatal practices are not extensive, postnatal ceremonial traditions are continued for about 40 days, and certain traditional practices for two to three years.

[IV.B.2.a] PRENATAL PRACTICES

The prenatal traditions scarcely constitute rites because they are not formalized with respect to place and time and involve only one other person at most. (For some limited information, see [II.D.2.h.(1)].)

A woman recognizes pregnancy by one or two missed menstrual periods and knows then that the birth will occur within seven or eight months (moons). She begins mild restrictions on food and sex only about six weeks before the expected childbirth.

[IV.B.2.b] CHILDBIRTH

When the expectant mother’s time is due, a room in her maternal or sororal house is made for her with relatively secure walls of mats and poles. A hole in the ground for wastes is dug, so she will not have to leave her quarters except at night and can have some privacy. The room is prepared well ahead of time for her use during the long period of couvade with her husband who shares a portion of the room, although they are separated by a flimsy partition of mats.

The afterbirth (i?khè-?ti) is buried in a deep hole in the ground dug inside the childbirth enclosure. They say that all afterbirths in a matriline are buried in the “same place”; that is, a woman’s direct female descendants live in the same part of the circle of each new village from decade to decade and century to century, “forever” [III.B.1.e.(3)]. Other remains of the birth, including the mat (kô?pip) onto which the baby “fell,” are left to decay in the fork of a tree 100 to 300 meters outside the village in the adjoining cerrado. As the village becomes larger and some trees near me village are cut down for firewood, this practice becomes more difficult to carry out, and thus is seldom done these days.

Sometimes birth occurs unexpectedly before these arrangements have been made. In any case, trouble rarely occurs because Canela women are used to heavy work and so are in good physical condition. Also, their constant use of the squatting position in everyday life helps to prepare them for childbirth. One day in 1959, when I was one of the few persons in the village, Pàlkô (age 38), went off to work on his farm as usual, even though his wife Pùùpèn (age 36), was very pregnant but not yet expected to deliver. Just before noon, several Canela rushed across the village plaza to her house in its northwest position of the old Ponto village. From the sounds and later reports, I knew that Pùùpèn had given birth and had managed the entire delivery by herself. I was told that this timing and isolation was not ideal but does happen often, especially in the farm huts; this birth, however, had occurred in the principal village.

[IV.B.2.c] COUVADE

While all parents have to go through the various stages of couvade [II.D.3.g] just after the birth of each child, the full severity and length of the couvade practices are only required of couples who are experiencing childbirth for the first time [III.F.4.i]. Couvade is necessary, they say, for the sake of the newborn, who is very weak, and whose “blood” is equivalent to its parents’ blood [III.F.11.a] (Figure 39). Any polluting liquids that enter the parents’ blood will pass to the infant’s blood [IV.D.3.b], killing the infant or at least making it cry. In other words, an aspect of the spirit or essence (karõ: ghost, spirit, essence) [IV.C.2.e] of the pollution will pass from the parents’ blood to the baby’s blood. Thus, the parents have to maintain high food restrictions for the health and growth of the baby [IV.D.3.a].

Because the new father must observe complete restrictions against sex, he has to move into his wife’s house to be under surveillance. If the parents were allowed to be out in the village plaza shortly after childbirth, they could not be expected to maintain the restrictions, especially the first time. However, the husband is not allowed in the house until well after the birth has taken place and everything has been cleaned and well arranged for him by his wife’s kin.

[IV.B.2.c.(1)]

Until the umbilicus falls, the couple must stay away from anything and anybody that might have a karõ (spirit, essential substance, trace) that might hurt their baby by passing within their common blood pool through to the baby (W. Crocker, 1971a, 1971b) [III.F.11.a]. At first, this includes the sun’s rays, the evil eye of certain individuals, dried up old leaves and twigs, people who have had sex recently, and an assortment of other odd things. Of course, an absolute restriction against sexual relations is part of it. Just thinking about sex is said to make one’s own blood and hence the baby’s blood (kaprôô: human essential substance) somewhat polluted, and to cause the baby to cry. The following are some more of the health-threatening dangers (kurê-tsà: perigos): dirt (pyê), trash (a?khêt: tangled up stuff), blood of game (prùù-re pin kaprôô: game from blood), menstrual blood (mē-kahãy pin kaprõõ: women from blood), blood from ghosts, buriti juices, and snake poisons.

The more conspicuous part of the traditional restrictions has to do with food because special foods have to be provided for the first days of the approximately 40-day period. Their indigenous “white” corn (põõhù mpey: corn special) used to be the principal food for about the first four days. With the loss of this kind of corn during their stay in Sardinha between 1963 and 1968, rice has become the substitute. From October through March or April, they are not likely to have rice, so it has to be bought.

The couple can wash themselves inside the house, or the husband, if he wishes, can do this outside, but only at night.

[IV.B.2.c.(2)]

The remains of the umbilical cord of a baby, which was cut 1 to 3 centimeters from its body at the time of birth, falls off the body naturally on about the fourth day after birth. Formerly, the part of the umbilicus that fell off was wrapped in a small piece of cloth with urucu and kept until a child was about eight or nine. Then it was placed in the hollow of the fork of a large tree far outside the village in the cerrado (Nimuendajú, 1946:107). I saw a number of these wrapped umbilicuses in the 1960s, but this practice no longer took place in the 1970s.

When the umbilicus fads off, it is the sign that the couple can eat a wider variety of food. The parents do not just start eating these newly allowed foods automatically, however. They test them, taking small portions of the new foods one at a time. If the baby cries, or is upset in some way, they know the baby’s blood was not ready for the new foods.

By this time, the parents, especially the father, are allowed more mobility, though both must avoid the rays of the full sun. The father, and later the mother, can go down to the stream to bathe in the late afternoon (always testing the effect on the baby) but not at dusk, the time of ghosts.

[IV.B.2.c.(3)]

After about 15 days, the navel heals. They keep the umbilical area moist with a liberal supply of urucu to prevent infections. Up to this time the couple has shared approximately the same diet, though the wife is allowed to be less strict. Her mother is around them, watching, and tending their needs.

By this time, there is a significant change in the couvade diet, in the degree of mobility that the couple is allowed, and in the difference between what the wife and husband are permitted to do. The wife must now eat certain kinds of meat (especially one of the four species of armadillos) to help her milk become more plentiful. The husband has to go out of the village to do this hunting, but he must not let his hands touch blood or the baby will cry. The husband may go anywhere now, except to the plaza. The wife is more restricted in her movements, having to stay in her quarters most of the time, nursing the baby; but she may eat a wider variety of foods than her husband. She may also put urucu on herself as well as the infant’s body.

The designated contributing-fathers maintain the same pattern of diet, sex, and movement restrictions as the husband, except that the requirements are less strict and are considerably less observed today than formerly.

[IV.B.2.d] CONTRIBUTING-FATHERS’ RITE

After about 40 days (there is no serious attempt to count the days), the wife’s family holds the Ha?khrēl (hà-?-khrēl: generalizer-it-eat: eat it), the rite for publicly committing the contributing-fathers to the baby and for releasing them from their couvade. This frees the contributing-fathers [III.E.9] entirely from all restrictions and also gives the husband greater freedom except for sexual relations, certain foods, and going to the plaza.

[IV.B.2.d.(1)]

The wife’s close female kin make at least four very large meat pies about 2 meters in diameter. These days, beef is most likely to be bought from backlanders, but formerly her uncles had to go hunting for a number of days until they had accumulated enough meat.

The smallest of the meat pies is reserved for the contributing-fathers, while two pies are carried over to the husband’s maternal home for distribution. One pie remains for the extended female kin of the wife.

[IV.B.2.d.(2)]

Sometime late in the morning after the meat pies have been prepared, the wife is sent alone to walk around the boulevard to summon the contributing-fathers. She is completely covered with urucu, which is a sign of health and having completed restrictions [II.F.5.b]. Relatives usually tie several bands of new cloth around her head and waist before she enters the boulevard to show that she is valued by them. She passes each house quietly, walking in the middle of the boulevard scarcely looking in and making only the slightest indication at the house of each contributing-father. The attention of the entire community is upon her, although everybody already knows who the contributing-fathers are. She returns to her home alone and the contributing-fathers come separately to it within about 10 minutes.

The contributing-fathers have charcoal brushed on most parts of their bodies, a sign that they are still undergoing restrictions [II.F.5.d]. They, with the father, assemble around the meat pie that is reserved for them and keep quiet while one of the wife’s uncles lectures to them about the conditions of their release.

[IV.B.2.d.(3)]

A strong hunter, the Hakhôl-katê (blow master), who has been chosen by the wife’s uncles, walks with dignity and self-possession into the room. Hàwmrõ, age 57 (plate 15c), carried out this role for Tep-hot’s grandchild in 1979. Without a word, and taking his time, he squats among all the fathers next to the pie, and leans over one edge of it. He may have a pipe or a hand-rolled cigarette filled with strong backland tobacco. He blows the smoke slowly over the pie in several breaths, each in a different direction. The smoke is unimportant, not being aboriginally Canela. The point is that his breath (the essence of a strong man in his late 40s or 50s) passes over the pie. With this spreading of his breath, his qualities of strength and forbearance enter the pie to benefit all those who consume it. This has the same effect for the other four pies in the house.

This mechanism for the transference of human qualities is the same here as in the ceremony that takes place in the plaza in the late afternoon: the Hààkwèl ceremony whereby a Prókhãmmã blows his breath on the meat pie presented to the Pró-khãmmã by a hàmren person upon his return to full social activity [II.E.7.c] [III.D.2.c.(3)] (Figure 19). It is also similar to the transfer of strength and human qualities demonstrated in the Pepyê festival when a physically strong and healthy man ceremonially passes the smell of the perspiration of his armpits onto the noses and faces of the novices one by one with the palm of his hand (Plate 36c,d).

[IV.B.2.d.(4)]

When the breath blower has left, the contributing-fathers and the father take scratching sticks (amyi kuukhrên tsà: self scratch instrument) [II.G.3.b.(2)] (Plate 67c), which they use for eating when undergoing severe restrictions. In unison, these fathers slowly thrust the sharp points of their scratching sticks (about 20 cm long), through the wild banana leaf cover into the meat and bitter manioc body of the pie itself. Then, they withdraw the sticks from the pie and put them almost to their mouths. They do not eat what is stuck to the sticks, symbolizing their state of future high restrictions in which they may eat only the blandest foods and certainly not a meat pie when their contributed-to-child, their one-link “biological” or “restrictions” kin [III.E.2.b], happens to be sick [III.F.11.a] (Figure 39).

When the contributing-fathers get ready to leave, a wife’s uncle addresses them in a final speech. He tells them that it is all right now to forego their restrictions, that their contributed-to-child is safe and well, and that the crisis has passed. They still do not eat the pie, a symbolic gesture that indicates, when necessary, that they must maintain restrictions for their contributed-to-child for the rest of their lives [IV.D.3.d.(1)].

The uncle does not address the social father who has to stay and continue his restrictions at a lesser level for the continued health and growth of his baby. Even when his child is two to three years old, the social father (who may or may not be the genitor in the Western sense), must not undertake certain activities, such as killing a snake, for the sake of his child’s health.

[IV.B.2.d.(5)]

When the contributing-fathers have gone, an unrelated man impersonating a little fox (tsoo-re: fox-dim.) moves furtively from bush to bush, trying not to be seen. He comes to the door of the house, is given food, and withdraws swiftly, afraid of being caught. Research assistants were unable to explain his behavior and activities. I suggest that a contributing-father may be thought of as behaving like this when coming around to help his contributed-to-child from time to time. He must not intrude on the family life of his contributed-to-child, but the social father and the mother must nevertheless recognize him, and they are formalizing the relationship by giving him some food.

[IV.B.2.d.(6)]

As the Little Fox disappears, the wife’s female kin start putting pieces of food just outside the door on mats: oranges, babaçu nuts, stalks of sugar cane, molded blocks of brown sugar, mangoes, portions of meat pies in wild banana leaves, and so on. Then the age-set just older and opposite from the husband’s age-set makes a disorderly dash (a mē ?prõt) to fall upon the food, each individual trying to grab and hold as much food as he can for himself. This group is referred to as the Teprã-?ti (a certain kind of large fish), because such fish dash at morsels of food in the water to devour them.

If the mother has no social husband, but is an mpíyapit (Glossary) [III.F.4.b.(2)], for whose baby the contributing-fathers have been holding restrictions, the Teprã-?ti dance with her in the Mē Aykhē style around the boulevard before their mē ?prõt dash to her house [II.F.1.b.(2).(c)]. In a sense, the men of the opposing moiety’s age-set are her husbands, her me mpyên nō (pl. husband other), and a disorderly distribution is appropriate when extramarital sexual relations are involved [IV.A.3.f.(6)]. Similarly, even if she is married and her husband is present, the disorderly rush of the Teprã-?ti represents the relationship of the opposing and higher age-set to her. The Teprã-?ti represent her other husbands also [III.E.3.a.(6)].

In sharp contrast to the single mother’s ceremony, the married mother’s female kin give two large meat pies to the social husband’s female kin, carrying them to his natal house in an orderly fashion, where they are cut up and eaten by his kin, cementing the relationship between the two extended families.

[IV.B.2.e] END OF HÀ?KHRĒL RITE

The Hà?khrēl rite terminates the set of perinatal practices for the couple [III.F.4.J]. This rite is put on only for the first child of a marriage. For later children, the parents do carry out a couvade, but to an increasingly lesser extent as the children grow in number. The couple are thought to have become experienced at testing to see if it is safe to take the various next steps out of the couvade by themselves. They are expected to do this more informally, experimenting with “new” foods and observing the reactions of the infant. If no crying or other negative reactions occur, the most recent steps obviously are all right for them to have taken.

These days, declaring a man a contributing-father can possibly cause so much trouble with the social father [III.A.5.d, e] that the mother may not designate anyone at all, even though there may be one or two. In a case when the unannounced contributing-father was one of my research assistants, he did keep the food and sex restrictions but not those relating to mobility; he came to work. He was hoping his limited diet would not be apparent to his wife, and that the baby of his “other wife” would not cry. It did not.

Another reason why the Hà?khrēl rite does not have to be repeated for subsequent babies is that it is also the last marriage rite. With the payment of the meat pies in the Hà?khrēl rite, the marriage is secured, the purchase of the husband is completed, and the couple are left to carry out their own later couvades. Nevertheless, with second and additional babies the contributing-fathers designated by the mother, publicly or privately, are still expected to undergo similar but lesser restrictions.

[IV.B.3] Funeral Proceedings

When a person is perceived to be sufficiently ill to need help from all one-link-away kin, including contributing-fathers, messengers are sent to tell them of the illness. This means that each individual in this equivalent “blood” category must keep food and sex restrictions to help prevent “pollutions” from passing to the blood of their sick one-link relative, thereby weakening or killing her or him [III.E.2.b] [III.F.11.a] [IV.D.3.b] (Figures 20,39).

When someone is obviously dying, the relatives are present, including contributing-fathers, spouses and children. Very old people are with their daughters and granddaughters. In the 1970s, a married man with children was less likely to be taken to his sister’s or mother’s house when very ill than in the time of Nimuendajú (1946:133). In any case, at this point, the next of kin send messengers to all absent one- and further-link kin to summon them to come as soon as possible. These messengers are paid well (with a machete or axe) because they may have to go to farms 20 to 30 kilometers away or even to backland communities 50 to 100 kilometers away. They are never asked to go far out into “the world” because no one knows where their kin might be out there. (For the similar but more detailed Krahó funeral proceedings, see Carneiro da Cunha, 1977, 1978.)

[IV.B.3.a] ATTENDING THE DECEASED

Until the deceased is buried, most of the attention of the mourners and their Formal Friends is placed on the proper preparation of the corpse. (For a series of photographs on several funerals and burials, see Plates 30, 31.)

For a person who seems to have died, the following sunrise is the significant time beyond which all hope for her or his return is lost. The Canela and Apanyekra believe that when a person has become unconscious, they have died just as when the heart stops beating. Until the moment of the first rays of the following morning sun, however, there is still a chance for the soul (karõ) to return to its body (i?-khre-?-khà: its-hollow-its-skin: soul’s hollow-place’s covering). Thus, a shaman (kay) is often sought to go after the soul and bring it back to its body [IV.C.2.c.(1)]. There are many stories of this having happened.

This is why nobody must cry or wail before the sun appears, or is thought to be up behind the clouds. During the all-night vigil, uncles are often heard advising and warning their kin about this matter. The Canela used to come to me begging for kerosene to keep a lamp burning during such a vigil.

Canela and Apanyekra sing-crying was one of the most astounding cultural phenomena I witnessed during my first visit. They yodel with meaningful words at the same time they are crying. The tears, nasal fluids, and phlegm come pouring out, wetting their hands, thighs, and clothing, and the bodies of those they are crying over. When the very first rays of the sun shine on some part of the house, or are seen directly, someone starts the crying, and any of the immediate kin present and all others join in. It is quite loud and very moving. All hope has been lost, and any chance that the soul will return has been spoiled by the sun’s rays and the wailing.

It is notable that Formal Friends, who are not related to the deceased [III.E.5], produce an abundance of tears at will to accompany and help the bereaved produce theirs.

Relatives throughout the village, hearing the sounds of mourning, come across the plaza and walk into the house in waves of maybe half a dozen at a time. As they enter, they too start wailing. The relatives take turns sitting by the corpse, but the closest person, usually a spouse or mother, remains sitting by the head most of the time. The intensity of the wailing rises and then ebbs as each new wave of kin arrives.

Women are more spontaneous at wailing than men, most of them being able to do so at will, even when they are not actually mourning. They do this to keep a mourning person company, to help her or him wail more profoundly. A few men cannot wail at all, or do so only when they have lost a very dear person.

Occasionally during the height of the wailing, a very close relative of the deceased, like a parent or sister, may try to commit suicide by doing a somersault with the intention of landing on the back of the neck and breaking it (Nimuendajú, 1946:133). Special Formal Friends, are waiting and watching to thwart such an action. I have seen this occur several times. When an unusually big, strong young father, Kapi, tried to do this after his small son’s death, his somersaulting was especially hard to prevent because of his size, but his Formal Friends succeeded in restraining him.

All mourn the death, and it is a time when jealousies between men must be forgotten. I have seen lovers lie along side their i?prõ-?nõ-tswè (wife-other-deceased), wailing and embracing her, while the widower looked on wailing just as loudly.

As soon as the sun is up, relatives of the deceased, but not the closest ones, put the corpse on its back on mats near the door. Research assistants say the body should be pointed feet first through the door to the plaza, but I have seen the body placed in a number of positions in relation to the door and the plaza. This really depends on where the door is in relation to whatever else is in the room. On one occasion, a woman with severe convulsions whom they thought was rabid (they had shot the dog who bit her), was left with her head to the wall next to the door.

Usually the mother of a child, or the widow, cuts the hair of the dead person in the traditional style. Only women ever cut hair (Plate 28c). The eyes and mouth are closed. Then, the Formal Friend, or the wife of the Formal Friend puts urucu or falcon down on the body in the same style as for the living. Traditionally, only individuals of hàmren status were entitled to falcon down [II.F.5.a] [III.C.7]. Traditionally, a mother would cover the body of her child with urucu. However, if it is decided to cover the child’s body with falcon down, only the Formal Friend of the child and the Formal Friend’s helpers (kin and spouse) may apply it, not the mother. Thus, Formal Friends increasingly insist on applying falcon down, even to their non-hàmren Formal Friends to earn something from them, expecially in times of hunger. This is a significant trend [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)].

One of the jobs of the group assisting the deceased’s principal Formal Friend is to open the front of the house, tearing the straw of the walls away. This is done so that the waves of arriving kin and later a sizable set of Pallbearers can gain access to the room easily. By nine or ten in the morning, the grave in the cemetery has been dug by relatives and friends of the principal Formal Friend, and the corpse has been properly prepared. Then a group of four to eight male gravediggers, who have finished digging the grave, briskly enter the room as Pallbearers, carrying kô?pip mats, several lengths of rough palm straw rope, and a pole about 3 to 4 meters long. By this time the principal Formal Friend and members of her or his group are pulling mourners gently away from the corpse, and when necessary, youthful Pallbearers help more forcefully. Then they roll the corpse unceremoniously into several mats and tie it to the pole with palm straw ropes. As they go out of the house, the ends of the long pole rest on the shoulders of two men, and the corpse is slung in its mats longitudinally under the pole (Plate 3b). Very loud yodel-crying breaks loose in the house and, as the volume of wailing reaches its climax, the Formal Friends watch close kin of the deceased who are likely to faint or harm themselves.

The burial practices described here are a fairly recent development. The concept of a cemetery, with many people buried in the same place, was adopted in the last century. Earlier, people were buried within or just outside the village, and for certain individuals there were secondary burials.

I field-tested Carneiro Da Cuhna’s writings (1977) on Krahó early funeral procedures with Canela research assistants in the field, but found they remembered far less detail than the Krahó. The Canela had even forgotten most of what Nimuendajú (1946:133–135) published about their own earlier practices. I believe that funeral procedures and eschatology constitute a sociocultural sector that is of little interest to the Canela.

As the group of pallbearers proceeds to the cemetery, about half a kilometer north of both the former village of Ponto and the present village of Escalvado, they talk cheerfully, as if nothing serious had happened, and may even trade jokes with the crowd that usually follows. This was notable to me because these people all know each other so well that they must have felt the loss, whether kin, affines, or unrelated to the deceased. Usually, several distant relatives of the deceased go along to the cemetery to be sure that the corpse is treated correctly and that the grave is dug properly. Otherwise the kin stay in the house of mourning.

At the cemetery, any final work on the grave is completed by men of the Formal Friend’s group. They are careful to cut a precise cubic rectangle [III.B.1.f.(1)] about 20 to 30 centimeters longer than the corpse at each end. About the same amount of space is left on each side, and the grave is a little over a meter deep. The distant relatives of the deceased make comments if the work is not well done, and report it to the next of kin when they return to the village. These distant relatives may complain publicly, spreading “rumors” [III.A.3.c.(3).(e)]

The mats are lowered into the grave as the ropes are loosened and the pole slides out. A man jumps down beside the corpse to readjust and close the mats and turn the head so that the face within the mats is turned north (Plate 31a). All graves are dug with their lengths approximately along the east-west axis. The terrain of the cemeteries in both Ponto and Escalvado slopes generally westward toward the Santo Estévão stream, so the feet of the deceased lie slightly downhill and toward the west.

When the man who finished placing the corpse properly is helped out of the grave, three or four strong poles (saplings with their bark stripped off of them) are placed lengthwise over the grave. Then a number of shorter poles are positioned across the grave over the longitudinally located poles (Plate 31c). Afterwards, old mats, four to eight in number are placed over all the poles to seal the air space below (Plate 31d), then dirt is piled on top of the poles and mats so that a mound about half a meter high or more is formed. Finally branches with green foliage are placed all over the top of the mound (Plate 31e). The hope is that none of the dirt will fall through the mats onto the cadaver. Moreover, the traverse poles are supposed to be both numerous and long enough to discourage animals from digging down into the grave and caving in the sides.

When work on the tomb is completed, the grave diggers, Pallbearers, and crowds return to the village. On the way, they bathe in a stream to rid themselves of dirt and any contaminations resulting from contact with odors from the corpse. Feelings are strong about the necessity to complete these ablutions to avoid pollution.

[IV.B.3.b] ATTENDING THE BEREAVED

After the departure of the Pallbearers with the corpse, mourners in the house of the deceased continue wailing for some time, maybe another 15 minutes. The Formal Friends must continue to watch related kin closely to be sure they do themselves no harm. The bereaved’s Formal Friend (especially if they are both women) stays continuously by her side, wailing with her even though the Formal Friend cannot be a relative. It is believed that somebody wailing with the bereaved enables her or him to wail that much more. The more wailing the bereaved does, the better it is up to a point, since wailing is beneficial; but the bereaved person must not lose control [III.B.1.d.(3)].

Meanwhile the principal Formal Friend of the deceased is in charge and makes all of the various arrangements that have to be made for the bereaved. There must be ventilation in the house; so besides the front wall, which was torn out soon after sunrise, the back or side wall is also torn out. Thus, plenty of air flows through the enclosure to take all the odors and associations away. In addition, the property of the bereaved person has to be watched, because anything loose in the area of the house is traditionally fair game for the taker. The bereaved lose not only their dear relative but most of their possessions at the same time. The attitude is that material loss parallels personal loss. When a death occurred in the house where I was living, my kin put me more valuable items of the family into my room, which was well built and closed off. (According to Werner, 1984a:95, the same practice exists among the Kayapó.)

Relatives of the deceased who are less affected by the loss begin to pull themselves together after half an hour and start assembling and cooking food for the more distant relatives and other mourners who have gathered. Formal Friends of various bereaved individuals take them outside behind the house to bathe, pouring as much as two large calabashes of water over their shoulders (a fee for this help is expected, such as 3 meters of cloth). Everything done by a Formal Friend is an expense in sharp contrast to what is done by a relative. Similarly, the more distant kin who went to the cemetery are bathed by their Formal Friends upon their return, even if they had washed in a stream. It is difficult to refuse the services of a Formal Friend, and this is one of their opportunities for exacting a return.

[IV.B.3.C] GRAVEDIGGER’S PAYMENT

A week or even several months after the funeral, the uncles of the deceased arrange for the payment of the gravedigger, the principal Formal Friend of the deceased or the male representing her who did most of the digging. Just as the sun’s last rays disappear behind the landscape to the west, the assembled kin, sitting just outside the mourners’ house on the edge of the boulevard, begin to wail. Such waiting is never really subdued, although by this time the weeping may be less.

An uncle calls out for the principal gravedigger to make an appearance, and soon he can be seen walking slowly along the boulevard toward the assembled kin. The gravedigger stands directly before the group of mourners who now have become quiet. An uncle says a few words to him and gives him the payment, which may be as much as half a dozen items provided by the deceased’s kin, such as: a shotgun, a machete, two axes, some cloth, and a cast iron caldron. The payment is large partly because this is the final compensation to the Formal Friend for all of her or his life-long services to the deceased [III.E.5]. Thus, as a parting gesture at the terminal point of the relationship, the amount of the payment must be beyond criticism. Moreover, many individuals are involved in the funeral procedures besides the principal Formal Friend, and she or he has to recompense the others in turn if they are not kin.

As the gravedigger walks away with his earnings (for himself or for the principal Formal Friend, if female), the assembled kin burst again into wailing, and as this mourning finally dies down, the principal bereaved person usually can be heard as the final mourner. Then the uncle addresses the group in solemn tones, reminding them, essentially, to forget the past, to live in the present, and to think of their children and grandchildren [III.F.7].

[IV.B.3.d] MOURNING

The purpose of Canela mourning is to rid the bereaved of most memories and feelings related to the deceased so that the bereaved can live a life that is oriented to the present with its human and economic responsibilities. Thus, the process of mourning and the surrounding beliefs are extensive while eschatology is not. The duration and practices of mourning vary considerably, however, with individual needs.

[IV.B.3.d.(1)]

If the principal mourner was the wife of the deceased, her Formal Friend goes, mourning and wailing with her, to all her specially remembered places on the reservation or in the backland area during the following week. They may go to a place on a stream for which the widow has strong memories of her deceased husband; or they may walk out to the farm of a backland family who had treated them well during the lean economic times of the year [II.C.3.g]. In every place they visit, the Formal Friend weeps and wails just as strongly as the widow to keep the widow going, but it is the Formal Friend who must maintain a certain presence of mind in order to watch out for the vulnerable widow. The mourning serves to rid the widow, or the mother, of her initial grief. Later, she is not supposed to think about her deceased husband or her child anymore. To do so would put her in danger of being caught by her or his ghost, who must be longing to have her in the ghosts’ world [IV.C.2.C]. She still has many children, other kin, and other lovers. The Canela live for the present. The Formal Friend reminds her every now and then of all these important aspects of life. Males do not go to mourn and wail with a Formal Friend in especially remembered places. Fewer weep extensively beside corpses unless the bereavement is for an especially loved relative.

[IV.B.3.d.(2)]

The period of mourning for a spouse or a parent lasts a number of months, two to a year, depending on a number of circumstances. A widower partly returns to his sister’s or mother’s house but sees his children often, if he has any, who remain in his deceased wife’s house, where he spends much of his time. If he pays the gravedigger himself, his affines soon allow him to go free from his mourning; but if he leaves the payment to his deceased wife’s family, they hold him to his mourning for a number of months, maybe six or ten. Near the end of this time, if they want to keep him with them for his children, which is usually the case, they try to interest him in an appropriate female relative of his deceased wife [III.F.1]. A parent may remain in mourning for as much as a year and a half for the loss of a grown child.

Mourning practices include avoiding the plaza, singing, and dancing; not putting on any form of body paint except charcoal [II.F.5.d], and letting the hair grow. Some widows remain secluded in their maternal homes for months, and then slowly relax their mourning conditions. Young widows without children may be secluded in their deceased husband’s maternal kin’s house. Sexual relations, especially for a widower, are banned. Mourning does not pertain to foods or to restrictions that exclude polluting liquids from the body [IV.D.3.a].

Mourning for a widow continues at progressively diminishing levels until she has sexual intercourse. The man she does this with is thereby married to her and must pay to leave her just as if he had taken her virginity [III.F.4.6].

For hàmren persons, and for most individuals these days, mourning is ended with a meat pie presentation to the Pró-khãmmã in the plaza. Absence from active social participation in village life for a number of months because of being sick, living away from the tribe, or killing a person is treated similarly [III.D.2.c.(3)].

[IV.B.3.d.(3)]

A seriously bereaved person wails with every grown relative in the sense that if the relative was not at the funeral to mourn, the wailing will be done later when they happen to meet. Thus, a relative who was visiting another tribe or staying with backlanders at the time of the funeral is included upon her or his return. The mourner places a hand on the relative’s shoulder, pushes her or him down, and kneels on a mat or on the grass. Sitting on their ankles, they wail together for one to three minutes.

This kind of delayed mourning may occur many months or even years later. This accounts, in part, for the wailing that takes place when a relative has been out “in the world” for years and finally returns. The returnee’s kin wail for the absence and return, but also for the deaths that have occurred in the family during that absence. A person in deep mourning may even wail with a nonrelative who had been away at the time of the funeral.

[IV.C] Oral History and Cosmology

Aspects of religion (belief systems) projected onto other worlds than the one seen as being immediate (physical reality) by the people under study are hard to isolate and identify precisely. The Canela themselves do not distinguish between “other” and “immediate” worlds. For heuristic purposes, however, some divisions of this nature must be made. In this chapter, I am isolating the aspects of the Canela belief system that they project onto “other worlds”: the worlds of the past and the worlds of other places. (Projections onto these worlds may or may not be different from projections onto the supernatural.) Because much of their cosmology (in this case, their worlds of other places) was “found” by them during their travels in their worlds of the past, it can be taken that their oral history “began” first, and therefore, is presented here before their cosmology.

[IV.C.1] Oral History

Little is known about precontact intertribal relationships and characteristics of the Gê-speaking Timbira groups. Many of these tribes became peaceful in the first quarter of the 19th century. This is especially the case with the Canela in contrast to some other northern Gê tribes, such as certain Kayapó groups, who were “pacified” relatively recently in the 1940s to 1970s. The following data on both inter- and intratribal aspects of the Canela and Apanyekra are based on materials found in about 120 myths and war stories. These tales, a few of which have appeared in Portuguese (W. Crocker, 1978) and English (W. Crocker, 1984b), are faithfully told today by old research assistants as they believe their parents and grandparents narrated them about a much earlier time when “Indians were still wild.”

[IV.C.1.a] METHOD AND THEORY

While in the field in 1975, I conducted a special study of myths and war stories with old Canela research assistants. We discussed and debated many of the points in this chapter both after the telling of each story and during and after its translation. My research assistants were chosen for their retentive memories and superior abilities to think about their ancestors’ activities as told them by earlier great storytellers. Consequently, the ideas and concepts pertaining to the Canela prepacification existence come not just from the war stories themselves, but also from these discussions.

Anyone who has recorded and discussed a number of myths knows that oral history is like the proverbial iceberg; a great deal more can be explained than is initially told. Stories are publicly recited with the assumption mat the listener knows a large complex of circumstances that the naive outsider can only begin to imagine. For example, research assistants often referred to specific points made by certain famous deceased storytellers in order to validate their accounts.

The Canela tend to view their myths and war stories as accounts of their ancestors but not of their own. It is almost as if they were tales of another people. They try to repeat them faithfully in the manner that they say certain deceased relatives or famous storytellers actually did narrate them. Thus research assistants tend to preserve the inconsistencies between the stories and their own more current view of life, and even point out such discrepancies. This phenomenon should not be surprising since storytelling in the plaza, as an institution, was abandoned several decades ago, and the Canela were “pacified” almost a century and three-quarters ago. Nevertheless, changes in myths do occur. The younger Kaapêltùk has Moon going into the water to make children first instead of Sun (cf. W. Crocker, 1984b:20, and Nimuendajú, 1946:244). these materials should not be construed as objective historical facts but rather as ethnobeliefs of a people. The objective here is not to tell full myths but rather to demonstrate their contribution to ethnohistorical sequences of the Canela, but not of the Apanyekra. (For comparative purposes, see the following authors for full Northern Gê myths that have considerable similarity with the Canela ones: Carneiro da Cunha, 1973, 1986; Chiara, 1961–1962; W. Crocker, 1984b; Da Matta, 1970; Lukesch, 1976; J. Melatti, 1963, 1974; Nimuendajú, 1946:243–249; Popjes, 1982a, b, c, d, e, f; Schultz, 1950; Vidal, 1977a. For anthologies of Brazilian myths, including some Gê ones, see Agostinho, 1974; Baldus, 1960:137–191; Schaden, 1959; Villas Boas and Villas Boas, 1970; Wilbert and Simoneau, 1978, 1984.)

[IV.C.1.b]    MATERIAL FROM MYTHS

During the earliest period based on myths of the Canela, they were nature-oriented and most were born “knowledgeable.” To be “knowledgeable” means that the individual could communicate with nature (both animate and inanimate) and had the gift of self-transformation whereby she or he could become an animal or plant at will. There are several separate stories marking the Canela transition from a more nature-oriented period to a more culture-oriented one. The myth of Sun and Moon provides material for the earlier period as well as for the transition.

The later more culture-oriented period that required effort to obtain and maintain kay (Glossary) abilities must be contrasted with the earlier more nature-oriented period, when most Canela are believed to have been born “knowledgeable.” The “fall from grace” inherent in this current Canela belief made much effort necessary in daily work. Obviously, steps in their aboriginal progression from nature to culture were syncretized with backland folk Catholicism, which has influenced Canela thought for at least 150 years.

[IV.C.1.b.(1)]

SUN AND MOON.—The earliest era for beings in human form was that of Sun and Moon who were both male and Formal Friends (hààpin: compadres). They walked upon the face of the earth, tricking each other and competing to see who could do things better. In a dozen or so episodes, Sun did or made “good” things, while jealous Moon tried to do the same thing but failed because his actions or products were not as “good” as Sun’s. For example, Sun and Moon both obtained a fiery headdress from the red-headed woodpecker, but Moon dropped his on the ground, setting the dry forests on fire.

Later, Sun told Moon that they would each make children. Sun went into a swimming spot and came out with children whose hair was long and beautiful (straight and black) and whose skin was relatively light. Then Moon went into the same stream’s pool and emerged with children behind him whose hair was short and kinky and whose skin was rather dark. This was the origin of human beings and of the differences between individuals.

Sun also set iron implements (axes and machetes) to work by themselves, cutting down and clearing woods to prepare a garden. But, against Sun’s orders, Moon appeared in the garden and approached the tools. Consequently, they stopped working by themselves, and this is why people have to manipulate them to prepare gardens. Thus, Moon’s interference is the origin of work. Similarly, Moon’s preferences and shortcomings are the origins of death, floods, and forest fires. Moon is responsible for why the moon has spots (an unclear face), and why the buriti palm tree is so high that its fruit is hard to obtain.

Sun and Moon eventually had to leave the earth because of the shame and concern they felt about their children who were having sexual relations with and fighting and killing each other. Sun showed Moon how they both were to proceed differently in the skies in their location and timing. (Compare Nimuendajú, 1946:243–245, and W. Crocker, 1984b: 17–32.)

[IV.C.1.b.(2)]

EATING SUN-DRIED MEAT.—Later, the Canela, being the only people in the world, wandered in peace through the cerrado (Eiten, 1971), eating rotten wood (pĩ yapôk: pau podre; pĩ kaakhuu: wood rotten) and sun-dried meat. Although wild fruits and crops existed, the Canela believe they did not know how to use them. They think that they were “savages” in those days (W. Crocker, 1978:4–5.)

They already lived in circular villages, and erected simple conical structures as protection against the weather. It is believed that in the absence of the bow and arrow, they killed deer and rheas by running them down and clubbing them to death. Not having fire, they dried meat in the sun (amkro ?te hĩĩ kràà: sun-heat done meat dry).

[IV.C.1.b. (3)]

FIRE OBTAINED FROM JAGUAR.—Fire was obtained from Jaguar by a Canela youth who was a guest in Jaguar’s house. Jaguar had saved the youth’s life by rescuing him from a high ledge on a cliff, but was keeping him in his house as a sort of prisoner. The youth obtained his release, however, by shooting Jaguar’s wife’s paw so she could not run after him. He then escaped to his village carrying live coals which only Jaguar’s family had possessed.

[IV.C.1.b.(4)]

CROPS AND FRUITS IDENTIFIED.—When the Canela were living approximately as they did in later times (that is, with houses, fire, material artifacts, log racing, and festivals), Star-Woman (Glossary) (Katsêê-tè-?khwèy) came down from me sky and showed them corn, other vegetables, buriti palm fruits, and, in effect, all foods except wild game about which they already knew. These new foods had always existed in the wild, but the Canela did not know they were edible. It took Star-Woman’s visit to teach them to eat such vegetables and fruits. When Star-Woman returned to the skies, she took a Canela back with her as her husband.

[IV.C.1.b.(5)]

SELF-TRANSFORMATION AND ITS LOSS.—During the knowledgeability period when only rotten wood and “unpolluting” sun-dried meat were eaten, most individuals were “knowledgeable” (amyi ya?khre pey: sabido: self know/show well: know oneself deeply) (Glossary) and were able to talk with wild beasts and even transform themselves into animals and back again. Not all women and men, however, were “knowledgeable;” a few, lacking these shamanic abilities, were referred to as amyi-ya?khre-?khêt (besta: stupid).

After a great forest fire, however, animals lost the ability to speak. The fire was caused by the tapir (kuukhrút) who had challenged the forest deer (gĩyatsùù: mateiro) and all other animals to attempt to escape through a ring of fire they were to set around themselves. All but the large anteater (pàt: bandeira) perished in the blaze.

Similarly, after a period of worldwide disasters, the Canela lost their general capacity for knowledgeability. Because of Indian incest and killing too many animals, God sent catastrophes (flood, wind, and great darkness) to kill almost all the people and start His creation over again on different terms three times. [Backlander origins for these natural disasters are plausible.] This loss also occurred as they increasingly ate certain plant foods introduced by Star-Woman and ate fire-cooked meat, both containing pollutions.

Thereafter, possession of kay qualities was possible only for certain individuals who, during their adolescence, were strong-willed enough to maintain high restrictions (Glossary) (ipiyakhri tsà: resguardos) against polluting materials, including all meats, menstrual blood, and some fruits and root crops. Thus, restrictions against certain foods and sexual relations became necessary to maintain good health and to become a strong person, capable of properly carrying out the major adult roles [III.A.3.b.(2).(a)]. The transition from eating raw sun-dried meat and being knowledgeable to cooking with fire and practicing restrictions marked a great transformation from the earlier state of being powerful and capable to the later state of being relatively helpless and dependent.

Research assistants spoke of this later period following the loss of knowledgeability with great sympathy. While they did not refer to the earlier period as being ideal, they saw themselves as having been better off in it.

Research assistants, in group sessions, were not clear about the sequence of events contributing to the loss. All that can be said is that the loss of shamanic abilities, the obtaining of fire, the visit of Star-Woman, the need to work, and the new need for maintaining restrictions to gain some kay abilities, all took place in an indefinable period of mythical time. They were certain, however, about which periods followed each other in their reconstructed mythological history after the times of Awkhêê, their great culture hero. Research assistants in 1979 were certain that restrictions were not practiced during the era of sun-dried meat, and they were equally as certain that restrictions were maintained during the times of Awkhêê.

[IV.C.1.b.(6)]

AWKHÊÊ AND THE ACCULTURATION CONTRACT.—Eating sun-dried meat, obtaining fire from Jaguar, and receiving the visit of Star-Woman took place in a countryside that was similar to the present closed cerrados, gallery forests, and islands of dry forest. Some time later a very important event is believed to have occurred near Rio de Janeiro, where most Canela were no longer knowledgeable. The great Canela acculturation hero, Awkhêê (Glossary), was born to an unmarried woman (mpίyapit) named Rõl-khwèy (babaçuwoman). He came out of the womb to play and then returned, repeatedly. After he was born, he grew up rapidly, frightening his siblings by turning into an anaconda snake in the water or a jaguar behind a cerrado bush. He frightened his uncles with similar feats, so they decided to kill him. On one occasion his uncles took Awkhêê up a hill and pushed him over a cliff, but Awkhêê saved himself by becoming a leaf and floating to the ground. Later, after several similar episodes, the uncles succeeded in pushing him into a bonfire, but he survived by turning himself into an ember. (See structural analyses of the myth of Awkhêê in Carneiro da Cunha (1986:13–52) and Da Matta (1970.)

After the uncles had gone away and the fire had subsided, Awkhêê built a Brazilian-style house in the backlands and created a farm with cattle, horses, chickens, pigs, etc., none of which the Canela had seen before. He summoned a Canela and a backland Brazilian and offered diem the use of the shotgun or the bow and arrow. He gave the Canela first choice, but they refused the shotgun and took the bow and arrow, thereby gaining the subservient role in life in relation to the backland Brazilian, who took the shotgun.

Awkhêê was disappointed in the Canela choice of the bow and arrow because he had tried to help the Canela, his people. “In anger” (mē-khãm in-krùk: them-in he-angry), he sent them away in disgrace on a trip to the north. There they roamed the countryside for food, tearing their skins with the brambles and dry bush as they traveled for generation after generation, eventually settling by a great river.

Awkhêê (now believed by the Canela to have been the Emperor of Brazd, Dom Pedro II) instituted a kind of social contract to help the Canela in their plight. Since the civilizado (Glossary) had gained the advantage of the shotgun, he would have to support the Indian forever by freely giving him food and anything else he needed. For the Indian, the “good” backlander became the one who gave generously and freely, and the “bad” backlander was the one who gave little. This was an acculturative “social contract”—the Indian’s excuse for begging and being dependent without experiencing any shame or loss of face [II.B.2.d].

[IV.C.1.b.(7)]

MIGRATIONS AND ACQUISITION OF COSMOLOGY.—The Canela believe their ancestors migrated from Awkhêê’s (the Emperor’s) Rio de Janeiro, first crossing a great river there and then moving toward the north into the dry country of the Brazilian Northeast. Subsequently, they migrated westward into their present location in wetter central Maranhão.

The Apanyekra do not speak of such a migration, nor do they believe that they ever lived in the region of Rio de Janeiro, but they do have a similar acculturation legend about a man called Prùùkupêê, who was also the Emperor, Dom Pedro II.

[IV.C.1.b.(7).(a)]

During this period of Canela migration, they did not have real chiefs (pa?hi) or even war commandants (mē hààprãl); they just had “pack” leaders, they say, like the individual leaders of certain animal groups (i.e., wakhõõ: coatimundo), who moved at the head of an advancing column, or pack, because they were personally stronger and more active than others [III.D.1.i.(1)].

[IV.C.1.b.(7).(b)]

The Canela believe they were pursued from Rio de Janeiro into the Northeast by occasionally attacking backlanders who were migrating behind them, forcing them to move onward, generation after generation. Eventually, when they had arrived from the east into their present region, they settled in the Pak-re (scorpion-dim.) area, which is about 40 kilometers to the east of Escalvado village and not far from the backland community of Leandro (Map 3). (Pak-re is just within the boundaries of the present reservation and is the region where the younger Kaapêltùk is putting in his large farms of the mid-1980s [Ep.4.a].)

During these wanderings they acquired their traditional festivals, when living by a great river [III.C. 8], which may be the Tocantins near the present location of the Krahó (Map 4), research assistants thought. However, after studying a map of Brazil with me, they thought the Parnaίba River was the more likely place of tribal residence at the time they were acquiring their festivals [IV.A.3.d], especially because they believe they came from the east. Their knowledge of their several other worlds (part of their cosmology) comes from these festivals. The Canela express their other worlds of the past (supernatural?) in terms of geographic locations.

[IV.C.1.b.(7).(c)]

Even though the Canela generally think their festivals were acquired when living near the Tocantins River, they nevertheless also say they migrated into their present position from the east. In the Canela story of Amkro-?khwèy, this ancestor left her baby behind in a thorny region to the east as the tribe was escaping rapidly to the west, harassed by backlanders.

Their earlier location by a great river is suggested by the existence of egrets, herons, swamp deer (poo-kahàk: suapara), otters, and large anacondas in their festivals, animals that do not inhabit their present area. The Canela may have migrated from either the Tocantins in the west (unlikely) or from some area in the east, such as the Itapicuru or Parnaίba river basins.

I prefer the hypothesis that the word “Rio,” which now means “Rio de Janeiro” to everybody including the Canela, originally meant the Itapicuru or Parnaίba rivers (rio: river). The Paranaίba may have been the wide river that they had to escape across by boat in the migration story, just after they were sent away from “Rio” by Awkhêê [III.C.10.a]. Nimuendajú (1946, map 1) reports a Timbira presence west of Oeiras, Piaui, between 1728 and 1769, which is to the east of the Parnaúba River (Map 4). A person of the Barra do Corda Indian service [II.B.3.e] who grew up in the Parnaίba basin area told me that backland inhabitants of that region celebrate a cornhusk shuttlecock annual ritual during which they hit the missiles up into the air with their hands to enhance the corn harvest, just as the Canela do in their Corn Harvest festival [IV.A.5.d] (Plate 53b,d). (The Krahó do this also; J. Melatti, personal communication.)

[IV.C.1.b.(7).(d)]

The Canela (not the Apanyekra) believe that all other Indian tribes left their Pak-re village site to seek their present geographical locations because of a dispute over the death of a young boy. An older Canela youth had fatally wounded a younger one (Kaprôô-re: blood-dim.) in the arm with an arrow. To prevent intratribal fighting, the various groups within the tribe (including Tupi speakers) agreed to emigrate in search of new lands. (It is notable that speakers of Tupi were included in this origin of Indian tribes.) These tribal departures ushered in a new period—the era of warfare. It is noteworthy that the Canela say their period of intertribal warfare came well after their initial contacts and frequent skirmishes with Brazilian backlanders.

[IV.C.1.c]  WARFARE ACCORDING TO WAR STORIES

From our study of war stories, research assistants distinguished between an earlier, very hostile prepacification phase and a later less hostile phase. During the earlier era of intertribal raiding, members of one tribe shot to kill unknown Indians of either sex, especially after such intruders had failed to identify themselves satisfactorily as members of the tribe (W. Crocker, 1978:9). In fear of being accidentally killed, returning members had to be careful about how they entered the tribal area. They usually sang to announce their arrival, and often still do so.

My hypothesis is that instead of earlier hostile and later less hostile prepacification phases, Canela war practices vacillated between these two phases depending on a number of inter- and intratribal variables.

[IV.C.1.c.(1)]

VISITING AMONG TRIBES.—Stories from a later, less hostile prepacification era suggest that intertribal access and visiting had become considerably easier. Although there are tales of the massacre of visiting parties during this period, marriages between enemy tribes did take place. Thus entry into still hostile groups was facilitated by the protection of relatives or by in-laws. Occasional adoptive relationships were established between families of different tribes through the equating of identical personal names passed down in the traditions of each tribe (Lave, 1977).

[IV.C.1.c.(2)]

RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER TRIBES.—The Canela say that they established relatively friendly relations with the Cakamekra (Mateiros; Hemming, 1987:185) in the dry forest of the Rio Flores area to the northeast (Map 3), but that they were constantly warring with the Apanyekra, Kenkateye, and other tribes to the west and southwest in the cerrado (Map 4). Nimuendajú (1946:32–33) states that the Cakamekra defeated the Canela (i.e., Ramkokamekra) in 1814, and that this skirmish so reduced the Canela that they had to surrender to the Brazilian authorities for safety. Canela research assistants, however, have no tales of such an event, and they report that they were always allies of the Cakamekra.

Nimuendajú’s (1946:32–33) ethnohistorical sources indicate that quite a different and war-like relationship existed between the Canela and Cakamekra, an account which amounts to a sharp difference between oral history and the published record. This discrepancy in traditional beliefs makes it difficult to accept any event as historical fact without considerable caution, comprehensive interpretation, and critical judgment.

Although in prepacification times a relationship of chronic hostility between certain tribes was clearly normal, annual dry season (June-August) intertribal skirmishing and raiding did not necessarily result in a great number of deaths. In cases of specific tribal revenge, however, the intention was to kill as many of the enemy as possible: hapan-tsà ?nã (return-thing condition: paying it back). Revenge was thought to be more often carried out by war parties retaliating for earlier raids than by individuals avenging their dead relatives (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:153). The latter method would have been too dangerous.

In the occasional massive defeats, women, children, and babies were slaughtered rather than captured. Someone usually escaped to tell the tale, however, and sometimes children who were not killed in the heat of battle were adopted and raised, and nubile girls were taken in marriage. There are no reports, however, of systematic rape, torture, and capture of children and women, and there was only one Apanyekra tale and one Cakamekra story involving cannibalism. Cases of almost complete annihilation of one tribe by another were probably rare because tribes were usually scattered at the time of a raid and, when outnumbered, tended to disperse before, during, and after an attack.

It is believed that groups of outsiders, in later prepacification times, could enter the village of a hostile tribe by performing the Tired Deer (Poo Tùkrĩ: deer tired) ceremony which can be found in a number of surviving festivals (Nimuendajú, 1946:198). The group of outsiders would enter a village and pass down a radial pathway, shuffling their feet along and panting like a tired deer. The behavior of the deer symbolizes docility and submission. A research assistant says the ceremony always serves both to end a dispute and to imply peaceful relations. The research assistant group found five stories and festival occurrences that tended to support this claim. More specifically, it is the act of a tired deer that has finished his external struggle in the hostile natural world and is coming into his home pasture to rest.

It is curious that research assistants say the tribes did not burn or destroy each others’ gardens. This would have been easy to accomplish since an entire tribe, though perhaps in several groups at different intervals, would leave the village to go on trek (khrĩ-?wên) for long periods While the gardens were maturing between January and April. From time to time, a leader sent runners to observe and report on the condition of the gardens, but apparently this was not motivated by fear of enemy tribes.

The origin myth of the Fish festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:225) tells of a youth, Pure?têê, and a companion who were sent to swim across a great river to report back on the condition and growth of the gardens. Root crops were often eaten by rodents and occasionally devastated by plagues of caterpillars (amkoo: lagarta). In either case, such difficulties required the quick return of a portion of the tribe.

A possible reason for the belief that enemy tribes did not attempt to destroy each others’ unprotected gardens lies with the strongly held opinion of research assistants that the ancestors could not have raided other tribes, or their gardens, during the rainy season growing period because the precipitation would have wet the arrows’ feathers and thus rendered their bows and arrows useless as weapons.

More realistically, while some members of the tribe went on trek and possibly were caught in skirmishes during the horticultural growing season, I think the massive war raids probably took place mostly during the dry season after most crops had been harvested.

[IV.C.1.c.(3)]

KAY ABILITIES IN WARFARE.—The kay (Glossary) abilities of leaders to bring about significant results in warfare should not be underestimated. Some battles were determined by the relative kay strength of the principal warriors on either side. The great warriors were always knowledgeable (Glossary) and therefore could dodge (hal-pey) arrows at close range. Several warriors (Krùt-re, Khαα-re, Tut-re) did not attempt to kill their opponents with arrows at all but rather waited until the enemy’s supply had become exhausted. Then, having avoided the arrows, they moved in closer to pierce the enemy leader and some of his immediate companions with a wooden lance (khrúwatswa) [II.G.3.a.(2)] (Plate 56e). These attacking leaders and their followers then pursued the rest of the enemy group, clubbing them down from behind.

Rather than using a ceremonial lance, the great warrior Pépshot scores of enemy during a battle, but only in the eye. Pèp aimed the arrow in the general direction of the enemy, putting a spell of witchcraft (hũũtùù: feitiço) on the arrow: the missile flew through the air under its own power (amyià-khôt: self-following), successfully seeking out and piercing an enemy’s eye every time.

Other hààprãl leaders also used weapons that particularly characterized them. Wayatom used a heavy club (khô-po), Kupēmãã killed only by throwing rocks, and Pàlpayu?têê and Khrãnkwèn shot only arrows.

[IV.C.1.c.(4)]

SOULS OF WARRIORS.—There are several stories concerning the almost total annihilation of one tribe by another, which may or may not have resulted from surprise attacks. The principal hààprãl fighters with kay ability may have thought that their souls had left their bodies a few days earlier, indicating they were going to be massacred in the coming attack because their kay forces would not be powerful enough to protect them. Their ability to fight had thereby become impaired; but because they were expected to have courage, they went through the motions of resistance and more or less allowed themselves to be killed. Such individuals who possessed the kay qualities were knowledgeable about the coming defeat and massacre because they could see spirits (karõ: almas) leaving bodies (ikhre?khà: corpses). They did not spread the story of doom to the others. Research assistants said each person knows when his soul has left him even if he cannot see spirits leaving other bodies as kay people readily can. Consequently, he goes to war anyway, but he daydreams and looks at the ground continuously so that he is weak and sleepy, and therefore, is almost inevitably killed.

[IV.C.1.c.(5)]

SPECIAL TRIPS.—The war leaders inevitably managed to secure certain special objects of the slain enemy leader or leaders as proof of the conquest and returned home with their trophies to tell proudly the story of their great success. Even though he was not a warrior, the curer-sorcerer, Yawè, made a similar trip to demonstrate his shamanic powers, as did culture heroes in the course of obtaining certain festival rites [IV.A.3.d]. An Apanyekra man, Kupaatep, who had lost face within his own tribe, undertook a trip with an Informal Friend (ikhwè?nõ). But in this situation the purpose was for both to be killed by members of another tribe; tantamount to suicide.

Today, this pattern of leaving the tribe is continued in the form of trips to cities in order to bring back shotguns or other implements [III.D.1.c.(3)]. Moreover, a shamed individual (as a man of Escalvado did in 1970 [In.4.e]) goes out “into the world” or visits a neighboring Gê tribe, sometimes staying indefinitely.

[IV.C.1.c.(6)]

CAUSES OF WARFARE.—Some intertribal attacks and skirmishes were motivated by the custom of superior youths having to prove their special abilities in order to become hààprãl persons (valiant, fierce, and therefore capable of becoming war leaders and village peacetime organizers). These were individuals who, during their adolescence, had attained the capacity of being kay or knowledgeable, if only to a lesser degree (kay-kahàk). Some young men with these skills asked an uncle, most likely a mother’s brother, to take them on a trip to a hostile tribe so they could demonstrate their hààprãl qualities and come back with war equipment, feather headpieces, and bloodstained hands to prove before the assembled tribe what they had done. Some youths were motivated to organize raids of this sort to avenge the death of close relatives.

It is believed that the tribal boundaries following ridges or streams changed sometimes to reflect relative growth in tribal size or successful raids, but that territorial expansion was not a main purpose of warfare. If contiguous territory was unoccupied due to a massacre, the triumphant tribe probably moved into the vacuum to some extent to create a buffer zone and augment its food supply.

The principal reason for intertribal warfare, however, is believed to have been the fear of another tribe’s growing population. “We had to cut them down to size before they could grow to outnumber and overwhelm us later on,” is essentially what one research assistant said.

Another motivation was the desire for freedom of movement within and somewhat beyond recognized boundaries in order to hunt and gather enough food. If enemy neighbors became too daring and brought their foraging parties through a tribe’s lands, the tribe would not be able to move freely in its own territory without fear of being ambushed. It was better to keep the enemy afraid by raiding them every now and then.

