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FIGHTING AT PYRAMID, GRAND VALLEY OF THE BALIEM RIVER, WEST NEW GUINEA
[Draft, not for quotation.]
By Norman and Sheila Draper, with an introduction by Anton Ploeg
Introduction
With this paper I would like to make the ethnographic work of Norman and Sheila Draper better known. They were missionaries who worked for the ABM, the Australian Baptist Mission Society, first, from 1949 to 1956, among Kyaka Enga in the highlands of what was then the Territory of Papua and New Guinea. Later, from 1956 to 1962, they worked among Western Dani in then Dutch New Guinea, in Tiom, in the valley of the North Baliem River. Later again they returned to Papua New Guinea. They revisited Tiom briefly in 1984. Around that time they prepared a manuscript, entitled First Touches, dealing with their work in the North Baliem. Norman prepared a first draft that they jointly redrafted (Sheila Draper, pers. comm. 2005). Against their intentions, the manuscript has remained unpublished.
While First Touches contains a great deal of ethnographic information, it is by no means the only contribution to ethnography that the Drapers have made. In a book published in 1990, they together compiled and introduced testimonies from New Guineans, many of whom had converted as a result of their teachings (Draper and Draper 1990). Moreover, Sheila Draper wrote extensive ethnographic notes and incorporated ethnographic data in her communications to her family and her church. Many of these documents are now held in Adelaide, in the archive of the South Australia Museum. They were ordered and catalogued by Alexandra Szalay who has put them to good use in her 1999 PhD thesis in anthropology dealing with the Central Highlands of west New Guinea (Szalay 1999). Also that thesis has so far remained unpublished.
The writings of the Drapers show their deep interest in the lives of the people among whom they worked. Unlike some of their colleagues they did not perceive the Highlands as part of 'Satan's kingdom' (Wicks 1990: 218) that they had to invade and conquer. Instead, they were appreciative of many aspects of the way of life of the people whom they attempted to convert to Christianity. They were trained linguists which facilitated language learning and most likely added to their understanding of what they had to engage with, but, in addition, they approached the Dani way of life with empathy.
In this paper I draw on their draft monograph First Touches. The manuscript starts with the advance of a group of missionaries, including Norman Draper, and their New Guinean companions into the Central Highlands of west New Guinea. They represented four protestant mission societies and an important reason why they went together was that they had arranged to help each other with setting up mission stations, in particular with getting airstrips established that were to connect the stations with the outside world. The group of missionaries and their helpers set off in March 1956. They headed for the central parts of the Highlands, using a lake, in 1956 called Lake Archbold, near the foothills, and south of the Lake Plain, as a starting point for the expedition on foot. They themselves and their provisions were brought to the lake by hydroplane. Thus they followed the example set by the 1938 Archbold expedition. During that expedition part of the Dutch military escort went from the north coast to the Central Highlands via the Lake Plain. The escort was provisioned by a hydroplane that landed on Lake Archbold (Van Arcken 1958; see also his map, reproduced in Meiselas 2003: 15). From Lake Archbold the missionary party entered the Highlands on foot, proceeding to the southwest, with the intention to prepare an airstrip in Bokondini, on a flat area spotted during a survey by air.
The expedition initiated the rapid missionisation of the central parts of the Central Highlands, an area almost exclusively inhabited by the Grand Valley Dani and the Western Dani (Hayward 1980: 118f; Steiger 1995: 58f). Up until then, only the CAMA, the Christian and Missionary Alliance, had established a mission station in the area, in the southern part of the Grand Valley, in 1954 (Wick 1990: ch. 7). They had arrived there starting out from their already existing stations in the Paniai area, in the west of the Central Highlands. The first government station in the central part was established at Wamena, in the Grand Valley of the Baliem, in late 1956 (Veldkamp 1996, 2001).