[IV.c.1.c.(7)]

VILLAGE SIZE.—No attempts at estimating the earlier size of Canela-like tribes through the research assistant council’s discussing myths and war stories were successful. Research assistants consistently maintained that except for in the Pak-re site (Map 3), earlier tribes were lower in population than Escalvado today (about 600 in 1979), but their evidence and reasoning were not convincing. They believe their ancestors never had villages with two or more concentric circles of houses, which was the way the Kayapó and Bororo maintained large populations in one location. The single circle obviously limits village size. Information received from the Canela in 1984, however, suggests that the second, outer circle of houses, which was well started by 1979, was almost complete.

Old village sites of the last century are one-third the diameter of today’s villages (Escalvado~300 m) and their house sites are further apart. This suggests a lower population, but more individuals were attached to one extended family house. Canela and Apanyekra research assistants concurred that the Canela were the largest tribe in the area, about equal to both the Apanyekra and Kenkateye grouped together. They also agree that the Canela were more numerous than the Cakamekra.

[IV.C.1.d] INTERTRIBAL LIAISONS AND LEADERS

It was inconceivable to research assistants that there was much intertribal mixing of persons in aboriginal times because such contacts were thought to have been too dangerous. Quasi-alliances, nevertheless, were formed between some tribes to enhance their strength vis-à-vis their enemies. Real security, however, existed principally in a tribe’s ability to organize its forces for defense and surprise attacks. Alliances between tribes were unreliable, either because of frequently troubled relations or because allies could not be summoned in time to be of much assistance in the event of a surprise attack. Intertribal mixing on a significant scale occurred mostly when defeated forces of two or more tribes joined each other in order to increase their population for defense purposes.

[IV.C.1.d.(1)]

ALLIANCES AND CHIEFS.—The Cakamekra were grouped with the non-Gè Ha?khà-?po-?ti (lip-broad-large), the Hõ-?ti-khèm-mē?khra, and the Krēyê, as forest tribes (Irom-katêyê: forest people), while the cerrado tribes (Apanyekra, Kenkateye, Pukobyé, Krahó, etc.) were referred to collectively as the Hũlkhwayê?khra-re. Research assistants believed the Canela, though a cerrado tribe, were allied with the forest tribes against the cerrado ones.

[IV.C.1.d.(1).(a)]

The Visiting Chief (Tàmhàk) act of the Pepkahàk festival [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)] appears to be a ceremonial survival of the social mechanism by which such tribes, after being joined, became integrated peacefully as one village, nevertheless, still retaining their identity [III.C.7.a]. The initial step of coming together, however, is said to have been taken through the Ha?kawrè ceremony in which the warriors of each tribe had sexual relations with a great female singer (hahĩ mēntsii) of the other tribe. This ceremony was carried out between the Cakamekra and the Canela when the former joined the latter in 1900 [II.B.1.c(1)].

This Tàmhàk act (more correctly: Poopok-nã Mē-ipikamēn: Poopok-condition they-march: [special artifact]-wearing procession) is not found in any of the Canela myths or war stories; however, the act is the major part of an afternoon in the Pepkahàk festival. Tàmhàk persons (Nimuendajú’s, 1946:99, “courtesy chiefs” or King Vultures) served to keep peace between tribes that had already joined each other.

[IV.C.1.d.(1).(b)]

The institution of the mē-hõõpa?hi, the “protection chief,” is structurally the same as the institution of the Tàmhàk (“visiting chief). It differs in name and in antiquity. It did not come into existence until post-pacification times. One tribe honors a man from another tribe when he is visiting, making him their protection chief by bestowing many presents upon him and decorating him in the plaza. Then, when they visit his tribe, he must protect, house and feed them. According to the Canela, this institution (whether Tàmhàk or mē-hõõpa?hi) is not found as a prepacification intertribal mediation device in any of the war stories.

In 1979, the Canela made an Apanyekra couple protection chiefs by cutting their hair and painting their bodies red while they were standing on mats in the plaza in the morning and by depositing presents on the mat (Plate 28e, f). The ceremony was the same as the one for installing age-set honorary singing chiefs [II.D.3.i.(2).(a)], and the painting of the couple was followed by a day of dancing the Mē Aykhē [II.F.1.b.(2).(c)] [IV.A.3.f.(6)].

[IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)]

It is believed that in prepacification times, a peacetime leader of a Canela tribe had to be a relatively young but proven warrior (hààprãl). The warrior maintained his leadership primarily because others did not dare to challenge his reputation or take chances with the fierceness of his personality (W. Crocker, 1978:18) [III.A.2.k.(4)]. As he grew older and was less able as a warrior, he would relinquish his position in favor of a younger hààprãl leader While still acting as a respected counselor in peace or in war, supported by the Pró-khãmmã. It was likely that a village had between two and four such persons, and the oldest, if still respected and capable of leading in battle, was in command.

Each hààprãl called any other one hààpin (Formal Friend); research assistants said that this term of address helped to alleviate competitive pressures and fighting between them [V.A.5.b.(1).(a)]. This relationship, however, made direct communication more difficult (Nimuendajú, 1946:100) and created shame (Glossary) as well as certain social distance. Age was also significant in these relationships; young hààprãl peace leaders are said to have kept silent in the presence of older ones.

In times of raids, each hààprãl led a file of warriors who were personal friends and followers, often including kin and affines regardless of age-set affiliation. Several active hààprãl persons in counsel with the retired hààprãl leaders developed the general plan of attack. Once the fighting had begun, however, each hààprãl was in command of his own group while the retired hààprãl leaders remained in the background.

Because of their observance of a variety of dietary restrictions and their kay activities, it is believed that some hààprãl warriors fought and even led files to battle as old as in their late 40s.

Members of the Pró-khãmmã age-set, who today average around 55 years old, are said to have been of a younger age (maybe 45), as an age-set, in prepacification times and were still young enough to be good fighters. In the story of the Canela warrior, Khrã?kuurom, the age-set members of the Pró-khãmmã went out to call on a neighboring HũlkHwayê?khra-re tribe (thought to be Krahó living just south of the present Canela lands) to obtain food because their sweet potato crop had been destroyed by a plague of caterpillars, but the visit ended in a skirmish with many deaths.

[IV.C.1.e]   TRIBAL SCHISMS

Research assistants could not think of any stories of prepacification tribal schisms with the exception of the great mythological exodus from the Pak-re village. Research assistants agree, however, that especially in post-pacification times when hostilities had been curtailed, strong leaders (mē hààprãl) who could not submit to each other parted company, taking along with them a mixture of consanguines, affinals, and nonrelated companions [III.D.I.g]. Research assistants thought that differences had to be extreme for such schisms to occur before pacification, because small groups were at an obvious disadvantage in a hostile environment and because internal mechanisms, such as Formal Friend address [III.E. 5], tended to encourage cooperative relations.

The Canela had no mechanism for deciding which faction would leave a tribe, as is found among the Kayapó (Bamberger, 1979:138–142).

[IV.C.1.f]   INTRAVILLAGE VERSUS INTERVILLAGE ORIENTATION

In contrast to the orientation of the Kayapó (T. Turner, 1966; J. Turner, 1967; and Bamberger, 1979) and Shavante (Maybury-Lewis, 1967) toward intercommunity relationships, Canela research assistants presented early Canela life as being relatively more inward-looking. Intertribal visits were very dangerous and therefore seldom occurred,. On the other hand for Kayapó and Shavante travelers, intercommunity movements of families, though difficult and somewhat dangerous, were nevertheless institutionalized and part of the solution to leadership and personal problems. Minority factions moved to other villages or formed a new one, and dissenters departed to find better conditions or survive a crisis. The Kayapó use one expression for themselves, though they live in as many as a dozen, widely dispersed villages [II.A.2]. It is mē bê ngô-kre (we are water-hollow [people]: povo de olho d’agua: people of eye of-water (a spring)) (Hamtú, 1987:66). Apparently, the Eastern Timbira tribes have no such name in common, though mē-hĩĩ (people-type: people of the same nature/type/ characteristics, as a linguistic designation (Nimuendajú, 1946:12), is the best approximation [II.A.1].

[IV.C.1.f.(1)]

The Canela stress the great difficulty and lethal consequences of such prepacification intertribal contacts. Moreover, their expression for a hostile tribe is khrĩtsà-re (village-hurtful-dim.), for a now “friendly” tribe is khrĩ-?nõ (village-another), and for their own tribe is khrĩ ita (village this). Here, the concept of a tribe (khrĩ) is equated to that of a village (khrĩ). Presumably, khrĩ was used for a group of between 1000 and 1500 individuals living together. The way the Escalvado village of today (~903 on 1 March 1989) [II.A.2] is arranged, with close female kin living behind as well as beside each other, it can be seen that such numbers actually could have lived in one village that was only slightly larger than Escalvado is today (diameter: ~300 m). The Canela could build houses along the road to the post, but I am informed that they are completing a second circle instead. (Khrĩ, as a verb, means “sits.”)

Expressed in Portuguese, the Canela of the communities of Escalvado and the Apanyekra of Porquinhos refer to themselves as uma naçãdo (a nation) and to each other and to other Indian tribes as outra naçãdo (another nation). In contrast, the Kayapó and Shavante each appear to see themselves more as one people, living in many villages.

[IV.C.1.f(2)]

Materials from the war stories strongly suggest that Canela-like tribes were more seasonally war-oriented than Gê-specialists have suspected. They were also more independent and less in touch with each other until post-pacification times than was previously thought The need to raid and keep down the population of other tribes as the ultimate protective measure, the need to annihilate other tribes for minimal reasons of revenge, and the need for a warrior-leader to go on a successful raiding expedition of arbitrary killing in order to prove his abilities and knowledgeability that are all points which tend to convince me of the relative isolation and mutual hostility of prepacification Eastern Timbira tribes.

These comparisons as well as other comparative ethnological materials (Posey, 1979:57) lead me to suspect that the Canela and other similar Eastern Timbira tribes were more war-like among villages on a seasonal basis than specialists have expected—but not as war-like as the Kayapó who are famous for this trait, or the Yanomamö (Chagnon, 1968). Correspondingly, the Canela place greater emphasis on internal cohesion [III.D.3.e] and repression of activities leading to factionalism and schisms [III.D.1.c.(1).(b)] [V.A.5.b.(1).(a)]. Such an hypothesis seems tenable when Turner’s (1979:209) and Bamberger’s (1979:139) comments on causes of Kayapó schisms are compared with my knowledge of Canela factionalism and intravillage disputes [III.D.1.g].

[IV.C.1.g]   STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT IDENTIFIED BY RESEARCH ASSISTANTS

From their oral history, a very general sequence of stages was reconstructed that represents Canela ethnobeliefs about their transformation from an elementary band to a more developed tribe. Later, another set of stages was inferred that accounted for their adjustment to a conquered and submissive people.

The principal step toward becoming a more developed tribe was the knowledge of new foods and their polluting effects: (1) fire-cooked meat, (2) wild fruits, (3) and cultivated staples, such as corn, sweet potatoes, yams, and peanuts. However, these “advantages” were associated with pollutions that entered the body and caused the system to function so poorly that the earlier transcendental qualities, such as great physical and mental skills based on shamanic capacities were lost. Instead of being born with great shamanic powers, the Indians now had to develop their own strength and forces through the practice of restrictions and the use of certain medicines [IV.D.3.a,4].

The second trend in the Canela ethnobelief progression amounted to a step “down” to submissiveness and thereby to relatively “successful” adaptation to the acculturative situation. Through the choice of the bow and arrow rather than the shotgun they could in all honor and self-respect accept any quantity of gifts from the civilizado without having to give anything in return: a situation arranged for them by their cultural hero Awkhêê.

In the sequence of events of Canela ethnohistory, first came the acquisition of their great festival-pageants, second their splitting into many separate tribes, and third their intertribal wars, all of which took place much later than their original contact with backlanders. This sequence demonstrates how basic their dependence on backlanders and urban civilizados has become, but it also helps them to live with the implied inferiority [III.D.1.c.(3).(a)]. This strong rationalization surely facilitated their relatively successful adaptation to 19th century Brazilian backland life.

Folk Cathode notions of God and the Devil were also acquired from the backlanders during the last century. According to these beliefs, the individual acquired his strength and abilities with help from God and interference by the Devil instead of personally building up capacities through the practice of high restrictions [IV.D.3.f]. This again is a belief pattern that is consistent with the acceptance of their dependency in their acculturative situation. Today the practice of restrictions still exists, but they rely just as much on God and the Devil to explain events.

[IV.C.1.h]   OBSERVATIONS

One of the most striking observations of the study of Canela and Apanyekra myths and war stories is the surprising extent to which it is now believed that personally developed shamanic abilities were used to enable almost any wish to be carried out successfully. Through the practice of certain restrictions and the resulting visitations from ghosts, it was believed that an individual sometimes gained great “powers” to advance his purposes in peace and war for the good of his people. Thus the rest of the tribal population simply gave into him and followed him, trusting in him completely for their welfare and protection. It appears that in early Canela tribes, shamanic abilities were significant sociopolitical factors.

Other notable observations are the extent to which the now very peaceful Canela were once oriented to annual dry-season warfare, and the possibility that they came from an ecologically different area, which may have been the much drier east, as they themselves believe.

[IV.C.2]   Cosmology

The Canela cosmology as found in their current beliefs, myths, and oral tradition is extensive and contains several different worlds. Except for the world of the dead and the armadillo’s world, the other traditional worlds come from origin myths related to festivals. The most significant other world today for the Canela (but probably not for the Apanyekra) is an untraditional one: the world of Christianity. This world was brought to them through constant contacts with their backland neighbors, through the internment of several young men in the Catholic convent in Barra do Corda (ca. 1900 and 1962), through the annual visits of traveling friars from that convent, and through the extensive, dedicated, and patient work of Jack Popjes (SIL) and his family, who have lived among the Canela since 1968 and say they will be leaving in 1990. (See [IIB.l.c.(3)] [II.B.2] [II.B.3.(a)] for changes in the direction of backland folk Catholicism, urban Catholicism, and SIL Protestantism.) Briefly, almost all Canela these days have been baptized, and so believe themselves to be Catholics. As such, when they die, they expect to go to a certain other world in the sky, which is called heaven, rather than to their traditional other world of the dead.

[IV.C.2.a]   VILLAGE OF THE DEAD

The Canela world of the dead (mē karõ khrĩ: Timbira ghosts’ village) is on the same horizontal plane as their existing world but somewhere to the west. Everything there is the same as in the world of the living (mē?tĩál khrĩ: Timbira livings’ village) but is bland in comparison. The water is tepid; people sing mildly; meat is light in weight and almost tasteless. People make love in the mildest manner. After several years have passed, people become large animals, some of which may be caught by hunters. The meat of such an animal tastes bland, and it becomes possible for a person to have eaten his own grandmother, for example. This does not bother anyone, however. If they are not killed, such animals become transformed into smaller ones, maybe into a fox, later a field rat, and so on, until they turn into a fly, or even the sharp stump of a bush that has been chopped down, and finally into nothing at all. Canela ghosts do not live forever, and the Canela soul is not eternal.

Very clearly, life is not as enjoyable in the ghosts’ village as in the village of the living. Nobody wants to go to the ghosts’ village; the world of here and now is far better and more desirable. Thus, the Canela live for the present, where everything is more vivid, and they pity the ghosts of the dead.

[IV.C.2.b]   WORLDS ABOVE AND BELOW

In earlier times there was also the world above, the one of the great birds, where the youth (Hàhàk) with an infected ear was taken by a bird and cured (Nimuendajú, 1946:247). He found there the world of the falcons, the king vultures, and others. There he was shown the Pepkahàk festival and was given this festival to take back to his people [IV.A.3.c.(3)].

There is also the world below the human level, which was entered at least three times in Canela mythology. An armadillo dug down in the ground until it fell through into a world that was very similar to the world on the ground level, but it did not have an illness and did not come back with anything as did Canela travelers to other worlds (Nimuendajú, 1946:247–248). A boy (Khrúwapu) who was very sick from eating clay was taken off to the world of the alligators, deep under the waters of a river. He was cured there, and returned as a shaman with knowledge of the Regeneration season moiety festivals [IV.A.4] and the Pàlrà ritual [IV.A.5] (W. Crocker, 1984b: 195–203). One youth (Pure?têê), who was swallowed by an anaconda snake, was taken to the world of the fishes where he witnessed the Fish festival and brought it back to the Canela for their use [IV.A.3.c.(4)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:225–230).

In these other worlds, life goes on in a manner similar to the human world. The alligators, birds, or fish take on human forms. The alligators, for instance, run with racing logs on their shoulders, but they still in some way, are alligators, falcons, or fish. (I could not get clear information about such distinctions from research assistants.) Time there passes more rapidly than in the human world. One day in the alligator world was an absence of only about one hour for the boy who went there, and the grandmother to whom he returned from fetching water found him only somewhat late. Furthermore, it is necessary for the traveler to close his eyes when being transported to these other worlds, as in the case of the alligator and falcon worlds, and then open them upon arrival only when told to do so.

[IV.C.2.c]   GHOSTS AND THEIR WORLD

Ghosts long for recently lost relatives and tends to haunt them to try to bring them into her or his new world (the world of the dead) for companionship; in other words the ghost tries to kill them. While dying in 1960, the older Mĩĩkhrô [I.G.3] was told by his granddaughters to stay away after he had died. It seemed unfeeling to me but was surely very real to the Canela. If a living person sees a ghost, unless he is a shaman, he is going to the (has to die), soon. Spouses are especially good targets. If a man’s recently deceased spouse appears to him and they have sex, he dies and joins her right there.

Ghosts do not like crowds of living people and tend to stay away from a village during the day [IV.D.1.c.(3)]. It is dangerous, however, to go down to the stream for water even at dusk, for ghosts might harass someone and cause their death. This happened in the case of the sing-dance master Tààmi’s 18 year old daughter, the younger Kuwrè (Plate 8d), during the Pepkahàk festival in July 1970. She went down to the stream to fetch water much too late in the day, and on her way back ghosts hit her from behind in the area of the kidneys, causing internal damage. Less than an hour later while singing-dancing in the plaza, she felt severe pains in the kidneys and tried to run home, but fell along her radial pathway. She was carried home and died by three in the morning. The festival was delayed one day so that she could have a proper burial (Plates 30, 31a). (Her death was attributed by Jack Popjes to a fallopian tubal pregnancy that ruptured.)

It is also dangerous for the same reason to travel alone away from the village at night. However, wearing macaw tail feathers (pàn-yaùù: macaw’s-tail) is a good protection against ghosts [IV.A.3.c.(1).(b)] in such circumstances [I.G.5]. Food and drink are left out behind the house at night for a ghost to consume (Nimuendajú, 1946:135) so that ghosts of the recently departed will not come into the house to bother relatives.

[IV.C.2.c.(1)]

When a person is dying(ra-mã ?-tùk to mõ: already person-dead as moves: already going toward death), the soul will sometimes go off to the world of the dead ahead of time. Then it is up to the shaman to bring the soul back and put it in the body(i?-khre ?khà: its-hollow’s sheath/cover) before dawn if the soul is not to stay there in the village of the dead and if the dying person is to be saved.

Another factor that determines if the soul can return to the body depends upon its participation in the activities of the dead while in their village. If it enjoys the village of the dead, if it sings, eats, or talks much there, it cannot return. As usual, sex is the strongest element of attraction. The soul that has sex in the village of the dead surely never returns. Dreaming of the dead has some of the same implications. If a person dreams of her or his lost spouse, she or he is surely going to the soon.

[IV.C.2.c.(2)]

One curious myth (Nimuendajú, 1946:249) gives an account of a whole village of Indians who marched into a lake and continued to sing under the lake somewhere to the east of the present Canela lands in a place called Formosa. The folk Catholic God in the shape of an anteater brought them there, but the story has the flavor of a post-pacification occurrence rather than a myth, so I do not count this world under the lake as being one of the “other worlds” of traditional Canela cosmology.

[IV.C.2.c.(3)]

Whether because of their century old folk Catholic contacts, or because of their more recent relationships with the Popjes family, most Canela today say they go upon death to heaven, since they are baptized, rather than to the village of the dead in the west. This new orientation became evident during my study of folk Catholic topics in 1976. When I collected materials on the ghosts’ village in the late 1950s, however, I was told dead Canela went there, and heaven was not mentioned.

[IV.C.2.d]   CELESTIAL OBJECTS

The sun, moon, and stars may be thought of as being part of the Canela cosmology. Nobody goes to their realm and comes back bringing something for the Canela to learn, as in the festival origin myths. However, Star-Woman (Katsêê-ti?khwèy) did the reverse, coming down to earth to show them fruits and corn. Then she took a Canela in marriage back to the starry skies (Nimuendajú, 1946:245). They became Castor and Pollux. Research assistants do not speak of the starry world in the context of “other worlds.” This might be because no festivals came from there and Star-Woman’s foods were already on earth. It might also be because of their negative feelings about the moon and perhaps, the stars. The mythical creation figure of Moon (Nimuendajú, 1946:243–245) is a spoiler who made things less pleasant than Sun would have liked them to have been (W. Crocker, 1984b: 17–32).

The lack of emphasis on, interest in, or concern about the stars is marked. The Canela do not even differentiate between the mass movement of the stars and the independent movement of the planets. Even though some of their great pageants take place at night, they do not plan for them to take place when there is moonlight, which would considerably enhance the performance of the pageantry. Instead, they make torches by lighting quantities of dry anajá palm fronds. They do have names for a very few constellations in their own tradition; however, most of their names had been forgotten by the time of my first arrival in 1957 when I sought this kind of information. I suspect that even in the time of Nimuendajú (1946:233–234), this kind of material was not generally known and that Nimuendajú might have obtained it from an old Canela specialist.

[IV.C.2.e]  ASPECTS OF KARÕ (ANIMISM)

As other aspects of their cosmology, the Canela have two kinds of souls, mē karõ and mē katswèn, but the distinction is not very clear. First, the karõ (Glossary), an immediately dead Canela, is the one that is frequently spoken of, while the other, the katswèn (core: central material) is of a different nature. An example of the second type of soul came from the research assistants’ concept of Christ’s appearance to His disciples after His crucifixion and resurrection when He could be plainly seen but not touched. Their example obviously came from the teachings of Jack Popjes, the linguistic missionary [Ep.5.d].

For the Canela, almost all objects, whether living or dead, have some kind of karõ, though the meaning of this word has a number of referents in English: soul, ghost, spirit, shadow, image, impression, picture, photograph. Thus plants, animals, and objects have a karõ, which is something inherent in them. karõ has no counterpart word in Portuguese or English. The “something,” however, disappears with the item when it is destroyed. The concept of karõ, which might be called animism, does not, however, pervade their thinking these days, nor does it have ramifications throughout their various sociocultural systems.

[IV.C.2.f]   CULTURE HEROES

Besides ghosts, and various other applications of the word karõ, the Canela cosmology has few active agents. There is no supreme being, nor a pantheon of gods. There are culture heroes tike Awkhêê and Star-Woman, and even Sun and Moon. But in the memory of any research assistant only Awkhêê, in 1963, has been used as a powerful supernatural being [II.B.2.f]. There is nothing of this sort attributable to the 19th century, except Awkhêê as the Emperor of Brazil, their protector.

[IV.D] Shamanism, Pollution, and Medicine

This-worldly, immediate, and directly applied aspects of the Canela belief system are so numerous that not all types of these religious phenomena can be described and analyzed here. Shamanism is described first, as the most obvious category, including heating, witchcraft, and ghosts. Shamans apply their arts directly to their patients or subjects without seeking authority or permission from ghosts or gods, though ghosts are their original source of “powers” and may give them needed information. “Pollutions,” which invade the body, are a different category and constitute an independent belief system, though illnesses caused by pollutions may be cured by shamans. The direct and immediate application of food and sex restrictions keeps pollutions out of the body, preventing or helping to cure illnesses from this source. “Medicines,” usually infusions, may be used directly to purge the body of pollutions. Other medicines, however, have no relationship to pollutions and constitute still a different belief system, being used to cure or alleviate other sicknesses.

Positive chanting, or thought affirmation, constitutes still another independent belief system, as does breathing strength onto foods for the social good, and hàmren-testing of first foods and activities [III.D.2.c.(4)], again for the social good. Finally, there are several sorts of transformations brought about directly by individuals, which may be thought of as being due to psychic or shamanic abilities. These are found in the practices of warriors, shamans, hunters, culture heroes, certain animals and vegetables, and almost all early Canela individuals.

Although some of these systems are interrelated, others are surprisingly unrelated and independent. They were all applied and carried out directly and immediately (that is, they are this-worldly) by individuals without their having to seek the permission or the authority of supernatural or other-worldly entities. (Today, however, God may be invoked and the interference of the Devil feared.) These systems are, nevertheless, held here as being aspects of Canela religion because they operate to alleviate the same needs usually met by other-worldly religions.

[IV.D.1]   Shamanism

The Canela shaman (Glossary) is the intermediary between ghosts and people. If an ordinary Canela person sees a ghost, he must the soon; but a person who is a shaman can see and talk with ghosts at any time without fear of dying. In Canela dualism, ordinary people and ghosts are paired (Glossary) together in opposition to each other, while a shaman and a ghost are paired in complementarity and a shaman and his people are also paired in complementarity. Thus, a shaman, in his relationship to a ghost and to an ordinary person, enables the latter two to be paired in complementarity as well, in a bridge formed by two sets of complementary pairings (Glossary) (a mē-hapàà: their bridge) [V.A.5.b.(1).(b)].

[IV.D.1.a]   GENEROUS CURER

The shaman never makes enough from his profession to support himself and his family. He still has to put in his own farm plot and may go hunting as well. The role of shaman involves an extra personal ability that a man, and sometimes a woman, has to give as a service to others. A person must be generous with these abilities and not seek to make money. Curers (kay) are almost always “good,” socially oriented people, though somewhat feared because they could turn “bad,” or antisocial. Most young men are proud to be a kay, and I had no trouble while taking the censuses in getting them to say in front of others that they had kay abilities. They would not, however, admit that they were negative spell-throwing sorcerers.

Nevertheless, they are categorized in a special way. Just as the term mē (plural indicator but also meaning “Eastern Timbira”) cannot be used with kupē (non-Eastern Timbira, alien tribe, and specifically in modern times civilizado), mē cannot be used with kay, suggesting shamans are basically different or at least unsocialized as Seeger suggests (1981:86–88), though research assistants do not say this.

[IV.D.1.b]   INDEPENDENT IN AUTHORITY

Perhaps the most important general concept with respect to understanding the institution of the Canela shaman is that in his function as a mature kay, he carries out his various roles under his own authority [III.B.1.k.(3)]. He undertakes any activity, such as curing a sick person or throwing a sickness spell on another, through his own initiatives and responsibility (amyi-á?khôt: self-superlative-following) without seeking the authority or permission from anyone else, not even from the ghost from whom his powers (hũũtsùù: poderes) to perform such activities originally came. A kay of earlier times acted on his own in this way [IV.C.1.h]. Some of the modern shamans say they are acting under the authority of God or of certain ghosts. With acculturation there has been a tendency to shift the responsibility from the individual and assign its source to something larger, e.g., the folk Catholic God. However, like the Clowns of the festival society, the shamans of old operated on their own, free of both the tribal political chiefs and the council of elders.

[IV.D.1.C]   VISITATIONS BY GHOSTS

A kay receives his powers only through a visitation from one or more ghosts, and these encounters take place under varied conditions.

[IV.D.1.c.(1)]

A person cannot simply wish to become a shaman. No matter how hard he tries and carries out the cultural prescriptions, he still may never receive the prerequisite visitation and powers from ghosts (mē karõ). These powers enable him to cure sick people, to “throw” witchcraft spells onto personal enemies making them sick, and to “see” through space and time, being clairvoyant. A person wanting to become a shaman has to do what is culturally necessary and just hope for a visitation. Other individuals who had not really intended to become shamans have attained the state of being kay While being cured of an illness by ghosts. In this case, the ghosts came on their own initiative to do the curing.

[IV.D.1.c.(2)]

A youth who wants very much to become kay must follow extreme restrictions against certain polluting foods and sexual relations, especially with young girls, but even with the prescribed older women [III.A.2.s.(1)]. Only rarely can he have sex, and then only with certain older women, preferably with those who are personally strong and beyond menopause [II.B.1.e]. His blood must remain relatively unpolluted [III.A.3.b.(1).(c),(d)]. The Pepyê initiation internment is set up to practice these restrictions [II.D.3.d], and visitations sometimes do occur in the novice’s cell [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)]. Between internments during the several years just after puberty [II.D.3.c.(1)], the youth should practice these restrictions, and will even rub charcoal on his body to indicate his state and to be unattractive to women [II.F.5.d].

In either case, Whether the shaman has gained his powers through a visitation during his postpubertal period of restraint, or whether he gained his powers as an older person, the shaman must continue to maintain relatively high food and sex restrictions for most of his life in order to maintain the capacity of being kay, and of having power to cure people. He must be a serious person and remain disciplined [III.B.1.e.(1)]. If he does not, and his blood becomes relatively polluted, he might lose his powers. If he charges high fees for successful curing people begin to suspect that he has become a sorcerer and could throw evil spells on them, causing them to have diseases or even to die. A shaman is assumed to be a good curer but is always somewhat feared because people never know whether he has turned to casting negative spells [III.A.3.c.(3).(h)].

[IV.D.1.c.(3)]

In either case, whether the youth is working hard to receive a visitation or whether ghosts come on their own volition while an older person is sick, it is usually a surprise when a ghost appears. A ghost visits when the individual is alone in quiet surroundings. For a very sick person, the hopeful relatives sometimes vacate the house at night leaving him alone, or a kay, backed by the chief, may even order the villagers to vacate that part of the village. In the most extreme cases, dogs are taken to farm plots or tied up in the furthest houses in the village and babies that are likely to cry are carried out of hearing range.

In the first visitation, the ghost is likely to take the form of an animal and give instructions about how the individual must proceed if he is going to become kay. Visitations for youths may take place over several months, but for the sick person the entire course of the experience may be overnight.

[IV.D.1.c.(4)]

In contrast to the Krahó data of J. Melatti (1963, 1974), young Canela who have been visited by an “animal” do not have formal or informal apprenticeships with older shamans. When shamanic aspirants go to the plaza to test their powers on a patient, they go under the direction of an uncle (Plate 29). The Canela report having more experiences with ghosts, who are usually known recently deceased relatives, than the Krahó. Food and sex restrictions play a greater role in becoming a shaman and maintaining this condition among the Canela than among the Krahó as described by Melatti (1974:273), although I agree that “abstinence from certain foods … would act to put him [the aspirant] into a condition of physical weakness and a psychological state that would culminate in the supposed contact with spirits.” otherwise, the Krahó and Canela data on becoming a shaman are strikingly similar.

The Canela do not emphasize fevers, in contrast to Posey’s report (1982a) on how a Kayapó becomes a shaman, although a person who is ill probably has a fever. A ghost visits a Canela youth in his dreams without his having to have a fever. Like the Kayapó, Canela kay go on journeys in dreams, which are believed to be “out-of-body experiences,” but they communicate more often with ghosts than with a “pantheon of [nonhuman] spirits.” The Kayapó supernatural (Posey, 1982a) seems more complex and evolved than the Canela one [IV], which may have suffered more loss by acculturation. Posey’s (1982a: 14) two shamanic teachers were perhaps “the most influential men in the village of Gorotire.” No shamans of such stature and power lived among the Canela or Apanyekra during my time or Nimuendajú’s but this claim cannot be substantiated for earlier times [III.D.1.d].

[IV.D.1.c.(5)]

Among the modern Canela, there is the possibility that the powers being received are evil instead of good, in which case the individual may not want the powers being offered by a certain ghost, or set of ghosts, and must thus break the specified restrictions deliberately. One research assistant [In.4.e] told about how he maintained complete restrictions just after puberty and desired strongly to become kay. In due course, he did receive a visitation from a ghost in animal form, and then later, the same ghost came in a human form. But this “man” was wearing a straw hat like a backlander, which indicated he had been sent by the Devil. When the worried research assistant told his mother, she ordered him to eat immediately certain “heavy” or “loaded” (encarregado), and therefore polluted [IV.D.3], foods and to have sex With a number of young girls. He did so, and the ghost never came back. A person with such an experience could try to attract ghosts again later, but this particular research assistant did not.

[IV.D.1.c.(6)]

While the ghosts are visiting the trainee, he receives specific instructions. He is told what kinds of restrictions to follow, and is given some idea of the nature of the powers he is going to receive. He is also told to remain silent about the visitations. Most powers are specific, such as the power to cure snake bites, heal illnesses due to restrictions violations, or withdraw intrusive causes of chest ailments. Another power sometimes granted is the ability to find lost items. Whatever specific powers are given, all kay persons have certain general mild curing abilities as well. Eventually, either the trainee cannot keep up with the requirements and withdraws, or he completes the course and the visitations cease.

[IV.D.1.d]   SPELLS

When a trainee feels secure in his abilities, he tells this to a certain individual in his family, probably a close uncle, who arranges a public curing ceremony when such an event is possible. The likely time is during a festival when most of the tribe is in the village and somebody is ill with the kind of sickness the new kay can cure.

The sick person is taken out into the plaza and the new shaman is given his chance to prove his ability before all members of the village (Plate 29). This takes place in the morning, probably during or just after the council meeting. The sick person is seated on a mat and the curer sits or stands near him, laying hands lightly on various parts of his body, especially on the injured or ailing area. Sometimes me curer blows tobacco smoke onto the ailing parts. Sometimes the kay puts his mouth on the ailing part, and sucks out a foreign element from the body. After 3 to 20 minutes of treatment, the shaman departs and the sick individual is taken home. Then everybody waits to hear about the results. If they are favorable, the person may be accepted as a known curer of certain illnesses. (See Schultz, 1976a:202–208, for a more detailed use of tobacco smoke in curing and hunting among the Krahó.)

[IV.D.1.d.(1)]

Special powers (Glossary) (hũũtùù: [no translation]) are said to reside in the left armpit or elbow of the curer, and sometimes they are represented physically as bits of rock, glass, or feathers. The items are said to have entered and to reside inside the curer. The visual representations may be for the benefit of casual outsiders [I.G.1].

The powers of shamans are said to be very weak these days. It was reported that there are many more shamans than there used to be, but that their abilities are greatly decreased. It is believed that excessive salt in food is at least partly responsible for this change, but surely the disbelieving attitudes of backlanders and Indian service agents are factors as well.

[IV.D.1.d.(2)]

Most Canela shamans use their powers to cure, but a few have been accused of casting spells to cause sicknesses. However, these days the spells are not strong enough to kill people. Schultz’s (1976b:212) distinction between shamans that are “good” ones (os bons: vayaká: wa yakhaa: I [am]white) and those that are “bad” ones (os ruins: kái: kay) does not hold for the Canela or Apanyekra, and probably not for the Krahó (J. Melatti, 1974:274).

Whether the shamans accused of being negative and involved in antisocial behavior actually carried out such actions cannot be found out because any shaman would deny antisocial behavior. It is said that shamans involved in injuring others use a throwing motion with their hands, sending the hũũtsùù in the direction of the victim.

If a shaman succeeds in injuring another person by injecting a hũũtsùù into her or him, some of the spell (the harm) necessarily returns to the shaman, hurting him in certain ways, so that he has to protect himself from his own ability to damage others. In this two-way process, the victim appears to have an advantage because she or he can call in other shamans to help, whereas the thrower of the spell can scarcely do this. Of course, the latter would claim his injury to be the result of somebody else’s spell throwing.

This is what research assistants say, but it is a question whether any shaman actually carries out such negative behaviors in current times. There was one old man in the village of Sardinha in 1964–1966, however, who looked very antisocial and psychologically “sick” to me, so I wondered if he was an active antisocial shaman. This suspicion was strengthened by the fact that Nimuendajú (1946:238–239) mentions him negatively in this same context.

See Schultz (1976b) for a remarkable report on the condemnation and execution in 1959 of a Krahó kay, whom the tribe believe killed a number of people by witchcraft. I believe that the execution of a witch could not have occurred among the Canela during my period With them because the Indian service personnel have been too present and aware for too long, and because chiefs brought any gossip or rumors of witchcraft swiftly to the council of elders or to an interfamilial hearing for examination, exposure, and elimination, to the satisfaction of all concerned [III.D.3.c.(5)]. Peace was too highly valued to let talk of witchcraft disturb it.

[IV.D.1.e]  SHAMANS

A shaman is said to be always looking around so that when a person is talking to him, his attention is at least partly directed to some other place. I noted that the old Kô?kanã1 in Baixão Prêto in 1959 was continuously observing what was going on in the village while I was interviewing him. Some shamans are hàmren in ceremonial status and personal qualities, in which case they may be somewhat more refined and delicate than the average Canela, as was Tsùùukhè [I.G. 14] during his work with me in Escalvado in 1979. (See Schultz, 1976b:212–213, for more complete descriptions of shamans and their personalities.)

[IV.D.1.e.(1)]

A shaman is respected in his community, but there is no evidence that he is highly honored. The political chief and a great hunter are more highly revered. Those persons who are fortunate enough to have assets (especially shamanic ones) are obligated to share them freely with the community.

A shaman is welcome in every house unless he is seen as being antisocial. People are likely to treat him especially well because they know he could turn antisocial sometime in the future and throw witchcraft spells into them [III.A.3.c.(3).(h)]. For some Canela, like the younger Kaapêl, who in principle is oriented to making great efforts to help his people, becoming kay has a great appeal. As the father of the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe, Kaapêl is obliged to treat his people well; and benefiting them through his services as a kay would have been very satisfying to him. Unfortunately he did not become kay.

[IV.D.1.e.(2)]

A shaman is concerned about asking for too much or gaining too many things from others. He might be seen as thinking he is “bigger” than others(mē hirô-á-pe kati: them more-superlative-more big: bigger than them) [III.B.1.g.(1)], or as being “stingy”(hõõtsè) [III.B.1.a.(1)], the two great evils. Payment must never be very much, or there will be suspicion of the person being involved in witchcraft.

In the same spirit of having to give what you have if others want it, the Canela never say “thank you” for anything. If you have something that others want, you give it; so there is nothing to be very grateful for if you have received help from a shaman. You pay him, of course, but only if he has been successful in curing you, not if he failed. The Canela do not pay anyone just for their time.

[IV.D.1.e.(3)]

A woman can also become kay, but she seldom does, because, as believed by men, she does not have sufficient willpower to maintain the restrictions necessary to keep her blood sufficiently unpolluted for ghosts to like her. Ghosts are more likely to make visitations to a woman or man they like very much, and they like relatively “pure” blood. It is said to attract them.

There are at least two women shamans in Canela mythology (W. Crocker, 1984b:354–355). During my time with the Canela, there was one woman kay, Mulwa [I.G.13], one of my regular research assistants in the 1970s. Her standards of personal conduct were obviously high.

[IV.D.1.e.(4)]

No formal instruction occurs on how to become a shaman. I had expected that the old would be teaching their craft to the young, but they had no sort of apprenticeship or training. The young learned from the general tradition, which was available to everybody rather than from the knowledge of specialists. Canela kay said they had been taught by ghosts but spoke of some contacts with certain older shamans. I suspect these contacts were more extensive than they admitted, but that the occasion of receiving powers from ghosts was so overwhelming and central to their shamanic practice that it seemed to them mat they had learned almost everything from ghosts, or from a certain ghost.

Wagley’s (1976:254–257) description of the Tapirapé way of becoming a shaman stresses the novices’ early emphasis on dreams for recognition as potential shamans, their attachment to mentors for support and learning, their reliance on attaining unconsciousness and dreams through tobacco smoke inhalation in order to talk with spirits, and their occasional running out of control requiring restraint by several men to keep them from harm. This description is totally uncharacteristic of the Canela and Apanyekra [III.B.1.g.(4)] whose shamanic learners experience no trances, ecstasy, or violence and for whom dreams, tobacco, and master trainers are not important elements in the process of becoming a kay. The important element is blood purification through food and sex restrictions in order to keep out pollutions and through medicines to cleanse the blood of pollutions that are already in it.

Similarly, out-of-consciousness states and uncontrolled behavior, as found in the Kayapó’s rop-króre kam aibãn condition (Moreira, 1965), are inconceivable for the Canela and Apanyekra who prefer talking problems out publicly with feeling but with restraint [III.D.3.b]. (For outstanding accounts of shamanism from some other Amazonian cultures, see Harner, 1980, and Reichel-Dolmatoff, 1975.)

[IV.D.2]   Animal Spells

It is well known among the Canela that certain hunters are particularly good at killing certain kinds of game animals, and that if they kill the same animal too often, they may receive some illness that is “thrown” by that particular animal. Consequently, even though a certain man has the ability to kill partridges easily, for instance, he nevertheless will be careful not to kill too many too often.

This kind of animal witchcraft is especially dangerous since it can also reach the hunter’s very young and still “soft” children [III.AAc] (Table 9, stage 11), making them very sick, instead of him. If the baby is still in its mother’s womb, it is completely protected; however, from the time babies are born until they are about 3 years old, they are targets for “thrown” diseases of certain animals their father has been killing (cf. Schultz, 1976a:205–206).

This animal witchcraft is the cultural remnant of a formerly extensive and complex ecologically oriented food balance system, which does not operate fully these days. Such fears, however, still cause the hunter to be careful about the number of any particular game animal he might kill.

[IV.D.3]   Pollution

If a person sees a man who is good at log racing, and asks how he attained this ability, the answer always will be, “He must have maintained full postpubertal restrictions and still does to a lesser extent” [II.D.3.c.(1)]. This statement, however, does not apply to becoming a good sing-dance master, attaining the chieftainship, or to acquiring any ceremonial positions. Bodily purification is not required for personal development toward these roles, but it is needed to become a kay, a great warrior, a tireless runner, or a reliable hunter.

In the most general sense, attaining any position must be aided by the practice of restrictions. Through restrictions a person builds up self-control and personal strength, which in turn give her or him the stature that can earn internment festival positions, leading eventually to being a chief or other leader. If research assistants are asked how a person became a chief, however, the answer will not be through maintaining a high level of food and sex restrictions.

[IV.D.3.a]   RESTRICTIONS ON FOOD AND SEX

The basic idea behind maintaining food and sex restrictions (ipiyakhri-tsà), or just “restrictions,” is to keep pollutions out of the body in order to enable it to function well. Many foods that are polluting cannot be avoided, so the objective is to reduce, not eliminate, the intake of polluting juices, especially when a person is sick. Also, when a healthy individual’s one-link-away relative is ill and, therefore, weak and vulnerable, the healthy individual must maintain high food and sex restrictions in order to help the relative recover (W. Crocker, 1971a, 1971b).

[IV.D.3.b]   ‘RESTRICTIONS” KIN

One-link-away relatives are ego’s mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, and son (i.e., restrictions kin: i-nã ipiyakhri katêyê: me-for do-restrictions people: people who maintain restrictions for me) [III.E.2.b]. Ego’s classificatory one-link kin are not included in the restrictions category because they are more than one link away from ego in terms of blood (kaprôô: blood) (Glossary) equivalence and attenuation (Figures 23,39). This one-link away category also includes ego’s contributing-fathers [III.E.9] and her or his breast-sharing siblings (i.e., those who, though not blood kin, were nursed at the same breast). Such “relatives” are believed to have common blood with ego, or “basic substance” (Da Matta, 1982:51–52), from consuming the same mother’s milk [III.F.11.a]. Two-link-away consanguineal relatives still do have blood in common with each other but not to the same extent, at least not enough to warrant keeping restrictions to protect each other from pollutions when ill (Figures 39,41).

[IV.D.3.C]   POSTPUBERTAL RESTRICTIONS

If a Canela is proud of himself and wants to develop a good reputation, he can do so by observing high restrictions (Glossary), especially during the years just after puberty. If he keeps the polluting juices (ampoo kakô ?-khên: something’s liquid it is-bad: something’s polluting liquid) out of his body, at least relatively so, he grows strong and capable; otherwise, he remains as weak as a preadolescent boy [II.D.3.c.(1), d] [III.A.2.q].

The traditional manly attributes are those of the warrior; but the same characteristics of strength and courage apply to hunting, running, log racing, various track events, traveling long distances as a messenger in the noonday sun, and endurance (awkanà) in general. Just after reaching puberty, girls are also expected to maintain food and sex restrictions for the same reasons [IV.B.1.f], but not to the same extent as young men. Girls and women are allowed to be relatively soft and weak, though they are expected to be generous. Their main roles in life do not require the same kind of endurance against hardships and courage against dangers, as are understood in the term shouted between men: awkanà (bear up under the hardship, endure!). I have heard this expression many times and in different contexts: carrying heavy logs, singing all night long, being a swift messenger for the Pró-khãmmã, fasting, staying in a marriage, maintaining high food and sex restrictions [III.B.1.e]. These are principally male practices, and behind each endeavor is the endurance gained in youth by maintaining a high level of postpubertal food and sex restrictions.

[IV.D.3.d] “POLLUTANTS”

“Pollutions” (Glossary) are found in liquids: meat juices, menstrual blood, and sexual fluids are the principal ones, although some are juices of vegetables and fruits. They are believed to weaken the individual, especially if the individual is ceremonially liminal.

[IV.D.3.d.(1)]

The worst polluting liquids are found in the meat juices of certain game animals, such as, the male cerrado deer (kaarà). If a person is sick, or if her or his one-link relative is ailing, this person simply does not eat meat or have sex. Messengers have to be sent throughout the Canela lands to warn one-link kin of the illness so that they too can abstain. This is the one great concern about restrictions kin when they are away, traveling “in the world”: they cannot be warned. Thus, even though far away, they might be killing any one of their one-link kin who happens to be sick by eating meats and having sex.

[IV.D.3.d.(2)]

Distance does not weaken the connections between blood kin, and the effects of pollutions spreading throughout a one-link kin “blood-pool” are just as damaging to the weak member whether she or he is near or far. One ameliorating factor, however, is that beef (compared to pork and game) is the mildest and least polluting form of meat (except for fish and certain fowl). Therefore, Canela living “out in the world” are most likely, when there is meat at all, to be eating beef. Chicken and fish, the other common foods out in the world, are also less damaging than pork or game. Sex with Brazilian women out there, however, is just as polluting to a man’s blood-pool kin back home as sex with Canela women in the village would be.

[IV.D.3.d.(3)]

Menstrual blood is special as a pollutant, because the spread of its polluting effects is hard to avoid. If a man touches or is touched by a woman who is menstruating (i?-tàm: she-raw), the pollution will enter him. Even traces of blood remaining after a woman has washed well, such as fragments caught under the finger nails, will cause him headaches and slow him in the coming afternoon’s log race. This is one reason why sex with postmenopausal women is preferred for pubescent youths [II.B.1.e]. Menstrual blood does not hurt the woman producing it, or her children, but will harm her husband and any other persons, female or male. She especially must avoid becoming angry when she is menstruating, because hitting her husband when in a rage would make him very ill.

[IV.D.3.d.(4)]

Like traces of menstrual blood, there essences or residual smells of sexual liquids can pollute others who were not involved in the particular sexual act, if they are in a weakened condition. Pepyê novices and abstaining fathers in couvade conditions must stay away from individuals who have had sex recently. Mothers cannot let their infants be carried by a teenager because it is assumed the teenager is frequently having sex and, thereby, would be Likely to pollute the still weak baby with remains of the sexual experience. Older women are more thoughtful, however, and would remember to refuse to carry a baby when they have had sex recently or when they are menstruating. The Canela were very open about their physiological conditions in the late 1950s [III.A.2.i.(1)] but were not as forthcoming by the late 1970s.

Certain polluting liquids can be transmitted through sexual intercourse between the individuals involved in the act. That is, polluting meat juices(hĩĩ kakô ?khên: meat its-liquid bad) in either the woman’s or the man’s body can be transmitted to the other person during intercourse. Thus, a somewhat sick and weak woman can receive some of the polluting meat juices a man has recently consumed. If she is healthy, these juices will not harm her, but if ill and therefore weak, these polluting juices will make her weaker and sicker.

[IV.D.3.d.(5)]

In all these potential pollution situations, and especially in sexual activity, the level of “bile” (i?kaakhà), rises, they say, as the person becomes sicker and weaker. By “bile” they mean the small amount of yellow liquid that may be vomited when there is no more food to throw up. They have heard the Portuguese word for bile (locally bίlio, correctly bίlis) and use it as the translation for their native concept, i?kaakhè.

Bile rises and spreads through the human system in response to some sort of antagonism, or battle, that takes place between the entering polluting liquids and the bile within the person. It is this conflict that weakens the really sick person and brings death.

[IV.D.3.e]   DEATH FROM NOT MAINTAINING RESTRICTIONS

I was in a state of disbelief the first time I heard, in response to my inquiry about a death, that a mother had killed her baby. How could a mother kill her child? After a while, I realized that she must not have kept the proper restrictions when nursing the baby or caring for it. Research assistants confirmed this suspicion when they pointed out that a kay had identified and stated publicly that this was the cause of the death. These “verdicts” become public knowledge (part of history) and remain known “facts” about a person for years. No woman can deny or challenge such a statement when it comes from a shaman, who is given this information by ghosts.

[IV.D.3.f] RESTRICTIONS DURING PEPYÊ FESTIVAL

The epitome of extensive restrictions takes place in the Pepyê festival during the internment of the novices [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)]. They are allowed to eat only certain foods that have low pollution levels. Sexual relations are prohibited for any novice during the entire three to four months of the internment, whether married or not.

Such severe restrictions can be enforced because the novices are interned in small rooms in their maternal family houses [II.D.3.d] where their activities can be well supervised by their advising-uncle [III.D.1.c]. Here they learn the value of such restrictions in terms of self-control and diet. Supposedly, they will internalize and learn to practice such restrictions as a means of developing and maintaining these self-helping abilities [III.A.3.b.(2).(a)] for the rest of their lives.

In Canela dualism, a novice and his restrictions are paired in a complementary manner. Since the procedure of processing a novice into relative maturity takes at least 10 years, the dualism must be diachronic, and thus the third element is the result rather than something paired in opposition to the novice [V.A.5.c.(2)].

[IV.D.3.g] EFFECT OF ACCULTURATION ON “RESTRICTIONS”

The concepts of pollution, blood pools, and bile were thought not to apply to backlanders and urban peoples, though there was some question in research assistants’ minds. Thus, the practice of maintaining restrictions was not necessary for these outsiders. The concept of restrictions, and the problems they appear to solve, are seen to be particularly Indian in nature but to apply principally to any Indians who speak Timbira. The Canela think that as Timbira Indians continue to eat salt and other backlander foods, and to speak Portuguese and adopt other backlander customs, they will no longer have to be concerned about pollutions and maintaining restrictions against them. As acculturation proceeds, it will not be necessary to think about keeping polluting liquids out of their one-link-away blood pools.

[IV.D.4] Medicine

Besides the practice of restrictions to contend with pollutions, the Canela have “medicines” (Glossary) (ka?hêk tsà: curing thing) that rid the body of most polluting liquids [III.A.3.b.(2).(a),(b)]. They also have medicines that act directly on specific bodily ailments in the manner of pharmacy medicine. Both of these kinds of medicines are often herbal infusions using hot or cold water. No clear distinction can be made between the two in some cases. Because research assistants did not agree about the characteristics of medicines and ethnobotanical categories in general, I decided this sociocultural sector was not very fixed or structured in Canela thought. This opinion of the late 1950s was paralleled by my observations on similar materials when I tried to isolate a number of ethnoscientific categories later in the 1970s. Consequently, I did not attempt to complete the ethnoscientific project.

[IV.D.4.a] INFUSIONS

Some medicines are drunk for their general effects, others are applied to the body at the location of the ailment, and still others are placed in bowls of water as infusions. Different infusions serve different purposes. One of the warm vapor-in-eyes infusions serves to “clear” the eyes for “seeing” game better. Just as ghosts may seek an “evolved” Canela to make him kay because they like his purity, game animals are believed to actually like a relatively pollution-free hunter and consequently move toward him. The hunter then can easily kill them with his arrow or shotgun [V.A.5.c.(3).(b)]. Since the Canela believe that animals have a lower value, like enemy tribes or backlanders, it is all right to “befriend” and then shoot to kill them.

[IV.D.4.b]

HERBS

Besides infusions, there are herbal medicines which are prepared as pastes, gums, paints, and drinks, and are made from available grasses, barks, pulps, leaves, roots, or shells. These medicines come from cerrado, gallery forest, dry forest, and other types of ecological land cover. The knowledge and use of such medicines is general and not limited to specialists or individuals with shamanic practices. Apparently, the Cashinahua have generally used medicines as well as those controlled by specialists (Kensinger, 1974).

In 1959, I conducted a study of such folk medicines, using both Canela and backlander research assistants as sources for materials for the Smith, Kline, and French pharmaceutical company of Philadelphia. Some 90 specimens were taken to the Museu Paraense Emίlio Goeldi in Belém for identification by the botanist Walter Egler, and about a dozen were finally sent to Philadelphia.

[IV.D.5] Affirmative Chanting

Certain sing-dances (Mē-hakrel) carried out in the plaza as acts of festivals are said to be rezas (prayers). The distinction between such ceremonies and other sing-dancing was made clear to me only in 1979. Research assistants found such distinctions difficult to make since these were not traditionally verbalized.

In one myth, Khrúwapu, an adolescent boy, is taken by an alligator (Mĩĩ-ti) under the water to the world of alligators where he learns several festivals and is brought home cured of a serious ailment and transformed into a kay (W. Crocker, 1984b: 195–203). To prove his new abilities to his tribesmen he causes a tapir to appear before them for them to hunt and kill. He also carried out a number of other shamanic acts. Confident from the respect gained through these kay endeavors, Khrúwapu interrupts one of his “uncles” while the old man is performing and singing in the Pàlrà ritual before the whole tribe. He tells his uncle that the words he is using in the chant are wrong. In typical Canela style, the older man Withdraws and tells Khrúwapu to carry on in his place, thinking his nephew will not be able to do very much. The youth then sings the same chant with somewhat different words, expressions he has learned during his stay with the alligators. The uncle had been singing largely “weak” words, but Khrúwapu uses mostly “strong” words, sung with great assurance, so everybody listening knows the youth is right (For a more comprehensive version of the myth of Khrúwapu, see Cruz and Reis, 1981:34–38.)

Strong words are expressions describing culturally strong objects or animals, like rocks and a certain species of armadillo that can move in the cerrado, unperturbed by the heat of the mid-day sun [III.B.1.e.(3)]. By using mostly strong words that were not too far apart and with only a few weak words in between, Khrúwapu was gaining strength for himself and for any of his people who were listening closely and concentrating on the characteristics of the strong words.

To the younger Kaapêltùk, this meant to pray (rezar) [IV]. He likened such an experience to crossing a swampy area on firm stepping stones that were regularly spaced. The person who knows what she or he is doing steps confidently from one firm stone to the other, passing over the weak ones, without putting a foot into the water or losing her or his balance.

In contrast, the younger Kaapêltùk (Figure 51) gave me an example of a song in which the opposite of strong words is epitomized—the song about a soft fruit called bacaba (kaapêl). No one sings it, he told me, because a story tells of a youth who sang it too often and grew sick and died from the effects of the song. He also assured me that just because his name was Kaapêl, really Kaapêl-tùk (bacaba-black), it did not mean he was soft or would the young. The harm was only in singing (praying) about a bacaba, with most of the other expressions in the chant being soft as well.

[IV.D.6] Knowledgeability

In early times, when Canela could speak with animals and before the animals lost their ability to speak to the Canela, most Canela individuals had the capacity they refer to today as amyi-ya?khre-pey (self-know-well: sabido: “knowledgeability”) (Glossary). In effect, most Canela were strongly kay and only a very few were amyi-ya?khre-?khêt (self knowing blunted/not: besta: stupid, or almost lacking knowledgeability).

Knowledgeability (“cleverness”) is found almost entirely in myths [IV.C.1.b, c]. In one myth a group of Canela travel While changing their forms from time to time into birds or animals to suit their needs and modes of transportation. There was one besta member of the party who was not able to change her form readily enough and so had a hard time following the group. Eventually, she could not keep up and had to be left behind.

All great warriors had the capacity for knowledgeability to some extent, though usually it was specific to a certain weapon. Pèp (W. Crocker, 1984b:356–358) put magic on his arrows so that each one hit the eye of an enemy every time he shot. Most great warriors knew how to dodge (hal-pey) arrows with their bodies even at a fairly close range, and this was said to be a kind of knowledgeability [II.F.2.c.(2), (3)].

In the war story told by a Cakamekra woman, Te?hôk, a woman kay, was able to “see” (mē-hõõpu: them-see) me enemy coming from afar the day before their arrival; thus, she avoided being caught in the massacre (W. Crocker, 1984b:354–356). As another example in the myth of Sun and Moon, Sun used such knowledgeability tricks frequently, taking the valued fat from Moon’s capivara (large rodent). The shaman, Khrúwapu, caused a tapir to appear in front of his people so they could hunt it, and he made bitter manioc plants in a garden “disappear” so his people thought they had no manioc and had to go hungry—his punishment for their not believing in him (W. Crocker, 1984b: 195–203).

Many of the recorded myths, which seem to come from a very early period tell of the Canela utilizing these extraordinary shamanic abilities. By the time of Awkhêê [IV.C.1.b.(6)], however, only this great culture hero had the ability to change himself into a jaguar, anaconda, rat, leaf, or ash, and to move mountains. He also returned voluntarily as a baby to his mother’s womb. Similarly, in the stories about the Canela 1963 messianic movement [II.B.2.f], the fetus of the prophetess Khêê-khwèy appeared to her outside her womb as a little girl and then returned inside, repeating this exit and reentry several times. (Mythological and actual time had become the same.) This little Kràà-khwèy (dry-girl), who was believed to be the sister of Awkhêê, did several other knowledgeable acts. For instance, she accurately predicted that Khêê-khwèy’s husband would return from hunting with certain game animals and she also said that if the backland ranchers came to attack the Canela for stealing their cattle, the Canela culture hero, Awkhêê, would cause the ranchers’ bullets to miss their targets, thus saving many lives. This prediction proved false. The bullets killed five Canela and wounded six. (This recalls the Plains Indians’ Ghost Dance movement of the early 1890s; Mooney, 1986.)

[IV.D.7] Summary

Fear of illness or death by witchcraft was probably one of the ultimate supporting factors for orders of the chief and the council of elders in earlier times, although it is only a weak enforcement factor now [III.A.3.c.(3).(h)]. Political authorities did not have the strength, in the form of agents at their command, to back up their recommendations with physical force. Noncompliant Canela could do largely what they wanted (amyi-á?khôt: self-superlative following) [III.B.1.k.(3)] except for the fear of being accused of witchcraft and executed. Execution for witchcraft is no longer possible.

Shamanic activities have become weak in the 20th century but probably were a strong mainstay of the power of chiefs [III.D.1.d] and leading warriors in the 18th century when Canela life was still aboriginal.

The practice of restrictions is important as an aid for individuals to protect themselves from supposed or real threats of corporeal invasions by various polluting liquids [III.A.2.q]. It also serves to enhance their personal abilities in the various social arenas of life [II.D.3.c.(1)].

Herbal medicines serve similar purposes, except that they cleanse the body of pollutions, instead of just preventing their entry into the human system. Seen as a part of the general system of social organization, these personal “aids” [III.A.3.b.(2).(a)] enable individuals to maneuver themselves somewhat independently between the larger, more compelling, and formalized forces of social organization.

Part V: Canela Structural Patterns

Upon returning to the field in 1978, presumably for me last time, I felt very strongly that I wanted to find some sort of principal focus or organizing principle of me Canela sociocultural system that could be represented in a concise manner. I had, through the years, worked intensively with language, material culture, socialization, demography, kinship, festivals, religion, and other topics, but had not yet searched for some sort of essential aspect of the Canela existence and did not know what form it could take. Was it the specific cultural personality of the Canela, the complex of motivations which drove the people, a specific perceptual paradigm, a representative principal focus, or what else? How could I leave the Canela without understanding some crucial aspects of their uniqueness? If I did, I would not be doing justice to the Canela, to my research, or to the profession of anthropology.

It was easy to ship books to Barra do Corda, so I sent several dozen and spent many autumn evenings of my last field stay reading. A search for unique expressions reflecting deep and basic cognitive patterns emerged—expressions that were related to the particular ways in which the Canela perceived and structured their world of “reality.” I thought these cognitive patterns may be the principal focus I had been seeking.

My greatest debt here is to Lévi-Strauss through Edmund Leach who wrote the following in an assessment of Lévi-Strauss (Leach, 1968:547–548):

The human brain is not in the least like a camera. Our capacity to achieve technological mastery over our surroundings does not derive from any capacity to see things as they actually are, but rather from the fact that the brain is capable of reproducing transformations of structures which occur “‘out there” in Nature and then responding to them. In other words Lévi-Strauss seems to postulate that the structure and workings of the human brain are analogous to those of a very complicated kind of computer; it is the nature of this computer that it sorts out any information which is fed into it through the sense organs in accordance with the “programme” to which it is adjusted. The result of this sorting process is to present the individual consciousness an impression of an orderly world, but this orderliness of the perceived world is not necessarily closely fitted to the orderliness of Nature, it is an orderliness that has been imposed on the sensory information by the structures built into the computer programme. The “programme” (this is my term, not Lévi-Strauss’) is partly an endowment of heredity… that is to say it arises from the intrinsic characteristics of the brain of homo sapiens and partly it is a feed-back from the cultural environment in which the individual has been raised. Particularly important here are the categories of the individual’s ordinary spoken language which have the effect of presenting the speaker’s sense perceptions to himself as an organized system …. The basic bricks out of which cultural order is constructed are verbal categories and La Pensée Sauvage is really an inquiry into just how far the content of such categories is arbitrary and how far it is predetermined by the nature of the real objects which are being categorized.

This assessment, especially its last two sentences, was what directed and motivated my field research in 1978 and 1979; to look for systematized perceptions of, or regularities in, “sociocultural sectors” (Glossary) as related to “the categories of the individual’s ordinary spoken language” and to certain of his “verbal categories,” as defined in the above quotation.

[V.A] Structures in Some Sociocultural Sectors

In the search for cognitive patterns, I had the collaboration of the younger Kaapêltùk [I.G.4] (Figure 51), who had translated diaries for me for 12 years and who had clarified and defined difficult terms for the SIL linguistic-missionary, Jack Popjes (Figure 11), for 10 years. With him I could be sure of obtaining the deep meanings and ranges of the semantic fields of almost any Canela expression [I.F.1]. Since early graduate school, I have had a special interest in assessing aspects of a culture’s linguistic forms that are suggestive of some special characteristic of the culture.

With our council of research assistants [Pr.2], Kaapêl and I explored the Canela versions of many Western concepts and their related expressions, such as duty, obligation, free will, chance, probability, degrees of certainty, space, time, cosmology, soul, seasons, years, infinity, human beginnings and endings, and their perceptual ordering of certain sociocultural sectors. None of these concepts were completely articulatory for any research assistant, so they had to be debated in detail, sometimes for days. I found myself interested in returning again and again, however, to the study of the perceptual structuring of sociocultural sectors. Maybe here we could isolate some specific Canela characteristics.

How the Canela perceive and order the color spectrum was one of the first cultural sectors I chose for study. I had learned in 1971 [I.D.2.b] that besides light and dark there were only three Canela colors that could be called “basic” (Berlin and Kay, 1969:5–7): red, buff, and blue-green. Just how the Canela ordered or related these colors to each other was the immediate question. The younger Kaapêltùk, the rest of the research assistant council, and I eventually, after much debate, worked out that red and buff were paired in a complementary (Glossary) manner with each other and that red and buff together (but not merged) or separately were paired with blue-green in an oppositional (Glossary) manner, in the context of how they saw the Munsell color chip maps. The research assistants during our work together provided the all important set of expressions used for structuring their field of colors.

We learned in these discussions encompassing a wide range of topics that for two items to be culturally paired they must be similar in “nature” (hĩĩ: jeito), that is, have some common denominator held foremost in a particular context. The similarity could be, for example, in shape, composition, construction, position, or weight, depending on the context. When two items are “similar” in some culturally accepted way and seen as being paired, the Canela say these items are aypēn katê (related-as a-pair). If these items are seen as paired in a complementary manner, the principal expression they use is i-piprol (in parallel); but if they are seen as paired in opposition to each other, one expression they use to describe the relationship is aypēn kunãã-mã (related-as opposing-to: related in an oppositional manner); there are also a number of other expressions. I must emphasize that the Canela “see” two kinds of pairings that might be called oppositional “oppositions” and complementary “oppositions” in more conventional language, but I would prefer not to use “oppositions,” in this ambiguous manner, so I use “oppositional pairings” and “complementary pairings.” I also prefer not to use the terms “dualities” and “dyads,” because I want to emphasize that these cultural pairings of elements come from fieldwork and not from some tradition within anthropology. Numerous examples of oppositional and complementary cultural pairings derived from work in the field with Canela research assistants are given below [V.A.3.b]. (For a general categorization of oppositions in the English language see Ogden, 1932.)

The term i-piprol (in parallel) was explained to me by research assistants through the following examples. If two runners, racing down the same or down two closely adjacent radial pathways from the boulevard in the morning contests [II.F.2.b], reach the edge of the plaza at the same time, they have arrived i-piprol (literally, parallel to each other, or “in parallel”). Thus, they have become paired in a complementary manner, or they constitute a complementary pairing, according to Canela thinking. If two runners coming from the circular boulevard in opposite directions, arrive and stop in the plaza, and stand facing each other as in the Ku?khàkaykhàl act of the Pepyê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:200), they are then said to be aypēn kunãã-mã (relationship opposing-in), that is, “paired in opposition” to each other, in this case facing each other.

[V.A.1] Application of Key Terms to “Traditional” Pairings

In order to test these key terms and expressions, my research assistants and I applied them to “traditional” (i.e., articulatory) complementary and oppositional pairs (Nimuendajú, 1946:84) in different “sociocultural sectors” (Glossary). We then found that these expressions “paired in parallel” and “paired in opposition” could be applied consistently to the various examples the research assistants could provide quickly from memory without making a special effort [V.A.3].

[V.A.2] Principles behind Complementary and Oppositional Pairings

We eventually developed what appeared to us to be principles which lie behind complementary and oppositional pairing, which are the following. Canela associate complementary pairing with things that are mutually facilitating (i-piprol) or that mutually generate a product, or a result (aypēn katsúwa: related toward). Also, in the simplest portrayal, the complementary pair may be just positioned together in parallel, facing in the same direction (i-piprol).

In contrast, while the Canela associate oppositional pairing mostly with the expression aypēn kunãã-mã, which refers specifically to items that are physically opposite or facing each other and contentious, they also use other oppositional terms. These oppositional terms refer to words that describe hostility (aypēn kurê: related, angry), intended destruction (aypēn kura prãm: related, to-kill wanting), or even healthy competition (aypēn kuytên prãm: related, to-struggle wanting), and there are still a number of other terms. Thus, while the term aypēn kunãã-mã applies to contentious situational opposition, a number of other expressions apply to various sorts of noncooperative, but mutual orientations. Nevertheless, any two items have to be aypēn katê (related, paired) in relationship to each other, that is, seen as “paired,” when they are also perceived as being either complementary or oppositional, or they cannot be seen as cultural pairings.

The relationships between the expressions discussed so far in this chapter are presented directly below. They are not hierarchical. Many other expressions can be used to express paired opposition, but the two expressions listed below for complementarity are the principal ones.

Paired (aypēn katê)

IN COMPLEMENTARITY

IN OPPOSITION

i-piprol (in parallel)

aypēn kunãã-mã (confrontational)

aypēn katsúwa (related to, toward a result)

aypēn kurê (hostile)

aypēn kura prêm (want to kill)
aypēn kuytên prãm (to struggle)

Obviously, items in Canela sociocultural sectors can be related to each other in ways that are not perceived as being paired. In fact, most items in Canela thought are related but not paired. For instance, the expression aypēn yĩĩkhyê (relationship uneven) refers to items that are related (aypēn) but not in balance with each other because of their different weights. Therefore, they are not seen as paired. An example of this unpaired relationship given by research assistants was a pair of identical but unevenly loaded packing baskets tied across the back of a donkey so that the heavier one rides lower than the other. These two baskets are not in a katê (paired) relationship with each other in this context where the “nature” (hĩĩ) being considered is weight. There are two of them, and they are similar in shape, materials, and construction; but here, because of the concern they are causing (one riding dangerously low), they are seen as not being in balance because of their difference in weight. Thus, they are not paired. However, these same baskets would be seen as culturally paired in several other contexts, if similarity in shape, size, composition, construction, or function were the situational emphasis.

Items that are not opposite each other, do not face the same way, or cannot be paired in some other cultural manner, are said to be i?-khay-nã (it-off-condition); that is, they are in an odd relationship or even in no relationship with each other at all. The no-relationship situation obviously is the American “apples and pears” one, but these are hard to find. An example of the odd relationship given by research assistants is if a person is going along a trail, she or he is on it and “in parallel” with it. But if the person steps off the trail, walking away from it for a while, somebody might say that she or he is going along off the trail (i?-khay-nã to mõ: he-off-condition with goes). Obviously, from a cultural point of view, he should be on the trail.

The expression i?khay nã also implies social or cultural incorrectness and is frequently heard in this context. It is the simple Canela word for “wrong,” implying a cultural infraction, not a moral one. If an adolescent nephew jokes with his advising-uncle, which he should not do, although he may joke with other uncles [II.D.1.b.(2), (3)], a bystander might say i?-khay nã (he-off condition: he is wrong). Obviously, the nephew and the person off the trail still have relationships with the uncle and the trail, respectively, but these relationships are not seen as culturally paired in this context.

Numerous other expressions exist for the relationship, or the nonrelationship, of items that are not seen as pairs in a particular context. However, these expressions are not pertinent here, so I am reserving their presentation for a later publication. This limited number of nonpaired expressions was presented here to demonstrate me complexity of me Canela relational situation as expressed through key expressions, and to make the point that cultural pairings, whether complementary or oppositional, are only one kind of relationship through which the Canela structure their world.

[V.A.3] Application of Principles to Other Sectors

There are some obvious examples of pairings (dualism) (Glossary) that Canela research assistants can quickly point out. Some of these examples are discussed by Nimuendajú (1946:84), such as east/west, sun/moon, day/night, dry season/ rainy season, fire/firewood, earth/water, red/black. J. Melatti (1979a:46–50) also gives us a number of his Krahó examples, which presumably come from both his research assistants and from his analyses (phrases in brackets are mine).

Wakmeyē[like Red Regeneration season]

Katamye [like Black season]

day

night

dry season

wet season

east

west

cleared central space of the village

outer circle of the village

light-colored palm leaves

dark palm leaves

vertical stripes in body painting

horizontal stripes

Khoirumpekëtsë [like Upper plaza moiety]

Haramrumpekëtxë [Lower one]

Khöikateye [like Upper age-set moiety]

Harãkateye [Lower one]

Hëk [like Falcons in Pepkahàk]

Krókrók [no similar society]

Tép [like Fish festival]

Teré [like Otters]

men

women

plaza [center of village]

houses [periphery]

living

dead

society

nature

However, the paired Canela items that are “traditional” and, therefore, articulatory are relatively few. The study of the paired items that research assistants could articulate in these early stages of the study would not take the scholar very far into the structuring of the various “sociocultural sectors” (Glossary). Consequently, for this sort of study to be of significance, it was necessary to work with groups of research assistants until they could articulate the principles behind the traditional examples very easily. The next step was to apply these principles to other sociocultural sectors, looking for pairings of both the complementary and the oppositional kinds.

At first, this kind of research ran strongly against the feelings of the younger Kaapêltùk because I had trained him to give me only traditional information (mam mē nkêtyê mē nkaakaa tsà khôt: early pl. uncle their breath thing following: according to the ancestors’ beliefs), that is, what the Canela “folk” do say their ancestors did say about specific topics. He objected, strongly insisting that I was asking him for material that was not traditional and therefore not correct (i?khay-nã) from his ancestors’ point of view (see [Epigraph]). I told him that we still were using his ancestors’ ancient principles, if not what they said, but that now we were applying these same principles to other topics that had not been talked about by them. I further explained that because we were using their principles, these new materials were just as much in keeping with his ancestors’ way of “breathing” as the old materials. He accepted this explanation and helped teach the procedure to the other research assistants.

Thus I started with six old research assistants (old in age and in length of time with me) and Kaapêl on a new course that included the study and identification of complementary and oppositional pairings in many sociocultural sectors. I worked with two groups separately. There were the weekday four and the Saturday two, the second group serving as a check on the first. Kaapêl attended both groups as the ultimate communicator [I.E.2]. He helped keep them on track in their debating, most of which I could follow. Then he discussed the results with me in Canela and Portuguese [Pr.2].

[V.A.3.a] FIELDWORK PROCEDURES

We worked through both the winter and spring months of 1979 on these matters as well as on related materials connected with key words and concepts, and then continued the same work in the early fall. The search for cultural pairings was rarely carried out just by itself but almost always as part of the study of key words and concepts. The topic of cultural pairings (dualities) was usually brought up at the end of the study of a particular concept, as a means for improving our understanding of the materials.

This particular field procedure was like leading a thirsty horse to an unknown water trough. Talking about any of these concepts was not the custom of my research assistants, so they could not teach me very much about these matters on their own initiative. They had probably not thought about most of these concepts ever, and certainly had not verbalized them. However, when I led my research assistants to these concepts, they debated them well with considerable interest and often gave me illustrative examples of their own choosing.

While I had not been trained in anthropological theory to expect triads before my arrival in 1957, I had learned through experience and observation among the Canela since then that triadic patterns were frequent expressions of Canela social and mental forms. Since the Gê literature stressed dualism, I was surprised to find triads so frequently. Thus, when we expanded our search for complementary and oppositional pairings into other sociocultural sectors, I brought conspicuous triads to my group every now and then. Thus, early along this course we studied the obvious triadic formation of men’s festival societies [III.C.6] in contrast to dyadic plaza group moieties (social forms) [III.C.5]. We also examined the conspicuous triadic patterns of certain combinations of consanguineal (Figure 20) and affinal terms (Figure 28) in contrast to the dyadic patterns of certain combinations of affinal avoidance terms (mental forms) (Figure 28). We also discussed the relationships between the three “basic” colors identified through a previous analysis of Munsell color chip maps [I.D.2.b].

Immediately following the study of colors, I moved on to the study of shapes and their dimensions [V.A.5.a.(1).(b)] which lasted about two weeks. After identifying a number of dimensional and descriptive terms through studying many examples, I asked near the end of the study, as usual, if any of the terms were in parallel with any others and was told that hayoo (which I believed was “roundness”) was in parallel with i?po (which I believed was “flatness”). Of course, they gave me other examples of paired complementarity and opposition, but the relationship between “roundness” and “flatness” was the most interesting one. The next question had to be about what these two concepts were in opposition with, if anything, and the answer was irùù, or “long,” which again was puzzling. How could roundness be in parallel with flatness and both be in opposition with length? I felt like proceeding quickly with the research to find out.

I eventually worked through to learning that for a 3-dimensional object like a stick, the 2-dimensions of the cross-section were in opposition with the length. And for a “2-dimensional” object like a piece of writing paper, the two corners of a short edge were paired in complementarity and then paired again in opposition with the length of the paper. However, for a cubic tin of crackers none of its dimensions were in opposition with each other, because its three dimensions were similar. Now, I was beginning to become aware of something new to me and pursued it with fascination. I squared the piece of writing paper with scissors to find that again no dimensions were in opposition with each other. From here the realization soon came that near-equal dimensions were in opposition with an unequal dimension, whether the object had three or “two” dimensions. Also, the mystery of why hayoo and i?po were paired in complementarity became clear. Objects of near-equal dimensions, whether of two or three dimensions, are seen as being in parallel, whether a ball, a cube, or a pyramid. I also soon discovered that hayoo denotes the third dimension besides meaning “round” (and spherical) and that i?po denotes the second dimension besides meaning “flat.”

I know the above analysis leaves many questions unanswered, such as how the Canela consider objects With three different dimensional measurements—none are paired—but such questions are beyond the scope of this presentation; they will be described and discussed in a later publication.

Basic materials for the dyads and triads presented with the examples in [V.A.5] were collected in the field in this manner, while studying festivals, and key words and concepts, with my research assistant council. The three basic categorizations and their subcategories, including their terms, however, were devised here in Washington, D.C. Readers tell me they wonder if I imposed my ideas and the concept of the triad on my research assistants. I answer that I could not have imagined the complexity and the so very different characteristics of the Canela views of shapes and their dimensions, and of time and its three different “todays” [V.A.5.a.(1).(a)] [Ap.5] (Figure 12). The question of whether these triads are really complex dyads is moot, and awaits further analysis. However, this question is moot (for me) only for the category of fixed triads [V.A.5.a]. A pertinant comment by Lévi-Strauss (1973:274) on eastern Brazilian social organization, which includes the Canela, gave me considerable encouragement: “Behind the dualism we perceive a more fundamental organization which is asymetrical and triadic.” Moreover, Lévi-Strauss brings up this question of dualism and triadism in another place (1963:147–151) in the context of the Canela (Eastern Timbira).

[V.A.3.b]    EXAMPLES OF OPPOSITIONAL AND COMPLEMENTARY PAIRINGS

The following are a few of our (mine and my research assistants) numerous oppositional (×) pairings copied from my field notes and translated. However, a number of them change from opposition to complementary with a change in their context. For instance, a man and his nephew are paired oppositionally when the nephew is an adolescent but in complementarity when the nephew is older and they are carrying out similar roles (MB and MMB) for their female kin’s hearth unit [III.E.2.e.(1)].

uncle × adolescent nephew

[III.A.3.b.(1).(d)]

the elders × the adolescents

(Figures 14, 15)

the women × the men

[IV.A.3.a]

kin × affines

[III.B.1.j]

the village × the jungle

[V.A.5.b.(1).(b)]

the village × the hostile tribe

[V.A.5.b.(4)]

ordinary hunter × game

[IV.D.4.a]

Indian × disease

Indian × pollutions

[IV.D.3]

the Indian × the ghost

[IV.C.2.c]

the alive × the dead

[IV.C.2.a]

urucu × ghost

macaw feather × ghost

[IV.A.3.c.(1).(b)]

the good × the bad

[V.A.5.c]

God × Satan

the strong × the weak

the euphoric × the weak

[II.E.1]

the generous × the stingy

[III.B.1.a]

the workers × the lazy

those who have food staples × those

who have none

those who hear/obey × those

[III.D.1.a.(1)]

who do not hear/obey

the tame × the wild

those not thinking bad thoughts × the angry

[III.B. l.c(3)]

cooked × raw

[V.A.5.b.(3).(a)]

bland × salty

sweet × bitter

penis × menstrual blood

red × blue-green

[V.A.1]

light color × very dark

round × long

[V.A.5.a.(1).(b)]

spherical × long

ripe fruit × unripe fruit

[III.D.2.c.(4)]

wet × dry

winter × summer

[V.B.l.b]

east × west

the helpful × the hostile

the Indian × the civilizado

[IV.C.1.b.(6)]

Upper age-sets × Lower age-sets

[III.C.3.e]

the Reds × the Blacks

[III.C.4.a]

Upper plaza groups × Lower plaza groups

Wetheads × Dryheads

(Glossary)

Falcons × Ducks

[V.A.5.a.(2).(a)]

Masks × Agoutis

[IV.A.3.c.(5).(a)]

sweet potatoes × meat

sweet potatoes × squash

sweet potatoes × corn

yams × corn

peanuts × most garden foods

The following are complementary (+) pairings, taken directly from the fieldnotes of my work with my research assistant council on this topic.

wife + husband

[III.F.11.a]

restrictions kin + other kin

[III.E.2.b]

uterine sister + uterine brother

(Figure 38)

name-exchange sister + brother

[III.E.4.c]

uncle + adult nephew

“seeing” hunter + game

[V.A.5.b.(3).(b)]

curer + ghost

[IV.D.1.c.(1)]

snake-bite curer + snake

Indian + fire

[V.A.5.b.(3).(a)]

fire + wood

fire + cooked meat

ancient Canela tribe + certain other

[IV.C.1.d.(1)]

Timbira tribes

Visiting Chief + hostile tribe

[V A.5.b.(4)]

Sun + Moon

[IV.C.1.b.(1)]

summer + winter through time

[V.B.1.b]

day + night through time

God + earth through time

[V.A.5.c.(3)]

planter + planted seed through time

Indian + civilizado in recent times

[Ep.4.b.(2).(e)]

village + gardens

[V.A.5.b.(1).(b)]

streams + with thickets

manioc/rice + meat

manioc/rice + peanuts

manioc/rice + all foods

red + buff

[V.A.1]

urucu + charcoal body paint

[V.A.5.c.(3)]

internee + his restrictions

[IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)]

Indian + his helping devices

[III.A.3.b.(2).(b)]

Formal Friend + his Formal Friend

[III.A.3.c.(2).(b)]

Informal Friend + his Informal Friend

[III.E.6]

horse + rider/owner

Falcons + Pepkahàk

[V.A.5.a.(2).(a)]

Masks + Jaguars

older Upper age-set + younger Upper

[III.C.3.c]

age-set

older Lower age-set + younger

Lower age-set

self-following + order-following

[III.B. l.k.(3)]

[V.A.4] The System of Combined Pairings

Two basic kinds of Canela “pairings” (Glossary) exist, one grounded in facilitation and the other based on opposition. (In more conventional language, there are both oppositional “oppositions” and complementary “oppositions.”) Both kinds of pairings are a two-way process and are found separately in the various sociocultural sectors, as projected onto or as perceived in the existence of the physical world.[20]

Many of the cultural pairings are of the simple in-parallel or in-opposition form, i.e., in pairs, but the Canela often combine pairs into more complex relationships in the form of triads (diagram 1). Triads involve three pairings, which are the relationships (the sides of triads) among three elements (items), the points of triads. (The Canela do not draw such triads in the sand.) While all the elements, their relationships, and their operations were discussed with Canela research assistants and were understood and agreed to by them, the abstraction of most of these materials into the form of triads is my reconstruction and was done in the field except for one case [V.A.5.a.(1).(a)]. I am aware that other levels of abstraction exist, which are often used by other anthropologists (Murphy, 1971:113–114), but I am leaving these materials at their ethnographic level.

[V.A.4.a] CATEGORIES OF CANELA TRIADS

Three categories of triads are identified: fixed, modifying, and generating [V.A.5.a, b, c] (although other Canela categories surely exist, as do still different categories for other tribal sociocultural systems).

In the first category [V.A.5.a], the characteristics of the three pairings involved with each other are fixed. This category includes two subcategories: inanimate and animate. Fixed inanimate sets of three pairings are conceived of as fixed in space or time and are stationary (static) in their relationships with each other. They are unchangeable, existing as they are “forever” (nõ?nμ?ti mã), the Canela say. Examples are physical dimensions of objects, certain aspects of time, and the way the principal Wè?tè season festivals are related to each other [IV.A.3.c.(1), (2), (3)]. In the last example, the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Pepkahàk festivals are in a complementary relationship, each with each other, and they are all three paired, separately and together, in an oppositional relationship with the Fish festival [IV.A.3.c.(4)]. They can be seen solely as complementary and oppositional dyads, but the Canela portray them also as triads, with the complementary pairings not being merged.

In the second subcategory [V.A.5.a.(2)], other sets of three pairings are fixed and animate in the sense that the elements involved have potential or real movement, including expression of emotions, in their relationships with each other, so that they are dynamically cooperating or competing. However, their positions and their basic conditions vis-à-vis each other do not change (do not become modified). Some of these triads, such as corporate festival societies and moieties, exist “forever,” like the examples in the fixed inanimate category. For instance, in the Masks’ festival the Mask, Jaguar, and Agouti men’s societies [III.C.6] vie with each other, with the Masks and Jaguars cooperating (+) with each other in their joint antagonism (×) toward the Agoutis. In the daily acts [IV.A.3.c.(5).(a)], the Jaguars harass the Agoutis while the Masks stand by encouraging the Jaguars. In log races, the Jaguars race the Agoutis while the Masks make masks in their hut out in the cerrado. The Jaguars and Masks do not merge.

Other fixed animate triads exist for a certain length of time and then become dissolved, being fixed only over a certain period, e.g., the relationships between certain affines being terminated upon the death of one of them. For instance, a woman’s father and her brother work together (+) to control (×) their “out”-man-in-law (son/brother-in-law) [III.E.3.a.(1), (2)] for a number of years until the death or separation of the people central to the relationship [V.A.5.c.(1)].[21]

The animate and inanimate triads that are subsumed under the fixed category are composed of two oppositional pairings and one complementary pairing. The nature of this composition explains why no permanent changes take place for fixed triads over a certain period of time. One complementary pairing in these contexts among the Canela does not ameliorate, mediate, transform, obviate, or eliminate (that is, modify) the differences between two oppositional pairings. It takes two complementary pairings to modify one oppositional pairing.

Diagram 2 shows the differing structures of two out of three of the major categories of Canela triads, with their principal subcategories.

In the second category [V.A.5.b], still other sets of three pairings are modifying in the sense that the opposition between the one pair of oppositional elements (A × B, above on the right) is resolved, or mediated, in some way by the complementarity of the two other complementary pairs of elements involved (A + C) and (B + C) (both on the right above). For instance, the antagonism between a ghost (A) and a Canela (B) (an oppositional pairing) may be resolved by a shaman’s intercession (C), because a shaman can be separately in parallel with a ghost (C + A) (a complementary pairing) as well as in parallel with a Canela (C + B) (another complementary pairing). In this case, a “bridge” (hapàà) of two complementary pairings (three “positive” elements) becomes formed (A + B + C); that is, since (C + A) is complementary, and (C + B) is complementary, then C’s mediating makes (A + B) complementary.

Hapàà is an important expression. It is a set of more than two items in parallel. For instance, a set of four items in parallel is composed of three pairs: the first item paired with the second, the second item with the third, and the third item with me fourth. When illustrating this point, the Canela usually describe their footbridges as mē hapàà [II.A.3.b.(2)], which often are made of three or more poles laid across a stream. Each pole is tied to its adjacent pole, forming a pair. As the cords coupling the poles overlap, the first pole is connected indirectly to the last one: a hapàà (bridge). This coupled, overlapping “construction” is crucially important to understanding the relationship between how certain sets of pairings are connected [V.A.5.b.(1).(b)].

The modifying category is divided into at least three subcategories [V.A.5.b.(1), (2), (3)], characterized by the operation of the triad’s “third element” (C): (1) mediating elements (2) protecting devices, or (3) transforming states, which are used to bring about changes. There should be additional categories that I have not yet identified.

In still a third category, triads are called generating [IV.A.5.c] in the sense that two elements produce the third, their result or product. The three elements of the triad are basically complementary in their relationship (pairings) with each other to start with. The third element is essentially a result of the first two elements’ cooperation rather than being in opposition with them (as with fixed triads), and the third element is not the meliorator of the first two elements (as with modifying triads). For instance, while research assistants use i-piprol (in parallel) for the relationship between the parents, they do not use it for the parents’ separate relationships with their new baby. They prefer a different kind of complementary expression aypēn katsúwa (related toward) to talk about this special relationship because of its inequality. For example, a woman and a man, when married, or as parents, are paired in a complementary and equal relationship (i-piprol) with each other; and also, they are paired, separately but not equally, in an aypēn katsúwa relationship with the child (C) they have generated (their product: g), which forms, nevertheless, a complementary (+) relationship. Diagram 3 represents the structural differences between the three principal kinds of Canela triads.

Apparently, three oppositional pairings [V.A.5.c.(4)] do not combine to form triads. In the abstract, “the good” and “the bad” do not have a modifying third element and do not form a product in Canela thinking; neither do God and Satan. There is no belief in an evil result, such as a “bad seed” offspring. However, both these examples may be acculturative.

Conceptually, it should be reassuring and important to realize that with three sides to a triangle and two kinds of sides (+ and ×), the four possible combinations of structures are represented in these categorizations: (1) two oppositional sides and one complementary one (fixed), (2) one oppositional side and two complementary ones (modifying), (3) three complementary sides (generating), and (4) three oppositional sides (nontriad forming).

[V.A.4.b] DUALITIES

Canela research assistants are very clear about the point that all triads can also be broken down into sets of complementary or oppositional dyadic pairings. Red and blue-green can be taken alone as an oppositional pairing for the Canela. Masks and Jaguars can be taken alone as a complementary pairing from an animate triad, but only in the context of the Mask and Closing Wè?tè festivals. A ghost and a Canela can be taken alone as an oppositional pairing from a modifying triad in Canela life in general, while a shaman (in a shamanic condition) and a ghost can be taken alone from the same triad as a complementary pairing. The same can be held for a shaman (also only in a shamanic condition) and a Canela. Triads only need to be invoked when some relationship needs to be modified, such as when a ghost and a nonshamanic Canela (necessarily oppositional) need to be paired in a complementary manner in order to work together without the ghost injuring or killing the Canela. Similarly, in general, women are in opposition with men, but the institutions of marriage, name-exchange for “siblings,” and blood identity for uterine siblings form the third element of the triad, modifying the opposition into complementarity.

However, oppositions found in inanimate and animate triads, by definition, do not need to be altered or modified. Their contexts do not require this. Thus, while triads do not need to be used (although they may be recognized) among inanimate and animate sociocultural sectors (dualities may be sufficient), triads do need to be used where modification is to be portrayed in sociocultural sectors. Nevertheless, the ordering and generating of many sociocultural sectors is much better elucidated by means of inanimate, animate, and generating triads even though dualities could be utilized. For instance, Canela relationships such as Pepkahàk versus Fish festivals, Falcon versus Duck men’s societies, and meat With rice can be portrayed as dyads, as can greater representations such as women versus men, wife with husband, and mother with child, if only temporarily. However, most of the inanimate, animate, and generating examples described below are better portrayed as triads (maybe a special Canela characteristic), an exception being the three kinds of avoidance affines [V.A.5.b.(1).(a)] (Figure 28). Moreover, it is notable that in the inanimate-fixed category, where the laws of the physical world least affect the conceptual organization of the elements of sociocultural sectors and their relationships with each other, the systems are portrayed by the Canela as triadic [V.A.5.a].

[V.A.5] Examples of Combined Pairings

Canela characteristically manifest the three categories of combined pairings described above throughout their varying sociocultural sectors, demonstrating that these patterns are a basic “perceptual/empirical” structuring [V.A. 4], supported by key expressions of the language. The following examples, presented category by category as outlined in [V.A.4], constitute a sample of the many complementary and oppositional pairings collected from only a few of the many existing Canela sociocultural sectors. These categories constitute a provisionary arrangement and interpretation of the data, which may be modified and superseded when other researchers provide additional data.

[V.A.5.a] FIXED CATEGORY EXAMPLES

[V.A.5.a.(1)] Inanimate Examples

[V.A.5.a.(1).(a)]

“TODAY” AS A UNIT OF TIME.—The Canela word for “today” (ita-khãm) does not have the same referents as the 24-hour Western today. From the point of view of the individual speaker and from the time of day in which she or he is speaking, from sunrise to sunset, ita-khãm (today) refers to a 36-hour period including three blocks of time: (1) from sunset to sunrise of the past night, (2) from sunrise to sunset of the daytime in which the speaker is speaking, and (3) from sunset to sunrise of the coming night. (For detailed discussion of these relationships, see [II.E.2], [Ap.5], and Figure 12.)

When the speaker is speaking during the daytime, from sunrise to sunset, she or he uses ita-khãm (daytime’s “today”), but when the speaker is speaking during the nighttime, from sunset to sunrise, she or he is referring to either one or the other of two different 36-hour periods of time, katswa ita-khãm (night’s today), instead of just one 36-hour period of time, as occurs during the daytime. If the individual is speaking before an approximate midnight, she or he is referring to three 12-hour blocks of time: (1) from sunset to sunrise of the nighttime in which the speaker is speaking, (2) from sunrise to sunset of the past daytime, and (3) from sunset to sunrise of the past night. If the individual is speaking after an approximate midnight, she or he is referring to three 12-hour blocks of time, one the same and two different ones from the person speaking before midnight: (1) from sunset to sunrise of the nighttime in which the speaker is speaking, (2) from sunrise to sunset of the coming daytime, and (3) from sunset to sunrise of the coming nighttime.

Thus, as shown in diagram 4, there is one ita-khãm period (i-k) and two different katswa ita-khãm periods (k i-k). The two katswa ita-khãm periods are in parallel with each other and they are each in opposition to the one ita-khãm period. (For a more detailed explanation, see [II.E.2.a], [Ap.5], and Figure 12.)

[V.A.5.a.(1).(b)]

PHYSICAL DIMENSIONS.—In shapes, the word hayoo can mean “spherical,” but it pertains more broadly to any object whose three dimensions are approximately the same, whether quite irregular or with smooth planes such as a cube. The expression i?po refers to a two-dimensional object, or to one whose third dimension is perceived by the Canela as being very thin, such as a pad of paper or even a plot of land. The two significant dimensions must be roughly the same (i-pipēn), as in a circle or a square, or in similar items that are irregular. The synonyms hapyê and irùù mean “long” and pertain to three- or “two-dimensional” objects. While a sphere and a circle, and a cube and a square, are in parallel, these items are in opposition with any similar but elongated object. In other words, as shown in diagram 5, similar, near equi-dimensional objects, whether three or two-dimensional (as are such pyramids and triangles), are in parallel, but they are in opposition with a nonequidimensional object, one of the dimensions of which is considerably longer (hapyê) than the other ones (one), whether three or two dimensions, such as a log or this page. During the Regeneration season, Red racing logs are hayoo and Black ones are irùù.

[V.A.5.a.(1).(c)]

Two OR THREE CEREMONIAL UNITS VERSUS ONE.—The Wè?tè festival season is in parallel with the age-set moiety racing system (mē hakhrã khãm) [III.C.3]. Both of these annual cycle units are separately and together in opposition to the Regeneration (Mē-ipimràk) season, but when together, they are not merged (see diagram 6 and Table 4).

The Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Pepkahàk festivals are each, in pairs, in parallel with each other, and together they form a hapàà (bridge), which is in opposition to the Fish festival. Each of the three internment festivals is separately in opposition to the Fish festival, but the Pepkahàk is most conspicuously in opposition to the Fish festival, as seen in their “wetheaded” versus “dryheaded” emphasis (Glossary). Research assistants excluded the festival of Masks from this kind of structuring because it is of foreign origin (Krahó) [IV.A.3.d]. However, I believe the Masks’ festival should be included in the structuring of the economic food distribution system, with its emphasis on “begging,” generosity, and social leveling [IV.A.3.c.(5).(c)], but I did not attempt such a study with my research assistant council.

[V.A.5.a.(2)] Animate Category Examples

[V.A.5.a.(2).(a)]

POSITIONING IN FESTIVALS.—The positioning of festival societies provides visually conspicuous examples of facilitating and opposing pairs in the festival context. These festival-staged cases may be the easiest to comprehend of all the triadic sets of pairings, “frozen” in time as they are for anyone to examine.

During festivals, one of the men’s societies is located opposite two or three of the societies across from them. Those societies positioned traditionally on the same side of the plaza are said to be “in parallel” because they help each other (+) in the daily acts and in the races but are not seen to merge except in the terminal phase of the festivals. They are in opposition to the society/societies on the other side of the plaza because they are festival competitors/enemies who harass or race against each other (×). In the Closing Wè?tè and Mask festivals, the cooperating (+) Mask and Jaguar societies are on the eastern side of the plaza, with the Agouti they oppress (×) on the western side (see diagram 7). During the morning daily acts, Jaguars may knock down (×) Agoutis. If a Jaguar catches an Agouti, he may sit on him and may actually rub the Agouti’s face in the sand (×) [IV.A.3.c.(5).(a)]. Furthermore, the Masks do not race with logs in the afternoon, since they are out at their hut weaving masks [IV.A.3.c.(5).(a)]. It is important to emphasize again the Masks and Jaguars do not merge and become one group at any time during the daily acts [IV.A.2], remaining as two groups with the Masks watching the harassment but not joining it.

In the Pepkahàk festival (diagram 8), the dominating Pepkahàk and Falcon societies (+), and on certain occasions the Tàmhàk (+) and during others the Clowns (+), are all on the eastern side, while the always losing (×) Duck society is on the western side. Only the Pepkahàk perform in the daily act [IV.A.3.c.(3).(b)] (Plate 44 c), and only the Falcons (Glossary) race the Ducks (Glossary) since the Pepkahàk (Glossary) are interned. During the terminal part of the festival the Pepkahàk join the Falcons and Clowns to have several log races against the Ducks.

With the plaza groups, the symmetry appears balanced in the Khêêtúwayê festival. In the Pepyê festival the Dwarf Parrots of the Lower moiety lead (+) during the processions, and the groups of the Upper moiety follow (×), so research assistants say the Lower moiety is superior. However, in the Fish festival the Upper moiety dominates (×) the Lower moiety because the eastern Otters prevail. The plaza moieties are each composed of three groups (Figure 17), which merge for certain occasions during the festivities. The pattern of two groups against one does not exist for plaza moieties.

In all the above cases, I have reported what the research assistants of the council have worked out with me, not my interpretations, with one exception. The material and parameters of me two nighttime-todays versus the one daytime-today were worked out with research assistants in the field, but I noticed the two against one relationship only when in Washington, D.C.

[V.A.5.b] MODIFYING CATEGORY EXAMPLES

[V.A.5.b.(1)] In Resolutions through Mediating Elements

In resolutions of conflicts through mediating elements, me opposing parties, through an intermediary institution or through a bridging person/situation, cease to be in conflict and begin to cooperate.

[V.A.5.b.(1).(a)]

INSTITUTIONS.—Generally, women are in opposition to men as demonstrated in the beginning of the Opening Wè?tè festival [IV.A.3.a], but when joined by the institution of marriage, a wife and husband are then in parallel with each other. They are also in parallel because they continuously cooperate, and because their “blood” (kaprôô: blood, or more figuratively, “substance”; Da Matta, 1976:102) has become similar through sexual intercourse over time [III.F.1l.a] (Figures 39, 44).

Full (uterine) brothers and sisters are born in parallel because of their “identical” blood (Figure 38). Distantly related “siblings” can also be considered to be in parallel after they have agreed to put one of their own names on a child of their own sex but of the other sibling [III.E.4.a] (Figure 37). Such name-exchange “siblings” (maybe distant cousins) are in this same institutional mediating category and are always helping each other, so they are said to be in parallel.

In earlier times, young warriors, new to the status of being a proven war leader (hààprãl), were at first quite realistically seen as being in a hostile (competitive) relationship with the two or three older war leaders who governed the tribe [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)]. Thus, by tradition, a new young war leader who had just returned from his first successful raid had to speak to the old war leaders using the formal term of address, hààpin (Formal Friend) (Glossary), a traditional institution, which automatically transformed their relationship into a complementary paired one, based on the traditionally required mutual respect and cooperation [IV.C.1.c.(6)].

These relationships of first being in opposition and then in parallel through the facilitation of a mediating institution are expressed in diagram 9.

[V.A.5.b.(1).(b)]

BRIDGES.—The Eastern Timbira Indians (mēhĩĩ) are in opposition to ghosts (mē karõ), but a shaman (kay) and a ghost can comprehend (aypēn pal) each other. Thus, while Indians and shamans are in parallel, shamans and ghosts are also in parallel, with the result that Indians, shamans, and ghosts form a bridge (hapàà): all three categories of persons are in parallel. Consequently, problems between Indians and ghosts can be resolved through the mediation of shamans [IV.D. 1].

(Symbols: A, B = different persons; C = institutional mediation; 1, 2, 3 = sequence of events through time; × = “in opposition” or in a hostile relationship; + = “in parallel” or in a facilitating relationship.) Thus, if A and B are in opposition to each other, and C is in parallel to both A and to B, then C can bring A in parallel with B. Said differently, when a mediating element has a good relationship with each of two opposing elements, it neutralizes the opposition and carries out a culturally prescribed role as a mediator to bring both the opposing elements into a complementary relationship.

The uncut virgin forests (a?kuuni) (nature) and a Canela village (khrĩ) (called society by Seeger, 1981:22) are in opposition to each other (aypēn kunãã-mã). A village, however, is in parallel with its gardens (pul), which support it through providing food, and the gardens are in parallel with thickets (a?khêt), which, when cut down, nourish the gardens. The thickets (secondary growth), in turn, are in parallel with the virgin forests because they are contiguous and mixed so that a village (society) comes to be in parallel with the forests through the mediation of the gardens and thickets: a hapàà (bridge) of four parallel items.

Quite similarly, some enemy tribes (khrĩ-tsà-re: tribe-hurtful-dim.) could be transformed into friendly ones, by the first tribe’s making one member of the second tribe a Tàmhàk, i.e., a Visiting Chief (Glossary) [IV.C.1.d.(1).(a)] of the first tribe. Then the second tribe would do the same with a member of the first tribe. These two Visiting Chiefs were then seen as being a complementary pair with respect to each other as they also were with their own people, and consequently a “bridge” of four positively related human entities was formed: a mē hapàà (the first tribe + the second tribe’s Visiting Chief + the first tribe’s Visiting Chief + the second tribe).

These relationships of first being in opposition and then in parallel through the facilitation of intermediary mediating bridging are expressed in diagram 10.

[V.A.5.b.(2)] Resolutions by Protecting Devices

In the case of protecting devices as the third element, the opposition is resolved (modification takes place) through preventing the two hostile forces from coming together or through the elimination of one of the hostile forces. These two opposing forces do not become neutralized or in parallel with each other as in the case of mediation (diagram 10), but modification does occur.

(Symbols: A, B = different persons; C and D = mutually complementary, adjacent entities; 1, 2, 3 = sequence of events through time; × = “in opposition” or in a hostile relationship; + = “in parallel” or in a facilitating relationship.)

In festival roles, for example, each pubertal male Pepyê initiate (Plate 42 a,d,e) is said to be in parallel with the restrictions (Glossary) he maintains during the ceremonial period of about three months. He is in opposition to the dangerous body “pollutions” believed to be contracted through eating “bad” (carregado: full, over-loaded, heavy) foods, especially meat juices (hĩĩ kakô ?khên: meat’s juice bad) and by engaging in sexual relations [IV.D.3.f]. Maintaining such restrictions protects the youth from such pollutions (W. Crocker, 1982:154).

Red paint inhibits ghosts from snatching away the soul resulting in the death of the red painted Khêêtúwayê initiate, who is singing songs of the ghosts in the plaza [IV.A.3.c.(1).(b)] (Plate 41 c), thus protecting the initiate.

Formal Friends of the members of the Pepkahàk festival troop break up a wasps’ nest and kill the escaping wasps making it impossible for the Pepkahàk troop to get stung, thus protecting them.

The intervention of a protecting device, preventing the coming together of two opposing elements or the elimination of one of the hostile elements, is expressed in diagram 11.

(Symbols: A, B = different entities; p.d. = protecting device, 1, 2, 3 = sequence of events through time; × = “in opposition” or in a hostile relationship; + = “in parallel” or in a facilitating relationship. Where A and B are in opposition, a protecting device (+) in parallel with A either prevents (I) B from reaching A or eliminates (xx) B.)

[V.A.5.b.(3)] Resolutions in Transforming Conditions

In transforming conditions either or both elements of an oppositional pair go through a profound change of state (shamanic, psychic, life-to-death, raw-to-cooked) with extreme modifications.

[V.A.5.b.(3).(a)]

TRANSFORMATION OF FORM.—In full transformations, the item, when later transformed, is perceived to be in opposition with its initial state before its transformation, i.e., its modification. An example is raw meat and cooked meat which are very much in opposition, representing nature and culture (Lévi-Strauss, 1969:64), respectively. The Canela see fire and wood as catalytic devices and as being in parallel with raw meat. Fire and chopped wood, as uses of civilization, are also perceived as being in parallel with cooked meat. Thus, fire and wood are transforming agents. Raw meat and cooked meat, however, are me same piece of meat, and so, a transformation from one state to another has taken place. Full transformation differs from mediation in that the items paired in opposition are really the same item except for a change in state (diagram 12).

(Symbols: A = piece of meat; r = raw state of A; c = cooked state of A; F = fire; W = wood; 1, 2, 3 = sequence of events through time: (event 1) Ar and Ac (one piece of meat) are in opposition, but (event 2) through the mediation of F and W, which are in parallel with both Ar and Ac, A changes its state (event 3) from raw to cooked (Ar = Ac).)

[V.A.5.b.(3).(b)]

TRANSFORMATION IN CONSCIOUSNESS.—Here, the transformative device, the third element of the modifying category of combined pairings, is in parallel With the first element only, enabling the first element sometimes to be in parallel with the second element with which it ordinarily is in opposition. This state of being temporarily in parallel enables the first element to eliminate the second element: a modification.

An example can be found in the relationship between an Eastern Timbira Indian (mēhĩĩ) and a wild animal (prùù-re), representing society and nature, respectively (Seeger, 1981:34). They are believed to be in opposition with each other. A Canela man can be a hunter, and a hunter and his gun (katõk) are in parallel, research assistants say. More importantly, a hunter is also in parallel with his hunting restrictions (ipiyakri-tsà), as well as with certain vision facilitating “medicines.” Dutiful observance of these restrictions, and the taking of such medicines, transforms a man into a clear-seeing condition (into-kapôk: eyes lit-up) when he, consequently, is in parallel with game animals. It is said that when a hunter is in the state of being into kapôk, a deer(kaarà) will like him and even seek him out, with the obvious result that the hunter can shoot his quarry close at hand (diagram 13).

(Symbols: A, B = different entities; d = daily living state; s = shamanic state; t.d. = transforming device; + = in parallel; × = in opposition; 1, 2, 3, 4 = sequence of events through time: (event 1) Ad is in opposition to B; (event 2) but through the help of (t.d.), A changes from a daily living state (d) to a shamanic (s) one. In a shamanic state, A is in parallel with B. Thus, (event 3) B is attracted and eliminated. Without, however, the continued use of Ld. (event 4), A returns from a shamanic state to a daily living one.

[V.A.5.b.(4)] Resolvablel/Unresolvable Situations

Formerly, some situations in intertribal existence were not resolvable. Some tribes needed to become friendly to make alliances for survival, and so exchanged Visiting Chiefs (IV.C.1.d.(1).(a)], but these relationships were not very effective. There were always some hostile tribes in the Canela aboriginal existence, however, and such tribes lived in a perpetual state of opposition to each other (mē ?kurê tswèn: they angry at-the-core: fundamentally hostile) [IV.C.1.c.(2)]; that is, no hapàà could be culturally constructed to bridge their traditional hostility (diagram 14).

(Symbols: A, B = tribes; c = Visiting Chief of B; d = Visiting Chief of A; + = in parallel; × = in opposition; 1, 2 = sequence of events through time.)

[V.A.5.c] GENERATING CATEGORY EXAMPLES

[V.A.5.c.(1)] Kin (Product) or Affines (Opposition)

The triadic paradigm (diagram 15) is supported by the fact that there are two parallel basic terms for “parent” (nàà and pαm: mother and father) and one (a product) for “child” (khra). Similarly, there are two basic terms for “grandparent” (tùy and kêt: grandmother [aunt] and grandfather [uncle], or female ancestor and male ancestor), and one for grandchild (tàmtswè, or descendant [niece/nephew]) [III.E.2.b] (Figure 20). With affinal terms, for women born within the consanguineal family there are two terms in parallel (pree, preekêy: “in”-sister-inlaw, mother-in-law) in opposition to the one reciprocal term outside the family but married into it (tswèy: “out”-sister-inlaw or daughter-in-law) [III.E.3.a.(1), (2), (3)] (Figure 28). Turning to men who are in the consanguineal family there are two parallel terms (pree, preekêt: “in”-brother-in-law, father-in-law) in opposition to the one reciprocal term outside the family but married into it (piyõyê: “out”-brother-in-law, son-in-law). Besides the opposite-sex, same-generation classificatory spouse categories, this leaves mainly the opposite-sex, adjacent-generation “avoidance” affines for which there are two (nonparallel) male terms (wawè, khrã?tumyê: son-in-law, father-in-law) each in opposition to the one reciprocal female term (pãn: mother-in-law, daughter-in-law) [III.E.3.a.(4)] (Figure 28). No triad is formed here.

[V.A.5.c.(2)] Plaza versus Circle of Houses

A famous example of pairing (dualism) is the circular village plaza (kàà) and circle of houses (ikhre) surrounding it (diagram 16). Canela research assistants say that these two categories are in parallel because they “raise” (to aypa) children (a product) with each other’s help. Some specialists of Northern Gêspeaking Indians, however, see the village plaza and its ring of houses as being in oppositional opposition with each other, which is true in a limited synchronic context, just like women and men who are not related consanguineally or affinally. When, however, as the Canela explain, we see these pairs diachronically—working together cooperatively over time to produce products (aypēn katsúwa), the fact that there are two different kinds of dualism (aypēn kunãã mã and aypēn katsúwali-piprol) becomes more obvious.

[V.A.5.c.(3)] “Universals”

Similar to the plaza and houses, the Canela see the problem of continuity in life in long-term diachronic terms (diagram 17), as found in their generating triads. Thus, when a woman as a farmer, in parallel with the soil of her garden, plants a seed to grow crops, the matured results are a product (p or +), not an element in paired opposition (×). Similarly, they say in modern times that God is in parallel with the earth to raise children, or Indian people (a product).

[V.A.5.c.(4)] Absolute Opposition

The good (impey) is categorically in opposition to the bad (i?khên), according to research assistants, and never in parallel With each other [III.B.1.g]. Similarly, in modern times, God is in opposition with Satan, and they are never thought of as working together, even diachronically (Glossary: “Folk Catholicism”). Light (white) and dark (black) are also said to always be in opposition (diagram 18).

good

×

bad

God

×

Satan

(18)

light

×

dark

[V.B] Key Expressions in Other Contexts

The use of key terms [V.A.1] to identify perceived structures, or to represent the organization of sociocultural sectors, is an important device in this analysis of Canela “sociocultural sectors” (Glossary) and in the representations of dualism and triads. More examples of the use of such key terms or expressions follow to demonstrate the efficacy of this semantic structural approach, generally, and thereby to support the analysis specifically.

[V.B.1] Conceptualization of Time

The nature of time among lowland South American tribes has been extensively debated (Kaplan, 1977), but further clarification of this topic is warranted. The Canela have at least two kinds of time: (1) cyclical (amyi-yakhyê), and (2) linear (aypēn khôt, as in Western civilization).

[V.B.l.a] CYCLICAL TIME

The Canela use the expression amyi-yakhyê (self turning-back-and-back: switching back and forth through time (t): cycling) to describe the movement of families that are continually shifting their base of operations between their village house and their farm hut, as is necessary in Canela life [II.E]. They also describe the movements of men’s name-sets by the term amyi yakhyê: their transmission through the generations (g) between a man’s longhouse and the longhouse in which he marries (diagram 19; Figure 36). (Sun and Moon move across the sky and back under the land in cyclical time.)

[V.B.l.b] LINEAR TIME

In contrast to movement between village and farm, the following dualities are paired synchronically in opposition with each other: [V.A.5.c.(2)] climatic seasons (wet and dry), festival seasons (Mē-ipimràk and Wè?tè), and ancestors (die females and the males). However, when the Canela choose to see these relationships diachronically, they are in parallel but do not have products. These pairs are described as moving together out of the past and approaching the speaker (aypên tē: hither move). They then pass the speaker in the present and move on into the future (amu tē”: away move) (Figure 40). These seasons and ancestors, instead of cycling, are described as “following” each other (aypēn khôt: related[how?], following), pair by pair in file. Each pairing of two seasons is a different set of two elements (a new one), unlike the cyclical movement involving the same people switching between village and farm, or the same name-set switching between houses of birth and procreation generation after generation. This movement of a line of different items is the sequential world of time, and research assistants found it easy to draw this sequence in the sand during meetings. Even festivals, repeated year after year, are seen as separate items each year, following each other: linear time. (Research assistants already expressed time by making these kinds of linear drawings so that they easily extended this method to express kinship-reckoning while working for me.)

A further expression of linear time occurs in the term for “year,” which is pul (farm) [II.C.1.b] Table 3). Because the Canela clear new land for a single crop each year [II.C.3.a], these “farms” are conceptualized as single elements following each other (aypēn khôt) in a line. Thus, pairing is not an essential aspect of sequential time, which is paired or single depending on the nature of the items involved, e.g., seasons (two) or farms (one). No triads are formed in this aypēn khôt linear time, which has no oppositions and no products.