From Bokondini, a smaller group, consisting of two Europeans, including Norman Draper, and four New Guineans, trekked further south via the valley of the North Baliem to the northern tip of the Grand Valley. There they had spotted another site suitable for an airstrip, near a solitary mountain that they called Pyramid. Their stay in the Grand Valley lasted a single day. After the local Dani had seriously harassed them, they hastily retreated, back to Bokondini. Showing considerable courage, a larger party returned six weeks later. This time they managed to establish working relationships with the people. Yet, their reception made them conclude that there were considerable cultural differences between Dani at Bokondini and Dani at Pyramid, a conclusion backed up by later ethnographic reports (Heider 1975; Ploeg 2001).
As they had done in Bokondini, the missionaries and their companions prepared temporary shelters near the site they wanted to fashion into an airstrip. Soon after their arrival, in August 1956, it became clear that they had selected a site that the local people used for fighting. And indeed a battle took place there during their presence. In First Touches, the Drapers give a vivid description of the proceedings, and the fright they inspired. The aggression that especially young Dani had shown them, during their first visit, but also later on, must have added to the tension.
In the late pre-colonial era, warfare among the Grand Valley Dani was endemic. It has become well known to the outside world ever since the release, in 1962, of the immensely successful film Dead Birds, resulting from the 1961 Harvard-Peabody expedition to the Grand Valley (Heider 1997; Meiselas 2003: 66f). The fights shown in Dead Birds took place in an area about 25 kilometres southeast of Pyramid. Veldkamp, who established the patrol post in the Grand Valley and who became its first OIC, writes that at the time tension was all around in the Valley. In his own words
Always, there were rumours of armed confrontations or of (in our view far from courageous) raids, that had people killed or wounded. After a victory on the field of battle people held victory dances for days on end; the refrains were repeated for hours and got on our nerves. In the evenings well-disposed Dani told in secretive whispers about impending raids and about actions that had already been carried out (1996: 93; 2001: 81).
By 1960, it had become obvious that bringing Dani fighting in the Grand Valley to an end was a major administrative undertaking (Schneider 1996: 121-2, 2001: 105-7). All the ethnographers of the Grand Valley Dani discuss it at length in their work. They emphasise that it was strongly linked to Dani ancestor worship (Broekhuyse 1967; Bromley 1960; Heider 1970, 1997; Peters 1965, 1975). The major political units in the Grand Valley were alliances, consisting of a number of confederacies. Most alliances comprised more than one thousand people. Confederacies might regroup, thus forming new alliances. Hostile alliances fought each other in frequent battles and raids that took place over a number of years, if not decades (Heider 1997: 88-9). People killed had to be revenged by other killings whether of men, women or children. Broekhuyse intimates that the status of the killed enemy mattered (1967: 260) which would entail that it is more prestigious, and that it damages the enemy more, to kill an adult man. Heider's data are in line with this finding. The genealogies that he collected show that many more men than women died violently (1970: 230-1, 1997: 106). After the killing of an outstanding war leader, his group is in disarray (1997: 90). Fighting the enemy had been ordained by the ancestors and people were most anxious to live up to their demands (Heider 1997: 90f). The battle witnessed by Norman Draper and his colleagues was a large scale one, apparently beyond the upper end of the range of 200-400 warriors that Broekhuyse mentions (1967: 217). 'A big fight', the characterisation with which their description starts seems a proper qualification.
What follows is chapter 8 of First Touches. The observations recorded in this chapter were made by Norman Draper and his male colleagues. However, because Norman and Sheila Draper cooperated in drafting First Touches, I regard them as joint authors of also this chapter. They called it 'Fighting at Pyramid', a title I use for the present paper. I include the entire chapter, retaining the Drapers' division into paragraphs. The only changes I have made concern punctuation and some misprints. I did add several footnotes - the manuscript had none - to refer to other ethnographic publications about the Dani that seem relevant to what the Drapers report.
Fighting at Pyramid
'Mbabi! Mbabi! Mbabi ngok mende...'. 'Enemies, fighting of the big kind' was the answer someone shot back over his shoulder in response to our hurried query. The group of warriors raced off, past our grass hut, down the slope towards the airstrip....