[V.B.I.c] PRODUCT-FORMING LINEAR TIME

Another kind of time was explained when presenting generating triads: aypēn katsúwa time, in which a women with a man produces and raises a child over a relatively long period of time. The village circle of houses (women) cooperating with the plaza (men) to secure the future of the tribe (the product) follows the same pattern [V.A.5.c.(1), (2), (3)]. In aypēn katsúwa time, the same three elements (whether individuals, groups, societies, or entities) are continuously renewing and adjusting their relationships over a long period of time (growing) without really changing the structure of their relationships, as the triad progresses along in linear time until the dissolution of the triad (often by death), or in some cases, in Canela conceptualization, lasting “forever” (plaza with houses and progeny).

[V.B.2] Chance

The younger Kaapêltùk, the research assistant council, and I spent a number of days studying “chance” as a concept. They were familiar with the word for “accident” in Portuguese (acidente), but this term could be applied only to an automobile accident. I tried to apply it to events concurring by accident (chance), but this concept was not acceptable. For these research assistants, everything that occurred had to have an antecedent cause or set of preceding causes, and the cause or causes could not be random placement or timing: elements or events coming together coincidentally. Thus, because of the lack of a key expression in the semantic area for “chance,” I concluded that there is no such Canela concept, at least not in the Western sense. This observation is supported by the limited degree to which chance enters into any of their sports and games [II.F.3], and into their life in general.

I have reported on the study of chance undertaken in the field (spring, 1979) to show that the study of key expressions, as an analytical approach, can reveal both positive and negative evidence, that is, the presence or absence of concepts.

[V.B.3]    Sectors Characterized by Set of Data-tested Systematized Perceptions

The Canela sociocultural system is characterized by a certain set of combined “pairings” (Glossary). These pairings reflect the organization of a considerable number of the principal “sociocultural sectors” (Glossary) of the overall system. This organized patterning was reconstructed for study by applying the meaning of certain key linguistic expressions [V.A.1] to various sociocultural sectors. These key expressions delineate and describe the culturally systematized perceptions of Canela reality: sociocultural, natural, and supernatural.

These characterizations enhance our understanding of the Canela world and of how the Canela resolve their problems. The structurally more rigid side of their world is organized by dualism, as so many researchers have written for the Gê-speaking tribes (e.g., Maybury-Lewis, 1979). For the Canela, this structuring can be seen in terms of either complementary or oppositional dualism. Dualities are often combined, forming a triad: two pairings of oppositional elements and one pairing of complementary ones. The Canela world is more dynamic, however, than this kind of dualism allows, because it is structured for change, modification, and problem solving.

When one sees the Canela world from this more dynamic, operational perspective, one focuses on the modifying triads instead of the fixed ones [V.A.4], and these modifying relationships (the elements of which necessarily change with respect to each other) have two pairings of complementary elements and one pairing of oppositional elements. The one element shared by the two complementary pairings (the “third element”) brings about the mediating, nullifying, eliminating, or transforming, and thus the resolving of the differences between the two elements of the one problematic (oppositional) pairing.

Even when an enemy (civilizados) is too numerous or well instated to be eliminated [In.4.c], the Canela may still resolve the conflict according to modifying patterns like the ones described above. To mediate a tribal difference with a backlander, for instance, the chief or the tribal council characteristically sends him a Canela who is his friend. If the difference cannot be mediated, they use a protective device, such as evasion or denial, to shield themselves from the dangers of the problem. If the difference necessarily must be resolved, they may go further and transform themselves into “friends” of the backlander, at least temporarily, and do something for him, appeasing him. Thus, the Canela are characterized by a considerable range of flexibility, with an emphasis on somehow solving almost every problem. This range is partly reflected in the variety of diagrammatic solutions presented above. Thus, Canela institutions and values are principally characterized as being focused on maintaining harmony for the group [III.D.3.e.(1)] and satisfaction for the individual [III.D.3.f].

[VB.4] Triads and Canela Problem Resolution

I can understand that oppositional dualities represent the Central Gê, the Suyá, the Kayapó, and maybe even the Western Timbira (Apinayé) view of life. For the Shavante, this may be because of their sharp division between the “We” and the “They” (Maybury-Lewis, 1967:298–300, 307): two unresolved sides, and their high incidence of quarrels, hostility, and factionalism. They may prefer life relatively unresolved. Maybury-Lewis compares the relative presence or absence of factionalism, bellicosity, institutionalized aggression, men’s houses, and “strain and ambiguity in the male role” among the Central Gê, Kayapó, and Timbira, and he comments on the comparative harmony of the Timbira societies (Maybury-Lewis, 1967:305–309), which lack or have less of these social elements. The Suyá are like the Central Gê and Kayapó in that they have men’s houses and a higher level of factionalism and bellicosity (Seeger, 1981:90, 231) than the Eastern Timbira.

The relative harmony of the Eastern Timbira may be associated With their relatively greater cultural need to see mediation or amelioration in most situations. I have often felt the strength of the Canela compulsion to quickly resolve most community-disturbing situations. I was thoroughly impressed by the rapidity with which they resolved one case of witchcraft accusation [III.D.3.c.(5)]. Their festivals and social forms reflect this compelling need through triads instead of dualities, because triads as a pattern, especially in the modifying configurations, make the resolution of problems more feasible and likely. While the Canela do not ameliorate the aggression of the Clowns in the Fish festival [IV.A.3.c.(4).(c)], because the Clowns are operating largely outside the established system [III.B.1.d.(3)], it must be expected that they would mediate the hostility between the Wetheads and Dryheads and the Jaguars and Agoutis in these two establishment-oriented festivals: the Pepkahàk and the Closing Wè?tè [IV.A.3.c.(3), e]. Hostility in the first example is mitigated through a formal occasion for extramarital relations (institutional modifying) [II.B.1.c.(1)], and in the second example through the intermingling of the two men’s societies and their singing together facing the same direction (institutional modifying) [V.A.5.b.(1).(a)], which symbolizes unity in festivals.

Unresolvable hostilities appear to occur mostly outside the tribal village, such as among certain enemy tribes in early times, between two rival village chiefs in the late 1950s [III.D.1.g.(1).(b)], or in folk Catholicism of the 1970s [V.A.5.c.(4)]. Within the village, especially in the plaza [III.D.1.c.(1).(b)], disputes are resolved quickly within the group context and not on the individual level [III.B.1.c.(3)], and major traditional structural oppositions are overcome in particular institutional ways. For instance, the opposed sexes get married, come off the same umbilicus (uterine siblings) in birth (Figure 38), and minimize their distance through name exchange between “siblings” [III.E.4.a]. The opposition of adjacent generations seen in uncles disciplining adolescent nephews [III.A.3.b.(1).(d)] is reversed much later when uncles work with adult nephews to govern the households of their female kin.

Returning to the festivals, I sense that Canela individuals would walk away from these life stabilizing ceremonials feeling personally unsatisfied if they did not see these pageants’ principal hostilities resolved before their ending acts. The Festival of Oranges [IV.A.3.f.(5)] may dramatize the most conspicuous example of the amelioration of a structural opposition. Here the opposition portrayed is between women and men, and it includes a mock attack and several role reversing acts. At the end, the antagonism is shown as resolved by the women and the men marching and singing along side each other, literally in parallel with each other [V.A.1], facing in the same direction (Plate 54b). Then they turn and face west together, unified, and shout hostile phrases at hypothetical enemy tribes (Plate 54a).

Epilogue

The Canela in the 1980s

News from the Canela arrives occasionally in the form of letters, tapes, telephone calls, and a video cassette from Jack and Josephine Popjes and from some of my former Canela writers and family members. The Canela are surviving well in me mid-1980s, though political and agricultural instability have been problematic; but their outlook has improved with a recent turn of political events.

[Ep.l] New Pró-khãmmã’s Age-Set in Council

A very significant turnover took place in the early 1980s, probably 1981. A new Lower moiety age-set graduated into the council of elders and, traditionally, will control it for about the next 20 years as its Pró-khãmmã age-set. This council has a new outlook on the management of tribal affairs introduced by its new Pró-khãmmã, who are about twenty years younger than their predecessors (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:90–92) (Figure 24). The new Pró-khãmmã age-set is for the first time made up of several individuals who can read and write Canela and Portuguese quite well and who can manage relationships with Indian service personnel, backlanders, and city people from a position of self-reliance and independence.

For the first time, a new Pró-khãmmã age-set faces a future as they enter office in which there is little likelihood that backland ranchers will invade their territories or destroy their livelihood, security, and dignity. The boundaries of their reservation were legally demarcated and registered with the federal government, and their territory increased in the process, during the 1970s [II.B.3.f.(1)]. Also during the 1970s, the Indian service built large brick and mortar buildings (post, school house, and infirmary), demonstrating the permanence of its support. The Indian service also placed a dedicated “permanent” agent in its post to lead them, provide helpful medicines, and mediate problems with backlanders [II.B.2.i.(4)]. In addition, the Indian service was beginning to provide an attitude of self-awareness (conscientização) to the Canela. For the first time the Canela were people (gente) like other Brazilians instead of cabocos (inferiors) [I.A.1]. The new Pró-khãmmã should be leading the Canela into still better times in the 1980s with the security and enlightenment provided by the Indian service during the 1970s, if this support continues.

[Ep.2] Transition of Power

One of the first acts of the new Pró-khãmmã members after they took over was to force the old chief of the tribe, Kaarà?khre, to resign. The Pró-khãmmã successively put four new chiefs in his position over a period of several years. These young chiefs, however, did not succeed in sustaining their influence and carrying on effectively. Thus, a relative loss of power has occurred in the chieftainship and a corresponding increase in power and leadership options has accrued to the Pró-khãmmã. This shift in balance of power, and even in responsibilities to some extent, probably has taken place and continues to take place whenever there is a new chief.

[Ep.3] History of Chieftainship since 1951

Chief Hàktookot died in office in 1951, as was the Canela tradition. He left a struggle for succession to the chieftanship that was not completely resolved until 1968. In about 1981, the chieftainship was vacated again, and the political patterns following 1981 are similar to those following 1951, but the patterns of the earlier succession are better known.

[Ep.3.a]    CHIEF KAARÀ?KHRE’S ASSUMPTION AND CONSOLIDATION OF POWER

Kaarà?khre soon succeeded to the chieftainship in 1951, because he was already a deputy chief and because he brought back from Rio de Janeiro a document that he claimed made him chief by order of the head of the Indian service. Moreover, at the time of his age-set’s graduation in 1941, he was their file leader (Glossary).

Even though Kaarà?khre had assumed the chieftainship in fact, he still had a number of competitors. A principal rival was the older Krôôtô, who formed a separate village in Rodeador (Map 3) between 1952 and 1954. The older Krôôtô had been one of his age-set’s messenger boys (Glossary) at the time of their graduation in 1933. Another competitor was Ikhè who informally headed the farm community of Baixão Prêto (Map 3) in 1955. He had been his age-set’s commandant (Glossary) in 1923. Hàktookot’s three sister’s sons, likely contenders because they were his nephews, did not attempt to compete. The deceased chief’s oldest nephew was one of the tribe’s two transvestites [III.A.2.j.(5).(a)], the middle one was too frequently drunk, and the third, Kôham [I.G.15], was too young. The other competitor was the older Kaapêltùk [I.G.2] (Figure 50), who did not show his ambitions at first. He had been his age-set’s graduating commandant in 1933 (Nimuendajú, 1946:182). Ikhè’s competition with Kaarà?khre was mild, but when the Indian service sent the older Kaapêltùk to Baixão Prêto to be the village chief [II.B.2.c] [III.D.1.g.(1).(a),(b)], the rivalry between the two Villages with their two chiefs became verbally unpleasant to most Canela [III.A.3.c.(3).(e)].

In 1961, a new Pró-khãmmã age-set [III.D.2.b.(3)], the one graduated in 1933, succeeded the old one, graduated approximately in 1903, according to Nimuendajú (1946:91). Thus, the age-set of the older Kaapêltùk replaced the age-set of the older Mĩĩkhrô (his age-set’s file leader) to dominate the council of elders. However, the older Kaapêltùk, by this time the chief in Baixão Prêto, could not dominate the new Pró-khãmmã of the tribe, most of whom were in Ponto.

In 1963, the Canela were relocated [II.B.2.g.(1)] from me cerrado to the dry forests and the village of Sardinha (Map 3). The first few council meetings I attended in Sardinha were led by the older Kaapêltùk, the traditional head of the Prókhãmmã, because he had been this age-set’s graduating commandant. However, as soon as Chief Kaarà?khre returned from traveling away in Brasília, the older Kaapêltùk removed himself [III.B.1.h.(1)] with only half the followers who had lived with him in Baixão Prêto to reside in Baixão dos Peixes (Map 3), about 5 kilometers south of Sardinha, also on the Corda River. Thus, the older Kaapêltùk chose to continue the schism of the tribe, started definitively in 1957, when he took the position of chief of the village of Baixão Prêto. (For a little over four months, from late January into July, the tribe had been reunited by Khêê-khwèy, the prophetess of the messianic movement [II.B.2.f].

In 1968, the competition for succession to the deceased Chief Hàktookot’s position continued with the formation of four new communities in the cerrado, while one still existed in the dry forests: Ikhe’s in the Campestre, the older Krôôtô’s in Ponto, the older Kaapêltùk’s in Baixão Prêto, Chief Kaarà?khre’s in Escalvado, and the younger Kaapêltùk’s still in Sardinha. By this date, the older Kaapêltùk’s political strength had waned partly because of his involvement in a fatal accident,[22] the younger Kaapêltùk was required to leave Sardinha because the Guajajara Indians of Sardinha did not want the Canela there, and Chief Kaarà?khre had the political insight to hold a Khêêtúwayê initiation festival in Escalvado, thus attracting the whole tribe there.

Between 1968 and about 1981, Chief Kaarà?khre experienced little or no competition for his office. No potential chief attempted to form a separate community and the older Kaapêltùk stayed away from the council meetings when Chief Kaarà?khre was present. However, the younger Kaapêltùk’s political position was improving as men of the older age-sets died. By 1979, the younger Kaapêltùk’s age-set’s age averaged approximately 50 years, Chief Kaarà?khre’s age-set averaged 60, the older Kaapêltùk’s and the older Krôôtô’s age-set averaged 70, and the late Ikhè’s age-set, 80. Moreover, the younger Kaapêltùk’s age-set outnumbered Chief Kaarà?khre’s age-set about 3 to 1. These younger men knew much more about the outside world and how to work matters out with the backlanders and the Indian service. Moreover, Chief Kaarà?khre’s age-set no longer raced with logs. In 1951, Chief Hàktookot was allowed to the in office, but by the early 1980s the times were changing rapidly.

[Ep.3.b] FOUR CHIEFS IN FOUR YEARS

Soon after the new Pró-khãmmã assumed its ascendancy in 1981, one of the youngest members, the younger Tep-hot, age 42 [I.G.I] (Plate 70g), denounced Chief Kaarà?khre, age 59, in a meeting of the council of elders. Kaarà?khre promptly withdrew from the chieftainship, leaving it to his scholarly son, Kaprêêprêk (Plate 69a), age 32, which is what Kaarà?khre had publicly said he had wanted [III.D.1.h]. The council accepted Kaprêêprêk [II.B.3.d] to placate Kaarà?khre, but later replaced him (probably because he was too slow and thoughtful: not a man of action) with Krôôpey, age 42 (Plate 10g). Krôôpey, a member of the new Pró-khãmmã and one of my former diary writers [I.F.2.a], was more active and ambitious. Although Krôôpey and his wife are unrelated to anyone in power, he showed himself so enthusiastic to be chief that the Pró-khãmmã, led by the younger Kaapêltùk gave him a chance to prove himself. Krôôpey proved to be ineffective as chief, and the Pró-khãmmã replaced him with Kô?tetet, age 25, who again was not related to anybody of political significance. This was a compromise appointment. In 1984, the council put still another young chief in office, the youngest Mĩĩkhrô (Plate 76h), age 31, who was a uterine sister’s son of the Pró-khãmmã individual (Tep-hot) who had denounced Chief Kaarà?khre and who was a relative of the younger Kaapêltùk. The balance of power was definitely swinging to the younger Kaapêltùk. (The ages cited above are as of 1980.)

The appointment of such young men to be chief is not unprecedented. Chief Kaarà?khre was about 31 when he assumed the chieftainship in 1952; thus, giving young men a chance in the chieftainship was not a divergence from tradition. Deposing a chief, however, was a break with tradition. Chiefs previously had held the office until they died (Nimuendajú, 1946:162).

By 1981, or 1982 at the latest, council leadership in the tribe completed its 20-year cycle and the newer Pró-khãmmã, led by the younger Kaapêltùk, took over the leadership of the council of elders from the now old Pró-khãmmã, nominally led by the older Kaapêltùk but actually dominated by Chief Kaarà?khre. This most important tribal change gave the younger Kaapêltùk his own special leadership base: command of the Pró-khãmmã for about the next 20 years.

FIGURE 50.—The older Kaapêltùk listening at a meeting in the plaza.

[Ep.4] Qualifications for Chieftainship

Leadership abilities and kinship were two traditional qualifications for office. Except for Kaprêêprêk, however, these other new chiefs were put in office more for their anticipated ability to lead the council in discussions and the various work groups than for their kinship with men in power, though Mĩĩkhrô was well related in this way. I was aware of the potential leadership abilities of Krôôpey, Kô?tetet, and the youngest Mĩĩkhrô during the late 1970s. Chief Kaarà?khre was not related to Chief Hàktookot, whom he replaced on his death, but he had me advantage of being an assistant to the late chief and of having a wife with many female kin (Figure 24, houses BB-NN).

The youngest Mĩĩkhrô lasted as chief until the early months of 1987 partly because he was a relative of the younger Kaapêltùk and a nephew of Tep-hot, according to information from the field. Mĩĩkhrô led the Canela into putting a large collective farm in the Lagoa do André area in the northeastern corner of the reservation (Map 3) in 1985. He told them he had discovered a suitcase full of money which he would distribute to them when the farms were cut out of the gallery forests where several streams join the Ourives. When the money did not materialize, the farms were abandoned with great losses in time and energy, leaving the Canela dependent once more on selling artifacts to the Indian service and on sharecropping for backland families.

[Ep.4.a] OUTSIDE ECONOMIC SUPPORT

By the 1980s, funds for agricultural development were becoming available from the Vale do Rio Doce, a company related to the railroad running from the Serra dos Carajás (Map 2) in the state of Pará to the port of São Luis, delivering iron ore for shipment overseas. This railroad goes through the tropical forests of the state of Maranhão 150 kilometers to the northwest of the Canela. Some funds from this source, or a similar one, were lent to Chiefs Krôôpey, Kô?tetet, and Mĩĩkhrô to cut collective fields for individual family farms out of gallery forest areas. These new chiefs could not motivate their adherents into doing sufficient work to make this collective activity successful. Mĩĩkhrô succeeded temporarily, however, by making false promises.

By 1986 the younger Kaapêltùk, although not yet a chief, was advanced funds from this private company and did succeed in motivating his adherents into putting in a very large farm on the eastern edge of the reservation in the Pak-re area near Leandro (Map 3). The rice and beans produced there were sent in dozens of truck loads to Barra do Corda, and large piles of these foods were still left at the Indian service post in Escalvado in the late spring and early summer of 1986 for the Canela to store and eat for the rest of the year. The younger Kaapêltùk’s political credit with the Canela was now very high indeed. He had succeeded where others had dramatically failed.

In the early months of 1987, the Pró-khãmmã removed the younger Mĩĩkhrô and put in one of their own members as chief, the younger Tep-hot, who had denounced Chief Kaarà?khre earlier and who had been an important contributor to placing and deposing the preceding chiefs. After several months, Chief Tep-hot went off to Belém in the state of Pará, to the state-level Indian service agency that is now regionally in charge of the Canela, to obtain goods and machines for his people, an accomplishment every chief attempts to achieve to impress his tribe with his abilities and powers. (Chief Kaarà?khre had done this successfully many times.) While Tep-hot was away, however, the Pró-khãmmã deposed him and placed the younger Kaapêltùk in the chieftainship. Kaapêl immediately communicated with his old friend the Indian service official, who had been in charge of the agency in Barra do Corda in the late 1970s [II.B.3.e], and who was now in an important political position. Chief Kaapêltùk persuaded him to give a herd of about 40 Cattle to the Canela for them to care for and raise but not to slaughter. This was a great political coup for the new chief. Obtaining war trophies from other tribes in precontact times [IV.C.1.c.(5)], goods from town mayors up to 1960, and trucks from the federal Indian service in the 1970s were demonstrations that the obtainer was indeed a great provider, protector, and leader.

A communication received from the younger Kaapêltùk, dated 6 September 1987, describes his great pleasure in appraising the fine qualities of the cattle, which had just arrived at the Escalvado post and for which he was building a sizable corral. The day when the Canela raise cattle for future eating rather than immediate consumption may have arrived [II.B.3.k].

[Ep.4.b] THE YOUNGER KAAPÊLTÙK

[Ep.4.b.(1)] His Original Power Base

The origin of the younger Kaapêltùk’s political power, in its most fundamental aspect, lies in his rise to leadership in his age-set during four initiation festival performances over a period of about 10 years—about 1941 to 1951 [III.D.2.b.(1)].

The younger Kaapêltùk (Figure 51) was prepared for leadership by being the commandant of his age-set during their final Pepyê initiation festival in 1951. Then, with the older Kaapêltùk politically seceding from Ponto in 1957, the tribal members there needed a leader for its Lower age-set moiety, which position the older Kaapêltùk had occupied. Thus, the younger Kaapêltùk, even though only in his mid-20s, took over this position. This was possible because in 1957 he was already more capable in leadership than any other member of the Lower age-set moiety. The two evident groups in Ponto village were Chief Kaarà?khre’s partido de cima (upper party) and the younger Kaapêltùk’s partido de baixo (lower party), the age-set moieties.

FIGURE 51.—The younger Kaapêltùk writing in his diary.

Thus, the younger Kaapêltùk’s solid basis for political power is his age-set members, who have grown used to his effective leadership over the years. They are now the new Pró-khãmmã, and they are personally loyal to the younger Kaapêltùk, partly because of traditional age-set cohesion and partly because of his politically effective but individually considerate manner of leadership. However, the younger Kaapêltùk has extended his leadership authority well beyond his age-set, potentially to every individual in the tribe through procedures sometimes novel to the Canela [Ep.4.c.(2)].

Although it is too early to be absolutely certain, I think the younger Kaapêltùk will be able to maintain his chieftainship for many years. If so, he is essentially the first successful chief to succeed Kaarà?khre. While Kaarà?khre took 17 years to consolidate power (1951–1968), the younger Kaapêltùk has taken only 6 (1981–1987). A difference in their approaches to power is that Kaarà?khre assumed it almost immediately after the death of Chief Hàktookot in 1951. The younger Kaapêltùk, in contrast, has approached power through waiting until his rivals have expended their ambitions and demonstrated their inability to lead. Particularly Krôôpey and the youngest Mĩĩkhrô needed to find out they could not lead the tribe. Moreover, the younger Kaapêltùk had already developed a basis for sustaining himself as chief and had demonstrated his ability to motivate his followers, as he had done in 1967 [II.B.2.g.(5)] and 1986 [Ep.4.a] through the establishment of large farms.

[Ep.4.b.(2)] His Power Sources

Through his store, which he has maintained since the early 1970s, the younger Kaapêltùk has allowed most Canela to become indebted to him, which they do not resent, because they do not believe in the necessity of being self-reliant [III.A.5.b]. His extension of debt is an offering of kindness and consideration to them [III.B.1.a, b], and their return sentiment is to owe him a certain degree of freely given allegiance. He has collected and extended these debts for a long time, in Sardinha as well as in Escalvado, by getting his debtees to work in his fields for him. Nevertheless, regardless of the quantity of the debt, Kaapêltùk provides them with good lunches and, under certain circumstances, wages. Thus, his success during 1986 in putting in a record size community field is understandable. He had done this before on a smaller scale, having planted and fenced a number of large fields for his wife’s kin in Sardinha during the mid-1960s and in Escalvado during the 1970s. He works in the fields with his men but continuously urges them on (mē-hààpôl: them-encourages) to do better work, never demanding too much nor speaking too loudly or harshly. In the late 1950s and 1960s, he used to motivate a set of women to provide the men with cheerfulness in the morning and sex in me early afternoon [II.E.5.f,6.a].

[Ep.4.b.(2).(a)]

PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS.—Kaapêltùk is clever, shrewd, and knows when to dissimulate to protect his interests. Like people of strong character everywhere, he was not without controversy. Nevertheless, his intentions were ultimately to help his people—genuinely so, in my judgment. He knows to turn the other cheek to their small thefts,, injuries, and hostilities [III.D.3.e.(3).(b)]. Because he never forgets he is a high hàmren, he is never harsh in exacting returns from his many debtors.

In his last communication, the younger Kaapêltùk also spoke of his pleasure in holding his many tribal positions: in being the first chief of the tribe, the head of the Pró-khãmmã, the father of the Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe (Glossary), and the grandfather of a Wè?tè girl—all at the same time. He also spoke of how he intends nothing but compassion, service, generosity, honesty, and openness for his people, and how he expects to lead them into putting in great collective farms each year, which he has already done for 1986, 1987, and 1988 making it his third year to feed his people well, as a great hàmren should (Nimuendajú, 1946:99).

[Ep.4.b.(2).(b)]

EXTENSIVE PERSONAL NETWORKS.—A frequent joke about Kaapêltùk is that he has few female relatives, having turned most of them into “other wives” [III.F.1], which is substantiated by his reputation as a consumate lover [III.F.8]. In any case, I know he can call on many women in the village to support him because of exchanged sexual favors, many more than most men. Moreover, his “other wives” [III.E.3.a.(6)] can and do subtle motivate their husbands to support him. In addition to these influences, his wife Atsuu-khwèy belongs to the largest longhouse [III.E.2.e.(2)] in Escalvado (Figure 24, BB-NN), as does Kaarà?khre’s wife. Thus, Atsuu-khwèy can call on most of her longhouse “sisters” and they on their husbands to further his causes. Chief Kaapêltùk can also call on his own female kin (hõ-?kahãy: his-females: a common expression used when talking about a person’s influence) in his longhouse (Figure 24, TT-ZZ).

[Ep.4.b.(2).(c)]

PROOF OF COURAGE.—An ultimate political trump card he can play, and I have heard him talk proudly on this subject several times, is his organization of his people’s defense during the attack on the messianic movement of 1963 [II.B.2.f.(4)]. Chief Kaarà?khre and the older Kaapêltùk had left the area with their families before the attack occurred because of their fear of what the backland ranchers might do. The younger Kaapêltùk, however, stayed with his people, and they remember his heroism. Such a performance is a source of inexhaustible and timeless credit in a society where influence is organized around a balance of subtle personal debts and credits that are never quite called or paid. Everyone knows Kaapêltùk has courage, alertness, and presence in a crisis [III.B.1.e], and they respect this.

[Ep.4.b.(2).(d)]

INTERNAL SUPPORT FROM KAARÀ?KHRE AND SR. SEBASTIÃO.—Former Chief Kaarà?khre and the Indian service post agent Sebastião Ferreira [II.B.2.i.(4)] have played and continue to play behind-the-scene roles in promoting and sustaining the younger Kaapêltùk in his position. According to Jack Popjes, while Kaarà?khre has not sought to become chief again, his voice in almost any matter is still significant. When he addresses a question in the plaza, his arguments are powerful and convincing. Although not a new Pró-khãmmã member, Kaarà?khre still lectures occasionally. One reason why he cannot seek the chieftainship again is that he lacks the support of Sr. Sebastião [II.B.2.i.(4)]. This dedicated post agent expected in the 1970s a new kind of politics that would serve the good of the people as well as that of the individual leader’s kin. What Sebastião said in the plaza at evening council meetings was to the point, well meant, and usually accepted and followed. He favored a chief “who would do well by the Canela,” which really means, these days, whoever feeds them best.

[Ep.4.b.(2).(e)]

ADVOCACY.—The younger Kaapêltùk has quietly campaigned for leadership for most of his life. He has always advocated that certain backlander ways are all right for his people [I.G.4] [II.B.2.g.(5)]. He has maintained this posture as far back as the late 1950s in old Ponto, before the rest of the tribe had accepted such an untraditional idea [II.B.2.b.(3)]. Much of Kaapêltùk’s source of power, comes from his introduction of backland or Western practices (largely through example). His people are aware that many of these innovations have helped them survive. Nevertheless, the leadership of his age-set, his principal political base today, is traditional in nature. Thus, he is solidly grounded: one leg in backland culture advocacy and the other in traditional representation. The importance of the backland advocacy is that it enables adjustment and survival in the local economic setting. The ordinary Canela individual feels safer with the knowledge that Chief Kaapêltùk is overseeing and negotiating external affairs because they know he understands the backlander.

Chief Kaapêltùk’s most conspicuous advocacy of backland culture is his emphasis on formerly unprestigious agriculture and hard work in the fields [II.D.3.i.(7)], which he demonstrated thoroughly in Sardinha in the mid-1960s, making a success of adapting to dry forest living while the rest of the tribe (the older age-sets) stopped trying to adjust [II.B.2.g.(5)]. His second advocacy of backland culture is the example of his store (cantina) and the benign caretaker-adherent, or the creditor-debtor network he has built up around it. (In Amazonia, creditor-debtor relations meant abuse, but this is not the case with this new institution among the Canela of the 1970s.) His third backland-originated base of influence is his position as priest to his people on Good Friday evening [I.G.4]. This innovation provides a background for his continuously expressed folk Catholic (Glossary) recommendations, such as resting on Sundays, searching the post almanac for babies’ saints’ day names, and referring frequently to God in the expression, se Deus quiser (God being willing).[23]

A fourth influence—this time urban rather than backlander—and a nontraditional source of his political strength, is his income from and leadership of my group of manuscript writers and tape producers for so long [I.F.1, 2] [II.B.3.b]. This group included four individuals who later became chiefs: Kaprêêprêk, Krôôpey, Tep-hot, and the younger Kaapêltùk (Figure 51) [Ep.3.b]. Similarly, his employment by me during my long field stays was prestigious and enabled him to provide the all-important lunches for his work groups [III.D.1.c.(2)].

Finally, his employment in the Indian service since 1980, including the salary and how he uses it for his people, is his most important current non-Canela source of power. Employing this source of power is essentially an advocacy of drawing upon urban resources, because this employment necessarily brings tribal leaders to Barra do Corda, Belém, and Brasília. After receiving reemployment[24] in the Indian service in 1980, he was able to accumulate the necessary funds from his new salary to give treats to individuals when he led the work exchange groups on the farms. He could give them significant merendas (light food: lunch) [III.D.1.c.(2)] to keep them wanting to follow him, an absolutely essential touch for anyone assuming a position of leadership among the Canela [III.A.5.b]. Although such compensation is not nearly worth a full day’s work, it keeps workers happy and gives them the feeling they are being cared for and not being used. Thus, the younger Kaapêltùk became well equipped to take over the chieftainship. (Chief Kaarà?khre and the older Kaapêltùk had had employment in the Indian service for decades [III.C.3.C] but had not successfully used the younger Kaapêltùk’s methods to gain allegiance.)

While supported by “urban” resources, Kaapêltùk’s principal current advocacy is backland agriculture, which is a novel program for a chief to present his people. Agriculture, even as recently as the 1970s, has never been prestigious among the Canela [II.D.3.i.(6), (7)], as has hunting, running, sing-dancing, and being a good lover. Agriculture must be becoming prestigious in the 1980s, however, because Kaapêltùk has used it in a major way to become chief of the tribe and probably will continue to do so to maintain his leadership. Since agriculture is the means for survival in this region of Maranhão, this pragmatic trend in Canela history augers well for the Canela future.

[Ep.5] Aspects of the 1980s

[Ep.5.a]    COMMERCIAL OUTLETS AND CONTINUITY OF INDIAN SERVICE PERSONNEL

Sometime after 1979, the Indian service (Glossary) opened a store at the post at Escalvado, where they traded goods for artifacts. Thus the tradition of making artifacts for trade to city dwellers, which essentially started in its large scale form in 1964 in Sardinha [II.C.3.f], is continuing and probably will sustain itself for some time. The younger Kaapêltùk and Kaprêêprêk [II.B.3.d] ran competing stores in the 1970s, and the Indian service bought a truck load of artifacts from the Canela almost every month in 1979. Having an official store at the post building in the 1980s, however, puts this source of income onto a more permanent and dependable basis for the Canela. It appears from the recent communications that instead of going to the houses of backland families to sharecrop with them [II.B.3.f.(1)], most Canela are now selling artifacts to the Indian service in order to obtain what they need during the lean months of September through December [II.C.3.g]. If this is true, and becomes a permanent adjustment, it will constitute a significant change. Sharecropping with backland families is depreciating and demoralizing [II.B.4], research assistants say, and minimally productive economically [II.B.2.g.(7)].

(A report received in August 1989 indicates that both men have given up their stores: Kaapêltùk works for the Indian service and is chief; Kaaprêêprek drives the Indian service truck.)

It is of particular note that the Brazilian Indian service employees who were at the Escalvado post in 1978–1979 were still there in mid-1988: Sebastião Ferreira the post agent (Figures 9, 10), Luzanira Gieira de Araojo, the nurse, and Risalva Freire de Sá, the teacher [II.B.2.i.(2)]. New to the scene is Tsààtu (Plate 45d, on left), who left Sardinha in his adolescence in 1964 and lived in Rio de Janeiro in the Cosme Velho area with a Brazilian family [II.B.2.g.(9)]. He went to a school run by the Brazilian Air Force (FAB) but withdrew when told he was not qualified to be a pilot. He then worked for years in the family store framing pictures and photographs. He returned to his tribe some time between 1979 and 1984. Knowing arithmetic and how to read and write, he is employed by the Indian service as assistant to the teacher (Risalva). This consistency of employment of dedicated Indian service personnel at the Escalvado post (the opposite of what had been the case before Sr. Sebastião’s arrival in 1970) gives the Canela a sense of security and a feeling of confidence in the future. The new Pró-khãmmã for the first time when coming into office has a reasonable basis for planning for the future.

[Ep.5.b] NEW FARM VILLAGES AND THE POTENTIAL FOR SCHISMS

With the Canela population rising rapidly since 1970 [II.B.2.i.(4).(a)], it should not be surprising that 13 secondary farm villages, newly called setores, have sprung into existence in various parts of the reservation (Map 3, circled numbers). Each potential chief [III.D.1.g] has his separate farm community. With some families the farm community more or less replaces Escalvado as a principal place of residence, although never for festival events. (They celebrated Wè?tè season great festivals in Escalvado each year from 1984 through 1988.) The Indian service buildings at Escalvado are permanent and were so expensive to build that moving them cannot be considered [II.B.2.i.(2)] (Plate 11). However, the post truck goes out to all new communities, sometimes on barely passable roads, to give medical attention and furnish other needs when necessary. Whether this decentralization will result in schisms in the tribe, as occurred between 1957 and 1968 [III.D.1.g.(3)], is an important question. The potential for division of the tribe is certainly there in these farm communities and in the leadership opportunities they offer potential chiefs [III.D.1.f.(2)] when leading individuals do not face each other in tribal council meetings every day [III.D.1.g.(1).(b)].

[Ep.5.c] PAN-INDIAN SELF-AWARENESS

A change has occurred in the Canela perception of their basic condition as human beings. The Canela and their chiefs used to recognize and accept that they were at the bottom of a long chain of a quasi-military command leading up to the president of the Indian service and the President of the nation [I.A.1]. They also understood, when it came to social rank as individuals, that they were somewhat below backlanders who were also in turn somewhat below small city and great city Brazilians [III.D.1.c.(3).(a)]. These perceptions of relative status, however, were changing in the late 1970s [II.B.3.e] and must be changing considerably more rapidly in the 1980s with the increasing world emphasis on human rights. Anthropologists tell me that this is so in other tribes in Brazil. A Shavante, Juruna, whom I read about in a Washington, D.C., newspaper, was in the federal House of Deputies of Brazil and Another one was near the top of the administration of the Indian service itself. These changes must be having an effect on how the Canela see themselves and must be giving the young Pró-khãmmã significant new ideas on how they can take initiatives to help themselves.

[Ep.5.d] IMPACT OF THE SUMMER INSTITUTE OF LINGUISTICS (SIL)

Jack Popjes’s general newsletters indicate significant movement toward the tribe’s acceptance of Christianity. (See Glossary: Summer Institute of Linguistics.) Much of the New Testament is now translated, checked, and rechecked for meaning and fluency. The new Pró-khãmmã invites Jack to speak about God in the plaza on Sunday evenings. His students dramatize Bible stories in the boulevard in front of his house. Reading and writing classes attract an increasing number of followers (even the older men), and Josephine Popjes gives special classes for women. Proficient readers graduate into well-attended Bible classes. At least one young Canela leads prayers and conducts classes. The following excerpt from their newsletter (The Canela, February 1986:2) demonstrates the course of the SIL among the Canela since my last visit there in 1979.

SUNDAY SUNDOWN MASS MEETINGS

At the beginning of the session we held Sunday evening Bible reading and dramatizations in front of our house on the edge of the village. From 80 to 150 people would come out to participate in these meetings. We noticed, however, that most of the group were women and children. Very few men attended, other than the evening Bible class students. I checked with the leaders and the council members up in the village plaza who said they would be quite happy to have these Sunday meetings as part of their regular sundown council meeting. We were delighted, and so were the students! From then on, every Sunday when there were enough people in the village to call a council meeting, we would participate. After a few preliminaries, the council chief would call on the town crier to call the people together, and he would shout out, “All right, everybody, come up here to listen to God’s word. All you women and children, come and join the men and listen to ‘our old-headed one’ tell us God’s work!” By the way the ‘old-headed one’ is me; it’s a term of respect used for teachers, not to describe my balding head and bearded face—at least I hope it isn’t!

When four or five hundred people have gathered, I begin with some explanation, then Pijat prays, followed by all the students repeating the Lord’s Prayer. I then read a story, usually from Luke. After I explain the passage, the students dramatize it. It always goes quite well since it is one of the stories we studied and dramatized during the previous week. Usually two or three dozen little kids get involved in it as well. They were the water rushing down to the houses of the wise man and the foolish man, with hilarious and memorable results; they were the trees in the Garden of Eden, as well as the animals that Adam had to name; and, of course, they were the sheep in the Christmas story. The Canela are such drama-oriented people that this sort of thing is a natural for them; and, since almost no one has a problem with shyness, these plays are enjoyed by everyone, spectator and participant as well. Pray with us that the basic truths of Scripture will be dramatized, remembered, and obeyed long after we are gone—in the same way their own cultural values have been dramatized and reinforced for centuries.

To my knowledge Josephine and Jack Popjes (Figure 11) have not interfered verbally or directly with traditional sing-dances and festivals, nor with the extramarital sex system [IV.A.3.f]. They participated regularly in both the sing-dances and festivals, as did their daughters when in the tribe. Jack, when younger, even log-raced with them. Evidence of such interference has not appeared in the Popjes’ communications to me or in their newsletters. They believe, as expressed in our numerous late evening discussions, that the Spirit in the Bible translations will transform the Canela, little by little, appropriately to the Canela’s needs. These transformations will take place when the Canela are ready to be changed, and the timing and extent will vary in each sociocultural sector. They explained, quite specifically, that the extramarital sex system should not be abandoned until the Canela have something just as meaningful and satisfying to replace it. Of course, I do not know what Jack says in the plaza in the mid-1980s.

The influence of the Popjes family on the Canela in the 1980s must be extensive. I believe that Jo and Jack’s example and word may be helping families and individuals accept and mediate their differences, though they were doing this quite well already [III.D.1.c.(1),3.b]. I know that they have taught the Canela economic orientations that considerably facilitate their relationships with backlanders [II.B.3.a.(1)]. For instance, instead of trying to sell an item only for an exploitative amount well above the market, or selling it for any price well below the market when in need, the Canela have learned through the Popjes family that items have fixed and fair prices, determined by the market and by inflation. They also have learned that such prices should be respected if a Canela is to do well with and please a backlander.

Jack’s relationship with the younger Kaapêltùk appears to be excellent, though on Good Friday evenings they have competing roles. In the late 1970s, Kaapêltùk extended his political influence as a folk Catholic “priest” each year [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)], turning his house into a chapel [IV.A.3.d]. Jack also used the younger Kaapêltùk as a final checker on translations for years but now uses Kaapêltùk’s son-in-law, Yaako. However, Jo Popjes lists Yaako as the principal editor of two small books published by the SIL in 1988 and Kaapêltùk’s son, Kôyapàà as the draftsman (Instituto Lingüístico de Verão, 1988a, 1988b). (The drawings on each page of medical plants and birds of the region are remarkably realistic.) Thus, the cooperation between the two families must be continuing.

Jo and Jack maintained excellent relations with Sr. Sebastião and his wife and fair relations with Chief Kaarà?khre in the late 1970s, and refer to them favorably in their letters of the 1980s.

In the coming days of certain overpopulation, many youths and families may have to leave the tribal reservation. With their ability to read and write, due partly to the efforts of Jack and Jo, they are more likely to find lower middle class associations and jobs instead of being assimilated into the lowest lower class elements of Brazilian towns and cities, as is usually the case in Brazil with detribalized Indians. Such a contribution by the SIL, if this turns out to be the case, will constitute a very great advantage for the Canela. Jack makes the point that translations of the New Testament open alternative courses in life for the Canela. Instead of their traditional way alone, they now have a new way as well. Now they can choose.

Jack and Jo Popjes are publishing a dictionary on the Canela-Krahó language, a theme at a time, with the first part being on the physical environment (1982). I understand that Canela-illustrated publications on plants and then animals will follow.

[Ep.6] Outlook for the Future

Unlike what is expected for the future of most tribal Brazilian Indians (namely, an impoverishment in economic, cultural, and psychological aspects), we can expect the Canela to do better in these respects. They have learned a great deal about the outside world and their position in it. Furthermore, they have accepted their situation and are now working harder and more effectively, I believe, to improve the circumstances in which they are living. Continued improvements, however, depend on continued support by the Indian service.

An important dimension of the relatively new Canela economic self-sufficiency, besides the community farms, lies in their relatively new access to sell or trade large numbers of artifacts at the post store. The Indian service has established a national system of stores in large cities and places like airports throughout most of Brazil where even foreign tourists can buy such artifacts. This helps not just the Canela but also many other Indian tribes by creating a place for them to market their traditional (or modified) artifacts for public consumption. Obviously, no certainty exists that the Canela will continue to have access to these markets and that they will remain viable in the future. Moreover, a more total dependency on such commercialized outlets, even if reliable, would surely change their way of life from the present orientation around the more rugged requirements of hunting, farming, and log-racing, for example, to the more facile and sedentary skills of making artifacts for immediate exchange for store foods.

In thinking about the future of the Canela in relation to the development and growth of this region of Brazil, the construction of roads and industries near the Canela is important to consider. With the completion of the Belém-Brasília highway in the 1960s and the continuation of the work on the Trans-Amazon highway in the late 1960s and 1970s, feeder arteries were built from the Brazilian Northeast, through the greater Canela region, to these major highways. Roadbeds for these east-west feeder arteries were built in the late 1950s and 1960s and further developed in the 1970s. One of these feeder highways, going from Floriano through Pastos Bons to Carolina (Map 2), was constructed south of the Canela area in the late 1950s and 1960s. The other principal two-lane arterial road was built from Presidente Dutra through Barra do Corda to Imperatriz in the late 1960s and early 1970s (Map 2). It was strengthened to support the largest busses (Plate 4a) and raised well above the terrain but not yet paved by 1979. (It is being paved in 1987, according to Jaldo Pereira Santos [I.H].) Thus, the principal highways from the Northeast, and also from the state capital of São Luis, pass the Canela’s Escalvado village by about 50 kilometers to the north and by about 85 kilometers to the south. These existing highways serve the area well enough so that no parallel east-west highways are likely to be constructed nearer to the Canela reservation in the near future, an important factor that favors gradual rather than precipitous acculturation for the Canela.

On the negative side, however, a small north-south road between Barra do Corda and Riachão (Map 2) has been planned for some years. It appears on certain regional maps of the 1960s and 1970s in a dotted line, and passes through Papagáio directly between the Canela and Apanyekra reservations (Map 3). This road was not yet under construction in 1987; the Indian service may block it because its proximity to both tribes would acculturate them too rapidly, Jaldo Pereira Santos tells me.

Additionally on the negative side, an industrial park was under construction in 1979 on the southeastern outskirts of Barra do Corda near the airport [II.B.4.g], just in the direction of the Canela reservation, so that Canela pass through it when they travel between Barra do Corda and Escalvado. Employment for Canela individuals in such a place would certainly accelerate their current rate of acculturation.

[Ep.7] Kaapêltùk’s Potential Role

Since the Canela reservation’s cultivatable forest lands are limited, and the population is growing so rapidly (903 in a 1 March 1989 service census sent me by Sr. Sebastião), the tribe will eventually be forced to practice some form of more permanent agriculture than the slash-and-burn (swidden) techniques they now use, learned partly from backlanders of the region and still practiced by them. The Canela have largely lost their aboriginal practices, unlike the Apanyekra. An alternative solution to overpopulation, of course, is emigration, though most Canela like their way of life so much that this course seems unlikely until the population pressures become extreme.

Chief Kaapêltùk knows something about irrigation, fertilization, crop rotation, etc., because he was employed on a model farm near São Luis as an adolescent in 1949 and 1950 [I.G.4]. With Indian service help, the Canela could go this way. Another direction is that the Canela may learn once again the indigenous agricultural ways still practiced by the Kayapó, which are being studied by scientists in the Kayapó Project directed by Darrel Posey (1983).

Experimentations in new forms of agriculture are possible for the Canela. Their minds are more open to new ideas than those of the tradition-fixed backlander. The soil-leaching rains characteristic of, and so destructive of, areas farther west (Meggers, 1971:14–16) are not as heavy in central-southern Maranhão [II.C.1.a] (Table 1). Some relatively flat, well watered lands exist in the Lagoa do André area (Map 3), where several streams come together providing enough land for a permanent community farm. Nevertheless, small separate intensive family gardens may always be best. The recent discovery, however, that the cerrado is usable for agriculture after the application of soil analysis and appropriate additives may be the more advisable direction for the Canela (Abelson and Rowe, 1987). In any case, sufficient capital, technical expertise, and continuous Indian service support, direction, and encouragement for many years would be absolutely necessary for the Canela to achieve success in such multiple small scale or larger scale community undertakings.

Chief Kaapêltùk’s position is reminiscent of the similar situation of the Mayan leader, Don Eustacio Ceme, as reported by Robert Redfield (1941). Don Eustacio could choose to some extent between advantageous and destructive influences of acculturation to protect his Mayan people and to help them to flourish.

Appendix 1
Ten Field Trips to the Canela Over 22 Years

The first trip to Brazil took place in March 1957, facilitated by a University of Wisconsin James Campbell Goodwill traveling fellowship. Obtaining the permission for a scientific expedition alone, aside from me Indian Protection Service (Serviço de Proteção aos Índios: SPI) permission, took three months, most of which was spent in Rio de Janeiro. This time was devoted to learning Portuguese and paying visits to a number of Brazilian colleagues, including Drs. Darcy Ribeiro and Roberto Cardoso de Oliveira in Rio and Dr. Herbert Baldus and Sr. Harald Schultz in São Paulo. Time was also spent in Belém consulting with Dr. Eduardo Galvão.

The first period among the Canela Indians extended from August into December. Then, upon return to Rio de Janeiro, my Indian service permission was rescinded and a wait of four months ensued, with Dona Heloisa Alberto Torres finally retrieving the permission. Subsequently, I spent seven months (April through October) with the Canela and Apanyekra tribes in 1958, after which I returned to Madison, Wisconsin, for much needed rest and consultations on the 11 months with the two tribes. The final predoctoral period of 13 months spent with the tribes was from June of 1959 through part of August of 1960. This time, Smith, Kline and French, a pharmaceutical company in collaboration with the American Anthropological Association, helped with a grant to study herbal medicines.

With the meeting of the Brazilian Anthropological Association in São Paulo in early July of 1963, came the opportunity for returning to the tribe for two weeks. In the halls of the meeting place one morning, Herbert Baldus told me that, according to the newspapers, the Canela had been machine-gunned by backland gunmen. My plan had been to visit the Canela directly after the meeting in São Paulo, but this incredible report raised a number of questions. Dona Heloisa Alberto Torres, then the head of the National Council for Protection of the Indians (Conselho Nacional de Proteção aos Índios), issued me a permission to enter the Canela area, and Sr. Olímpio Martins Cruz (an old SPI friend; Figure 7), who was in charge of the Indian Protection Service in São Luis at that time, encouraged my joining the Canela to discover what had really happened. This was probably the most fascinating time of my research career because it slowly became evident, through the casual information obtained from previous Canela research assistants, that they had just come through a full messianic movement.

Going back to the tribe in February 1964 was made possible by the joint support of the National Science Foundation and the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. The specific purpose this time was to study a tribe that had been relocated from the cerrado to a dry forest environment (avarandados; Figures 5, 6) in order to determine the various factors contributing to their ecological maladjustment. Five months (not including emergency exits and returns) were spent on this ecological study, on the messianic movement, and on the morphology of the language.

The winter and spring months of 1966 were made notable by the invitation to attend the Pan-Gê seminars held at Harvard University by Professor David Maybury-Lewis and his student colleagues. Their emphasis on kinship and other relationship systems became the focus of my return visits to the field thereafter, except in 1976 and 1978–1979.

The return in 1966 was determined by two professional meetings: the Biota Amazônica (with the Brazilian Anthropological Association) at the Museu Goeldi in Belém, Brazd, in June, and the Congress of Americanists in Mar del Plata, Argentina, in September. Thus, six weeks of June, July, and August were spent in the two tribes.

The 1969 trip was a major one; consequently, its timing was not organized around professional meetings. I spent four months from August into December on census taking, kinship, and language, but only among the Canela. Then sabbatical time was taken to visit colleagues in southern South American countries, after which I spent five more months—with a long departure for the Congress of Americanists in Lima, Peru—in the two tribes in 1970. The fieldwork included major festivals, census taking, myth recording, kinship quantification in both tribes, and a diachronic marriage study done only among the Canela.

In 1971, the timing of the field visit to the two tribes was determined by the invitation of Professor Egon Schaden to give a paper at a meeting of the Brazilian Anthropological Association in São Paulo. Thus, three weeks were devoted to the Apanyekra in August and September and three weeks were spent with the Canela in October. I carried out kinship studies, census taking, and color perception (Munsell color chip) analyses in both tribes.

The next major trip to the field, to both tribes, came during the final two months of 1974 and during eight months (with some time out in Brazilian cities) of 1975, from January into October. The kinship and other relationship studies were completed (including the marriage study), and major festivals were studied and censuses were carried out in both tribes. The myth translations were nearly completed at this time.

I made one quick visit of four days to the Canela in February of 1976, just after the meeting of the Brazilian Anthropological Association in Salvador, Bahia. Besides routine checking, research assistants helped each day and evening on folk Catholic beliefs versus aboriginal Canela origin myths concerning the earth, the Canela, and the backland Brazilian.

With studies parallel to those of professional colleagues largely completed, it was possible to turn to my own interests in 1978 and 1979, but only among the Canela, not the Apanyekra. I studied topics such as festivals, religion, ethnobiology, and cognitive psychology during one of the longest field stays (14 months) from July into October of the following year, with visits to São Luis for family reasons in January, April, and July. The purpose was to complete the Canela field research in case I never returned. Thus there were 10 separate research trips to the Canela undertaken between 1957 and 1979. I hope to return for a short trip in the 1990s.

Appendix 2
Canela and Apanyekra Collections at the Smithsonian Institution

Besides the various kinds of collections that are at the Smithsonian Institution, as reported below, collections of almost all sorts (photographs, film, tapes, artifacts) have been given to the Indian Protection Service of Brazil (SPI) and the National Indian Foundation of Brazil (FUNAI) during a number of different years. The same general materials (including manuscripts as well) have been donated, but in far greater numbers and quality, to the Museu Paraense Emίlio Goeldi of Belém, Brazil (de La Penha et al., 1986). Lesser material artifact collections have been sent to me Museu Nacional (Rio de Janeiro), Museu do Índio (Rio), and the Museu Paulista (São Paulo). Small artifact collections (about 120 items each) were given to the following institutions in Brazil: the Catholic Church and the Maranata School, both in Barra do Corda; and the Institute of History and Geography and the Indian Protection Service, both in Sao Luis. Similar small collections were sent in 1960 to the University of Wisconsin and Harvard University. Considerable numbers of black and white and colored prints (including Polaroids) have been left with both the Canela and the Apanyekra on every return visit.

[Ap.2.a] ARTIFACTS

Number of Items: 934

Years Collected: 1964, 1970, 1975

Comment: This Canela collection, maintained by the Department of Anthropology, National Museum of Natural History (NMNH), may be the largest held by any museum, but the one at the Goeldi Museum in Belém is far superior in quality.

[Ap.2.b] PHOTOGRAPHS

The original negatives and prints are stored in my office in the NMNH, but representative collections have been given to the National Anthropological Archive, Smithsonian Institution.

[Ap.2.b.(1)] Black and White

Number of Items: ~960

Years Collected: 1957–1958, 1959–1960, 1964, 1966

Film Size: Both 56 and 35 mm in the late 1950s; only 56 mm in the 1960s

Comment: Leica and Rollieflex cameras were used.

[Ap.2.b.(2)] Colored Slides

Number of Items: 9, 000–10, 000

Years Collected: 1957–1958, 1959, 1963, 1964, 1966, 1969–1970, 1971, 1974–1975, 1978–1979

Film Size: 56 and 35 mm in the late 1950s; only 35 mm thereafter

Comment: Informal training from National Geographic Society in 1969 led to a change from German to Japanese cameras (Nikon and Nikkormat) and taking more and better slides of festivals, rites, sports, houses, house interiors, people, etc.

[Ap.2.b.(3)] Color Prints

Number of Items: ~800

Years of Collection: 1978–1979

Film Size: 35 mm

[Ap.2.b.(4)] Polaroid Prints

Number of Items: 425

Years of Collection: 1964, 1966, 1970, 1975, 1979

Comment: Used to supplement family census of Canela and Apanyekra tribes in 1970, 1975, 1979 (black and white; color, but only for the Canela in 1979). A vertical meter rod can be seen in almost all photographs and may be used to measure approximate height of individuals.

[Ap.2.c] CINEMATOGRAPHIC FILM

Originals of the Super-8 films (all in color) are stored in my office in the NMNH; representative collections have been given to the National Anthropological Archives. Copies of the 16 mm films (all in color) are in my office. All this film is of the Canela only.

[Ap.2.c.(1)] Silent Super-8 Film

Size: ~16, 000 feet

Years of Collection: 1974–1975, 1978–1979

Comment: Used to supplement field notes of festivals, life cycle rites, sing-dancing, and any sports.

[Ap.2.c.(2)] Sound Super-8 Film

Size: ~2000 feet

Years of Collection: 1978–1979

Comment: Used to supplement field notes of festivals, life cycle rites, and sing-dancing.

[Ap.2.c.(3)] 16 mm Film

Size: 3 to 4 hours

Years Collected: 1957–1958, 1959, 1964, 1970

Comment: About 20 minutes of an edited film was produced on the Festival of Masks from the many hours of film taken of the Mask and Pepkahàk festivals by Ray Roberts-Brown in 1970; and about one hour and a half was taken of four festivals in the late 1950s and 1964 by Crocker, with subtitles in total footage, and with notes on sound tracts (no sound-track notes for 1964).

[Ap.2.d.] MAGNETIC TAPE RECORDINGS

Originals are stored in my office in the NMNH; representative collections have been given to the National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. All the 1978–1979 Nagra-recorded musical tapes were cleaned and copied by the Library of Congress’s Archive of Folk Song. A copy of these tapes was given to them.

[Ap.2.d.(1)] Music

(Canela Only)

Size: ~140 hours (total)

Years Collected: 1957–1958, 1959 (spring-wound Nagra) + 1966 (small Norelco) + 1969–1970 (Uher) (total ~22 hours): Fifteen Nagra 5 inch reels were sent to Alan Lomax’s Choreometrics Project as data for his 1968 book.

1975 (~12 hours): Cassettes of casual and ritual singing, not of the great festivals.

1978–1979 (~20 hours): Cassettes made by the younger Tep-hot of the younger Tààmi (a great sing-dance master) singing alone were collected for the “song-saving” program.