Another similar group who followed a minute later confirmed the news. Almost immediately we could hear the cockatoo-like screeches from an area only a couple of kilometres away. As we noticed a third group running at top speed nearby, we realised that the first two parties of men must have paused among some trees in a hollow hardly three hundred meters away, to wait for the last lot. As this third group joined them, the armed mob immediately, burst into a spontaneous, rowdy dance, racing round and round in a tight circle, screeching in their turn, like a flock of distressed cockatoos - cockatoos whose feathers, indeed, they wore, in their hair and attached to their bows.1 They raced suddenly up a small slope still screeching, and up on to the next rise. We noticed several from the group, veering out in various directions to check that no enemy were approaching slyly, or hiding in ambush in the many bushy gullies nearby. Then, suddenly, as if some signal had changed their mind, they sat just down! What an anticlimax! With camera ready, we three men moved over cautiously, to join them.
'Ninore - Our friends!2 What is all the screeching for?' we enquired. 'Enemies, many enemies have come', they responded breathlessly. 'There will be a big fight. We are calling our friends and allies.' 'What is the reason for the fight', we persisted. Several replied at once, simply by crude gesticulation, indicating that a woman had been raped.3 The who, where, why, when obviously could not be clarified.
None of the younger men wore head nets: they had discarded them, preferring proudly to flounce their long, thin, matted curls freely back and forth, as they swayed and ran in the preliminary, morale-engendering dance.
Another, larger group of men appeared suddenly over a nearby hill, racing to join our party. Their arrival was cause for much excitement, and the whole mob again spun into the circular war dance, shrieking, in unison, short bursts of 'ee...ee...ee...'
About half the men carried bows and arrows, which they rattled against each other as they sped round and round. The remainder - especially the young men - carried the four metre long black palm spears, pointed at each end for quick retrieval and throwing. Amongst the loud screeching, the thudding of feet, the tapping of spears, and the clicking of gourds, no other noise could possibly be heard. The crowd promptly forgot or ignored us foreigners. It was no doubt painfully obvious to them that we knew nothing of the excitement or subtleties of Baliem battles and quarrels; old scores -or new ones- to be settled; old grievances to be avenged.
Within a few minutes, the whole group were moving off. We decided to return home, as the screeching, thumping mob raced off like a charge of cavalry, to mingle with yet another approaching detachment of allies.
Over the next hour or so we heard more intermittent screeching in the distance. Every now and then we glimpsed masses of dark figures racing across grassy areas, pursued by others firing showers of arrows after them. Then, swiftly, the pursuing became the pursued. But we remained apart from it all.
Suddenly the screeching broke out much closer to our small compound - just behind the cluster of houses towards the base of the airstrip, in fact! Then we saw smoke billowing up from the village, as one of the houses burst into flames! Cries of distress from women who had not yet made good their escape, were clearly heard - they had not anticipated a sneak attack so early! We could see, through our binoculars, a group of women being hastily escorted through a back exit in the village fence, into the comparative shelter of a garden drain. Men were rushing about the village, amid the smoke and flames, trying to snatch their treasured possessions from the burning men's house, while a few others worked hard to prevent the fire from spreading to nearby homes. Still others seemed to be seeking out the individual enemy warriors who had dared to sneak into the village, away from the main battle, and set the torch to the men's communal house. If he, or they, were discovered and caught, a horrible death would be meted out, instantly.
In the meantime, the main battle was still in full swing, some distance from the village. Suddenly, one group appeared, racing for the airstrip. This was a good, strategic move, because, the whole area being cleared, it offered no hiding place for the enemy to sneak into ambush. Retreating up the slope of the strip meant they could effectively change direction when they wished, attacking on a downhill run. This would to the advantage to the younger braves who then would be in the vanguard of the attack, close to the leaders of the now retreating mob. The latter would offer an easier target for the vigorous young men's spear-throws. For it is these young men, close to the enemy lines in both attack and retreat, who have the best opportunity of inflicting a fatal wound - though, also, of suffering a lethal wound themselves. Most of the hundreds of arrows that would be fired during each charge, would fall harmlessly on the ground, to be hastily retrieved by the retreating party, during the few seconds' comparative lull between the end of a retreat (usually indicated by a lack of further weapons to fire) and the initiation of a new charge.
Those of the rear guard in a retreat must always be physically fit and nimble, for they must keep dodging -usually sideways to the enemy- to preclude offering themselves as an easy target. Even so, dozens of these young men sustain minor injuries from arrows fired at short range (and perhaps inflicting glancing blows). When hit, an injured man must keep running, if at all possible, until the charge then in progress, is complete. If the arrow or spear wound is too deep for that, he will pull out the spear, or try to snap off the arrow head, as he runs. If he is stopped or maimed by the injury, his companions will seek to protect him by prematurely halting the retreat, and sounding a call for a rapid charge, instead, otherwise certain death follows, if he is captured, or overrun by the enemy.
If the politics of the battle dictate that one team must kill to even a score, they will take great risks to finish off an injured enemy member. In some parts of the Grand Valley, the capture of an enemy was the prelude to a cannibal feast. This usually took place in full view of the slain one's relatives, in order to heap insult on grief. But Sheila and I were not witness to one of these occasions.4
Normally, the tally for a day's fighting would be only one or two men killed, though there were exceptions, and there were also frequent injuries - some later to prove fatal, because of infection. Those who initiated the battle, naturally trusted their spirits to assist them in gaining a victory. If they initiated a fight, they usually did so because they considered themselves wronged, in some way: maybe by the rape of a woman, maybe by unresolved arguments over payment of pigs for an earlier death; maybe the alleged theft of a pig.
In this instance, now that the battle had moved on to the airstrip, we had a clear picture of proceedings. The first group retreated nearly two hundred and fifty meters up the slope before their fight leader emitted a piercing screech, that told others to repeat his call, halt their retreat, turn, and charge the enemy. The latter, following what we later learned was a strict code of battle, instantly beat a hasty retreat. We noticed a number of young men who could not retreat quickly enough because of the press of bodies immediately in front of them. These would diverge instantly to the sidelines, carrying their long spears with them. They could throw only once, if at all, but they obviously hoped that that throw -that one thrust at close range- would achieve the death that their group were seeking. As these spearmen raced off to the sidelines, they also turned, abusing the enemy with obviously insulting epithets and unacceptable gestures, to taunt their opponents into hasty, ill-considered action.
Needless to say, many of their antagonists responded with a hasty volley of arrows. But these daring young men could dodge well, darting about in such a fast, zigzagging and erratic path that only an odd, lucky shot could have really hit its target. The bowmen, in their turn, would not follow these challengers too closely, in case they were cut off in the centre from their main group and found themselves suddenly at risk, following a sudden change in direction. (The warriors along the edges of the airstrip could always make good their escape into the fields.)
Several times the two main groups charged and retreated up and down the airstrip, until the lower body of men suddenly split, racing off to either edge of the cleared area, each heading for a small rise in the ground. This change in battle plan necessitated a pause for reorganisation! - For if the charging group pursued either of the two dispersing mobs, the other could attack them from the rear! Tactics and rules were certainly complex.
For some minutes the two groups stood threatening each other, shouting insult but alert to the first sign of movement or action. When they had recovered breath sufficiently for the next stage of the game, a fight leader piercingly gave the call to resume. The two separated factions of the one team rushed together to attack their opponents, who retreated fast up the airstrip, headed straight for our compound!
Up to this point we had felt strangely remote from the conflict, as if we were immune or even invisible. We had been watching the spectacle as one would an exciting sporting context, but now, as we saw some five hundred warriors charging straight towards us, at close quarters, their faces reflecting anger, desperation, fear, we found ourselves in an entirely different situation. For a few moments we all 'froze': there was no safe place for us to take shelter. We did not know if these warriors racing at us full tilt were our local folk or the attacking tribes!