1978–1979 (~84 hours): A modern Nagra with open-reel tape was used to record individual singing for the “song-saving” program, and for the great festival group chanting.

Comment: The whole musical collection constitutes primary data for potential publications (see item 16 in the planned Canela series as described in the Preface [Pr.1], and Appendix 3 [Ap.3.e.(2)].

[Ap.2.d.(2)] Myths and Stories

Size: ~210 hours (total)

Years Collected: 1957 (~1 hour): Canela myths by the older Mĩĩkhrô in Gê

1963, 1964 (~14 hours): Stories about the Canela messianic movement of 1963 (partly in Gê)

1970 (~14 hours): Myths by old narrators, the older Pù?tô (Canela) and Kupaakhà (Apanyekra)

1975 (128 hours): Canela and Apanyekra myths and war stories in Gê translated to backland Portuguese by the younger Kaapêltùk and summary of discussions in English

1978–1979 (64 hours): Canela myths and war stories processed as in 1975

Comment: It is expected that most of these narratives will be translated into English and published. In any case, they are primary data for potential publications (see item 13 in the Preface [Pr.l]; see also Appendix 3 [Ap.3.b]).

[Ap.2.d.(3)] Judicial and Political Meetings

(Canela Only)

Years Collected: 1974–1975 (20 hours), 1978–1979 (68 hours): On cassettes in Gê of legal hearings between extended families in family houses and of political meetings in the plaza

Comment: This collection constitutes primary data for a later study of the judicial and political processes (see item 14 in the Preface [Pr.1] and Appendix 3 [Ap.3.a]. The recording conditions were poor.

[Ap.2.d.(4)] Autobiographical Diary Cassettes

(Canela Only)

Years Collected: 1970–1979 (708 hours): In Gê made continuously by the younger Kaapêltùk and Kaprêêprêk

Comment: The recording was done in relatively slow, understandable Gê and is of good quality. These personal documents are sources for potential psychocultural and acculturative studies (see item 12 in the Preface [Pr.l] and Appendix 3 [Ap.3.a]).

[Ap.2.d.(5)] Sound Tracks of 16 mm Film

(Canela Only)

Years Collected: 1975 and 1979 (73 hours): In collaboration with Smithsonian’s National Human Studies Film Center

Comment: The sound tracks were transferred to cassette tapes, which were transcribed (typed) onto paper in Gê and backland Portuguese by Kaprêêprêk and Yaako and are mostly of children’s and their relatives’ conversations and of festivals. These materials constitute primary data for potential publications (see item 15 in the Preface [Pr.1] and Appendix 3 [Ap.3.a]).

[Ap.2.e] AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL DIARY MANUSCRIPTS

(Canela Only)

Years Collected: 1964 to 1970 (30, 000 pages), 1970 to 1975 (18, 000 pages), 1975 to 1977 (10, 080 pages), 1977 to July 1978 (9, 720 pages), July 1978 to January 1979 (3, 960 pages), January 1979 to October 1979 (6, 480 pages), October 1979 to November 1979 (180 pages): all equal a total of 78, 420 pages. Written by the younger Kaapêltùk, the younger Pù?tô, Hàwpùù, Kaprêêprêk, the younger Tep-hot, Yaako, Krôôpey, Yôk, Hõõko, Kôyapàà, Yiirot, and the younger Krôôtô

Comment: This extensive collection of personal documents constitutes a source of primary data for the study of psychocultural and acculturative trends and changes. It can also be the source of autobiographies and biographies. Some writers wrote in Canela and others in Portuguese, and still others wrote in Canela and translated their work the next day into backland Portuguese [I.F].

Appendix 3
Primary Materials for Future Studies

These associated publishable materials are primary field materials which constitute a source of data for potential publications in which collaboration with other specialists would be welcome under certain conditions and agreements.

[Ap.3.a] DIARIES ON PAPER (1964–1979) AND TAPE (1970–1979)

Collecting daily diaries was possible because the school teacher, Dona Nazaré (later the wife of Sr. Hugo Ferreira Lima) who taught among the Canela from 1944 to about 1949 was successful in teaching six young Canela boys how to read and write in Portuguese. Thus, in 1964, it was possible for three Canela men to begin writing daily manuscripts for pay. Then in 1970, two new manuscript writers were employed, and two of the five manuscript writers started to make monthly cassettes on tape recorders left with them for this purpose. This collection of manuscripts (~78, 420 pages) and tapes (708 hours) about the daily activities and droughts of these 5 (and in 1978–1979, of 12) native research assistants, constitute a large source of primary field materials. These data, and some of the individuals involved in creating them, are more fully described in Part One [I.F.],

[Ap.3.b] 120 MYTHS OR STORIES

About 120 myths have been collected from the Canela and Apanyekra tribes. This tape cassette recording was completed in 1970 and 1971, and added to in 1975 and 1979. The tapes collected in 1970 and 1971, in both tribes, were made by very old individuals, both of whom were dead by 1974. In 1975 these myths and war stories, together with additional ones, were translated by the younger Kaapêltùk from these tape cassettes into Canela backland Portuguese onto other tape cassettes in my presence. His procedure was to listen to the one of the original cassettes for several minutes and then to speak his free translation (and admittedly, maybe his own interpretation)[25] onto another cassette. This was then a rerecording of the old speaker’s narration with the segments of Kaapêl’s translation interspersed about every three to five minutes. In 1975 and 1979, we continued to carry out this same procedure.

Sometime in the future, these primary materials need to be translated line-by-line, instead of just in the free parallel manner already done by the younger Kaapêltùk, for publication in a volume of Canela and Apanyekra myths and war stories. Six of these parallel translations have already been published in English by Johannes Wilbert and Karin Simoneau (1984).

One of the particularly interesting possibilities for research will be the close comparison of Canela and Apanyekra versions of the same myth. These two tribes differ in certain small but very significant ways which might become further clarified and better documented through comparative analysis.

[Ap.3.c] JUDICIAL HEARINGS AND PLAZA TRIBAL COUNCIL MEETINGS

These tapes are of tribal council meetings [III.D.2.a] held in the plaza, with some 10 to 40 men attending but with only about a quarter of them actually speaking (one at a time). Several dozen 120-minute cassettes of such meetings have been archived in my office. However, since they are totally in Canela and the recordings were not taken under ideal conditions, their translation and interpretation will require a great deal of work, which could be greatly facilitated by help from Canela research assistants.

Tape recordings of the judicial meetings [III.D.3.b] that are held between extended families in one of their houses, or in the house of the chief, were collected more extensively and under better conditions than it was possible to carry out for the political meetings in the plaza. (There are 88 tape-recorded hours of political and judicial meetings.) In most cases, written notes were taken of such judicial hearings, including the sequence of speakers. In the late 1950s and in 1964, such meetings were recorded in speedwriting, which was later transcribed onto McBee keysort cards. Thus, a sizable body of primary materials exists on judicial and tribal meetings (mē aypēn pa: audiências: hearings).

Politics is one of the most difficult topics to study among the Canela, because of their emphasis against interpersonal aggression within the tribe and against anyone pretending superiority over anybody else. Consequently, these primary data on tape should yield information about Canela political attitudes and actions that have not been possible to record in the more traditional ways; however, future Canela research assistants may be necessary to develop such data.

[Ap.3.d] 16 MM FILM SOUND TRACKS

During prolonged stays in the field with the Canela in 1975 and 1979, cinematographer Steven Schecter filmed about 36, 000 meters (120, 000 feet) of 16 mm film, most taken in a random sample. He focused on child training, festivals, and life-cycle rites. This filming was carried out under the direction of Dr. E. Richard Sorenson and myself, and took place under the auspices of the Smithsonian’s National Human Studies Film Center (NHSFC) and the Museu do Índio in Rio de Janeiro. These Films are not part of my collections (i.e., they are not under my control), but they are now with the Smithsonian’s National Human Studies Film Archives, successor to the NHSFC. In 1978, however, the sound track of the films made in 1975 was put on tape cassettes by Smithsonian personnel in Washington, D.C., and delivered to me before my departure for the Canela in early July. The 1979 film sound tracks were transferred directly to cassettes in the field among the Canela. Thus, during the entire 1978 and 1979 field stays, two young Canela men (Kaprêêprêk and Yaako), who were trained by Jack Popjes, touch-typed the entire sound track onto paper in Canela and also translated it into their own version of Portuguese.

These sound tracks are mostly conversations among children, or admonitions from parents or parent surrogates. They represent a medium that would be interesting to contrast with the judicial and political tape recordings and the diary manuscripts and tapes. Eventually, the studies of the political and psychological dimensions of the Canela sociocultural system will be considerably enhanced if thorough research is carried out on these primary data by some researcher fluent in the Canela language.

[Ap.3.e] CHORAL AND INDIVIDUAL SINGING

The Canela and Apanyekra tribes are remarkable for their choral singing, and for the emphasis and amount of time they devote to such secular and ceremonial performances [II.F.1]. An insignificant percentage of the tape recordings are of Apanyekra singing, so comparative ethnomusicological studies cannot be carried out between these two tribes, as can be done for myths and war stories. Canela singing in the late 1950s, however, can be compared with the singing of much of the same choral music in the late 1970s.

In the late 1950s, the principal singing performed during three Canela festivals was recorded on a hand-wound Nagra. In the 1960s and the early-to-mid-1970s, additional recordings, though inferior in quality, were made of a number of other festivals.

[Ap.3.e.(1)] Quality Recording with a Nagra in 1978–1979

The major quality collecting was carried out in 1978 and 1979 when the Smithsonian’s National Human Studies Film Center lent me a modern Nagra tape recorder. So much taping in 1978–1979 was undertaken that most of the recordings from the whole 22-year period were made then.

During those 14 months with the Canela, 25 percent of my evenings were spent on the extensive recording of Canela choral chanting and individual singing, and in playing back these recordings (as required by the Canela). The singing and chanting were taped either in the plaza or along the boulevard if the singing was part of their on-going activities.

[Ap.3.e.(2)] Song Conservation Program

The recording for the song conservation program took place in my family house, where individuals came to sing special songs. The words sung by individuals are more likely to be distinguishable on tape than words chanted by a group during an on-going activity. Thus the words and music from these artificial recording procedures are more likely to be preserved for the future. Again, help from future Canela research assistants will be needed to carefully transcribe and translate such songs.

The work undertaken in 1979 in the field has already demonstrated to me that extracting meaning from such words and phrases takes all the training and ingenuity that the younger Kaapêltùk has to offer. It is notable that while certain colleagues in ethnology do translate songs and narratives on their own, Jack Popjes of the Summer Institute of Linguistics, with professional linguistic training and more than 20 years of experience with the Canela language, does not attempt to translate Canela for professional purposes without the help of his trained research assistants.

It is expected that some day an ethnomusicologist will carry out the analysis and interpretation of this collection of Canela individual chanting and choral singing from the point of view of its music rather than just the words.

[Ap.3.f] PHOTOGRAPHIC FIELD DATA ON FILM

Photographs were taken on every visit to the Canela, and usually to the Apanyekra, from 1957 through 1979. From the late 1950s through 1964, the emphasis was on taking black-and-white photographs in the 56 mm size (Rollieflex). In me 1970s, a shift was made to 35 mm photography (Nikon and Nikkormat) and the number of shots taken was increased ten times.

[Ap.3.f.(1)] 16 mm Research Films

In 1957 a second-hand 16 mm camera (Bell and Howell) was brought to the field, and a limited amount of footage of festivals was taken in 1957, 1958, and 1959. The film was edited in the mid-1960s, titles were made to describe changes in subject matter, and a sound track of my commentaries was added. Additional lengths of film, also just on festivals, were taken in 1964 with the same camera, but no sound track was recorded for this footage. All footage is retained in the sequence in which it was recorded.

[Ap.3.f.(2)] Super-8 Film of Rites, Festivals, and Athletics

In 1974 and 1975, and then again in 1978 and 1979, extensive Super-8 footage was taken of the significant festivals, life-cycle rites, log races, and other athletic sports. None of these films have been edited in any way, but all of them have been copied several times. The most interesting ones have been sent to various places including Brazilian museums.

Copies of the unedited original, whole lengths of Super-8 films have been retained as field notes, while the original footage remains untouched for posterity. Thus, in the later studies of festivals and of life-cycle rites [Pr.1], this Super-8 Film will furnish an additional dimension to the usual handwritten or tape-recorded field notes. Some of the 1979 Super-8 lengths are in sound, but none of these films of any year include the Apanyekra Indians.

[Ap.3.f.(3)] Study of Canela Houses

Care was taken to photograph the interior and exterior of every house around the village circle of Escalvado during every visit, and to some extent around the villages of the Apanyekra, so that studies can be made using the visual evidence of change and acculturation during the 1970s. While such photography (on stills and super-8 film) includes a good coverage of log racing and the various track sports of both tribes, these collections are considerably less than complete with respect to photographs on farm-oriented topics, hunting, and food collecting.

[Ap.3.g] COLLECTIONS OF ARTIFACTS

Although collecting items of material culture was not a principal focus of any of the ten Canela field trips, extensive collections were made in 1960, 1964, 1970, 1975, and in 1979. (In the last case, the entire collection went to the Goeldi Museum in Belém). Field notes on the more valuable items in these collections were made at the time I purchased them. A special study on the relationships of items of material culture to the social and cultural life of the tribe was carried out in 1970. Only about 10 percent of the collections come from the Apanyekra.

There are 150 traditional categories of material artifacts, but items in only about 100 of these categories are still being made. An outstanding turning point in artifact fabrication occurred between 1964 and 1966 when traditional artifact sales increased tremendously in the commercial markets arranged by the Indian service. As expected, the quality of these traditional artifacts, when prepared for commercial outlets, was considerably lower and the materials used also varied from the traditional. Both tribes, however, still put high quality work into the traditional items that are used and distributed within the tribes, though this quality is not as high as it was during the time of Nimuendajú. Furthermore, the supply of some raw materials, such as certain hardwoods, has been exhausted in the Canela area.

In 1975, but even more so in 1979, my orientation to collecting changed. Instead of trading for almost every category of artifact to fill out the traditional list of categories, resources went for a small number of their traditional but personal items of great honor and prestige. Such items as necklaces for little girls and singing belts for men have a large number of ceramic beads and, therefore, were costly. In addition, these artifacts were their treasured honor-award items which young women and young men had won and stored carefully away over the years.

[Ap.3.h]    16 MM COLOR FILM IN THE NATIONAL HUMAN STUDIES FILM ARCHIVE

About 120, 000 feet of film were taken among the Canela by Steven Schecter of the National Human Studies Film Center (now Archives) of the Smithsonian Institution in collaboration with the Museu do Índio in 1975 and 1979. He focused on socialization and festivals, particularly the Pepyê festival of 1975. This footage should be annotated by Schecter and myself before it can be considered “research footage” and ready for editing into “research films.” One short research film of this sort was processed in 1975 and copies were delivered, to the Museu Goeldi and to the FUNAI at the time of the meetings of the Associação Brasileira de Antropologia in Salvador in 1976, as agreed to before the filming took place in the field.

Appendix 4
Linguistic Notes

No attempt is made here to present a full linguistic description of any part of the Canela language. This has been largely accomplished already by Jack Popjes (Popjes and Popjes, 1972) of the Summer Institute of Linguistics (Wycliffe Bible Translators). However, a partial description is furnished to make certain limited aspects of the phonemics of the Canela-Krahó language easily available to anthropological readers. I am responsible for this partial description, and where Popjes has made a major contribution to my materials, this is acknowledged below.

Kenneth L. pike’s (1947) approach to phonemics is followed in this monograph. The material below is an expansion of the material presented in a tabular form in the “Linguistic Key” [In.5].

[Ap.4.a] PHONEMES

Canela is written phonemically in this monograph with only a few systematic exceptions, as explained below.

[Ap.4.a.(1)] Vowels

The Canela-Krahó language has 15 regular (frequent) vowels and two relatively rare ones. Seven unnasalized vowels are similar to vowels in Portuguese (a coincidence) and are written in the same way. The orthography for these seven vowels is followed in this sentence by their approximate equivalents in English, vowel length not being considered: i (beet), ê (bit), e (bet), a (hurrah), u (boot), ô (boat), and o (bought). The vowels u, ô, and o are rounded but the others are not.

When phonemically nasalized, four of these vowels are written with a tilde, and one (being rare) is written with the Greek letter α (alpha). They are followed in this sentence by approximations in Portuguese, in which a vowel is nasalized by a tilde or by being followed by m or n: ĩ (pinto), ē (pente), a (maracanã [rare]), ũ (junto), and õ (ponto).

There is also a nonphonemic partial nasalization of vowels when adjacent tom and n, depending on other factors of the environment.

There are three unnasalized, unrounded, back vowels: ù (high and closed); è (mid and closed);à (mid and open) (Pike, 1947:5). These three back vowels are difficult to approximate in English, but à is close to the u in “puddle” but is more open.

[Ap.4.a.(2)] Semivowels

Canela has two phonemic glides written as w and y, which are found both before and after certain vowels; when they appear after a vowel, they serve to complete the vowel’s length. Their qualities are usually similar to English as found in “west,” “pew,” “yes,” and “coy,” but the initial w can be sometimes a voiced bilabial or labiodental fricative. The y in Canela ranges from the y in “yes” (most frequent), through the n in “new,” to the unvoiced s in “sky,” depending on its environment, but a y is always palatalized.

[Ap.4.a.(3)] Consonants

The lateral r [r, l] (often flapped) in Canela is similar to what is found in Portuguese between vowels. A Canela syllable initial r (and this information is provided especially for northern Brazilians) is never a palatal or velar fricative like the French r or the Spanish j, and a syllable terminal Canela r resembles the l of the same position in Spanish rather than in Portuguese or English.

The affricative ts [Č] varies between the ts in “its” (most frequent) and the ch in “church,” and is never voiced.

The nasals are m, n, and g. The Canela m and n are similar to English, and the only rare phonemic consonant g appears mostly as an alternative second person indicator: gapal/ayapal (your grandson); or gõ?camarad/ayõ?camarad (your lover). It is pronounced more to the rear of the mouth (palatal and velar) than in English, overlapping the stop k.

The stops p [p, b] (bilabial), t [t, d] (labiodental), and k [k, g] (palatal and velar)—all unaspirated—are found both unvoiced and voiced depending on the environment, while kh (aspirated velar) only appears unvoiced. The glottal stop (?) is held by Popjes to be merely an allophone of h. These two sounds cannot be found in the same environment: h always being syllable initial and ? always syllable final; thus Popjes may be correct, but this distinction will be preserved in my orthography anyway for certain reasons, which are noted below [Ap.4.c.(2)].

The voiceless fricative h varies considerably in degree of fricativeness and placement in the back of the mouth and throat.

[Ap.4.a.(4)]

Vowel Length

There are no diphthongs in Canela, but vowel length (a single vowel contrasted with a double one) is phonemic: single vowel length (V) is approximately doubled by the same following vowel (VV). The glides (w and y) complete syllable length, standing in the place of the second vowel which doubles the length of the same initial vowel. Consonants also complete this same syllable length (double vowel length). In summary, in syllable medial position, a short vowel’s syllable length can be completed, and the syllable terminated, by the addition (1) of the same vowel, (2) of one of the two glides, or (3) of a consonant. In a word terminal position vowel length is not expressed in an isolated word. A short vowel’s syllable length in a word terminal position when the word is not isolated, is often completed by the consonant that begins the following word. It also can be completed by the consonant affix of the next word, which is expressed just when a short vowel terminates me previous word. After a word-terminating long vowel, the consonant affix of the following word (if it has one) is not expressed.

In other words, if a vowel is short and syllable medial, a consonant must terminate the syllable, and if a vowel is short and syllable final, a consonant has to be drawn from the following word (if it begins with one) to complete the syllable; or, the affix used by the following word for this purpose, and others, has to be utilized to complete this preceding syllable. Adjacent long vowels terminating and beginning two words may be contracted into only double vowel length in ordinary speech. (Examples:kaa-tswa (salt), katswa/kat-tswa (night), hõ (garden staples), hõõ (buttocks), hõ m-pey, (garden-staples fine/good-looking), hõõ pey (buttocks fine/good looking). (For more on syllable length, see Popjes, 1982g:7–8.)

[Ap.4.a.(5)] Word Stress

Stress almost always falls on the last syllable of isolated words but is not phonemic. Stress is altered and determined at the phrase level rather than the word level. (This observation was first made by Jack Popjes (Popjes and Popjes, 1972).) Consequently, stress is meaningless and inconsistent with respect to separate words, and so, will only rarely be utilized in this orthography. The acute accent (') over a vowel will be used to indicate stress whenever necessary. It is not used for any other purpose. However, when a stress mark is over an a and indicates the superlative, the sound of the a is altered to ae, as in “cat.”

[Ap.4.a.(6)] Nonphonemic Orthography

Some words are written nonphonemically in order to indicate their most frequent pronunciation as found in certain environments. For instance, the word “buriti” (a palm), /krow/, is usually written krówa because this is the way it sounds, though the terminal a is not phonemic and is often not expressed in sentence sequences. The stress mark is added over the o (ó) to indicate that when found alone, this word is pronounced with the stress on the second to the last syllable instead of the last one, according to the usual practice for isolated words.

Examples of nonphonemic orthography and the use of the stress mark are the following.

Khêêtúwayê for /Khêêtuwyê/ (first initiation festival)

pίyapit for /piypit/ (unmarried nonvirginal woman or man)pàlrà for /pàl/ (nonburiti log). The acute accent over the first àthe acute accent cannot; cannot be expressed because there is a grave accent there already.

Pró-khãmmã for /Pro-khãm/ (principal age-set of the council of elders). Again, the acute accent cannot be expressed over the first ā.

[Ap.4.b] CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE SIL

Before Jack Popjes arrived among the Canela in the village of Sardinha in 1968, 1 sent him the phonemes, some grammar, and a long list of phrases (several hundred). He later confirmed the existence of the three rare phonemes I was already suspicious of, namely, /a/ nasalized and /ù/ nasalized, and /g/. Our phonemic writing of the language in 1969 and even now differs mostly because I hear (adjacent to /m/ or /n/) /a-nasalized/ as being /a/ while he hears it as /a-nasalized/. He is right, of course, that is, I do not usually “hear” the distinction between /a/ and /a-nasalized/, when adjacent to /m/ or /n/. Consequently, I have changed my earlier phonemic orthography in this respect only in a few cases (pαm: father), because I have not personally mastered this difference. This is also the case with other vowels coming before /m/ or /n/ such as tum, which Jack would probably write tũm.

Later, Jack decided to merge one of the two rare phonemes, /a-nasalized/, with the frequent phoneme which is written as /a/ in my current orthography; that is, /a-nasalized/ (a front, unrounded, low, open vowel) is merged with /ã/ (a back, unrounded, mid, open vowel) for the purposes of facilitating the Canela to write their language. However, this practice is not followed here.

When it is possible to identify this rare phoneme, /a-nasalized/, with certainty in my current orthography, instead of representing it as merged with the frequent phoneme mentioned above, /ã/, I use the Greek alpha /α/, as in pαm (father). The Greek letter μ is also used with the other rare vowel phoneme. Thus, /ù-nasalized/ becomes μ For the best representation of these two Canela rare vowel phonemes, I recommend the use of the reverse cedilla because it is traditionally used to nasalize vowels. However, this diacritic was not available when this paper was typeset, so I have used /α/ and /μ/instead.

Jack arrived to find several trained research assistants, especially the younger Kaapêltùk, whom as late as 1984 Jack used as the final judge when it came to clarifying shades of meanings (personal communication). When Jack said that my presence for 11 years before him in the tribe had advanced his work by two years, he was referring mostly to the ability of Kaapêl to help him. Kaapêl, who had been writing almost phonemically for me since 1964, could consciously and deliberately identify the phonemes in almost any word; and later, he learned to do this even for the rare phonemes.

[Ap.4.c] ORTHOGRAPHY

Before 1968, I used symbols from Kenneth pike’s Phonemics (1947:5, 7) in my fieldwork orthography and published articles. The younger Kaapêltùk also used this source in his diary manuscript writing. In 1969, in cooperation with Jack Popjes, I adopted his orthography, both for my own field notes and for the writings of the younger Kaapêltùk, but not for my publications. Among the several changes, my writers and I used /z/ instead of /y/ and /c’/ instead of/kh/.

[Ap.4.c.(1)]         Modifications in My Orthographic System

For my publications after 1971, several of the symbols used in my earlier Pike-derived orthography were modified in order to eliminate the more irregular and unusual letters and their diacritics. This approach was designed to be easier for a publisher and for colleagues with typewriters.

Beginning in 1989, for this monograph and any later publications, additional modifications are being adopted to make the orthography still more clear and easier to use. The diaresis in my post-1971, but pre-1986, publications is being eliminated entirely as a difficult diacritic to write. Thus, in the new orthography, /ä/ becomes /à/, /ë/ becomes /à/, and /ї/ becomes /ù/ with the i being changed to u because handwriting a superscript over an i creates difficulties. Moreover, to the Brazilian ear, this phoneme sounds more like a u than an i. Whereas the /è/ sounds more like an open o to the Brazilian, it is nevertheless being left as an e to remain more consistent with my earlier publications, with the publications of Nimuendajú, and with the publications of my Brazilian colleague Júlio Melatti, who is the expert on the closely related Krahó tribe. (Jack Popjes considers the Krahó dialect to be the “same language” as Canela and Apanyekra, whereas the other Timbira languages are not included in this category.)

The apostrophe, when it represents the Canela phonemic glottal stop, is likely to be overlooked and accidentally left out entirely by future publishers and colleagues. Moreover, it can be taken by mistake to be the symbol to indicate stress. Because the traditional symbol for the glottal stop is not available at the publishers, the question mark (?) is used herein. This symbol will never be confused with the question mark at the end of an interrogatory statement because the Canela glottal stop is never found in a word terminal position.

This recalls a difference between Jack Popjes and myself in me phonemic representation (although not in the hearing) of the boundaries between what is either one or two phonemes. One orthographic symbol can be utilized for the syllable initial h and the syllable terminal ? because they do not appear in contrast with each other in Canela; but whether they are two phonemes, or one, is still a question I am sufficiently unclear about. On the advice of the linguist Floyd Lounsbury, however, the syllable initial /h/ and the syllable terminal /?/ are being left as two phonemes here, just as I wrote them before Jack’s arrival in Brazil.

Just after my arrival in Brazil at Belém in late October 1974, both Jack and I were asked by the Indian service in Brasίlia to attend a meeting with certain Indian service and SIL personnel. The purpose of the meeting was to reach an agreement with respect to how the various Northern Gê languages should be written by Indian service and SIL personnel. It was agreed to use the same symbols for the quite consistent vowel qualities from the Canela in the east to the Kayapó in the west. The consonants are not consistent in these languages, so a variety of symbols were to be allowed for their representation. I was assured that anthropologists were specifically exempted from using this 1974 Indian service/SIL (i.e., FUNAI/SIL) orthography in their professional publications.

The letter y was adopted there as the sixth symbol for vowels in Indian service and SIL writing. Because Canela has 15 regular vowels and two rare ones, an extra symbol for use as a vowel considerably facilitates the writing of the language so that fewer diacritic marks have to be employed. The utilization of y as a vowel, however, is very unappealing to most Brazilians who do not use this letter in Portuguese and only employ it in the spelling of foreign names and words. There was great resistance to this usage among Indian service agents in the 1970s, though not among the Canela themselves. Consequently, y as a vowel has never been used in my publications out of respect for Portuguese speakers, but all my Canela manuscript writers have done so since 1974. Jack Popjes (1982a-f) has published myths using this orthography and Darrel Posey (1981, 1982, 1983) has used it in a number of publications about the Kayapó.

In the 1974 Indian service/SIL practice, /y/ is the current /ù/ of this monograph, /Ỳ/ is the /è/, and /ỹ/ the/μ/. Then, if y is used as an extra symbol for a vowel, it cannot be used as a syllable final glide for which it is well suited traditionally in English and Spanish. A j would have to be used instead, which is the SIL practice. This solution would be unappealing to English, French, Portuguese, and Spanish speakers because to these first three speakers j is a voiced affricative/fricative, and to the Spanish speaker it is an entirely different unvoiced velar fricative. In Canela, in sharp contrast, the /y/ sound is usually like the English y in “yes” and “pay” (and like the Mexican y in yo and mayo), though it varies in range more than any other phoneme in the language. This variation ranges from the English n in “new,” (Yõ?hê: a male name) and the English y in “yes” (Pepyê) to the unvoiced, palatalized sibilant in “dossier” (i-?khyê: her/his-sibling). While they were in Washington, D.C., in 1987, I consulted extensively with both Júlio and Delvair Melatti on this point, and also on the rest of the orthography proposed in this monograph for the Canela/KrahÓ, and they concurred on every point.

My choice, keeping /h/ and /?/ separate, does constitute a distinct contrast with Jack’s solution and the 1974 Indian service/SIL’s subsequent decision. Moreover, even if these two phonetic sounds were allophones of one phoneme, it would be preferable to preserve (more conspicuously for the reader) the more obvious representation of the glottal stop, which an h as a symbol in a syllable terminal position does not do sufficiently.

In Brasίlia in 1974, we also accepted an orthographic and phonemic distinction between the unaspirated and aspirated palatal/velar stops, the former as/c/ and the latter as /k/. Exceptions were to occur, however, if /c/ appeared before i and e; and in these cases qu was to be utilized instead of c to maintain me practice used in Portuguese. I have used this clumsy aspect of the Indian service/SIL orthography since 1974 but am returning now in 1989 to my pre-1968 easier utilization of /k/ and /kh/ which requires no exceptions. The use of qu before the various phonemic forms of i and e, involving their several combinations with diacritics to create different phonemes, is quite confusing. Moreover, the h in the kh visually implies and accentuates the contrasting aspiration between the two phonemes, whereas the relationship between /c/ and /k/ does not.

I also use ts for the 1974 Indian service/SIL x, Pike’s [, č]. Although ts consists of two symbols and therefore is more clumsy, it is at least close in quality to the Canela sound in the pertinent major Western languages.

The above are the changes in my 1989 orthography and the reasons for the modifications. Obviously, any symbol can be used for any phoneme and the purely professional linguist often does not care about such matters as the symbols being generally appealing—as already representing certain sounds to certain speaking groups. But this choice of letters is an attempt to furnish a phonemic orthography that Portuguese, Spanish, and English speakers will find easy to use without requiring much adaptation on their part.

[Ap.4.c.(2)] Comments on Brazilian Orthography

A principal difference between my orthography and a usual Brazilian’s use of letters in writing Canela exists in my use of y instead of i as a glide following a vowel to complete syllable medial length and syllable final length (itswèyyê instead of itswèiyê: out-sister-in-law, and impey instead of impel: it is good).

Jack Popjes first made the point that an i or u following a vowel is really a glide (i.e., y or w) rather than a second vowel forming a diphthong.

This y as a glide instead of i is consistent with English (say) and Spanish (soy: I am), but the Portuguese writer uses i instead (boi: bull). Similarly, following a single vowel, a syllable terminal w completes the required syllable length. Thus, more correctly, it should be katsaw (same day), not katsau; i-yapal (my-nephew), not iapal; and wapo (machete), not uapo.

This use of y and w is carried out to be phonemically correct. The Canela do not have diphthongs to lengthen the single vowel to occupy the length of time that would ordinarily be spent on double vowel length; instead they have only double vowel length, or single vowel length doubled by a vocalic glide, which terminates the syllable. Then, if y and w are used syllable terminal in this manner, they must be used syllable initial in a similar manner, though this syllable initial usage is not related to vowel length. Thus, the use of a syllable beginning or syllable terminal i and u, preceding or following a vowel, provides a wrong impression of the nature of the language. Moreover, such a syllable initial or syllable terminal i and u, as found in Portuguese, is not an allophone of /i/ and /u/ in Canela, but is rather an allophone of the separate phonemes /y/ and /w/, respectively. This practice is consistent with the 1974 Indian service/SIL-accepted orthography except that where they use j, I use y, but we all use w in the same way.

[Ap.4.c.(3)] Suggestions for Brazilians Writing Canela

In 1970 and 1971, with the help of Olίmpio Martins Cruz and meteorologist António Gomes Cordeiro, I developed a way for Brazilians of the interior to write Canela: an orthography suited to their ear and their preferences in symbols. Such materials were developed because of local resistance to the particular use of y, w, j, x, h, and other letters, found in the 1974 Indian service/SIL authorized orthography.

The exposition of this Portuguese-oriented orthography will facilitate the understanding of certain phonetic sounds of the Canela language as they have to be included in their phonemic categories to write the language accurately. These clarifications are especially useful for northern Brazilians, who strikingly modify the alveolar stops t and d when found in certain environments, making them affricatives. The problem in northern Brazilian is that a t or d before an i or e is pronounced as an affricative, more like ts (tio [tsiu]: uncle) or dz (dia [dzia]: day). Consequently, /ts/ in Canela is confused with the Portuguese t before i or e so that one Canela phoneme (/ts/) is sometimes heard as one phoneme (/t/:tio) in Portuguese and then a different Canela phoneme (/t/) is heard as the same phoneme (/t/:tanto: so much) in Portuguese at another time.

A similar problem for Brazilians in general is mat they tend to use i for both /i/ and /y/ and u for both /u/ and /w/ in Canela. Thus, in this orthography created especially for local Brazilians, the “one phoneme in one language for one phoneme in the other language” principle had to be violated to some extent. Our solution is to not make such a violation with respect to the Portuguese t and the Canela /ts/ and /t/ but to tum around and give way to the Brazilian ear and its need to merge me Canela /y/ and /w/ with the Canela /i/ and /u/, respectively, in all environments. At least this is a simple merging of two phonemes into one, twice, and not a phoneme-dividing violation of the “one phoneme for one phoneme” principle, which otherwise is maintained throughout the recommended orthography. A Canela /iy/ becomes i (iyapal: iapal) in a reduction of the number of phonemes represented, but a /wu/ sequence does not occur in Canela except in chanting.

[Ap.4.c.(4)]    Distinctions Not Heard by Nimuendajú and Others

The grave accent (`) is used regularly in Portuguese, so /ù/, /è/, and /à/ could be accepted quite easily as ù, è, and à by the northern Brazilian, but we (Cordeiro, Crocker, Cruz) wrote /è/ as ò because it sounds more like an open o to the local ear. The problem here was that the inexperienced ear does not distinguish between /ù/ and /è/, /o/ and /à/, and even /o/ and /è/. When SIL specialist Sarah Gudschinsky found the younger Kaapêltùk in Brasίlia in 1964, even she did not distinguish /ù/ from /è/ in her entire Museu Nacional Questionário (Gudschinsky, 1960) analysis, a copy of which she later sent me. Nimuendajú often did not distinguish properly between /ù/ and /è/, and between /o/ and /à/. For instance, his spelling of the Wù?tè girl should be Wè?tè and his representation of the Čαkamekra tribe should be Tsoo-khãmmē?khra, phonemically, with his čà correctly being tsoo, but still meaning “fox,” just as he maintained (Nimuendajú, 1946:34).

The two distinctions I often could not be sure of making by ear in words that were new to me were between /ù/ (pù: urucu) and /è/ (wakhè: metal, wire, machine) and between /?/ and /k/ when the latter, an unvoiced, unaspirated, velar stop, was occluded because of being followed by a stop beginning the next syllable (pa-?prõ: our-wife; pak-ti: scorpion-augmentative). By the 1970s, however, the younger Kaapêltùk could make these distinctions for me, after noting the positions of his tongue and glottis.

Appendix 5
Concept of “Today”

After carrying out considerable research on the characteristics of the Canela unit “today,” and after relating Canela terms and expressions with solar events, I was able to reconstruct precise periods of time, around the clock and for several days ahead and behind, which follow their view of past and future Canela “todays.”

[Ap.5.a] WHEN TALKING DURING THE DAYTIME

The word for “today” is ita-khãm (this-in: this one [day] we are in) phonemically and itá-khãmmã phonetically [Ap.4.a.(6)]. It is, however, simply written as itakhãm.

If the speaker is talking during the daytime (i.e., between sunrise and sunset), the itakhãm she or he is referring to includes three periods: (1) the night before (sunset to sunrise), (2) the daytime she or he is in (sunrise to sunset), and (3) the next night (sunset to sunrise). Thus, itakhãm (today) for the Canela person speaking in the daytime (sunrise to sunset) refers to a period of 36 hours and its time markers are sunset (pùt t katol: sun enters) and sunrise (pùt katol: sun comes-out) (Table 6).

If the speaker wants to talk about the adjacent nights, she or he says itakhãm katswa ri (today’s night there), letting the context indicate which one is meant (Figure 12). If she or he wants to speedy which night is meant more precisely, itakhām katswari amu tē (today’s night away moves: last night) indicates the past one, While itakhām katswari aypên tē (today’s night this-way moves: tonight) indicates the approaching one. (Katswa and katswa ri have essentially the same meaning: night.)

The sequence of “todays” is seen as being linear, the past ones going away from the speaker, and the future ones coming toward her or him—to eventually pass by her or him and then go away in tum [V.A.6].

The term for tomorrow is apē-?nā (daylight-on: tomorrow), which is the next day, from sunrise to sunset, when the speaker is talking in the daytime. “Tomorrow night” is apē?nā katswa ri (tomorrow’s night there), from sunset to sunrise. Apē?nā hakpμμ-mā (tomorrow’s backed-onto: tomorrow’s beyond day: the day after tomorrow) means the day after tomorrow, and apē?nā hakpμμ-mā katswali (tomorrow’s backed-onto’s night: tomorrow’s beyond day’s beyond night: the night before the day after tomorrow) is me night just before the day after tomorrow. It is interesting mat while the Canela unit of today that the speaker is in lasts 36 hours, the Canela tomorrow (one daytime and one nighttime) and the Canela day after tomorrow (one daytime and one nighttime) last only 24 hours each.

The term for yesterday is i?-nõ khã;m (its-other in: in today’s other day), and yesterday’s night is i?nõkhãm katswari. The day before yesterday is i?nõkhãm hakpμμ.-mã (yesterday’s backed-onto: yesterday’s beyond day), and the night just before the day before yesterday is i?nõkhãm hakpμμmã katswari (yesterday’s backed-on-to’s night; yesterday’s beyond day’s beyond night). The Canela “yesterday” and their “day before yesterday” are each 24 hours long. Using the Canela concepts of the future coming to the speaker (with the speaker remaining stationary) and the past going away from the speaker, yesterday’s night is just beyond yesterday, and the day before yesterday’s night is just beyond the day before yesterday. Similarly, tomorrow’s night is just beyond tomorrow and the day after tomorrow’s night is just beyond the day after tomorrow.

[Ap.5.b] WHEN TALKING AT NIGHT

If the speaker is talking during the night, “tonight” (that is, her or his “today” for that time of day) is katswa itakhãm (katswa ita-khãm: night this-in: during night’s today or during the nocturnal today). This unit of time, katswa itakhãm, covers a different block of hours than is covered by a speaker talking during the daylight, but it also is 36 hours long.

[Ap.5.b.(1)] When Talking before Midnight

If the speaker is talking before what is approximately midnight (katswa pikapôn: nighttime split-in-half), the unit of this “nocturnal today” includes (1) the whole night (from sunset to sunrise) in which she or he is speaking, (2) the preceding daytime (from sunrise to sunset), and (3) the nighttime before (i.e., beyond) this preceding daytime (from sunset to sunrise). But if the speaker is talking after what is approximately midnight, the unit for this other, later-in-time nocturnal today includes (1) the whole night (from sunset to sunrise) in which she or he is speaking, (2) the following daytime (from sunrise to sunset), and (3) the night after (beyond) this following daytime (sunset to sunrise). Before midnight the speaker looks backward into the past to visualize the main portion of her or his nocturnal today, while after midnight she or he looks forward into the future. (It is notable that the three relatively precise Canela time markers are sunrise, sunset, and midnight. Middday is not held as a time marker.)

If it is seven to ten o’clock in the evening, the Canela will say katswa itakhãm pùt-khãm (night’s today’s sun-in/time: this nocturnal today’s late afternoon) for the late afternoon, or more simply itakhãm pùtkhãm or pùtkhãm. From seven to ten in the evening, they also will say itakhãm pùt-te-?kapaa-khãm (today’s sun-has-blocked/pended-time: this nocturnal today’s sun-pending [from noon] time) for the (later in time, now going away) early afternoon. Again, from seven to ten in the evening, itakhãm meio-dia-khãm-pùt yμ (today’s mid-day-in-sun-sits: this nocturnal today’s noon) is the expression for the preceding noon period. Similarly, from seven to ten in the evening, the speaker says itakhãm irààràn (today’s morning: this nocturnal today’s morning) for the preceding morning 10 to 12 hours earlier, but now going away. Then, still from seven to ten in the evening and talking about still earlier time (now going still further away) in the same nocturnal today, the speaker can say katswa amu tē itakhām (night away moving, today: the night in the front, or the early part, of this nocturnal today; or, this nocturnal today’s moving away night).

During the evening period of a night, to refer to the day before the preceding (the moving away) night, the speaker can say i?nōkhām. Then this preceding day’s preceding night is i?nōkhām katswari, and its still earlier (moving away) day is i?nōkhām hakpμμmā.

[Ap.5.b.(2)] When Talking after Midnight

If it is during the early dawn period of a night, the awkati-tsà ?wèl (dawn-period toward), the speaker will say katswa ita-khãm (night this-in: in this nocturnal today’s night) for the preceding evening and for the whole of the night (sunset to sunrise) that she or he is in. Then the earlier periods of the arriving day are itakhãm pùt katol tsà (today’s sun come-out time: sunrise) (or just pùt katol) and then itakhãm irààràn (or just irààràn), meio dia khãm pùt yμ, pùt-te-?kapaa-khdm, pùtkhdm, and pùt tsàl (sun enters: sunset), each further away upstream in the arriving future. Then a?pre?prel (dusk) precedes. Then, the coming night, which is still part of this nocturnal today, is katswa aypên tē, itakhām (night this-way moving of-today: the coming [arriving] night of this nocturnal today).

During the dawn period of a night, to refer to the day before the coming night, the speaker can say apē ita (tomorrow this-one: tomorrow), and to the night immediately preceding it, the speaker can sayapē-?nã katswari (tomorrow-on its-night: tomorrow night). As for the day beyond the day beyond the coming night (coming from upstream), he can say apē?nā hakpμμmā, meaning day after tomorrow, and this day after tomorrow’s night is apē?nã hakpμμmã katswari.

[Ap.5.b.(3)] When Talking about the “Short” Side of the Nocturnal Today

If the individual speaks during the night, but addresses what might be called the “short” side of the nocturnal today (the “long” side extends two 12 hour periods beyond the night either into the future or into the past), she or he may talk in the evening (before midnight) about an event about to take place during the next arriving day just beyond sunrise. This is also the next day for the Canela, being beyond the nocturnal night of the speaker. Thus, she or he has to say apē?nā irààràn (tomorrow morning) when referring to occurrences about to take place the next morning, only about seven to ten hours in the future, from the individual speaking in the evening. In contrast, for the individual talking in the short side of the nocturnal today but still speaking during the evening, the simple irààràn, or the more precise but unnecessary itakhãm irààràn, refers to the preceding morning 12 to 18 hours earlier, which is part of the speaker’s nocturnal today.

Similarly, if the speaker is in the dawn period of the night and refers back to the late afternoon sing-dance about 10 hours in the past, she or he must use i?nõkhām pùtkhpām (yesterday afternoon) or the listener would think the speaker was referring to the coming late afternoon sing-dance of the next late afternoon about 14 hours in the future. Terms for the extension of references to further-away days on the short side of the nocturnal today are similar to those found on the long side.

[Ap.5.c] WHEN EXPRESSING A NUMBER OF DAYS AHEAD OR BEHIND

For expressing the number of days ahead or behind, the speaker can double and triple, etc., the expression hakpμμmā (i.e., apē?nā hakpμμmā hakpμμmā: the day after the day after tomorrow), but in modern times the days of the week in Portuguese are used. Moving on to further lengths of time, two Sundays ahead is Domĩk pίyakrut (Domingos [Sundays] two), three Sundays is Domĩk krêê (Sundays three), and four Sundays is Domĩk te quat (Sundays have quatro [four]), which is also putwrè putsêt (moons one: one month).

Appendix 6
Sources of Data

Material for Part II was collected in a number of ways. Information on the various tribes that speak Gê and on the population numbers of these tribes came largely from the literature. Canela definitions of their language context, however, found in the meanings of the terms mē and mēhĩĩ (both “Eastern Timbira”), came from fieldwork with experienced research assistants. Canela and Apanyekra population numbers come from my own census taking, conducted in 1960, 1964, 1966, 1969, 1970, 1975, and 1979 for the Canela and in 1959, 1970, 1971, and 1975 for the Apanyekra.

Geographical materials were gathered partly through a literature search and partly through observations made While traveling by horse in the backland region around and between the two reservations. Culture contact materials were collected while visiting the backland communities of Bacabal, Sίtio dos Arrudas, Papagáo, Serrinha, Barreira, Ribeirão, Jenipapo do Resplandes, Leandro, Curicaca, Ourives, Mucunã and others, largely during the late 1950s [II.d] (Map 3). I also had long talks with key backlanders about their communities when they visited the Canela villages of Ponto, Baixão Prêto, and Escalvado.

With the exception of “The Eastern Timbira” (Nimuendajú, 1946), materials for the historical chapter come only to a small extent from historical documents. Material in “Indigenous Accounts” [ILB.1] comes mostly from special work with my research assistant council [Pr.2], and material in “Acculturation” [II.B.2] comes from both my research assistant council and my daily notes taken over the 22-year period of my research. ‘The Eastern Timbira” was crucial here. Certain Indian service agents, such as Antônio (Gato) Ferreira do Nascimento, Virgίlio Galvão Sobrinho, and Júlio Tavares, also provided crucial information. Data on the history of Barra do Corda was largely furnished by its mayor, Lourival Pacheco, and the city’s meteorologist, Antônio Gomes Cordeiro. I was allowed to tape an interview with them, and the meteorologist provided a written document (Table 1). Jaldo Pereira Santos [I.H] corrected and added information to a long report I had produced using these materials. Some data (on Maranhão and Piaui) also came from the Encilopédia dos Municίpios do Brasil (volume 15:70).

Some climatic cycle data are based on my 1972 article, but I recorded temperature and humidity from day to day during certain periods, especially May through August, using a maximum-minimum thermometer and a wet-bulb dry-bulb relative humidity instrument (a psychrometer). The meteorologist furnished the best data in the form of a table (Table 1). The weather shifts which were obvious and notable were recorded in my daily notes.

The environmental cycle material was developed largely with my research assistant council in 1979. Its members supplied the key concept of regeneration and the many descriptive phrases in Table 2. They also supplied the principal materials for the economic cycle (Table 3), debating among themselves about the monthly ranges in planting and harvesting their various crops. Although I visited Canela and Apanyekra farms (Plate 12c, d) a number of times, I studied their techniques for planting and harvesting only once, and that was among the Apanyekra (with Khrúwapu) where such techniques are more traditional. The macro elements of the economic cycle (Table 3), however, were familiar to me just from having spent many years with the Canela and from taking daily notes.

Material for the annual festival cycle (Table 4) was so familiar that I needed to consult my field notes only to check an occasional point or the spelling of a certain word. I had seen the festivals many times and specialized in recording them. Over two months were spent with my research assistant council in the fall of 1978 studying all the festivals act by act with xeroxed notes brought from the Smithsonian of all earlier festivals.

Similarly, the material for life cycle rites was very familiar, but additional data came from the notes of many rites observed over the years and some data came from research assistant council sessions. Crucial points like the purpose of the girl associate in men’s societies [II.D.2.e.(3)] and the nature of a woman’s “free” period in life [II.D.2.g] emerged during these sessions.

Description of the daily cycle, which I experienced almost two thousand times, came largely from my memory, but the phrases for describing the times of the day (Table 6) were provided by the research assistant council in 1975, as was the material on the Canela concept of “today” (Figure 12).

In “Recreation” [II.F] again, the familiar material came largely from memory, but the terms in Canela had to be checked. Data on body decoration was supplied by individual research assistants during the winter of 1960.

Almost all the information on the artifacts came from a special study of the associated social practices (by whom they were made, for whom they were made, how they were used and painted, how they were disposed of, and what they were meant to signify) carried out with my research assistant council for well over a month during the fall of 1969.

Turning to Part III, data for the chapter on socialization [III.A] were collected sporadically through daily observations in 1957, 1958, 1959, and 1960. Socialization was my major focus, besides festivals, of the late 1950s. In the winter and spring of 19601 worked intensively with a number of research assistants (not quite yet my research assistant council) to systematize my understanding of the socialization process.

Material for the psychological chapter [III.B] was collected sporadically through the years in daily notes. Since anything psychological was a special interest of mine, these notes are extensive. The main body of material on polarity, however, was collected in the summer of 1979 in collaboration with Steven Schecter, Director E. Richard Sorenson’s cinematographer from the Smithsonian’s National Human Studies Film Center [Ap.3.d]. We had edited a film from his 1975 footage called “Individuality in Solidarity,” based on these Canela dualistic pairings, and we were searching for any number of other pairings (or polarities in behavior) that we could identify. A number of them are in this chapter.

Material for the chapter on socioceremonial units [III.C] came from various places but mostly from my research assistant council meetings in the fall of 1978, when we worked on festivals for two months. Material for the articles on this topic (W. Crocker 1977, 1979) came from work done on festival groups, especially the “river”-oriented ones [III.C.8.a], during the winter of 1975. Much of the analysis of these materials was carried out during a two-week rest stay that winter in the house of Jack and Josephine Popjes on the SIL base in Belém.

Material for the chapter on political matters [III.D] came largely from daily notes, since no research assistant council meetings were held on this topic [III.D.1.g.(1).(c)]. Some information also came from the work on festivals with my research assistant council in the fall of 1978.

The basic materials for kinship and other relationship systems [III.E] came from work with research assistants in the late 1950s and the summer of 1966. The quantification on a larger scale of what individuals call each other, however, was obtained while taking censuses in 1969, 1970, and 1971 when the major effort in the field was on gathering this kind of material. Solutions to the problems between the data collected and ethno-kinship theory were worked out in the fall of 1974 and the spring of 1975 with my research assistant council.

Material for the marriage chapter was collected in 1970 when I invited about eight research assistants into my field office each day for several weeks, each individual representing different parts of the village circle, to talk about the sexual and marital histories of 120 married or formerly married persons. Much of this material was presented in a paper read before the American Anthropological Association in New Orleans in 1973. This and the other papers in the New Orleans symposium on marriage in lowland South America were taken by Kenneth Kensinger, as editor, to form the basis for a book on this topic. Publication of this book was delayed, so in 19751 went through the same process in the field, this time with about 18 research assistants to represent more thoroughly the different parts of the village circle (W. Crocker, 1984a).

The 1970 material on marriage was considerably modified and improved through this procedure. I also worked on critical points, such as refining the information on the stages of becoming married and on clarifying the circumstances of unencumbered women and men [III.F.4.b.(1), (2)], with my research assistant council in 1970, 1975, and 1979.

Materials for the chapters on tribal festivals and individual rites [IV.A, B] were recorded in the field While seeing them many times, and they were also collected from my research assistant council in the fall of 1978. For obtaining data for the chapter on oral history and cosmology, I worked with the younger Kaapêltùk and Rõõ-re-?hô in the evenings for some months during the winters and springs of 1975 and 1979 to translate myths into Portuguese [Ap.3.b]. With these translations in mind, I presented numerous questions about the mythology and war stories of the Canela to my research assistant council for them to debate and resolve. Some of the results were published in Portuguese (W- Crocker, 1978) but are presented here in English with additional materials.

Data for “Shamanism, …” [IV.D] comes from many sources and periods of my research. General material on shamanism was collected from Kô?kanãl, a shaman (kay), in Baixão Prêto in the late 1950s. Specific information (all taped) was obtained in a series of private interviews in Canela with the younger Mĩĩkhrô (kay) in 1975 (Plate 70c). Material in the form of questions and answers was obtained from Tsùùukhè (Plate 68c) during the summer of 1979 while he attended my research assistant council meetings.

Material on pollution and medicine [IV.D.3, 4] was obtained informally in me late 1950s through discussions with research assistants about restrictions against eating certain foods and having sex at certain times. I worked extensively on these topics with my research assistant council during the winter of 1964 and published some of these data in papers presented at the Congress of Americanists in Stuttgart in 1968 (W. Crocker, 1971a, 1971b).

Information on “transformations” of persons into one form or another [IV.D.6] comes only from the study of myths and war stories and consequent research assistant council discussions, but data about “affirmations” (positive chanting) [IV.D.5] comes solely from individual work with the younger Kaapêltùk (Figure 51) in the fall of 1978.

Data for Part V were collected during the winter, spring, and early fall months of 1979 through intensive work with my research assistant council members but only during the mornings. Usually, three or four research assistants helped on the weekdays [I.G.11, 13, 14, and others] and two on Saturdays [I.G.2 and Tel-khwèy] as well as the younger Kaapêltùk at both times. For other topics, I worked with my council in the afternoons as well as the mornings, but for cognitive studies such as these, I spent the afternoons reviewing notes, rethinking issues, and preparing for the next day. Moreover, besides taping group opinions and decisions in the mornings, I also wrote down and diagrammed much of what was said. Then during the afternoons, I went over these written materials, taped them as well as additional thoughts on current issues, and red underlined matters to be brought up or retested the next morning. I did not work on these cognitive matters in the evenings being aware that clearer vision and greater awareness was necessary. (These evenings were devoted to recording myths and songs and to family activities.)

When I read other ethnographies, I note the exegesis reported with interest and envy, particularly for ceremonial materials. Canela research assistants were rarely able to provide exegesis. They simply said of a ceremonial activity when questioned, mam mē nkêtyê nkaakaa tsà ?khôt (early Timbira ancesters’ breath thing following: it is traditional), or é dos antigos (it-is of-the ancients). Only by 1978, and after my considerable encouragement, did the younger Kaapêltùk begin to “loosen up” and apply his imagination to occasional meanings behind words in songs or, for example, to why the Little Fox was so furtive in the contributing-father rite [IV.B.2.c.(5)]. But even Kaapêl was not very expansive in this case and in most others. Traditional interpretations rarely existed and individual ones were amyiá-?khôt (self-following) [III.B.1.k.(3)] and therefore of questionable worth and considerable risk, constituting a kind of disobedience [III.D.1.a.(2)].

This is why the research assistant council was so necessary. Working together in groups, they remembered much more about almost any traditional matter and had far more courage to go i?-khay nã (it-off condition: “wrong”) about matters for which little traditionally expressed thinking existed [V.A.I].

Notes

[1]Steven Schecter, cinematographer, under the direction of myself and Dr. E. Richard Sorenson, Director of the Smithsonian’s National Human Studies Film Center, filmed the Canela in the “summers” of 1975 and 1979 and accumulated 120,000 feet of synchronous sound film record concentrating on nonverbal behavior. The focus of the footage is on socialization in general and on the Pepyê festival in particular.

[2]The “1” that is usually found in this term caboclos (Wagley, 1953:140) is not used in this part of Brazil.

[3]The six salaried Canela Indian service employees were the older Pù?tô, the older Kaapêltùk, the older Krôôtô, Chief Kaarà?khre, the younger Tààmi, and A?prol (the son-in-law of the older Kaapêltùk). These Canela Indian service employees were paid the same amount as the Brazilian Indian service employees, who lived and worked in Barra do Corda. Thus, the Canela received several times more money than a backlander could possibly earn through working in the field of another backlander for pay [I.F.2.b].

[4]The plus or minus ranges are my estimates of maximum possible errors on censuses taken by me. To say mat census talking among the Canela and Apanyekra is difficult is an understatement. Individuals can be traveling in cities, absent in their farms on their assigned census day, or present twice in different houses, their consanguineal and affinal ones. You almost have to see them and know them personally to count them correctly. Relatives give misleading statements to cover absences, and they make erroneous reports through carelessness. The best aid in such census taking is the previous census taken by oneself. Practice showed my count improved with each new census. However, little time was spent on the final 1979 census. My most accurate census for Escalvado was taken in 1975. Such tribal censuses are likely to be lower in number than the actual population.