Then a group of fighters, whom we recognised, yelled: 'Friends, run with us! The enemy will kill you!' But we seemed mesmerised; we could not react instantly. His voice faded as we were immediately surrounded by hundreds of warriors dashing past - many confirming the warning of the front line men. We were now seeing arrows flying all around us. Everyone was shouting, fleeing, but most were oblivious, again, of us, as we hastily tried to move to the sidelines. This was their moment of survival! All their concentration was focussed on their own safety.
Just as the mob was thinning out, a loud screeching announced the first ranks of the pursuers... The vanguard was comprised mainly of tall, well built young men constantly brandishing spears in a menacing manner, and shouting abuse at the fleeing figures ahead. There were also some warriors with bows and arrows, but these were not being fired. They dashed towards one particular man in the group ahead, firing at him at short range.5 Several times they raced forward, and on each occasion I had the ugly premonition of seeing a man shot. But at each volley, the intended victim seemed to dodge, or duck, just in time. These few moments in between the two groups were alarming, unnerving. I'll never forget them!
Later I was told that when a warrior is retreating, he listens intently for the twang of the bow, and then dodges immediately! I was to witness a number of such near misses in the months and years ahead, and I was constantly amazed at the lightning reflex with which these Baliem men responded. It was no doubt for such crucial moments that small boys constantly trained, as they played at war with blunt, makeshift arrows.6
We were very relieved - and then even amused - as the second enemy group surged through our compound, swallowing us up in their shouting and turmoil of dust, for, on sighting us standing by, some would momentarily smile in reassurance. 'Friends', they would smile, gesturing, 'those people ahead are bad; keep clear of them!'
As the enemy mob grew denser, charging past us, they were shouting, firing their arrows, and reloading their bows without pause. They were determined to cause at least one death among their opponents. As the last stragglers ran past, we were amazed that so few arrows or spears had found their mark. We had been through a strange and unique experience. As the opposing groups took the battle further off, we slowly realised that in the sudden tension and danger of the situation, not one of us had remembered his camera, though these were still hanging round our necks after the photos we had taken of the more distant fighting!
Our amusement at this realisation did not last long, for suddenly the now familiar screeching sounded again - there had been yet another change in direction, that was bringing the battle back to us! This time we were more prepared, and somewhat relaxed and reassured, knowing that we were no one's intentional target! Our cameras clicked again and again as warriors jostled past us, constantly dodging and weaving, and stooping hastily to pick up the arrows scattered over the ground. As they hurtled past us, we recognised a few faces. But these were not the same larrikins who constantly caused tension on the airstrip job with their unruly, boisterous behaviour. Now they were seasoned men of war, trained in the art of survival! They now belonged to a different world, a world in which they excelled, where there was no one, really, to define and curb their behaviour, limiting them to the level of the ordinary, hour after hour. Here they were potential heroes: this was the ultimate of existence: during these moments they could live out their fantasies of superior strength and cunning, at the same time achieving the most vital ingredient in life - prestige and respect from their peers ....
It was now clear why these people both loved and hated warfare - they loved it for the grand victory and sense of deep satisfaction; they hated it for the times when victory was not theirs: when the results were instead, humiliation, pain, and perhaps grief ...
The ongoing battle had moved to another area again. Several columns of smoke and flame told of burning houses.
By late afternoon word came that the fighting had concluded for the day, though we had not seen the finishing moments. One of the local men, we were told, was dead. Another, who lived only a kilometre away, was badly injured.7
Gathering together penicillin and syringes, we set off for his village in case we could help. We had already arrived at the usual cluster of houses when the wounded man was carried in. Apart from the one death there had been dozens of wounds of varying severity - mostly in the buttocks, as the men had retreated from the shower of arrows.
But most of these wounded men had limped home to their own villages. This patient was a different matter. He had been tied, by long twists of grass, to a single pole, and borne home on the shoulders of his village companions. As they released him to lie on a spread of banana leaves, the local shaman, or witchdoctor (for want of a better word) snuffed out his home rolled cigarette, put the stub into his shoulder bag, and rose from his haunches to move over and examine the writhing man on the ground.8 While several other fellows arranged themselves around the patient, to hold him steady, the shaman gently took hold of the broken wend of the barbed arrow, stuck deep in the flesh of his patient's side. He withdrew it a centimetre or two, to check out it had not pierced a vital organ. Because he felt it somewhat free to move, and because there was no further fresh spurt of blood, he was satisfied. Then, deflecting its direction, he gently pushed the arrowhead further through, towards the closest point on the skin through which it could be made to emerge. (Because the barbs were typically pointed downwards on the arrow, it could not be pulled out backwards, without great tearing of the flesh, so had to be pushed on through).
As the injured man groaned and writhed in intense pain, he was held firmly, and soothed by his companions. When at last the shaman felt the point of the arrow not far under the skin, he gently pressed on both sides around it. Determining the exact point at which the point would emerge, he took a length of freshly split bamboo, with a very sharp edge, and made a short slit in the patient's skin. Pressing again on each side, as well as behind the base of the arrow, as the victim's face grew even more contorted with pain, the medical worker forced out the barbed fragment. Then he held each side of the slit skin between his finger and thumb until the bleeding had subsided somewhat.
We asked for permission to apply some antibiotic powder to the open wound, and this was, to our surprise, granted, after only a moment's hesitation. Then some clean, fresh banana leaves, newly heated and softened, were placed over these, and bound round the man's body with lengths of split fibres that had been already prepared. Our patient looked more serene now, but exhausted. We asked for permission to give him some aspirin for the pain, and an injection. Surprisingly again, our request was granted. On successive days we returned with more aspirin and more penicillin, to find the patient, each time, making steady progress towards recovery.
Some of our patients never recovered, because of the onset of infection from the dirty weapon-heads, or the dirty fingers that sought to effect a cure, but such a death would be attributed to the influence of uncooperative spirits. Pigs would be sacrificed to express regret to the new spirit. Many other injured men, however, as we learned over the years, displayed remarkable powers of recovery, and would be back on their feet again within a few days.
Wounds inflicted by a heavy spear were usually serious. If the victim fell, on the battle ground, young enemy warriors would risk their own lives in order to be in at the kill, for to have had a share in inflicting death was almost tantamount to actually having caused the fatal wound. It seemed to us that the possible shame and bereavement of battle was more than compensated for by the intense anticipated sense of excitement about a fight which, they always hoped, would lead to their own victory.
As we made our way home up the new airstrip, darkness falling swiftly around us, we were exhausted - in a sense it was our first fight! But we were not sure whether we had lost or won!
Notes
1. The above passage is based on possibly the earliest observation of the man-bird association as imagined by the Grand Valley Dani, and other highlands peoples as well. Later ethnographers also noted this association. Heider (1972: 28) writes that it 'is the basic motif of Gardner's film Dead Birds.' A religious element of the association was a myth that Dani tell, or told, in at least two versions. One is about a race between a bird and a snake which the bird won. Had the snake won, mankind would have gained or retained the immortality Dani believed snakes to have. Another version tells about an argument between a snake and a bird about man's immortality. Because the first man expressed dislike for the snake and opted for the bird, he also opted for mortality (Heider 1997: 117). So in this second version mortality results from human agency, even though it may have been unwitting. Heider reports that in the area where he carried out his research, people regarded a robin species as the bird referred to in the myth. In their ritual and war costumes they imitated the markings of that robin (1997: 119; compare Broekhuyse 1967: 223-4). However, the warriors whom Norman Draper came across at Pyramid seem to have associated with the white cockatoo. It is tempting to see a totemic element in these associations, but the ethnography does not mention it.
2. The few language fragments that the Drapers present are in Lani, the Western Dani language. Nevertheless, the way of life they describe seems unmistakably a Grand Valley Dani one.