[5]Reliable older research assistants say they have no memory of the term Capiekrans and that kap of Kap-yê-?khrã (Capiekran) means nothing, whereas yê and ?khrã are common terms. Yê is the plural or the honorific for “you” or “him.” Khrã means “head” or a ball of something. Kap could be varied as khop (war club) or khep (to cut), and several other possibilities exist, but nothing satisfactory or interesting resulted from this line of research.

[6]When I first arrived in 1957, youths invited me to log race with them in the Pepyê initiation practice situation by a swimming hole, but I showed them the scar near the base of my spine (the result of back surgery), which gave me an acceptable excuse for not participating in this exciting sport. Jack Popjes, the SIL linguistic missionary, frequently raced with them, however, carrying the heaviest logs.

[7]Research assistants offered various expressions when I asked them for the opposite of amyi-?khin nã in their language. This work was done when we were studying polarities (opposition and complementarity) in 1979. It is important for ethnographic purposes to know whether or not a certain act is part of a particular festival being observed. In order to make accurate and complete descriptions and analyses, it is necessary to know the various parts of a festival. When the same festival is seen again years later, the part of the performance that was not properly part of the festival is not likely to appear in the same place.

[8]The traditional position of the axis in the plaza that ties between these two facing moieties is from north to south in the Fish festival and from east to west in the Khêêtúwayê festival. These axes vary somewhat from village to village from their traditional positions because of the slopes of the plazas.

[9]Two little boys (approximately 3 to 6 years of age) are assigned to most social groups, but their membership can go unnoticed because they appear and perform with their group so seldom, in some cases only once. In the initiation festivals the boys are more evident. They are members of the small elite group that eats by itself and that consists of the commandants, file leaders, girl associates, messenger boys [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)], and these “little boys” (mē khra-re: pl. child-dim.).

[10]In 1986, communications indicated that the younger Kaapêltùk was, in effect, the chief. His formal position was the head of the Pró-khãmmã, but he also controlled the unpopular young chief, the youngest Mĩĩkhrô a “sister’s” son, who if it were not for Kaapêl’s intervention, would have been deposed. In mid-1987, I learned that the younger Kaapêltùk was currently first chief, and in mid-1989 he is still holding that position.

[11]The Harvard-Central Brazil scholars associated with Professor David Maybury-Lewis use the expression, “relationship system” to include other terminological systems than just the consanguineal and affinal ones.

[12]During the five months between two of my visits (December 1974 and May 1975) to the Apanyekra in their new village site in the Porquinhos area, the house at the lowest point in the village had to be abandoned because the winter rains had demolished it. In a village recently cut out of the cerrado bush no one knows just where the waters are going to find a new channel.

[13]Joking relationships exist between (1) Informal Friends, (2) a woman and her “brother’s” son (excluding name-set and advisory relationships), (3) a man and his “sister’s” daughter (excluding name-set and advisory relationships) [II.D.1.b.(2), (3)], and (4) a woman and certain of her classificatory husbands: the ones with whom she is not having nor has had a long term affair [III.E.8.b].

[14]Sixty-nine Canela couples, in the 1970 marriage study of the life history of 204 individuals, believed themselves to have been consanguineally “nonrelated” before marriage, whereas 30 considered themselves to have been related. I found one couple to be related as first cousins; two couples as first cousins once removed; two couples as second cousins; five couples as second cousins or further (because of their genealogical uncertainty); one couple as third cousins; six couples as third cousins or further; two couples as fourth cousins or further; four couples knew they had been related before marriage but could not figure out how; and one couple were grandchildren of amyi-pùtàl “siblings” (i.e., distant cross-sex siblingship strengthened by the naming of one of each other’s same-sex children [III.E.4.a]). Four couples had married each other as siblings through “contributing-father” relationships, one pair were step-relatives, and another were son and granddaughter of siblings by adoption. These latter six cases are most likely all nonrelatives consanguineally, although they reckon themselves as kin.

From another point of view, namely, what the couples believed they had called each other before marriage (two had forgotten) rather than what I could discover their genealogical relationships to be: 13 had addressed each other as “B” and “Z”; 9 as “GF” and “GD” (includes MB and d” ZD); 2 as “GM” and “GS” (includes FZ and BS); 2 as “F” and “D”; and 2 as “M” and “S.” (This note is from W. Crocker, 1984a:87.)

[15]My research assistants could not and did not want to fit the Festival of Masks, as a foreign festival, into their dualistic arrangement, pairing it with other festivals in an oppositional or a complementary manner. They said it was not a possession of the Mõltumre (Mõl-tum-re: going-along-slowly old-experienced-ones dim.: the little old experienced moving ones), their ancient tribe from which the other great festivals came [III.C.7.a.(1)].

[16]The 1960 Masks’ camping site hut was close to the 1935 hut of Nimuendajú’s (1946:206, fig. 16) time, although the direction from the huts to the villages was opposite: Ponto (1960) to the south and Baixão Prêto (1935) to the north (Map 3).

[17]”Begging” is in quotes because in English the word “begging” has bad connotations, but a?-nã ?wè ([it-generalizer]-on ask: ask for it) does not have bad connotations in Canela; at least, it did not traditionally. Now, with increasing influence from outsiders, the Canela have become ashamed to “beg” (i.e., to ask for things without giving anything in return), but the Apanyekra are still very aggressive “beggars,” having been less influenced by outsiders since 1938 [III.B.1.f.(4)].

[18]The term Ayrēn, has an appropriate meaning. The a is a generalizer and the verb rē means to throw down, as some men might throw down women before having sexual relations with them. The n is the verb’s past tense ending, or the verb’s alternative ending when other words follow directly [III.B.1.L(1)].

[19]A native of the Parnaίba river area below Terezina told me that local Brazilians of that area played this same game there when he was a child, using shuttlecocks of corn husk. Could the Canela have had contact with such people if they had lived further east and in such a riverbank environment? Júlio Melatti (personal communication) points out that the Krahó have the same ceremony.

[20]This is not the place to debate the various ramifications of the Whorf-Sapir hypothesis. I am assuming both that forms of thought structure how the world is perceived culturally and that certain physical aspects of the world structure, to some extent, cultural forms of thought. Moreover, I accept that human biological structures and physiology affect forms of thought and perception.

[21]Whether fixed inanimate triads are triads or complex dyads may be questioned. Research assistants led me to believe they are triads; that is, the two elements of a triad which are in complementarity with each other do not necessarily merge and become one element when held in opposition to the third element, forming a dyad. The point in favor of triads is supported by the arrangement of kinship terms. Seen as terms rather than behavior, there are basically two parental terms and just one term for children and two grandparental terms and just one for grandchildren (from address, not reference) (Figure 20). For affines, there are two terms (though one is a variation of the other) for those born in a consanguineal family and one term for those married into the same family (reference) (Figure 28). Whether animate triads are basically complex dyads may also be questioned. Research assistants presented them as triads but I should look for further evidence. In the main phase of the Masks’ festival, the Masks and the Jaguars who are in complementarity never join each other to form one merged group, but in the Closing Wè?è festival (a continuation of the Masks’ festival) the Masks and Jaguars carry the Kô?khre log together, intermingled, helping each other [IV.A.3.e.(3)], suggesting the complex dyad. In the Pepkahàk festival, the Pepkahàk troop’s internment separates them from the Falcons, so there is no merging of the two groups over the general course of the festival. However, in the big race (the Krówa-ti) of the terminal phase of the festival, the Pepkahàk mix and merge with the Falcons to race against the Ducks. This suggests that these groups generally act independently (favoring triads), but merge just at the end of the celebration (favoring complex dyads). Thus, the question cannot be definitively answered now. When the materials of the festival system are studied carefully for a later publication, this question will be raised again. Until then, I prefer the triadic solution because my research assistents led me to recognize the relationships to exist in this way. (I thank Kenneth Kensinger for calling the possibility of complex dyads to my attention.)

[22]The older Kaapêltùk accidentally killed Pooka?twè, a brother of Te?hôk, with a shotgun in the woods near Baixão dos Peixes in the mid-1960s. They were hunting together and both were quite drunk. The Indian service investigated the matter and declared it an accident, as I believe it was. Te?hôk’s kin made no claim against the older Kaapêltùk’s, so the matter was dropped. Rumors persisted, nevertheless, so that the older Kaapêltùk lost considerable face and confidence among certain extended families.

[23]A potential conflict could occur between the folk Catholic leadership of the young Chief Kaapêltùk and the Protestant influence of the missionary-linguist, Jack Popjes (SIL). However, Kaapêltùk was Jack’s special, most relied upon, final checker for translated New Testament texts during the first years, and Kaapêltùk’s oldest and principal son-in-law, Yaako, has been Jack’s main work-horse translator into the mid-1980s and is probably his first and foremost convert. The two potentially opposing camps are thus united by being in the same family, their wives being mother and eldest daughter. Moreover, Jack concentrates on the general aspects of Christianity and its spirit rather than on the specifically northern Brazilian Protestant ones. Thus, the differences with backland folk Catholicism are not as stark as might be thought, though still significant. Jack’s orientation to agricultural work, fair market prices, and financial honesty is close to Kaapêltùk’s personal inclinations and thereby facilitates his leadership, especially in contrast to the leadership of the tribe in the 1960s and 1970s.

[24]In about 1980, the Indian service reemployed the younger Kaapêltùk. He had been striving to regain this employment since 1951. He had lost it during his final Pepyê festival internment because the post agent would not excuse his absences for the festival. Disregarding the agent’s refusal, Kaapêltùk remained in his terminal Pepyê festival internment cell, as commandant of his graduating age-set, instead of reporting for duty at the Indian service post. Kaapêl had to rely on lesser and sporadic earnings from me since 1958, both as an occasional research assistant and as a regular diary manuscript writer and tape speaker [I.F.1, G.4].

[25]Careful translation of this collection of myths would have taken years, considering the plethora of materials recorded on tape, and such an amount of fieldwork time spent just on myths could not be justified. These materials are at least the younger Kaapêltùk’s myths if not the old narrator’s (W. Crocker, 1984b:202), but the younger Kaapêltùk was trained to follow the old narrator closely, and I could tell if he was diverging and often told him so. Some day these stories should be translated exactly. It is notable that Jack Popjes of the Summer Institute of Linguistics refuses to translate myths without the help of trained research assistants, while many ethnologists translate their taped myths in their home offices.

Glossary

ACROSS-THE-PLAZA KIN/AFFINES.  Kin and their affines of husbands, fathers, mother’s fathers, and father’s fathers, and their reciprocals—mostly cross-cousin relationships. Husbands and male ascendants come from natal families, which in general live in houses that are situated across the plaza from the houses of their wives [III.E.2.e.(3)] [III.E.3.a.(5).(c)] [III.F.11.d] (Figures 43, 44). See also FAMILY; HOUSE

ACTS.  Small, distinguishable units (ceremonial performances) of festivals, rites, rituals, or ceremonies, but not of daily activities. See also DAILY ACTS; GREAT DAYS

AGE-SET.  Group of men of approximate 10-year age range, that go through the initiation festivals, are graduated together, and remain a life-long economic and political unit [II.C.4.C] [II.D.3.a, f] [III.A.2.n, q] [III.A.3.c.(3).(f)] [III.C.3] [III.D.1.c.(2)] [III.F.10] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(a),(2).(c)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:90–92, 351 [age-classes]) (Plate 40b, f) (Table 4). See also LOWER AGE-SET MOIETY; UPPER AGE-SET MOIETY AGE-SET LEADER. See FILE LEADER

AGOUTIS.  One of the three men’s societies (Kukhên: agouti, Dasyprocta aguti, a rodent) of the Masks’ and Closing Wè?tè festivals, who meet on the western side of the plaza [II.C.4.C] [III.C.6] [IV.A.3.c.(5), e] (Nimuendajú, 1946:77, 166–167, 201–212) (Table 4). See also JAGUARS; MASKS; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

ALIEN TRIBES.  The southern plaza group members (Kupē) of the Lower (western) plaza moiety, one of the six plaza groups of the Pepyê festival [III.C.5.a] [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:77, 87–90, 194–195) (Figure 17). (Kupē in the 20th century has meant civilizado.) See also LOWER PLAZA MOIETY; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

ARMADILLOS.  The northern plaza group members (Awtsêt) of the Lower (western) plaza moiety of the Pepyê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:87) (Figure 17). See also LOWER PLAZA MOIETY; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

AUNTS.  Women of ego’s father’s sister’s kin category (tùy-) including ego’s parents’ female ascendants, and others, but specifically not including ego’s mother’s sister and classificatory mothers’ sisters [In.4.i]. See also UNCLES

AWKHÊÊ.  The mythical hero who established the acculturation contract according to which the ίndio is justified in being given extensive material goods by the civilizado with no return expected [II.B.2.d, f] [IV.C.1.b.(6)] [IV.D.6] (Nimuendajú, 1946:245–246). See also CIVILIZADO; BACKLANDER

AYRĒN.  Ceremony of the Red and Black Regeneration moieties’ season during which extramarital sexual relations are socially sanctioned [III.F.4.f] [IV.A.3.f.(2)] [IV.A.4.a] (Figure 47). See also REGENERATION SEASON

BACKLANDER.  Rural Portuguese-speaking farmer or rancher living near the Canela and Apanyekra reservations (Map 3) (not a Barra do Corda dweller). Translation of sertanejo; backlands: sertõs. [In.4.c] [I.B.2.b] [II.d] [II.A.3.d.(1)] [II.B.1.d.(5)] [II.B.2.e, f.(3)] [II.B.2.h] [II.B.3.j.(1), l] [II.B.4] [II.B.4.k.(3)] [II.C.3.g] [II.F.2.d.(2)] [II.F.3] [III.A.2.f.(2)] [III.A.3.a.(2).(d)] [III.A.3.c.(3).(i)] [III.B.1.a.(1), b.(1)][III.B.1.k.(1)][III.D.1.b][III.D.1.c.(3)] [IV.A.3.f.(5)] [IV.C.1.b.(6)] [IV.C.1.f] [IV.D.I.e.(4)] [IV.D.4.b] [V.A.5.c.(4)] [V.B.3] (Plate 72). See also CIVILIZADO

BATS.  The central plaza group members (Tsêp-re) of the Upper (eastern) plaza moiety in the Pepyê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:87) (Plate 26, Figure 17). See also UPPER PLAZA MOIETY; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

BEGGING.  A culturally accepted behavior pattern, which was little practiced by the late 1970s. This pattern served as a socioeconomic leveler and provided food for those who needed it. Traditionally, the “begger” believed in her or his right to receive and experienced no shame [II.B.2.d, f] [III.A.5.d] [III.B.1.f.(4)] [IV.A.3.c.(5).(c)] [IV.C.1.b.(6)] (Plate 48e). See also MASKS’ FESTIVAL

BLACK REGENERATION SEASON MOIETY.  One of two wet season social divisions (A?tù-mã-?khra: outside-the-village of Indians) used for ceremonial and log racing events; in opposition to the Red Regeneration moiety [II.C.4.a] [III.C.4] [IV.A.4] (Figure 25). See also RED REGENERATION SEASON MOIETY; REGENERATION SEASON; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

BLOOD.  A Canela ethnoconcept about the substance (Da Matta, 1982:51–55) of a Timbira Indian’s being, denoting blood in the scientific sense but connotating “blood” (kaprôô: blood) that is “shared” (the same “blood pool”) and “equivalent” among one-link-away kin, and to a lesser extent held in common among all kin, but its commonality lessening with the degree of genealogical “distance” away [III.E.2.b] [III.F.1l.a, d] [IV.D.3.b] (Figures 38, 39, 41, 44). See also RESTRICTIONS; POLLUTIONS

BOAS.  Members of the northern plaza group (Hààkha: jibdóa boa constrictor) of the Upper (eastern) plaza moiety in the Pepyê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:87) (Plate 26; Figure 17). See also UPPER PLAZA MOIETY; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

CEREMONIAL-CHIEF-OF-THE-WHOLE-TRIBE.  The title (Khrĩ-?kuni-à-mē-hõõpa?hi: tribe its-whole superlative plural their-chief) is given to two Canela positions carried out only in the Pepkahàk festival’s Apikrawkraw-re act. These two positions, the highest in hàmren ranking in ceremonial honor, are transmitted down two patrilines (those of the younger Kaapêltùk and of Khrùt in the late 1950s). These positions were created around 1907 to mend a tribal schism [II.B.1.d.(1)] [III.C.7] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(d)]

CEREMONIAL CHIEF.  AS distinct from a Visiting Chief (Tàmhàk) and a Ceremonial-chief-of-the-whole-tribe, a ceremonial chief (mē-hõõpa?hi) is either installed for the the same reasons as a Visiting Chief was (between tribes), but in current times, he is installed as the sing-dance maraca master of the next younger age-set to his own. A Visiting Chief is intratribal to the Canela, While a ceremonial chief is intertribal unless a sing-dance master of an age-set. Ceremonial chiefs are honored by small gifts given them in the center of the plaza by all members of the tribe, as are urban guests, Indian service agents, and some tribal members. See also VISITING CHIEFS; CEREMONIAL-CHIEF-OF-THE-WHOLE-TRIBE; SING-DANCE LEADER

CEREMONIES.  Traditional religious and secular performances that are believed to bring about a desired effect for an individual, a group, or the tribe. “Ceremony,” “ceremonies,” and “ceremonial” are general expressions that include six specific terms, each of which is heuristically distinct from the others: “festivals,” “rites,” “rituals,” “acts,” “daily acts,” and “great days.” Ceremonies are distinct from the daily activities of individuals and from the Canela daily cycle. See also DAILY ACTS; GREAT DAYS; FESTIVALS; RITES; RITUALS

CERRADO.  A category of woodlands, ground cover of grass and small trees several meters apart (chapada) found in parts of Mato Grosso, Goiás, Para, Maranhão, and other states. It is also referred to as “closed savanna” [II.A.3.b.(1), (2)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:1) (Plate 13; Figure 3). See also GALLERY FOREST

CHARCOAL AND LATEX PAINT.  Solid black color (aràm-hôk: Sapium sp.) used in body painting and artifact decoration, suggestive of joking and extramarital sexual relations when applied to bodies carelessly [II.F.5.c] [III.B.1.c.(1)] [IV.A.3.f] (Nimuendajú, 1946:53) (Plates 73f, 74a, 76d). See also URUCU; FALCON DOWN

CIVILIZADO.  Regional expression with positive connotations used by the backlander to contrast her- or himself with the Indian (ίndio); used here almost only in connection with the Awkhêê acculturation myth [In.4.c] [I.A.1] [H.B.2.d, e, f.(1)] [IV.C.1.b.(6)]. See also ALIEN TRIBES; BACKLANDER

CLOSING WÈ?TÈ FESTIVAL.See WÈ?TÈ

CLOWNS.  Members of the principal association (Mē?khên) in the Fish festival who epitomize low ceremonial status, joking, and even lying in festivals and in daily life. They are contrasted with the King Vultures (Tàmhàk) and Pepkahàk who have high ceremonial status and formality [III.B.1.h] [III.C.7.b] [IV.A.3.c.(4).(b),(c)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:351) (Plate 46).

COMMANDANT.  Leader (mē-?kapõn-katē: them-sweep-master) of the novices in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals. He is chosen by the Pró-khãmmã from the next older age-set (which is one of the age-sets in the opposing age-set moiety) and, therefore, he can be strict and severe [II.D.3.d.] [III.A.4.b] [III.D.1.f.(2), i.(I)] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:193). See also DEPUTY COMMANDANT; FILE LEADER

COMPLEMENTARY PAIRS.  Items that are seen culturally as being paired in a facilitating way (i-piprol: in parallel), such as women and men after marriage (they cooperate), red and black when body paints (they both enhance the health and happiness of the painted individual), and a novice and his food and sex restrictions (the latter protects the former from pollutions) [V.A.1, 2]. See also PAIRINGS

CONTRIBUTING-FATHER/CO-FATHER.  A male, other than the social father (husband) who is considered to have contributed biologically to a fetus by the physical addition of semen while the mother is pregnant. Both the husband and contributing-father are considered “biological” fathers and both carry out restrictions for their contributed-to children when they are ill [II.D.2.h.(1).(a)] [III.E.2.e.(3).(a)][IV.B.2.a, b, c] [IV.D.3.b] (Nimuendajú, 1946:78, 107) (Figure 39).

CORN PLANTING CEREMONY.  A ceremony that takes place in the plaza in the evening. A seated master maraca leader drops a tsù or anakàà on a mat to make rhythm while he sings traditional songs. The men (sitting in age-set moiety formation) surround him. This ceremony occurs in the Regeneration season (during November or early December) but is not part of its procedures.

CORN HARVEST RITUAL.  A two day ceremony to augment the corn crop, held in about March during the unnamed ceremonial period of the year between the Regeneration and Wè?tè seasons. It is haakhat-oriented and a “river” festival [II.C.4.b] [III.C.8.a] [IV.A.5.a, d] (Nimuendajú, 1946:62–63) (Plate 53; Table 4). See also CORN PLANTING CEREMONY

COUNCIL OF ELDERS.  The group of all older men (ranging from their 40s in to their 80s) that meets in the center of the plaza twice a day to debate daily and tribal matters. This group is distinct from the Pró-khãmmã, who are the members (the age-set) of the dominating Lower age-set moiety meeting among them [II.D.3.k] [II.E.5.b,8] [III.D.1.c.(1)] [III.D.2.a] [III.D.3.d] (Nimuendajú, 1946:352) (Figure 18). See also AGE-SET; PRÓ-KHÃMMÃ

CROW/OMAHA KINSHIP.  This term is modified herein to denote two mirror-image terminological relationship systems that largely characterize Canela kinship (consanguineal and affinal). Crow-III (Lounsbury, 1964:375–377) is given preference over Omaha-III for kintype selection by the Canela whenever the rules of both systems can be applied [III.E.2.C] (Table 10; Figures 26, 27). See also KIN CATEGORY; KINTYPE

DAILY ACTS.  Ceremonial acts of the second phase (the middle and the longest one) of a great “summer” Wè?tè season festival. These acts are repeated daily, such as the Khêêtúwayê novices singing in the plaza or the Pepkahàk troop passing behind the circle of houses to receive food each evening. “Daily acts” are not part of a rite or ritual, and they are distinct from a “daily activity,” which is not ceremonial. See also ACTS

DEPUTY COMMANDANT.  The commandant’s assistant (mē?kapõn-katê?kahàk-re: them-sweep-master-secondary-dim.) in the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, who is selected by the Pró-khãmmã from the ranks of the novices [I.G.4] [III.D.1.f.(2), i.(1)] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c.)] [Ep.4.b.(1)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:182). See also COMMANDANT; FILE LEADER

DRYHEADS.  Individuals of low ceremonial rank and, in Canela belief, of relatively low personal sensitivity (mē ?ka-?khrã-nkràà: Timbira generalizer-head-dry) [III.C.7] (Nimuendajú, 1946:98). See also WETHEADS

DUALISM.  AS used here, a conceptual system in which the culture bearers consciously or unconsciously combine material items, individuals, groups of people, ideas, or sociocultural structures into complementry or oppositional pairs [V.A.1, 2, 3] [V.B.3]. See also PAIRINGS

DUCKS.  Members of a men’s society (Kôkayu) in the Pepkahàk festival, situated on the west side of the plaza [III.C.6] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(d)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:77, 95, 140, 214–224). See also FALCONS; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

DWARF PARROTS.  Members of the central plaza group (Khêt-re) of the Lower (western) plaza moiety, one of the six plaza groups in the Pepyê festival (Nimuendajú, 1946:87) (Figure 17). See also LOWER AGE-SET MOIETY; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

FALCON DOWN.  Down (kwèn) of falcons (hàk) glued on body with resin as a decoration of highest ceremonial honor [II.F.5.a] [III.C.7.a.(2)] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:352) (Plates 27f, 30d, 39d, 44d, 53b, 57c). See also CHARCOAL AND LATEX PAINT; URUCU

FALCONS.  Members of a men’ s society (Hàk) in the Pepkahàk festival, situated on the eastern side of the plaza, aligned with Pepkahàk and Clowns against Ducks [III.C.6] |IV.A.3.c.(3).(d)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:352) (Plate 44b). See also DUCKS; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

FAMILY.  A consanguineal term, used occasionally to also include a man with his wife and children.

FESTIVAL OF ORANGES.  A short ceremony (all night and the next morning) put on any time of the year in which sex role reversal takes place. It is reminiscent of returning from being on trek in earlier times [IV.A.3.f.(5)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:73–75) (Plate 54).

FESTIVALS.  The five great “summer” Wè?tè season ceremonies (Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, Pepkahàk, Fish, and Masks’), the Opening and Closing Wè?tè festivals, and the Festival of Oranges. “Great days,” “daily acts,” and “acts” are parts of a festival, and they are also ceremonies. Note the ceremonies excluded from the category of festivals: haakhat (when taken as a ceremony), rites, rituals. Compare [II.E.1.a.b] [III.C.8.a, b] [IV.A.2], [IV.B]. See also HAAKHAT; RITES; RITUALS

FILE LEADER/AGE-SET LEADER.  The male who walks at the head of his age-set file and who is the honorary leader (mamkhyi-?ti: lead-one who-pulls much) of his age-set. Nimuendajú (1946:94) calls him the “class leader.” He may become the virtual leader of his age-set if the age-set’s Pepyê deputy commandant becomes politically weak over the years. There are two file leaders in the Khêêtúwayê festival and one file leader in the Pepyê festival and in later life [I.G.15] [II.G.3.a.(2)] [III.D.1.f.(2), i.(1).(2)] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:97, 162, 172, 174, 182, 212, fig. 12, Plate 44c). Se also COMMANDANT; DEPUTY COMMANDANT

FISH.  Members of two plaza groups (Tep) of the Fish festival (Tep-yalkhwa: fish songs/talk) that do not have specific names; also refers to all the plaza groups of the Fish festival except the Otters [III.C.5] [IV.A.3.c.(4)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:225–230) (Plate 46a; Figure 17). See also OTTERS

FOLK CATHOLICISM.  Type of Catholicism practiced by backland people of the region around the Canela and Apanyekra reservations [I.G.13] [ILB.I.e.(3)] [II.B.2.b.(2), (3)] [II.B.3.j.(1)] [III.A.3.c.(3).(i)] [IV.A.3.d] [V.A.5.c.(4)] [Ep.4.b.(2).(e)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:241). See also BACKLANDER

FORMAL FRIENDSHIP.  One of the relationship systems in which formal patterns are practiced, solidarity roles carried out, and payments are made for all services between a pair of individuals in both same-sex and cross-sex pairings. An honorary form (yê) of the personal pronoun, second and third persons singular and plural, is used in address and reference instead of the regular, informal pronouns (ka) and (kê) [I.G.15] [II.F.4] [III.A.3.b.(1).(e)] [III.A.3.c.(3).(b)] [III.E.3.c,5] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(f)] [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:100–103, 352) (Plates 39, 43c, 44b, e, f). See also INFORMAL FRIENDSHIP

FURTHER-LINK KIN.  Persons who are more than one genealogical link away from ego are her or his further-link kin. At two links away from ego this category, further-link kin, includes aunts/grandmothers (FZ, FM, MM), uncles/ grandfathers (MB, MF, FF), and nieces/nephews/ grandchildren (BD, ZS, CC). At three links away from ego this category, further-link kin, includes aunts/ grandmothers (FZD, FMM, MMM, among others), uncles/ grandfathers (FMB, MMB, PPF, among others), and grandchildren (MBC, BDC, ZSC, CCC). At four links away from ego, this category (further-link kin) includes aunts/grandmothers (FZDD, PPPM), uncles/ grandfathers (MFZS, PPPF), and grandchildren (MBCC, BDCC, ZSCC, CCCC). Further-link kin do not maintain restrictions for ego when she or he is ill. They are called ego’smē-hũũkhyê. See also ONE-LINK KIN

GALLERY FOREST.  The heavy vegetation lining cerrado streams sometimes as far as 100 meters or more out into the cerrado. Farm plots for raising crops must be cut out of these wet areas because no crops can be raised in the sandy, infertile cerrado [II.A.3.b.(2), c.(1)] [II.B.2.f.(4)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:1, 59) (Maps 7, 8; Figure 4). See also CERRADO

GÊ.  Language family to which the Canela language belongs [II.A.1].

GIRL ASSOCIATE.  A girl chosen, usually two (mē kuytswè), to be members of a male group: such as an age-set, men’s society, plaza group, the Clowns, and daily work groups [II.D.2.e] [II.E.5.f,6.a] [II.G.3.c.(1)] [III.A.2.j.(6).(c)] [III.C.9] [III.D.1.c.(2)] [IV.A.3.e.(2)] [IV.B.1.h] (Nimuendajú, 1946:353, pl. 37c, 41b, c) (Plates 36d, 43a,b,d, 44c, 45c). The term kuytswè is also applied to males who accompany a female group, such as in the Festival of Oranges [IVA.3.f.(5)] (Plate 54). See also WÊ?TÊ

GREAT DAYS.  Principal ceremonial acts of the second phase (the middle and longest one) of any of the five great “summer” Wè?tè season festivals. These acts occur two to four times over a period of six weeks to three months, and are largely repetitions of each other. Their themes may constitute a progression toward a goal, such as the “growth” of the novices in the Pepyê festival. Great quantities of food are collected and eaten to celebrate the great days. Examples of great days are the novices singing the Ayèk songs (Khêêtúwayê), the plaza group uncles looking at the “growth” of their interned nephews (Pepyê), and the group of “other wives” taking concealed cords from the bodies of their “other husbands” in the Pepkahàk troop (Pepkahàk). “Great days” are not found in rites or rituals. See also ACTS; DAILY ACTS

HAAKHAT.  A ceremony owned by a haakhat (defined as a household or set of houses) and transmitted down the generations sometimes through matrilineality, sometimes through name-set transmission, and sometimes through both, mixed in an unpredictable manner. The term haakhat also can be defined as the location in a household or set of houses where the ceremony is owned. Ceremonies excluded from the category haakhat are festivals; daily acts; great days; rites.

HÀMREN.  A high ceremonial male rank of a number of levels. An individual characteristic (“wet-headedness”) of great sensitivity, honor, and noblesse-oblige [I.G.14] [II.E.7.C] [II.F.5.a] [III.B.1.h.(2)] [III.C.7.a] [III.D.2.c.(3)] [III.D.3.e.(3)] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c),(3).(e)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:97–100, 353) (Plates 25a, 27f, 44c, 52a; Figure 45). See also PEP-KHWÉY

HÀWMRÕ.  HEARTH.

HEARINGS.  Legal trials (audiências: mē aypēn pa: they to-each-other listen) held between the members of two consanguineal extended families to determine whether an offense was committed and how much should be paid between the families [II.D.2.i.(4)] [II.E.5.d, e] [III.D.1.c(4)] [III.D.3] [III.F.4.c.(1)] [III.F.5, 6].

HEARTH.  A family cooking place (hàwmrõ) consisting of rocks supporting pots. Hàwmrõ is also the economic unit composed of the several wife-husband-children groups of the same extended consanguineal family that live under one roof and share most of their food. Each wife-husband-children group, however, eats separately, after receiving part or all of its food from the larger hàwmrõ group [II.D.2.i.(5), j.(1)] [III.E.2.e.(1)] [III.F.7] (Plates 8a, 16a; Figure 22).

HOUSE.  A protective structure in which people live, but also the location of ego’s relatives: where a female lives and was born, and where a male was born—in this sense, a consanguineally related term, never an affinally related one. One house may be a segment of a longhouse, or one house may constitute a longhouse. Similarly, part of a house (one person or one matrilineal family), the whole house, or several houses may constitute a haakhat, taken as a physical protective structure or a series of such structures. See also HAAKHAT

INCEST.  Any sexual relationship between persons of the opposite sex who are believed to be consanguineally related (even distantly) or between Formal Friends (to ayprè) [III.A.2.j.(3), (4)] [III.F.3]. See also BLOOD; KIN

INDIAN SERVICE.  The Brazilian federal government agency responsible for the care of all Indians living in a tribal, but not an urban, state. The agency was known as the Serviço de Proteçãao aos Índios (SPI) before 1968 and the Fundação Nacional do Índio (FUNAI) since then [I.H] [II.A.3.d.(2)] [II.B.2.b.(1), f.(5)] [II.B.2.d] [II.B.2.i.(2), (4)] [II.B.3.e] [II.B.3.f, g, h, i] [II.B.4.k.(1)] [II.C.3.g] [II.F.2.d.(1)] [III.A.2.i.(2)] [III.A.2.S] [III.A.3.c.(3)] fiTI.D.1.c.(4), f.(3)] [III.D.1.g.(1).(a)] [III.D.3.f] [III.F.9.a] [IV.A.3.f.(7)] (Plates 2b, 5b, 11; Maps 5, 6; Figures 1, 2, 7, 9, 10).

INFORMAL FRIENDSHIP.  One of the terminological relationship systems, the one in which certain men of the same age-set treat each other with marked informality and joking. Such relationships (they address or refer to each other as i-khwè-?nō: my-group-one) are formed between boys and youths for life during an initiation festival, and sometimes a boy or youth forms this relationship with an initiation festival girl associate [III.E.6] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(e), (2).(b)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:104, 191) (Plate 39b). See also FORMAL FRIENDSHIP

INITIATION FESTIVALS.  A term for the Khêêtúwayê and Pepyê festivals, in which an age-set participates 4 or 5 times over a 10-year period and is trained and graduated into a solidarity group. See also KHÊÊTÚWAYÊ PEPYÊ NKREL-RE

INTERNMENT.  Confinement of either sex (usually in the individual’s maternal house) in a large room (Khêêtúwayê), in an especially made cell (Pepyê), or in a small corner shielded by mats (e.g., for ear-piercing) to protect the individual from pollutions and life weakening dangers (e.g., from sunlight, trash, sexual liquids, menstrual blood, evil eye) when the individual is in a liminal or weakened state (e.g., at puberty, when ill, when in mourning) [II.D.2.a, b, c, f.(1)] [II.D.3.b, c, d, g] [II.F.5.d] [II.G.3.b.(2), (6)] [III.A.2.n.(2), o, q] [III.F.4.i] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(a)] [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(a),(f)] [IV.A.3.d,7.e] [IV.B.2.c] [IV.D.3.f] (Nimuendajú, 1946:356 [seclusion]) (Plates 41a, 42a,b,d,e). See also POLLUTIONS; RESTRICTIONS

INTERNMENT FESTIVALS.  The three (Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Pepkahàk) festivals in which the principal group of each festival is interned to separate the members of this group from the rest of the tribe [III.A.3.c.(3).(f)]. See also INITIATION FESTIVALS

JAGUARS.  One of the three men’s societies (Rop) of the Masks’ and Closing Wè?tè festivals, which is situated on the eastern side of the plaza and which harasses the Agoutis on the western side [III.C.6] [IV.A.3.c.(5).(a)] [IV.A.3.e] (Nimuendajú, 1946:353). See also AGOUTIS; MASKS

-KAHÁK. Suffix denoting secondary, facsimile, lesser, false. See also -MPEY

KARÕ. Ghost of a recently dead Brazilian or animal or spirit of a botanical or mineral item; shadow or a photograph [IV.C.2.a, c.(1), e] [IV.D.1.c] (Nimuendajú, 1946:356 [souls]). See also MĒ KARÕ

KATÁM-TI/-RE. The cylindrical log style (long and thin) and the set of log races of the Black Regeneration season moiety [III.C.4.c.(1)] [IV.A.4.b] (Plate 75b). See also WAKMÊ-7TI/-RE

KAY. See SHAMAN

KHÊÊTÚWAYÊ. The first (prepubertal) of the two initiation festivals, in which boys are interned away from their families with their age-set members and sing songs in the plaza attracting ghosts several times a day [II.D.3.a] [III.F.1.c.(1)] [II.G.3.b.(1)] [III.A.2.n] [III.C.3.a] [III.C.5.b] [III.D.1.f.(2)] [IV.A.3.c.(1)] [IV.A.7.b] [IV.C.2.b] (Nimuendajú, 1946:171–179, 353) (Plate 41). See also INITIATION FESTIVALS; INTERNMENT FESTIVALS; NKREL-RE; PEPYÊ

-KHWÈY. Feminine suffix for girl or woman (not for an animal).

KIN. A consanguineal term, never used affinally. See also FAMILY; HOUSE; RELATIVE

KIN CATEGORY. Includes all the “kintypes” in one term of reference (e.g., tùy orkêt). See also CROW/OMAHA KINSHIP; KINTYPE

KINTYPE.  A genealogical relationship through specific linkages (e.g., MM, FM, FZ, and FZD are all different kintypes of the one kin category, tùy, for the Canela). “Kintype” is used here as in Scheffler and Lounsbury, 1971 [III.E.2.e] (Table 10). See also CROW/OMAHA KINSHIP; KIN CATEGORY

KNOWLEDGEABLE, KNOWLEDGEABILITY.  Shamanic abilities (amyi-ya?khre-pey: sabido) of the much earlier ancestral people, including self-transformation into animal, botanical, and mineral forms, speaking to and understanding animals, and performing such great feats as moving mountains. Most very earlier ancestors possessed such capacities, and the few that did not were referred to as being amyi-ya?khre-?khêt (self knowing-capacity not: besta: stupid) [IV.D.6]. See also SHAMAN

LODGE. See SITTING PLACE

LONGHOUSE.  Metaphorically one or more houses (ikhre-rùù: house-long) along the village circle, the physical structures that house an extended family, related through all female consanguineal linkages, that tends to be exogamous [III.E.2.e.(2), (3)] (Figures 24, 25). See also HEARTH; HAAKHAT

LOWER AGE-SET MOIETY.  One (Harã-?katêyê lower opposing-people) of the two groups (Upper and Lower) making up the age-set moiety system. Nimuendajú (1946:355) called this group the “western” age class moiety because its members meet on the western side of the plaza. He claimed this system had been exogamous. See also AGE-SET; UPPER AGE-SET MOIETY

LOWER PLAZA MOIETY.  One (harã-rum-mē-nkàà-tsà: lower-side-people-plaza-placed) of the two halves (Upper and Lower) making up the plaza moiety system. This moiety is composed of the three plaza groups: Armadillos, Dwarf Parrots, and Alien Tribes. It functions as a moiety in the Khêêtúwayê festival and each plaza group functions separately in the Pepyê festival [III.C.5] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(a)] [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:77, 87–90) (Plate 41c; Figure 17). See also UPPER AGE-SET MOIETY; ALIEN TRIBES; ARMADILLOS; DWARF PARROTS

MASKS.  One of the three men’s societies (Ku?khrùt-re) of the Masks’ festival, placed on the eastern side of the plaza, who are also in the Closing Wè?tè festival [III.B.1.f.(4)] [III.C.3.e] [III.C.6]. See also AGOUTIS; JAGUARS; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

MASKS’ FESTIVAL.   A river-oriented festival (Ku?khrùt-re?hô) that justifies “begging” and encourages generosity. Members wear life-size masks of several kinds and frolic in the plaza [II.C.4.c] [II.G.3.b.(10)] [III.C.8.a] [IV.A.3.c.(5), d] (Nimuendajú, 1946:355 [mummers], pls. 38, 39) (Plates 48, 49). See also BEGGING; RIVER-ORIENTED CEREMONIES

MATRILINE.  A succession of female descendants: a woman, her daughter, her granddaughter, her great granddaughter, etc. (not including men) [III.E.2.d] [IV.A.7.a.(3)][IV.B.2.C] (Figures 21, 39, 41, 42, 44).

MATRILINEAL.  Descending through the female line to women and their male kin, describing in particular the descent of the possession of certain rituals, especially those found in a haakhat in the Fish festival and in the unnamed intermediary ceremonial season of the annual cycle between the Regeneration and Wè?tè seasons [II.C.4.b] [III.C.8.a] [IV.A.3.c.(4)] [IV.A.5, 7.a.(2)] (cf. Nimuendajú, 1946:354). See also HAAKHAT

MEAT PIES.  Manioc mass (dough), vegetables, and meat wrapped in wild banana leaves, formed into circular pies 1/3 to 1 meter in diameter and baked out-of-doors by being covered with hot rocks, leaves, and earth, and used in daily consumption as well as in ceremonial exchanges [II.D.2.f.(2)] [II.E.7.C] [II.G.3.b.(9)] [III.D.2.c.(3)] [III.F.4.d, e, f] [IV.A.3.f.(2)] [IV.B.1.h.(4)] [IV.B.2.d.] (Plates 22, 23).

MEDICINE.  Herbs, leaves, bark, ground wood, etc., (mē ?ka?hêk tsà: Timbira’s curing-device) used to rid the body of “pollutions,” usually drunk as infusions; or the eyes are exposed to vapors of such liquid mixtures, especially to extend their “vision” to “see” game for success in hunting; used both medically and to attain an alternative state of consciousness [IV.D.4] [V.A.5.c.(3).(b)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:236–237).

MĒ KARÕ.  Ghosts of recently dead Eastern Timbira |IV.A.3.c.(1).(b),(d)] [IV.D.1.c] (Nimuendajú, 1946:356 [souls]). See also KARÕ

MESSENGER BOY.  An elite young novice (one of two) in the initiation festivals, who go back and forth with messages (mē krat to ipa katê-re: they gourd-bowl with go agent-dim.) from the leaders of the novices to their commandant or to other persons of significance in the village [IV.A.3.c.(1).(c)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:182, 193). See also COMMANDANT; FILE LEADER

MESSIANIC MOVEMENT.  AS happened among the Canela in 1963, a religious cult formed during stressful times with a messiah predicting a millennium [II.B.2.d, f].

-MPEY. Suffix denoting good, beautiful, real, primary. See also -KAHÀK

MPÍYAPIT. A woman, with or without children, with no spouse. For this reason, she is considered sexually unattached and therefore more available for group sexual service. This was a principal alternative state to marriage and was respected in earlier times. Such a woman lived with her mother and sisters, worked a separate farm plot from theirs, and was partly supported by her lovers (Nimuendajú, 1946:130–131, 357 [wanton]). A man without a spouse may be referred to by the same term [II.D.2.i.(6)] [II.E.5.f,6.a] [III.D.1.c.(1).(d)] [III.F.4.b.(2)] [IV.A.3.f.(3)] [IV.B.2.d.(6)] [IV.C.1.b.(6)]. See also NKREKRE-RE

NAME-SET TRANSMISSION.  A personal naming system for passing on a set of family names, usually a man to his classificatory sister’s son and a woman to her classificatory brother’s daughter. One of the relationship systems through which all men become members of the men’s societies and plaza groups, and other ceremonial positions, during the various annual festivals [II.D.1.b] [II.G.3.a.(3), (8)] [II.G.3.b.(3)] [III.A.3.a.(1).(b)] [III.C.4.b, 5, 6, 8.a] [III.E.3.a.(5).(b)] [III.E.4] [IV.A.5.e.(3)] [IV.A.7.a.(1)] [IV.B.1.c] (Nimuendajú, 1946:109–111, 355) (Plate 51d; Figures 35-37).

NKREKRE-RE.  A “free” stage in the life-cycle of women and men, after belt-painting for her and age-set graduation for him, but before childbirth for both, when both sexes are free to have many sexual affairs. See also MPIYAPÍT; NKREL-RE

NKREL-RE (sing-dance dim.).  A term for the two initiation festivals: the Khêêtúwayê and the Pepyê. See also INITIATION FESTIVALS; INTERNMENT FESTIVALS

NOVICES.  The boys or young men being initiated in an initiation festival (Plate 40 b). They constitute the entire membership of an age-set and “progress” as a group through four or five initiation festivals and graduate as an age-set (Nimuendajú, 1946:353 [initiation]). See also AGE-SET; KHÊÊTÚWAYÊ PEPYÊ

OFFICERS.  Found only in the three internment festivals, the officers comprise a ceremonially elitist group including the commandants, deputy commandants, file leaders, girl associates, messenger boys, and the two very young boys (mē ?khra-re: pl. child-dim.). Excepting the latter two, the officers eat and meet apart from the rest of the body of interned males.

ONE-LINK KIN.  Persons who are just one genealogical link away from ego are her or his immediate parents, siblings, and children. Siblings are included as one-link kin because all uterine siblings are considered to be born off the same umbilicus. Moreover, ego’s siblings, parents, and children share equivalent “blood” with ego and therefore have to maintain “restrictions” for ego when ego is ill, as ego does for them when they are ill. Thus ego’s one-link kin are called her or his “restrictions” kin. Ego’s contributing-fathers are included as her or his one-link kin. See also FURTHER-LINK KIN; RESTRICTIONS

OPENING WÈ?TÈ FESTIVAL.See WÈ?TÈ

OPPOSITIONAL PAIRS.  Items that are seen culturally as being paired in an oppositional way, such as two festival societies positionally facing each other across the plaza (aypēn kaypúwa: related facing), two tribes hostilely engaged (aypēn kurê: related hostilely), and individuals (Indians and ghosts) representing two culturally confronting world dimensions (aypēn kunãã-mã: related confronting) [V.A.1, 2]. See also PAIRINGS

OTTERS (River).  The most prestigious plaza group (Têt-re) of the six plaza groups in the Fish festival, which occupies the central position on the eastern side of the plaza (held by the Bats in the Pepyê festival), and which is distinguished by having only one girl associate [III.C.5, 6.a, 9] [IV.A.3.c.(4).(a)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:225–330, pl. 42) (Figure 17). See also UPPER PLAZA MOIETY; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

PACIFICATION.  This extrasocietal reorientation of a tribe has occurred when its people turn themselves over to ultimate national Brazilian control (formerly to pioneers and their troops, and since 1910 to the Indian service) through forsaking warfare and accepting Brazilian protection, medicine, and trade goods.

PA?HI. The Canela term for a new kind of tribal first chief whose office evolved in the 1830s. While already one of the chiefs recognized by the Pró-khãmmã, the pa-?hi (our[dual inclusive]-bone) was designated the chief-of-the-tribe by backland politicians who wanted primarily a person they could communicate with and through whom they could control the tribe. See also CEREMONIAL-CHIEF-OF-THE-WHOLE TRIBE; VISITING CHIEF; CEREMONIAL CHIEF

PAIRINGS, PAIRS.  Expressions (aypēn katê: to-each-other paired) used here for traditionally matched (consciously or unconsciously) items, entities, or concepts, i.e., more specific terms than dualism. Such pairings can be combined in a complementary or an oppositional manner [V.A.1, 2]. See also COMPLEMENTARY PAIRS; DUALISM; OPPOSITIONAL PAIRS

PEPKAHÀk. The interned group in the Pepkahàk festival. Also one of the five Wè?tè season festivals and the third internment one, during which adults experience once again the adolescent practice of maintaining severe food and sex restrictions against pollutions and enhance their individual abilities in sustaining help and developing skills [II.B.1.d.(1)] [II.F.5.a] [II.G.3.a.(2), b.(8)] [III.C.6, 7, 9] [IV.A.3.c.(3)] [IV.A.7.a.(3), e] (Nimuendajú, 1946:212225, 355) (Plates 5a, 44, 45). See also INTERNMENT FESTIVALS

PEP-KHWÈY.  The six internment festival girl associates and the two Wè?tè girls are hàmren in ceremonial status because they are appointed to these eight offices by the Pró-khãmmã. The women in the positions, and their living predecessors, were referred to as pep-khwèy (warrior woman) rather than as hàmren, meaning the same thing. By the 1970s however, hàmren was being used for women, and pep-khwèy was rarely heard. See also HÀMREN

PEPYÊ.  One of the five Wè?tè season festivals, and the second internment and initiation festival, during which adolescents are trained to practice severe food and sex restrictions against pollutions and to move around as disciplined, accepting, and obedient members of an age-set. The final Pepyê performance graduates these novices, or initiates, into a mature age-set [II.C.4.C] [II.D.3.d, f] [II.F.1.c.(4),5.e] [II.G.3.a.(2)] [II.G.3.b.(2), (3),(4), (5),(6), (7)] [III.A.2.q,3.c.(3).(f)] [III.B.1.d.(1)] [III.C.3.a] [III.C.5.b] [III.D.1.i.(1)] [III.D.2.b.(1), (6)] [III.E.5, 6, 10] [IV.A.3.b, c.(2)] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(f)] [IV.A.3.d] [IV.A.7.e] [IV.C.1.b.(7).(b)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:179–201, 355) (Plates 42, 43). See also AGE-SET; NOVICES; INTERNMENT FESTIVALS; INITIATION FESTIVALS; KHÊÊTÚWAYÊ

POLLUTIONS.  Liquids (ampoo kakô ?khên: some thing liquid it-bad) believed to enter the body largely in the form of meat juices, progressively poisoning and weakening it. Sexual fluids of a polluted person weaken another person through transferring the pollutions during sexual intercourse. Carrying out restrictions against consuming certain foods and against having sex, prevent such “pollutions” from weakening the body [IV.D.3]. See also INTERNMENT; MEDICINE; RESTRICTIONS; BLOOD

POWERS.  The capacity given an individual, at the time she or he is cured by a ghost and thereby made a shaman, to cure specific illnesses, to “throw” spells of witchcraft (hũũtsùù) into people, and to carry out traditional shamanic activities in general [IV.D.1.d] (Nimuendajú, 1946:235–240, 356 [snake doctor]). See also SHAMAN; SHAMANISM

PRÓ-KHÃMMÃ.  The Lower moiety age-set members in their 40s, 50s, or 60s who, for about 20 years, lead the council of elders, govern the festivals, balance the power of the chief, bestow items of honor on individuals, and receive meat pies in the plaza [II.D.2.f, 3.e] [II.E.7.c] [II.G.3.a.(1), (2), (6), (7), b.(7)] [III.A.3.b.(3)] [III.C.3.b, f] [III.C.5.c,6.b,8.b, 9] [III.D.1.e] [III.D.2.b, c] [III.D.2.d.(2).(a)] [IV.A.3.c.(4)] [IV.A.7.a.(4)] [IV.C.1.d.(1).(c)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:352 [councilors]) (Figures 19, 24). See also COUNCIL OF ELDERS

-RE. Suffix denoting the diminutive (“dim.” in translations).

RED REGENERATION SEASON MOIETY.  One of the two wet (rainy) season divisions (Kàà-mã-?khra: plaza-of-Indians) associated with the plaza in contrast to outside the village, with the color red in contrast to black, and with coin-shaped racing logs in contrast to cylindrical ones. See also BLACK REGENERATION SEASON MOIETY; REGENERATION SEASON; SEASON

REGENERATION SEASON.  One of the two annual named ceremonial seasons (about October through mid-January). The wet season (Nimuendajú’s “rainy season”: Mēipimràk: they change-and-change) in contrast to the dry (Wè?tè) season. During the Regeneration season, the Red moiety vies with the Black moiety [II.C.4.a] [III.C.4] [III.F.4.f] [IV.A.3.f.(2)] [IV.A.4] (Nimuendajú, 1946:356 [rainy season, rainy season moieties]) (Figure 25). See also SEASON

RELATIVE.  A consanguineal term, never used affinally. See also KIN

RESTRICTIONS.  Similar to taboos, but more easily seen as restraints (resguardos: ipiyakri-tsà) (but less so for women) against consuming foods with pollutions or against receiving pollutions through sexual relations. Canela believe that no man can have a strong character, be a good hunter, or run rapidly under the noonday sun, if he has not maintained severe postpubertal restrictions [II.D.2.b, c, f.(1)] [II.D.3.b, c.(1), d, g, i.(5)] [II.F.5.d] [II.G.3.b.(2)] [III.A.2.o, q, r] [III.A.3.b.(1).(a), c] [III.A.3.b.(2).(a)] [III.A.3.c.(2).(a)] [III.A.3.c.(3).(a),(f)] [III.E.2.b] [III.F.1l.a] [IV.A.3.c.(2).(a)] [IV.A.7.e] [IV.B.1.e, f, h.(3)] [IV.B.2.c.(1)] [IV.C.1.b.(5)] [IV.D.1.c.(2), (4)] [IV.D.1.e.(3)] [IV.D.3.a, c, d.(1), e, f] [V.A.5.b.(2)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:365 [taboos]). See also INTERNMENT; PEPYÊ; POLLUTIONS

RITES.  Ceremonies oriented to the individual that are put on for the individual by the individual’s kindred. “Rites,” “individual rites,” and “life-cycle rites” (e.g., woman’s belt painted red by female in-laws, male ear-piercing) are synonymous here, but these three expressions do not include all rites of passage of traditional anthropology, because some rites of passage are put on for the individual when the individual is part of a tribally oriented festival group (e.g., girls winning their belts as girl associates to a male group, males graduating through participation in initiation festivals into an adult age-set for life). Note the ceremonies excluded from the category of rites: daily acts, great days, haakhat (when defined as a ceremony), festivals, rituals [II.D.2.a, b, c, d, f.(1), h.(2)] [II.D.3.b, c, g] [III.A.2.j.(2).(a), o] [III.E.4.a] [III.F.4.a, c, d, e, f, h, i, j] [IV.B] (Plates 24, 25, 30, 31).

RITUALS.  Ceremonies owned by a haakhat and passed on to remain within the haakhat through matrilineality, through name-set transmission, or through a combination of both. Note the ceremonies excluded from the category of rituals: daily acts, festivals, great days, rites [II.C.4.b] [III.C.8] [III.D.2.c.(1)] [IV.A.5.c, d, e.(2)] [IV.A.7.a.(2)] [IV.C.1.b.(4YJ (Plates 47a, c, 50, 51, 53). See also HAAKHAT

RIVER-ORIENTED CEREMONIES.  Festivals and rituals with some occurrences of the haakhat, or with the haakhat combined with name-set transmission, such as the Fish, Masks’, and Closing Wè?tè festivals, and the Sweet Potato, Corn, and Pàlrà rituals. In their ethnohistory, the Canela (but not the Apanyekra) lived on the banks of a large river. Hypothetically, the haakhat and its matrilineality were developed there in connection with more sedentary agriculture [III.C.8] [IV.A.3.c.(4), (5), d, e] [IV.A.5.c, d, e.(2)] [IV.A.7.a.(2)] [IV.C.1.b.(7).(b)] (Plates 46–53). See also HAAKHAT; SITTING PLACE

SEASON.  Used in a ceremonial context, there are three seasons: (1) Regeneration season (starting with the Red versus Black Regeneration moiety foot race, sometime in October, and ending with a final Red-style log race in January); (2) an unnamed season (starting after the final Red-style log race and beginning the next day with a Corn-style log race in January and continuing up to the Opening Wè?tè festival starting sometime in very late March through to very late May); and (3) Wè?tè season (starting with the beginning of the Opening Wè?tè festival and ending with the final acts (Pyêk-re Yõ and Tsêp-re Yalkhwa) of the Closing Wè?tè festival, which occur only a few minutes before the Red versus Black Regeneration moiety foot race). Considering “season” in the context of log racing styles, there are only two seasons: there is the Regeneration time of Red-style versus Black-style racing (mē-ipimràk-khãm), which corresponds in timing to the ceremonial Regeneration season, and there is the age-set moiety time of age-set moiety-style racing (mē-hakhrãkhãm), which corresponds in timing to include both the unnamed and the Wè?tè ceremonial seasons. Considering “season” in the context of climate and weather, backlanders, the people of Barra do Corda, and currently the Canela use “summer” (verão) to refer to the relatively dry months of June through August, and “winter” (inverno) to refer to the very wet months of December through March. They do not use the Portuguese words for spring and fall. Earlier, the Canela usedamkràà-khãm (dry in/time, and other expressions) for “summer,” meaning the dry period, andta-khãm (rain in/time) for “winter.”

SECLUSION.See INTERNMENT

SHAMAN.  An individual (kay), almost always a man, to whom ghosts have given “powers” with which he can carry out some psychic activities, cure certain illnesses, and cast damaging spells, although he usually does not do the latter. In earlier times, shamanic attributes were termed amyi-ya?khre-pey (self-knowing-well: sabido: knowledgeable) [I.G.10, 13, 14] [III.A.2.n.(1)] [III.A.3.c.(2).(c)] [IV.D.1, 6] (Nimuendajú, 1946:235–240, 356 [snake doctor]) (Plates 68c, 70c, 71a, 75a). See also KNOWLEDGEABLE; POWERS; SHAMANISM

SHAMANISM.  Certain religious, psychic, or shamanic behaviors found among tribal peoples. The English word “shamanic” or the Canela words kay (a shaman or the shamanic) and amyi-ya?khre-pey (self-know/show-well: knowledgeability), and sometimes “psychic,” are used here [IV.D.1, 6]. See also SHAMAN

SHAME. Partly, behavior that is inhibited by tradition [III.A.3.c.(3).a] [III.D.3.e.(4)].