3. Given the number of men taking part in this fight, and the number of allies joining in, it likely was an inter-alliance battle. Since warriors had stated that a sexual offence was its reason, I presume that the woman had been raped by a man from another, hostile alliance and I wonder why she had not been killed as well. The offence was probably the immediate reason only, given that armed confrontations between hostile alliances occurred regularly over a period of years. People killed had to be avenged by other killings. Failure to do so was a serious matter; it signified lack of ancestral support that would lead to further losses of life.
4. Reports about cannibalism among the Grand Valley Dani are few, in contrast to what is reported about the Yali, their eastern neighbours. The protestant missionary Bozeman wrote about a case of cannibalism in the southern part of the valley as he observed it in 1957 (quoted by Wick 1990: 113f). And Bromley mentions a single case in his collection of cases of trouble and fighting that he published in 1960. He writes that it was the only case he was told about and that apparently it happened five to ten years previously (1960: 251). In his book length account of the missionising of the Western Highlands, Hitt sensationalised the issue by naming his book Cannibal Valley (1962), a name that referred to the Grand Valley. He used it, it seems, on account of the single instance witnessed by Bozeman (1962: 126f). Peters, a catholic missionary, protested against Hitt's characterisation based as it was on that single instance only. Peters relates that, in the course of his work in the central part of the Valley, east of the Baliem River, from mid 1959 to early 1964 (1965: 7,16; 1975: 5, 198), he had been told about one case of cannibalism that, however, had taken place in the past (1965: 97; 1975: 97). Similarly, Heider mentions (1997: 126) that the ancestors of the Dani in his fieldwork site north of where Peters worked had practised cannibalism. Reports about the Yali make it clear that they practised cannibalism more regularly during the late re-colonial era (Koch 1974: passim, esp. 79f; Zöllner 1977: 21; 1988: 16). Given the contacts between Dani in the eastern part of the Grand Valley and the Yali (Heider 1970: 25f), it is plausible that these Dani knew about Yali cannibalism. In both cases the persons wholly or partly eaten were slain enemies.
5. The efforts undertaken to kill a specific opponent suggest that one party sought revenge on the person held responsible for a previous killing.
6. Similarly, Heider (1970: 193). Also Dead Birds shows this play.
7. Heider distinguishes two 'phases' of war: ritual and non-ritual (1970: 105f, 1997: 88f). The series of fights that he and the other members of the Harvard-Peabody team observed in mid 1961 were ritual ones. They included some of these fights in Dead Birds. In Heider's description such fights had a strong sportive element. They were 'casual'; there were many 'non-combatants', onlookers. The number of fatalities was small. In contrast the non-ritual phase was 'short, treacherous and bloody', with many people killed (Heider 1970: 118f). Veldkamp (1996: 92) mentions that he established the first centre of the colonial administration in an area turned into a no-man's-land as the result of an 'apocalyptic' war. Non-ritual fights often took place when an alliance split up and hitherto allied confederacies fought each other. As appeared above, the battle described in this paper does not seem to conform to either categorisation. There were no onlookers, that is, no Dani onlookers. It seems to have included more tactics than those that the members of the Harvard-Peabody expedition had witnessed and recorded. Nor do they mention the rapid shifting of the fighting parties over a sizeable area. Finally, Heider (1970: 110-1) reports 'individualism [was] all-important'. The advice of battle leaders remained unheeded, whereas in the battle that the Drapers describe leaders appeared to direct tactics.
8. By using the terms 'shaman' and 'witchdoctor', the Drapers attribute a magical or religious capacity to the expert who extracts the arrow. I wonder whether this is warranted. Also Heider discusses the topic, but he writes that any man may try to remove an arrow, although experts are called in if they are in the vicinity. 'Curing rituals' devised to protect patients from loss of life force and against attacks by ghosts, were led by men and/or women with 'special curing powers' (Heider 1970: 233-4). Hence they likely had a religious capacity which would warrant the term 'shaman'. I suppose that the Drapers were influenced by what they experienced later, during their work in Tiom. As they describe in subsequent chapters of First Touches, they were thwarted in their work by a shaman who felt that they were undermining his position of power.
References
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