SING-DANCE LEADER. A specialist (nkrel-katê: sing-dance master) in singing and in leading social sing-dancing groups or certain festival acts with or without a gourd rattle (maraca) or belt rattle [II.D.3.i.(3)] [II.E.3.b,4.a,7.a] [II.F.1.a] [II.G.3.a.(3), e.(3)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:356, pl. 32b, c [precentor]). See also CEREMONIAL CHIEF

SITTING PLACE.  Specific physical locations (mē ?khrĩntsà: their sitting-place), according to the cardinal directions, in houses on the village circle held “forever” for age-sets, plaza groups, men’s societies, and other festival groups, but only at traditionally specified times during particular festivals. These locations are not determined by name-set transmission or matrilineality. House owners who happen to live in such festival locations (see Nimendajú 1946:210 [lodges]) serve such festival groups rather than owning them. The Pró-khãmmã do not move these “sitting places” nor change the family serving them [III.C.8.b]. See also HAAKHAT

SOCIOCULTURAL SECTORS.  Heuristic divisions of the entire sociocultural system of a people along lines where the perception of such separations into parts is relatively clear and easy to make. (I prefer this expression to “domains” because of its greater flexibility in that there can be large and very small sociocultural sectors and the emphasis is is on the concept “sociocultural.”)

STANDING PLACE.  Same as “sitting place,” but much less time is spent in a “standing place” (mē ?ku?hê-tsà: their standing-place). See also SITTING PLACE

STAR-WOMAN.  The culture heroine in an origin myth who showed the Canela and Apanyekra what foods were already growing and edible in the environment such as corn, squash, and buriti [IV.C.1.b.(4)].

SUMMER INSTITUTE OF LINGUISTICS (SIL).  Also called Wycliffe Bible Translators (based in Huntington Beach, California), an organization that specializes in giving Protestant missionaries advanced training in linguistics so that they can bring Christianity to communities throughout the world by translating most of the New Testament into their languages [II.B.3.a.(2)] [Ep.5.d] (Figures 11, 24).

SWEET POTATO RITUAL.  A haakhat-oriented ceremony (Hôtswa: leaf-pointed) held in early February to augment the sweet potato harvest [II.C.4.b] [II.F.5.e] [III.B.1.c.(1), (4)] [III.C.8.a] [IV.A.5.C] (Nimuendajú, 1946:356) (Plate 47a, c; Table 4). See also HAAKHAT

-TI (-?ti).  The augmentative suffix (indicated as “aug.” in translations), meaning large, big, more.

TÀMHÀK. See VISITING CHIEFS

TOWN CRIER.  A responsible man (mē-hààpôl-katê: them urge-on master) is selected by the Pró-khãmmã and put into office by the tribe through a ceremonial chief day celebration. He announces the news of a morning or evening council meeting to the whole village by singing it out from the edge of the plaza to the people in the houses. He does not become hàmren by virtue of his position as the town crier [II.D.3.i.(4)] [IV.A.3.f.(6)].

TSÙ?KATÊ-RE.  TWO ceremonial (hàmren) individuals, whose roles are transmitted through name-set transmission, who signal the opening or closing of certain festival acts. With the Wè?tè girls, the girl associates of the internment festivals, the file leaders of the internment festivals, and some other hàmren individuals, the Tsù?katê-re comprise an informal, daily life ceremonial elite but are particularly associated with the Wè?tè girls [II.G.3.a.(3)] [IV.A.3.e] |IV.A.5.e.(1)] [IV.A.7.d] (Nimuendajú, 1946:165, fig. 10) (Plates 50c, 52a). See also HÀMREN; WÈ?TÈ

UNCLES.  Generally a Crow kin category relative (kêt-), including MB, M“B,” MF, FF, and other kintypes, but not FB or F‘B.” “Uncles,” for this publication, may include ego’s naming-uncle and her or his advising-uncle as well as nonuncle kin category individuals who have assumed the roles of ego’s naming-uncle or “advising-uncle.” For instance, research assistants say that traditionally a girl’s “uncles” go hunting for her when she is in seclusion after having won her belt, but the actual hunter may be her father or the group of “uncles” may include her father [In.4.i] [II.D.1.b.c] [II.D.2.i.(4)] [II.D.3.b, c, g] [II.E.7.b] [II.G.3.a.(1),(2), (3)][III.A.2.j.(3), k.(2)][III.A.2.o, p, r.(1), s] [III.A.3.a.(1).(b),(2).(i)] [III.A.3.b.(1).(a),(b),(d)] [III.B.1.c.(1)] [III.C.4, 5, 6] [III.D.2.d.(1)] [III.D.3.b] [III.E.2.a, b, c, d]   [III.E.4]   [III.F.4.c] [IV.A.3.c.(1).(b),(2).(a)] |IV.A.5.e.(3)] [IV.A.7.a.(1),(2)] [IV.B.1.c.e] [IV.C.1.b.(6), c.(6)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:354 [maternal uncle]) (Figures 14, 15). See also AUNTS; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

UPPER AGE-SET MOIETY.  A daily activity moiety as well as a festival one (Khèy-katêyê upper opposing-people) composed of three or four age-sets, each about 20 years apart in members’ average age (Nimuendajú, 1946:90–92 [eastern age class moiety]). Membership is virtually unchangeable and recruitment is by approximate age and male only [III.C.3] (Figure 24). See also AGE-SET; LOWER AGE-SET MOIETY

UPPER PLAZA MOIETY.  A festival activity moiety (khèy-rummē-nkàà-tsà: upper-side-people-plaza-placed) appearing in the Khêêtúwayê, Pepyê, and Fish festivals and composed of three plaza groups: Boas, Bats, and Vultures [I I I.C.5] (Nimuendajú, 1946:87–90, 225, 355 [eastern plaza moiety]) (Figure 17). See also LOWER PLAZA MOIETY; BOAS; BATS; VULTURES

URUCU.  Red grease (pù: Bixa orellana) used in body painting and artifact decoration, extracted from berries of a bush often grown by the Canela. In cities, urucu often can be bought to color food [II.F.5.b] (Nimuendajú, 1946:357) (Plate 78d). See also CHARCOAL AND LATEX PAINT; FALCON DOWN

VISITING CHIEFS.  A set of male individuals (Tàmhàk) who appear in festival acts only twice (in the Pepkahàk festival) but who hold an elite rank to some extent in daily as well as ceremonial life. They constitute a high ceremonial honor (hàmren) group of intratribal, intersubtribal unit Visiting Chiefs. The Canela (not the Apanyekra) have tribal remnants of formerly independent tribes now living within the Canela tribe. (Eastern Timbira tribal membership is father to son and mother to daughter.) Members of one tribal remnant select a Visiting Chief in each of the other remnants. As a modern continuation of this ancient practice, the Canela have appointed, decorated, and installed two visiting chiefs among the Apanyekra whom they hold responsible for feeding and housing them when they happen to visit the Apanyekra village, but these modern visiting chiefs are called mē-hõõpa?hi (their ceremonial-chief) rather than Tàmhàk [II.D.3.i.(2).(b)] [II.G.3.b.(8)] [III.C.7.a] [IV.A.3.c.(3).(d), (e)] [IV.C.1.d.(1).(a), (b)] [V.A.5.b.(1).(b)] (Nimuendajú, 1946:353–354 [King Vultures]) (Plate 28c, f). See also CEREMONIAL CHIEFS

VULTURES.  The southern plaza group (tsôn: urubu) of the Upper (eastern) plaza moiety, one of the six plaza groups in the Pepyê festival (Figure 17). See also UPPER PLAZA MOIETY; NAME-SET TRANSMISSION

WAKMÊ-?TI/-RE. The wheel/coin log style (a thin slice) and the set of log races of the Red Regeneration season moiety. See also KATÀM-TI/-RE

WAYTIKPO.  A sing-dance in the center of the plaza While the sun is setting during the Pepyê and Pepkahàk festivals. This sing-dance is the culminating point of high ceremony of these two festivals and has a repertoire of 6 to 8 songs, which are sung in a circle formed by the two girl associates and their two immediate predecessors, as well as by a master maraca leader and one or two of his apprentices. The great honor awards are given to female and male adolescents by the Pró-khãmmã just after this performance. Its songs are sung casually by women While they are working on daily activities.

WÈ?TÈ.  A term mat encompasses a festival season, two festivals, and two festival roles. The two great festival seasons are the Wè?tè (the dry season), for which there is no known translation, and the Regeneration (the wet season). The two festivals are the Opening Wè?tè and the Closing Wè?tè, which begin and end, respectively, the Wè?tè season. The two festival roles are those of the two Wè?tè girls, who (appointed by the Pró-khãmmã) are the principal members of an informal ceremonial hierarchy, which includes the Tsu?katê-re. The girls’ families provide a gathering center in their houses, enlarged as a service, to host the opposing age-set moiety to the Wè?tè girls’ fathers. This opposing age-set moiety addresses their Wè?tè family members using kinship terms, the Wè?tè girl being “sister” and her parents “mother” and “father.” Each of the two fathers must come from a different age-set moiety. The Wè?tè girls are not girl associates because each is like a sister instead of a “wife” to her group [II.C.4.C] [II.D.2.e.(1), (3)] [II.G.3.b.(1)] [III.A.3.c.(1).(c)] [IILC.3.f] [III.C.7, 8.d] [III.D.3.e.(3)] [III.F.10] [IV.A.3.a, b, d, e,4.a] (Nimuendajú, 1946:357) (Plate 52; Figure 45). See also AGE-SET; GIRL ASSOCIATES; TSÙ?KATÊ-RE

WETHEADS.  Canela are either wetheaded (mē ka-?khrã nk00: the-ones generalizer-head wet) or dryheaded (mē ka-?khrã nkrràà: the-ones generalizer-head dry). All hàmren ceremonial status individuals are wetheaded, and all Clowns are dryheaded, but some non-Clowns are dryheaded. These two statuses and their corresponding personality traits are supposed to be maintained in daily life, but there are only two festival acts in which both groups appear as such and carry out their traditional roles. This occurs in the Pepkahàk festival during the Wild Boar day and during the preparation for this day the late afternoon before. On the Wild Boar day, the wetheaded men go out to a farm where the wives of the Dryheads are, and the dryheaded men stay in the village where the wives of the Wetheads are. Extramarital sex is had by many [III.C.7]   [IV.A.3.c.(3).(e)]   [IV.A.3.c.(4).(c)] [IV.A.3.f.(1),7] (Nimuendajú, 1946:351 [Clowns], 353 [hàmren]) (Plate 44a”). See also DRYHEADS; HÀMREN

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Reference Outline

Foreword Preface

1. Research

2. Fieldwork

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1. The Canela

2. The Apanyekra

3. Objectives and Structure of This Volume

a. Part I: The Field Situation

b. Part II: Ethnographic Background

c. Part III: Social Organization

d. Part IV: Ceremonial and Belief Systems

e. Part V: Canela Structural Patterns

f. Epilogue: The Canela in me 1980s

g. Appendices

4. Definitions and Editorial Decisions

a. Reference Strategy: Codes, glossary, page referencing

b. Refining the Canela, Ramkokamekra, and Apanyekra

c. Defining the Non-Indian Populations

d. Defining the “Research Assistant”

e. Use of Canela Names to Protect Privacy

f. References to Field Studies

g. Italicization and Capitalization of Terms

h. Translation of Canela Terms

i. “Uncles” instead of “Momers’ Brothers”

j. Use of Gender Pronouns

k. Defining me “Indian Service”

5. Linguistic Key

6. Chronology

Part I: The Field Situation: experiences, techniques, equipment, language learning, and research assistant relationships

A. General Characteristics

1. Outstanding Ethnology

2. My Adoption by Canela Families

3. My Typical Day

B. Early Acceptance Experiences

1. From Tribal Member to Ethnologist

2. Two Most Guarded Types of Behavior

a. Extramarital Relations System

b. Official Stealing of Backlander Cattle

C. Problem-solving in me Field: building rapport, trading, for artifacts, census taking

D. Field Equipment

1. First Five Field Trips, 1957–1966

a. Note-taking

b. Tape Recording

c. Photography

d. Rorschach Tests

2. Last Five Field Trips, 1969 and the 1970s

a. Note-taking

b. Study of Colors

c. Photography and Filming

d. Recording Choral Chanting and Individual Singing

e. Clothing

E. Learning the Canela Language

1. Phonemic Contrasts

2. Time Spent on Language

F. Diaries and Tapes

1. First Three Writers

2. The Manuscript-writing Program

a. Additional Writers of the 1970s

b. Policies and Payment Principles

3. 1979 and the Future

G. Special Research Assistants

1. The Younger Tep-hot (Plate 70g)

2. The Older Kaapêltùk (Plate 70b)

3. The Older Mĩĩkhrô(not photographed)

4. The Younger Kaapêltùk [= Kaapêl] (Figure 51)

5. The Younger Pù?tô (Plate 68a)

6. Hàwpùù (Plate 70f)

7. Khà?po (Plate 70e)

8. Pyê?khàl (not photographed)

9. Ropkhà (Plate 71e)

10. The Younger Mĩĩkhrô(Plate 70c)

11. Rõõ-re-?hô (Plate 68d)

12. Khôykhray (Plate 71f)

13. Mulwa (Plate 71a)

14. The Older Tsùùkhè (Plate 68c)

15. Kôham (Plate 68f)

H. Special Friends in the State of Maranhão

Part II: Ethnographic Background: ecological and diachronic contexts, natural and cultural cycles, expressive and material culture

a. Data Sources: see Appendix 6

b. Categorizing Culture Areas

c. Ecological Context during 200 Years of Contact

d. Socioeconomy

e. Historical Context

A. Gê Language Family, Its Populations, and Ecology

1. Gê Language Family: Timbira; Northern, Central, and Southern Gê

2. Population of Gê-speaking Indians: all Gê are in Brazil, about 26, 000 in mid-1980s

3. Effects of Ecology on Survival, Demography, Acculturation, Geography

a. Historical Isolation

(1) Pioneer fronts dislocated Krahó, let Canela retreat behind hills

(2) Geography necessitated mid-20th century roads bypass Canela

(3) Aboriginal trekking became travel to cities, using bypass roads

b. Physical Environment

(1) Three biomes’ intersection: dry forest, caatinga, cerrado

(2) Cerrado environment, almost open grass to almost closed woods

c. Socioeconomic Factors Inhibiting Brazilian Encroachment

(1) Natural barriers

(2) Economic barriers

(3) Transportation barriers

d. Apanyekra versus Canela Acculturation Factors

(1) Backland settlements, ranchers and farmers

(2) Indian service contacts

(3) Trails through forests and rivers versus cerrados and streams

(4) Transportation by truck, jeep, horse, mule, or on foot

(5) Village locations, watercourses; gallery forest for farming

B. Diachronic Context: indigenous accounts, acculturation, Barra do Corda

1. Indigenous Accounts of Canela History from Contact to 1929

a. From Contact to Pacification, Late 1600s to 1814

b. Early Post-Pacification Period, 1815–1840: from disorder to stability

c. Turn-of-Century Cultural Climax: surpluses, cattle, mud houses

(1) Cakamekra join Canela in Hà?kawrè act (sex neutralizes hostility)

(2) Suppress Guajajara uprising; Canela help Barra do Corda militia

(3) Youths educated in Barra do Corda; one origin of folk Catholicism

(4) Sorcerer’s Execution and Tribal Schism

d. Years of Economic Deficiency, 1903–1922; not by me Santo Estévão

(1) Origin of peace keeping ceremony

(2) Kenkateye-Canela massacre

(3) Tribal reunification

(4) Great drought

(5) Return to the Santo Estévão and to relative self-sufficiency

e. Integenerational Control and the Age-set Marriage Ceremony

f. 1929 Forward: Nimuendajú arrives, end of research assistant memory studies

2. Acculturation Influences, 1930–1970: backlands, Barra do Corda, big cities

a. Nimuendajú’s Era: he gave diem confidence in their traditions

b. Indian Service’s Influences: first outside family living by village

(1) Olímpio Cruz: raises output, but after 1947, no more surpluses

(2) Changing Perceptions of Outsiders

(3) Youths Study in Capital: younger Kaapêl’s outsider tastes

c. Deculturative Factors: chief’s death, much alcohol, two schisms

d. Acculturative Contract Broken: faith lost in Indian service’s support

e. Turning Point: urban civilizados may be “good” like Canela

f. Messianic Movement of 1963: reliance on Awkhêê, not on own work

(1) Prediction; shotgun to Índio, arrow to civilizado

(2) Dancing cult; Cattle stolen; predictions fail, reformulation

(3) Ranchers’ attack; Canela runner sent to summon Indian service aid

(4) Younger Kaapêltùk’s defense; mayor and local Indian service head bring help

(5) Saved by Indian service agents’ marching Canela through ranchers’ lines

g. “Exile” at Sardinha, 1963–1968

(1) Forced relocation from cerrado to dry forest environment

(2) Traditional placement of families around new village’s circle

(3) Messianic movement discredited; Awkhêê did not divert the bullets

(4) Cerrado versus dry forest advantages; esthetics, medicines

(5) Reasons for non-adaptation; different hunting and farming styles; psychological stress, proximity of homelands

(6) Influences from Guajajaras; wearing clothing becomes necessary

(7) City influences; commercialize artifacts, Canela esteem raised

(8) Acculturation nadir; exiled; low morale; work strike; hunger

(a) Lost dignity of older Canela; contrast with Apanyekra

(b) Chief dead; new Pró-khãmmã so new era; messianism futuristic

(9) Population questions; forest decrease more apparent than real

h. Return to Cerrado Home: ranchers neutralized by army potential

(1) Bridge at Ourives enables army engineers to protect the returnees

(2) Attempted Schisms; reintegration after 13 years

i. Reasons for New High Morale

(1) Home again, game replenished, ranchers destabilized

(2) Indian service presence substantial; new brick buildings, employees

(3) Road completed between Ourives and Escalvado

(4) Sebastião Ferreira; Indian service agents’ conditions in me backlands

(a) Builds rapport among Canela; door-to-door medicine; “he cares”

(b) Compared to Olímpio Cruz; both developed deep Canela relationships

(c) Active leadership against alcohol, in soccer, in council

(d) His objective is to train Canela to take post positions before he leaves

(5) Chief Kaarà?khre’s conversion from alcohol helps whole tribe

3. Significant Events of the 1970s

a. Missionary Family Contributions

(1) Fair backland price exchanges; community development

(2) Current practices and ultimate purposes

b. Manuscript Writing: develops ability to analyze

(1) Tep-hot learned outsider analysis translating manuscripts

(2) Apanyekra contrast; little reading and writing; fieldwork hard

c. Visits of Other Anthropologists: Azanha, Ladeira, Layrisse, Mehringer, Ritter

d. Education of Kaprêêprêk: helps tribe understand city life

e. Official Policy of Conscientização

f. Demarcation of Lands: Operação Timbira’s student lawyers

(1) Press coverage as a contributing factor; lands increased

(2) Apanyekra airfield helped protect lands; road completed late

g. Radio Transmitter at Village Post: saves lives; new hopes

h. Changes in Transportation Routes: enable changes in outlook

i. Public Health and Population Growth

j. Agricultural Problems: backland cattle break fences, eat produce

(1) Need to sharecrop near backlander farms

(2) Tractor’s presence makes walking to Barra do Corda an indignity for some

k. Cattle Raising: possible by leaving Cattle in Indian service’s herd

1. Western Abraçado Dancing: popular but not replacing sing-dancing

4. Barra do Corda Influence on the Canela, 1950s-1970s

a. Geography and Demography of Barra do Corda

b. Settlement: the last river port before crossing to the Tocantins

c. Agriculture of Barra do Corda: rice, beans, manioc; cattle, pigs, chickens

d. Institutions of the City: businesses, industries, banks, churches

e. Communications with Urban Brazil: transportation (boat, air, road) and communications (telephones, television)

f. Regional Agricultural Development: migration into Amazonia

g. Industrial Zone: near the Canela access road to Barra do Corda

h. Education

i. Medicine and Sanitation

j. Construction: buildings, electrical generators, bridges

k. Modernization and Attitudinal Changes

(1) Influences from the Northeast and Brasília

(2) Culture and recreation

(3) Cultural contrasts; Barra do Corda more like USA than backland culture

C. Annual Cycles: climatic, environmental, economic, ceremonial

1. Climatic Cycle: influences from three biomes

a. Region of Climatic Shift

b. Canela Annual Climatic Cycle: rain, humidity, temperature, wind

2. Environmental Cycle: traditional monthly markers

3. Economic Cycle: starts in June; more backlander than aboriginal

a. Clearing Fields

b. Burning and Fencing

c. Planting and Weeding

d. Division of Labor

e. Crops, Fruits, Domesticated Animals, Hunting, and Fishing

f. Traditional Artifacts for Sale

g. Summary

4. Ceremonial Cycle: intermeshed with the other three annual cycles

a. Regeneration Season (Mē-ipimrák): Red versus Black moiety log racing

b. Unnamed Ceremonial Season: Sweet Potato, Corn, Pàlrà rituals

c. Wè?tè Season: festivals; age-set moiety racing; sanctioned extramarital sex

D. Life Cycles: roles and behaviors

1. Birth and Childhood

a. Parental Roles: supportive and permissive

b. Roles of Aunts and Uncles: naming, advising, joking

(1) Naming practices; naming-aunts’ and naming-uncles’ ceremonial roles

(2) Role of the advising-“uncle”; parallels naming-uncle’s role

(3) Joking aunts and uncles; the joy of life, especially when cross-sex

c. Children’s Activities: girls at kin’s side; boys play in the cerrado

2. Life Cycle of Women

a. Loss of Virginity: constitutes marriage and social puberty

b. Menstruation: caused by first sex; requires first restrictions

c. Postpubertal Restrictions: to gain strength and maturity

d. Privacy for Adolescent Girls: 2-meter high beds for sex

e. Being a Girl Associate: high point of adolescent’s life

(1) Positions of high honor for life; statuses contrasted

(2) Winning their belts; symbol of relative maturity

(3) Giving through extramarital sex; joy to the group

f. Winning Objects of Ceremonial Honor: status remembered for life

(1) Seclusion after winning belts; to learn restrictions, to gain kin’s support

(2) Belts painted red by female in-laws as acceptance

g. Women’s “Free” Years: “adolescence”; married but very available

h. Attaining Womanly Maturity: pregnancy, childbirth, motherhood

(1) Securing her social husband through pregnancy

(a) Choosing contributing-fathers for child’s traits and life-long support

(b) Avoiding activities or items affecting the fetus; backland influences

(2) Childbirth; exigencies of childcare

(3) Motherhood; reinforced by teknonymy and advising kin

i. Women’s Roles: mother and household maintainer first, wife second

(1) Work primarily in house and harvesting

(2) Food collection; formerly primary, currently minor

(3) Social activities limited and child-oriented

(4) Sharing judicial and ceremonial authority with brothers

(5) Female head of household; a position requiring leadership

(6) Status of permanently single women; respected; fewer because of acculturation

j. Status of the Elderly Woman

(1) Loss of authority to daughter who takes over household

(2) Agricultural retirement pensions contribute to household support

3. Life Cycle of Men

a. Induction into Age-Set: Khêêtúwayê festival; kin ward off ghosts

b. Ear-piercing Rite: seclusion for better listening, understanding, obeying

c. Loss of Virginity: discipline transfers from parents to uncles

(1) Internment to learn me character-building practice of restrictions

(2) Ordered to live in the plaza but not to touch the free women there

(3) Disciplined before line of women; uncles’ enforcement of authority

d. Internment in the Pepyê festival: youths enculturated by tribal agents; build group solidarity, and individual growth

e. Winning Honor Awards from Pró-khãmmã: to motivate proper behavior

f. The Nkrekre-re Period: individual and age-set activities

g. Couvade: the shock that binds; subject to his in-laws command

h. Status of Fatherhood and Sons-in-Law: full maturity; family’s economic support

(1) Sons-in-law; their current rise in relative power and importance in agriculture

(2) Succession to household leadership; son- to father-in-law

i. Adult Male Activities and Roles

(1) Going on Trek: returning with urban equipment proves ability

(2) Ceremonial Roles: prestige of some roles carries over into daily life

(a) Dance masters learn to lead in festival roles and in daily dancing

(b) Ceremonial chiefs(mē-hõõpa?hi) of each age-set

(3) Political Roles: start with leadership roles in initiation festivals

(4) Town Crier: sings out results of council meeting to whole village

(5) Shamans: ghosts may give powers to the sick and youths in seclusion

(6) Hunters: traditionally more prestigious than farmers

(7) Farmer and Hunter Compared: closer to hunting than farming psychology

j. Middle Age: formerly respected for their endurance shown in survival

k. Council of Elders: gratifying for all older men

1. Old Age: life continues similarly, but individuals weaken

E. Daily Cycle

1. Definitions of Individual Activities

a. Occurrence of Daily and Festival Activities: occur concurrently or sequentially

b. Nondaily Cycle Activities: festival, life cycle, idiosyncratic, ceremonial

2. Time Orientations: Canela concepts of “today” and sequence of “todays”

3. Evening Activities: day begins at sunset, coming early morning dance is “today’s”

a. Twilight: male conviviality; council meeting; cheer for moon

b. Evening Sing-Dance: fun for young women and men; foreign dances

c. Troubadours: rare serenading of the village by the young

4. Midnight and Early Morning Activities: dividing point of night’s “today”

a. Early Morning Sing-Dance: time of great joy for the young

(1) Calling out the women

(2) Youths’ role; women fixed in single line, while male patterns vary

(3) Climax: most frenzied time for the restrained Canela

b. Bathing: twice a day, formerly in mixed groups, but certain avoidances

5. Morning Activities: time for work

a. Age-Set Meetings

b. Morning Council Meeting

c. Track Events: mild male competitiveness; various foot races

d. Men Visit Female Kin: where they are authorities as mothers’ brothers

e. Off to Work: to farms, group work sites, or tasks in village

f. Women for Male Work Groups: changing mores

g. Quality of Work: slow but full of care; almost all acts made into play

6. Mid-Day and Afternoon Activities: return to pleasure; rest, sex, athletics

a. Siesta: for relaxation after work and before racing

b. Log Race: the intertribal pan-Gê sport

7. Late Afternoon Activities: ceremonial sing-dance; council meeting

a. Afternoon Dance in Plaza: the great sing-dance ceremonial

b. Key Authority-Maintenance Ceremony: uncles discipline nephews

c. High Ceremony for Hàmren People: meat pies presented to Pró-khãmmã

8. Early Evening Council Meeting and Boulevard Sing-Dancing: factors in high social cohesion

9. Canela Day Seen Ethnostructurally: similar to two festival structures

10. Observations: sufficient flexibility, satisfactions, communication

F. “Recreation:” music, sports, games, body painting; frustration outlets

1. Music: principally vocal and choral with gourd and belt rattles

a. Rattles: precise percussion instruments; maraca; sing-dance master

(1) Formal instruction by maraca master in Pepyê festival encampment

(2) Maraca masters’ techniques, procedures, rhythms

(3) Belt rattle of tapir hoof tips dropped on mat or shook from knee

b. Secular Sing-Dancing: descriptive terms

(1) Individual vocal traits (Canela, backlander); learning; performing on city radio

(2) Group styles and formations; variety, harmony, scales, tones

(a) Daily sing-dances in plaza; three dance periods; song repertoire; songs of other tribes

(b) Troubadours around boulevard; small group of youths serenade houses

(c) Mē Aykhē around boulevard; age-sets facing houses; for special occasions

(d) Evening boulevard age-set files with maraca leader

c. Ceremonial Sing-Dancing: styles and formations in festivals

(1) Khêêtúwayê festival dancing; two facing rows turn to march in files

(2) Singing in circle, facing in, expanding and contracting the circle

(3) Mē hakrel; files move parallel but in opposite directions; similar to prayer

(4) Great buriti log race squared style; “splitting” the plaza, running

(5) Individual sing-dancing around boulevard before each house

d. Foreign Songs: learned Pukobyé songs in 1960, and still singing them

2. Sports: adapted to long distance, unhampered, open cerrado running

a. Log Racing: competing moiety dichotomies; Apanyekra imbalance

(1) Procedures and practices; challenges to balance past defeats

(a) Cleared wide roads for two teams to run parallel unhindered by brush

(b) Log cutting and selection; buriti and Pàlrà styles

(c) Shapes, textures, decorations; final log preparation, weight testing

(d) Lifting to shoulder; learning to bear great weight; level running style

(e) Transfer to follower; choice of following reliable runners

(f) Objectives are to enter village first; individuals pass oponents

(2) In festivals, special songs, challenging team’s lead, participants

(3) In village, winning matters little; rechallenge races; Wè?tès’ role

b. Track Events: sprinting, long distance endurance, relay races

c. Projectile Games: all tests of skill but great fun

(1) Arrow bouncing, deflecting off board to out-fly other age-set’s arrow

(2) Padded hand-thrown lances; uncle-nephew dodging practice

(3) Padded arrows; lance and bonnet winner dodges other age-set’s arrows

(4) Arrow dance; women shoot at nonrelatives who dodge the arrows

d. Soccer: Noncompetitiveness vs appropriate aggressiveness

(1) Popular Indian service personnel was the key to learning new values

(2) Respect gained in the backlands through fielding an effective team

3. Children’s Games and Toys: chance not important factor in games or sports

a. Individual Games and Toys: made by parents, not by aunts or uncles

b. Group Games and Toys: doll houses, backland competitions

4. Adult Formal Friendship Dramas

5. Body “Painting”: reveals status, conditions, states, relationships

a. Falcon Down: used only in specific ceremonial high status situations

b. Urucu: expresses familial care and health

c. Charcoal and White Latex Paint: implies joking and extramarital sex

d. Black Charcoal: indicates the wearer is undergoing food and sex restrictions

e. Rare “Paints”: genipap, yellow urucu root, white chalk, pati fuzz

6. Generalizations: log racing and body “painting”; soccer, visual arts vis-à-vis musical arts

G. Artifacts

1. The Visual Arts: relatively unemphasized

2. Commercial Products: lesser quality, more elaborate painting

3. Traditional Artifacts

a. Honor Awards: bestowed on individuals for good behavior

(1) Feather Bonnet (hàkyara) (Table 8, item 2; Plate 56e)

(2) Ceremonial Lance (khrúwa-tswa) (Table 8, item 1; Plates 56e, 63c, d)

(3) Belt with Pendants All Around (tsù) (Table 8, item 3; Plate 60c, d)

(4) Belt with Pendants Only in Front (tsêp) (Table 8, item 4)

(5) Belt of Cords with Bead Pendants Behind (akàà) (Table 8, item 5; Plates 57c, 59h)

(6) Dorsal Neck Pendant, with Bead Pendants and Small Gourd Bowl (krat-re) (Table 8, item 6; Plate 59f)

(7) Dorsal Neck Pendant, with Wooden Comb and Bead Pendants (khoykhe-re) (Table 8, item 7; Plate 59b, g)

(8) Shoulder to Waist Diagonal Sash with Two Tassels (hahĩ) (Table 8, item 8; Plate 56)

b. Festival Items: made for and mostly worn during certain festivals

(1) Headband of Vertical Macaw Feathers (pàn-yapùù) (Table 8, item 24; Plate 61a)

(2) Body Scratching Stick (Table 8, item 25; Plate 67c)

(3) Child’s Dorsal Head-Strap Basket (Table 8, item 26; Plate 66a)

(4) Miniature Racing Logs with Handles (Pàlrà-re) (Table 8, item 27; Plate 67a)

(5) Diagonal Shoulder-Armpit Sashes of Cords (Table 8, item 28; Plate 59a, e)

(6) Novice’s Carved Staff with Tines (Pepyê yõõ khô) (Table 8, item 31; Plate 64d)

(7) Cotton Bracelets with Tassels (pa-tsêê) (Table 8, item 34, Plate 60f)

(8) Occipital Hair Tie of Cotton with Cane Rod Pendants (poopok) (Table 8, item 39; Plate 61b)

(9) Fish-shaped Meat Pie Frame (tep yà?-kuupu: fish its-pie) (Table 8, item 43;Plate 61b)

(10) Life-size Body Mask (ku?khrùt-ti ?hô: water-beast large its-hair) (Table 8, item 47)

(11) Mask’s Food-spearing Stick (Table 8, item 48)

(12) Occipital Hair Adornment of Catolé Palm Frond (híwa?kèy) (Table 8, item 49)

(13) Padded Arrows (khrúwa kakot) (Table 8, item 35; Plate 63b)

(14) Padded Lances (Table 8, item 50; Plate 63a)

c. Women’s Items

(1) Belt of Tucum Cords (i?pre) (Table 8, item 19; Plate 39a)

(2) Belt of Shredded Bast (Table 8, no field number)

(3) Necklace of Many Strings of Ceramic Beads (Table 8, item 149; Plates 57b, 73c, 76g)

(4) Dorsal Head-Strap Basket of Buriti Stalk Surface Strips (khay) (Table 8, item 61)

d. Men’s Objects

(1) Wooden Staff (khô-po) (Table 8, item 9; Plate 64e)

(2) Wooden Club (khôtàà) (Table 8, item 10; Plate 63f)

(3) Small Wooden Club (khôtàà-re) (Table 8, item 10; Plate 63f)

(4) Relay Race Batons (a?khrô-re) (Table 8, item 11; Plate 64a, b)

(5) Head Bands (i?khrã-?khà or hà?khà)

(a) Little Old Cerrado Deer (poo-tsũm-re)

(b) Headband like a Calf

(c) Póro

(d) Clown’s Headband (hĩ or hĩ-?ti)

(e) Older Person’s Headband

(f) Calf Headband (prùù-ti ?khra)

(6) Round Earlobe Spools(khuy) (Table 8, item 13; Plate 62a, b, c)

(7) Wooden Earlobe Piercer(hapak katswèl tsà) (Table 8, item 55; Plates 62g, 68c)

(8) Buriti Bast Bag for First Earlobe Hole Pins (Table 8, item 56; Plate 62f)

(9) Necklaces(hõ?khre-tsêê) (Table 8, item 149; Plate 59a)

(10) Plaited Shoulder-Armpit Diagonal Sashes(hara-?pê) (Table 8, item 16; Plate 58a)

(11) Armlets(hara-khat-tsêê) (Table 8, item 17e) and Leglets(i?te-tsêê) (Table 8, item 17f)

(12) Belt with Tail of Buriti Frond Straw(tsoo-re yapùù) (Table 8, item 18; Plate 58b)

e. Musical Instruments

(1) Cattle Horn(hõ?hi) (Table 8, item 20a; Plate 65c)

(2) Gourd Horn(pàtwè) (Table 8, item 20b; Plate 65a)

(3) Gourd Rattle(ku?tõy) (Table 8, item 21; Plate 65a)

(4) Gourd Whistle (ku?khõn-re) (Table 8, item 22)

(5) Straight Wooden Whistle (ku?khõn-khrèt) (Table 8, item 23; Plate 65b)

Part III: Social Organization: socialization, psychological polarities, and social and ceremonial units; political structure, terminological relationships, and marriage

A. Socialization and Related Adult Activities

1. Research Methods

a. Personal Observations

b. Discussions with Research Assistants

c. Canela and Apanyekra Socialization Processes

2. Foci of Socialization

a. Infant Care: by female kin group; “milk siblings”

b. Breast Feeding: on demand; for distraction, given someone’s breast

c. Feeding of Solids: no bottle feeding in 1950s, nothing forced

d. Exploration and Distracting Small Children from Dangers

e. Standing and Walking: babies helped when ready, never forced

f. Weaning: traditionally between 3 and 4 years; now, between teething and walking

(1) Principal weaning technique; tricked into eating, not done against will

(2) Pepper breast only if pregnant; a deplored backland “regular” practice

g. Talking: through imitation and repetition; in joking relationships

h. Urination: no attempt to control it, wet clothing tolerated

i. Defecation: between 2 to 4 years old, when children understand to go outside

(1) Related adult practices; alone, hidden, in the cerrado

(2) Sanitation problems in Sardinha and Escalvado

j. Sex: Important training for tradition of extramarital relations

(1) Penis Play: by mothers and classificatory wives

(2) Masturbation: forbidden; a matter for aunts and uncles to correct

(a) Loss of virginity payments (both sexes); male loss if foreskin loose

(b) Adult modesty; though naked, glans penis and inner genitalia hidden

(3) Opposite-Sex Siblings’ Sex Play: one of two most severely punished offenses

(4) Adolescent or Adult Incest: uterine siblings become crazy and die

(5) Sexual Education of Males: from joking, rafter beds, “spouses,” watching trysts

(a) Homosexuality: rare but tolerated

(b) Males’ first experience with an older classificatory spouse

(6) Sexual Education of Females: from joking uncles, from hearing rafter bed activity

(a) Learns from disciplinary aunt, who also inspects her for broken hymen

(b) Learns by group force if she is not "generous" with her other "husbands"

(c) Learns through being a girl associate, "wife" to a male group

k. Aggression Regulation: external agression not rewarded for last 150 years

(1) Girls fighting is rare and only when very small

(2) Boys fighting is rare; second worst offense; a trial if blood is drawn

(3) Spirited willfulness of little A?prol; like earlier warrior

(4) War leaders had innate ferocity; externally directed, internal restraint

(5) Nonconfrontational at foci, many outlets for frustrations

1. Eating Practices: permissive and irregular for both children and adults

m. Independence/Dependence: girls help parents, boys play in cerrado; of adults

n. Khêêtúwayê Festival: prepubertal boys cooperate in nonfamilial group

(1) Boys learn protective roles of kin against unknown and supernatural dangers

(2) Boys confined and visited by uncles who teach traditions and values

o. Ear-piercing for Boys: to listen, understand, and obey

p. Puberty: shift to uncle’s harsher discipline

q. Pepyê Festival: postpubertal boys learn restrictions

r. Group Disciplinary Practices: to toughen and control adolescents

(1) Uncles as warriors haze nephews for food and sex infractions

(2) Apanyekra practice severe public shaming for sex during Pepyê internment

s. Traditions Lost due to Service Personnel’s Presence: uncle-nephew hazing

(1) Adolescent sex with elderly; youths with menopausal women

(2) Childless women sleeping in the plaza on opposite side from husbands

3. Forces of Socialization

a. Forces of Socialization for Children

(1) Rewarding and Motivating Forces

(a) Parents’ roles; give extra toys and food (Ta?pa); tell stories

(b) Aunts’, uncles’ roles; supply head-baskets and toys; joking, storytelling, hunting

(2) Restraining Forces

(a) Trait formation; not stingy, angry; no fighting, maligning, stealing

(b) Incessant streams of mild talk and insistant requests

(c) Distraction, trick into cooperation; to not confront and weaken will

(d) No verbal abuse used to lessen self-image, unlike backlanders

(e) Fear used to attract attention, impress, and get cooperation

(f) Ignoring the very willful; if control ineffectual, let child have it’s way

(g) Physical punishments; hitting palm of hand for extreme misbehavior

(h) Forcing medicine; acculturative change from late 1950s to 1970s

(i) Aunts and uncles hit only in extreme cases; if ignored return to parents

b. Forces of Socialization for Adolescents

(1) Restraining Forces

(a) Aunts and uncles teach sex restrictions; more detached than parents

(b) Aunts and uncles teach endurance for life roles through confrontation

(c) Attaining strength through maintaining virginity (Pààtsêt)

(d) Uncles send nephews to plaza; impose sex and food restrictions; haze

(e) Formal Friends: fear of “games” against them restrains individuals

(2) Enabling Forces

(a) Food, sex restrictions; “helping hand” to do well in most adult roles

(b) “Medicines,” Formal Friends, cross-sex siblings

(3) Rewarding Forces: public and private awards

(a) For girls

(b) For youths

c. Forces of Socialization for Adults

(1) Rewarding Forces

(a) Extramarital sex partners; general availability helps morale

(b) “Advice” from older relatives; intergenerational adult bonding

(c) Appointment of children to positions of honor brings honor to their parents

(d) Prestigious roles; few positions for highest roles, some high roles for all

(2) Enabling Forces

(a) Food and sex restrictions against pollutions by shamans and hunters

(b) Formal Friends, the most developed helping device for adults

(c) “Powers” from ghosts, hunting “vision” from “medicines”

(d) Orders for carrying out most roles is strongly felt need

(3) Restraining Forces for Adults

(a) Shame; enculturated inhibiting factor; hàmren have much shame, Clowns have little shame

(b) Formal Friend “games”; shaming acts replacing uncles’ discipline

(c) Stories as warnings; she hung herself to avoid marrying mother’s choice

(d) Concern about reputation of stinginess (hõõtsè); lose sex partners

(e) Apprehension of negative rumors (tswa?nã); spoiled name

(f) Age-set admonitions; pressure on men; noncompliance is antisocial

(g) Political pressure; no enforcement agent, but deep need felt to comply

(h) Fear of shaman’s spell; enforced generosity traditionally, but now weak

(i) Folk Catholic Satan; when God is not “looking,” Satan harms strayers

(j) Spurning by “other spouses”; open sex talk and rumors diminishing

4. Ethnotheories of Individual Development

a. Personality Is Imminent: so training is permissive

b. Discipline Breeds Respect: so train with strength

c. Conceptualization of Growth Periods: steps slanting upward

5. Summary

a. Permissive Training: generates low tolerance of frustration

b. Dependency Training: creates expectation of being cared for by others

c. Discipline and Freedom: control at puberty contrasted with sexual freedom later

d. Acculturative Factors in the Disorganization of the 1970s

e. State of Being in the 1970s: strong desires with little control

B. Psychological “Polarities,” Values, and Behavioral Orientations

1. Valued Orientations: complementary and oppositional “pairings”

a. Generosity versus Stinginess

(1) Backlanders “stingy” with year’s subsistence stores

(2) Game eaten secretly to avoid “begging”; “generous” when confronted

(3) Individuals gave to avoid accusations of witchcraft, a pervasive fear

(4) Rights to sex and other services belong to desirer; result in bold “begging”

b. Feeling and Caring versus Self-Centeredness

(1) Disapproval of backlanders’ lack of strong caring for others

(2) Feelings over fairness in distributions of goods; trading difficulties

(3) Telling the truth less important than not hurting feelings; “lying”

c. Joy and Fun versus Sadness and Introspection

(1) Joking relationships enliven life; opposite sexes, sexual references

(2) Expressing joy when Formal Friends honored; comic relief of festivals

(3) Introspection considered evil; sad individuals must join the group

(4) Activity, noise, and movement almost necessary; group action best

d. Individuality within Solidarity

(1) High group involvement does not eliminate individuality which is respected

(2) Extreme individual tendencies accepted and ignored once established

(3) Initiative within “shame”; Wetheads(hàmren) join Dryheads (Clowns)

e. Endurance versus Weakness

(1) Male endurance in work and forbearance in marriage valued; women direct

(2) Women express feelings more; softer, less patient (men’s view)

(3) Admiration for permanence and durability; stones, armadillo, a haakhat

f. The Beautiful and the Ugly

(1) Straight roads and hair, open and distant vistas, straight posture

(2) Tolerance for variant individuals (Moon’s descendants); city returnee

(3) Individuals conceal or ignore body defects; no pity sought

(4) Dignity and poise even while “begging”; Apanyekra more direct

g. The Little Good and the Little Bad

(1) Pretentiousness is second greatest evil

(2) Physical deformities as little evils; no bad naming or extremes

(3) Clowns seen as only somewhat bad; Tàmhàk, Pepkahàk, Mē?khên compared

(4) Paired complementarity and paired opposition; moderate-extreme ranges

h. Avoidance versus Conflict

(1) In politics, absence preferred to confrontation (cases of two chiefs)

(2) Ceremonialism; battle ceremonially prevented by intervening file of honor

(3) Terminological avoidance affines, Formal Friends; no hostility spoken

(4) Through diversion, expressionless faces, falsifying, nonappearance

i. Youth versus Age

(1) Kuwrè’s death, extreme mourning for ideal young woman; festival postponed

(2) Festival roles largely for the young; girl associates, initiates

(3) Secular dancing and marriage; hearth group maintained for the young

j. Kin before Affines: harmony versus tension

k. Following Orders versus Individual Initiative

(1) Killing backlander cattle on orders of any other Canela

(2) Order issuers; chiefs, Pró-khãmmã, household heads, kay

(3) Individual Authority; orders from God

l. Inner or Outer, We or They

(1) Dualistic forms in the language; special pronoun, inclusive-exclusive

(2) Dualsim between groups, concepts, items; oppositions made “similar”

2. Observations: assistants work better with polarities; need to resolve conflict

C. Socioceremonial Units: moieties, high and low honor, ritual matriliny

1. Defining the Units: in daily life as well as ceremonial

2. Recruitment Principles

3. Age-Set Moieties: Upper versus Lower; recruited by relative age

a. Formation of Age-Sets: through initiation festivals over a 10-year period

b. Pró-khãmmã Age-Set: governs council of elders for 20 years

c. Separate Age-Set Activities: loss of traditional age-set names

(1) Political disintegration when Indian service hired age-set leaders

(2) Possible origin of age-sets; Pepyê warriors

d. Moieties compete as Work Forces: for agriculture and road building

e. Roles of Age-Set Moieties in Festivals: the most frequently used organizing principle for groups

f. Recruitment of Women: appointed by Pró-khãmmã; wetheaded in status

g. Eastern Timbira Comparisons of Krahó and Krĩkatí

h. Behavior Within and Outside the Festival Context

4. Red and Black Regeneration (“Rainy”) Season Moieties

a “Regeneration” Defined: Red/Black oscillation; “outer” clarified

b. Recruitment into Regeneration Moieties: only case of female name-sets

c. Principal Characteristics of Moieties: meet at plaza’s edge; competitive teams for log racing

(1) Alternate Ascendancy Status of Moieties: leveling; logs’ shape, “growth”

(2) Ayrēn Ceremony: intermoiety extramarital sex exchanged for meat

d. Diminution of the Regeneration Moiety System: sharecropping for backlanders a factor in system’s loss

5. Plaza Group Moieties

a. Definitions of Plaza Groups: three vs three in plaza’s center; symmetrical, opposed

b. Characteristics of Plaza Groups in the Fish, Khêêtúwayê, and Pepyê Festivals

c. Recruitment of Girl Associates: appointed by Pró-khãmmã, by group choice

d. Evolving Position of Plaza Group Moieties: these earlier elements may be “inserts” in age-set acts

6. Men’s Societies: by name-set transmission

a. Men’s Societies Compared with Plaza Groups: two vs one at plaza’s edge; assymetrical

b. Recruitment of Girl Associates: varies between Pró-khãmmã, membership, uncles’ veto

c. Comparison with the Krahó Men’s Societies: both tribes losing name affiliation

7. “Wetheads” and “Dryheads”: by name-set or by Pró-khãmmã appointment

a. Visiting Chiefs: Tàmhàk (King Vultures) have high ceremonial honor

(1) Traditional and modified patriline succession (F/S, /BS, /“B”S)

(2) Procession to plaza; Pepkahàk; high honor

b. Clown Society: low ceremonial honor, little restraint through “shame”

(1) Recruitment by group choice

(2) Girl associates; the lowest status; their act epitomizes greatest “evils”

8. Ritual Societies: river-oriented

a. Festival Haakhat: by matriliny, name-transmission or both

b. Lodge and Haakhat Compared: location, ownership, Pró-khãmmã appointed

c. Acculturation: from matriliny to naming because easier, less confining

d. Individual and Family Recruitment: varies with ritual

9. Relative Status of Women in the Various Socioceremonial Units

10. Hypothetical Development through the Eras of Organizing Principles

a. Early Period and Regeneration Principle

b. Riverine Period and the Haakhat Principle

c. Bellicose Period and the Age-Set Priniciple: wars, visiting chiefs, hàmren honor, “patrilines”

11. Summary and Discussion of Canela Socioceremonial Units

D. Political System: chieftainship, council of elders, judicial system

1. The Chieftainship: one or several chiefs, serve different purposes

a. Evidence for Stronger Earlier Leadership: language, orders, obedience

(1) Inferences of authority from “broad” term, “hear-know-obey-perform”

(2) Compulsion to follow commands is notably pervasive

(3) Reported great discipline, dispatch, rectitude, conformity of ancients

b. Choice of Tribal Leader by Outsiders

c. Roles of First Chief: he takes political initiatives, their extent varies

(1) Head of Council of Elders: leads morning planning, makes individual assignments

(a) Conducts plaza meetings; provides topics, listens, declares consensus

(b) Supervises plaza decisions; sacred nature, no anger, no enforcement

(c) Allows alternative leaders; deputy chiefs, Pró-khãmmã, other elders

(d) Plans day of work and hunting groups, women, family tasks, messengers

(2) Age-Set Moiety Leader: leads work group versus other moiety; provides lunches

(3) Tribal Representative: to Indian service, visitors, and backlanders

(a) Three kinds of civilizados, backland, Barra do Corda, big-city people

(b) Other Eastern Timbira visitors, Krahó, Krĩkatí, Pukobyé

(c) Apanyekra receive far more visits from other Timbira than Canela

(4) Chief Justice: hearings; his style, payments, no enforcement

d. Chiefs as Shamans: not main power source but some compliance from fear

e. Range of Powers: moves into power vacuums; balanced by Pró-khãmmã

f. Other Political Leaders: first chief’s deputies and also his rivals

(1) Deputy Chiefs: appointed by first chief as help, are not his rivals

(2) Self-appointed Leaders: all are former initiation festival officials

(3) Indian Service Appointments: formerly the custom but a rare act today

g. Schisms: when potential leaders try to establish a new village site

(1) Succession to Chieftainship, 1951–1957: Kaarà?khre’s “commission”

(a) Founding a separate village; from farm huts to Indian service support

(b) Intervillage rivalry when rumors not settled daily by councils

(c) Inability to verbalize competition for leadership; betrayal of peace

(2) Separatist Movements, 1963–1968: five potential chiefs, five villages

(3) Reunification, 1968: put on initiation festival to involve most children

h. Succession: to kin or able man; council and outside “authorities” help

i. Chiefly Characteristics: masterful but not overbearing

(1) Kinds of leaders; age-set commandant, file leader, warrior, sing-master

(2) Not hàmren in state, political, not ceremonial; two routes to power

(3) No personality cult, not to appear “greater than others”; salary helps

(4) Tyranny impossible; tactics spontaneous, partly unconscious, secretive

j. Bases of Political Power

2. Council of Elders: older males meeting in plaza

a. Meetings: sequence of events, morning planning, age-set’s positions

(1) Informal topics, game killed, backland evils, neutralization of rumors

(2) Formal part, ancient formal speech, order of speakers, termination call

b. Pro-khãmmã Age-Set: dominates council of elders (average age: 45–65)

(1) Its formation through four initiation festivals during 10 years

(2) Place in council of elders; relationships among the three age-sets

(3) Sequence over four decades (1950s-1980s); three Pró-khãmmã age-sets

(4) Change proceeds in steps, not at even rate, due to 20-year cycle

(5) Ascendancy over Upper age-set moiety; contrast with four other moieties

(6) Formal leader, commandant of novices in final Pepyê, if he survives

(7) Apanyekra elders; age-set formation and symmetry

c. Roles of the Pró-khãmmã Age-Set: apart from those of the council of elders

(1) Govern Festivals, Rituals, and Other Ceremonies

(a) Initiate, give permission, or order ceremonies to be performed

(b) Choose performers; designate new succession lines; direct performances

(c) Debate and determine sequence of events

(2) Bestow Honor Awards to Youths: for their good performance in festivals

(3) Accept Honor Meat Pies: from hàmren persons returning to social activity

(4) Receive First Crops: designate some hàmren to test them for ripeness

d. Roles of the Council of Elders

(1) Representation of everyone in tribe by “uncles” or “grandfathers”

(a) Interfamilial problems surface first in plaza, discussed by uncles

(b) Rumors resolved in plaza

(2) Check on power of chief through informal interplay in daily meetings

(a) Chief resigned because denounced by a Pró-khãmmã in the early 1980s

(b) Four new chiefs installed in several years

e. Council as Key to Solidarity: reliance on meetings unusual

3. Judicial System

a. General Characteristics: hearings between extended families

b. Typical Hearing: uncles lead, testimony sought, frustration aired

c. Characteristic Problems: any disturbance; mostly marital, then theft

(1) In Marriage: virginity loss; retaining husband; divorce; shamed spouse

(2) Theft: beads, iron tools, household utensils, ceremonial artifacts

(3) Physical Abuse: minimal with exceptions for drunkenness; stingy girl

(4) Violence: not characteristic; acculturative increase; urbanized Canela

(5) Suspicion of Witchcraft: 1903 case; rapidity of resolution in 1970s

d. Three Levels of Hearings: among elders; between families; by chief

e. Principles Used at Hearings

(1) Maintain Peace: fear that categorization into social parts may be divisive

(2) Consensus: the Canela genius, a problem with research assistant groups

(3) Compromise and Social Leveling: done by the more prestigious

(a) A Trial: peace before justice

(b) Overlook thefts to keep peace, due to ceremonial and political roles

(4) Ease Shame, Save Face: offense remembered (shame); folk Catholic guilt

(5) Restitution, Not Punishment: punitive payments are unusual

(a) Restitution of marital payments depends on extent of steps in marriage

(b) Punitive payments for “leaving children”; loss of all material goods by man

f. Effect of Judicial System: frustration reduction leads to satisfaction and low emigration

E. Terminological Relationship Systems: kinship and domestic units

1. The Nine Relationship Systems

2. Consanguineal Terminological System: Crow-like kindreds, “parallel transmission”

a. Terms FZ = FZD = FZDD = FZDDD = FM = MM; MB = MF = FF = FMB; F = FZS = FZDS = FZDDS

b. Distinction between One-Link-Away and Further-Links-Away Kin: “Restrictions” kin

c. Distinctive Crow-III Kintypes: further-link terminological exceptions

d. Successions D/M, DH/WF, ZS/MB, “Z”S/M“B,” S/F: taking their place

e. Demographic Arrangements in Relation to Village Circle and Farms

(1) The “Hearth”: female kin with families are smallest economic unit

(a) Elementary family, the eating together unit

(b) Hearth unit splits, oldest daughters build new house beside or behind mother’s

(2) Parallel-Cousin Matrilateral Arc: “mothers’ longhouse”

(a) Examples of the Canela and Apanyekra longhouse

(b) Comparison of economic, jural, ritual, and exogamic domestic units

(c) Village and farm unit arrangements; male as well as female factors

(3) Cross-Cousin, Across-the-Plaza Kin: “grandmothers’ longhouses”

(a) Crow-III patterns broken through naming, Formal and Informal Friendships, co-fatherships

(b) Hypothetically broken less in earlier times of higher populations

3. Affinal Terminological System

a. Distinctions and Usages

(1) “In-House/Out-of-House” Distinctions: born-in/married-into

(2) Same-Sex Same-Generation Relationships: Z over W and B over H

(3) Same-Sex Adjacent-Generation Authority Distinctions: senior/junior

(4) Opposite-Sex Adjacent-Generation Avoidance Terms: meanings, behavior

(5) Avoidance Terms as Alternatives to Spouse Terms: three links away

(a) In “parallel transmission”

(b) Name-set transmission, choice based in alternative behavior

(c) Across-the-plaza matrilines; wife’s “aunts”/“nieces”

(6) Opposite-Sex Same-Generation Affines: spouses and “other spouses”

(a) Not “potential” spouses; “other” spouses more appropriate

(b) Sororate, a sister or close “sister” preferred for child care

(c) Joking relationship; much joy in life comes from such play

(7) Secondary Consanguineal Terms

b. Comments on the Affinal System

c. Honorific Pronoun Yê: for some affines and Formal Friends

4. Name-Set Transmission Terminology: F“Z”/“B”D, “M”B”/“Z”S

a. Special Terms: i-túwa-re (my-young-one) is used for both sexes

b. The Informal Agreement between “Sisters” and “Brothers”

c. Distant Siblingships: maintained by name exchange or broken by incest

d. Earlier Exchanges with More Distant “Siblings”

e. Creation of New Names: from name-giver’s life experiences

f. Name-Sets, Name-Givers and Name-Receivers, and Festival Roles

g. Name Changes during a Pàlrà Log Racing Ceremony

5. Formal Friendship Terminology: same-sex or opposite-sex bonds of solidarity

a. Extensive Systems of Reference and Their Honorific Pronoun Yê

b. Initiation of Formal Friendships: Ntêê ceremony; two novices bathe; paired girl associates; linked names

6. Informal Friendship Terminology: between two men of the same age-set; dual pronoun reference

7. Mortuary Terms: consanguines and affines

8. Teknonymy: consistent address

a. Between Cross-Sex Siblings: name-receiver’s parent

b. Spouses and “Spouses” in Long-term Affairs: first born’s parent

9. Contributing-Father Terminology: no unique terms but affects behavior

10. Ceremonial Relationship Terminology: no unique terms, sometimes uses consanguinal terms

F. Marriage: to any non-kin, steps into marriage, payments, ethno-ideology

1. Preferences and Restrictions: no alliances; sororate; longhouse exogamy

2. Classificatory Spouses: intertribal opposite-sex unrelatedness

3. Incestuous Marriage: kinship distances; penalties

4. Steps into Marriage: bind the couple increasingly closer

a. Engagement: earlier times, girl 4–6, boy 12–18; usually broken

b. Marriage Definition: losses of virginity, widowhood, singleness

(1) Detachable men, those without children through marriage

(2) Single women with children (mē mpíyapit) respected

c. Marital Hearings: “contracting” and “adjusting” the marriage

(1) Large payment for youth to leave; virginity and first marriage valued

(2) Other sequences; acculturation; virginity stolen, then “adjusted”

d. Purchase of Son-in-Law: between extended families; now exchange

e. Painting the Daughter-in-Law’s Belt: gives her sexual freedom and further secures marriage

(1) Sufficiently accepted by in-laws to participate openly in sanctioned extramarital relations

(2) Period of woman’s great freedom before pregnancy and child raising

(a) Earlier era, women slept with men in plaza

(b) Modern times, uncles have lost control of youths, so sons-in-law complain of wife’s activities

f. Presentation of Mother-in-Law’s Meat Pie: acknowledgment of wife’s sexual freedom

g. Conception: catches her husband until their children are grown

h. Childbirth: basic marriage-securing step, if the baby lives

i. Couvade: cements marriage, domesticates husband; isolates mother and baby

j. Postpartum Co-Father Meat Pie Rite: final payment for husband

5. Marital Payments and Balance of Costs

a. Gifts versus Payments for Sexual Services

b. Contributions by Husband and Wife to the Marriage

6. Purpose of Payments: to keep men married; the shame of public hearings

7. Purpose of Marriage: to provide a “hearth” group for raising children

8. Lovemaking and Affairs: sanctioned by festival arrangements

a. Informal Relationships: long affairs, quick encounters, life’s zest

b. Women Also Take the Initiative: beginning of embraced Western dancing style

9. Divorce: “none” while children are growing; 7 divorces in 96 marriages studied

a. Starting a Trend in the 1970s

b. Divorce among the Eastern Timbira: less frequent among the Canela

10. Group Age-Set Marriage: in earlier times each youth led to wife

11. Ethno-ideology: social structure built on “blood” linkages

a. “Blood” Concept: first-link kin pollution; spouses assume restrictions of one-linkers but do not become blood kin

b. Flow of Humanity: matrilines pass on linearly, husbands attached

c. Extending the Sweet Potato Vine: marriage enables “descent”

d. Across-the-Plaza Bridges of "Blood": marriages connect matrilines

e. Cross-Cousin and Parallel-Cousin Longhouse Matrilines

12. Summary of Village “Blood” Ethnostructure: of kinship and marriage

Part IV: Ceremonial and Belief Systems: tribal festivals and individual rites; cosmology, shamanism, and pollution

A. Festival System: dramatization of values

1. In and Out of the Festival State

2. Festivals as Pageants and Role Models

3. Wè?tè (Dry) Season: spouses separated for extramarital sex and fun

a. Opening Wè?tè Festival: symbolic antagonism of sexes dramatized

b. Structure of the Five Great Wè?tè Season Festivals

(1) Beginning and middle periods, and the “great days”

(2) Hunting phase (A?tu ?Pôk); age-set moieties kill game, women prepare meat

(3) Terminal phase; high dramatic acts precede athletic and comic ones

c. Five Great Festivals: socializing, honoring, freeing; leveling

(1) Khêêtuwayê Festival: prepubertal (ghosts and kin)

(a) Catching and interning novices in plaza moieties’ two rooms

(b) Daily plaza singing; kin protect novices from ghosts (the unknown)

(c) Age-set’s elite; deputy commandants, file leaders, girl associates, messenger boys

(d) Ayèk Ceremonies: defenses against attracted ghosts

(e) Terminal phase; novices released from seclusion, awards of honor bestowed, endurance tested, comic acts

(2) Pepyê Festival: postpubertal restrictions against food and sex

(a) Internment and inspection by uncles; restrictions for “growth”

(b) Song training and other campsite activities; racing; being disciplined

(c) Terminal phase; formation of an age-set: endurance, singing, solidarity

(3) Pepkahàk Festival: adult (high ceremony); reinforces hàmren’s behavior

(a) Seclusion in hut outside village; community service; restrictions

(b) Daily acts; file around outside houses for food; evening singing

(c) Great days; Pepkahàk dignity leveled by their “other wives”

(d) Closing period; highest ceremonial honor of any festival dramatized

(e) Hàmren state of high honor portrayed in special acts

(f) Internment festivals compared; each has aids appropriate to their age-group

(4) Fish Festival: Clowns (low ceremony, sex joking); in opposition to Pepkahàk

(a) Composition, characteristics, roles of plaza moieties

(b) Daily acts, great days; free Clowns break most traditions

(c) Dominance of Clowns over all other societies during terminal phase

(5) Masks’ Festival: Life-size palm straw river creatures play and “beg”

(a) Cerrado lean-to for weaving masks; Jaguars “eat” Agouti; parade, games

(b) Personalities, behaviors; adoption by “mothers” (other wives)

(c) Food distribution; “begging” (economic leveling); high morale factor

(d) Relationship of Masks’ and Wè?tè festivals

d. Origins and Retention of Festivals

e. Closing Wè?tè Festival: change of focus from enjoyment to responsibility

(1) Wè?tè girls and their families provide “family life” away from home for the opposite age-set moiety

(2) Girls gain their belts by climbing on Little Falcon’s cage

(3) Kô?khre log’s absence of enjoyment

f. Occasions for Sanctioned Extramarital Sexual Relationships

(1) Wild Boar Day: between age-set moieties; spouses separated by distance

(a) Village Mē Aykhē dance; sex in Wè?tè houses and by the stream

(b) Farm meal, talk, and log preparations; sex in bushes, body painting

(2) Ayrēn Day: Red and Black Regeneration season moieties

(3) Male Work Groups on Tribal Projects: with designated female associates

(4) Moieties Hunt during Great Festivals’ Terminal Phases

(5) Festival of Oranges: the women with male associates (role reversal)

(6) Ceremonial Chief Days

(7) Summary: loss of sanctioned extramarital sex occasions and contrasts with the Apanyekra

4. Red and Black Regeneration Moieties’ Season (Wet)

a. Events Preceding the Regeneration Season

b. Alternation in “Growth:” shape of logs; cylinders/coins

c. Principle of Social Leveling: the lesser harass the greater

d. Mē-ipimràk’s Occurences in Earlier Years

e. Comparison with the Apanyekra Age-Set Moiety Racing

5. Unnamed Ritual Period: February-April

a. Corn-oriented Activities: November and February

b. Buriti Wet Pith Ball-Throwing Ceremony

c. Sweet Potato and Grasshopper Rituals: carnival of the Canela

d. Corn Harvest Ceremonies: to increase size of the harvest

e. Pàlrà Ceremony: evokes the Wè?tè season

(1) Tsù?katê-re (ceremonial elite members) signal start of race

(2) Pàlrà Logs; their cutter tests auspiciousness of chosen tree

(3) New name-sets sung onto individuals, items, honored visitors

6. Apanyekra Festivals

7. Elements Used for Associating Festivals

a. Recruitment into Group and Role Membership

(1) Name-Set Transmission

(2) Matrilineality: limited but confused with name-set transmission

(3) Patrifiliation and Matrifiliation: peace-making among Eastern Timbira tribes

(4) Membership by Pró-khãmmã Appointment versus Group Selection

b. Men’s Societies and Plaza Groups: associated with Wè?tè season

c. Nonburiti Pàlrà-like Logs

d. Tsù?katê-re: signal-giving elite; Pàlrà- and plaza group-related

e. Internment and Restrictions

B. Individual Rites: performed by ego’s kindred

1. From Birth to Parenthood

a. Birth into Female Solidarity Group: no men; place amulets, cut hair

b. Designation of Contributing-Fathers

c. Naming Transmissions: of newborn; of cross-sex siblings; of ceremonial groups

d. Childhood Engagement and Bride Service

e. Ear-Piercing for Boys: arranged by uncle; performed by specialist

f. Menstruation and Seclusion: food restrictions and impact of acculturation

g. Girl’s Steps into Marriage

h. Woman’s Belt-earning Process: biggest life step except for childbirth

(1) Fabrication of the belt (i?pre): female solidarity

(2) Ways of winning belt; as girl associate or as a companion to Little Falcon

(3) Purpose of seclusion is to mature girl and belt (comparable to piercing boy’s earlobes)

(4) Painting the i?pre and full acceptance by female in-laws

(5) Freed for extramarital sex

i. Groom-Price: the son-in-law is paid for with meat pies

2. Natal Rites

a. Prenatal Practices: pregnancy recognized by missed menstrual periods

b. Childbirth: seclusion quarters and matriline continuity

c. Couvade: to protect infant’s blood from parents’ pollutions

(1) Restrictions before umbilicus falls; only eat corn and rice; avoid dangers

(2) After umbilicus falls; test additional foods on whether or not baby cries

(3) After navel heals father hunts meat for mother’s milk; he moves, she eats more

d. Contributing-Fathers’ Rite: publicizes their lifetime commitment to their child

(1) Presentation of meat pies formalize relationship for her kin, his kin, and co-fathers

(2) Urucued mother summons charcoaled co-fathers to assemble around meat pies

(3) Strong hunter blows breath (smoke) on pie, passing strength to fathers

(4) Nontasting pie ceremony; lifetime restrictions for baby’s health

(5) Little Fox act is secretive, like a co-father helping his child

(6) Distribution of food; orderly and disorderly “payments” contrasted

e. End of Hà?krēl Rite: secures marriage and co-fathers

3. Funeral Proceedings: paid messengers sent to summon one-link kin

a. Attending the Deceased: kin and principal Formal Friend’s helpers

b. Attending the Bereaved: emotional release restrained; goods subject to loss

c. Gravedigger’s Payment: Formal Friend’s final compensation

d. Mourning: to enable a person to continue living in the present

(1) Formal Friend helps widow or mother mourn, going to remembered places

(2) Duration and nature of practices; seclusion, inactivity, undecorated

(3) Bereaved wails with every relative and some friends to erase lingering memories

C. Oral History and Cosmology: myths, war stories, other worlds, souls

1. Oral History: their worlds of the past

a. Method and Theory: derived partly from group discussions after narration

b. Material from Myths: nature- to culture-oriented

(1) Sun and Moon: origin of human differences, traits, death, shame, work

(2) Eating Sun-Dried Meat: earliest style of existence

(3) Fire Obtained from Jaguar: a step away from nature

(4) Crops and Fruits Identified: by Star-Woman for use by Canela

(5) Self-transformation and Its Loss

(6) Awkhêê and the Acculturation Contract: shotgun versus bow and arrow

(7) Migrations and Acquisition of Cosmology

(a) Before era of war chiefs, tribe led by “pack” leaders

(b) Forced on by backlanders; festivals acquired when by a great river

(c) Arrived in present area from a riverine region

(d) Canela origin for all tribes; dispersed from one ancestral village

c. Warfare According to War Stories

(1) Visiting among Tribes: some marriages; kin or in-laws mediated

(2) Relationships with Other Tribes

(3) Kay Abilities in Warfare: usually determined victors

(4) Souls of Warriors: leave bodies well before death, which fight on weakly

(5) Special Trips: for trophies or results of shame

(6) Causes of Warfare: youths’ need to prove themselves; keep enemy tribes small; freedom of movement

(7) Village Size: no reliable estimations

d. Intertribal Liaisons and Leaders: information from war stories

(1) Alliances and Chiefs: tribes of the forest versus those of the cerrado

(a) Early visiting chiefs (Tàmhàk); tribal merging ceremony (Hà?kawrè)

(b) Modern protection chiefs (mē-hõõpa?hi)

(c) warrior chiefs (mē-hààprãl)

e. Tribal Schisms: difficult to carry out in prepacification times

f. Intravillage versus Intervillage Orientation: Canela more inward looking

(1) “Village” as tribal unit; Eastern Timbira are many nations; not one people

(2) Canela more war-oriented than previously thought

g. Stages of Development Indentified by Research Assistants: from knowledgeability to self-direction (gain pollution, dangers) to dependency (gain justification for begging)

h. Observations: on shamanism, warfare, and Canela origins

2. Cosmology: other worlds and souls

a. Village of the Dead: ghosts’ life pitied, so live for the present

b. Worlds Above and Below: origins of festivals

c. Ghosts and Their World: dangers for the living

(1) Souls visit village of the dead; becoming involved, they stay there

(2) Community under lake probably of post-pacification origin

(3) Heaven is where most Canela believe they go today

d. Celestial Objects: not important, except for sun and moon

e. Aspects of Karõ (animism): souls, shadows, and photographs

f. Culture Heroes: Sun, Moon, Star-Woman, and Awkhêê

D. Shamanism, Pollution, and Medicine

1. Shamanism: mediating system between Canela and ghosts

a. Generous Curer: supports self economically; basically “good”

b. Independent in Authority: free of chief and council like Clowns

c. Visitations by Ghosts: give instructions and “powers”

(1) Seeker’s effort is no guarantee of visit; ghosts come to persons they like

(2) Importance of restrictions is to attain and maintain the kay state

(3) Ghosts first appear to trainee as animals in a quiet and solitary setting

(4) Krahó and Kayapó comparisons in becoming a shaman

(5) Receiving devil’s powers, trainee breaks state by having sex and “loaded” foods

(6) Given specific powers to cure certain illnesses

d. Spells: in trial curing, patient’s spell removed by smoke and sucking

(1) Location of “powers” in left armpit; today more but weaker shamans

(2) Negative powers return to harm their thrower; act never admitted

e. Shamans: watchful; they can be hàmren

(1) Social orientation is to serve; respected because shaman could turn harmful

(2) Payments only moderate or are thought antisocial; received only for a cure

(3) Women rarely attain “pure” blood that ghosts like, so few become kay

(4) Little teaching, no apprentices; ghosts, not old kay, give seeker knowledge

2. Animal Spells: hunter kills few of same game or it hurts his child

3. Pollution

a. Restrictions on Food and Sex: reduce entry of pollutions to body

b. “Restrictions” Kin: in one-link kin’s common “blood pool,” pollution’s harm spreads to all

c. Postpubertal Restrictions: build up endurance for most of life’s roles

d. “Pollutants”: believed to weaken individual, especially if liminal

(1) Meat juices; messengers sent to have one-link kin observe restrictions

(2) Distance does not reduce effects of pollution for one-link kin

(3) Menstrual blood harmful to all but her children

(4) Sexual fluids harm the weak, babies, the ill, internees

(5) “Bile” counteracts pollution, but interaction of these fluids weakens the ill

e. Death from Not Maintaining Restrictions: mother "kills" her baby

f. Restrictions during Pepyê Festival: isolation to learn life’s key helping device

g. Effect of Acculturation on “Restrictions”

4. Medicine: to rid the body of pollutions

a. Infusions: for luring game to hunter

b. Herbs

5. Affirmative Chanting: “strong” words strengthen hearers (Khrúwapu myth)

6. “Knowledgeability”: life manipulating device of early ancestors

7. Summary

Part V: Canela Structural Patterns

A. Structures in Some Sociocultural Sectors

1. Application of Key Terms to “Traditional” Pairings

2. Principles Behind Complementary and Oppositional Pairings

3. Application of Principles to Other Sectors: “traditional” to new pairings

a. Fieldwork Procedures: shapes and dimensions; triads or complex dyads

b. Examples of Oppositional and Complementary Pairings: worked out in the field

4. The System of Combined Pairings: dyads operate as triads

a. Categories of Canela Triads: fixed, modifying, generating

b. Dualities: sufficient for fixed, generating, but not for modifying triads

5. Examples of Combined Pairings

a. Fixed Category Examples: relationships unchanged “forever” or for some time

(1) Inanimate Examples: least structured by “physical world”

(a) “Today” as a Unit of Time: two night-todays versus one daytime-today

(b) Physical Dimensions: significant shape (sphere with circle vs length)

(c) Two or Three Ceremonial Units versus One: Wè?tè festival system

(2) Animate Category Examples: between people, groups, but no modifying triads

(a) Positioning in Festivals: interaction of mens’ societies, plaza groups

b. Modifying Category Examples: “third element” resolves problems (operational)

(1) Resolutions through Mediating Elements

(a) Institutions: marriage, name-exchange, Formal Friendship (warriors)

(b) Bridges: Indians and ghosts; forests and society; war-like tribes

(2) Resolutions by Protecting Devices: restrictions, urucu, Formal Friends

(3) Resolutions in Transforming Conditions: altered states

(a) Transformation of Form: raw to cooked (elements A, B, the same)

(b) Transformation in Consciousness: hunter vs animal (restrictions, “medicine”)

(4) Resolvable/Unresolvable Situations: hostile tribes

c. Generating Category Examples: third element a product (diachronic)

(1) Kin (Product) or Affines (Opposition): contrasted by use of key terms

(2) Plaza versus Circle of Houses

(3) “Universals”: raising progeny, cultivating crops

(4) Absolute Opposition: good vs bad, God vs Satan, light vs dark

B. Key Expressions in Other Contexts

1. Conceptualization of Time

a. Cyclical Time: movement between village, farm; male names

b. Linear Time: climatic, festival seasons, ancestors-descendants, years

c. Product-forming Linear Time: circle of houses with plaza; progeny

2. Chance: no key expression found for this concept

3. Sectors Characterized by Set of Data-tested Systematized Perceptions

4. Triads and Canela Problem Resolution

Epilogue: The Canela in the 1980s

1. New Pró-khãmmã Age-Set in Council: outlook hopeful, secure, innovative

2. Transition of Power: Kaarà?khre resigns; several new chiefs; balance of power to Pró-khãmmã

3. History of Chieftainship since 1951

a. Chief Kaarà?khre’s Assumption and Consolidation of Power

b. Four Chiefs in Four Years

4. Qualifications for Chieftainship

a. Outside Economic Support: leaders receive outside company’s funds; obtain outside goods

b. The Younger Kaapêltùk: background and consolidation of power

(1) His Original Power Base: age-set leadership to Pró-khãmmã domination

(2) His Power Sources: store, debt system, loyal followers, provides lunches

(a) Personal Characteristics

(b) Extensive Personal Networks: kin, affines, lovers’ husbands

(c) Proof of Courage: heroism during 1963 attack

(d) Internal Support from Kaarà?khre and Sr. Sebastião

(e) Advocacy: backland agriculture, urban styles, Catholicism, literacy

5. Aspects of the 1980s

a. Commercial Outlets and Continuity of Indian Service Personnel

b. New Farm Villages and the Potential for Schisms

c. Pan-Indian Self-Awareness: gives strength and ideas to new Pró-khãmmã

d. Impact of me Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL): significant following, literacy; understand fixed, “fair” prices

6. Outlook for the Future: relative self-sufficiency

7. Kaapêltùk’s Potential Role: choose “better” acculturative influences

Appendices

1. Ten Field Trips to the Canela Over 22 Years

2. Canela and Apanyekra Collections at the Smithsonian Institution

a. Artifacts

b. Photographs

(1) Black and White

(2) Colored Slides

(3) Color Prints

(4) Polaroid Prints

c. Cinematographic Film (Color, Canela Only)

(1) Silent Super-8 Film

(2) Sound Super-8 Film

(3) 16 mm Film

d. Magnetic Tape Recordings

(1) Music (Canela Only)

(2) Myths and Stories

(3) Judicial and Political Meetings (Canela Only)

(4) Autobiographical Diary Cassettes (Canela Only)

(5) Sound Tracks of 16 mm Film (Canela Only)

e. Autobiographical Diary Manuscripts (Canela Only)

3. Primary Materials for Future Studies

a. Diaries on Paper (1964–1979) and Tape (1970–1979)

b. 120 Myths or Stories (taped and translated into Canela Portuguese)

c. Judicial Hearings and Plaza Tribal Council Meetings (on tape in Gê)

d. 16 mm Film Sound Tracks (translated and typed in Canela Portuguese)

e. Choral and Individual Singing (on tapes)

(1) Quality Recording with a Nagra in 1978–1979

(2) Song Conservation Program (words and music)

f. Photographic Field Data on Film

(1) 16 mm Research Films (annotated and retained in sequence)

(2) Super-8 Film of Rites, Festivals, and Athletics (uncut field notes)

(3) Study of Canela Houses (still and Super-8 film)

g. Collections of Artifacts (in Brazil and USA)

h. 16 mm Color Film in the National Human Studies Film Archive

4. Linguistic Notes

a. Phonemes

(1) Vowels

(2) Semivowels

(3) Consonants

(4) Vowel Length

(5) Word Stress

(6) Nonphonemic Orthography

b. Contributions to the SIL

c. Orthography

(1) Modifications in My Orthographic System

(2) Comments on Brazilian Orthography: “Y” and “W” for “I” and “U”

(3) Suggestions for Brazilians Writing Canela

(4) Distinctions Not Heard by Nimuendajú and Others

5. Concept of “Today”: time-flow divided into 24- and 36-hour segments

a. When Talking during the Daytime

b. When Talking at Night

(1) When Talking before Midnight

(2) When Talking after Midnight

(3) When Talking about the “Short” Side of the Nocturnal Today

c. When Expressing a Number of Days Ahead or Behind

6. Sources of Data

Plates

PLATE 1.—Views of São Luis from the top of Hotel Central in 1964. a, governor’s palace on left with the bay beyond to the north, open to Atlantic shipping. b, Principal plaza and buildings with stores on the ground floor and living areas above.

PLATE 2.—Barra do Corda in the late 1950s. a, Residential street in old Barra do Corda Centro. b, Indian service agency building with Canela on its upper sidewalk.

PLATE 3.—Barra do Corda Centro. a, Basin seen from the northwest in 1971, showing the confluence (arrow) of the Mearim (left) and Corda (right) rivers in center, and the construction of the bypass highway (BR-226) on left. Beyond the basin, scrub growth spreads south toward the Canela reservation. b, Aerial view in 1970 over the Colônia (foreground), showing the old Catholic church (right arrow) before the beautified plaza in the center, and the Catholic convent (left arrow) on the left just before the Mearim River.

PLATE 4.—Modes of transportation. a, Bus en route from São Luis, Presidente Dutra, to Barra do Corda in 1970. b, Boat in the Barra do Corda port on the Mearim in late 1950s. Merchandise was transferred from larger boats at Pedreiras and brought upstream to Barra do Corda.

PLATE 5.—Escalvado from the air. a, Looking north, the view (clockwise from upper right) includes the Pepkahàk path to their swimming spot, the Pepkahàk hut, road going south to the old Ponto village, path to new post, STL landing strip, abandoned village site of 1968, Santo Estévão stream, bathing spots, small stream, path to farms to the northeast on the Pombo and Raposa streams (July 1970). b, Approximately the same view as above but closer (1975).

PLATE 6.—Views of the new Escalvado village, 1969. a, SIL air strip and plane at the edge of the village. b, New plaza with stumps of cerrado trees not yet removed. c, The new Escalvado with its large western Wè?tè house (center) and tall trees in the hard ground area (rear). (Uncleared brush is in the foreground.)

PLATE 7.—House types of the Canela and Apanyekra. a, Sardinha 1964: this unusual house type with gable end facing boulevard and vertical poles in front wall reflects an adaptation to dry forest living. b, Escalvado 1969: house of tied pole and mud walls. c, Escalvado 1969: lightly thatched house seen from rear, with high platform for growing leeks. d, Escalvado 1969: this house is well-thatched at rear and thinly thatched on side. e, Sardinha 1964: this unusual house type with gable end facing boulevard and mud-clay wall reflects an adaptation to dry forest living. f, Porquinhos 1975: this house of tied poles and mud-clay is covered with smoothed, whitewashed clay.

PLATE 8.—Special features of houses. a, Sardinha 1964: house extension, open cooking shed with bed by hearth for warming feet at night, and city-made ceramic pot for water in Y-shaped wooden holder. b, Escalvado 1969: shed attached to rear of house for cooking and other food preparation. c, Sardinha 1964: interior of poorly constructed house, showing thin tied poles for walls, and baskets in rafters, which are used for storing food, clothing, and other possessions. d, Escalvado 1969: window in well-thatched western Wè?tè house built in preparation for receiving students in state of Maranhão’s internal peace corps program (Operação Timbira).

PLATE 9.—Interiors of houses. a, Escalvado 1979: interior of tied-pole clay house with large platform bed, on which is a sheath of wild banana leaves for wrapping meat pies. b, Escalvado 1969: interior of well-built house with high platform bed for young childless woman. Bed is enclosed with kô?pip mats and provided with racing log for climbing up. c, Escalvado 1969: interior of well-built house with regular platform bed (left). Note photographs of man’s son in circular frame on wall. Son was living in Brasília. d, Escalvado 1969: half-high bed enclosed by kô?pip mats is for women with children; several bundles of buriti straw are stored in the rafters, e, Escalvado 1969: interior of well-built anajá thatch house; boy is next to cooking hearth and sleeping mat (kô?pip); note ka?tù mat on wall above carrying baskets (kààhà).

PLATE 10.—Features of house construction. a, Ponto 1959: frame of a small house. b, Ponto 1959: thatching in process on frame of the western Wè?tè house (built behind the posts of dismantled house), which became principal house of 1963 messianic movement. c, Escalvado 1971: half-thatched house. d, Escalvado 1970: digging a house posthole with a city-made metal digger. e, Escalvado 1970: tying anajá frond sections to a house wall with buriti bast cords to strengthen it.

PLATE 11.—Indian service post buildings. a, Ponto 1959: post with bathing spot and dressing enclosure to right. b, Baixão Prêto 1957: farm with post building in rear. c, Escalvado 1971: post building of whitewashed plastered bricks and mortar, with tile roof; constructed in 1970 and 1971. d, Escalvado 1971: structure housing gasoline generator, which is used to pump water, light post buildings, and power a 2-way radio. e, Escalvado 1971: compound with school on left, agent’s two houses in center, and post building on right. f, Escalvado 1971: well and water tower.

PLATE 12.—Cultivation patterns. a, Leandro 1960: grove of babaçu palms with backlander’s fence. b, Escalvado 1969: one of the watering spots on small stream just northeast and adjacent to Escalvado. c, Escalvado 1970: anajá palms in an old farm with manioc growing in foreground. d, Escalvado 1970: farm next to the Santo Estévão stream after fields were burned, with new weeds growing but before appearance of crops.

PLATE 13.—Views of Canela landscapes. a, Escalvado 1969: tall open grass and palm trees characteristic of stream’s headwater area. b, Santo Estévão bathing place; logs in water are used for scrubbing clothing. c, Escalvado 1969: relatively “closed” cerrado vegetation with its occasional tall trees, characteristic tufts of grass, sandy soil, and small termite hill. d, Ponto 1958: relatively open cerrado, with characteristic August brown grass and cumulus clouds. e, Escalvado 1969: trampled area characteristic of a stream’s ford with no gallery forest.

PLATE 14.—Agricultural and trapping artifacts. a, Escalvado 1969: old kô?pip mats tied to stakes to protect growing fruit trees from animals; planted between circle of houses and cerrado. b, Escalvado 1969: lean-to for pigs. c, Escalvado 1970: old anajá palm thatch tied to stakes to protect plantings from animals. d, Escalvado 1969: stand for planting leeks behind village houses on small stream. e, Escalvado 1969: trap for birds in farm plot.

PLATE 15.—Hunting and food distribution. a, Anaconda killed and pulled out of stream just after it had captured a backland farm pig (Ourives 1959). b. Dividing meat into equal piles for each person to take his share (Ponto 1958). c, Hàwmrõ returning to village with deer, which is typically transported in this manner (Sardinha 1966). d, Dividing meat into piles for each person due a portion, to step up and take her/his share (Ponto 1959).

PLATE 16.—Food preparation. a, Woman lighting pipe from firewood at hearth behind village house (Sardinha 1964). b, Manual sugarcane press for squeezing out juice made in backland style; located near farm hut (Apanyekra) (Rancharia 1971). c, Woman filling gourd with drinking water from small stream behind village houses (Escalvado 1970). d, Toasting manioc meal into flour in metal pan (Ponto 1959). e, Two girls hulling rice together. Note winnowing basket on ground (Sardinha 1964).

PLATE 17.—Household tasks.—a, Woman making kô?pip mat of two anajá (awal) fronds; view outside looks toward SIL airstrip behind the village (Escalvado 1969). b, Ropkhà making a paptu, carrying bag for men (Escalvado 1969). c, Woman with children washing cloth in the small stream just outside circle of houses (Escalvado 1969). d, Woman with children carrying gathered wood passing outside Indian service house (Sardinha 1964).

PLATE 18.—Cord-making and weaving techniques. a, Rolling three strands of fibers (tucum or buriti bast) together on thigh, forming a cord (Sardinha 1964). b, c, Closeup of rolling fibers into cord (Escalvado 1971). d, Making strap of cotton for singing-sash of honor (hahĩ) (Table 8, item 8) (Sardinha 1964). e, Man making a strap of buriti straw using big toe (Ponto 1959). f, Elderly woman carrying a baby in cotton strap (rarely done) (Sardinha 1964).

PLATE 19.—Children’s activities. a, Boy playing with small bow (Sardinha 1964). b, Girl feeding baby (Sardinha 1966). c, Baby playing in warmth of embers (Escalvado 1969). d, Children’s playhouse of old kô?pip mats (Sardinha 1966). e, Girls making toy house just outside village circle of houses (Sardinha 1964).

PLATE 20.—Steps in preparing manioc. a, Women cutting skins off manioc roots, which in this case happen to be quite small (Escalvado 1979). b, Shredding manioc roots on can metal grater, with nail-punched holes, to reduce fibers to manioc mass (Escalvado 1970). c, Pile of manioc mass stored on palm tree spathe (Sardinha 1964). d, Woman stuffing wet manioc mass into tubular press (Sardinha 1964). e, Woman stretching tubular manioc press to squeeze out poisonous juice. Tube with loops on either end is stretched between overhanging branch and beam. The woman uses her body weight to lengthen the tube and compress the mass inside (Porquinhos 1975).

PLATE 21.—Steps in preparing manioc (continued). a, Poisonous juice dripping into gourd bowl (Sardinha 1964). b, Woman dumping rolls of mass out of tubular press (Sardinha 1964). c, Rolls of compressed mass with most of prussic acid squeezed out (Escalvado 1970). d, Man passing compressed rolls through sieve to break them up into manioc meal, eliminating large fibrous bits (Escalvado 1975). e, Man toasting manioc meal into manioc flour (farinha) on a large fire-heated metal pan. He is spreading the meal with a wooden hoe to evaporate the remaining acid (Escalvado 1975).

PLATE 22.—Steps in making a meat pie (Sardinha 1964). a, Woman spreading out wild banana leaves for pie’s base; mats are placed to keep sand from blowing into pie. b, Mĩĩ-khwèy breaking up rolls of tube-pressed manioc mass into fine meal. c, Women of the household working together to spread fine meal evenly over pie’s leaf base, while a man cuts meat into cubes. d, Woman placing meat cubes in evenly spread manioc flour. e, After folding leaves over the meal and meat, the pie is tied with ropes of buriti to maintain its shape. f, Rocks and firewood pile, on which pie will be placed for baking.

PLATE 23.—Steps in making a meat pie (continued). a, Spreading pile of hot rocks with long poles after firewood is burned (Sardinha 1964). b, Men carrying large meat pie to hot rocks for cooking (Baixão Prêto 1959). c, Placing pies on heated rocks (Sardinha 1964). d, Placing hot rocks on top of meat pies (Sardinha 1964). e, Placing palm fronds and mats over hot rocks and meat pies to contain heat (Sardinha 1964). f, Throwing earth on fronds and mats to contain heat (Sardinha 1964).

PLATE 24.—Ear-piercing rite (Escalvado 1979). a, Behind his maternal house before sunrise the youth sits on a kô?pip mat, while his father begins to groom him by cutting away hair from around his ears. b, Note the father’s use of city-made scissors. c, The youth’s mother sits behind him, while his father examines earlobe; youth’s mouth is smeared with urucu. d, The curer (kay) holds earlobe and places hardwood awl for thrusting, while youth’s mother secures him from behind. e, Curer thrusts the awl, covered with urucu, through earlobe. f, Curer inserts small wooden pin in new earlobe hole. g, A pin is placed in the earlobe hole.

PLATE 25.—Ear-piercing rite. a, Curer pierces youth’s earlobe while female relatives hold him from behind (Sardinha 1966). b, Curer adjusts awl to pierce youth’s earlobe behind a house. Note mother’s hands on youth’s shoulders (Ponto 1959). c, Curer thrusts awl through youth’s earlobe (Ponto 1959). d, Curer inserts wooden pin in earlobe (Ponto 1959). e, Curer checks the pierced earlobe, while the youth’s family watches (Ponto 1959).

PLATE 26.—Genipap body painting designs of the plaza groups at Excalvado 1975. These designs are painted by group members on the novices just after they have come our of their Pepyê festival internment.

PLATE 27.—Body decorations. a-e, Genipap body painting designs. f, A Tsù?katê-re in falcon down and urucu, and his named-nephew in the Híwa?kèy act of the Closing Wè?tè festival (Ponto 1959).

PLATE 28.—Games and ceremonies. a, youth bouncing arrow off mound topped by buriti frond stalk. The object of the game(i?têk) is to see who can bounce his arrow furthest, thus winning the match for his age-set moiety (Ponto 1957). b, Youths playing soccer on field by Indian service post (Escalvado 1971). c, Woman cutting child’s hair with city scissors (Ponto 1959). d, Youths playing soccer on field by Indian service post (Escalvado 1971). e, f, Ceremony in center of plaza; cutting hair of an Apanyekra married couple before painting their bodies, making them ceremonial chiefs (Escalvado 1979).

PLATE 29.—Curing techniques (Escalvado 1975). a, New curer places hands on sore back of patient whose mother is watching. b, He slowly sucks illness from patient’s thigh. c, Curer sucks illness from patient’s back. d, Curer places hands around area of thigh that hurts.

PLATE 30.—Mourning and burial preparations (Escalvado 1970). a, Husband holding deceased wife’s hand as her mother and brother sit by her head in the maternal house of the deceased. They are mourning and waiting for the Formal Friends of the deceased to prepare the corpse. b, Formal Friends move bereaved somewhat away from draped corpse as everybody awaits arrival of pallbearers. c, Husband still holding deceased wife’s hand as her Formal Friends glue falcon down on her body. d, Male Formal Friend fingers resin onto corpse’sright leg as female Formal Friend dabs falcon down onto sticky resin on her left leg.

PLATE 31.—Burial procedures. a, In grave. Formal Friends turn corpse’s face north and expose it momentarily for distant relatives’ last glimpse (Escalvado 1970). b, Corpse wrapped in old kô?pip mats and hung on pole. The corpse is being carried to the cemetery by unrelated young men, who are helpers of the deceased’s Formal Friend (Sardinha 1964). c, Husband of deceased’s Formal Friend puts logs over grave to support mats, earth, and greenery (Escalvado 1975). d, Mats placed on saplings over grave, as Formal Friend’s helpers prepare to pile earth, grass, and branches with green leaves on grave (Ponto 1959). e, Three grave mounds in parallel (east-west) covered with remains of dead branches and leaves (Porquinhos 1966).

PLATE 32.—Daily and ceremonial singing. a, Female sing-dance line with outstanding singer (hõ?khrepôy) (on right) wearing a sash of honor (hahĩ) (Table 8, item 8) awarded for her singing (Sardinha 1966). b, Sing-dance leader singing and shaking his gourd rattle (Table 8, item 21) before female dance line (Sardinha 1964). c, Novice practicing singing in Pepyê festival, preparing for Waytikpo ceremony (Escalvado 1975). d, Youth with ceremonial lance (Table 8, item 1) and small war bonnet (Table 8, item 2) singing from door to door around boulevard (Sardinha 1964). e, Sing-dance leader raising and lowering belt-rattle(tsù) (Table 8, item 3) to provide rhythm for Pàlrà festival singing, which takes place the evening before the race (Escalvado 1970).

PLATE 33—Late afternoon sing-dance (Sardinha 1964). a, Men march forward while dance leader sings before the women’s dance line. b, Men approaching closer to dance line as women look right to follow leader. c, Mass of men march still closer to dance line. d, Some men turn back as leader (left) circles around them. e, Most men move back as leader, having circled them, approaches dance line. f, Men retreat to plaza, as women raise arms to singing rhythm.

PLATE 34.—Making a racing log (Escalvado 1969). a, Felling buriti palm with axe. b. Measuring the fallen log in a dense gallery forest. c, Cutting trunk according to certain measurements. d, Raising log on end before carrying it out to the cerrado for further preparation.

PLATE 35.—Log racing with Pàlrà logs. a, Individual racer runs with honor akàà adornment (Table 8, item 5) in small of back (Escalvado 1974). b, Traditional Pàlrà logs (of hard wood) in center of plaza after Pàlrà race (Ponto 1960). c, Log carrier turning front of log to right to assist transfer of log to runner behind, during early stage of log transfer to next racer (Escalvado 1974).

PLATE 36.—Pepyê festival. a, Older girl associates await pàlrà-re racers with bowls of leaf infusion in which to dip their faces (Escalvado 1975). b, Pepyê girl associate splashes water on novice’s head, and other associate strikes novice’s head with leaves (Escalvado 1975). c, Ceremonial leader rubs hand in his armpit to gather moisture and odor (his strength) to give to each novice as he sings before each one (Porquinhos 1975). d, Ceremonial leader passes his strength to girl associate (Porquinhos 1975).

PLATE 37.—Pepyê festival and fierce warrior act. a, Ceremonial leader sings before each novice, who holds a buriti pole. They line up in two rows facing each other in Upper and Lower plaza moiety formations (Porquinhos 1975). b, c, Novices who violated the sex restrictions during their internment sit in shame opposite their sexual partners in the center of the plaza for all to see (Porquinhos 1975). d, In warrior (hààprãl) style, a “hardened,” middle-aged man in a warbonnet (Table 8, item 2) harangues the town crier and members of an age-set in center of plaza (Escalvado 1969).

PLATE 38.—Sardinha 1963. Family in shade of shrubbery before construction of houses in this new location. The Canela were removed from their cerrado homeland and were resettled in the dry forest (secondary growth) after the defeat of their messianic movement.

PLATE 39.—Formal and Informal Friendships. a, Novices in Pepyê festival jumping into water, not looking at each other, to become Formal Friends (Escalvado 1975). b, Novices in Pepyê festival coming out of water, looking at each other, to become Informal Friends (Porquinhos 1975). c, Formal Friend of a Wè?tè girl sporting gourd penis like a Clown during the Closing Wè?tè festival (Escalvado 1969). d, Formal Friend of a Wè?tè girl with falcon down glued on her face to imitate backlander’s beard and eyebrows, acting like a Clown in Closing Wè?tè festival (Escalvado 1971). e, in Closing Wè?tè festival, Formal Friends of a Wè?tè girl follow her to center of plaza, one pulled by her cord, both dressed as backlanders, both rejoicing in the ceremonial honor she has received (Ponto 1957/1958).

PLATE 40.—a, c, e, Terminal phase of the Pepyê festival: women hold strings of palm straw tied to the necks or waists of the sons-in-law as they march around the boulevard (a, procession waits as youth ties a tsù belt-rattle just below right knee of the leading sing-dance master; c, two files of novices hold beam in front of their column and march around boulevard singing; e, youths march in unison as their mothers-in-law look on.) (Escalvado 1975). Group activities: b, Pepyê age-set poses for photographer at end of their internment, when their age-set name is received (Ponto 1957). d, Chief Kaarà?khre lecturing at a brief morning council meeting (Ponto 1959). f, Three Upper moiety age-sets sitting on the eastern edge of plaza (Escalvado 1975).

PLATE 41.—Khêêtúwayê festival. a, Novices in one of their two rooms of internment (Escalvado 1975). b, Novices filing from room of internment to plaza (Ponto 1959). c, Novices dancing in two rows, their female relatives behind further row and their uncles behind them; boys with cloths on heads had ears recently pierced (Ponto 1959). d, Catcher of novices collects macaw tail-feather headbands (Table 8, item 24) after performance in plaza (Ponto 1959).

PLATE 42.—Pepyê festival. a, Catcher ‘‘catches’’ boy, sitting with his age-set, raising him to be initiated (Escalvado 1975). b, Catcher holds novice from behind, as curer chants and brushes his bangs, initating him; his Formal Friend frolics on ground with joy (Ponto 1957). c, Catcher stands novice near edge of plaza, his back to his maternal house (Escalvado 1975). d, Catcher conducts novice to his maternal house where his cell of seclusion will be built (Escalvado 1975). e, Newly interned novice lies on fresh leaves in his maternal house (Escalvado 1975). f, The internment over, siblings secluded together stand on mat, while ceremonial leader sings about their ancestors’ lives and is shaded by a Formal Friend (Ponto 1957). g, Led by sing-dance leader (right), Pepyê novices, painted in plaza group genipap designs, sing while marching around boulevard and holding buriti poles (Escalvado 1975).

PLATE 43.—Pepyê festival’s terminal phase. a, Girl associates and novice sing-dance leaders, with one mature leader (far right), perform special Waytikpo act around Pepyê ceremonial lance (Table 8, item 1) all in center of plaza in late afternoon (Escalvado 1975). b, Pepyê girl associates walking on line of supporting shoulders of age-set mates (Baixão Prêto 1957). c, With the Waytikpo act over, Formal Friends remove the cloth adornments of honor of the novice performers (Escalvado 1975). d, Girl associates being bodily handed down two files of age-set mates, marking the solidarity of the group and the end of the girls’ services (Baixão Prêto 1957).

PLATE 44.—Pepkahàk festival. a, During the Pepkahàk’s A?tu ?Pôk ceremony, the hunters burn grass between radial pathways (in background), sing songs, and prepare to shoot guns to ensure killing much game to eat (Escalvado 1970). b, Falcons’ Formal Friends, holding bars, placing themselves between the Falcons and the Pepkahàk (not seen in photo) during the Apikrawkraw-re act to prevent their “fighting” (Escalvado 1970). c, The Pepkahàk file from the village to their cerrado hut, carrying bowls of food given by relatives (Escalvado 1970). d, The Tàmhàk, wearing falcon down stripes but no urucu, return with serious faces from the plaza to their “sitting places” (Glossary) (Escalvado 1970). e, In the climactic Waytikpo act, two girl associates, two ex-girl associates, a student rattle shaker, and a master rattle shaker (man on right) sing in the plaza, in the late afternoon. f, Pepkahàk’s Formal Friends’ hair, sacrificed during the all night singing, is hung in plaza for all to see (Escalvado 1970). g, Ceremonial leader, the younger Tààmi, singing the Awalwrêw-re in front of the mats, which conceal the ceremonially sensitive Pepkahàk (Escalvado 1970).

PLATE 45.—Pepkahàk all-night singing and wasp killing during festival. a, During all night singing around the ceremonial lance (Table 8, item 1) each Pepkahàk holds a white carved staff (Table 8, item 36) (Escalvado 1970). b, Pepkahàk’s Formal Friends swat wasps released from a broken hive to prevent them reaching and stinging the Pepkahàk (Escalvado 1979). c, Two sing masters sit on right facing two girl associates on left, supported by others behind, as the tempo of the all night singing increases (Escalvado 1979). d, An old rattle master about to take a fire brand from fire in the Pepkahàk’s fire dance act (Escalvado 1970). e, As the Pepkahàk keep singing and the night becomes colder, their Formal Friends, with mats on their backs, surround them to keep them warm with their body heat (Escalvado 1970). f, Two sing-dance masters sway with the accelerated rhythm near the climax of the Pepkahàk’s all night singing (Escalvado 1979).

PLATE 46.—Clowns. a, Clowns sit around their booty after the symbolic “killing” of the Fish members. Clowns have chased Fish members all night and take their fish-shaped meat pies (foreground) (Table 8, item 43) (Sardinha 1964). b, The two Fish girl associates and ceremonial chief of the Clowns rest on logs (Sardinha 1964). c, In front of the irregular Clown house, Clown girl associates mock social institutions, e.g., “harming the baby” (doll of buriti pulp) (Sardinha 1964). d, The leader of the Clowns give the characteristic look of defiance and independence (Sardinha 1966).

PLATE 47.—Fish and Sweet Potato festivities. a, During the Sweet Potato ritual, the Grasshopper file-leader dances up to sing-dance master with ground rattle (Escalvado 1975). b, During the Fish festival, the Clowns dance in the early morning with their bizarre equipment (Sardinha 1964). c, Grasshopper members of the Sweet Potato festival, often painted with white latex (formerly chalk), hop around in front of sing-dance master (Esclvado 1975). d, Youth chanting all night with unpainted Fish festival ceremonial lance just awarded him by the Pró-khãmmã (Escalvado 1969).

PLATE 48.—Scenes of Masks’ activities. a, A Mask painting his mask in the Masks’ cerrado shed of seclusion, preparing to file into the village (Ponto 1960). b, A Tôkaywêw-re Mask ducking his horn to enter a house (Sardinha 1964). c, Two Espora Masks sitting and acting out their shame (Escalvado 1970). d, A “little bad” Mask (Sardinha 1964). e, An Espora Mask begging for food and receiving it (Sardinha 1964). f, A Tôkaywêw-re Mask, with circles in black with red in between (Escalvado 1970). (b, d, e, f, Artifacts made for author upon his request.)

PLATE 49.—Masks’ activities. a, Masks file into village, ending their cerrado seclusion for mask preparation, to begin terminal phase of Masks’ festival (Ponto 1960). b, Two Masks playing in the boulevard (Sardinha 1964).

PLATE 50.—Pàlrà ritual (Escalvado 1975). a, Two ex-girl associates paint ends of buriti logs red with urucu, while a female relative puts cloth around waist of one girl, and Lower age-set moiety men watch. b, Sing-dance master sings over logs, while elder with wand chants traditions, Upper age-set moiety men sit watching, and O Globo’s television crew film and record. c, Sing-dance master continues, while Tsù?katê-re standing at left waits to signal start of race. d, Sing-dance leader finishes, as teams stand to await signal.

PLATE 51.—Pàlrà ritual (continued). a, Upper moiety men lead on left, while Lower moiety follows on right (Escalvado 1975). b, Following runner takes log from shoulder of leading man (Escalvado 1975). c, Racers slow down, as hands on logs are about to turn them onto the shoulders of next carrier (Escalvado 1975). d, Town crier sings name-set onto whatever is in women’s arms, presumably a baby, in terminating act of Pàlrà ceremony (Escalvado 1979).

PLATE 52.—Wè?tè festival scenes. a, Decorated Tsù?katê-re between age-set moiety rows in Closing Wè?tè festival’s Híwakèy act as sun sets (Escalvado 1969). b, The Clowns’ Hat-re act of Opening Wè?tè festival, in which entrails instead of meat are hung on crooked pole for women to grab and fight over (Escalvado 1971). c, The Roadrunner’s meal (Pyêk-re Yõ) of the Closing Wè?tè festival (Escalvado 1971). d, Hat-re act of Opening Wè?tè festival, in which male associate of the women tries to bring down meat from pole for the women to grab and struggle over (Escalvado 1971). e, Little Falcon’s cage with vine hanging from post for him to hang and “fly” from in Closing Wè?tè festival (Escalvado 1971).

PLATE 53.—Corn ceremonies. a, Sitting before seed corn (in gourd bowl), the sing-dance master sings and beats out rhythm by dropping rattle with deer hoof tips (akàà: Table 8, item 5) onto mat in Corn Planting ceremony (Escalvado 1979). b, Owner of Corn Harvest ritual raises shuttlecock before throwing it high for first participant (Ponto 1960). c, Three Pró-khãmmã (left, right, and center) divide used shuttlecocks after ceremony in Corn Harvest ritual (Escalvado 1975). d, In Corn Harvest ritual, the shuttlecock is batted up repeatedly to increase the corn crop (Escalvado 1975).

PLATE 54.—Festival of Oranges. a, At the end of festival, when women and men are symbolically reunited, they face west and sing and shout their antagonism to hostile tribes (Escalvado 1970). b, After ceremonial opposition, both women and men march and sing reunited (Escalvado 1970). c, With oranges divided into even piles, family members are summoned to take their share (Porquinhos 1975). d, After the festival, men collect the fruits in the plaza for which they had foraged earlier in civilizado communities (Porquinhos 1975).

PLATE 55.—Urban and backlander influences. a, Children dance in embraced backlander style on pounded mud-clay floor in traditional house (Escalvado 1969). b, In modern clay-walled whitewashed room, modern house owner looks at instruments on city-made table (Escalvado 1975). c, In traditional house, children play with battery-run record played (Escalvado 1970).

PLATE 56.—Artifacts in use. a, Enlivening festival or sing-dance with blasts from horn (Table 8, item 20a) (Ponto 1959). b, Imitating act in Pepkahàk in which Clowns with masks (Table 8, item 37) distract Duck archers so Pepkahàk can win (Escalvado 1975). c, Drinking from a gourd (Table 8, item 145) of the Khêêtúwayê festival just after novices sang and were bathed in plaza (Ponto 1959). (left), d, Sing-dance master, the younger Tààmi, with artistic headdress (Table 8, item 12), and holding a tsù ceremonial belt (Table 8, item 3) with pendants of tapir hoof tips, toucan’s beak, gourd tops, and medallions of the Virgin. e, Uncle singing with warbonnet headdress (Table 8, item 2) and ceremonial lance (Table 8, item 1) at end of Khêêtúwayê festival. He will then give these items to a named-nephew and paint red the cotton on the lance (Ponto 1959).

PLATE 57.—Artifacts in use. a, Youth with wooden straight whistle (Table 8, item 23), and racing belt of tucum strands (Table 8, item 5) with deer hoof tip pendants (usually worn around waist, pendants in rear) (Escalvado 1979). b, Girl with valuable ceramic bead necklace and United States quarters as pendants (Escalvado 1979). c, Man with falcon down largely worn off, and racing belt of tucum strands with deer hoof tip pendants (Table 8, item 5) (Ponto 1959). d, Man with shoulder bag (Table 8, item 64) lighting cigarette with backlander’s metal, flint, and cotton (Porquinhos 1971).

PLATE 58.—Artifacts. a, Pairs of plaited diagonal buriti bast straps (Table 8, item 16). b, Buriti frond belt with tail (Table 8, item 18). c, g, Gourd whistles on diagonal strands of cords (Table 8, item 22). d, Plaited diagonal buriti bast strap (Table 8, item 16). e, f, Woven cotton straps with two tassels (Table 8, item 8).

PLATE 59.—Artifacts. a, Necktie of cords with pendants of U.S. quarters (sometimes bead pendants) (Table 8, item 14). b, Dorsal neck pendant with wooden comb and bead pendants (Table 8, item 7). c, Diagonal sash of cords (Table 8, item 28). d, Woman’s belt of tucum cords (Table 8, item 19). e, Diagonal sash of cords (Table 8, item 28). f, Dorsal neck pendant with bead pendants and gourd (Table 8, item 6). g, Dorsal neck pendant with wooden comb and bead pendants (Table 8, item 7). h, Belt of tucum cords with bead pendants, which are worn in back (Table 8, item 5).

PLATE 60.—Artifacts. a, Headband with front piece and tail (Table 8, item 12a+c). b, Headband with front piece and tail (Table 8, item 12c). c, d, Cotton belt with pendants (c, tapir hoof tips; d, gourd tips) all around (Table 8, item 3). e, Pair of carved wooden wristlets (Table 8, item 17c). f, Pair of cotton wristlets with tassels (Table 8, item 34).

PLATE 61.—Artifacts. a, Headband of vertical macaw tail feathers (Table 8, item 24). b, Occipital hair tie of cotton with cane rod pendants (Table 8, item 39). c, d, Headbands (Table 8, item 12f). e, Occipital hair tie ornament of catolé (Table 8, item 49). f, g, Headbands (Table 8, item 12d).

PLATE 62.—Pierced-ear decorations and tools. a-c, Pierced-earlobe spools (Table 8, item 13). d, e, Wooden pins for earlobe holes (Table 8, item 56). f, Buriti bast bag for first earlobe hole pins (Table 8, item 56). g, Wooden earlobe piercer (Table 8, item 55).

PLATE 63.—Ceremonial weapons. a, b, Lances with cornhusk padded points (Table 8, item 50). c, Wooden ceremonial lances (Table 8, item 1). d, Bow (Table 8, item 52). e, Ceremonial lance made for sale (Table 8, item 150). f, Wooden staff (Table 8, item 9). g, Wooden clubs (Table 8, item 10).

PLATE 64.—Ceremonial staffs. a, b, Pairs of relay race batons (Table 8, item 11). c, Pepkahàk carved staffs (Table 8, item 36). d, Pepyê novices’ staffs with tines (Table 8, item 31). e, Apanyekra wooden staff (Table 8, item 9).

PLATE 65.—Artifacts. a, Gourd rattle (Table 8, item 21). b, Straight wooden whistle on diagonal strands of cords (Table 8, item 23). c, Horn made of cow’s horn (Table 8, item 20a). d, Horn made of gourd (Table 8, item 20b). e, Horn made of bamboo (Table 8, item 20c).

PLATE 66.—Artifacts. a, Child’s dorsal head-strap basket (Table 8, item 26). b, Shuttlecock of cornhusk (Table 8, item 51). c, Clown’s gourd mask used in Pepkahàk festival (Table 8, item 37). d, Large festival water gourd with buriti cords (Table 8, item 145).

PLATE 67.—Artifacts. a, Miniature racing logs with handles (Table 8, item 27). b, Fish-shaped meat pie frame (Table 8, item 43). c, Body-scratching sticks for use during times of restriction (Table 8, item 25). d, Large buriti mat (Table 8, item 68a).

PLATE 68.—Portraits of Canela assistants. a, The younger Pù?tô (diarist, translator, research assistant), b, Tel-khwèy (research assistant). c, The older Tsùùkhè (research assistant), d, Rõõ-re-?hô (research assistant). e, The younger Krôôtô (diarist). f, Kôham (research assistant).

PLATE 69.—Portraits of Canela assistants, a, Kaprêêprêk (diarist, translator, typist). b, Krôôpey (diarist, translator). c, f, The younger Kaapêltùk (research assistant, translator, diarist). d, Yiirot (diarist). e, The older Pààtsêt (research assistant).

PLATE 70.—Portraits of Canela assistants. a, Kôyapàà (diarist). b, The older Kaapêltùk (research assistant). c, The younger Mĩĩkhrô (research assistant). d, Yôk (diarist). e, Khà?po (research assistant). f, Hàwpùù (research assistant, diarist, translator). g, (left to right), The younger Krôôtô, Krôôpey, and the younger Tep-hot (diarists).

PLATE 71.—Portraits of Canela assistants. a, Mulwa (research assistant). b, Hõõkô (diarist). c, Rãrãk (research assistant). d, Yaako (diarist, translator, typist). e, Ropkhà (research assistant). f, Kôykhray (research assistant).

PLATE 72.—Representative portraits of backlanders.

PLATE 73.—Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra.

PLATE 74.—Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra.

PLATE 75.—Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra.

PLATE 76.—Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra.

PLATE 77.—Representative portraits of Canela and Apanyekra.

PLATE 78.—Views of Barra do Corda in the 1980s. a, Telephoto view from the Colônia of the Catholic church on the central plaza, showing the Altamira’s bluffs beyond the city’s Centro. b, Catholic church in the Centro with greenery of the central plaza on the right. c, Beautification (started in the late 1960s) of the central plaza, where vaqueiros (cowboys) herded cattle over open ground in the late 1950s. d, Urucu bush with flowers, leaves, and open pod, showing seeds from which the red, oily body paint is made. It is used by the Canela as a panacean cure. (Courtesy of Banco do Nordeste’s branch in Barra do Corda, Maranhão, Brazil.)

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